To the Rescue
Twelve hours later found H.M.S. _Capella_ back on her station off
Beachy Head.
The long-threatened gale had burst with great violence upon the South
coast. Long crested breakers surged towards the chalky cliffs,
thundering with terrific force against the sheer face of the rocks.
Seaward, as far as the eye could reach, was nothing but a confused
tumble of foam, backed by a lowering bank of ragged and sombre clouds.
The _Capella_ and her consorts had to "stick it". Without orders they
dare not seek shelter in Newhaven harbour. All they could do was to
forge slowly ahead, keeping bows on to the furious seas. In spite of
her shallow draught, the _Capella_ was an excellent sea boat, although
inclined to be "jumpy". Frequently green waves broke over the fo'c'sle
and surged aft as far as the deck-house under the bridge; but with
unfailing regularity the stanch vessel would shake herself clear of the
tons of water that had invaded her deck, to be ready to receive the
next contribution from the hand of King Neptune.
Nevertheless, while the gale lasted it was a time of discomfort. One
thing for which the crew were thankful was the fact that it was still
September, and the gale was not one of those wintry varieties which are
so trying to the hardy patrollers of the North Sea.
Everything had to be battened down. 'Tween-decks the air was stifling,
and reeked of fumes from the motors. It was impossible for a man to
stand unsupported. Anything that had not been securely lashed would be
sure to be flung across the deck by the erratic motion. No hot meals
were obtainable. Officers and crew had to eat as best they might,
without the use of articles of civilization such as plates and similar
things.
Ross and Vernon saw very little of each other during the gale, except
for a brief interval during the changes of the watch on deck. Each
enjoyed his "trick" on deck, as he crouched behind the bulging
storm-dodgers and faced the howling wind and the stinging spray. It
was greatly to be preferred to being below, cooped up in an atmosphere
which resembled that of an underground scullery on washing-day, with
the odours of petrol and lubricating oil thrown in as extras.
"One thing we've to be thankful for," remarked Barry, "and that is that
it's a sou'wester. It minimizes the chance of being blown up by a
derelict mine."
"How is that?" asked Ross.
"A sou'easter's the brute for that. Brings with it dozens of German
mines that have broken adrift from the Belgian coast. When I was
stationed at Great Yarmouth we had the same game in easterly gales. It
was nothing unusual to find twenty of the brutes lying ashore; and on
several occasions they have exploded on coming into contact with the
rocks, and then, especially at night, everyone thought that the Germans
had at last ventured to risk 'The Day'.
"I remember one that came ashore a few miles from Lowestoft. It was a
whopper, of a different type from the rest. An Engineer officer
brought a dozen young subalterns down to see it and give them an
object-lesson. He talked for the best part of an hour, explaining its
construction, and laying particular stress upon the need of the
greatest caution when handling it. Finally he proceeded to explode it
electrically. The circuit of the battery was tested and found to be in
perfect order, and the wires were then connected with the detonator of
the mine, after the tube containing the fulminate of mercury had been
removed.
"The whole crowd took cover. The circuit was completed, but the mine
didn't budge. They tried three times, and finally came to the
conclusion that the thing was a dud.
"Then a squad of soldiers took pot-shots at it until it was fairly
riddled with bullet holes, but still the blessed thing wouldn't
explode. Eventually it was decided to remove the mine to a laboratory
for examination, and a team of mules was requisitioned to drag it off
the beach.
"One of the mules suddenly took it into his head to be a little bit
premature, for he lashed out, broke away from the traces, and pelted
down the beach. When the brute came to the place where the mine lay,
he found that the tackle which the men had already rove to shift it was
in his way. Possibly the sight of a rope upset him, for he backed and
lashed out with his hind legs--and up went the mine with a terrific
bang. They never found any of the pieces of the mule."
At length, as is invariably the case, the gale blew itself out, and,
although the sea still ran high, the absence of broken water made it
possible for the hatchways to be kept open.
The behaviour of the _Capella_ and her consorts was a matter for
congratulation. They had stood the test remarkably well, and had
proved themselves good all-weather craft, provided that they could be
kept head to wind.
A week later the _Capella_ returned to Southampton to replenish her
stores, and after three days in port she received orders to proceed to
the French coast and patrol off Cape Levi, where the presence of a
hostile submarine had been reported.
This intelligence was serious. It meant that, once again, an
unterseeboot had made its way into the English Channel, and was lying
on the track of the British transports and hospital ships running
between Southampton and Rouen.
It took the _Capella_ two hours only to run from The Nab to within
sight of the French coast. Even then her motors were not running at
the maximum number of revolutions. Extreme speed was only resorted to
when actually engaged in submarine hunting.
As the vessel closed with the grey cliffs of Normandy, Ross suddenly
shouted: "Submarine on the port bow!"
Less than two cables' length away could be discerned the twin
periscopes and a portion of the conning-tower. The submarine was not
forging ahead; it was simply stationary, except for a slight movement
caused by the action of the waves. It certainly was not a British
craft. It might be French. The odds were that it was German, since
submarines belonging to the allied nations were not in the habit of
keeping awash, unless in the presence of an enemy.
Quickly the guns, which were already cleared for action, were trained
upon the visible part of the submarine; but as she made no attempt to
move, Captain Syllenger refrained from giving the order to open fire.
Thrice the _Capella_ circled round the mysterious craft, at the same
time gradually closing, since she had nothing to fear from the
discharge of a torpedo.
"I believe she's abandoned, sir," said Barry.
The _Capella_ stopped. Preparations were being made for the lowering
of a boat, when one of the seamen shouted:
"It's a dud, sir; a blessed decoy-bird!"
The man was right. Upon investigation, the submarine was found to be
nothing more than a couple of barrels covered with painted canvas. Two
thick poles passing vertically through them, and weighted at the
lowermost ends to give the necessary stability, served as periscopes.
"There's a real submarine knocking about, I'll swear," said the
skipper. "Put a shot into those barrels, Morgan."
One shell was sufficient. Little more than a hundred chips floating on
the surface was left of the decoy.
The _Capella_ was about to resume her course when a warning cry was
heard:
"Torpedo coming, sir!"
From a point bearing half a mile on the vessel's port quarter, the
track of the on-coming torpedo was clearly discernible. The _Capella_,
being without way, would undoubtedly have fallen a victim had it not
been for her light draught, for before she could forge ahead the
missile passed under her keel. Its track could be followed as far as
the eye could reach, which showed that it was a modern weapon propelled
with superheated air and having a range of about five miles.
Straight for the source of the missile, tore the British craft, but her
effort to grapple with the unterseeboot was in vain. The submarine had
dived immediately. No sounds betrayed her presence in the vicinity.
Had the U-boat been moving, the churning of her propellers would have
been distinctly audible.
"She's got away, worse luck," growled Sub-lieutenant Fox. "I wonder
how she did it? It's too deep for her to sound, and she can't be
moving under her own power."
"We'll have her right enough," rejoined Barry, the optimist. "A light
haze and a calm sea is what we want. We'll run her down in less than a
week, you mark my words."
Four days passed. The _Capella_ kept her station almost without
incident. Ship after ship, deeply laden with troops and munitions,
entered the sand-banked estuary of the Seine, having been escorted thus
far by destroyers. Ship after ship, more lightly burdened, left the
river, homeward bound. Amongst them were hospital ships, clearly
distinguishable by their broad green bands and conspicuous red crosses
on both bows and quarters. A big action had taken place "somewhere in
France", and the passing of the Red Cross vessels was the aftermath of
a dearly-bought victory.
Yet nothing occurred to threaten the constant stream of shipping. It
seemed reasonable to surmise that either the U-boat had met with an
accident or else that she had transferred her energies to another area.
Meanwhile Ross and Vernon had been working hard, improving their
seamanship. Under the instruction of the two sub-lieutenants they were
making rapid progress in navigation; they could fix their position by
the use of a sextant, were able to use the semaphore, and, generally,
competent to carry out the duties required as midshipmen of the watch.
Captain Syllenger had long before overcome his prejudices against the
sons of Flag Officers--at least in their case--and even expressed his
willingness to grant them each a certificate of proficiency, should
they wish to transfer to one of the cruisers of the Royal Navy.
At length the _Capella_ received orders for recall to her station off
Beachy Head. She was to put into Havre to revictual that day, leaving
at 9 a.m. on the morrow.
The lads were heartily glad when the _Capella_ left the malodorous
_bassin à flotte_. The irksomeness of lying in the harbour at Le Havre
palled upon them, even after a few hours. They yearned for the open
sea almost from the time their ship made fast alongside the grimy quay.
Forty minutes after leaving French waters, the _Capella_ sighted a
large cargo-boat steaming northwards. She was high in ballast and
rolling like a barrel. On bringing glasses to bear upon her, the
_Capella's_ officers found that she was the _Orontabella_, one of the
vessels chartered by the British Government and fitted as a
horse-transport ship. She was doing 16 knots to the _Capella's_ 34,
and when first sighted was nearly five miles off.
Suddenly a low rumble was heard by the crew of the patrol-vessel.
Telescopes and binoculars that had just been laid aside were again
brought into action, and it was seen that the transport was sinking
rapidly by the stern. She had been torpedoed under the starboard
quarter. The terrific impact of the explosion had torn a large hole,
besides shattering the rudder and one of the propellers, while all her
boats in davits were rendered useless by the concussion.
It was a matter of but a few moments before she made her final plunge.
Already signals were fluttering from her stumpy masts--the well-known
N.C. (in distress; want immediate assistance) and A.R. (boats are stove
in).
Captain Syllenger gave a quick glance astern. There were other
vessels, but low down on the horizon. To expect succour from them was
for the present out of the question. He had a double task: to attempt
to destroy the aggressor, and to rescue the transport's crew.
"Prepare to lower boats!" he shouted. "A midshipman and a couple of
hands in each. Guns' crews stand by!"
Clang, chang, went the engine-room telegraph. Like a greyhound, the
_Capella_ increased her speed, until she was within a quarter of a mile
of the foundering vessel. Then reversing engines, she almost lost way
at less than a cable's length from the transport.
By this time Ross and Vernon were in their respective boats. Before
way was off the ship the falls were paid out and the disengaging gear
cast off.
"Give way, men," ordered Ross.
His scanty crew, for more men could not well be spared, "gave way" with
a will, gaining a couple of lengths before his chum was able to push
off.
With hardly a pause the _Capella_ dashed off, quickly increasing her
pace to full speed ahead, in her quest for the U-boat that had launched
the deadly torpedo.
The _Orontabella's_ stern was now under water. She had a pronounced
list to starboard. Dense volumes of smoke and steam, pouring from her
funnels and hatchways, showed that the water had already invaded her
boiler-room. Above the hiss of the scalding vapour and the rush of
escaping air, could be heard the terrified neighing of a dozen or more
wounded horses, for whom no escape was possible.
Clustering on the fo'c'sle were about twenty or thirty men, the
officers and crew who had survived the explosion; for the death-roll,
especially in the engine-room and stokehold, was very high, men being
overwhelmed by the inrush of water before they could scramble up the
steep ladder and through the narrow hatchway.
The waiting men showed no signs of panic. Those who could swim had not
troubled to don their cork life-belts, but were calmly engaged in
lashing their life-saving devices round the shoulders of their less
fortunate comrades.
[Illustration: THE SINKING OF THE "ORONTABELLA" (missing from book)]
Ross ordered his men to back towards the foundering vessel. He
realized that at any moment the transport might plunge suddenly, and
the danger of being dragged down by the suction was a thing he had to
avoid. There was also a risk of the boat being swamped by the men as
they clambered on board.
"Jump!" he shouted. "Not too many at a time."
Three men accepted the invitation: two good swimmers and a non-swimmer.
The former, grasping their struggling companion by the shoulders,
struck out without much difficulty and reached Ross's boat, where they
were quickly hauled into safety.
Setting the rescued men to take an oar each, for there were several to
spare lying on the thwarts, Ross took the whaler closer in, since he
had now more means of propulsion at his command.
Four more followed, and were picked up by Vernon's men. Meanwhile the
bows of the _Orontabella_ were rising high out of the water, as the
stern sank correspondingly deeper, until those of the officers and crew
who still remained on board had to cling desperately to the rails to
prevent themselves slipping into the maelstrom that surged over the
submerged part of the sinking ship.
Suddenly the vessel dived. Where a few seconds previously a towering
mass of black and red plating rose high above the boats, there hung a
cloud of smoke, steam, and spray, while all around the water was
thrashed white with foam.
"Give way, men!" shouted Ross.
The rowers were too late. Before the boat could pull clear of the
scene of disaster, a vicious, crested wave, so hollow that the lean
quarters of the whaler were unable to rise to it, poured into the frail
craft.
The next instant Ross and his crew were struggling in the confusion of
the broiling sea.
Vernon, although farther from the spot, narrowly escaped the fate of
his chum. It was surprising what a terrific commotion the
_Orontabella_ caused at the last. For some minutes he could see
nothing beyond the tips of the blades of the oars. Everything else was
enveloped in smoke, steam, and spray.
Gradually the waves subsided and the wind dispersed the pall of vapour.
The sea was dotted with the heads of swimmers. Ross's boat, with her
stem and stern-posts just visible above the surface, was waterlogged,
yet retained sufficient buoyancy to support half a dozen men.
Here, indeed, was a pretty pickle. At the very most, Vernon's boat
would hold fifteen or sixteen men. The _Capella_ was almost out of
sight. The whole attention of her officers and crew would be centred
upon the U-boat. So long as there was any indication of the latter's
whereabouts, the patrol-vessel would cling tenaciously to her quest.
There was very little left floating from the sunken ship. A few
gratings, handspikes, a couple of breakers, and fragments of the
shattered boats, but nothing substantial enough to support a man above
water; and in mid-Channel, although it was only September, the sea was
too cold to enable the swimmers to keep afloat very long without almost
certain danger of cramp.
Vernon looked around for his chum. He saw him sharing an oar with one
of the crew.
"Come on, my lads!" shouted Ross encouragingly. "We'll hike her up.
Half a dozen of you who have life-belts come round this side, and when
I say 'All together!' lift for all you're worth."
The men obeyed as quickly as they could in the circumstances. Finding
that they could easily keep afloat, the non-swimmers had regained their
confidence. Piloted by those who could swim, the men ranged themselves
along one gunwale of the waterlogged whaler.
"All ready?" asked Ross, whose knowledge of how to empty a waterlogged
Canadian canoe prompted him to try a large, heavy boat. "Together!"
Up rose the boat's gunwale as high as the men's arms could reach, but
with a dull swish the whaler resumed its former position. In lifting
one side the other had dropped deeply beneath the surface, and the
attempt to shake out the water had ended in failure.
"Now then," ordered Vernon, taking his turn to direct operations. "All
swimmers get overboard for a few minutes. Those with life-belts get on
board, and take off your belts."
In five minutes a dozen cork life-belts were available. Manoeuvring
his boat alongside the waterlogged whaler, Vernon gave directions for
the belts to be lashed underneath the thwarts, so that they were
completely submerged. Then taking the whaler's painter he hove taut
until, added to the lifting powers of the cork and the upward strain on
the ropes, the gunwale rose a good three inches above the water.
This done, one of the _Capella's_ men, armed with a baler, began
throwing out the water from the whaler. In another five minutes the
boat showed sufficient buoyancy to allow two more hands to clamber on
board. They, too, baled vigorously, with the result that once more the
whaler was free from water.
Between the two boats, all the survivors of the _Orontabella_ were
easily accommodated; but when at length the midshipmen looked for the
_Capella_, the patrol-boat was nowhere to be seen.