Under the White Ensign: A Naval Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

CHAPTER XIV

Submarined

Of what happened during the next few minutes Sub-lieutenant Tom Webb had but a hazy confused idea. The reverberations of the tremendous detonation were straining his ear-drums almost to bursting-point. Wreaths of pungent smoke, caught by the vicious blasts that eddied over the deck, obliterated everything from his vision and made him gasp for breath like a drowning man. His brain seemed benumbed by the concussion, his legs were on the point of giving way until he almost unconsciously grasped a guard-rail within arm's length.

Gradually he began to realize that disaster had overtaken the ship. He was aware of men rushing hither and thither, some shouting, others almost as dazed as himself. The Portchester Castle was listing heavily to starboard. Mingled with the tumult on deck, the howling of the wind, the hiss of escaping steam, and the slap of the vicious seas, came the unmistakable sound of volumes of water rushing in through the enormous rent in the ship's bottom, caused by the explosion of the torpedo.

"By Jove, Billy!" exclaimed Dacres in his customary drawl; "we've pulled off a double event. Torpedoed twice within twenty-four hours, eh, what?"

Before Fane could reply a bugle-call rang out sharply. It was the "Still". Instantly the turmoil of humanity ceased. As steady as if at a ceremonial inspection the men stood at attention until "Collision Quarters" brought the ship's company into a state of disciplined activity.

The Portchester Castle was doomed. All on board realized the fact. In spite of the terrific seas a German submarine had "stood by" the Sunderbund's life-boat, keeping submerged at a distance sufficient to prevent any of the liner's survivors "spotting" the pole-like periscopes as they appeared at intervals above the waves.

The Hun skipper of the U-boat had caught the wireless appeal from the stricken Sunderbund. He knew that aid would be speedily forthcoming, and setting aside all dictates of humanity, he had lain perdu for the opportunity of yet a further display of "frightfulness".

He was not mistaken in his conjecture. He had witnessed from afar the rescue of the Sunderbund's life-boat, and awaiting his chance had approached within torpedo range while the attention of the Portchester Castle's crew was directed towards the hoisting in of the steamboat and the reception of the survivors of his previous victim. And now the armed merchant-cruiser, with a rent twenty feet in length, was settling down. Her strained water-tight bulkheads were unable to withstand the enormous pressure. It was merely a matter of minutes before the Portchester Castle would make her final plunge.

Captain M'Bride, though cool and collected, realized the gravity of the situation. Apart from the danger of lowering boats in that angry sea, the great list of the ship rendered practically impossible the use of the boats on the port side.

There was one chance: that of making for the inhospitable African shore in the hope that the ship would ground. In that case her crew could remain on board until rescue was forthcoming; or, in the event of the vessel breaking up, there would be a chance of taking to the boats and effecting a landing under the lee of the stranded hull.

By this time Webb had recovered his normal state of mind, and was directing the provisioning and arming of some of the boats. Osborne was on the fo'c'sle, superintending the clearing away of the anchors, so that on approaching the shore the stricken vessel could be thrown broadside on to the waves. Haynes and other officers were engaged in assisting the men to make rafts and getting provisions and water from the store-rooms.

Every member of the ship's company had donned a life-belt; the survivors of the Sunderbund, who had only just discarded their life-saving gear, had to put their belts on once more. Theirs was a hard case, since they were almost exhausted with the privations they had previously undergone; yet they made a brave show of spirit that is typical of the Briton in a tight corner.

Presently the starboard engine gave out. The stokehold was flooded and the fires damped. Within a few minutes the port engines followed suit, and although still carrying way the Portchester Castle gradually slowed down. Her head fell off, and she wallowed in the trough of the breakers.

By this time her rail on the starboard side was only a few feet above water. She was deep down by the stern, her bows being correspondingly high. The very lifelessness of the ship, in spite of the enormous waves, showed that the end was not far off.

"Lower away!" shouted the skipper through a megaphone.

Smartly, but without undue haste or confusion, the boats in the davits on the starboard side were lowered. The first to disengage from the falls was the second cutter. Barely had she cast off when a terrific sea caught and completely capsized her. Half a dozen of her crew succeeded in catching hold of life-lines thrown by their comrades on board the ship, and were hauled on board again. Some were trapped underneath the upturned boat, others, supported by the life-belts, were swept shorewards through the chaos of surf and foam.

The remaining boats on the starboard side got away without accident; then, owing possibly to the amount of water that had poured into the ship's engine-rooms and holds, the Portchester Castle swung back on an even keel.

Captain M'Bride saw his chance—and took it.

"Let go both anchors!" he shouted.

With a rattle and a roar the steel cables rushed through the hawse-pipes, and presently, the vessel's drive to leeward being checked, she swung round, with her bows pointing diagonally for the shore.

Now was the opportunity to man and lower the boats on the port side. Osborne, his work on deck accomplished, took charge of one, Webb of another; and with only the loss of a couple of oars which were smashed against the ship's side the frail craft took the water.

"Look out, she's going!" exclaimed a score of voices.

Which was a fact. The end had come suddenly. With a decided movement the ship's bows slid under water; her stern reared perhaps twenty feet clear of the waves. Webb could see those of the crew who had not time to take to the boats struggling waist-deep in the surging water ere they were swept clear of the foundering vessel. On the bridge stood the gallant skipper, true to the long-established and glorious custom of the sea. Until the last man had left the ship his place was on the bridge.

He made no effort to save himself. Gripping the guard-rail he stood erect, his attention directed towards those of his ship's company who had hesitated to trust themselves to swim ashore.

"Pull to leeward, men," ordered Webb. "We may even yet pick up our skipper."

Even as he spoke the Portchester Castle ceased to sink. She had grounded in about eight or nine fathoms of water, leaving her bridge and a portion of the spar-deck still showing above the waves.

Those still on board were quick to recognize the change of fortune. Some made their way to the bridge, others clambered into the lee-rigging, until the shrouds were black with humanity.

All the boats were turning back. Those from the starboard side were sufficiently loaded to endanger their safety should more men crowd into them; but those lowered from the port side had not been able to take their full complement before the vessel sank. On the latter, then, fell the task of rescuing the skipper and the remaining men, while the other boats contented themselves with picking up a few survivors who had been carried clear when the Portchester Castle's decks had been swept by the breakers.

By dint of hard pulling, in spite of the shelter afforded by the lee of the stranded ship, Osborne contrived to get his boat within a few yards of the bridge. At one moment the projecting platform was towering twenty feet or more above the boat, at the next the latter's gunwales were almost level with it. All the while there was the pressing danger of the boat's bows being jammed against the underside of the bridge, or of her bottom subsiding, with disastrous results, upon the iron-work projecting from the submerged sides of the ship.

In Webb's case the task was simpler, though by no means free from danger. Watching his opportunity he ran close alongside the resilient main-shrouds, and succeeded in taking on board every man who had found a temporary refuge in that part of the rigging. He was now able to ride to leeward of the wreck by means of a long scope of cable, thus conserving the energies of the rowers until the hazardous dash through the surf to the shore.

The Sub could not help admiring the skill with which his chum Osborne went about his work, keeping the boat within a few feet of the bridge as the former rose on the waves. One by one the men leapt into the rescuing craft until only the skipper remained.

Then raising his hand in a last salute to the ship's white ensign, which was still visible between the crests of the waves, Captain M'Bride jumped agilely into the stern-sheets of the boat.