CHAPTER XIII
THE END OF THE "TANTALUS"
"SHE'LL do it, I fancy," remarked the officer of the watch as the sorely stricken "Tantalus" drew closer and closer to the shore.
The cruiser was making for a broad and comparatively shallow bay, now distant about two miles. Eight hours had elapsed since the torpedo had "got home," and the sun was sinking low in the west.
With two destroyers in close attendance there was little fear of loss of life unless the final catastrophe occurred so suddenly that the heroic engine-room officers and artificers and the stokers were trapped before they could make their way on deck. The remaining destroyers were patrolling at about two miles off, keeping a sharp look out in case another hostile submarine attempted to precipitate matters.
"It certainly looks as if we'll manage it," agreed Farrar. "Already we are in shoal water. The leadsman has just sung out, 'By the mark fifteen.'"
The lieutenant leant over the bridge rail. Thirty feet below and within a couple of yards of the sea was a small grated platform projecting over the side. In normal conditions the leadsman's place was twenty-five feet above the water-line, but the cruiser had settled to such an extent and was listing so much to starboard that there was hardly room for the men to swing the weighty lead before releasing it.
"That's promising," agreed the officer of the watch. "Slogger, my festive, I'll give you a fiver for the motor-bike you bought from the marine officer."
"Thanks—no; I'll hold on to it," replied Farrar. "It will come in handy when I get my leave."
Even as he spoke a heavy cloud of smoke and steam issued from the funnels and steam pipes. Almost at the same time the labouring thuds of the hard-worked propeller ceased to be heard. Above the hiss of escaping vapour rang out the strident shouts of the bo'sun's mates as the engine-room ratings were ordered on deck.