CHAPTER XXII
THE SHELL-BATTERED HOSPITAL
On returning to Esbjerg, Tressidar and Fuller bade Lieutenant Holloway good-bye and hurried off to the British Consul's office. Acting with the greatest dispatch, that official, having taken down the officers' sworn statements, communicated by telegraph with the British Ambassador at Copenhagen. He, in turn, acquainted the Danish Government with the attempt to destroy the "Nordby" by internal explosion and requested that Otto Oberfurst be arrested.
Already the Danes were too late. The spy, having landed with the skipper of the mined ship, contrived to slip away, and for the present all traces of him were lost.
That same evening Tressidar and his chum sailed for England in a Danish mail-boat, arriving at Grimsby without incident.
Here they separated, Fuller proceeding to the Naval Air Station at Great Yarmouth, while Tressidar made for York in order to catch the Scottish express.
Rumours of naval activity in the North Sea urged him northwards with the least possible delay, but it was not until eight on the following morning that the slow "local" crawled into Auldhaig station.
"You've been remarkably quick, Mr. Tressidar," was the senior officer's greeting, when the sub. reported himself for duty. "It was only an hour ago that we received official news of your escape from Sylt."
"That seems months ago, sir," said the sub.
"No doubt," agreed the rear-admiral. "There's nothing like activity to make the time slip past. Unfortunately we have had little to do here during the last month. By the bye, the 'Heracles' is cruising. She'll be back, I hope, on Thursday."
"What happened when she chased the German cruiser, sir, might I ask? The last we saw of her was when we were adrift in the cutter."
Tressidar had previously made guarded inquiries, but beyond the knowledge of the fact that the British cruiser had come out "top dog," he could gather nothing definite.
"Oh, the usual," replied the senior officer. "The Hun had the advantage of speed. The 'Heracles' had to steer a zig-zag course in order to avoid a submarine. One 'U' boat did, in fact, let loose a couple of torpedoes, but they missed. The German looked like getting clean away when one of our 'Comus' class came up. You know her speed and you can guess the rest. Anyway, the third shot from the light cruiser did the trick, and our two vessels between them managed to rescue about forty of the Germans. The name of the sunken vessel was the 'Dortmunde,' and she was bound for Ireland."
"For Ireland?" echoed the sub. in surprise.
"Yes," continued the rear-admiral. "Unfortunately there's trouble amongst a small section of the extreme Nationalists. The majority of the Irish are loyal to the core. I'm an Irishman myself, born and bred in Leinster, so I can speak with authority. At any rate, the 'Heracles' nipped some awkward little plot in the bud. Once they've tried, the Germans will have another shot at stirring up sedition. These Huns are not deterred by failures, dash 'em! Although they funk the main issue at sea, they still persist in their petty operations, in spite of losses."
"By the bye, sir," said Tressidar, "there's something I wish to report." And he revealed to the astonished rear-admiral the actual cause of the blowing-up of the "Pompey."
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the senior officer. "D'ye call that 'by the bye'? You haven't said a word to anyone about the business?"
"No, sir, not even to the vice-consul at Esbjerg. Only Mr. Holloway and Mr. Fuller know the secret, and they will take good care not to divulge anything."
"And the spy? Does he know that you are aware of his crime?"
"I think not, sir. He recognised me as one of the 'Pompey's' officers, but I said nothing to lead him to believe I had overheard his conversation with the mysterious count. He admitted that he was a deserter, and braved it out. Before we could get to business—the discovery that he had chucked his bomb overboard rather took the wind out of my sails—the 'Nordby' bumped into a mine."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Tressidar, will you kindly write out a detailed report of what occurred between the count and the spy, and I'll see that it is forwarded to the proper quarter. After that you can stand easy until Thursday. You look as if a good square meal or two will do you good."
The genial Irishman shook hands with his subordinate and did him the honour of asking him to dinner that evening. The sub. could not refuse, although he rather dreaded the ceremonious meal. Also he had made other plans, but he realised that it does not do to refuse a rear-admiral's invitation.
Arrayed in a borrowed mess uniform, since his gear was, as far as he was aware, still on board the "Heracles," Tressidar arrived at the admiral's official residence—a large, old-fashioned mansion standing on the side of a hill overlooking the harbour.
The ponderous repast proceeded slowly and smoothly, course after course was consumed, and by the time the wine was placed upon the table conversation was flowing briskly.
The room was brilliantly lighted with hundreds of candles, imparting an old-world aspect to the uniformed company. The windows, heavily curtained, shut out the light mist that was creeping in from seaward.
"Gentlemen!" exclaimed the senior officer, rapping the table with his mallet. "The King."
According to time-honoured custom, when the height of the deck-beams on board a man-of-war prevented the loyal toasts to be drunk standing, the guests, still sitting, raised their glasses.
Even as they did so a loud crash, quickly followed by another and another, broke the silence.
"Bless my soul!" ejaculated the rear-admiral. "Those infernal Zepps. No, don't draw the curtains, Garboard. If you want to see the fun, go outside."
Then with a "Drake touch" he poised his glass.
"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "There is yet time to duly drink His Majesty's health," and the toast was drunk with enthusiasm.
The officers hurriedly prepared to dash off to their various stations, when the door was thrown open and a messenger unceremoniously approached the senior officer.
"Signal just through, sir," he reported. "German cruisers off Auldhaig."
Such indeed was the case. With a recklessness that outrivalled their previous attempts upon the east coast of England, seven large armoured cruisers, taking advantage of hazy weather conditions and being efficiently guarded against surprise by half a dozen Zeppelins, had ventured to the east coast of Scotland. Three small British patrol boats had been sunk before they could give warning, while by that element of luck that had been responsible for many almost incredible happenings of the Great War, the raiders were able to get within effective range of the naval base of Auldhaig without being detected.
On the face of it the attack seemed nothing short of suicidal; yet when the true facts became known it was evident that the Germans were acting upon the principle in which a draught-player deliberately sacrifices one of his pieces to gain two of his opponent's.
The Huns knew that Auldhaig was practically devoid of warships. The nearest British base where any considerable section of the Grand Fleet lay was at Rosyth, and naturally they expected that the giant battle-cruisers under Jellicoe's orders would issue forth to cut off the raiders' retreat.
In that case the German cruisers were to do as much damage as they possibly could to the Scottish north-east coast and turn tail. Although not of the most modern type, they were of a fair turn of speed, and with luck might draw the pursuers within range of a number of submarines, while at the same time Zeppelins would attempt to distract the British by dropping heavy explosives upon the battle-cruisers.
So much for that phase of the operations. The part played by the German warships bombarding Auldhaig was quite subordinate to the main strategy and tactics of the hostile fleet. While the British battle-cruisers were in chase of the raiders, a far more modern and powerful German squadron was to make a dash for the Humber and Tyne ports.
From the terrace of the rear-admiral's house Tressidar watched the flashes of the hostile guns. The Germans had it practically their own way, for, however well protected Auldhaig Harbour was against aerial attack, the place was not armed with heavy gun batteries at all suitable for replying to the ten- and twelve-inch guns of the German cruisers.
Relying implicitly upon her steel-clad battleships and cruisers, Great Britain, neglecting the warning of Scarborough and Whitby, had omitted to provide adequate land defences except at a few of the principal naval ports.
And while enormous shells hurtled upon the town and harbour, Zeppelins, fearing little from the anti-aircraft guns, hovered overhead. Considering the fury of the almost unimpeded fire, the damage done was inconsiderable until a shell burst—at least, so it appeared to Tressidar—fairly on the buildings used as the naval sick-quarters. Long tongues of flame leapt skywards, the glare throwing the surrounding houses into strong relief as the fire quickly gained a strong hold.
Without a moment's hesitation the sub. took to his heels and ran in the direction of the burning building. Here, at least he could be of service. As he ran he thanked Providence that Doris Greenwood was not on duty; but there were other delicately nurtured women exposed to the fury of the hostile shells, as well as perhaps fifty "cot cases," where patients unable to help themselves were in peril of being burnt alive if they had survived the effect of the devastating shell.
Through the gate of the rear-admiral's grounds, where a great-coated seaman sentry with his rifle at the slope paced imperturbably to and fro, Tressidar ran. He could hear the thud of fragments of metal falling from an immense height. The air reeked with the acrid fumes of smokeless powder, mingled with the pungent smell of burning wood.
A shell, falling into soft ground less than thirty yards from the road, burst with an ear-splitting crash. The blast of the explosion hurled the sub. sideways, until he was brought up with his shoulder coming into violent contact with a wooden fence. Fortunately the principal direction of the detonation was directed skywards, and although fragments of the projectile hurtled past him, Tressidar escaped death or at least serious injury by a hairsbreadth.
The sick-quarters were situated on the outskirts of the town and within a hundred yards of the water's edge, whence a pier two hundred feet in length afforded landing facilities for the boats of the fleet.
As Tressidar drew nearer he discovered, to his great relief, that he had been mistaken as to the exact spot where the monster projectile had fallen. Still, the damage done was bad enough, for the shell had dropped in an outhouse close to the main block of buildings. The detached portion had been completely pulverised, while a considerable part of the roof of the hospital had been blown to fragments. Gaping holes were also visible in the walls, while a fierce fire was raging within the building.
It was evident that the ordinary staff was unable to cope with the work of clearing the wards of the patients. Nurses and sick-baymen were working heroically, their efforts assisted by members of the National Guard and a few townsfolk whose dread of the German shells was unable to overcome their energy in rescuing the patients from a terrible death.
Forcing his way through the choking smoke, the sub. toiled like a Trojan, lifting helpless men from beds that were already smouldering and carrying them out into the open air. Six times he plunged into the inferno. The floor-board creaked under his feet. Smoke eddied through the gaping seams. Plaster was continually falling through from the shattered and shaken ceilings, while above the roar of the flames could be heard the crash of hostile projectiles that were falling with terrible rapidity.
"All clear, sir," shouted a blackened and grimy sick-bay steward. "That's the lot of 'em."
As he spoke, a portion of the floor collapsed. The man disappeared from view into a gaping pit of smouldering debris, almost before he had time to utter a cry.
Had Tressidar given a moment's thought he might have hesitated, but in an instant he leapt after the luckless man.
He alighted feet foremost upon a heap of charred wood, from which the smoke poured in thick, eddying clouds. Gasping and vainly endeavouring to check himself from coughing, the sub. stooped and groped. His hands came in contact with the unfortunate man, who in falling must have struck his head against some solid object, for he was unconscious and lying on his back upon the smouldering debris.
Raising the man and hoisting him upon his shoulders, Tressidar looked round for a means of escape. Apparently there was none. Seven feet above his head was an irregularly shaped hole, through which he could discern the flame-tinged smoke. A crash announced that another portion of the roof had collapsed, and with it a part of the outside wall. Even had he been missed, the sub. realised that rescue in that direction was out of the question.
His lack of knowledge of the plan of the buildings, too, was against him. So far as he could make out, he had leapt into a cellar that had been used as a store for hospital goods. Seen through the smoke, the place appeared to have no exit, yet he argued—the thought flashing across his mind—that there must be some means of communication apart from the hole in the floor that had just been caused by the flames.
Choking and spluttering, his eyes streaming with water from the effects of the driving particles of hot ashes, Tressidar plunged into the darkness with his burden lying inertly across his back.
Stumbling between rows of packing-cases the sub: struggled on, until further progress was barred by a solid stone wall. Retreat in that direction was cut off. For a few seconds he stood, still half dazed at the discovery, then, turning, he lurched heavily in the opposite direction.
He was gasping deeply. The lack of pure air and the dead weight upon his shoulders was telling upon his powerful frame. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting. Yet he gamely struggled onwards.
Over the heap of smouldering rubbish on which he had alighted when he had made his voluntary leap into the trap he scrambled, fell on his knees, and with a strenuous effort recovered himself. Beyond was another dark, smoke-enshrouded cavity. Was there an exit in that direction, he wondered?
Again, almost before he became aware of the fact, his head came in contact with a stone wall. Half turning, he propped his burden against the barrier, and with his disengaged hand fumbled helplessly, pawing the rough masonry like a trapped animal.
A comparatively cool current of air wafted in, temporarily dispersing the noxious fumes. Eagerly he took in draughts of the life-giving air. His benumbed brain was just able to realise that not so very far distant was an opening communicating with the outside. But where, and how large?
He edged away to the right. His hand no longer encountered solid wall. There was a aperture torn by a shell. Beyond was comparatively pure air.
Setting the unconscious man upon the ground, Tressidar crept through the narrow opening. Then, gripping his charge by the ankles, he hauled the man, feet foremost, into comparative safety. Utterly exhausted, he dropped to the ground and waited, breathing stertorously as his sorely taxed strength returned.
The bombardment had now ceased, but overhead the roar of the flames and the continual crash of falling masonry and tiles proclaimed the fact that the fire was still maintaining a fierce grip upon the building. The trembling of the walls warned the sub. that his temporary shelter was no longer safe.
Dragging the unconscious man—for he no longer had the strength to lift him—Tressidar backed along a passage and up a short flight of stone steps. Even as he did so, the roof of the cellar in which he had been so nearly trapped collapsed under the weight of hundreds of tons of rubble.
Just aware that people were hastening to his assistance as he emerged into the open air, Tressidar relinquished his burden. But for the support of two stalwart bluejackets the sub. would have fallen.
Then came the anti-climax. He burst into a roar of laughter as he surveyed his borrowed mess uniform, now a collection of scorched rags that would ill-become a scare-crow.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated. "Poor old Jimmy's mess-kit."
"Never mind," said a low voice. "After what you've done, Ronald, I don't suppose he will."
Tressidar looked up. Through the mist that swain before his smoke-rimmed eyes he saw Doris Greenwood.
CHAPTER XXIII
AT AULDHAIG ONCE MORE
"By Jove, Doris!" he exclaimed. "You here? I say, am I not in a horrible mess?"
"It might have been worse," replied the girl admiringly. "I saw you go, and—and—I thought—oh, I never expected to see you again."
"You never know your luck," said Tressidar. He could think of nothing else to say. The girl's concern on his behalf was more than sufficient compensation for the horrors of that five minutes facing death.
Someone handed him a glass of water. He drank the liquid with avidity and felt the better for it.
"I thought you were on leave, Doris," he remarked. "And you, too, are in a pretty pickle. You weren't hurt?"
The girl's face was grimed with smoke, her uniform soiled with fire and water. On the back of her left hand a rapidly rising white weal was visible.
"No," she replied, "I was on duty. I'm glad I was, although I felt horribly frightened when the shells began to drop. My hand? That is nothing; only a little burn. But I must go. Over there, there are others badly injured."
Left to himself, Tressidar began to realise that he had not come off lightly. Numerous burns, of which in the struggle for existence he had been ignorant, began to assert themselves in a very forcible manner. He stood up and promptly sat down again. The movement racked every limb. His muscles worked like badly oiled machinery. His head was throbbing painfully.
An alert sick-bay man who had been discreetly keeping an eye upon the young officer hurried up.
"Allow me, sir," he said. "I'll get you to bed. They're preparing temporary quarters over yonder," and he pointed in the direction of the rear-admiral's house.
Tressidar submitted without protest. He knew that for the time being he was helpless. Unless he were to miss his ship on the following Thursday, prompt treatment and absolute rest were essential.
Supported by the hospital man, the sub. walked slowly up the hill in the wake of a long procession of cots and stretchers, each bearing a scorched and badly injured patient.
His burns attended to, Tressidar was placed in a bed and given a draught. After that he slept soundly until the following morning, when he awoke to find himself in a temporary ward with four other officers as fellow-patients.
"Thursday?" repeated the fleet surgeon in answer to Tressidar's anxious question. "We'll see. Can't commit myself on that point, you know. A lot depends upon yourself. No, nothing serious. Slight shock to the system, you know. Rest and plenty of food essential."
The whole of that day the sub. saw nothing of Doris. At first he feared that the girl's injuries were more serious than she believed, until enquiries of one of the nurses elicited the information that "Sister Greenwood" was well and was on day duty in another ward.
Meanwhile, news was coming in fast of the progress of the German naval movements. The cruiser that had bombarded Auldhaig, fortunately without so very serious results, had been intercepted in its flight towards the Norwegian coast by a strong squadron of British armoured cruisers. In the burning fight which ensued, the "Heracles" with two consorts had succeeded in heading off two German vessels, and for the time being the two latter were fugitives in the North Atlantic.
For the present they had eluded pursuit but a cordon was being drawn round the isolated hostile ships. On both sides of the Atlantic British warships were lying in wait. Retreat both to Germany and to neutral ports was cut off. Capture or destruction seemed inevitable.
Better still, the attempted raid upon the east coast of England ended in a fiasco. Warned by wireless, the British battle-cruisers issued forth from their bases—not in pursuit of the Auldhaig raiders, as the Germans fondly hoped, but across the North Sea to meet the main hostile warships.
Greatly to the disappointment and disgust of the British tars, the Germans declined battle, and, turning, made off at full speed for the shelter of the guns and minefields of Heligoland.
Early on the second morning of Tressidar's enforced detention in the temporary sick-quarters the sub. was taken into the grounds for an airing. Lying comfortably in a wheeled chair, he was deep in the contents of a newspaper when a bandaged man in hospital clothes and accompanied by a nursing sister and an orderly was wheeled in his direction.
The sister was Doris Greenwood, but the sub. had not the faintest idea of the identity of the patient.
"This man wishes to speak to you, Mr. Tressidar," said Doris demurely.
"You don't remember me, sir?" began the invalid.
"No, I can't say that I do," replied the sub. To tell the truth, he wished both the man and the orderly to Jericho, until he realised that it was solely in an official capacity that Doris was present.
"You pulled me out of that hole the night before last, sir," said the patient, indicating the ruins of the hospital buildings, of which the crumpled masonry and fragments of shattered walls were visible from the grounds. "I'm no hand at a speech, sir, but I want to thank you."
"That's nothing so far as I was concerned," replied Tressidar modestly. He hated a fuss being made merely for doing a plucky action. "You're getting along all right?"
"Middling, sir. By gum!" he exclaimed with intense fervour, "it was touch and go with me."
After a few minutes' conversation Doris gave the word for the orderly to remove the patient, and greatly to the sub.'s disappointment she did not linger.
Doris, however, made amends during the afternoon by spending an hour with him. They talked of many things. Amongst other questions, Tressidar enquired after Mr. Greenwood.
"The pater's simply as skittish as a foal," replied the girl, laughing. "Since his adventure in the cave he's as keen as anything for duty. He's joined the National Guard, and is doing duty at a large reservoir near Plymouth. I wish, for some reasons, I were in Devonshire now," she added wistfully. "Just fancy, it's mid-April and there are hardly any signs of spring in the north. I'm longing for another sight of the red earth and bright green foliage of home There's no place like Devonshire."
"Unless it's Cornwall," rejoined Tressidar, loyal to the county of his birth.
"Practically the same," agreed Doris. "It's all the West Country. Next month, I hope, I'll be able to have a few days there—unless there's a big action out yonder—somewhere in the North Sea, you know."
"I hope there will be," remarked the sub. "Of course it will be a terribly costly affair when it does come off, for the Huns will fight like wild cats rather than let their ships be scuttled in Kiel Harbour. But it will be the climax—an end to months and months of tedious waiting and watching."
He, too, wished for a sight of home—home in the strictest sense. Away from Great Britain, the traveller broadly regards the whole of the United Kingdom as "home"; within its limits he will speak of his own county as "home;" narrowed down, "home" resolves itself, perhaps, into a small house with or without a patch of ground attached.
And now, after nearly two years of war, Britons the wide world over were beginning to realise that home in the broadest and the narrowest sense was in danger. Until Prussian militarism was crushed once and for all time, the freehold of the humblest cottage in Great Britain would not be worth twelve months' purchase.
"You've heard the news of Falkenheim's escape?" asked the girl.
Tressidar had not. The latest he had heard of the German officer who had got clear of the internment camp and had eventually been run to earth in the petrol-depôt, was that he had been sentenced by a General Court-martial to six months' imprisonment.
"He was serving his sentence in Saltport Gaol," explained Doris. "A fortnight ago a portion of the outside wall of the prison was blown in by a charge of gun-cotton. Falkenheim's friends evidently knew exactly in which part of the building he was placed, for in the confusion he was liberated from his cell. Since then all traces of him have vanished. There was a bit of a stir in the papers, but it has quieted down now. I heard Captain Garboard say that the German was a particularly daring submarine officer, and that if he got back to Germany there would be considerable trouble in store for us. People seem to deprecate the spy business, but it shows how active these German agents are."
"It does," agreed Tressidar wholeheartedly, but he was thinking of one spy in particular—the author of the "Pompey" tragedy, Otto Oberfurst.
As a side issue he was wondering whether, by a slice of luck, he might manage to get a few days' leave at the same time as Doris went south. Duty, naturally, came first, but when the West Country beckons, its call cannot lightly be set aside.
Tressidar made rapid progress from his injuries. His indomitable spirit, coupled with a clean, hard-living condition, worked wonders, and by the Thursday morning the fleet surgeon declared him fit for duty.
At noon the "Heracles" entered the harbour and moored in mid-stream. Her smoke-blackened aftermast, blistered and salt-rimmed funnels bore tokens of hard steaming, while several temporarily patched holes in her lofty sides and superstructure showed that German gunnery had taken a toll.
Her orders were brief and hinted at more serious work: she was to land hospital cases, ship ammunition and victualling stores, fill bunkers and replenish oil-fuel, and proceed to Rendezvous K— with the utmost dispatch.
Tressidar's reappearance on board was the subject of considerable surprise, for his messmates were under the erroneous impression that he was still a prisoner of war They had heard that the cutter had been picked up, and that the sub. and the boat's crew had been forcibly removed from the Norwegian tramp in the Kattegat and taken to a German port. Beyond that they were totally unaware of what had befallen the sub. until he turned up, like the proverbial bad halfpenny, upon the quarter-deck of H.M.S. "Heracles."
Assistant Paymaster Greenwood, with his right hand swathed in surgical bandages and his arm in a sling, was one of the first to greet his friend warmly.
"Oh, I've had a great time," he replied in answer to the sub.'s enquiry as to how he sustained his injuries. "In the fire-control platform, you know. Tried to stop a bit of strafed shell. It was luck. I'm off duty in the ship's office for a week at least, and this won't prevent me going aloft when the next scrap takes place."
Eric Greenwood was too modest to relate full details. Tressidar afterwards learnt that the assistant paymaster was assisting a wounded seaman from the fire-control platform to the shrouds when a flying fragment of metal inflicted a nasty gash on the index finger and thumb of the right hand. In spite of the pain, he saw the man safely on deck and returned to his lofty perch. It was not until he was on the point of collapse through loss of blood that the lieutenant noticed his plight and ordered him below.
Night and day the ship's company toiled in order to get the cruiser ready for sea. Eagerly officers and crew awaited the wireless news, hoping for their country's sake that the fugitive German vessels had been captured or destroyed, and for their own that they were still afloat, so that the "Heracles" might have a hand in settling up business. In thirty-six hours the cruiser was ready to proceed, and with the first blush of dawn she slipped quietly out of harbour bound for Rendezvous K— the exact position of which was a jealously guarded secret, known only to the captain and senior navigating officers.
CHAPTER XXIV
A FIGHT TO A FINISH
Twenty-four hours later the "Heracles" arrived at her appointed station, where she relieved her sister-ship the "Proteacius," the latter having to return to replenish her bunkers. Hull down to the nor'ard, her position indicated by a thin haze of smoke upon the skyline, was another British cruiser. Yet another was just visible to the south'ard. These were but a few of the far-flung line that was systematically closing upon the fugitive German ships.
It was realised that the chase might be a prolonged one. In spite of elaborate precautions, it was quite possible for the hostile craft to elude detection for a considerable period. That they were within measurable distance was evident by the fact that the wireless messages between the various British cruisers were continually being "jammed" The Germans, by dint of throwing out wireless "waves," were thus able to interrupt seriously long-distance communication between their pursuers.
Just before midnight a destroyer came within flashlight-signalling distance of the "Heracles." Her message, given in code, was as follows: "'Heracles,' 'Castor,' and 'Pollux' to proceed. Investigate. In event of falling in with enemy, engage until supported by 'Ponderous' and 'Thunderbolt.'"
Due west tore the "Heracles," under forced draught. Morning revealed the presence of the "Castor," seven miles to her starboard beam. The "Pollux" was approximately at the same distance from the "Heracles," but well on her port quarter.
It was a beautiful morning. The sun, rising in a grey sky behind a bank of mist, threw its rays aslant the long rollers of the Atlantic. Ahead the horizon was unbroken. Not a trace could be discerned of the enemy.
At eight bells the wireless jamming suddenly ceased. Did it mean that other units of the squadron were engaging the German cruisers? A far-flung general call received the reply that as yet the enemy had not been sighted.
Half an hour later the "Heracles" picked up a wireless message from one of the fugitives to the other. Most remarkably it was not in code, and was as follows:
"'Lemburg' to 'Stoshfeld': am making my way northward. Endeavouring to fetch Reykiavik. Course presumably clear."
To which the "Stoshfeld" replied: "Concur: will attempt to rejoin you at Reykiavik."
The message was obviously a "blind," sent out in the vain hope that the British ships would speed northward to prevent the fugitives entering Danish waters and thus claiming internment in Iceland. Accordingly the "Heracles" signalled to her consorts to shape a course to the south-west and to refrain from using wireless until further orders.
Tressidar had just relieved another sub. for duty in the fire-control platform when a strange sail was sighted two points on the starboard bow. Helm was accordingly altered to a course shaped to bring the cruiser close to the recently sighted vessel.
It did not take the "Heracles" long to get within easy telescopic distance. The craft was apparently a large tramp with two stumpy masts and two funnels. She was steaming slowly in an easterly direction, and was consequently almost bows-on to the British cruiser.
She made no attempt to alter her course, and when the "Heracles" hoisted a signal, "What ship is that?" she replied in the International Code making her number, port of departure and destination.
Reference to the code-book proclaimed the tramp to be the s.s. "Scoopcash" of Liverpool, northward bound from Montreal. Almost immediately another hoist of bunting fluttered from her foremast head, quickly followed by others, until the complete signal read:
"Have been chased by large German cruiser. Lat. 45º 17' N., Long. 20º 5' W. Hostile vessels abandoned pursuit and made off to the nor west."
Tressidar had his telescope levelled on the merchantman. The vessel having slightly ported helm was approximately five thousand yards distant.
"Jolly rummy!" he soliloquised. "Is it fancy, or did I see those topsides bulge?" He lowered the glass, rubbed his eyes, then looked again.
"I say, Picklecombe," he remarked, addressing a midshipman, "just bring your telescope and bear upon that vessel's hull. See anything out of the usual? I may be mistaken but——"
The midshipman, quick to act, had already levelled his telescope.
"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "If she hasn't dummy bulwarks I'm a lubber."
The sub. promptly telephoned to the bridge, expressing his doubts as to the bona-fides of the s.s. "Scoopcash," with the result that a shot was fired within fifty yards of her bows and the peremptory signal to heave-to for examination hoisted from the "Heracles'" signal yardarm.
With the discharge of the cruiser's gun a sudden change took place on board the supposed tramp. For full a hundred feet aft from her bows a canvas screen dropped, revealing a for'ard turret with two 9.4-in. guns, and smaller turrets, each mounting a 5.9-in. quick-firer.
A succession of vivid flashes leapt from the disguised vessel's decks and half a dozen heavy shells hurtled perilously close to the British cruiser.
Her opponent was the "Stoshfeld." On finding their retreat cut off, the German crew set to work to transform the outward appearance of the ship. This was effected by raising canvas stretched on poles around the fo'c'sle and poop, thus giving the look of a continuous line of bulwarks level with the permanent superstructure amidships The cruiser's sides were then given a coat of black paint. The next step was to do away with the unmistakable military masts. The fore and main topmast were accordingly struck, the lower masts being demolished by the use of small charges of explosives. The topmasts were then set up, thus giving the appearance of the "sticks" of a merchantman. The centre one of the three funnels was also knocked away, and those remaining were painted red with black tops.
This work having been accomplished, the "Stoshfeld" steamed southward, with the intention of making a South American port. Here, all being well, she could transfer her lighter armament to some of the nominally interned German merchantmen, and the latter could then slip out to sea as armed commerce destroyers.
Unfortunately for her, the "Stoshfeld" sighted a squadron of United States cruisers, and mistaking them for British vessels, doubled back this time on a south-westerly track until she blundered across the "Heracles."
The secret was out. The German cruiser had to fight or surrender; and she chose the former alternative.
For the time being the "Heracles," being unsupported by her consorts, who were far on her quarter, had to engage single-handed her more powerfully armed antagonist. It was an action in which gunnery was the supreme factor. The two vessels were beyond effective torpedo range, while neither had the assistance of bomb-dropping aircraft or the deadly-sneaking submarine.
Almost the first shell from the hostile cruiser struck the "Heracles" twenty feet for'ard of the fore-turret. Her protected belt saved her, but practically the whole of the fo'c'sle was wrecked. Viewed from the fore-top the scene following the tremendous upheaval resembled a ship-breaker's works. The deck was ripped up like cardboard, and the crews of the two 12-pounder quick-firers were literally blown to pieces. Another shell, missing the foremast by a few feet, pulverised the foremast funnel and wrought havoc on the spar deck.
The "Heracles'" reply was a stern one. With one terrific salvo her guns simply swept the German cruiser's decks. Her top hamper disappeared as if by magic. The two remaining funnels crashed over the side, falling across the shields of a couple of 6-inch quick-firers and putting the weapons out of action. The painted canvas burst into flames, and, burning furiously, obscured the German gun-layers' vision, while 'tween decks dense columns of smoke were pouring through jagged holes torn by the British shells.
Evidently the same salvo had put the "Stoshfeld's" for'ard 9.4's out of action, for they did not fire again. The German cruiser then circled to starboard; slowly, for with the loss of her funnels her speed had dropped to a bare seventeen knots. Yet by keeping her stern on to her antagonist she was able to bring her as yet useless after-guns to bear upon the "Heracles."
The latter, also subjected to loss of speed, made no attempt to close. Porting helm, she was able to bring all her broadside guns as well as the bow and stern turret-guns to bear upon the badly crippled "Stoshfeld."
Suddenly shells began to fall with a high trajectory in front and behind the British cruiser. She was, in naval parlance, "straddled" by hostile projectiles fired at long range. The "Lemburg," steaming to her consort's assistance—a deliberate act of self-sacrifice—had commenced to fire salvoes at the "Heracles."
The "Castor" and the "Pollux" were still too far astern to take part in the action. For five minutes the "Heracles" was subjected to fierce fire from the two German cruisers. Shells ricochetted all around her. Only the indifferent gunnery of the "Lemburg" saved her, and since she was outranged by that vessel the British cruiser had perforce to devote her attention to the "Stoshfeld" until the undamaged cruisers could engage.
Quickly the "Castor" passed the "Heracles," steaming two miles to windward, and presently her guns added to the din. Almost immediately the galling fire of the "Lemburg" ceased to annoy the "Stoshfeld's" antagonist, for the second German cruiser had now all her work cut out to engage the other British cruisers.
Giving the "Stoshfeld" a couple of broadsides as she passed, the "Pollux" followed in support of the "Castor," leaving the badly mauled "Heracles" to continue her ocean duel with her seriously damaged opponent.
Between the drifting clouds of vapour, for the cordite was far from smokeless, Tressidar watched the effect of the "Heracles'" projectiles upon the German cruisers, reporting to the conning-tower the result of each direct hit.
Amidships the "Stoshfeld" was little better than a roaring volcano. Her after-guns were still maintaining brisk fire and although she flew no colours, she evidently had no intention of surrendering. In fifteen minutes from the beginning of the action Tressidar was able to report that the German cruiser was listing badly to port. Her steering-gear, too, was much damaged, for she yawed considerably as she vainly sought safety in flight.
Conversely, the "Heracles" was receiving less of a gruelling. The German gunnery, at first most effective, had developed into erratic, desultory firing. In her plight the hostile cruiser swung round and made a determined attempt to ram, but the captain of the British warship promptly countered by turning eight points to starboard and increasing the distance between the two combatants.
"She's going!" almost shouted Tressidar into the telephone.
A bugle note rang out: the order to cease fire. Immediately the British guns were silent, contemptuous of the erratic efforts of a small quick-firer that alone was capable of hurling defiance from the doomed ship.
From below hundreds of British seamen, clad only in trousers and singlets, poured on deck to witness the end of their foe. Boxed in behind armour, unable to see for themselves how events were shaping, almost suffocated by the pungent fumes, they were now able to see the result of their work.
There was no cheering. All signs of elation over the victory were checked by the sight of the shell-torn cruiser about to make her last plunge.
The "Heracles" made no attempt to close until it was evident that the doomed ship was unable to deliver a last, desperate stroke in the shape of a torpedo, then slowly the cruiser steamed towards her opponent to rescue the survivors of her crew.
The British cruiser had only two boats capable of keeping afloat, and these only by means of temporary expedient in the shape of copper sheets and strips of painted canvas tacked over the jagged holes in the planking. But Jack Tar was not to be baulked in his humane efforts. Mess-tables and stools, empty petrol-cans, lifebuoys and lifebelts were pressed into service and carried on deck ready to be cast overboard to support the swimmers.
Suddenly two enormous waterspouts leapt high in the air, one on either side and close to the British cruiser. An ear-splitting detonation followed almost simultaneously, as the "Heracles," trembling violently under the shock, lurched heavily to port.
In the moment of victory she had been mined.
CHAPTER XXV
IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
Almost stunned by the terrific blast of air, Tressidar, who had been looking down from the fire-control platform, was at first hardly able to realise what had taken place. Not until he was aroused by Midshipman Picklecombe's voice asking faintly for aid did the seriousness of the situation dawn upon him.
The "Heracles" was foundering. The distinct, ever-increasing heel of the platform on which he stood proved that. There was no recovery to the cruiser's list to port.
The "Stoshfeld" during the course of the running fight had thrown overboard a number of mines, each pair connected by a hundred feet length of grass-rope. By sheer good luck her pursuer had missed the lot until she began to steam slowly to the assistance of her foe. Then, her stem engaged in the bight of the rope, two cylinders filled with powerful explosive had been swung against either side, the mines going off on contact with the cruiser's hull.
After the explosion the crew, at first thrown into confusion by the terrific din and the havoc wrought 'tween decks, were hardly able to grip the situation until a bugle sounded the "Still" and the men mustered quietly on the quarter-deck. Orders had been sent to the engine-room to shut off steam and open the safety-valves. The "Heracles," her propellers now motionless—whereby a serious menace to the crew of the foundering vessel was averted—quickly lost way, and making a half-circle to starboard came to a standstill at a distance roughly three thousand yards from her antagonist.
The "Stoshfeld" was now keel uppermost. A couple of hundred of her men had clustered on her bilge-plates, viewing with consternation the result of their own action; for with the mining of the British cruiser all hopes of rescue vanished.
On hearing the midshipman call, Tressidar turned. The two officers were alone, the gunnery lieutenant having left the fire-control platform with some of the instruments that had suffered slight damage from concussion during the bombardment, while the seamen told off to attend to the telephones had followed the lieutenant.
Picklecombe was lying in a corner of the rectangular platform. Blood was oozing from a gash in the midshipman's left shoulder. A sliver of steel, hurled to an immense height, had in falling completely penetrated the light metal canopy and had inflicted a severe wound on the lad who was standing beneath.
The sub. acted promptly. He knew that delay would mean that the helpless midshipman would be trapped within the metal cage and carried down when the ship made her last plunge. The only way of escape was through a small aperture on the floor leading to the uppermost ratlines of the shrouds—and the opening was sufficient only for one man at a time.
Unclasping his knife, Tressidar cut some of the canvas gear into a long strip. The fabric was strong and tough. It formed an admirable sling.
The next step was to lower Picklecombe through the trap-door.
"Can you hang on?" asked the sub
"I think so," replied the midshipman. "I'll try."
The pressure of the canvas slung round the lad's chest gave him great pain, but setting his jaw tightly he allowed no sound to pass his lips. Dexterously the sub. "paid out" until the wounded youngster's feet touched the shrouds and his head and shoulders were below the opening on the floor. Fortunately the list of the ship had brought the shrouds on the starboard side very little short of a horizontal position, and thus Picklecombe was supported almost by his own weight against the wire stays. In a trice Tressidar nipped through and was by the midshipman's side.
"I'm feeling awfully dizzy," exclaimed Picklecombe. "Everything seems turning round."
The sub. gripped him as he spoke, for the lad was on the point of dropping to the deck, a distance of between sixty and seventy feet beneath his precarious perch. To make matters worse, clouds of smoke and steam issuing through the funnels and steam-pipes drifted past and hid the two young officers from the sight of those on deck. Shouting for help was futile, since the hiss of steam deadened all other sounds.
Hanging on tenaciously, Tressidar forced himself between the shrouds and the now almost unconscious midshipman. With his disengaged hand he held the lad tightly to his back.
"Let go!" ordered the sub. peremptorily.
The sense of discipline overcame the midshipman's almost automatic inclination to grip whatever came nearest to hand. He relinquished his hold and his arm fell listlessly over his rescuer's shoulder.
Step by step the sub. descended. The shrouds, stretched almost to breaking-point by the strain of the heavy mast, were so springy under the combined weight that at every moment Tressidar was nearly capsized. The hot steam almost choked him. It also prevented him seeing where he was or whether the ship was actually on the point of foundering.
At length he gained a portion of the shrouds beneath the cloud of vapour. The "Heracles'" fo'c'sle was now awash. Her poop on the portside was dipping. The remaining serviceable boats, which had been lowered and filled with wounded men, were lying-to at a safe distance from the foundering vessel. Officers and men, for the most part stripped, were leaping over the side in knots of half a dozen or so at the time, as if reluctant to leave the good old ship.
The next instant the agitated water seemed to rise up to meet the sub. and his companion. The "Heracles" was capsizing rapidly.
Relaxing his grip upon the shrouds, Tressidar allowed himself and his burden to be floated away by the eddying sea, using his disengaged arm to strike out and avoid as far as possible being entangled in the raffle of gear.
All around him the turmoil of foaming water was emitting steam and compressed air like miniature geysers, while a huge, grotesquely distorted mass seemed to rise out of the sea almost within arm's length. It was the hull of the doomed cruiser, as she turned slowly over until her keel-plates floated bottom uppermost. Various buoyant objects came bobbing to the surface with considerable velocity and added to the danger. A fragment of a shell-shattered cutter missed him by a bare yard. Had it struck, he would have been almost cut in two by the sharp, jagged edges of the woodwork.
Whirled hither and thither by the swirl of the water, Tressidar noticed that the upturned hull showed no signs of disappearing to the bottom of the ocean. The jets of steam, too, had ceased, and the sea in the vicinity of the wreck was becoming comparatively tranquil.
Some distance away the sole serviceable boats were lying off, crowded with men and with scores of less fortunate seamen clinging to the gunwales. A considerable number of the survivors were relying solely upon their swimming-collars; others were clinging, more or less in the water, to barrels, petrol-tins, oars, and mess-gear. In spite of the danger, they were exchanging banter with the utmost zest. The fact that they were a thousand miles from the nearest land never seemed to worry them in the slightest degree.
Numbers of men, finding that the upturned hull still floated, began to scramble up the sides, since the submergence of the two bilge-keels to a depth of about a foot made this a comparatively easy matter. Amongst them were several of the officers, including Assistant Paymaster Greenwood.
Eric happened to see his chum's plight, for, try as he would, the sub. had not strength to haul himself and the now unconscious midshipman into temporary safety. Practically all the ship's company had mustered aft when the "Heracles" turned turtle, and since Tressidar had been thrown out of the foremast shrouds he and young Picklecombe were apart from the rest of the survivors.
Sliding down to the bilge-keel, the A.P., heedless of his injured arm, gripped Tressidar by the shoulders.
"One minute, old bird," gasped the sub. "Give me a hand with the youngster. Be steady. He's been hit—shoulder, pretty badly."
Transferring his grasp to the canvas sling, Greenwood hauled the midshipman into comparative safety, while Tressidar, relieved of the lad's weight, quickly drew himself up the bilge-keel.
"Thanks, old man," he said simply.
"Let's hope we won't have to make another swim for it," remarked the A.P. "We're expecting the destroyers, but they haven't shown up yet. By Jove, the water is cold. Let's shift out of it. The P.M.O. is aft somewhere, I think. I vote we get hold of him and see what's wrong with young Picklecombe."
Carrying the midshipman, the two chums gained the main keel-plates. From there Tressidar surveyed the expanse of sea. The "Stoshfeld" had vanished. The distance was too great to see with the naked eye whether any of her crew were still afloat. All around the horizon was unbroken; sea and sky met in a clear, well-defined line. Of the "Lemburg" and her pursuers nothing could be discerned, but the dull rumble of a distant cannonade showed that the running fight was still in progress.
Greenwood's surmise concerning the surgeon was at fault, the medical staff being in the boats with the wounded and sick cases. Nor was it safe to signal to one of the boats to approach and take the wounded midshipman on board, in case the ship might make a sudden plunge and take the boat-load of helpless men down with her.
Having applied first aid to the best of their ability, Tressidar and Greenwood waited, with the rest of the crew, the arrival of the expected destroyers.
Gradually the rest of the swimmers regained the upturned hull until every surviving member of the ship's company was either in one of the boats, on a raft, or on the capsized hull of the "Heracles."
To relieve the tedious wait the men sang the latest music-hall ditties to the accompaniment of a wheezy concertina, which a stoker had contrived to save during the few minutes that elapsed between the mining and the capsizing of the cruiser. Several of the officers had cigarettes in watertight cases; those of the men who were able to keep their supply of "fags" dry in their caps shared them with their less fortunate comrades.
"I don't fancy she's going just at present," remarked Captain Raxworthy to the commander.
"No, sir," replied the officer addressed. "She seems as steady as a rock."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a loud explosion. An under-water valve, under the pressure of air trapped within the hull, had been blown out. An inrush of water followed.
At first the result was imperceptible, but by degrees the hull began to settle by the bows. The stern rose until the tips of the twin propellers showed above the surface.
"All hands aft," ordered Captain Raxworthy, in the hope that the redistribution of weight would keep the hull in a horizontal position.
The precaution was in vain. Shuddering, the huge mass dipped and, gliding, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving four hundred men struggling for dear life in the agitated water.
The end had come so suddenly that there had not been time for the men to leap clear. Numbers of them were sucked down by the vortex caused by the foundering vessel, only to reappear, thirty seconds later, a struggling, wellnigh breathless mass of humanity.
As the "Heracles" made her final plunge, Tressidar and Greenwood grasped the motionless form of Midshipman Picklecombe. They had previously buckled a life-belt, willingly surrendered by a powerfully-built stoker, round the lad; Greenwood had an inflated swimming-collar, while Tressidar had to rely upon his own efforts to keep afloat until he could find something capable of supporting him in the water.
The three officers were in the midst of a crowd of swimmers, all more or less boisterous in their determination to encourage each other. Hard by were the boats, the oarsmen voluntarily taking turns at leaping overboard and surrendering their place to their less hardy comrades. The concertina-player still stuck gamely to his instrument, and, supported by a couple of petrol-tins, was leading the singing of "A Little Grey Home in the West."
Striking out towards one of the boats, Tressidar and Greenwood handed their unconscious charge into the care of the fleet surgeon. Relieved of this anxiety, they floated, exchanging desultory conversation and keeping a longing watch for the expected aid that showed no signs of forthcoming.
Half an hour passed. The singing had died away. Men were realising that every ounce of strength must be jealously guarded. The concertina-player had abandoned his efforts and had allowed the instrument to slip from his benumbed fingers and drift slowly away.
With ever-increasing frequency men would relax their grasp and disappear beneath the surface without a sound. In several instances their comrades would dive and bring the senseless bodies to the surface. Deeds of heroism, the facts of which would never be made public, occurred time after time, but in spite of the efforts of the hardier of the crew many a man "lost the number of his mess."
Overhead the sun shone resplendent in a cloudless sky, as if to mock the feeble struggles of the men in the bitterly cold water. And still no sign of the eagerly expected succour. Hoping against hope, the survivors began to realise that unless almost a miracle took place they would never again see their native shores.