CHAPTER XXV
IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
Almost stunned by the terrific blast of air, Tressidar, who had been looking down from the fire-control platform, was at first hardly able to realise what had taken place. Not until he was aroused by Midshipman Picklecombe's voice asking faintly for aid did the seriousness of the situation dawn upon him.
The "Heracles" was foundering. The distinct, ever-increasing heel of the platform on which he stood proved that. There was no recovery to the cruiser's list to port.
The "Stoshfeld" during the course of the running fight had thrown overboard a number of mines, each pair connected by a hundred feet length of grass-rope. By sheer good luck her pursuer had missed the lot until she began to steam slowly to the assistance of her foe. Then, her stem engaged in the bight of the rope, two cylinders filled with powerful explosive had been swung against either side, the mines going off on contact with the cruiser's hull.
After the explosion the crew, at first thrown into confusion by the terrific din and the havoc wrought 'tween decks, were hardly able to grip the situation until a bugle sounded the "Still" and the men mustered quietly on the quarter-deck. Orders had been sent to the engine-room to shut off steam and open the safety-valves. The "Heracles," her propellers now motionless—whereby a serious menace to the crew of the foundering vessel was averted—quickly lost way, and making a half-circle to starboard came to a standstill at a distance roughly three thousand yards from her antagonist.
The "Stoshfeld" was now keel uppermost. A couple of hundred of her men had clustered on her bilge-plates, viewing with consternation the result of their own action; for with the mining of the British cruiser all hopes of rescue vanished.
On hearing the midshipman call, Tressidar turned. The two officers were alone, the gunnery lieutenant having left the fire-control platform with some of the instruments that had suffered slight damage from concussion during the bombardment, while the seamen told off to attend to the telephones had followed the lieutenant.
Picklecombe was lying in a corner of the rectangular platform. Blood was oozing from a gash in the midshipman's left shoulder. A sliver of steel, hurled to an immense height, had in falling completely penetrated the light metal canopy and had inflicted a severe wound on the lad who was standing beneath.
The sub. acted promptly. He knew that delay would mean that the helpless midshipman would be trapped within the metal cage and carried down when the ship made her last plunge. The only way of escape was through a small aperture on the floor leading to the uppermost ratlines of the shrouds—and the opening was sufficient only for one man at a time.
Unclasping his knife, Tressidar cut some of the canvas gear into a long strip. The fabric was strong and tough. It formed an admirable sling.
The next step was to lower Picklecombe through the trap-door.
"Can you hang on?" asked the sub
"I think so," replied the midshipman. "I'll try."
The pressure of the canvas slung round the lad's chest gave him great pain, but setting his jaw tightly he allowed no sound to pass his lips. Dexterously the sub. "paid out" until the wounded youngster's feet touched the shrouds and his head and shoulders were below the opening on the floor. Fortunately the list of the ship had brought the shrouds on the starboard side very little short of a horizontal position, and thus Picklecombe was supported almost by his own weight against the wire stays. In a trice Tressidar nipped through and was by the midshipman's side.
"I'm feeling awfully dizzy," exclaimed Picklecombe. "Everything seems turning round."
The sub. gripped him as he spoke, for the lad was on the point of dropping to the deck, a distance of between sixty and seventy feet beneath his precarious perch. To make matters worse, clouds of smoke and steam issuing through the funnels and steam-pipes drifted past and hid the two young officers from the sight of those on deck. Shouting for help was futile, since the hiss of steam deadened all other sounds.
Hanging on tenaciously, Tressidar forced himself between the shrouds and the now almost unconscious midshipman. With his disengaged hand he held the lad tightly to his back.
"Let go!" ordered the sub. peremptorily.
The sense of discipline overcame the midshipman's almost automatic inclination to grip whatever came nearest to hand. He relinquished his hold and his arm fell listlessly over his rescuer's shoulder.
Step by step the sub. descended. The shrouds, stretched almost to breaking-point by the strain of the heavy mast, were so springy under the combined weight that at every moment Tressidar was nearly capsized. The hot steam almost choked him. It also prevented him seeing where he was or whether the ship was actually on the point of foundering.
At length he gained a portion of the shrouds beneath the cloud of vapour. The "Heracles'" fo'c'sle was now awash. Her poop on the portside was dipping. The remaining serviceable boats, which had been lowered and filled with wounded men, were lying-to at a safe distance from the foundering vessel. Officers and men, for the most part stripped, were leaping over the side in knots of half a dozen or so at the time, as if reluctant to leave the good old ship.
The next instant the agitated water seemed to rise up to meet the sub. and his companion. The "Heracles" was capsizing rapidly.
Relaxing his grip upon the shrouds, Tressidar allowed himself and his burden to be floated away by the eddying sea, using his disengaged arm to strike out and avoid as far as possible being entangled in the raffle of gear.
All around him the turmoil of foaming water was emitting steam and compressed air like miniature geysers, while a huge, grotesquely distorted mass seemed to rise out of the sea almost within arm's length. It was the hull of the doomed cruiser, as she turned slowly over until her keel-plates floated bottom uppermost. Various buoyant objects came bobbing to the surface with considerable velocity and added to the danger. A fragment of a shell-shattered cutter missed him by a bare yard. Had it struck, he would have been almost cut in two by the sharp, jagged edges of the woodwork.
Whirled hither and thither by the swirl of the water, Tressidar noticed that the upturned hull showed no signs of disappearing to the bottom of the ocean. The jets of steam, too, had ceased, and the sea in the vicinity of the wreck was becoming comparatively tranquil.
Some distance away the sole serviceable boats were lying off, crowded with men and with scores of less fortunate seamen clinging to the gunwales. A considerable number of the survivors were relying solely upon their swimming-collars; others were clinging, more or less in the water, to barrels, petrol-tins, oars, and mess-gear. In spite of the danger, they were exchanging banter with the utmost zest. The fact that they were a thousand miles from the nearest land never seemed to worry them in the slightest degree.
Numbers of men, finding that the upturned hull still floated, began to scramble up the sides, since the submergence of the two bilge-keels to a depth of about a foot made this a comparatively easy matter. Amongst them were several of the officers, including Assistant Paymaster Greenwood.
Eric happened to see his chum's plight, for, try as he would, the sub. had not strength to haul himself and the now unconscious midshipman into temporary safety. Practically all the ship's company had mustered aft when the "Heracles" turned turtle, and since Tressidar had been thrown out of the foremast shrouds he and young Picklecombe were apart from the rest of the survivors.
Sliding down to the bilge-keel, the A.P., heedless of his injured arm, gripped Tressidar by the shoulders.
"One minute, old bird," gasped the sub. "Give me a hand with the youngster. Be steady. He's been hit—shoulder, pretty badly."
Transferring his grasp to the canvas sling, Greenwood hauled the midshipman into comparative safety, while Tressidar, relieved of the lad's weight, quickly drew himself up the bilge-keel.
"Thanks, old man," he said simply.
"Let's hope we won't have to make another swim for it," remarked the A.P. "We're expecting the destroyers, but they haven't shown up yet. By Jove, the water is cold. Let's shift out of it. The P.M.O. is aft somewhere, I think. I vote we get hold of him and see what's wrong with young Picklecombe."
Carrying the midshipman, the two chums gained the main keel-plates. From there Tressidar surveyed the expanse of sea. The "Stoshfeld" had vanished. The distance was too great to see with the naked eye whether any of her crew were still afloat. All around the horizon was unbroken; sea and sky met in a clear, well-defined line. Of the "Lemburg" and her pursuers nothing could be discerned, but the dull rumble of a distant cannonade showed that the running fight was still in progress.
Greenwood's surmise concerning the surgeon was at fault, the medical staff being in the boats with the wounded and sick cases. Nor was it safe to signal to one of the boats to approach and take the wounded midshipman on board, in case the ship might make a sudden plunge and take the boat-load of helpless men down with her.
Having applied first aid to the best of their ability, Tressidar and Greenwood waited, with the rest of the crew, the arrival of the expected destroyers.
Gradually the rest of the swimmers regained the upturned hull until every surviving member of the ship's company was either in one of the boats, on a raft, or on the capsized hull of the "Heracles."
To relieve the tedious wait the men sang the latest music-hall ditties to the accompaniment of a wheezy concertina, which a stoker had contrived to save during the few minutes that elapsed between the mining and the capsizing of the cruiser. Several of the officers had cigarettes in watertight cases; those of the men who were able to keep their supply of "fags" dry in their caps shared them with their less fortunate comrades.
"I don't fancy she's going just at present," remarked Captain Raxworthy to the commander.
"No, sir," replied the officer addressed. "She seems as steady as a rock."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a loud explosion. An under-water valve, under the pressure of air trapped within the hull, had been blown out. An inrush of water followed.
At first the result was imperceptible, but by degrees the hull began to settle by the bows. The stern rose until the tips of the twin propellers showed above the surface.
"All hands aft," ordered Captain Raxworthy, in the hope that the redistribution of weight would keep the hull in a horizontal position.
The precaution was in vain. Shuddering, the huge mass dipped and, gliding, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving four hundred men struggling for dear life in the agitated water.
The end had come so suddenly that there had not been time for the men to leap clear. Numbers of them were sucked down by the vortex caused by the foundering vessel, only to reappear, thirty seconds later, a struggling, wellnigh breathless mass of humanity.
As the "Heracles" made her final plunge, Tressidar and Greenwood grasped the motionless form of Midshipman Picklecombe. They had previously buckled a life-belt, willingly surrendered by a powerfully-built stoker, round the lad; Greenwood had an inflated swimming-collar, while Tressidar had to rely upon his own efforts to keep afloat until he could find something capable of supporting him in the water.
The three officers were in the midst of a crowd of swimmers, all more or less boisterous in their determination to encourage each other. Hard by were the boats, the oarsmen voluntarily taking turns at leaping overboard and surrendering their place to their less hardy comrades. The concertina-player still stuck gamely to his instrument, and, supported by a couple of petrol-tins, was leading the singing of "A Little Grey Home in the West."
Striking out towards one of the boats, Tressidar and Greenwood handed their unconscious charge into the care of the fleet surgeon. Relieved of this anxiety, they floated, exchanging desultory conversation and keeping a longing watch for the expected aid that showed no signs of forthcoming.
Half an hour passed. The singing had died away. Men were realising that every ounce of strength must be jealously guarded. The concertina-player had abandoned his efforts and had allowed the instrument to slip from his benumbed fingers and drift slowly away.
With ever-increasing frequency men would relax their grasp and disappear beneath the surface without a sound. In several instances their comrades would dive and bring the senseless bodies to the surface. Deeds of heroism, the facts of which would never be made public, occurred time after time, but in spite of the efforts of the hardier of the crew many a man "lost the number of his mess."
Overhead the sun shone resplendent in a cloudless sky, as if to mock the feeble struggles of the men in the bitterly cold water. And still no sign of the eagerly expected succour. Hoping against hope, the survivors began to realise that unless almost a miracle took place they would never again see their native shores.