CHAPTER VIII
TORPEDOED
IT was some moments before Sub-Lieutenant Farrar realised the disconcerting fact that the cruiser had been torpedoed. He was dimly conscious of a rush of feet overhead and a confused scramble as his companions sorted themselves out in the dim atmosphere of the half-deck. He was aware that Bruno was licking his hand, and that holding on to the animal's collar was the padre—transformed into one of the coolest men of the crowd.
On the upper deck the quick-firers were barking angrily, the gun-layer letting rip at a dozen different purely imaginary objects that had resolved themselves into the periscopes of a swarm of U-boats. Barefooted seamen and booted marines were pouring through the hatchways—not under the blighting influence of panic, but rather with a desire to see what was going on.
Just as the sub gained the poop at the tail-end of a pack of wildly excited midshipmen a marine bugler sounded the "Still."
Not in vain had months of discipline been drilled into the crew of the "Tantalus." Every man stood rigidly at attention, the babel of voices ceased as if by magic, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the rapid crashes of the quick-firers, the hiss of escaping steam, and the inrush of water through the gaping hole in the ship's side fifteen feet below the waterline.
The "Tantalus" had received a mighty blow. Whether it were sufficient to sink her was yet to be determined. One torpedo had missed its mark, but the other had exploded in No. 1 stokehold on the starboard side, almost instantly flooding that compartment and killing most of the stokers on duty in that part of the ship.
For five long-drawn-out minutes the men stood motionless, while the captain, commander, and officer of the watch conferred and awaited reports. From the engine room came the information that the port engine was still intact, thanks to the longitudinal bulkhead. The starboard engines were almost useless, owing to the loss of pressure. In the flooded stokehold gallant volunteers were groping in the swirling water and risking death from the deadly fumes in an endeavour to rescue their luckless comrades.
The cruiser was heeling badly to starboard. Although her steering gear was unaffected she had begun to circle under the impulse of the port propeller; until steadied on her helm, she floundered through the water at the greatly reduced speed of five and a half knots.
"We'll save the old ship yet, I fancy," remarked the captain to the commander. "It will be best, I think, to muster all hands aft. Is steam available for the boat-hoists?"
"Yes, sir," replied the commander.
"Very good. It's well to know that in case we have to hoist out the boom-boats. Pass the word for the men to fall in."
The shrill trill of the bos'uns' mates' pipes and the hoarse orders, unintelligible to the civilian element on board, had the result of clearing the lower deck in a remarkably short space of time. Clad in a motley of garments the watch below surged through the doorways in the after-bulkhead of the battery, each man with his pneumatic life-saving collar and in many cases a small bundle containing his cherished possessions. A petty officer appeared with a Manx cat in his arms; a yeoman of signals with a parrot that persisted in screeching choice lower-deck epithets at a piebald monkey; a corporal of Red Marines was grasping a cage containing a couple of canaries; while it would be impossible to guess with any degree of accuracy how many men had pets securely hidden in their jumpers.
The ship had now slightly recovered her heel and evinced no tendency to capsize. A course was now being shaped for the North Cornish coast, in the hope that the vessel could be beached or, at least, anchored in shallow water. Very sluggishly she forged ahead, the bent plates in the vicinity of the hole made by the torpedo requiring a considerable amount of helm to counteract the inclination of the ship to turn to starboard.
The din of the quick-firers had died away. Cheerful optimists there were amongst the crew who felt certain that the U-boat had been properly strafed, but there was no evidence to confirm their belief. As a matter of precaution the guns were still manned, while the wireless, which had been temporarily deranged, was sending out appeals for aid.
The order was now given for the men to "stand easy." Pipes and cigarettes were lighted and conversation began, although curiously enough the present state of affairs was hardly discussed. The chief anxiety on the part of the ship's company appeared to be the possibility of having to "stand by" the vessel, or whether there would be general leave granted before the men returned to the depôt for commissioning another craft.
Parties were told off to go below and salve various articles. The paymaster was working heroically, directing the removal of the ship's ledgers, the men's "parchments "—the seaman's record during the course of his career afloat—and other documents. The "coin" also was brought on deck, buoyed lines being attached to the canvas bags, so that the money could be recovered should the "Tantalus" sink in comparatively shallow water. The Treasury notes were left severely alone, since others could be issued in lieu of the missing numbers.
Most of the ward-room and gun-room officers not actually on duty also went below, the former to their cabins and the latter to their "common room," in order to retrieve their small but personally valuable belongings. Amongst them went Farrar, with Bruno, not completely recovered from his indisposition, ambling in his wake.
At the foot of the ladder leading to the halfdeck the sub encountered the captain of marines, followed by two stalwart men carrying the ward-room gramophone.
"Hullo, Slogger!" exclaimed the captain. "Do you want to buy a clinking little motorbike? I've a beauty stowed away in the steerage flat. What offers for spot cash?"
"Half a crown!" offered the sub promptly.
"Make it four shillings and it's a deal," rejoined the marine officer laughingly. "Done. I'll write you out a receipt when we get ashore. By the by, Farrar, talk about devotion to duty under hazardous circumstances, one of those bright bounders (indicating the two marines who were just disappearing over the coaming of the hatchway) deserves the Iron Cross of the Nth Degree—and all on account of that ferocious beast of yours."
The captain patted Bruno's massive head, and whimsically eyed the sub.
"How was that?" asked Farrar, unable to restrain his curiosity.
"The door of the padre's cabin was open," continued the marine officer, "and on the floor was Private Puddicombe diligently carrying out pre-torpedoing instructions by mopping up the corticine, It seems to me that there'll be water enough and to spare in the Woolly Lamb's den before very long. Hullo! What's up now?"
The quick-firers were opening out again, the six-inchers punctuating the sharp detonations of the twelve-pounders.
Following the marine officer on deck Farrar was just in time to see the frothy wake of a torpedo that, missing the cruiser's port quarter by a few feet, was tearing at thirty knots, to break surface a couple of miles beyond its desired victim.
Eighteen hundred yards astern a terrific cauldron of foam marked the spot where a hostile periscope had been momentarily sighted. The U-boat had evidently seen that the cruiser was not hurrying to the bed of the Atlantic, and was doing her level best to hasten matters.
"Fritz is a bit of a sticker for once," remarked the engineer-lieutenant, catching sight of Farrar in the bustle and noise. "He usually makes himself very scarce after having got one home when there are quick-firers knocking about. How far is it to the nearest land, navigator?" he inquired of Buntline, one of the lieutenants who happened to be passing.
"A matter of two hundred fathoms under your feet, my lad," was the reply without a moment's hesitation.
"Not taking any," replied the engineer sub with a laugh. "And you'll find nobody asking for greengage jam."
A roar of laughter from the other officers greeted this sally as the discomfited lieutenant, unable to rap out a fitting repartee, vanished through the armoured door of the battery.
"What's the joke about greengage jam, Tommy?" asked Farrar.
"At tea last night," explained the engineer sub, "Old Frosty asked Buntline to pass the greengage jam. It is rather rough luck on Buntline that he's still a bit deaf after that little affair off Zeebrugge. At any rate he thought Frosty had said, 'I am an engaged man,' and proceeded to offer congrats to the fleet paymaster, who, as you know, is a 60 per cent. above proof St. Anthony. Bless my soul! What's that I hear? Only doing four knots now. Think we'll make land before dark?"
The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering. In spite of the continuous action of the powerful Downton pumps the water was gaining. The explosion had not only resulted in the flooding of No. 1 stokehold, but had started some of the plates in the for'ard bulkhead. The damaged metal wall had been shored up and a cofferdam of hammocks and other gear built up to strengthen the weak spot, but even then the precaution failed to do the work that was expected of it.
For four continuous hours the gramophone was grinding out its metallic notes under the indefatigable attentions of a private of marines, while the two corner men of the cruiser's minstrel troupe kept their messmates in roars of laughter. Even when confronted with the none too remote prospect of being "in the ditch" the imperturbable tars were in high spirits. The captain and officers let them "stand by," knowing that nothing more could be done to safeguard the ship, and confident that when the critical moment drew near the men would respond cheerfully and gallantly to the call of duty.
Presently a hoarse cheer came from the men on the fo'c'sle; the sound was caught up by their comrades aft as the welcome news was announced that the destroyers were approaching.
The destroyers were five in number. Four of them were of the E Class, while the fifth was one of the latest words in that type of marine architecture. Well clear of the others she was describing swift and erratic evolutions, for her look out had reported a periscope.
"The 'Antipas,'" ejaculated a gunner's mate upon the appearance of the swift, low-lying craft. "One of our mystery destroyers. It'll be all U P as far as Fritz is concerned if she gets a sniff in."
"And 'ere's a bloomin' Blimp buttin' in," added another petty officer, as the dull grey envelope of a coastal airship drew within range of vision. "She wants to chuck her weight about too, I guess. Wot price that strafed U-boat now?"
"We'll see something neat in a brace of shakes, chum," remarked the gunner's mate cheerfully. "They've started to dust the floor."