And so, in this sad way, the night's adventure ended; and the picket-boat having been hoisted in, the Orphan, very miserable, undressed and turned in to his hammock.
The Sub was wretched. He had not found the mark-buoy, and had done nothing to help in any way, and he cursed himself for not searching the mine-field area thoroughly, and for leaving the trawler skipper and those two men.
He wished someone would kick him very hard.
Next forenoon the Orphan was busy in his picket-boat collecting the crews of the other trawlers—some men from each—and bringing them aboard the Achates. He also had to fetch from the Aennie Rickmers her captain—a positively enormous man—and the flying officers, one of whom was a jovial burly Frenchman with a red beard, very proud of being called "Ginger".
On the quarter-deck, officers and men fell in, bare-headed, whilst the little pale-faced Padre read the burial service for those missing from the blown-up trawler.
Nothing more happened that day, but on the Wednesday the wind rose, and by nightfall was blowing hard—a very black night it was—and at about two o'clock in the morning an explosion occurred under the bows of the Aennie Rickmers.
She made signals of distress, and began to sink rapidly by the head. There had been rumours for some days that two Austrian submarines had escaped from the Adriatic; it might be a torpedo from one of them, or perhaps from some Turkish torpedo-boat. Some suggested floating mines; others that an explosion had occurred inside the Aennie Rickmers herself. No one knew exactly what had happened. All that anyone did know, when Captain Macfarlane took the Achates close to her, was that she was sinking; that her "dago" crew of Levantine nondescripts had deserted in all her boats; and that her English officers, the flying officers, their men, and the four wounded from the Achates were left without any means of saving themselves.
A most unpleasant hour-and-a-half followed.
The first the China Doll knew of it was being roughly punched in the ribs and shaken. He woke to hear men passing from hammock to hammock, singing out: "Turn out, sir, turn out; submarines about; all hands on deck, sir!"
He didn't lie long after that. He was down, had pulled on his trousers, found a coat and cap, fumbled in his chest until he found his swimming-collar, and was blowing it up round his neck before he was really awake.