CHAPTER XXVI.
"THE PRICE OF ADMIRALTY."
When Terence recovered his senses he was lying in a crofter's cottage. A white-haired venerable dame was busying herself with a large iron pot over a peat fire, while an old fisherman, her husband, was spreading the lieutenant's clothes to dry. The reek of the peat and the vapour of the steaming garments seemed to fill the confined space.
Through the diamond panes of the small window Aubyn could see the heads and shoulders of several of his men. The devoted tars, having been provided with dry clothes of weird fit by their poor but hospitable hosts, were mounting an impromptu guard outside the cottage in order to hear the news of their popular young officer's return to consciousness.
Terence sat up. As he did so he became aware of a throbbing pain in his left hip and leg, while he noticed that his left arm was roughly bandaged. Fearful lest his leg should be broken, he raised his knee. Although it caused him agony he realized to his intense satisfaction that he was capable of moving it.
Hearing him move the old fisherman spoke to him, and although Terence could not understand one word of the broad Shetland dialect the lieutenant guessed rightly that the man wanted to know whether the patient would like to see those of his crew who were disconsolately lingering outside in spite of the howling wind.
In trooped the seamen; seven burly and extremely diffident specimens of the Royal Naval Reserve, who, slow of speech except when amongst themselves, could hardly find means to express their thoughts. They did not know whether to congratulate their temporary skipper on his escape or to commiserate with him on his injuries.
"How is Mr. Raeburn, Griffiths?" asked Terence.
The Welsh petty-officer fidgeted with his hands, attempted to reply, but at last turned with mild entreaty to his comrades.
"Fairish, sir, only fairish," vaguely declared another. "But how's yourself, sir, if we may make so bold as to ask?"
"Stiff, bruised, but otherwise all right, I think," replied Terence. "And awfully peckish. Have you men been fed?"
"Yes, sir, we were victualled down at the village," announced the man. "They did us right well. They say as how we'll have to hang about on this island till the gale moderates; but they've communicated with the authorities at Lerwick, sir, and the senior officer is going to send a vessel to pick us up."
Dismissing his men Terence contrived to borrow some clothes from his humble yet kindly hosts, and making his way with considerable difficulty to an upstairs room, proceeded to dress.
Considering the terrific buffeting he had received Aubyn had come off pretty lightly. He was black and blue from his shoulders to his knees, his forehead was grazed through coming in contact with the rock, and there was a clean cut across his cheek. Rigged out in rough ill-fitting Shetland tweeds, his chin and cheeks black with a stubble of forty-eight hours' growth, he looked anything but a spruce officer of his Majesty's Service.
His efforts to borrow a razor were fruitless. His host had never shaved in the whole course of his existence, and he was now over eighty years of age. Nor did he know of any of his neighbours who would be in a position to oblige his guest.
Having found out where Kenneth had been taken, Terence went to see him. He had to traverse nearly half a mile of bleak moorland, over which the wind blew with great force. Shelter there was not, except a few stunted thorns and patches of gorse.
Looking seawards the vista was a turmoil of broken water, divided by the Island of Fetlar. Close under its lee the sea was comparatively calm, but owing to the tidal race, the "Sound" or intervening channel seemed too violent for any craft to navigate in safety.
Cautiously the lieutenant approached the brink of the cliff and looked down to the cauldron of foam beneath. The tide had ebbed considerably. Fang-like rocks showed their jagged heads above the breakers for nearly a quarter of a mile off shore. It seemed marvellous how the almost waterlogged "Roldal" had contrived to be swept over those dangerous rocks. In vain he looked for traces of his first independent command: the ship had literally gone to pieces.
After considerable difficulty Terence succeeded in finding the little cottage to which his chum had been taken. A big-boned, gaunt-featured man answered his knock, and without betraying the faintest surprise at his visitor's garb, invited him into the room. The Shetlander asked no questions; he seemed to know Aubyn's business. Like the rest of the islanders, most of whom had played a prominent part in the rescue of the survivors of the "Roldal," he already know the officers and most of the men by sight.
Impressed by the gravity of the man's manner, Terence fully expected to find his chum in a desperate plight, but to his surprise he was greeted by an outburst of laughter.
"Excuse me, old man," exclaimed Kenneth, "but you do look a sketch! Who's your tailor? And are you about to cultivate a torpedo beard?"
"How's that arm of yours?" asked Aubyn.
"Feels a bit rotten," admitted Kenneth, "or rather, I can't feel it at all. It seems a bit numb. But it will be all right in a day or so, I guess. It was a real plucky thing of yours, old man. Looked like a case of attempted suicide, when you cut that rope.
"I should have felt like your murderer if I hadn't," retorted Aubyn. "But it's over and done with. We're lucky to get ashore. By the by, I suppose you know that they're sending a steamer from Lerwick as soon as the weather moderates?"
Terence could not talk rationally. He touched upon half a dozen subjects in as many minutes. His mind was full of sorrow for his chum's misfortune. He knew what Raeburn was yet to learn: that the lack of sensitiveness in Kenneth's arm meant that never again would his chum be able to use the limb.
Raeburn's sanguineness was most pathetic. He had fully made up his mind to get to Leith and await the "Strongbow's" return. He rehearsed the little scene he would have when Smithers restored to him his cherished pipe.
Two days later the sea moderated sufficiently for the shipwrecked men to be taken to Lerwick. Here they were split up. The German reservists were sent into detention quarters to await the decision of the War Office as to their disposal; the Norwegians, whose indignation towards the apostles of kultur showed no signs of abatement, were forwarded to Aberdeen, whence they were permitted to return to their native land, while the detachment of the 'Strongbow' were given a passage as far as Dingwall, whence they were told to proceed by train to Leith.
Kenneth Raeburn did not go with them. Upon arrival at Lerwick he was promptly taken to hospital. A preliminary examination resulted in the doctors' seriously considering the advisability of amputating his wounded arm, but upon a further consultation it was found that there was a possibility of saving the limb, although it would be practically useless for the rest of his life.
Raeburn was not told of this. In spite of his disappointment at not being allowed to go with the rest of the prize crew his optimism was remarkable.
"Can't understand why those doctors insist upon keeping me here, old man," he remarked to Terence, when the lieutenant came to bid him good-bye. "I feel as fit as a fiddle, except for the long-winded business over my arm, you know. And it's rotten not being able to see the 'Strongbow' come into port. You'll take good care to remind Smithers to send along that pipe of mine, won't you?"
"I won't forget," asserted Terence.
"And another thing," continued Kenneth. "If you get a chance to go to Edinburgh you might look up my tailor—you know, the fellow in the Hogmarket—and get him to knock me up another No. 5 rig. I can't possibly present myself in this shabby uniform when I have to report myself for duty. Explain to him that my arm is crocked and I can't write at the present moment."
The lieutenant could not commit himself to reply. Gripping Raeburn's left hand he bade him "buck up," and made an undignified retreat from the man who was never again to wear the uniform of the R.N.R.
Throughout the tedious journey to Leith, Aubyn was on tenterhooks, for he was a day and a half overdue. During that time the "Strongbow" might have arrived, coaled, and put to sea again, without waiting for the men who had formed the prize crew of the "Roldal."
As the train swept across the Forth Bridge, Terence anxiously scanned the shipping below, on the off-chance of "spotting" his ship should she by any possibility leave the open roadstead and ascend the Firth.
At Leith he ordered his men to fall in and marched them down to the harbour. Inquiries of various naval officers elicited no information of the "Strongbow's" presence. Almost all of the people he questioned were convinced that the armed merchant-cruiser had not put in an appearance.
Allowing the men to "stand easy," Terence made his way to the office of the admiral commanding the Forth division of the auxiliary cruisers. On sending in his card he was received by the admiral in person.
"We've had no news of the 'Strongbow' for the last three days," said the admiral. "She is now forty-eight hours' overdue."
"Has anything happened to her, sir?" asked Terence.
"There is no saying. On Tuesday we received a wireless from her, reporting all well and giving her position. From that hour till now there has been a complete blank. Of course, she may have had to stand by a prize, and if her wireless has broken down her silence is explicable. However, I wish you to say nothing about the matter. Send your men to the 'Sailors' Home' and report yourself here at noon. Remember to leave your telephone number at the office as soon as you have completed your hotel arrangements, so that, if necessary, we can send for you."
Terence carried out these instructions and resigned himself for a disquieting wait. Something serious, he argued, must have befallen the armed merchant-man. He was somewhat reassured when, on giving his men orders to proceed to temporary shore quarters, the prize crew expressed astonishment neither by word nor gesture. His peace of mind would have been greatly disturbed, however, could he but have heard the men discussing the "Strongbow's" non-appearance amongst themselves.
Upon making his third call at the office Terence was again received by the admiral. The sturdy old officer's face was grave.
"I'm afraid it's a case, Mr. Aubyn," he said. "The 'Strongbow's' hopelessly overdue. I have just reported her to the Admiralty as regarded as lost. You had better proceed on leave, and I will notify Whitehall accordingly."
Terence almost reeled out into the street. The blow had temporarily unnerved him. Not one thought did he give at the time to the fact that Raeburn and he had been almost miraculously preserved from sharing the fate of their gallant comrades: his whole mind was centred on the appalling disaster.
He mentally pictured the old ship ploughing along in that terrific gale. A staunch vessel such as she was would have made light of the climatic conditions. It was fairly safe to conclude that she had been sunk either by a mine or a torpedo—and sunk so suddenly that there had been no time to send out a wireless call for aid. The state of the sea, he knew, would render it impossible to lower the boats even had there been time. Out in the wild North Sea, miles from land, and with no means of recording her end in the course of duty, the "Strongbow" had vanished utterly.
He thought of his comrades. The cool and collected Captain Ripponden; Commander Ramshaw, one of the very best; Lymore, taciturn, yet a man who set duty on a high pedestal; slow and deliberate McBride, and more than a dozen others. All of them, tried comrades in stress and storm, had given up their lives for their country. Only Raeburn and he were left—and Raeburn incapacitated for further service afloat.
Verily, the "price of Admiralty" is a huge one, but men will ever be found ready to comply with its demands.