Turning over and swimming a slow side-stroke I made for _H.M.S.
Cornwallis_, which I could discern faintly silhouetted against the
sky about two-and-a-half miles distant. Suddenly something touched my
leg, and the thought of the sharks we had watched from the bridge the
previous afternoon flashed shudderingly across my mind--but it was
only a floating potato! Soon the shrieks of the drowning grew faint
in the distance and I swam on with three others near me. When I had
been in the water for about twenty minutes I looked up and saw what I
thought to be a boat. I shouted out, "Boat ahoy!"--and turning on my
side swam for some time a fast side-stroke. When at last I rested and
looked for the imagined boat, which ought to have been quite near by
now, I discovered that I had somehow misfocussed the _Cornwallis_, and
so come to imagine she was a small steamboat quite close instead of
a battle-ship a mile and a half away. However, I felt quite confident
of reaching her if only I persevered, so I continued to swim a slow
side-stroke. Soon after this my pyjama jacket came undone, and I took
it off as it hindered me. A few minutes later I sighted a huge spar
about twenty feet long, probably the topgallant mast or lower boom from
our ship. It must have been thrown a tremendous way by the force of the
explosion to be so far down the channel. The current was very strong,
and of course that was a great help to those who were swimming. I hung
on to the spar for a minute or two to get my breath back a bit, and
rubbed myself all over in order to restore the circulation, as by that
time I was getting very cold. After a short rest I started off again
to try and reach H.M.S. _Cornwallis_. Presently it seemed to me that I
was not approaching her as rapidly as before, and almost at the same
moment she switched on her searchlights, when I saw by their light that
she was out of the main stream of the current, and that to reach her
I should have to swim half a mile absolutely unaided by the flow of
the tide. I tried to get in the beam of her searchlight, thinking she
would be sure to have some boats out and that they would see me; but I
found I was unable to manage this, and after about five minutes I gave
up trying. Then I turned round and looked about for some other ship to
essay and make for. About a quarter of a mile behind me, and slightly
up stream, I saw another ship with all her searchlights going and I
determined to try and reach her. I swam towards her, and presently saw
two steamboats push off from her bow and make up stream for the scene
of the disaster, but they were too far off to hail. Five minutes later
I heard the welcome plash of oars, and looking to my left saw a cutter
approaching with a man in the bows sweeping the surrounding water with
a hand lantern. I yelled out, "Boat ahoy!" and back came the cheering
answer: "All right, we're coming. Hang on!"
A minute later the lantern flashed in my face, a pair of strong arms
grasped me by the shoulders and hauled me clear of the water.
I must have fainted then, for I remember nothing more until I became
dimly conscious as in a dream that I was in the stern sheets of a
boat lying alongside some other vessel. A man's voice said, "Here's a
midshipman, sir," and next moment I was picked up and set down on the
deck.
Barely conscious as yet of my surroundings, I was taken into a sort of
cabin, where I was given some neat rum. It was very fiery and nearly
choked me, but it bucked me up a bit all the same. Then I was conducted
down to the boiler-room, where some one stripped off my pyjama trousers
(my one remaining garment), and I sat down on a locker before the
furnace and soon got a degree of warmth back into my body.
Presently I heard the voice of one of our lieutenants speaking up
above, and called out to him to know how he'd come off. Then I was
helped up the gangway again and into a small sort of saloon in the
stern. Here I was given some more rum, a very large sweater, and a pair
of blue serge trousers belonging to one of the crew, and when I had put
them on I lay down in a bunk and immediately fell asleep. About an hour
later I woke up and found the saloon full of officers and men.
The Lieutenant to whom I had spoken in the boiler-room was sitting at
the table. He was dressed in a jersey and a seaman's duck trousers.
Two other survivors, a marine and an armourer, were also at the table,
and across the saloon in the bunk opposite mine lay a gunner's mate.
I asked the Lieutenant what time our ship was struck. He said his
watch had stopped at 1.29 a.m., when he jumped into the sea, and so he
presumed we were torpedoed at about 1.27, as the ship only took _three
and a half minutes_ to go down. She had been struck on the starboard
side by three torpedoes fired from a Turkish torpedo-boat, which had
drifted down the straits keeping close inshore, and thus eluded our
destroyer patrol. To give the enemy his due it was a jolly smart piece
of work.