"Light on the port bow, sir," sung out a hoarse voice in the darkness.
Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn rubbed his eyes with the back of his lamb-skin glove. The action was necessary, for his face was encrusted with frozen spray—icicles that, driven with terrific force by the howling wind, cut so deeply into his weather-beaten skin as to draw blood. Then, grasping his telescope with his benumbed fingers he steadied the instrument on the edge of a "storm-dodger" and brought it to bear upon the object indicated.
Two months of monotonous patrol-work had passed since the day on which the "Strongbow" left Portsmouth Harbour. The rigours of a winter in the North Atlantic had severely tried the physical and mental capabilities of the officers and crew. As the days shortened and the nights correspondingly increased, and the periods of weak sunshine became more and more rare, the stress upon the ship's company grew. Buffeted by wintry gales, swept by icy seas, the "Strongbow" kept doggedly to her station. For a week at a time no strange sail would be sighted. The armed liner seemed to be an atom of isolation in the midst of a deserted foam-flecked ocean; yet hers was a particular duty to be done for King and Country.
Coming from a regular route that for the most part lay in tropical and sub-tropical seas the original officers of the ship felt the climatic change acutely. Most of them, who hourly faced death in the shape of unseen mines, quailed at the thought of having to use a razor, and grew beards of wondrous trim.
Aubyn was one of the exceptions, yet his appearance was such that he resembled, to use Raeburn's expression, "a cross between a teddy-bear and a golliwog." In addition to double underclothing he sported three thick sweaters, a heavy great-coat and an enormous woollen muffler. Over this perambulating bundle of clothing he wore a large yellow oilskin and sea-boots. His naval peaked cap had given place to a woollen "helmet" surmounted by a "sou'-wester" kept in place, against the frantic efforts of the wind to dislodge it, by a black and white plaid "comforter" tied tightly under his chin. And in spite of this load of garments the cold chilled him to the bone.
Terence's appearance in the matter of dress was in keeping with the rest of the officers and crew. Gifts of woollen comforts from the womenfolk of the Empire had been showered upon the Royal Navy, and in spite of the apparent redundancy of garments every article was utilized and appreciated. Commander Ramshaw had been heard to remark that when the men were given an order they had to almost undress before they could carry it out. He was not far out, for although the amount of clothing worn was not superfluous it certainly hampered the men's movements.
The "Strongbow's" task was an arduous, necessary, and momentous one. Like scores of her consorts the joy of battle was denied her. The possibility of any of her crew smelling powder was a very remote one. She was never likely to join in the chase of a fleeing enemy warship. Her men would never, according to present circumstances, witness the last plunge of a hostile cruiser, sent to the bottom by the guns of a man-of-war. Honour and glory were not to be hers when the story of the Great War comes to be written in letters of gold upon the pages of the world's history.
No, she was only a patrol-ship; doomed to cruise within certain limits and examine all strange merchant-craft that passed within sight of the alert lookout. Yet by so doing she was driving a nail into the coffin of the vaunted German Empire. She was helping to tighten the bands of economic pressure that were slowly but surely crippling the resources of the Mailed Fist.
It was not until Aubyn had removed the thick deposit of frozen spray, which, in spite of the protective shade had encrusted the object glass of the telescope, that he was able to distinguish the outlines of the strange vessel. She was a three-masted topsail schooner, close-reefed and on the starboard tack, showing her port light, which was burning brightly.
No vessel engaged in carrying contraband to Germany would be likely to show navigation lamps while attempting to steal through the cordon of British patrol-ships. The sub. knew that; yet it was his duty to report the presence of the stranger in order that the "Strongbow" could make a proper examination of her papers.
Upon receipt of the intelligence that the armed liner was heading for an unknown vessel, Captain Ripponden, aroused before he had "turned in" for less than an hour, hurried to the bridge. Orders were issued for the cutter's crew to stand by, while the "Strongbow" was manoeuvred to take up a position to windward of the schooner.
Promptly the stranger obeyed the order to heave-to. With her lean bow plunging into the angry seas like a chopper she lost way two cables' lengths from the British patrol-ship, a row of sou'-westered heads lined the lee-rail, as her crew watched the approach of "Strongbow's" boat.
Half an hour later the boarding officer returned.
"No luck, sir," he reported. "She's our old friend, the 'Sarmiento,' of Boston, U.S.A., bound for Bergen."
He was justified in calling the schooner an old friend. Three days previously the "Strongbow" had fallen in with and had boarded the self-same vessel. For three days the "Sarmiento" had tacked and tacked in the teeth of the strong nor'-easter, never gaining a mile, while the patrol-ship in keeping her to appointed limits had again fallen in with her.
"All in a night's work," remarked Captain Ripponden, as he prepared to return to his cabin. "Better luck next time. Mr. Bury, you brought the cutter alongside in excellent style."
The sub. who had gone to the schooner as boarding-officer saluted. The praise from his captain had amply recompensed him for the dangers he and his boat's crew had undergone in traversing the stretch of angry sea between the two vessels, only to find that he had departed upon a fruitless errand.
Philosophically he agreed with the skipper that it was all in a night's work, and made a hurried bolt below to shed his saturated garments, for in spite of oilskins and sea-boots he was drenched to the skin.
At eight bells noon on the following day another sail was reported, this time on the port quarter.
The "Strongbow's" helm was immediately put over and a course shaped to intercept the stranger.
"German, by all the powers!" ejaculated Commander Ramshaw. "She's got the confounded cheek to hoist her rascally colours."
The approaching vessel was a large steel barque. Her jibboomless "stump" bowsprit and the absence of chain-plates betokened her to be a modern craft and apparently a valuable prize.
The stranger made no attempt to alter course. A score or so of stolid, fair-haired Teutons were gathered on her short fo'c'sle, gazing with a faint degree of interest upon the grey-painted vessel approaching them, till a shot fired across the barque's bows, followed by a peremptory signal to heave-to roused them to unwonted activity.
Away aloft swarmed the astonished German seamen. Sail was quickly reduced, and curtseying to the short steep seas the barque was ready to receive her prize-masters.
Terence was in charge of the boat detailed to take possession of the barque. Armed with a revolver and accompanied by fifteen of the crew with rifles and bayonets, he took his place in the stern sheets of the boat. Deftly the patent disengaging gear of the falls was cast off, the men bent to their stout ash oars with a will, and five minutes later the boat was alongside the barque.
"Vot you vant?" demanded the skipper of the barque, which proved to be the "Freya" of Bremen. "Your vessel is a prize of his Britannic Majesty's Government," announced Terence.
"Prize?—I no onderstan'," expostulated the master vehemently. "Dis Zherman sheep. Zhermany not at war."
"I'm afraid you are greatly mistaken," said Aubyn, as he swung himself up the side by means of the rope ladder which the crew, unsuspecting the nature of the visit, although mystified by the display of arms, had meanwhile lowered. "Germany is at war with Great Britain, France, Russia, Japan, and Servia."
At the mention of each of these countries the skipper's eyes opened wider and wider.
"Mein Gott!" he exclaimed, and without another word turned on his heel and made for his cabin, only to be brought back by a peremptory order from the young sub.
From the ship's papers it was ascertained that the "Freya" had a most valuable cargo of nitrates and copper ore—a cargo that would be of immense service to the German army had the barque escaped the British patrol. She was a hundred and forty-three days out of Valparaiso, and during the whole of that time she had not spoken a single vessel; consequently her crew were in total ignorance of the European War. Gales and head winds had delayed her; water and provisions remained sufficient only for three more days. She had been blown so far out of her course that her master had decided to make a passage round Cape Wrath rather than beat up the English Channel, and when almost in sight of the North Sea she had been snapped by the "Strongbow."
Quickly the prize crew went about their work. The German seamen were ordered below; guards were posted at the hatchways and outside the officers' quarters. The red, white, and black ensign of the German Mercantile Marine was lowered and rehoisted under the British flag; canvas was stowed and preparations were made to take the "Freya" in tow.
After a considerable amount of skilful and dangerous manoeuvring a stout hempen hawser was passed from the prize to the "Strongbow," and wallowing heavily in the latter's wake the "Freya" was towed into Dingwall.
Almost the first thing that attracted Terence's attention on landing at Dingwall was a poster on which appeared the words "German Fleet attempts Bombardment of Yarmouth."
"Another rumour—I'm getting sick of them," ejaculated Aubyn; nevertheless, he bought a copy of the paper. He was wrong in his surmise. It was a fact, not a rumour. Several German heavy cruisers had suddenly appeared off the port in the grey dawn, and had opened a furious fire. Unaccountably, it seemed, all the projectiles fell short of their mark. A few, indeed, ploughed up the sand on the shore, but no damage was done. Everyone was asking, "Will the hostile cruisers get away safely?"
That same afternoon the news was received that the raiders had escaped. The chances were eagerly discussed on board the "Strongbow." It seemed incredible that, in spite of the cordon of British light cruisers and destroyers a dozen enemy ships should be able to retire unharmed after their brazen attempt.
"You fellows must remember we haven't official details," remarked Lieutenant Lymore. "Another thing: you know what the North Sea is like this time of the year, with the range of vision limited to perhaps a couple of miles."
"Think they'll try it on again?" asked Raeburn.
"No doubt. Encouraged by their being able to avoid getting into contact with our fleet they'll have another shot at it, but let's hope they'll burn their fingers."
Before the "Strongbow" left Dingwall, after coaling ship, a mail, mostly of belated letters, arrived. Amongst them was one for Aubyn from his chum Waynsford.
"I suppose you know all about our little excitement here at Yarmouth," he wrote. "We were rudely disturbed from our bunks by tremendous firing, and when we turned out we discovered shells dropping within five hundred yards of the shore. With the naked eye one could make out the enemy ships fairly distinctly, and with glasses quite plainly. The shells could be seen falling all around the little 'Halcyon,' and it was most marvellous how she escaped. Altering the position of those buoys the night you were here doubtless upset the German gunners' calculations.
"The Press report that none of the shells did damage is incorrect. Of course it may be advisable not to give the public full details, but in your case I think you ought to know."
"Almost the last shell fired struck your mater's house. Went right through the dining-room without exploding and buried itself five feet in the earth on the other side of the building. Lucky you made your parent clear out, wasn't it?
"I'm under orders to leave Yarmouth and report myself at Scarbro'.
Goodness only knows what for, but 'orders is orders,' as
Coastguardsman Smith is so fond of quoting. If ever you are within
easy distance of Scarbro' and get short leave, look me up.
"Yours most sincerely,
"RICHARD WAYNSFORD."
Twelve hours later H.M.S. "Strongbow" was on her appointed station. It was night. The wind had moderated considerably, yet there was quite a heavy sea running. The young moon peeped between dark masses of drifting scud, while to windward a bank of irregularly defined clouds fringed with ragged tails betokened a repetition of the unpleasant climatic conditions.
It was Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn's "watch below." Seated in the plainly furnished gun-room, the scuttles of which were carefully screened, were most of the junior officers who were off duty.
Some were playing cards, others were reading, in spite of the raucous ragtime melodies ground out by a gramaphone that had already suffered considerably from the effects of two months' buffeting. In the pauses while the junior midshipman rewound the instrument of mental torture, the slap of the waves against the vessel's side could be distinctly heard.
"In for another dirty night," remarked Raeburn inconsequently.
The announcement was received in chilly silence. "Dirty nights" were too frequent and too monotonous to form the subject of conversation.
The assistant engineer tried another tack.
"What do you make of the latest report from the Russian frontier?" he asked.
"Oh, dry up, old man!" expostulated O'Reilly feebly. "What with your cackle and young Jones grinding away at that blessed gramaphone—Jones, if you put on another record I'll throw this book at your head! There's no peace in the gun-room."
Aubyn smiled grimly. He realized that in the monotonous round of routine his comrades were almost bored to death by their own company. Even the versatile O'Reilly was becoming as surly as a bear with a sore head.
"Keep your wool on, old man!" exclaimed Raeburn. "Strikes me, we all want shaking up——"
Before he could complete the sentence the ship seemed to leap vertically out of the water. A deafening crash followed. The gun-room furniture was thrown in all directions, the occupants were either hurled against the bulkhead or pitched violently on top of the overturned gear, while the failure of the electric light left the place in utter darkness.
Terence found himself lying across the remains of the gramaphone, with someone's heel beating a tattoo on the small of his back.
For some seconds he remained where he was, his senses dulled by the sudden shock. Then it occurred to him that the ship was not so lively as usual. Her movements seemed decidedly sluggish. A confused roar, the sound of many feet hurrying, mingled with the hiss of escaping steam, recalled him to his senses. Either the "Strongbow" had struck a mine or had been torpedoed. Above the tumult came the sound of the bugle, the notes quavering to such an extent that the sub. hardly recognized their significance.
"That's 'General Quarters'," he exclaimed, and freeing himself from the persistent attentions of the unknown's heels, he sprang to his feet and struck a match.
By its feeble glimmer he could form some idea of the chaotic aspect of the gun-room. Many of his comrades had regained their feet, and in their eagerness to obey the bugle-call were groping blindly for the door. The concussion had jammed it badly. Two of the officers were still prone amid the débris—stunned by the shock.
The match flickered and died out, but before Aubyn could strike another, one of the midshipmen thrust a hastily rolled newspaper into the remains of the fire on the stove and held it like a torch.
A combined effort on the part of O'Reilly and two of the midshipmen burst the door from its hinges. Aubyn, assisted by Raeburn, lifted one of the unconscious men and bore him on deck. Others performed a like office for the second victim, while the rest filed up the companion.
By this time the short burst of uproar had entirely ceased. Officers and men were quietly falling in on the upper deck, awaiting the captain's orders.
Silhouetted against the fitful moonlight could be discerned the cool and resolute form of Captain Ripponden as he grasped the bridge-rails and looked down upon the orderly mass of humanity. In that moment of peril he was proud of his crew. They were worthy of upholding the traditions of gallant British seamen. To what extent the "Strongbow" was damaged he knew not. He was awaiting the carpenter's and the boatswain's report.
As he waited, with a true seaman's instinct, he glanced to windward. The approaching storm was not far off. Should it be necessary to take to the boats the chances of being saved were very remote. Nor did there seem any possibility of rescue from any other ship, for the explosion had dislocated the wireless apparatus. The only chances in that direction were that a passing vessel might detect the wail of the syren—as it sent forth its call for assistance in the long and short blasts that corresponded to the dot and dash of the Morse Code—or might sight the coloured star rockets that were being fired from the bridge.
Captain Ripponden deliberately delayed giving the order to take to the boats. Although the "Strongbow" was sorely hit she showed no immediate inclination to make her final plunge. The engine-room and stokeholds were clear, and the engine-room staff still remained at their posts below the water-line; nevertheless, the ship was making water freely and was already considerably down by the head.
Suddenly a short thick-set figure ran aft between the double line of seamen drawn up as calmly and as steadily as if mustered for Divisions. Terence could hear the man's laboured breathing as he hurried. It was the ship's carpenter, on the strength of whose report Captain Ripponden's orders for immediate action would be delivered.
Up the bridge ladder the warrant officer made his way, then drawing himself erect saluted his superior—a courtesy that the captain punctiliously returned. Even in the presence of fearful and imminent peril the regulation regarding the paying of proper compliments in the matter of saluting were carried out to the letter.
The eyes of every man on deck were directed upon the silhouetted figures of the captain and the carpenter on the bridge. Captain Ripponden's head was observed to nod slightly several times as he listened to his subordinate's report; then he stepped to the after-bridge rails.
"My men," he shouted in stentorian tones that were clearly audible amid the moaning of the wind and the hiss of escaping steam, "we'll save the old ship yet. Twenty men to assist carpenter's crew. The rest remain aft and stand easy."
Away doubled the working party, their task being to build a temporary coffer-dam in the after side of the for'ard transverse bulkhead. The "Strongbow" had bumped upon a drifting mine, the explosion of which, occurring right under the bows and close to the water-line, had flooded the bow compartments. The watertight bulkhead was dangerously strained. Water was entering in small jets under the terrific pressure in the flooded compartments; but although the pumps were quite capable of keeping the leak under control, the bulkhead, unless shored up, was in momentary danger of giving way.
Feverishly the carpenter and his men tackled the hazardous task. Bolts of canvas, rolled hammocks and tarpaulins were piled against the bulging steel bulkhead, and held in position by baulks of timber, braced and chocked till the coffer-dam was as strong and firmly set as human ingenuity could devise.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crew were allowed to smoke—a concession that was eagerly welcomed, and the quarter-deck glowered with the dull glare of lighted cigarettes and pipes. Those men who had turned up without adequate clothing were ordered to find additional garments to protect them from the numbing cold, while the cooks were told off to the galleys to make hot cocoa. Even in the midst of peril Captain Ripponden's thoughts were for the comfort of his devoted men.
As soon as the carpenter reported that in his opinion the strained bulkhead was properly shored up, orders were given to the engine-room for half-speed astern and a course shaped for Aberdeen. To drive the ship ahead with her bows seriously damaged would be placing a tremendous strain upon the coffer-dam, while when making sternway the pressure would be considerably reduced.
"Let's hope we don't hit another of those infernal mines," remarked O'Reilly to Aubyn, as the two officers made their way below. "I don't think we are in a regular minefield. The one we struck was evidently a derelict."
"Evidently," agreed Terence. "Judging by the damage done it must have deteriorated, otherwise it would have sent us to the bottom like a stone. I suppose it will mean turning over to another ship?
"Six weeks, patching the old 'Saraband' up," declared O'Reilly, who almost invariably referred to the ship by her former name. "I wish to goodness they'd appoint us to a cruiser or a destroyer and give us a chance of seeing some fun."
"We have had a fair share."
"Yes, of hard work—which I don't mind—and getting bashed about without being able to strike a blow in self-defence. Of course, it's the call of duty——"
A muffled thud, coming from almost immediately below their feet and followed by the unmistakable sound of rushing water, interrupted the young officer's conversation.
They looked at each other for one brief instant, hardly able to comprehend the nature of the latest calamity.
"Bulkhead started," announced Aubyn laconically.
Snatching an oil lamp from its bracket Terence rushed below, followed by O'Reilly. Guided by the feeble illumination, for the electric lighting installation was hopelessly out of order, the two officers made their way down several short ladders. On the orlop-deck they almost collided with Raeburn.
"After magazine flooded," announced the assistant engineer breathlessly. "Huge rush of water. I was just off to get extra hands, but you'll do. Be quick, there's no time to lose. The water's pouring in like a sluice."
Knee deep in water the three officers made their way aft till their arrival at the door of the magazine. The sentry was fumbling with the lock, while two artificers, one holding a lantern, were impatiently urging him to make a job of it and open the door. The whole of the magazine was full of water, while the pressure had forced a part of the bulkhead containing the compartment.
When the "Strongbow" struck the mine the concussion had caused a hitherto undiscovered leak aft, the flow being concealed by the locked door of the magazine until the pressure had become sufficient to burst the thin steel walls. Being specially constructed for flooding in case of emergency, the floor of the magazine was some feet below the level of the orlop-deck.
"We'll have to tackle the leak inside," announced Terence. "Here, one of you," he added addressing the men waiting by the door. "Cut up and inform the carpenter. Look alive."
At length the marine sentry succeeded in shooting back the strained lock. The officers hurled themselves against the door. It opened inwards, at the same time releasing an additional flood of water, that surged violently along the orlop-deck.
At every heave of the ship frothing billows careered up and down the length of the confined space, wellnigh sweeping the little group of officers and men from their feet. Already, taking into account the state of the flooded fore compartments, the volume of water admitted into the ship was causing her to move sluggishly. The danger of foundering was still imminent.
Holding his breath and setting his jaw tightly, Aubyn literally leapt down to the floor of the magazine. The mean level of the water was up to his neck. Momentarily it would subside, then rise till it floated him off his feet, yet gamely he struggled onwards, partly swimming, partly wading.
The "Strongbow" was built on the "single-skin" principle. Only a thin steel shell, riveted to curved ribs of the same metal, formed her hull. The after magazine was on the port side, at approximately the spot where the "run aft" of her lines began. It was here, as Terence suspected, that one of the seams had gaped open.
Filling his lungs to their utmost capacity with the none too wholesome air, the sub. dived. His fingers, already numbed by the icy-cold water, came in contact with a gap through which a steady torrent was pressing. His surmise was correct: several of the rivets had been fractured, and between the lap of two adjoining plates a serious leak had developed.
Whipping off his scarf Aubyn attempted to thrust it into the gap. The rush of water swept it away. Off came his pilot coat. Thrice he essayed to hold it in position, but his body being practically water-borne he could exert little or no force. He felt still more the numbing effect of the sea. In the semi-darkness, for he had only the reflected light from the lanterns, the horror of the position gripped him.
"If she goes, I'm done for," he thought, for in his fevered imagination he fancied that the ship was already on the point of making a final plunge. He felt tempted to desist from his efforts and make a rush for safety. Then, as quickly as it had come, the wave of panic left him.
"Got a hand-spike there?" he asked.
"Ay, ay, sir," replied one of the carpenter's crew who had just arrived on the scene. "And some stoppers as well."
Two of the men plunged into the flooded magazine. The hand-spike was applied to the temporary plug until it was forced into the gap.
"That'll hold, sir," announced one of the men confidently.
"Let's hope so," replied the sub. Then to himself he muttered, "And my very best pilot coat."
For another ten minutes Aubyn stood and shivered, till one of the men felt the sub.'s numbed hand shaking as he assisted to hold the hand-spike.
"Leak's well under control, sir, I think," continued the seaman, a burly Devonshire man. "Might I make so bold, sir, as to suggest that you stand easy? We'll see to this all right."
The man spoke truly. All the available pumps working continuously were sufficient to keep the remaining inrush of water well under control. Already the orlop-deck was practically cleared. In the magazine the water was just above the sub.'s waist.
Aubyn did not reply. He was incapable of speech. In the semi-gloom the Devonshire man saw that something was amiss.
"Do'ee take hold of this a minute, Joe," he said to his comrade, as he relaxed his hold on the hand-spike. "Now, sir, out you do come."
With that he literally carried the numbed form of his superior officer out of the partly flooded magazine, just as others of his mates were preparing to complete the task which Aubyn had successfully begun.
Of what happened during the next few hours Terence had but a hazy idea. He was dimly conscious of being placed into a hot bath, wrapped up in blankets, and being put into his bunk. There, as far as he personally was concerned, scarce troubling whether the ship went down or otherwise, he fell into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion till he was aroused by the officers' call followed by the shrill notes of the bo's'un's mates' whistles.
"My watch, by Jove!" ejaculated Aubyn. "What in the name of goodness am I doing in my bunk at this time of the morning?"
He sprang out of bed with his customary alacrity, only to find his knees give way under him. Then it gradually dawned upon him that his last fully conscious moments were whilst he was in the flooded magazine.
"Steady, old man!" he muttered reproachfully. "This won't do. Pull yourself together."
He began to dress, rummaging for his clothes in one of the characteristically awkwardly placed drawers under his bunk. The garments he had worn the previous day had been taken away to be dried. Then he remembered the fate of his great-coat and wondered what he should do without it when on the bridge.
He glanced through the scuttle. The sea was still running high. Flakes of snow, scudding before the wind, were falling rapidly. By the motion of the water as it slipped past the ship's side he knew that the "Strongbow" was still going sternforemost.
The door of his cabin opened noiselessly, and Raeburn entered.
"Here, this won't do, old fellow!" exclaimed the assistant engineer. "You toddle off back to your bunk again. Pills will be on your collar if you don't."
"What silly idiot made the doctor look me up?" asked Terence.
"Don't call yourself ugly names," protested Raeburn laughingly. "Since you chose to have a cold bath and stay there till your nose was as blue as a dungaree suit, and you looked liked a favourite for the Triple Pneumonia Stakes, it isn't to be wondered at that Pills had to have a chip in. But honestly, old man, you turn in, or it will be a case for the sick bay. By Jove, you did a rattling plucky thing!"
Terence abruptly silenced his chum.
"Rot!" he exclaimed. "I spoilt my only great-coat. If I'm to be crocked every time I do a little job like that, the sooner I chuck the Service the better. I'm off."
Ignoring Raeburn's threats to call the surgeon, Terence hurried from his cabin, and having borrowed a pilot coat, donned his oilskins over the borrowed garment and went on deck.
It was a weird sight which met his gaze.
The "Strongbow" was in the grip of a North Sea blizzard. Her tapering masts, funnels, ventilators, even shrouds and ropes, were outlined in glistening snow. Owing to the extreme danger of men being overthrown by the slippery state of the frozen snow underfoot, men were busily engaged in sweeping the decks—an apparently interminable task, as the flakes fell quickly and heavily.
Unnoticed Aubyn gained the foot of the bridge-ladder. The ascent caused him considerable effort. In spite of his natural activity the prospect of a "trick" on the exposed bridge in that awful weather damped his enthusiasm. Mr. Lymore was on duty. His back was turned towards the sub. Before Terence could report himself the door of the chart room was opened and Captain Ripponden appeared.
"Good morning, Mr. Aubyn," exclaimed the latter, returning the sub.'s salute. "I am rather surprised to find you here."
"It's my watch, sir."
"It would have been," corrected the captain. "Dr. Terry reported you unfit for duty, and I must abide by his decision. So you will report yourself to him."
"Very good, sir," said Terence.
"And," continued Ripponden, "allow me to congratulate you on your plucky action. I will take the first opportunity of transmitting an account of it to My Lords for their information."
Aubyn grasped the captain's extended hand. Completely taken aback by his superior's congratulations he could not frame a reply.
Again saluting, Terence turned to leave the bridge. As he did so a roar of cheering burst from those on deck. Those of the crew who had witnessed the meeting between Captain Ripponden and the plucky sub. had rightly interpreted the "owner's" action. There are moments when spontaneous enthusiasm ignores the dictates of discipline, and this was one of them. The men of the "Strongbow" cheered their young officer to the echo.
Terence Aubyn met with a boisterous reception in the gun-room. His brother officers "chipped" him unmercifully on the subject of the tribute of the crew. The sub. took it all in good part. He realized that underneath the outward mask of levity was a substratum of genuine admiration for his courage and judgment in tackling the leak. Even the dangers through which they had so recently passed failed to subdue the exuberant spirits of the denizens of the gun-room, and entering into the fun, Terence soon felt so much better that Dr. Terry was obliged to confess that his fears for the sub.'s health was no longer justified.
Before dusk the same day two tugs put out from Aberdeen and took the "Strongbow" in tow. Three hours later she was safely docked, and for the first time for many a long day the "watch below" were able to turn in without being confronted by the possibility of sudden death in the mine-strewn waters of the North Sea.
Examination proved that the damage done to the ship was considerable. Practically the whole of the bow portion would have to be re-built, while in many places the hull-plating would have to be re-fastened and re-caulked. Internal damage caused by the concussion was also great. By dint of working day and night the shipbuilders might be able to effect repairs in a month's time.
The next day leave was given to the starboard watch. Officers and men were, by the special consent of the Admiralty, granted seven days' leave. Meanwhile, arrangements were being made to turn over the ship's company to another vessel until repairs to the "Strongbow" were carried out.
The temporary substitute—the armed merchant-man "Vindex"—was lying at Leith. Being of considerably lesser tonnage than the "Strongbow" there was no necessity for the whole of the latter's crew to man her. With mixed feelings Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn found that he was appointed to H.M.S. "Terrier" as supernumerary.
He was sorry to part company with his old messmates, even for a comparatively brief period. Having won praise from his captain, possessed of the friendship and esteem of his brother-officers, and well liked by the lower deck, he felt a mental wrench at having to say good-bye even for a few weeks.
On the other hand, his appointment to the "Terrier" was after his own heart, for the ship was a regular unit of the British Navy. She was, it is true, an obsolete craft—a torpedo-gunboat of only 800 tons and a speed of nineteen knots.
Built more than twenty years previously, the "Terrier's" original rôle had long since been usurped by the "destroyer" class. In later years she had been employed as a fishery-protection cruiser, until at the outbreak of war she had been hastily re-fitted and commissioned as a mine-sweeper patrol-boat.
The "Terrier," undergoing engine repairs, was still detained at Newcastle, whither Terence proceeded to join her.
"I hear you've been done out of your leave," was the remark of the "Terrier's" captain, a tall, slimly built man, who looked about Terence's age, although he must have been some years his senior in order to have attained the rank of lieutenant-commander. "We won't be out of dockyard hands for another week, so if you like you can go ashore and report yourself on Saturday."
"Can I be spared, sir?"
"A more favourable opportunity may not occur again for some time," replied Captain Holloway. "Lying alongside a dirty wharf with the coal-dust flying into the officers' cabins all day doesn't make life aboard very attractive. I'm in shore quarters myself until we're ready to proceed to sea; so under the circumstances you will be wise to take advantage of a few days' leave."
The sub. thanked his captain for his consideration, and having given orders for his gear to be placed in his cabin, proceeded to pack a small portmanteau with articles absolutely necessary for his well-earned holiday. While he was so doing he rapidly debated with himself as to where he intended to go. According to the King's Regulations he was bound to leave his address in the event of being telegraphed to rejoin his ship. The limited time at his disposal, coupled with the idea of the expense of a first-class railway ticket to the South of England, did not permit a visit to his mother. He had no friends in Newcastle, and he was not at all desirous of putting up at an hotel in that city.
Then he remembered Waynsford's invitation to look him up if he happened to be within easy distance of Scarborough.
"Somewhat of the nature of a busman's holiday," he mused, as he wrote his proposed address in the leave-book: "R.M.B.R. 'Lonette,' Scarborough."
Dick Waynsford, apprised by telegraph, was on the station platform to greet him.
"Glad you're come, old man," he exclaimed. "Anything to buck a fellow up?"
"Why, what's wrong now?" asked Terence.
"Nothing in particular; only I'm getting thoroughly fed up in this place. Nothing much to do but to run errands to the mine-sweepers that occasionally put into the bay. A fisherman could do the job equally as well as I can. You've been having an exciting time, I hear?"
"Somewhat," replied Aubyn modestly. "Now, let's be making a move."
The two chums jumped into a waiting taxi, Waynsford giving the chauffeur directions to drive as straight as he jolly well knew how to Sandside, and not to take them half-way round the town to get there.
"'Sandside'—that sounds all right," thought Terence, but his expectations were unrealized as the taxi drew up in the rather dingy quarter of Scarborough adjoining the harbour.
"There she is," announced Waynsford, pointing to the grey hull of the "Lonette," which, barely water-borne, was reclining against the lofty wall of the harbour. "One of the best runs I ever had in her was when we brought her round from Yarmouth."
"Why, she's hard and fast aground."
"M'yes," agreed Waynsford unconcernedly. "She spends most of her time like that, It's all right sleeping on board, unless she happens to take a list the wrong way. Then you've got to sort yourselves out of a horrible muddle on the cabin floor."
"What if you're wanted?" enquired Aubyn.
"We have to jolly well wait till she floats," answered his chum, with a grin. "It's a quiet berth, and heaps better than rolling all night in the open bay. We had one taste of it—nearly upset the whole crowd of us. Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."
Waynsford indicated a perpendicular iron ladder, its lowermost end hidden in black mud, over which the rising tide was slowly advancing.
Throwing his portmanteau to one of the crew, who, as the result of long practice, deftly caught the heavy article, Terence descended the fifteen feet of ladder and stepped across the intervening space between the water and the motor-boat's quarter.
"Here's your bunk," announced Waynsford, pointing to a cot swung against the side of the bin. "Nalder, my opposite number, sleeps on the port bunk."
"How about you?" asked Terence.
"I'm going to turn in on the floor for the next few nights," replied Waynsford. "I'm used to it. You see, we've another boat for actual duty purposes in fine weather. She's smaller and handier. We use 'Lonette' mostly as a kind of parent ship. Now, I'll get the boy to bring the grub in. Fire away and let's have all the news."
During the rest of the day while daylight lasted Waynsford piloted his chum round the Queen of Watering Places, taking him up to the ruined castle and introducing him to some officers of Kitchener's Army whose acquaintance he had recently made.
"Jolly decent place in the summer, I should imagine," declared Waynsford, as the chums wended their way back to the harbour. "But deadly dull now. Not a light to be seen after dark. It makes one almost wish that the Germans would pay the place a visit, if only to make things a little more lively."
"Eh, what's that?" inquired Terence.
"Only wishing for the impossible, my dear fellow. Being an unfortified town Scarborough will not be favoured with the attentions of the Teutons. Apart from that they won't risk another raid. They're too wary of our fleet."
It was quite late in the night before the officers of the "Lonette" turned in. The crew detailed for the duty boat had departed, their "trick" commencing at midnight. Quietude settled upon the almost lifeless harbour. Most of the fishing fleet that still remained at its usual work were out. Five or six of the boats, locked up for the night, were moored in the inner harbour. Three more, preparing to leave at high water, were tied up to buoys at the entrance to the outer basin, their crews working silently as if infected by the solitude that overspread the once busy port.
Suddenly Terence was awakened by finding himself slipping from his bunk. In the darkness, for the moment, unable to recall his surroundings, he imagined himself back in the old "Strongbow," and that the vessel was rolling badly. But quickly he discovered that the movement was different; there was no recovery. He felt his bunk list more and more, until vainly endeavouring to hold himself in, he subsided upon the still soundly sleeping Waynsford.
"Confound it!" exclaimed that worthy. "She's heeled outwards. I thought we'd taken proper precautions. Sorry to disturb you, old man."
"It's a case of my disturbing you, I fancy," replied Terence, after he had extricated himself from the pile of blankets and cushions. "I don't mind, if you don't. There goes the crockery," he added, as a series of crashes came from the fo'c'sle.
Striking a match Waynsford lit the cabin lamp and glanced at the bulkhead clock.
"Seven, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "It's close on low water. In another two hours we'll be afloat again. No use attempting to turn in. Nalder, you lazy bounder, get up and join in a hand of dummy whist."
Sub-Lieutenant Nalder, who being in the port cot had been wedged between the bunk cushions and those on the side, was sleeping unconcernedly throughout the racket, as if such happenings were quite in the usual order of things. Aroused by Waynsford's voice and a hearty slap on the back, he sat up.
"Right-o," he agreed. "Jones!"
"Sir!" replied a muffled voice from the fo'c'sle.
"Bring me my pack of cards, will you?"
Terence heard the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to open a jammed door. Then, after a moment's delay the fo'c'sle sliding door was thrust open and the seaman thrust his dishevelled head into the cabin.
"Sorry, sir," he reported, "but the blessed condensed milk has gone and upset itself all over the pack."
"That's kippered our game," remarked Waynsford. "Let's turn out and see what it's like. A stretch before breakfast will do us good."
Donning their great-coats, the three officers contrived, without mishap, to leap from the heeling side of the motor-boat to the rungs of the ladder.
"Beastly foggy morning," declared Nalder.
"Just getting light enough to see," added Waynsford, as, in contradiction to his statement, he stumbled and almost fell over a mooring rope.
Gradually the gaunt outlines of the ruined castle that towered high above the harbour began to grow distinct against the grey sky. The fog began to disperse, although the cliffs to the southern end of the town were still invisible.
"Let's stroll up to the castle," suggested Waynsford. "It will be something to do."
Acting upon this proposal the two ascended the stony path. As they approached the coastguard station they noticed that the signalman was peering seawards through a telescope. The man was so intent upon some objects out to sea that he paid no attention to the new-comers.
Presently the coastguardsman put down his telescope and seized the mouthpiece of a telephone in the signal hut. Terence could hear him speaking distinctly.
"Strange vessels approaching from the nor'ard, sir," he reported to the officer at the Naval Wireless Station behind the town. "I've signalled them, but they won't pay any attention."
The three subs. gazed seawards. Just visible through the haze were four cruisers, moving sufficiently fast through the leaden-coloured water to cause the foam to froth at their bows. Even as they looked the young officers were mildly surprised to see a spurt of dull red flame burst from the for'ard turret of the leading vessel.
Mild surprise gave place to complete astonishment as a heavy shell hurtled overhead, carrying away several of the telegraph wires, and plunged with a terrific detonation into the fortunately unoccupied barracks on the Castle Hill.
Before the noise of the falling brickwork and masonry had subsided the devoted coastguardsman could be heard shouting on the telephone:—
"They're German cruisers: they're shelling us."
The man had done his duty. He could do no more good remaining where he was. At a quick double he tore for safety, shouting to the young officers to get under cover.
Aubyn, with his companions, quickly took this advice to heart. He had in the action between the "Saraband" and the "Osnabruck" stood up to the hostile fire, but then it was a fight on even terms. Now it was a one-sided affair, and by the noise of the exploding shell Terence knew that it was of much larger calibre than those that came from the German armed liner.
Scarcely had the fugitives covered a hundred yards when another appalling crash, followed by a distinct blast of acrid-smelling air, caused Terence to look back. A shell, better aimed than the first, had completely demolished the signal hut. This missile was followed by salvo after salvo, some forty shells of various calibre raining on the Castle Hill. Others, striking the sheer cliffs, brought tons of rock clattering down upon the Marine Parade, while what was far worse, many projectiles skimming the ruins of the castle, fell with disastrous results upon the congested buildings of the town.
The three subs. were now under the lee of the frowning rock. Here they were comparatively safe, except from stray fragments of splintered shell and flying masonry. The coastguardsman had gone in a different direction.
"The swine!" ejaculated Nalder. "They're shelling a defenceless town. And the 'Lonette' is high and dry too."
In spite of the serious situation his comrades gave vent to a hearty laugh. It seemed so incongruous that Nalder should have taken the plight of the little motor-boat into consideration. Yet had Nalder had his way it was quite possible that he would have blazed away with a rifle at the huge steel monsters with as much result as a small boy using a peashooter against an elephant.
"Not a bad idea getting down to the harbour," added Waynsford. "We'll be fairly sheltered, and we can see what's going on."
Terence thought otherwise. Massive stone walls afford no protection from monster guns. Nevertheless he raised no objection. For one thing—and here the professional sailor scored heavily over the two amateurs—it afforded a chance of making a note of the appearance of the hostile vessels: information that might prove of immense service to the Admiralty.
Shells were raining upon the undefended town as the three reached the harbour pier. In several parts of Scarborough fires, caused by the exploding projectiles, had broken out, and dense columns of smoke rose from the demolished buildings. Having, as they thought, completely demolished the supposed batteries on Castle Hill the German gunners were out to do as much damage to private property as they possibly could. It was but a phase in the terrorizing operations that these modern barbarians delight in calling "kultur."
The attacking craft had now passed in front of the Castle Hill and were clearly visible from the harbour, as they slowly steamed within a quarter of a mile of the shore, vomiting death and destruction upon the hapless town.
The leading craft Terence recognized as one of the Derfflinger Class—an inferior imitation of our Dreadnought cruisers. Astern of her came the "Bluecher," a vessel whose construction the German people hailed with acclamation as the most powerful craft afloat and one that would outclass anything that the British had or would be likely to have. Yet, ere the "Bluecher" took the water, she was hopelessly outmatched by the "Indomitable" class.
For once, however, these two ships were having things all their own way. With the exception of the fiasco at Yarmouth, over a hundred years had elapsed since the thunder of an enemy's guns had been heard by the dwellers of our sea-girt island. British pride in the impregnable position of our insular kingdom had received a nasty shock, for without let or hindrance German guns were pounding her shores in broad daylight.
Half a mile or so behind the battle cruisers were two light cruisers, which apparently took little part in the one-sided engagement. They were engaged in the pleasant occupation of mine-laying, in the hope that one of the British squadrons, summoned by wireless, would flounder blindly into the dangerous zone.
"Oh, for a couple of our submarines!" groaned Terence, as the hostile craft moved slowly along the bay. "They'd bag the whole crowd of them."
Twenty paces from the spot where the subs. stood was an old bronzed and bearded fisherman—a typical Yorkshire salt. Heedless of the risk he ran, he leapt upon the stone parapet, and shaking his fist at the German ships rated them in the choicest language of the Shire of Broad Acres. Nor would he descend when Aubyn pointed out the risk he ran, and it was only when a shell tore a huge hole in the side of the lighthouse that the old fellow would deign to move.
For a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the two cruisers maintained a hot fire with their starboard guns. Then came a pause in the hitherto ceaseless roar of the ordnance, as the ships circled to port. Retracing their course they reopened fire, till, gradually increasing speed, they shaped a course nor'nor'east and disappeared in the haze.
"Let's gie into town an see t' damage," suggested the old fisherman, who, like the rest of the hardy East Coast men, had little respect for rank and persons. "Sith'a, lads, there'll be work for us over yonder," and he pointed to the maze of houses, many of which showed signs of the effect of the high-explosive shells.
In the course of his sea-service Terence Aubyn had witnessed more than one horrible sight; but in all his previous experience he had never seen anything approaching the cold-blooded butchery of mere civilians—men, women, and children—by the murderous German shells.
With the energy and coolness that is characteristic of the born seaman he dashed into a practically gutted house, whence cries of pain had attracted his attention.
The house was in one of the poorer districts, substantially built of stone, as is frequently the case in the north of England. A projectile had struck the building just above the ground-floor window. The stonework had, for the most part, resisted the explosion, the force of which had resulted in floors and roofs being either demolished or reduced to a state of absolute insecurity. The ground floors were piled high with débris, under which, though partly visible, was the dead body of an old man.
The cries for aid, uttered in a childish voice, came from the upper storey. Here a part of the bedroom floor had collapsed, exposing to view a wooden bedstead, so insecurely perched that it threatened at every moment to topple over into the chaotic mass thirty feet below. The stairs had vanished, only the iron handrail and a few of its supports remaining.
"What's the move?" demanded Waynsford, as Aubyn threw off his great-coat and handed it to a boy who was watching the scene of desolation with marked curiosity. "Don't be a fool, man! Wait till they bring a ladder."
"It may be too late then," replied Terence; then turning to the old fisherman he bade him bring a coil of rope.
"Thank goodness, there's one man who knows what he is about," thought Aubyn, as the veteran salt hurried off. "No stopping to ask what size or what length."
The next instant the sub. was well on his hazardous climb. Grasping the handrail and making fairly certain that it would bear his weight, Terence hauled himself up, using the holes in the stonework, left by the dislodged stairs, as footholds. As sure-footed as a cat, as active as a panther, he swung himself up, hardly pausing till he gained the uppermost landing, where a few square inches of floorboards remained. Between that and the bedstead was a gap nearly ten feet in width. A professional long-jumper might have essayed the task with success, but in his case Terence realized that a leap would be out of the question.
Rapidly the sub. reviewed the situation. From where he stood he could see the children distinctly. One was a girl of about nine years of age, fair-haired and pale-faced. It was she who was screaming, more with fright than pain, although there was a dark moist patch upon her hair. Her companion was a child of about three, lying with his head over the side of the bed to all appearances either dead or else unconscious.
Already the joist nearest the gap in the shattered floor was bending ominously. Terence felt certain that even if he could get across the intervening space his weight would precipitate the bed and its occupants on to the mound of rubble and broken woodwork below.
He looked above him. The laths and plaster of the ceiling had vanished, the tiles had been blown into the street, leaving the gaunt rafters practically intact. Raising his hand he found that he could just grasp the sloping timber.
"If it carries away, I'm done," he thought. "But it's no use hanging on here, so here goes."
With a resolute leap the sub. seized the two adjoining rafters. The rough woodwork lacerated his hands, but he heeded it not. By sheer muscular effort he raised himself sufficiently to pass his arms over the timber, whence it was a comparatively simple matter to clamber on top of the outside wall.
Well it was that Aubyn had a good head for heights. Looking down from that precarious perch would make most landsmen giddy, but as coolly as if he were walking along a street, the sub. made his way round to the opposite side of the shattered house immediately over the still holding floor of the bedroom.
The elder child, on seeing Terence approach, had ceased her cries and was watching him with wide-open eyes. Then she raised herself, as if to make a spring into his arms.
"Don't move just yet," exclaimed the sub. as calmly as he could. "I'll help you both very soon."
He was desperately anxious lest the girl, by her action, would bring about the calamity he was trying to prevent. At the same time he was racking his brains to find out how he could get hold of the rope when the fisherman returned with it.
"Eh, little lass," he exclaimed, imitating to the best of his ability the East Riding dialect, "just you hand me up one of those sheets. Don't hurry."
The girl obeyed, wonderingly but unhesitatingly. Terence began to tear the cotton sheet into thin strips, binding them into one continuous length, until he judged that he had sufficient to reach the ground.