Before eight on the following morning Terence rejoined the "Strongbow." The heartiness of his welcome almost banished the sense of disappointment he felt at having to serve on patrol duty instead of in a sphere of belligerent activity.
Captain Ripponden honoured him by requesting his company at breakfast; Commander Ramshaw was enthusiastic at seeing his former fourth officer again; even the somewhat taciturn Lymore smiled grimly as he shook Aubyn's hand; while Chief-Engineer McBride delivered such a welcome in the broadest Scotch that he was seized with a fit of violent coughing that did not subside till he rushed to his cabin and drained a stiff glass of "Hie'land Dew."
Kenneth Raeburn, who happened to be on watch in the engine-room on Terence's arrival, quickly sought out his chum as soon as he was off duty.
"I hear you've been having a high old time," he exclaimed boisterously. "You always were a lucky chap, old man. Let's hear all about it."
"I'll begin stern-foremost," began Terence, and to Raeburn's astonishment he related the circumstances that culminated in the death of Karl von Eckenhardt.
"By Jove, old man, you'll be lionized over this business!—saving a troop train and settling that bounder."
"I think not," rejoined Terence. "Fact is, I slipped away while they were all busy with the investigations. Didn't want to be detained over a rotten inquest. Don't believe in them myself."
"Neither do I," asserted Raeburn. "I had to attend one once, and the whole thing struck me as an utter farce, beginning with the false evidence of the village bobby and finishing up with the doctor's report. I know for a fact that when he examined the body he was as drunk as a fiddler. But is there anything in the papers?"
"Can't tell," replied Terence. "The bumboat hasn't come alongside yet. Anyway, I don't want you to say a word to anybody about the business; I want to be afloat. Any idea of the programme?"
"Same old game," said Kenneth, with a grin. "Between the south of Iceland and the Faroe Islands. Hullo, here's the bumboat! Now for a paper."
The "Strongbow" was lying about a mile from the West Pier of the port of Leith in company with half a dozen Admiralty craft of various sizes. Communication with the shore was maintained by means of frequent picquet boats, while tradesmen were allowed to supply luxuries to the ships by means of sailing craft known from time immemorial as bumboats.
Terence showed no hurry in securing his copy of the paper, but his interest was none the less acute. Having received one he retired to the seclusion of the deserted smoking-room and opened the damp sheets.
Quickly he scanned the news columns. Nothing escaped him, but there was no mention of the attempted outrage on the troop train. For good reasons, mainly to avoid creating any alarm on the part of the public and partly to conceal the fact from the German authorities that their master-spy had paid the penalty for his activities, the news had been completely suppressed by the Censor, although already eight-hundred soldiers were spreading the report amongst their comrades on Salisbury Plain.
Terence gave vent to a chuckle of satisfaction. Nevertheless, he kept an anxious eye on the boats putting off to the ship, in case one of them contained a messenger bearing a demand for the lieutenant to report himself to the civil authorities. Nor did his uneasiness subside until the "Strongbow" weighed and proceeded towards her station.
For weeks she cruised, save for the short visits she was compelled to pay when requiring coal and provisions. Yet nothing occurred to mar the uneventfulness of that lone patrol.
The principal topic on board was now the question of the Dardanelles operations, of which reports were received by wireless.
Amongst the officers there were two distinct parties in the matter of opinion. One, headed by Commander Ramshaw, expressed the belief in the success of the attempt to force the supposedly impregnable waterway. The other, though smaller, was represented by Lieutenant Lymore, who pessimistically regarded the operations as hopeless.
"It's not the Turkish guns," he declared. "It's that rotten current setting down from the Marmora. I've been there, and I know what it's like. The Turks will be chucking cartloads of mines overboard, and there'll be no end of a mess up."
The very next morning came the news of the totally unexpected appearance of the Super-Dreadnought "Queen Elizabeth." Ramshaw was so elated that he upset a cup of coffee over the ward-room tablecloth, and cheerfully paid up the sixpence demanded by McQuid, the assistant paymaster, who in his capacity of member of the Mess Committee was as sharp as needles in mulcting a delinquent.
"That's the way," declared the commander. "Taking those forts in the rear. They'll be through within a week."
A week passed, and still no news of the successful forcing of the Dardanelles. Then came the disquieting tidings of the sinking of the "Ocean," "Irresistible," and "Bouvet" and the disablement of the "Gaulois."
"Just what I said!" declared Lymore. "It's those beastly mines. Now, if I had a prominent voice——"
"You have, old man!" exclaimed the assistant paymaster.
Lymore glared at the interrupter.
"I'd chuck the idea of pushing up through the Narrows."
"A pretty figure you'd cut," remarked McBride. "There's nae true Briton wha'd back down once he's taken on the wurrk."
"I didn't mean that, my dear sir," continued the lieutenant. "I'd devote my energies in another direction. There's the Peninsula of Saros, about five miles in width and about eighty feet in height."
"Well?" inquired the assistant paymaster.
"I'd land a strong force under cover of the warship guns, whip together a regular army of navvies and all the steam navvies I could lay my hands on. In six weeks, and at a cost of less than that of the battleships we've already lost, there would be a canal twelve feet in depth from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. And, remember, both seas are practically tideless."
"Sounds feasible, laddie," remarked McBride.
"And then it would be a simple matter to send out the monitors. With their draught of seven feet they could easily pass through, as well as our earlier type of destroyers. Without paying the faintest attention to the Dardanelles forts the monitors could strike hard at Constantinople."
"Lymore, you ought to be on the Board of Admiralty," said Commander Ramshaw gravely.
"Instead of which I'm only a Reserve officer on the armed merchantman 'Strongbow'," added Lymore, with a grim smile.
At that moment came a knock at the wardroom door, and a messenger announced that an accident had occurred in the engine-room.
McBride was on his feet in an instant. The thought of anything happening to his beloved engines acted like a red rag to a bull.
All the executive officers not actually on duty gathered round the engine-room hatchway, from which clouds of steam were issuing. It was as far as they dared go towards setting foot in McBride's domain.
After ten minutes' wait, two stokers were sent on deck, both suffering from severe scalds. These were followed by Kenneth Raeburn, whose right arm was swathed in cotton waste soaked with oil.
"Rotten luck, old man!" he exclaimed, with forced cheerfulness, as he caught sight of his chum, Terence. "It's not much as far as I am concerned; merely a slight burn."
Aubyn could see by the expression upon the assistant engineer's features that he was suffering acutely. He did not know at the time that in addition to being severely scalded by the bursting of a steam pipe, Raeburn's wrist had been broken in a gallant attempt to rescue the two stokers as they lay, overcome by the hot steam, upon the floor of the stokehold.
Terence accompanied his chum to the sick-bay, where the surgeon quickly made the discovery that the plucky officer had sustained injuries that would probably necessitate his being invalided out of the Service.
Kenneth read the doctor's fears as clearly as if he had been bluntly told the truth.
"Hard lines," he exclaimed. "Looks as if I'm to be chucked out of the old 'Strongbow'."
"Only for a time, I hope," rejoined the surgeon. "Now, keep as steady as you can. I may hurt you a bit."
Aubyn watched his chum's face as he proceeded to dress the doubly injured limb. Beads of perspiration stood out on the young assistant engineer's face, but not a sound escaped from his lips, but before the dressing was completed Kenneth fainted.
"He's real pluck," declared the surgeon. "I dare not give him an anaesthetic, and the fracture of the wrist, complicated by the burns, made it a fearfully painful business for him. It's as well he's unconscious."
"Will he be invalided?" asked Aubyn.
"I'm afraid so," replied the medico. "The effect of the burn upon the tendons will probably result in a permanent weakening of the muscular action of the hand. I may be wrong—I hope so; but time alone will tell."
For the next week Raeburn was confined to the sick-bay. At the end of that time he was able to get on deck, with his bandaged arm in a sling. The doctor suggested to Captain Ripponden the desirability of landing the patient at the first opportunity, and the captain concurred.
Two days later a sail was reported. Of late the "Strongbow" had not fallen in with any craft, either British or neutral, and the news was hailed with mild excitement. Anything to relieve the monotony of the daily routine was welcome.
As soon as the stranger sighted the British merchant-cruiser he turned tail and steamed as hard as he could. A thrill of expectancy took possession of the "Strongbow's" crew. They were out to chase something, and the mere fact that the unknown vessel had shown her heels went to prove that she was a of suspicious character.
Calling every ounce of steam, Captain Ripponden stood in pursuit. It was the first time in her existence as an armed merchant-cruiser that the "Strongbow" was called upon to engage in a chase. Hitherto every craft she had subjected to examination had submitted passively. Now she was having a run for her money. Her hull quivered under the rapid pulsations of her powerful engines. The grey paint on her funnel casings blistered and peeled in large flakes, while for miles astern the thick cloud of smoke gave some indication of the activities of the "black squad" as they piled shovelful after shovelful of coal into the furnaces.
Half an hour's chase showed that the "Strongbow" was overhauling her quarry. Twenty minutes later the merchant-cruiser dropped a plugged shell a hundred yards abeam of the fugitive. Even this was not sufficient to impress upon the stranger that the game was up, and it was not until the "Strongbow" planted another shot within fifty feet of the unknown vessel that she slowed down and hoisted Norwegian colours.
The craft proved to be the "Roldal," a passenger and cargo steamer, of Bergen; but the fact that she had attempted to escape was in itself significant.
"Boarding-party away."
Into the boat tumbled fifteen bluejackets. In command was Lieutenant Terence Aubyn.
"I protest against the outrage," exclaimed the Norwegian captain in good English, as the boat ran alongside the "Roldal," which was now hove-to within two cables' lengths of her successful pursuer. "This is a neutral ship."
"And carries twenty passengers—citizens of the Republic of the United States of America, sonny," added a man standing by the gangway, whose "twang" would in itself be a sufficient indication of his nationality.
"Sorry, captain," replied Terence, "but my duty compels me to board you."
"Then a curse upon your duty!" retorted the captain. "Your Government will regret this outrage."
"If you will kindly allow me to come on board," remarked the lieutenant courteously, according to his instructions, although he felt he would have given a month's pay to have spoken his mind, "I'll go through the formality of examining your papers, and if they are in order you will not be detained more than a few minutes."
After intentional delay a tarry rope-ladder was lowered. Terence could have insisted upon having the accommodation-ladder let down, but instead he swarmed up the swaying perpendicular means of access, and followed by six of his men gained the "Roldal's" deck.
Ignoring the studied rudeness of the passengers, one of whom loudly protested against the "darned interference of cocksure Britishers!" Terence requested the captain to produce the ship's papers.
Grudgingly these documents were handed over. The "Roldal" was a Norwegian-owned vessel, bound from Boston, U.S.A., to Bergen. Her passenger list showed that there were nineteen American subjects and four Norwegian. Her cargo consisted of wheat and iron ware.
Glancing down the passenger list Terence saw the name "Octavius P. Rand, of Norfolk, Virginia." Going to the door of the cabin he requested the owner of the name to step forward.
There were looks of blank astonishment on the faces of eighteen of the American citizens. The nineteenth, the fellow who had protested so emphatically, began nudging a round-faced man in the group.
"You are Octavius P. Rand?" inquired the lieutenant, and receiving an affirmative reply, conveyed by means of a decided inclination of the head, he asked the man a few questions of various places in Norfolk—a town with which Terence happened to be fairly well acquainted. It was quickly apparent that the so-called Octavius had never set foot in that part of Virginia. By his Teutonic accent he was either a German or a German-American.
Of the others not one could speak English properly. They were eighteen Germans, domiciled in the United States, but on the way to the Fatherland to join the reserves. The nineteenth was a Yankee agent for a munition business in Hamburg.
A peculiar buzzing from the wireless-room of the "Roldal" told Terence that the operators were at work. Ordering two armed seamen to follow him, the lieutenant peremptorily told the wireless men to cease operations, and having placed sentries outside the door, he returned to his work of examination.
The Bills of Lading, Manifest, and Charter Party were palpable forgeries, while a survey of the hold showed that a quantity of the "iron ware" was copper ingots.
"You must consider your ship under arrest," declared Terence to the still aggressive skipper.
Without a word the captain flung himself into his cabin. He did not mind the ship being taken as a prize. His liberty would not be affected, since he was a Norwegian subject, while a substantial sum of money had already been paid to him by his employers, and the money had been sent by mailboat to his home. He had no interests at stake, but he was determined not to render his captors the slightest assistance in navigating the ship.
Leaving a strong armed party on board the prize, Terence returned to the "Strongbow" and made his report. On the strength of this Captain Ripponden had no hesitation in taking possession of the ship. A wireless was sent to the Admiral of the Armed Merchant Fleet announcing the capture, and proposing that the "Strongbow" should escort the "Roldal" into Cromarty Firth.
Promptly came the reply: "'Strongbow' not to escort prize. Send 'Roldal' into Cromarty Firth with a prize crew."
"Very good," commented Captain Ripponden when the message was delivered. "Mr. Aubyn, you will please take command of the prize, and upon arrival at Dingwall hand her over to the authorities for disposal. Then bring your men on to Leith. We will be putting in there for coal on the 26th, and you can rejoin the ship on that date."
The lieutenant saluted, and turned to go to his cabin and make brief but urgent preparations for his independent command.
"One moment, Mr. Aubyn."
Terence saluted and awaited the captain's pleasure.
"You may as well take Mr. Raeburn with you," continued Captain Ripponden. "Dr. Hardiman seems to think that the sooner he is ashore and able to obtain hospital treatment the better. Now, carry on, and good luck to you."
Ten minutes later Terence and Kenneth were ready to proceed to the prize. The assistant engineer, in spite of the fact that his right arm was still crippled and showed no immediate prospects of healing, was in the best of spirits and, unassisted, gained the stern-sheets of the boat amid a fire of farewell greetings from his brother-officers.
"Give way!" ordered Terence.
The men bent to their supple ash oars with a will, while the lieutenant steered towards the prize.
"What's up, old man?" he asked, suddenly noticing a perplexed look on Raeburn's face.
"Left my best pipe behind," was the dejected reply. "No, don't put back—'tis beastly unlucky."
He faced aft, then using his sound hand as a speaking trumpet he shouted to another assistant engineer.
"I say, Smithers, I've left a presentation pipe in my cabin. You might look to it, old man."
"Right-o!" was the reply. "I'll send it off as soon as we arrive at Leith. You can rely upon getting it by Monday morning. So don't get into a tear."
"If I don't, look out for squalls," retorted Kenneth.
Smithers shouted something in reply that was evidently intended to be facetious, but by this time the distance between the "Strongbow" and the receding boat was too great for the words to be understood.
"I'll never forgive old Hardiman for having me sent ashore," declared Raeburn. "It isn't as if I were properly crocked. I could do a trick in the engine-room even with a damaged hand. It's hard lines on Smithers and the others: they'll have to put in extra time."
Terence did not reply. He knew that it would be a long time—perhaps never—before Kenneth Raeburn would be on duty in the engine-room of a British warship, or even on a merchantman.
By the time the boat came alongside the "Roldal" those of the "Strongbow's" crew who had been left on board the prize had cleared away and lowered the accommodation-ladder. The Norwegians had stood sullenly aside, not a man stirring a finger to help. The skipper had made up his mind to adopt an attitude of passive resistance, and his crew took their cue from him.
As soon as the rest of the prize crew boarded the ship and their scanty gear and provisions hoisted up, the boat returned to the "Strongbow."
From the yard-arm of the latter a string of bunting fluttered in the breeze. It was the signal to part company. Then gathering way the armed merchantman circled to port, and steamed in a westerly direction.
Left to himself Terence proceeded to take the necessary steps for the safeguarding of his charge. The Norwegian crew were ordered to keep for'ard; the officers were allowed the run of the deck aft, while the passengers, with the exception of the American, were placed under arrest as German subjects capable of bearing arms.
Since the ship's officers bluntly refused to take any part in navigating the ship, Terence had a bed prepared in the chart-room. He knew that it meant forty-eight hours' duty.
He was short-handed. With sentries posted at the wireless-room, the fo'c'sle, and over the prisoners, the number of men at his disposal was far too small. He could not compel the engine-room staff to work; so some of his own men were sent to the stokehold and engine-room under the charge of an experienced engine-room artificer. Yet in spite of the willingness of the volunteer stokers, it was impossible to keep a full head of steam. Eleven knots was the maximum speed that could, under these circumstances, be screwed out of the captured "Roldal."
Before night the wind freshened. By six bells in the middle watch it was blowing a gale from the east'ard. The "Roldal" made bad weather of it. Broadside on to the direction of the wind she rolled like a barrel, shipping green seas amidships.
Clad in oilskins Terence remained on the bridge throughout the terrible night. He mentally condemned the fate that put him in charge of a cranky tramp-steamer, when he might be sleeping soundly on board the weatherly "Strongbow." Hour after hour he stood gripping the rail of the erratically swaying bridge and peering through the welter of broken water and pitch-dark sky. For the first time in his nautical existence he realized the responsibility of being in sole charge of a ship and of the lives of men.
Before it was dawn a hideous clamour, distinctly audible above the howling of the gale, came from somewhere for'ard. Terence strained his ears to try to detect by the nature of the sound what had gone adrift. It was the clanging of metal against metal.
Watching their opportunity during the slight interval when the broken water receded from amidships, two of the prize crew dashed aft from the fo'c'sle and sprang up the bridge-ladder.
"Starboard anchor broken adrift, sir," reported one. "It's hammering against the bows for all it's worth."
Aubyn considered the problem for a few moments. To send some of the scanty crew to work upon the exposed fo'c'sle to secure and re-cat the recalcitrant anchor would be a difficult task even with sufficient hands and in a moderate sea. Better by far unshackle the cable and allow the anchor to go.
He gave the order. Between the pounding of the heavy mass of forged steel, for the anchor weighed more than a ton, could be heard the blows of the mauls as the two seamen knocked out the pin of the shackle. Then, after the whirr of the chain through the hawse-pipe, the noise ceased. Terence knew that the anchor had plunged to the bottom of the Atlantic.
A babel of shouting came from the forepeak. The Norwegian seamen were clambering to be let out. There was no need for Terence to ask why: the damage was already done, for the "bills" of the anchor had penetrated the hull below the water-line.
The sense of danger had overcome their resolution to remain passive. They had attempted to plug the hole with hammocks, but the inrush of water was too great. Already the forepeak was flooded to a depth of three feet.
Shouting orders to the engine-room for the bilge and condenser pumps to be brought into action, Terence bade the quartermaster turn the ship head to wind. Even as the "Roldal" swung round, a terrific sea slapped her quarter and wrenched away the rudder brackets. The strain upon the insufficiently supported rudder resulted in the carrying away of the sole means of steering, for being a single screw vessel it was not possible to control her by means of the propeller.
Her only chance lay in forging ahead and trusting to luck that she did not fall off and wallow in the trough of the mountainous seas.
Mechanically the quartermaster stood by the steam steering-gear. Years of implicit trusting to a vessel to answer to her helm had left such an impression upon the seaman that he could not realize that the sole means of keeping the vessel on her course was denied him.
The "Roldal" was slowly turning to starboard. At one moment her stern would be deep in the waves, at another it would be high in the air, accompanied by a nerve-racking jar as the propeller, lifted from its natural element, raced wildly. Then, swish! A cascade of surging green water would sweep across the deck and pour in a smother of white foam to leeward.
Another appalling crash aft caused Terence to turn his head. To his dismay he saw that one of the fore mainmast derricks, which had been triced up and housed in a perpendicular position, had broken adrift. Like a gigantic flail it swept from side to side, clearing rails and deck-fittings as easily as if they were made of matchwood.
For a few seconds the heavy spars would bring up against the foremast iron wire shrouds supporting the mainmast, then, with the roll of the vessel, it would fly against the corresponding one on the other side, making the stay sing like a gigantic harp-string. A few minutes of that sort of game, Terence knew, would result in the carrying away of the shrouds and the loss of the mainmast.
The lieutenant motioned to some of the men: his own crew and a few of the Norwegians were sheltering under the lee of one of the intact deck-houses. At all costs the erratic derrick must be secured.
The men obeyed the unspoken order, for it would be useless even to shout in the midst of the tumult. Rigging a tackle they awaited an opportunity to slip a stout strip over the end of the terrible flail. Over came the spar, missing a man's head by a hair's-breadth. Two of the Norwegians sought to secure the derrick during its temporary inactivity, but an extra roll to leeward caused the spar to give an irresistible lurch. The next instant the men were hurled into the mountainous sea.
Nothing could be done to save them. To lower a boat would be a worse than useless act. It would be simply throwing away human life in an impossible attempt to save two already doomed men.
One of the unfortunate wretches was apparently stunned by the blow, for he was never seen again; the other could be discerned for a brief instant as he raised his arms in a mute despairing appeal for aid that was not humanly possible; then he was lost to sight in the chaos of the dark turmoil of broken water.
Dawn was just breaking as a sudden rush of steam through the engine-room fidley, followed by the slowing down of the engines, announced the disconcerting fact that the water had put out the stokehold fires. Quickly losing way the "Roldal" rolled excessively, helpless in the trough of the raging sea.
Hanging on to the rail like grim death the now thoroughly chastened Norwegian skipper mounted the bridge. Terence offered no objection. In the hour of danger little unpleasantnesses were lost sight of. They were now human beings fighting against a common foe.
"Can you set canvas on her?" shouted Aubyn.
The Norwegian understood.
"Ay," he roared in reply. "I will see to that."
Calling half a dozen of the men the skipper, accompanied by the first and second mates, made their way for'ard, not without imminent danger of being washed overboard. From the partly flooded sail-locker a storm staysail was produced. It had been rolled up for months, perhaps for years. Its hanks were stiff with rust. It took ten minutes' hard work to bend the canvas to the forestay; then slowly it was sent up and sheeted home. Gradually the vessel's head began to pay off. Under the pressure of the sail she would run before the wind. It was her one chance. Scudding before the mountainous seas the "Roldal" might keep afloat some hours longer, in which time she might be sighted by another ship and her crew given a fighting chance of being rescued.
Without warning came a sharp, whip-like crack. The clew cringle of the sail had burst. With a series of terrific reports, like the bark of a quick-firer, the rotten canvas flogged itself to ribbons. In two minutes hardly a vestige of the staysail was to be seen.
Once again, helpless and in imminent danger of foundering, now that the steam-pumps were useless, the ship rolled broadside on in the trough of the waves. The motion was now decidedly sluggish, her recovery slow. Another hour, or two at the very most, would see the end unless something totally unforeseen occurred to baulk the sea of its prey.
"Land ahead!"
Five miles to leeward appeared a chain of rugged cliffs, topped with treeless ground that culminated in a gaunt peak. Here and there were gaps of varying sizes, but whether these were inlets, or merely patches of low-lying ground, invisible owing to the curvature of the ocean, the lieutenant could not for the time being decide.
All this while, from the moment the Norwegian operator thought it advisable to relinquish his attitude of passive resistance, the wireless had been sending out calls for aid; but, although Terence swept the horizon with his glasses, no smoke announced the approach of a succouring steamer.
Presently a line of surf, as the tremendous seas hurled themselves against the rock-bound coast, became visible. The "Roldal" was evidently doomed either to founder or else be driven upon the bleak and frowning cliffs.
Suddenly the quartermaster, forgetting disparity in rank in his excitement, grasped Terence by the arm.
"Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "A submarine!"
The Norwegian skipper saw the twin periscopes almost at the same time, as, owing to the "jump" of the submarine, they bobbed up and down in the raging sea. At one moment they would be completely submerged; at another the top of the conning-tower would appear above the surface.
"German, eh?" asked the skipper, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Them everywhere; but I think they will not hurt us—we Norwegian ship. They go to read name on our stern."
Terence did not reply. He gripped the rail and looked stedfastly in the direction of the latest menace. It reminded him of that awful period of suspense when the torpedo came speeding towards the ill-fated "Terrier."
Perhaps, seeing the desperate plight of the "Roldal" the German commander would not waste a precious torpedo. If he did, Terence reasoned it would only hasten the seemingly inevitable end.
"By Jove, what a chance if we had a quick-firer!" exclaimed a voice in his ear, and turning the lieutenant saw that Raeburn had emerged from the chart-room, where he had been during all those hours of danger.
"And if we had use of the helm we would settle her," added Aubyn. "As it is——"
A glistening object cleaving through the waves caused him to break off suddenly. The submarine, with a fiendish disregard of humanity's laws, had let loose a torpedo.
It came straight towards the luckless "Roldal," at times jumping clear of the terrific seas, at others cutting through the great waves with a hiss of escaping air and a smother of foam from its double propellers.
Fully expecting the missile to strike fairly amidships and immediately under the bridge the three officers scurried to the starboard side, Kenneth being assisted by his chum as he lurched across the steeply shelving planks.
"Missed!" he shouted, as the wake of the receding torpedo caught his eye. The weapon had, owing to an erratic roll of the ship, passed a few inches beneath her keel and was now expending its store of compressed air in a useless run.
"The lubbers! The lubbers!" exclaimed the Norwegian skipper, using a term which he considered to be the last word of nautical malediction. Whatever sympathies he had for the Teuton had now flown to the winds. The torpedo from the recreant submarine had converted one more biassed neutral into a staunch moral foe of kultur.
Chagrined by the failure, the German submarine did not discharge another torpedo. Her periscopes disappeared, and although Aubyn kept a vigilant lookout, he saw no more signs of her.
By this time the "Roldal" was badly down by the head. At intervals it seemed as if she would not shake herself free of the tons of water that poured over her decks. Her very sluggishness suggested to the experienced seamen that there was very little life left in the vessel.
"Release the prisoners, Saunders," ordered Terence, leaning over the bridge rails and addressing a petty officer. "See that they are served out with lifebelts."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as he hurried below, where eighteen frenzied Germans were clamouring to be let out.
There was nothing more to be done to safeguard the lives of the crew. The men, British and Norwegian, were steady and under perfect control. All wore either life-belts or inflated swimming-collars, although the possibility of gaining the shore seemed very remote in view of the mountainous seas breaking against the sheer wall of iron-bound cliff.
"Let me give you a hand, old man," said Terence, offering a life-belt to Raeburn.
The assistant engineer shook his head.
"Thanks, I'm not having any," he replied. "I never was fond of icy cold water, so the sooner it's over the better. Wonder what old Smithers will do with my pipe? I wish I had it now."
"Try a cigarette," suggested Aubyn.
Kenneth took one from the proffered case, and, awaiting his opportunity, made a dash for the lee side of the chart-house. In a few seconds he was back again, with the cigarette between his teeth. A shower of ice spray extinguished it, but seemingly unconscious of the fact he puffed away at the unlighted cigarette.
One of the "Strongbow's" men ascended a few rungs of the ladder and saluted. Terence beckoned him to come close.
"Beg pardon, sir," announced the seaman, "I know the coast. We're drifting on to a bad part of the Shetlands. Yon island's Unst; t'other is Fetlar, and beyond it, though it looks all one island, is Yell. D'ye happen to know what time o' tide it is, sir?"
"High water at about seven o'clock at Lerwick," replied Terence.
"Then, sir, if we hit to the south'ard of Fetlar, God help us. It's sure death; but if so be we get swept to the nor'ard of it, there's a 'swilkie'—that's what they call a race in these parts—that'll take us into Dalsetter—unless we founder first," he added, as an after-thought.
Anxiously Aubyn kept his telescope levelled on the north end of Fetlar. By taking a bearing he was able to realize that the ship had a perceptible northerly drift. If this movement were maintained it might be possible to escape being cast upon the perpendicular cliffs, otherwise all hopes of rescue must be abandoned.
In breathless suspense the crew watched their vessel bear down upon the forbidding shore, till caught by the "swilkie" she was swept clear of the dreaded cape. Yet so close had she shaved the land that in fine weather it would have been possible to "toss a biscuit" ashore.
Although the sea still ran high the force of the wind was lessened by the slight shelter afforded by the island. Ahead lay the large island of Yell, wherein could be distinguished the comparatively safe haven that terminates at the village of Dalsetter.
"Look, sir," exclaimed the seaman, who at Terence's request had remained on the bridge. "There are people ashore. They're signalling to us to edge to starboard."
"Would if we could," muttered the lieutenant grimly. "By Jove, they're sending out a couple of boats."
Such was the case. In spite of the mountainous seas, some of the hardy Shetlanders had put off in two of the typically seaworthy craft for which Lerwick and the fishing harbours of these islands are justly celebrated.
Tack after tack they made. At times only the peaks of the closely reefed dipping lugsails were visible. The rest of the boats were lost to sight between the crests of the waves.
It was soon evident to the Shetland fishermen that they could do nothing in the way of salvage, and having been able to ascertain that the distressed vessel was not under control and incapable of answering to her helm, they contented themselves by tacking to and fro to wind'ard, waiting for the "Roldal" to make her final plunge.
Yet the Norwegian vessel showed no undue haste. She had reached a certain stage when she retained just sufficient buoyancy to keep her afloat. After all, it seemed as if she would ground rather than founder.
"We can't fetch the creek, sir," declared the seaman. "We're setting too much to the nor'ard. It's only a question of time, sir."
Almost as he spoke the "Roldal's" hull shuddered under a terrific blow. Heeling to port, she swung almost broadside on to the waves; with a crash her masts went by the board, the foremast buckling close to the deck, and about ten feet of the main-mast remaining.
Two more heavy bumps she gave, then, settling on hard rock, merely quivered as the seas broke over her.
"Hold on, men, for your lives!" shouted Terence. "The tide's ebbing. We may be all right even yet."
The crew needed no caution in this respect. Hanging on desperately to whatever came to hand they resisted the efforts of the breakers to sweep them overboard and into the chaos of broken water between them and the low cliffs.
The fishing-boats had gone. Brave as were their crews the hardy Shetlanders knew that to venture anywhere in the vicinity of the stranded vessel meant almost certain death without the slightest chance to render any assistance.
Then, with surprising suddenness, the summit of the hitherto deserted cliffs was teeming with people—men, women, and children. The inhabitants of the little village had been waiting by the side of the sheltered firth, fully expecting to see the disabled vessel crawl into safety. But with the news that she had failed to weather the headland they rushed to the cliffs, and, what was more, they brought a rocket apparatus with them.
The first rocket, deflected by the wind, fell fifty feet from the wreck. The second was fired immediately on the deck of the "Roldal." Several of the seaman, at imminent risk of being swept overboard, secured the light line and began to haul away.
In ten minutes a means of communication with the shore was established. Beginning with the prisoners, the shipwrecked party were hauled to land, one by one till only Raeburn and Terence were left, for in spite of Aubyn's representations that the partly disabled officer should be sent early in the course of the operations, Kenneth stoutly refused to budge until all the passengers and crew were saved.
"Now, then, old man," exclaimed Terence. Gently he assisted his chum into the breeches-buoy, and, since the assistant engineer was incapable of raising his right hand and arm, the lieutenant made him additionally secure by lashing a rope round his shoulders and to the slings of the buoy.
"'Fraid I'll get a ducking after all," remarked Kenneth, with mock ruefulness. "Never mind, I'll get my pipe again."
Terence gave the signal. The strain on the hauling rope increased, and Kenneth started on his semi-aerial, semi-submarine journey to the cliffs of Yell.
Anxiously the lieutenant followed his chum's progress. He knew how hard the tail of a wave can hit, and that Kenneth was in serious danger of having his still unhealed arm broken again by even a fairly light blow. White-crested waves were breaking right over the occupant of the breeches-buoy, for he was now nearly half-way to the shore and at the lowermost limit of the sagging rope. At times lifted by the seas, he would be swung into an almost horizontal position. At others he would be suspended in the air, with the water pouring from him like a miniature cascade.
"He's making slow progress," thought Terence. Then he looked at the endless travelling line. It was not running through the block. Something had jammed and the men on the cliff were unable to haul the breeches-buoy another foot.
Frantically Terence signalled for them to slack away. Putting every ounce of strength into his effort he tugged at the line in the hope of freeing it from the jammed block, but without avail.
"He'll be drowned, or he'll die of exposure," thought Terence, as he desperately taxed his powers of resourcefulness to devise some means of extricating his comrade from his dangerous position.
"There's only one thing to be done," he continued. "It's kill or cure, so here goes."
Pulling out his pocket-knife, Terence made his way to the stump of the mainmast, to which, ten feet above the deck, was bent the "tail jigger," or rope through which the endless line was rove and the stout hawser from which the breeches-buoy was suspended.
Securing a foothold on the spider-band Aubyn found that he could now easily reach the object of his attack. The blade of his knife, though small, was sharp. The strain on the hemp aided his efforts, and in a very short time both means of communication with the shore were severed.
His own retreat was cut off, but the helpers on the cliff were now able to haul Kenneth through the breakers. They understood the act of self-sacrifice of the solitary figure on the wreck and acted promptly.
Anxiously he followed the progress of that small black object that was being towed rapidly towards the base of the cliffs. He knew the risk. Even in the case of a man in full possession of the use of his limbs the danger of being hurled against that almost perpendicular wall of rock was appalling.
He held his breath. Kenneth was clear of the waves—no, almost, for a smother of white foam had hidden him temporarily from the lieutenant's sight. The next moment the surf had subsided, revealing the breeches-buoy and its occupant like a spider at the end of its thread.
The rope was swinging violently, but owing to the fact that here the cliffs overhung the sea Raeburn was not being continually bumped against the rocks. Instead he seemed to be clear of that danger, and the higher he was pulled up, the shorter became the swing of that exaggerated pendulum.
Men were lying flat upon the brink, waiting to receive the rescued officer. Others, still hauling, but with less speed, awaited the order to belay. The last ten feet of the ascent were the most difficult of all, for here Kenneth's body and maimed limb were in actual contact with the rugged granite. Yet, from where he stood, Terence could see no sign of life in the saturated burden of the breeches-buoy.
Now the rescuers had the object of their attention within arms' reach. Grasped by the muscular hands of the hardy Shetlanders, Kenneth was lifted clear of the jagged edge of the cliff. Willing helpers released him from the buoy, and still without showing signs of movement Raeburn was carried out of his chum's sight.
Leaning against the lee side of the chart-house, for the bridge was now at an alarming angle, Terence quietly reviewed the position. The "Roldal" was breaking up fast. Already the bow portion had vanished, and the 'midship portion seemed in a great hurry to disintegrate itself under the sledge-hammer like blows of the waves.
His first idea was to throw himself into the sea and trust to fate. He might perhaps escape being dashed against the cliff and contrive to seize a bowline lowered from above; but the possibility of getting safely through that turmoil seemed wellnigh hopeless.
The tide was still falling. Every few minutes meant the uncovering of the reef on which the vessel struck, and a compensating diminution of the force of the waves. On the other hand, delay resulted in the increase of the numbness of his body and limbs, which were already feeling the effects of the cold and wet.
Hundreds of eyes were fixed upon him. In addition to the inhabitants of the village and the surrounding district, his own men and the Norwegian crew were standing on the cliffs in apparent helplessness, waiting for the final act of the tragedy.
Presently a hand-cart drawn by half a dozen fishermen appeared upon the scene. It was another life-saving apparatus, for the first had been rendered useless owing to the accident.
With a hiss the light-line fell handsomely across the wreck, the rope almost falling into Terence's hand. To it was attached the hawser, but the lieutenant knew that it was beyond his strength to attach the stout rope to the stump of the mast. Since Raeburn had been hauled through the breaking seas, he argued, why could he not follow his example?
Securing the running rope round his waist, and making sure that no part of the gear was likely to foul any part of the wreckage, Terence made his way down the shelving bridge. The lee side was now only six or seven feet above the water. The whole structure was quivering violently. At the most it could not hold together for many minutes longer.
Using his arms as a semaphore the lieutenant signalled to those on shore that he was ready to be hauled through the surf. A reply to the effect that he was understood came from the "Strongbow's" men. Then, making a leap clear of the bridge, Terence plunged into the sea. Even as he did so, the chart-house and the weather part of the bridge were swept bodily away.
Upon rising to the surface Aubyn found himself being dragged through the water at a rapid rate. Ten yards or so behind him was an enormous mass of woodwork—a part of the bridge-planking—bearing down on the crest of a billow. Swift as was his progress, the floating timber threatened to overtake and overwhelm him.
The rescuers, too, saw the danger, and redoubled their efforts to haul the lieutenant clear of the pursuing mass. Buffeted by the waves, his limbs completely numbed by the action of the icy-cold water, Terence was hardly conscious of what was happening, till he found himself being lifted clear of the chaos of broken water.
Before he was out of danger an exceptionally heavy sea completely buried him as he swung with irresistible force towards the base of the cliff. The "backlash" of the foam alone saved him from being dashed to death against the solid mass of granite. As it was he received such a severe blow that he lost consciousness.