Hardly were his preparations completed when the fisherman returned, puffing and blowing with his exertions.
"Eh, lad, a've got 'en," he announced. "An' a block as well. Th' knows it might come in handy.
"Good man!" thought Terence. "He's solved an awkward problem." Then addressing the old salt: "Stand by and bend the rope on to this," he shouted, as he allowed one end of the cotton strip to flutter to the ground.
Steadily the sub. began to haul in his flimsy line, while the fisherman dexterously paid out the coil of rope, the end of which he had made to Aubyn's means of communication. Then, as soon as he saw that Terence had secured one end of the rope, the old man hitched on the large pulley and continued to pay out more cordage until the block was within the sub.'s grasp.
Whipping out his knife Terence cut off about six or seven feet of rope, using the severed portion as a strop to make fast the block to a pair of rafters. Then passing the rest of the rope through the sheave his means of effecting the rescue of the children were ready for service.
"Stand by to lower away," he shouted, as he made a loop known as a "bowline on a bight."
"Ay, ay," replied the old salt, at the same time signing to Waynsford and Nalder to bear a hand.
Giving a final tug at the strop to make sure as far as possible that the rafter would hold, Terence slid into the loop and swung himself clear of the wall.
"Belay there," he hailed after being lowered a sufficient distance to bring himself level with the remains of the bedroom floor. "Now, little lass, I'll hold you. Don't be afraid."
The next moment the injured girl was safe in his arms. Although the bed shook as the rescued child moved, it still withstood the tendency to slip into the abyss. Twenty seconds later Terence handed his charge over to a doctor who formed one of the rapidly-gathering crowd in the street.
"There's another child—a baby," announced Aubyn. "Badly hurt, I fancy so haul me up smartly."
Spinning round and round like a joint on a meat-jack the sub. again ascended, till the smaller child's body was within reach of his arms. As he whipped off the covering he gave an ill-suppressed exclamation of horror. The left foot of the little victim had been torn away at the ankle.
"Good heavens, Waynsford!" exclaimed Terence, after the child-victims had been removed, and the justly-exasperated crowd began to disperse. "I'm not a vindictive fellow, but if I had that low-down German who gave orders for this butchery, it would give me the greatest pleasure in the world to punch his head."
"You may have the chance yet," replied Waynsford. He had been thinking deeply for the last few moments. "I'm afraid I'm on the wrong lay. Here I am, wearing His Majesty's uniform, fooling about in a rotten little motor-boat, when I ought to be taking a man's part out there," and he pointed towards the North Sea."
"You haven't done badly, when you come to think of it," remarked Terence. "At Yarmouth, for instance."
"A beastly fluke. You, my dear fellow, had most of the game then."
"Buck up!" exclaimed Aubyn cheerily. "You may have a good sniff-in yet. If you don't, remember there's some verse about people serving who only sit and wait. I'm not fond of poetry myself, but perhaps you may know the line I refer to. Let's make a move. There may be more work for us amongst the ruins."
"May I coom along wi' tha', maaster?" asked the fisherman, who was coiling away the rope that had been so instrumental. "Eh, lad, thou'rt real champion."
"By all means," replied the sub. heartily. In spite of his years the old fellow had his wits about him. If there should be any work of a similar nature his assistance would be most valuable.
Before they had gone fifty yards the attention of Aubyn and his party was attracted by the sudden appearance of an elderly corpulent man whose garments consisted of a pyjama suit, over which he wore a woman's jacket with the sleeves tied round his throat, an old pair of carpet slippers and a felt hat. He had just emerged from a cellar, into which he had bolted during the earlier stages of the bombardment. Blinking like an owl he asked plaintively if the danger was at an end.
"Eh, maaster," replied the fisherman. "They kind and humane Germans sheered off half an hour agone."
"It's disgraceful!" exclaimed the dishevelled man vehemently. "Didn't the First Lord of the Admiralty tell us plainly, only a few months ago, that we could sleep quietly in our beds? Weren't those his exact words?"
"Ay," replied the old salt, with a grim twinkle in his eye. "Ay, that a' did. Th' knows the Huns gave us a look up at a time when most folks ought to be up an' about. Naw, get you gone, friend Thomas; thou'rt not fit to be seen in a respectable town like Scarbro'."
Terence looked inquiringly at his humble friend, as the pyjama-clad man waddled away.
"He'll be one o' those fools as oratates on t' parade on Sundays afternoons," explained the fisherman.
"I knows him well. Always was trying to make us believe that those Huns were our best friends, and that there weren't no use for a British Navy. Th' knows t' sort. For one reason, sith'a, I'm not sorry that those Germans came to Scarbro'."
H.M. torpedo-gunboat "Terrier" lay at anchor just within the limits of one of the numerous shallow estuaries of the Essex Coast. By the aid of the lead-line and an Admiralty chart on too small a scale to be of much assistance, Captain Holloway had taken his craft through the intricate approach channel with often less than three feet of water under her keel. Now she was lying head to wind, for it was high water and no tide running, in six fathoms, and within two hundred and eighty yards of the mud-fringed shore.
The "Terrier" had spent an uneventful week on her station, patrolling her appointed limits in the North Sea without a single incident to break the monotony. Swept fore and aft by huge seas that her high fo'c'sle failed to ward off; plugging away in a zig-zag course day after day, till her grey funnels were bleached white with salt spray; with her guns' crews standing by their guns through watch and watch day and night, she was "doing her little bit" as one small unit of the vast, tireless navy.
A few hours previous to the torpedo gunboat's anchoring in the creek, one of the crew had with great suddenness developed appendicitis. Although the "Terrier" carried a surgeon, the case was one for a shore hospital, and as one of the Admiralty "sick-quarters" was situated in the village at the head of the creek, Captain Holloway decided to land the patient with the utmost despatch.
It was blowing fairly fresh. Outside the bar the sea was foam-flecked. Rollers came tumbling in, breaking heavily on shore or else expending themselves harmlessly in the creek. At her anchorage the torpedo-gunboat was pitching slightly to the heave of the open sea.
"Do you see any sign of the boat, Mr. Aubyn?" asked Captain Holloway. "Those fellows ought to be on their way back by this time."
Terence, who was officer of the watch, brought his glass to bear upon the shore, where a cluster of red-tiled roofs, dominated by the grey tower of a church, marked the position of the village—a distance of about a mile and a half from where the "Terrier" lay.
"Boat's still at the hard, sir," he reported. "The boat-keeper is sitting in the stern sheets."
Lieutenant-Commander Holloway gave vent to a gesture of impatience. He knew from the fact that the seaman left in charge was taking it easy that the rest of the party were not on their way back to the hard.
On board the "Terrier" the crew were taking advantage of dry decks to air their saturated clothing and bedding. The watches had just been changed. Down on the ill-ventilated mess-deck grimy stokers, up from the confined stokehold, were scrubbing themselves and changing into clean rig. The fo'c'sle was packed with humanity. Amid the babel of voices Terence could detect the burr of Glorious Devon, the broad Scotch of the Highlands, the staccato voice of an excitable Welshman, the rich brogue of Connemara, and the last but not least, the unmistakable Cockney accent, but one and all stout-hearted British seamen. The most frequent topic of conversation that drifted to the sub.'s ears as he stood on the elevated bridge was football. Some of the men were discussing home affairs in the blunt open fashion that Jack Tar unconsciously adopts; others were debating the prospects of Christmas leave. As for the war, the subject was almost entirely ignored.
Once more the sub. brought his telescope to bear upon the shore. There were signs of activity on the part of the boat-keeper, so Terence came to the conclusion that the hospital party were on their way back.
Then, with a true seaman's almost unconscious instinct he gave a glance first to windward and then towards the open sea. As he did so he made a sudden dash to the engine-room telegraph, signalling for full speed astern with the starboard engine and full speed ahead with the port, at the same time shouting in stentorian tones that electrified the whole of the crew within hearing:—
"Submarine on the port beam!"
A bugle blared. Ere the short notes of alarm had died away Captain Holloway was beside his subordinate on the bridge. The guns' crews of the two 4.7's sprang to their weapons. Clang went the breach-blocks.
"Eight hundred yards!" announced the gunner calmly, as the copper cylinders with their deadly steel heads were thrust home.
But a deadlier weapon was already on its way towards the doomed ship. A torpedo, set at its minimum depth in order to make sure that it would not pass under the keel of its intended prey, was tearing towards the "Terrier" with the speed of an express train.
From his position on the bridge Terence watched its rapid progress. He could do nothing beyond what he had already done. It was evident that before the ship could swing on her cable, under the adverse action of her twin propellers, until she was bows on to the deadly missile, the torpedo would hit her.
At times the gleaming steel cylinder was clear of the water between the crests of the waves, yet unswerving either to right or left, it headed with disconcerting accuracy towards the ship.
The two 4.7's clashed almost simultaneously. The shell from her bow gun, aimed at the now disappearing periscope of the hostile submarine, missed it by a bare yard, and ricochetting, threw up five distinct columns of spray ere it sunk for good and all.
The gun-layer at the after gun with admirable presence of mind launched a projectile at the torpedo in the hope of diverting its course. He made one mistake: he forgot to take into consideration the refractive properties of water, and consequently the missile struck the surface too far in the wake of the torpedo to affect its direction.
"Stand clear there!" shouted the captain, seeing even in that tense interval that several of the men were standing by the stanchions.
There was a general rush to the starboard side to avoid the direct effect of the explosion of the "tin-fish," then a strange silence fell upon the ship's company.
"Crash!"
A hundred feet or so in the air rose a column of spray, as the deadly torpedo exploded on the port side nearly abreast of the fo'c'sle gun. The ship literally jumped a yard or so out of the water, then with a sickening thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of water pouring into her hull, subsided heavily in the agitated foam.
With his senses practically numbed by the shock of the explosion, Terence stood stockstill, grasping the bridge rail with both hands, while unconscious of the fact he held his telescope under his arm. He was dimly aware of the débris flying all around him, as the slender pole-mast, ventilators, and other heavy objects went crashing over the side. Then, as the cloud of spray and acrid smoke dispersed he could discern the forms of the crew as with varying speeds the majority regained their feet. A few, stunned by the concussion, were lying inertly upon the deck.
For quite ninety seconds Aubyn remained in his dazed condition. Then he realized that the ship was done for, and that he was still alive. Further, as an officer it was his duty to exert himself for the sake of the men. He remembered that the captain had been on the bridge, and turning saw his superior officer standing at the head of the ladder.
The captain was capless. There was blood upon his forehead. A splinter had grazed his head, making a clean superficial wound. The two men exchanged reassuring glances, then in clear, steady tones Captain Holloway issued an order for all hands to fall in on the quarter-deck.
The men made their way aft at the double. There was no undue scrambling or frantic haste, although the "Terrier's" raised fo'c'sle was now almost flush with the water, and her after part, where the freeboard was nominally only five feet, was thrice that height in the air.
Up through the small awkward engine-room stokehold hatchways came the "black squad," not one man of whom had stirred from his post until ordered to do so. Knowing full well that a catastrophe had befallen the ship, but ignorant of the actual facts, or whether she was on the point of making a sudden plunge to the bottom, these men had to undergo the greatest ordeal of any of the ship's company. Yet, before making his dash for safety, the artificer-engineer had taken care to prevent an explosion of the boilers as the water poured into the stokehold.
Of the boats on the davits only one was fit for service. The others were badly strained by the explosion or damaged by the flying débris. The serviceable one was quickly lowered, and, although leaking freely, was manned and brought alongside.
"Pass all injured men over the side," ordered Captain Holloway. "The rest of you can make the best of your way ashore—and good luck to you."
The crew gave three rousing cheers and prepared for the coming ordeal, for although the distance to the shore was an easy swim the bitter coldness of the water had to be taken into consideration.
One by one the wounded were passed into the boat; after them as many men as she could safely hold. The boat was ordered to lie off and render assistance to any swimmers in difficulties.
"With your permission, sir," said Aubyn, "I'll have a look down on the mess-deck. There may be some of the hands left below."
"Do so, by all means, Mr. Aubyn," replied his superior. "The old boat shows no great hurry."
"I fancy she's aground for'ard, sir," said the sub. "I'll be as sharp as I can."
Descending the now almost perpendicular ladder Terence gained the shelving mess-deck. Already the water was surging over the forepart; kit-bags, tables and stools were floating in a confused mass, while those that were not yet reached by the rapidly rising flood had been thrown about in all directions by the explosion.
It was some time before the sub. grew accustomed to the semi-gloom. His senses were still affected by the concussion; he could see the water pouring in, but the noise it made was barely audible. The situation reminded him of a cinematograph show unaccompanied by a band.
"All clear as far as I can see," he thought. "It's about time I looked after number one. Heavens! What is that?"
Lying almost buried by a pile of gear in one corner of the stokers' mess was the body of a man. He was insensible, and, in the hurried rush, had been overlooked by his companions. Already the level of the water was up to the man's chin as he lay with his head and shoulders propped up against a broken ditty-box.
Knee-deep in water Terence hurried to the rescue. The man, a great brawny specimen of humanity, was stripped to the waist. Surprised in the act of washing, after coming off duty, he had been rendered senseless by the explosion. His right leg was bent under him. The limb, Terence knew at a glance, was broken. He was also bleeding profusely from an ugly scalp wound in the back of his head.
In spite of the unconscious stoker's weight—he turned the scale at sixteen stone—Aubyn dragged him along the deck to the foot of the ladder. Here he was temporarily baffled, for the metal "treads" were now sloping downwards at such an angle that it would be difficult for him to get a foothold unimpeded, much more when attempting to lift a heavy man.
It never occurred to the sub. to call upon Captain Holloway for assistance. The captain, the only person now on deck, was mechanically puffing at an unlighted cigarette, while his attention was fixed upon the crowd of swimmers, good, bad, and indifferent, as they struck out for the shore. Beyond removing his boots the captain had made no preparations for safety, resolving to remain on his quarter-deck until his ill-fated command disappeared beneath the waves.
Unseen by his superior officer and equally unconscious of his presence, Terence gained the upper deck, secured a rope, and again descended to the aid of the luckless stoker. Bending the rope round the man's chest and back the sub. clambered up the ladder and began to heave away. Under ordinary circumstances Aubyn would never have attempted such a feat, but sheer nerve gave him the strength of a giant. Unaided he succeeded in raising the senseless man and toppling him over the coaming on to the deck.
Just then Captain Holloway, having seen that the last of the swimmers had reached the mud-fringed shore, remembered that the sub. had gone below, and finding that he had not returned, hurried to the companion.
To his surprise he found Aubyn bending over the body of a badly wounded stoker.
"Found him below, sir," explained the sub. "Double fracture of the leg and a nasty gash on his head."
With his captain's assistance Terence proceeded to apply rough splints to the injured limb and to staunch the flow of blood from the man's head.
"We'll soon have him out of it," remarked Captain Holloway. "The gig's returning, and I see the whaler is coming up as hard as she can."
He pointed to the boat which had taken the invalid to the sick-quarters. Alarmed by the explosion and concluding that something had befallen the ship, the ship's crew had bent to their oars with a will, to find on drawing clear of the hard that the "Terrier" was on the point of sinking.
The sub. felt himself shivering. The keen wind blowing against his saturated nether garments reminded him that it was mid-winter. As he stooped to wring the water out of the bottoms of his trousers he realized that the unconscious stoker, who a few moments before had been toiling in the hot stokehold, was now lying stripped to the waist.
Removing his great-coat and muffler Terence slipped the garments over the unfortunate man, just as the gig and the whaler came alongside.
This time there were plenty of helpers. Carefully the stoker was lowered into the whaler and placed in the stern-sheets.
"Give way, my lads," ordered Captain Holloway. "Run this man up to the sick-quarters as hard as you know how."
Then turning to Aubyn he added,
"The old ship seems to be hanging on. We may as well have a look below and see if there's anything of value in our cabins."
Bidding the gig lie off at a boat's length from the ship, which was now tilted at such an angle that her propellers were clear of the water, Captain Holloway, followed by Terence, disappeared down the little companion just abaft the after 4.7-in. gun.
Although Aubyn had been on board the torpedo-gunboat only a week he was thoroughly familiar with the appearance of the little box-room dubbed by courtesy a cabin. It would be difficult to describe its shape, for being well aft she was cut into by the "run" of the ship's side as it approached the stern-post. It was lighted by two scuttles, or circular ports. Immediately beneath these lights was his bunk, extending from bulkhead to bulkhead, yet barely long enough for him to lie at full length.
Underneath the bunk were two mahogany drawers. In one of the two corners of the cabin, which were rectangular, stood a wash-basin, hidden from view by a green baize curtain. Against the opposite bulkhead was a very small stove, its brasswork polished to a high degree. Somewhere between the rest of the space was a chair which had to be moved whenever the occupant of the cabin crossed from one side of his personal and private domain to the other. Even the steel ceiling, coated with cork cement, in a feeble attempt to prevent "sweating" of the metal, was utilized for a secondary purpose; from here hung the sub.'s enamelled iron bath.
Being well aft Aubyn's cabin had escaped much of the force of the explosion, but most of the loose gear had been displaced and lodged in the angle formed by the sloping floor and bulkhead. Two photographs in silver frames, their glasses smashed to atoms, lay on the carpet in company with the sub.'s silver cigarette-case, his watch and chain and a toilet-case—the latter a present from his headmaster upon leaving school. That little heap represented practically the whole of his worldly belongings in the way of luxuries: he could have stowed the lot inside his sweater.
Yet he did nothing of the sort. Like a man in a trance he stood in the doorway. Unaccountably the dazed feeling that gripped him immediately after the ship had received her death-blow took possession of him again. There he remained, gazing at the scene of disorder, without stirring a finger to save his treasures, until he was aroused by Captain Holloway exclaiming:—
"Look alive, Mr. Aubyn. She's going."
Up the companion raced the two officers. The ship was trembling violently. Air bubbles, escaping through the submerged scuttles, agitated the water alongside. The whole of the fore-part of the "Terrier," as far as the base of the after funnel, was under the waves. It was even a difficult matter to cross the deck from the companion to the side.
The gig backed. Captain Holloway signed to the sub. to leap; then giving a last look round he followed Aubyn into the boat.
"Lay on your oars, man," he ordered, after the gig had gone a hundred yards from the sinking ship.
Standing in the stern-sheets, Captain Holloway waited for the end. It was not long in coming. With the White Ensign still fluttering proudly in the breeze, the "Terrier" dipped more and more till ten feet of the after-part of her keel was visible. For a brief instant the towering mass seemed to hang irresolute, then with hardly a splash the hull disappeared from sight, leaving only the after-mast from the truck to the hounds above the surface.
Raising his hand to the peak of his cap the captain gave his former command a last salute, then resuming his seat, bade the men "give way."
All the inhabitants of the village were on the shore ready to offer hospitality to the crew, many of whom had discarded most of their clothing before jumping from the ship. One petty officer, three able seamen, and a stoker were missing—doubtless killed outright by the explosion. Four men were seriously injured, while a score more were suffering from wounds and shock.
"Hanged if I can quite realize it," remarked Captain Holloway, as he walked with Aubyn towards the village. "I remember going down to my cabin and grabbing a spare cap. There were two drawers in my locker. In one was fifty half-sovereigns, and in the other over three hundred pounds in notes. The gold is in my trousers' pocket, but, although I recollect seeing the notes, I've let the whole lot go to Davy Jones. Strange, eh? Why, what's the matter with you, man?"
He turned and grasped Terence by the shoulders just in time to prevent him from falling to the ground in a dead faint.
"Telegram for you, mum."
Mrs. Aubyn put down her newspaper and took the orange-coloured envelope which her sister's maid had just brought in on a tray. Telegrams were rather unusual at "Anchor Cottage," and the freckled, red-haired girl, with eyes and mouth wide open, stood consumed with ill-concealed curiosity.
But she was disappointed. Deftly Mrs. Aubyn tore the envelope and scanned the contents.
"No answer, Jane," she announced, in a steady voice.
Not until the maid had closed the door did the old lady betray the anguish that the telegram had caused.
"God grant that he is not blinded or crippled for life," she exclaimed, in low, earnest tones; then she re-read the momentous words of the telegram in the vain hope that she had not rightly grasped its significance, and that on second reading the message might not appear so terribly grim:—
"Regret to have to inform you that Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., is lying here seriously wounded."
The telegram was dispatched from Shotley Naval Hospital and bore the signature of one of the medical officers.
"Seriously wounded," she repeated. "An accident, perhaps. I must go to my boy."
She had read all the important news in the morning paper. There had been no mention of a naval engagement, so there could be no other explanation of how Terence received his injuries. She was thankful indeed that she had not gone to Portsmouth for the day with her sister. Thankful, also, that the said relative was not in the house, for in contrast to the presence of mind displayed by Mrs. Aubyn, Miss Wilson possessed a highly-strung temperament that frequently expressed itself in hysterical outbursts.
Mrs. Aubyn consulted a time-table and then rang the bell.
"Jane," said the old lady in even tones, "I want you to run across to Smith's and order a taxi to take me to the station at once, to catch the 9.15 train."
Quickly Terence's mother made her simple preparations. After dressing for the journey she sat down and wrote a note to her sister, explaining the reason for her hasty departure, and stating that she would write the same evening and give full details. Upon second thoughts she did not enclose the telegram, but placed it in her handbag. Then, closing the envelope and sealing it with wax, she gave it to the maid to hand to her mistress on her return.
It was close on four in the afternoon when the train steamed into Harwich station. Making her way through crowds of bluejackets who formed the bulk of the passengers, Mrs. Aubyn called a cab and bade the man drive her to Shotley as quickly as possible.
The cabby looked curiously at her.
"Shotley?" he repeated. "'Tis a long way. It'll cost you a quid, mum—a sovereign. Couldn't do it for less."
"A sovereign!" repeated Mrs. Aubyn aghast.
"Not a penny less, mum," declared the man, stolidly. The old lady's hand tightened on her purse. Her means were strictly limited. A sovereign was to her a large sum. Yet, for her boy's sake——
"Excuse me, madam," exclaimed a deep, pleasant voice.
Mrs. Aubyn turned. The cabby gave vent to an exclamation that, although inaudible, clearly expressed his views upon "fussy toffs who interfered with an honest chap's living."
"Do I understand that you want to go to Shotley?" continued the stranger, a tall, bearded gentleman in the uniform of a naval captain.
"Yes, to the hospital. My son, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, is lying there seriously wounded."
She spoke bravely, laying emphasis upon her boy's rank. She felt certain she could enlist the entire sympathy and aid of a brother-officer, notwithstanding he was a post-captain.
"If you will allow me I will give you a passage in my gig," said the naval officer. "It is only a short distance by water, but quite twenty miles from here by land. I fancy that cabby knew you were a stranger here. My name is O'Rourke—Captain O'Rourke."
Outside the station boys were selling the early evening papers. Catching sight of the naval officer three or four of them made a rush towards him.
"Evening paper, sir. H.M.S. 'Terrier' torpedoed and sunk."
He bought a copy, and without attempting to read it thrust it into his coat pocket.
"When a ship is torpedoed, Captain O'Rourke, are the crew severely injured?" inquired Mrs. Aubyn.
"A strange question to ask," thought the naval man. He glanced swiftly at his companion, trying to read an unexpressed thought that might have prompted her query. Her face betrayed no sign whatever.
"Well, it depends," he answered guardedly. "Unless there are men below, close to the point of impact, there is generally very little damage to personnel. The men would undoubtedly feel the effect of the concussion. When the 'Hogue' and her consorts were torpedoed the loss of life due to the actual explosion was absurdly small in comparison to the number of men drowned. Of course, if the torpedo strikes the magazine and caused an internal explosion, that is quite another matter. But excuse me, what made you ask that question?"
"My son was on the 'Terrier,'" she replied simply.
"I hope——" he began; then he stopped and pulled out the newspaper.
"There are no details," he continued. "In fact, I know far more about the disaster and how it occurred than is stated in the Press. The number of casualties is given but no names."
Assisting Mrs. Aubyn into the waiting gig, Captain O'Rourke gave orders to the coxswain to make for Shotley Pier. Then, having acted the part of glorified ferryman, and handed the old lady into the charge of a petty-officer with instructions to escort her to the Sick-Quarters, Captain O'Rourke returned to his ship.
The short winter's afternoon had now given place to night. Well it was that Terence's mother had a stalwart seaman to show her the way, for, owing to possible air-raids, both sides of Harwich Harbour were shrouded in darkness.
"Officers' wing, ma'am," announced the petty-officer. "If you'll write particulars in the visitors' book you'll soon be attended to by that chap—he's one of the assistant ward-masters."
After a few moments' delay Mrs. Aubyn was ushered into a fairly large room in which were half a dozen occupied beds. Eagerly she scanned the faces of the patients. None of the five who on hearing the visitor turned in her direction bore the slightest resemblance to her son. The sixth bed—ominous sign—had a screen drawn round it.
A nursing sister walked silently up to the assistant ward-master and asked a question in an undertone, then turning to the visitor:—
"Mrs. Aubyn, I believe. You have come to see your son?"
"I have; is he dangerously hurt?" she asked.
The nurse inclined her head.
"I am afraid so," she replied gently. "The surgeons are holding another consultation tomorrow. It may mean amputation of the right leg, but I think he'll get over it."
"Amputation of the right leg ... he'll get over it."
Mrs. Aubyn mechanically repeated the words as she followed the nursing sister towards the screened bed. After all, it might have been worse. Throughout the tedious journey the idea that persistently occupied her mind was that her only son had been deprived of his sight. She felt almost inclined to weep with relief. Compared with a life-long existence deprived of the light of day, the lot of a maimed hero—whose sacrifice had been for King and Country—was light indeed. And, besides, he would be invalided out of the Service. She, his devoted mother, would spend no more sleepless nights endeavouring to picture her son somewhere on the wild North Sea, beset by perils that had never, before the present war, threatened the gallant men who defended our shores.
She gave no sign of the emotions that surged within her. Outwardly she was calm and self-possessed—a pattern of a modern Spartan mother.
The nurse moved aside the screen.
On the bed, his forehead swathed in surgical bandages, and with a rest over his injured limb, was an unconscious man. His face was pallid, his closed eyes rimmed with red. His massive features, short turned-up nose, long upper lip and square jaw unmistakably stamped him as a son of the Emerald Isle.
"But this is not my son," said Mrs. Aubyn calmly.
"Not your son?" repeated the nurse. "Why, this is Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn."
"He is some other poor mother's son," declared Mrs. Aubyn; then, with unwonted eagerness she asked, "Were any of the other officers missing?"
"I think not," replied the nursing sister. "If you will take a chair for a few minutes I will make inquiries. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea in my room," she added, noticing the visitor's langour.
"Thank you," was the grateful reply. "I would."
While Mrs. Aubyn was drinking her tea the nurse held a hurried consultation with the ward-master and one of the doctors.
"Now you mention it," remarked the latter, "I did notice that the patient looked a bit tough for a commissioned officer. A sub., even though he be a reserve man, does not as a rule decorate his chest with fanciful tattoo designs. Have you any of the 'Terrier's' ship's company who can identify the patient?"
The result of the consultation was that an able seaman, suffering from slight shock, was brought into the officer's ward.
The man's weather-beaten face relaxed into a broad grin when he saw the supposed sub-lieutenant.
"Strike me pink!" he ejaculated in undisguised astonishment, and heedless of the fact that he was in the presence of a superior officer. "Mike O'Milligan will have the time of his life when he wakes up to find himself in with the officers."
"Mike O'Milligan?" repeated the surgeon.
"Ay; first-class stoker—that's what he is," declared the seaman, with the air of a man who is instrumental in denouncing an impostor. He seemed to imagine that it was a piece of audacity on the part of the luckless O'Milligan, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious when brought into the hospital.
"Did you see Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn after the explosion?" asked the nurse.
"Ay, ma'am. He was all right. Saw him with my own eyes on the quarter-deck when the hands mustered aft. Don't remember seeing him after that, though."
"I think there has been a mistake, Mrs. Aubyn," said the nurse on returning to her private sitting-room, where Terence's mother was striving to forget doubts and fears in a cup of tea. "A stoker was admitted to the ward under the inexplicable error that he was your son. Dr. Hardiman is making inquiries, and we hope to clear the matter up satisfactorily. You need not worry about finding a hotel; we can put you up for the night."
The nurse remained in conversation with the old lady for some minutes, then, excusing herself, returned to her duty.
Left to herself Mrs. Aubyn remembered that she promised to write to her sister. The news she was able to give was far from satisfactory; in fact, the position of affairs was very vague. Nevertheless, she sat down to write an account of what had occurred up to the present time, in the hope that before she had finished the letter Dr. Hardiman's investigations might produce definite and satisfactory results.
Suddenly the door opened. In the subdued gleam cast by the electric table-lamp Mrs. Aubyn saw the figure of a man dressed in a long, pale blue coat with broad red collar and cuffs. His face was darkened by the shade of the lamp.
Thinking the intruder was one of the hospital orderlies, the old lady turned to her work, only to feel a pair of hands grasping her shoulders.
"Hullo, mother! What brings you here?" asked Terence.
It was all because of the fact that Terence gave his great-coat to the unconscious man he had rescued from the mess-deck of the sinking "Terrier" that the sub. and the stoker had changed places.
Upon Aubyn losing consciousness Captain Holloway feared that the sub. had been wounded, and that he had kept the knowledge to himself. A hasty examination by the naval surgeon resulted in the satisfactory report that the young officer was not hurt beyond suffering from the shock of the explosion.
Captain Holloway, of course, could not stay with his subordinate. He had plenty of work to do, looking after the survivors of the ship's company, sending telegraphic reports to the Admiralty, and tackling fifty other problems to which the sudden catastrophe had contributed.
Owing to the limited room at the Sick-Quarters of the little village, orders were received to send the wounded members of the crew to Shotley. A fleet of motor-cars, lent by the well-to-do residents in the district, was quickly organized and the work of transporting the sufferers was put in hand.
A message had already been received at Shotley warning the medical authorities to prepare for the reception of one officer and so many lower-deck patients. The latter were to be distributed amongst the various wards.
A small crowd of sick-berth attendants were in waiting when the motor-cars arrived. The worst cases were taken into the building on stretchers. Amongst these were Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn, clad in cloth trousers and sweater, and Stoker O'Milligan decked in borrowed plumage—to wit, a naval officer's great-coat. Both men were still unconscious.
Consequently it was excusable that the sick-bay staff made a slight mistake. O'Milligan, after his leg was properly set in splints, was put to bed in the officer's ward, while Terence was dumped into the only vacant cot in one of the men's wards.
He was a puzzle to the sick-berth attendants. They knew that the one officer mentioned in the telegram had arrived. They could find no mark of identification on the clothing of the supposed seaman. Being particularly busy they let the matter of identification slide, thinking that on the patient's return to consciousness he would be able to give the necessary information as to his name and rating.
When the doctor went his rounds he gave directions for a sleeping draught to be administered to the patient as soon as he regained his senses.
Ten minutes after the medico's departure Terence opened his eyes. Instantly the alert attendant pounced down, and, without giving the patient a chance to speak, made him swallow the draught. Consequently it was not until six o'clock in the evening that the sub. awoke, feeling little the worse for his prolonged rest.
He sat up and looked round the room. His surroundings were strangely unfamiliar. The very bareness of the place had a lower-deck atmosphere.
He beckoned to the sick-bay attendant.
"What's up now, mate?" asked that worthy. "Feeling better?"
Somewhat taken aback by the familiarity of the man, Terence asked where he was, and was informed that he was in "B" block of Shotley Sick-Quarters.
"What's your name and rating, chum?" asked the man, producing a book and fingering a stump of indelible pencil.
Like a flash the situation became apparent to the sub. He remembered his great-coat—he seemed particularly unfortunate in the matter of great-coats, he thought. He had lent it to the stoker, and as a penalty he had been mistaken for the man he had rescued. The ludicrous side of the affair tickled him.
"A sub-lootenant?" queried the man incredulously. "Seems likely, eh? Either you're barmy, or else you're trying some little game on. Won't work, chum. Who's your raggie?"
"Raggie," in lower-deck parlance, is a term used to denote a man's particular pal. It was the sick-berth attendant's idea to get one of the ship's company whom the patient named to identify the fellow who was under the hallucination that he was one of the officers.
"Try Captain Holloway," suggested Terence. The man shook his head more in sorrow than in anger.
"It would go hard with you, chum, if I did," he remarked. "Your skipper wouldn't care to be bothered at this time o' night. 'Sides, he isn't here."
The patient in the next cot—of the crew of a destroyer that had been in some minor action—began to grow interested.
"Bill," he whispered in a stage aside, "'umour 'im. He's dotty. I knowed a chap once who looked just like 'im. He was as mad as a 'atter. He would 'ave it he was the Right 'Onerable Somebody. Got fair violent if you didn't believe 'im. So, 'umour 'im, says I."
Terence, overhearing these remarks, laughed.
"I don't claim to be anything so grand as a Right Honourable, my man," he said.
"Maybe, then, you're not so bad as the chap wot I was talking to the poultice-slapper about. 'E was sent to Yarmouth Loonatic Asylum, pore chap; maybe you won't need to be if you pulls yourself together," retorted the seaman, with brutal candour.
"Look here, my man," said Terence authoritatively, addressing the "poultice-slapper," otherwise the sick-berth attendant, "you'll please fetch the surgeon on duty—and be quick about it."
There was something in Aubyn's tone that caused the man to wonder whether, after all, there had been a mistake. He was one who was disinclined to take any risks in the matter. He hurried off, striving to recollect, as he went, what he had said to the unknown patient, and whether he had used indiscreet language to one who might really be a commissioned officer.
The doctor arrived, tardily. Although the circumstances had been explained to him, he, too, had his doubts. Patients suffering from shock were apt to be light-headed upon recovering consciousness.
He was a little, round-faced man, with a shiny pate surmounted by a tonsure-like ring of jet black hair. War had dealt kindly with him. Formerly a country medical practitioner in a poor district, having great difficulty in making both ends meet, he had taken advantage of the Admiralty regulations for the entry of Temporary Surgeons. With free quarters, a home billet, and a comfortable rate of pay, he was now "having the time of his life."
He lacked the general brusqueness of naval doctors when dealing with men. He was eminently a doctor; as a naval officer he made an indifferent show.
He was sympathetic as he questioned Aubyn, and although he observed him narrowly he saw no sign that would be bound to betray to a medical man any symptoms of lunacy.
"You are well enough to get up," he said at length. "Get your things on."
Somewhat disdainfully Terence clothed himself in the garments provided—rough underclothing and an ugly dressing-gown, arrangements that My Lords think fit to provide for the lower-deck patients.
"Fit as a fiddle," remarked the doctor.
"Fit for a good dinner, anyhow," added Terence, who was feeling desperately hungry—the craving for food accentuated by the fact that one of the patients had just been given some roast chicken.
"Ordinary seamen don't talk about having dinner in the evening," thought the surgeon. "Perhaps there's some truth in his assertion after all. I'll get him into the next ward; there are two of the 'Terrier' men there."
Nor was the doctor greatly astonished when, as the quaintly-garbed patient followed him into the ward, the men recognized their officer, stood up and smartly saluted.
"Well, Smith," said Terence, addressing a seaman-gunner by name, "how goes it?"
"Can't complain, sir. Got a proper whack in the ribs. 'Tain't much to grouse about. And how's yourself, sir, if I may make so bold as to ask? I seed the cap'n catch you as you pitched to starboard."
In a few minutes Terence was taken to the officers' ward. Here he was informed that his mother was waiting to see him. He wondered why. His condition was hardly serious enough for the medical authorities to send for her, so he settled the matter by going, just as he was, to the room where Mrs. Aubyn was waiting.