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

by Percy F. Westerman

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.