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

by Percy F. Westerman

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.