CHAPTER XXII
Flying-boats v. Destroyers
Two dazzling beams from the Messines' bridge leapt across the waste of dark water. The Armentières' searchlights were almost immediately switched on, and the four powerful rays swept inquiringly in the direction from which the flash of the hostile quick-firer emanated.
Had there been two enemy vessels, Trehallow, as senior officer present, would not have ordered the searchlights to be run. In those circumstances it would have been bad tactics. Whilst you are "picking up" one opponent, the other will, to a certainty, pour in a withering fire. But when, as in the present case, it is possible to concentrate the dazzling beams upon a solitary hostile craft, the latter is practically blinded. She cannot fire with any degree of accuracy right into a bewildering glare, while her gun-layers, in the knowledge that they are literally "in the limelight" and in momentary anticipation of the arrival of a death-dealing salvo, become "jumpy" and possibly panic-stricken.
It was a matter of a few seconds before the beams picked up their objective. The Cerro Algarrobo was eight thousand yards away, and had just turned eight points to port, or at right angles to her previous course. With the discharge of her quick-firer she had resorted to a very old trick—one that stood a fair chance of success before the era of searchlights. She had dropped overboard a balsa-raft with a lighted lantern, in the hope that her pursuers would concentrate on that and give her an opportunity to escape in the darkness.
But now she lay revealed, with two powerfully-armed destroyers, both capable of giving her six or seven knots, well within effective range.
The Cerro Algarrobo was heavily armed and was protected on the water-line. She had a very numerous crew, well trained in modern naval warfare. Had the cruiser been manned by Britons and the destroyers by the pirates, the former would have been more than a match for her opponents. But the dominant factors—the man behind the gun and the cool, calculating brain in the conning-tower—were absent. The hot-blooded South American strain—partly Spanish, partly negro, with a touch of Indian and a flavour of a dozen other races—was no match for the British seaman.
Already, in her brief encounter with the Complex, the Rioguayan cruiser had "bitten off more than she could chew". She had lain in wait for the decoy ship in the belief that the latter was unarmed and unsuspecting, and that she could, with impunity, fire upon the already sinking British ship. Instead, she had been sent in headlong flight, with gaping holes in her upper works and fifty of her crew hors de combat And worse was to come.
The 4.7's were getting to work. Splashes of lurid light marked the explosion of the deadly missiles right on their target. The Rioguayan vessel replied, but feebly, most of her projectiles falling short and wide of the zigzagging destroyers.
In five minutes the Cerro Algarrobo was on fire fore and aft. Her masts and funnel had disappeared, her topsides were torn by ragged gashes through which lurid flames poured fiercely.
She was still making way, but at a very reduced speed, and showed a pronounced list to starboard.
"Cease fire!"
The pandemonium died down. A tense silence brooded over the destroyers, save for the hiss of escaping steam and the swish of water from their knife-like bows.
Satisfied that the pirate craft had received her quietus, the British destroyers were about to close and lower boats. There were lives to be saved, even if they were those of blood-thirsty pirates. Apart from humanitarian instincts, it was desirable to find out from the survivors the exact particulars of the mysterious buccaneering vessel.
A gun was discharged from the burning Rioguayan cruiser, Whether it was a note of defiance, or merely caused by the flames exploding the charge in a loaded quick-firer was a matter for speculation.
The masthead flashing lamp of the Messines sent out a demand for surrender, with the assurance that quarter would be given to the survivors.
"X G E" (surrender), read out the Chief Yeoman to the signalman, at the key of the flashing lamp, referring to the International Code Manual, "O A H (I will give you)..."
Then he paused and turned inquiringly to the Lieutenant-Commander.
"Beg pardon, sir," he exclaimed, "but there ain't no right letters for 'quarter '. Will this 'ere 'U E V' do?"
Trehallow glanced at the signal book.
"Use that and risk it," he replied, adding in an undertone, "s'pose the Tower of Babel is responsible for this."
"Beg pardon, sir?" reiterated the Yeoman of Signals interrogatively.
"Carry on," said the Lieutenant-Commander curtly. So the signal had flashed forth as follows:
"Surrender—I will give you one-fourth!"
The answer was in the negative. The Cerro Algarrobo replied with five or six rounds, one of the projectiles penetrating the Messines' quarter and completely wrecking the Skipper's cabin.
There was no hope for it. Both destroyers reopened fire. In less than thirty seconds an explosion was observed on board the hostile craft. Then, in a pall of smoke, she disappeared beneath the waves.
The crews of both destroyers broke into a round of stentorian cheers. With searchlights still playing on the debris-strewn water, the Messines hastened to search for possible survivors.
Slowing down, she lowered a couple of boats. The Armentières, lying-to a couple of cables away, assisted in the search.
Two half-naked and badly burnt men were rescued from the keel of an upturned boat. Others were observed to be clinging to a large float, somewhat resembling a "Carley" raft, at a considerable distance from the scene of the Cerro Algarrobo's disappearance.
The Messines' whaler was hurrying to their succour when there was a tremendous detonation within fifty yards of the Armentières. The destroyers heeled under the upheaval of the water. Men on deck were thrown about like skittles, some narrowly escaping being washed overboard by the torrent of water that swept completely over her. At the same moment her searchlights went out, probably owing to the dislocation of the circuits under the terrific concussion.
"What are those seaplane fellows doing?" exclaimed Trehallow. "They're bombing us, by Jove! Switch on our recognition lights. Be sharp there!"
But before the order could be carried out, bombs were descending close to both destroyers. Against the faint luminosity of the starless sky could be discerned the outlines of half a dozen aircraft, wheeling in squadron formation, preparatory to returning to the attack.
"Hostile aircraft!" ejaculated the Lieutenant-Commander, hardly able to credit his senses. "The sky's stiff with 'em."
The position of the destroyers was now an unusual one. With their boats still away picking up survivors, they could not manoeuvre at high speed. Their only means of offence was a solitary "A A" gun each. They were taken by surprise and had no means of finding out the actual nature of the aerial attack.
Ordering the searchlights to be screened and all lights visible from without to be masked, Trehallow next telegraphed for "easy ahead", at the same time warning the engine-room staff against the danger of allowing flames to issue from the funnels.
Then he steamed slowly in the direction of the destroyer's boats, the crews of which were still busy with the work of rescue, despite the danger to which the latest development of enemy activity so cruelly subjected them.
Doubtless the Armentières was similarly engaged. There was no sign of her in the darkness; added to the complicated business was the possibility of the two destroyers colliding.
Whether the Armentières was successful in her quest those on board the Messines were in ignorance. On her part, the Messines was fortunate to pick up her boats in quick time, including two survivors of the Cerro Algarrobo. The others sighted clinging to the raft had perforce to be abandoned to their fate; the coxswain of the Messines' whaler afterwards reported that a bomb had fallen close to the raft and had probably sent the luckless pirates to share the fate of the bulk of their comrades.
The boats had only just been hastily hoisted in and secured, when the loud drone of a dozen aeroplane engines announced the return of the aerial attackers.
It would be no exaggeration to state frankly that the crews of the two destroyers had—to use a pithy expression—"cold feet". On board a lightly-built craft, with little or no protection—for the decks were only of three-sixteenths steel—the crews were practically helpless. All they could do was to "stick it "; for, with the exception of the three hands manning the anti-aircraft gun, they had no means of offence against the almost invisible menace from the darkened sky.
In the heat of battle, even against odds, when each man had his active part to perform, there was little or no time for thoughts of personal danger. These were men who had willingly undertaken to remain motionless for hours upon the deck of a Q-boat when shelled by a submarine; they did so in the hope that an opportunity of hitting back with interest was imminent, They had weapons wherewith to strike and strike hard, and they were eager to take up the offensive at the very earliest opportune moment.
But now the position was different, They were defenceless—or practically so—against the hostile airmen. They were ignorant of the nationality of their foes, of the strength and manoeuvring power of the attacking aircraft. Yet not a man failed to do his duty, although his greatest concern was to conceal from his "raggie" any indication of the fear that gripped him. Both destroyers were now without way. They realized that zigzagging tactics were too risky. The tell-tale phosphorescent wake that had betrayed the fugitive Cerro Algarrobo would also reveal their presence to the men controlling those swift-moving machines high above the surface of the sea.
It was now so dark that the Messines had entirely lost touch with her opposite number. Not the faintest suspicion of a light was displayed. The anti-aircraft gun of each destroyer was silent, although the respective gunlayers were itching to let rip at the reapproaching aerial squadron.
Suddenly a star-shell fired from the leading flying-boat threw the two destroyers into a pool of light. All attempt at concealment was, for the present, futile. Engine-room telegraph gongs clanged. The long, lean boats darted forward, heeling to the action of their helms put hard over. The "antis" spat viciously, the crash of the exploding shells punctuating the roar of the aerial propellers.
One of the attacking aircraft, caught by a six-pounder, was literally pulverized. Apparently the detonation of the projectile had exploded her cargo of powerful bombs.
In the flash of the explosion, the rest of the attackers could be seen staggering under the effect of the air-blast; but, admirably handled, they recovered and resumed formation, closing up the gap where the luckless flying-boat had been.
The British crews cheered ironically at the destruction of one of their foes, but their triumph was short-lived. Almost before the shouting had subsided, a bomb struck the Armentières between the stern and the after torpedo tubes. So terrific was the force of the resulting explosion that the after part of the destroyer was completely shattered. Deprived of her propellers and rudder, she still carried way, though her deck as far for'ard as the aftermast funnel was awash. Knee-deep in water, her shell-shocked anti-aircraft gun's crew were still firing blindly.
"She's gone!" ejaculated Carfax, who with Cavendish and another officer, was on the Messines' bridge.
"No fear," replied Cavendish, catching a glimpse of the Armentières' outlines in the flash of the gun. "Watertight bulkheads are holding."
Cavendish was now almost unconscious of the peril that threatened the Messines. The plight of the Armentières had displaced all other thoughts. He felt himself speculating as to what ought to be done and what he would do had he been commanding-officer of the Messines.
Lieutenant-Commander Trehallow was grappling with a similar problem, but in his case he was quick to act. To attempt to seek safety in flight and leave the crippled destroyer to fall an easy prey to her attackers never entered into his calculations. He was debating whether to run alongside the Armentières and remove her crew, or whether to attempt to take the sorely damaged craft in tow.
The while bombs were dropping rapidly, but the enemy airmen were either novices at the game or were too excited to act with deliberation. The nearest of the terrible missiles fell not less than eighty yards away, turning the otherwise calm sea into a maelstrom of smoke-laden spray.
The second phase of the attack passed. The airmen had overshot their quarry and were turning to approach in the eye of the wind once more.
Trehallow rang for easy ahead, shouting to the quarter-master to lay the Messines alongside her consort. It was a difficult operation in the darkness, but with admirable skill and judgment the Lieutenant-Commander succeeded in his manoeuvre.
"Prepare to be taken in tow," he roared through a megaphone.
A greatcoated figure on the Armentières' deck raised his hand in acknowledgment. Men dashed on to her fo'c'sle to receive the heaving-lines. The wire hawsers were hauled aboard and shackled to the towing strops with the utmost dispatch, but without confusion. Here again discipline told.
Gently the Messines forged ahead until the strain on the hawsers was taken up. Then, in obedience to an order, dense clouds of smoke issued from both vessels, enveloping them like a pall.
Under cover of the smoke-screen—one of the recognized appliances of modern naval warfare—the two destroyers made a bid for safety. The odds were now in their favour. A single aeroplane might venture to attack through that lofty, dense, suffocating bank of artificial fog. More would stand a serious risk of collision. And, apart from having no visible target, an attacking aircraft would quickly loose all sense of direction while within the limits of the smoke-cloud.
Trehallow's next move was to send a wireless message to the Basilikon, requesting the light cruiser to keep away. It would be useless devotion on the part of the latter to run the risk of being destroyed by aerial bombs under cover of night.
Still zigzagging and consequently throwing a heavy strain upon the towing hawsers, the Messines carried on. There were limits to the duration of the action of the smoke apparatus. Sooner or later the two destroyers would have to emerge, but it remained to be seen whether they had eluded the five flying-boats. Perhaps the hostile aircraft were hovering, three thousand feet up and out of sight and hearing, waiting for their prey to disclose their presence. A period of suspense followed, but still the waiting planes—if they were indeed waiting—gave no indication of their presence.
Presently Cavendish touched his companion on the shoulder.
"Listen!" he exclaimed. "Machine-gun fire!"
"Not the faintest doubt about it, Weeds," rejoined Carfax, as the staccato reports were borne to their ears. "What's the move?"
At length the destroyers crawled slowly from the fringes of the smoke-cloud. The moon had risen and the sky and sea were bathed in brilliant yellow light. Not a sign of the hostile aircraft was to be seen. Twenty minutes later came the solution of the affair in the form of a wireless from one of the Basilikon's seaplanes.
"Report engaged unknown hostile aircraft. Two shot down. Rest in flight. Pursued, but unable to overhaul."