Adrift in the Indian Ocean
"Wish to goodness we hadn't been so prodigal with our provisions," said
Denbigh as the three chums ruefully surveyed the excavation. "It will
be short commons, unless----"
"Unless what?" asked Armstrong.
"Unless the fellows who have forestalled us have omitted to remove all
the stuff."
"It looks as if they've made a clean sweep of most of the gear and
burnt what they couldn't move. They've evidently poured petrol over
the place and set fire to it. Now, what was the object?"
"Perhaps a landing-party from one of our ships destroyed the cache,"
suggested O'Hara.
"Possibly," replied his chum. "But, on the other hand, unlikely. It's
my opinion that some of the Germans, finding that the _Pelikan_ was
held up, have made a dash for the island. In that case it is
reasonable to suppose that they have fitted out the whaler, and are
either making tracks for some navigable river lower down the coast or
else they will attempt to capture the first tramp they fall in with."
"Not much chance of escaping capture themselves," said Armstrong.
"I don't know. Remember the case of the _Ayesha_ with the _Emden's_
landing-party. They managed to fetch home all the way from the Cocos
Keeling Islands. These fellows, with luck, might reach Batavia and be
interned by the Dutch Colonial Government."
"And here are we stranded on a desolate sandbank, with precious little
grub in the locker," remarked Armstrong. "There's one consolation. We
have a boat."
"Of sorts," rejoined the Irishman. "Since she brought us here she
ought to take us back to the mainland, although it will be dead to
windward."
"What's wrong with Zanzibar?" asked the mate. "It's only about fifty
miles to the nor'-west. We've a breeze slightly abaft the beam.
She'll do it all right, especially if we take some sand aboard as
ballast."
"Right," assented O'Hara. "Let's make a start. It's a howling pity to
lose the breeze, and it's a jolly sight cooler on the water than on
this sun-baked sandbank."
Quickly the new plan was put into operation. The canoe was launched,
and about three hundred-weights of sand thrown into her. On
re-embarking the crew found that their frail craft was considerably
"stiffer", and showed no great tendency to capsize when one of their
number stood upright. In her ballasted state more sail could be
carried, and, what was more, she could be steered a point closer to the
wind.
All went well until about three in the afternoon, when, with
disconcerting suddenness, the wind died utterly away. The crisp,
crested waves subsided into a long, sullen, oily swell. The canoe,
without steerage way, floated idly upon the water.
"Out paddles!" ordered Denbigh. "You and I, Pat, will take the first
trick. At every thousand strokes one man will be relieved. Ready?"
Counting, the sub knew, was the only means at their disposal for
arriving at an equal division of labour. It also gave them a rough
indication of the progress made, since each stroke represented a
distance of two yards through the water.
"See anything?" asked Denbigh at length.
O'Hara, who was by this time at the steering paddle, stood up, and
shading his eyes looked ahead in the hope of seeing the friendly rising
ground of Zanzibar Island peeping above the horizon.
"Nothing," was the reply, "except that there's a breeze coming."
As the freshening wind swept down the men thankfully laid aside their
paddles and set up the mast and sail. For a few minutes the breeze
held true, then swiftly veering it blew dead ahead.
Once more the sail was lowered and the paddles resumed. With the wind
dead in their teeth the work was trebly increased.
Within half an hour it blew with considerable violence.
"Force six, at least," declared Denbigh, referring to the Beaufort
Notation method of indicating the wind-pressure. "We're in for a
dusting."
It was as much as they could do to keep the lightly made craft head to
wind. Armstrong was busily engaged in throwing overboard the sand
ballast. Drifting before the wind the canoe was in danger either of
being swamped or else carried out into the broad Indian Ocean.
The men were already exhausted. The canoe was drifting rapidly in
spite of their strenuous efforts. Yet she climbed the crest wave with
an ease that gave them confidence. The loss of "ground", made good
only by hours of sheer hard work, was the circumstance that troubled
them most.
"We'll rig a sea-anchor," said the mate. "Unfortunately we haven't any
weights to keep the sail up and down, but that can't be helped."
Quickly the foot of the sail was bent to the mast, the sheets were bent
to the extremities of the spar by a span, and the halyard led from the
centre of the span to the bows of the canoe.
Watching their opportunity the men heaved their clumsy sea-anchor
overboard and anxiously waited the result.
To their intense satisfaction they found that directly the rope took
the strain the canoe floated head to wind without any assistance on the
part of the paddles. The crew were, therefore, able to rest, but with
the disquieting knowledge that every moment they were drifting farther
and farther away from their desired haven.
The three officers were in good spirits notwithstanding the privations
they had undergone and were still experiencing. They realized that
this was part of the game. They had taken chances, and fate, in the
shape of a strong head wind, had been unkind to them. The idea of
mutual recriminations never occurred to them. Their adventure was of
the nature of a joint-stock concern. They had done their best, and
were ready to stand by each other till the end in whatever form it came.
For some hours O'Hara and Armstrong dozed fitfully on the bottom of the
canoe, regardless of the spray that dashed over their recumbent forms.
Denbigh, crouched aft, kept an occasional look-out, while at intervals
he baled with half a coco-nut shell.
The sea showed no signs of moderating. The prospect of spending a
night afloat in a mere cockle-shell became imminent.
Just then the sub heard a faint cry. He looked in the direction from
whence the shout came, but could see nothing. He was about to put it
down to a freak of his imagination when the cry was repeated.
Fifty yards or more to leeward was a man hanging on to an upturned boat.
"Wake up, you fellows!" exclaimed Denbigh. "There's someone overboard."
Seizing the paddles O'Hara and the mate checked the drift of the canoe
until its course would bring it close to the upturned craft.
"Steady!" cautioned Denbigh. "As close as you can to her bows."
His ready mind grasped the situation. Could he but effect a
communication with the waterlogged craft a double purpose might be
served.
Down swept the canoe. As her quarter slipped past the boat Denbigh
leant over the side. With one hand he staved off the sharp stem, the
metal-bound edge of which would have crushed the side of the canoe like
an egg-shell. With the other he grasped the painter, which was
trailing from the bow ring-bolt.
"Stand by and take a turn!" he shouted to the mate, throwing him the
slack of the rope.
Promptly Armstrong, who was up for'ard, made the running part of the
painter fast to the rope of the sea-anchor. With a jerk the canoe
brought up fifty feet to leeward of the waterlogged boat.
Here, sheltered by the latter, and with her drift apparently reduced,
the canoe was in relatively smooth water. The unfortunate seaman,
rallying his remaining energies, struck out. Almost exhausted, he was
on the point of sinking when Denbigh seized him by the hair.
It was a difficult matter to get the man into the canoe. He was a
great hulking fellow. The safety of the three officers was gravely
endangered, but proceeding with the utmost caution they hoisted him
over the side.
"Do you recognize him?" asked Denbigh.
"Eh?" exclaimed his chum. "No; do you?"
"Rather," replied the sub. "He's one of the _Pelikan's_ mob, and
yonder craft is the whaler I saw buried on Latham Island. I'm afraid
they haven't had much of a run for their money. But what's one man's
meat is another man's poison. The whaler may prove a godsend."
"She will," rejoined Armstrong. "See, she acts as a perfect
breakwater. We must be almost stationary, owing to her drag in the
water."
"Even more than that," added Denbigh. "I propose when the weather
moderates to have a shot at righting her. Since they provisioned her
we are bound to find some tinned food in her after locker, for I don't
suppose the whole lot of her gear was slung out when she capsized."
The sole survivor of the whaler's party was not long in recovering
consciousness. His surprise at finding that his rescuers were the
British officers whom he had last seen as prisoners on board the
_Pelikan_ was almost ludicrous. Soon he became communicative, and
confirmed the sub's surmise that the whaler was bent on a minor raiding
expedition.
The long night passed slowly. The last of the food supply had been
exhausted. A few coco-nuts, which being freshly gathered contained
liquid only, formed the sole sustenance of the four men.
With the dawn the wind fell but the sea still ran high. Eagerly the
horizon was scanned, but nothing save a waste of tossing water met the
eye.
"In another hour or so we'll be able to have a shot at righting the
whaler," said Denbigh. "By that time the sea will have subsided. If
you don't mind, you fellows, I'll have a caulk. I have more arrears to
make up than you have."
Quite worn out Denbigh stretched himself on the bottom of the canoe and
dropped off into a sound sleep. It seemed to him that he had not
closed his eyes more than half a minute when the mate roused him.
"What are those beacons on our starboard bow, do you think?" he asked.
Denbigh was awake in an instant. Looking in the direction indicated he
saw three triangular objects at a distance of nearly three miles away.
One glance was enough.
"Pat, you chump!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me you don't know
what they are? And you must needs make Armstrong wake me out of my
beauty sleep."
"Hanged if I can see hardly anything," announced the Irishman. "The
salt's bunged my eyes up completely. What about it, then?"
"Those beacons, as you call them, Armstrong," replied Denbigh joyously,
"are the tripod masts of three of our monitors."
"They are heading our way, then?" asked the mate.
"Either that or they're stern on to us. The former most likely. Stand
by with the rifle. We must not let them miss us."
In about half an hour the three warships had approached sufficiently
for their outlines to be discerned. They were moving at a slow
pace--barely five knots. All that was visible of each of the monitors
consisted of a low-lying hull of great beam, on which was placed a
turret mounting two gigantic guns. Abaft the turret was a small
superstructure, culminating in a bridge and chart-house. Immediately
behind the bridge rose a lofty tripod mast, its height being seemingly
out of all proportion to those conforming to the recognized
measurements of naval architecture. Perched above the junction of the
tripods was a large square structure whence the fire-control
arrangements were conducted, while a stumpy topmast completed the
incongruity. Abaft the mast was a single funnel. Two of the monitors
were evidently sister-ships. The third was of a much smaller tonnage,
although her armament was identical with that of her consorts.
"They're passing to windward of us," declared Denbigh. "Give them a
couple of rounds."
Armstrong raised the rifle and fired. Almost immediately following the
second shot a signal was run up from the leading monitor. Up fluttered
the answering pendant to the mast of the smaller vessel, which
immediately altered helm and bore down upon the canoe.
Slowly the rescuing craft approached. Her superstructure was crowded
with interested spectators, while several of the crew, wading
knee-deep, made their way to the submerged side of the monitor and
stood by to pick up the derelicts.
The operation required great care for the unwieldy craft was yawing
horribly. Being almost as broad in the beam as she was long, and
snub-nosed in addition, she steered badly. By good seamanship on the
part of her captain the monitor lost way at a distance of half a cable
from the canoe.
"Cast off and out paddles!" ordered Denbigh.
Five minutes later willing hands assisted the three British officers
and the German sailor to the ladder leading to the superstructure.
With feelings of thankfulness Denbigh, mustering his remaining
energies, saluted the diminutive quarter-deck. It seemed almost
heavenly to be once more under the shadow of the White Ensign. As he
raised his hand to the brim of his weather-worn helmet a well-known
voice exclaimed:
"Cheer oh! old man."