“We’ll make report,” he said. “Glad to get the information. I’ll see that you have a chance to talk with your friend as soon as he’s in condition to see you.”
It was not until the second day later, however, by which time the Gyandotte was headed eastward once more, while many troopships and convoys led and followed, that Nelson received permission to visit Tip. He found him in one of the officers’ staterooms, whither he had been removed after a brief stay in the sick bay. He didn’t look much like the white-faced, hollow-eyed youth who had been lifted over the side three days before. He was lying in a berth, partly dressed, with an American magazine in his hand when Nelson appeared. The magazine dropped to the floor and Tip gave a very healthy whoop of delight as the door swung open.
“Wot cheer, Troy!” he exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t coming to see a chap.” He reached forth an eager hand and gave Nelson’s a hard grip. “Isn’t it rum I should have been picked up by your ship? I say, when I saw you last I never looked for this sort of a—whatyoucall it—reunion! Isn’t it horrible about the poor old Sans Souci?” His smile faded abruptly and he shook his head.
“What happened?” asked Nelson, seating himself.
“That’s so, you don’t know, do you? I’ll spin the yarn for you in a moment. Tell me first about yourself. Everything all right? I hear you’re in line for a petty officership all along of being a bloomin’ hero awhile back.”
“Never mind about me, Tip. I’m all right. What happened to you?”
“Oh, me? We-ell, it was a rotten bit of luck, Troy. You know the dear old Luff’s gone?” Nelson nodded. “Yes, flickered out the first night we were afloat. Died like a hero, though.” Tip’s lip trembled. “Troy, if—if the Lord doesn’t make ’em pay for all the wickedness they’ve done——” He swallowed hard, and then the old smile flooded back. “They got us a week ago today—no, a week ago yesterday. We were jaunting along all cozy about twenty miles so’-west of St. Gowan’s Head. It was a fine moonlight night and the sea was decently calm and the dear little tub was doing her standard of twelve knots. There was one of our destroyers running close to starboard and she’d just blinked us to keep off when Nutley, who was standing lookout for’ard, gave a yell. I was on the bridge and didn’t hear what he shouted, but I ordered hard aport, taking a chance, as you’d say. I fancy it wouldn’t have made a pennyworth of difference what I’d ordered, for the ‘moldie’ was right under us before Nutley saw it. It struck us amidship and broke us fair in two. We never saw hide nor hair of the ‘fish’ that did it. We just made an infernal noise and went down in about two minutes, like a match you’d broken in the middle. Most of the men were killed by the explosion, but there was Nutley and Grogan and me for’ard and out of it, for some reason. The bridge went half-way up to the signal pole, with me clinging to it, and came down in pieces. Nutley was cutting the lashings of the boat—we had only the one—and Grogan was tangled up in the wheel. I made a flying leap below, and I could see the water boiling up already where the bottom was ripped, and got the dear old Luff out. Another chap, Milton, an awfully decent fellow, bobbed up alongside and we five got into the boat. By that time the destroyer was signaling and trying to pick us up with her searchlight, but for some unknown reason she didn’t come near us. You wait till I get the Admiralty’s ear, rot her! We lay around for a long while and tried to find some more of our men, but they didn’t come up. Finally, about two in the morning, we started to make Lundy Island, the nearest land. But the wind came up before we were half-way there and there were only Nutley and me to row and only two oars and a piece of a third, and the sea was making fast. Seeing we couldn’t reach Lundy, we tried keeping her headed south, thinking we’d fetch Penzance or somewhere down there. But the wind blew us straight out and we couldn’t do a thing. The Lieutenant died about four o’clock. He’d been rather badly hurt, ’though I didn’t know how badly then. I wasn’t very fit myself. Nutley was the only one of us in decent shape, I guess.”
“Milton, poor chap, died the next forenoon. You wouldn’t believe that we could have blown all the way from about ten miles this side of Lundy to where you found us and never seen a sail. That’s what we did, though. Practically, at any rate. That first night—meaning the second night, really—we saw lights twice and used up all the matches we had trying to make a flare. After that we had all we could do to keep in the boat, for a beastly storm came up and we thought we were done for. Not that we’d have cared much, anyway. We saw Fastnet Light through the rain, but it was ten miles away at least. The next morning we were out of sight of land and didn’t know where we were. We hadn’t any water and hadn’t any food, and—oh, it was pretty bad, Troy! Grogan kept going until the evening before you got us. Then he went off. That left just Nutley and me. We wanted to get rid of the others to lighten the boat, but we couldn’t lift them. That morning when you sighted us I was saying my prayers, or trying to. I thought Nutley was dead, too. He didn’t answer when I spoke to him. He says I didn’t speak, but he’s quite wrong. Well, you know the rest.”
“It must have been awful,” said Nelson. “Is the man you spoke of all right now? Nutley, I mean?”