CHAPTER XXV.
THE WRECK.
The Norwegian skipper saw the twin periscopes almost at the same time, as, owing to the "jump" of the submarine, they bobbed up and down in the raging sea. At one moment they would be completely submerged; at another the top of the conning-tower would appear above the surface.
"German, eh?" asked the skipper, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Them everywhere; but I think they will not hurt us—we Norwegian ship. They go to read name on our stern."
Terence did not reply. He gripped the rail and looked stedfastly in the direction of the latest menace. It reminded him of that awful period of suspense when the torpedo came speeding towards the ill-fated "Terrier."
Perhaps, seeing the desperate plight of the "Roldal" the German commander would not waste a precious torpedo. If he did, Terence reasoned it would only hasten the seemingly inevitable end.
"By Jove, what a chance if we had a quick-firer!" exclaimed a voice in his ear, and turning the lieutenant saw that Raeburn had emerged from the chart-room, where he had been during all those hours of danger.
"And if we had use of the helm we would settle her," added Aubyn. "As it is——"
A glistening object cleaving through the waves caused him to break off suddenly. The submarine, with a fiendish disregard of humanity's laws, had let loose a torpedo.
It came straight towards the luckless "Roldal," at times jumping clear of the terrific seas, at others cutting through the great waves with a hiss of escaping air and a smother of foam from its double propellers.
Fully expecting the missile to strike fairly amidships and immediately under the bridge the three officers scurried to the starboard side, Kenneth being assisted by his chum as he lurched across the steeply shelving planks.
"Missed!" he shouted, as the wake of the receding torpedo caught his eye. The weapon had, owing to an erratic roll of the ship, passed a few inches beneath her keel and was now expending its store of compressed air in a useless run.
"The lubbers! The lubbers!" exclaimed the Norwegian skipper, using a term which he considered to be the last word of nautical malediction. Whatever sympathies he had for the Teuton had now flown to the winds. The torpedo from the recreant submarine had converted one more biassed neutral into a staunch moral foe of kultur.
Chagrined by the failure, the German submarine did not discharge another torpedo. Her periscopes disappeared, and although Aubyn kept a vigilant lookout, he saw no more signs of her.
By this time the "Roldal" was badly down by the head. At intervals it seemed as if she would not shake herself free of the tons of water that poured over her decks. Her very sluggishness suggested to the experienced seamen that there was very little life left in the vessel.
"Release the prisoners, Saunders," ordered Terence, leaning over the bridge rails and addressing a petty officer. "See that they are served out with lifebelts."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as he hurried below, where eighteen frenzied Germans were clamouring to be let out.
There was nothing more to be done to safeguard the lives of the crew. The men, British and Norwegian, were steady and under perfect control. All wore either life-belts or inflated swimming-collars, although the possibility of gaining the shore seemed very remote in view of the mountainous seas breaking against the sheer wall of iron-bound cliff.
"Let me give you a hand, old man," said Terence, offering a life-belt to Raeburn.
The assistant engineer shook his head.
"Thanks, I'm not having any," he replied. "I never was fond of icy cold water, so the sooner it's over the better. Wonder what old Smithers will do with my pipe? I wish I had it now."
"Try a cigarette," suggested Aubyn.
Kenneth took one from the proffered case, and, awaiting his opportunity, made a dash for the lee side of the chart-house. In a few seconds he was back again, with the cigarette between his teeth. A shower of ice spray extinguished it, but seemingly unconscious of the fact he puffed away at the unlighted cigarette.
One of the "Strongbow's" men ascended a few rungs of the ladder and saluted. Terence beckoned him to come close.
"Beg pardon, sir," announced the seaman, "I know the coast. We're drifting on to a bad part of the Shetlands. Yon island's Unst; t'other is Fetlar, and beyond it, though it looks all one island, is Yell. D'ye happen to know what time o' tide it is, sir?"
"High water at about seven o'clock at Lerwick," replied Terence.
"Then, sir, if we hit to the south'ard of Fetlar, God help us. It's sure death; but if so be we get swept to the nor'ard of it, there's a 'swilkie'—that's what they call a race in these parts—that'll take us into Dalsetter—unless we founder first," he added, as an after-thought.
Anxiously Aubyn kept his telescope levelled on the north end of Fetlar. By taking a bearing he was able to realize that the ship had a perceptible northerly drift. If this movement were maintained it might be possible to escape being cast upon the perpendicular cliffs, otherwise all hopes of rescue must be abandoned.
In breathless suspense the crew watched their vessel bear down upon the forbidding shore, till caught by the "swilkie" she was swept clear of the dreaded cape. Yet so close had she shaved the land that in fine weather it would have been possible to "toss a biscuit" ashore.
Although the sea still ran high the force of the wind was lessened by the slight shelter afforded by the island. Ahead lay the large island of Yell, wherein could be distinguished the comparatively safe haven that terminates at the village of Dalsetter.
"Look, sir," exclaimed the seaman, who at Terence's request had remained on the bridge. "There are people ashore. They're signalling to us to edge to starboard."
"Would if we could," muttered the lieutenant grimly. "By Jove, they're sending out a couple of boats."
Such was the case. In spite of the mountainous seas, some of the hardy Shetlanders had put off in two of the typically seaworthy craft for which Lerwick and the fishing harbours of these islands are justly celebrated.
Tack after tack they made. At times only the peaks of the closely reefed dipping lugsails were visible. The rest of the boats were lost to sight between the crests of the waves.
It was soon evident to the Shetland fishermen that they could do nothing in the way of salvage, and having been able to ascertain that the distressed vessel was not under control and incapable of answering to her helm, they contented themselves by tacking to and fro to wind'ard, waiting for the "Roldal" to make her final plunge.
Yet the Norwegian vessel showed no undue haste. She had reached a certain stage when she retained just sufficient buoyancy to keep her afloat. After all, it seemed as if she would ground rather than founder.
"We can't fetch the creek, sir," declared the seaman. "We're setting too much to the nor'ard. It's only a question of time, sir."
Almost as he spoke the "Roldal's" hull shuddered under a terrific blow. Heeling to port, she swung almost broadside on to the waves; with a crash her masts went by the board, the foremast buckling close to the deck, and about ten feet of the main-mast remaining.
Two more heavy bumps she gave, then, settling on hard rock, merely quivered as the seas broke over her.
"Hold on, men, for your lives!" shouted Terence. "The tide's ebbing. We may be all right even yet."
The crew needed no caution in this respect. Hanging on desperately to whatever came to hand they resisted the efforts of the breakers to sweep them overboard and into the chaos of broken water between them and the low cliffs.
The fishing-boats had gone. Brave as were their crews the hardy Shetlanders knew that to venture anywhere in the vicinity of the stranded vessel meant almost certain death without the slightest chance to render any assistance.
Then, with surprising suddenness, the summit of the hitherto deserted cliffs was teeming with people—men, women, and children. The inhabitants of the little village had been waiting by the side of the sheltered firth, fully expecting to see the disabled vessel crawl into safety. But with the news that she had failed to weather the headland they rushed to the cliffs, and, what was more, they brought a rocket apparatus with them.
The first rocket, deflected by the wind, fell fifty feet from the wreck. The second was fired immediately on the deck of the "Roldal." Several of the seaman, at imminent risk of being swept overboard, secured the light line and began to haul away.
In ten minutes a means of communication with the shore was established. Beginning with the prisoners, the shipwrecked party were hauled to land, one by one till only Raeburn and Terence were left, for in spite of Aubyn's representations that the partly disabled officer should be sent early in the course of the operations, Kenneth stoutly refused to budge until all the passengers and crew were saved.
"Now, then, old man," exclaimed Terence. Gently he assisted his chum into the breeches-buoy, and, since the assistant engineer was incapable of raising his right hand and arm, the lieutenant made him additionally secure by lashing a rope round his shoulders and to the slings of the buoy.
"'Fraid I'll get a ducking after all," remarked Kenneth, with mock ruefulness. "Never mind, I'll get my pipe again."
Terence gave the signal. The strain on the hauling rope increased, and Kenneth started on his semi-aerial, semi-submarine journey to the cliffs of Yell.
Anxiously the lieutenant followed his chum's progress. He knew how hard the tail of a wave can hit, and that Kenneth was in serious danger of having his still unhealed arm broken again by even a fairly light blow. White-crested waves were breaking right over the occupant of the breeches-buoy, for he was now nearly half-way to the shore and at the lowermost limit of the sagging rope. At times lifted by the seas, he would be swung into an almost horizontal position. At others he would be suspended in the air, with the water pouring from him like a miniature cascade.
"He's making slow progress," thought Terence. Then he looked at the endless travelling line. It was not running through the block. Something had jammed and the men on the cliff were unable to haul the breeches-buoy another foot.
Frantically Terence signalled for them to slack away. Putting every ounce of strength into his effort he tugged at the line in the hope of freeing it from the jammed block, but without avail.
"He'll be drowned, or he'll die of exposure," thought Terence, as he desperately taxed his powers of resourcefulness to devise some means of extricating his comrade from his dangerous position.
"There's only one thing to be done," he continued. "It's kill or cure, so here goes."
Pulling out his pocket-knife, Terence made his way to the stump of the mainmast, to which, ten feet above the deck, was bent the "tail jigger," or rope through which the endless line was rove and the stout hawser from which the breeches-buoy was suspended.
Securing a foothold on the spider-band Aubyn found that he could now easily reach the object of his attack. The blade of his knife, though small, was sharp. The strain on the hemp aided his efforts, and in a very short time both means of communication with the shore were severed.
His own retreat was cut off, but the helpers on the cliff were now able to haul Kenneth through the breakers. They understood the act of self-sacrifice of the solitary figure on the wreck and acted promptly.
[Illustration: "The strain on the hemp aided his efforts.">[
Anxiously he followed the progress of that small black object that was being towed rapidly towards the base of the cliffs. He knew the risk. Even in the case of a man in full possession of the use of his limbs the danger of being hurled against that almost perpendicular wall of rock was appalling.
He held his breath. Kenneth was clear of the waves—no, almost, for a smother of white foam had hidden him temporarily from the lieutenant's sight. The next moment the surf had subsided, revealing the breeches-buoy and its occupant like a spider at the end of its thread.
The rope was swinging violently, but owing to the fact that here the cliffs overhung the sea Raeburn was not being continually bumped against the rocks. Instead he seemed to be clear of that danger, and the higher he was pulled up, the shorter became the swing of that exaggerated pendulum.
Men were lying flat upon the brink, waiting to receive the rescued officer. Others, still hauling, but with less speed, awaited the order to belay. The last ten feet of the ascent were the most difficult of all, for here Kenneth's body and maimed limb were in actual contact with the rugged granite. Yet, from where he stood, Terence could see no sign of life in the saturated burden of the breeches-buoy.
Now the rescuers had the object of their attention within arms' reach. Grasped by the muscular hands of the hardy Shetlanders, Kenneth was lifted clear of the jagged edge of the cliff. Willing helpers released him from the buoy, and still without showing signs of movement Raeburn was carried out of his chum's sight.
Leaning against the lee side of the chart-house, for the bridge was now at an alarming angle, Terence quietly reviewed the position. The "Roldal" was breaking up fast. Already the bow portion had vanished, and the 'midship portion seemed in a great hurry to disintegrate itself under the sledge-hammer like blows of the waves.
His first idea was to throw himself into the sea and trust to fate. He might perhaps escape being dashed against the cliff and contrive to seize a bowline lowered from above; but the possibility of getting safely through that turmoil seemed wellnigh hopeless.
The tide was still falling. Every few minutes meant the uncovering of the reef on which the vessel struck, and a compensating diminution of the force of the waves. On the other hand, delay resulted in the increase of the numbness of his body and limbs, which were already feeling the effects of the cold and wet.
Hundreds of eyes were fixed upon him. In addition to the inhabitants of the village and the surrounding district, his own men and the Norwegian crew were standing on the cliffs in apparent helplessness, waiting for the final act of the tragedy.
Presently a hand-cart drawn by half a dozen fishermen appeared upon the scene. It was another life-saving apparatus, for the first had been rendered useless owing to the accident.
With a hiss the light-line fell handsomely across the wreck, the rope almost falling into Terence's hand. To it was attached the hawser, but the lieutenant knew that it was beyond his strength to attach the stout rope to the stump of the mast. Since Raeburn had been hauled through the breaking seas, he argued, why could he not follow his example?
Securing the running rope round his waist, and making sure that no part of the gear was likely to foul any part of the wreckage, Terence made his way down the shelving bridge. The lee side was now only six or seven feet above the water. The whole structure was quivering violently. At the most it could not hold together for many minutes longer.
Using his arms as a semaphore the lieutenant signalled to those on shore that he was ready to be hauled through the surf. A reply to the effect that he was understood came from the "Strongbow's" men. Then, making a leap clear of the bridge, Terence plunged into the sea. Even as he did so, the chart-house and the weather part of the bridge were swept bodily away.
Upon rising to the surface Aubyn found himself being dragged through the water at a rapid rate. Ten yards or so behind him was an enormous mass of woodwork—a part of the bridge-planking—bearing down on the crest of a billow. Swift as was his progress, the floating timber threatened to overtake and overwhelm him.
The rescuers, too, saw the danger, and redoubled their efforts to haul the lieutenant clear of the pursuing mass. Buffeted by the waves, his limbs completely numbed by the action of the icy-cold water, Terence was hardly conscious of what was happening, till he found himself being lifted clear of the chaos of broken water.
Before he was out of danger an exceptionally heavy sea completely buried him as he swung with irresistible force towards the base of the cliff. The "backlash" of the foam alone saved him from being dashed to death against the solid mass of granite. As it was he received such a severe blow that he lost consciousness.