Adrift in the Channel
"She'll be back for us soon," declared Vernon optimistically,
addressing his chum, for the two boats were within twenty feet of each
other. "Can you see any signs of her now?"
Ross stood upright in the stern-sheets and, shading his eyes with his
hand, gave a careful look in the direction where the _Capella_ was
supposed to be.
"No," he answered. "And I cannot see any signs of the other vessels we
saw some time ago. We'd better let the men rest on their oars."
Unknown to the two midshipmen, they had for the last hour and a half
been in the grip of the strong west-going tide that surges along the
French coast. In that interval they had been carried out of the course
of the vessels they had sighted, and were some four or six miles from
the spot where the _Orontabella_ had sunk.
Another hour passed. The men who had been in the water took the
opportunity of drying their clothing in the hot sunshine. They treated
their misfortune lightly, making very little reference to the loss of
their vessel. One would have thought that being torpedoed was almost
an everyday occurrence.
As the minutes slipped by, it began to occur to Ross and his chum that
the _Capella_ had missed them entirely. In another few hours night
would be coming on, and the prospect of spending ten hours of darkness
in a couple of open boats in mid-Channel was not at all alluring.
Each boat was equipped with compass, lead-line, signal-book, lamp, box
of biscuits, and beaker of water. None of these articles belonging to
Ross's boat had suffered, in spite of their being immersed, except the
lamp, for the provisions were in watertight boxes. Masts and sails
were not in the boats, having been left on board the _Capella_ when the
rescuers put off hurriedly on their errand of mercy.
"What's the best thing to be done, skipper?" asked Ross, addressing the
master of the _Orontabella_.
"Well, sir, since you ask me," was the reply, "I'd shape a course due
north. We'd be in the track of craft making up and down Channel before
it gets dark. If we don't fall in with any vessel, we can carry on.
'Taint so very far to land, considering the number of hands we've got
in the boats."
Quickly the available oars were manned, the men being told off in
relays to row for half an hour at a time, while the skipper of the
torpedoed boat relieved Ross at the yoke-lines. The mate, who had been
picked up by the other boat, was also able to give Vernon a spell.
At six o'clock, a biscuit and a small quantity of water were served out
to each man, and preparations were made for the approaching night.
Vernon's boat, which possessed the only lantern that would burn, was to
take the lead as soon as darkness set in, the light enabling the whaler
to keep in touch with her consort.
"Jolly funny where the _Capella's_ got to," remarked Ross to the
skipper. "With her speed she could search a couple of hundred square
miles by this time."
"'Spose she wasn't torpedoed?" asked the _Orontabella's_ master.
"No jolly fear!" replied the midshipman decidedly. "She's
torpedo-proof. We've had plenty of them fired at us, but never the
least danger of being hit."
"It's a good thing the sea's calm," continued the skipper. "We're
doing a good four knots. Twelve hours at the very most ought to bring
us in sight of the Wight, but we've dropped a long way to lee'ard.
P'raps it's as well, for it's no joke to be in the thick of the
cross-Channel traffic at night, with only a tuppenny dip to light us.
Good heavens! What's that?"
Less than fifty yards from the boat a pole-like object, throwing off a
double feather of spray, was forging through the water.
"A periscope, sir!" shouted half a dozen voices.
Ross did not require to be told that. With considerable misgivings, he
saw the metal shaft rise higher and higher out of the water; then the
tip of an ensign-staff, followed almost simultaneously by the snout and
conning-tower of a large German submarine. Finally the unterseeboot
rose to the surface, revealing her entire length, which was not less
than three hundred feet.
She slowed down. The aperture in her conning-tower opened and a couple
of officers appeared. From hatchways fore and aft, seamen clad in grey
fearnought coats came tumbling on deck, greeting the British with jibes
and laughter.
"So you getting on, Englishmen!" exclaimed a leutnant. "Still it is
long vay to land, hein? An' where vos der _Capella_? Suppose I tell
you: we her haf sent to der bottom. Goot night, ver' goot night. Our
ver' kind regards to Jellicoe."
The U-boat forged ahead, then, getting way, made off at high speed. In
a quarter of an hour she was out of sight.
"I suppose those fellows were telling the truth, old man," called out
Ross, addressing his chum.
"'Fraid so," replied Vernon. "They had her name pat, so it looks as if
the poor old ship's done for. But, I say, what a whopper of a
submarine!"
"One of the new type, I should fancy," said the skipper of the
_Orontabella_. "I shouldn't be surprised if she were a mine-layer as
well."
Darkness fell upon the scene. The men rowed doggedly, Vernon setting
the course by the simple expedient of keeping the Pole Star in line
with the boat's stem. It saved the strain of peering into the compass
bowl, and in any case the boats were bound to hit the English coast,
unless they were swamped or run down.
Throughout the long night the steady progress was maintained. It was
horribly cold. Most of the men were lightly clad in imperfectly dried
garments. Both Ross and Vernon were glad when the officers of the
_Orontabella_ relieved them, since they could take turn at the oars and
derive a certain amount of warmth from the exertion.
Day dawned at last, a brilliant pink sky that betokened bad weather
before the day was out. Away on the starboard bow could be discerned a
grey cliff surmounted by dark hills. It was the Isle of Wight, distant
about six miles off.
With the appearance of the sun the wind freshened, and soon developed
into a strong breeze dead in their teeth. Spray began to fly over the
bows, soon to be followed by green seas, that necessitated constant
baling. It was quite evident that every yard of that six miles meant
desperate work, with the chances of being swamped before the boat
reached land.
The men, weakened by hunger and exposure, stuck gamely to their task,
yet after another half an hour's hard pulling the boats seemed no
nearer their object. They were barely holding their own against the
wind and waves.
"What's to be done now?" asked Ross, consulting the experienced
skipper. Although the midshipman was in charge, he was not above
asking the advice of a man who had been to sea almost as many years as
the lad had been days. "We're hardly making headway, and the sea's
beating up fast."
"And the men are almost done up," added the skipper. "It's bound to be
worse before it gets better. I would suggest that we ride to a
sea-anchor, and trust to luck to be picked up."
The men quickly got to work. A triangle was composed of six oars in
pairs lashed together, two of the boat's gratings being secured between
the ash spars. To the apex the anchor was made fast, in order to make
the sea-anchor float in a vertical position, its weight compensated by
the use of the now empty water-beaker as a float.
Secured by three spans of equal length, which in turn were bent to the
boat's painter, the sea-anchor was dropped overboard. For some
distance the whaler drifted to leeward, until held by the strain of the
painter she rode head to wind, and in comparative safety in the wake of
the floating breakwater.
Vernon's boat then came close alongside. Her painter was caught and
secured, allowing her to ride astern.
The crews were then at liberty to rest, with the knowledge that their
drift was little more than half a knot. Yet every two hours they would
be drifting a mile farther from shore, unless their plight were
observed by passing vessels.
By this time the sea was running high. At one moment the whaler would
be tossing high upon the rounded crest of a wave, with the other boat
deep in the trough. At the next, nothing was to be seen from the
whaler save an incline of green water and a canopy of dark-grey sky.
On either side the crests were white with foam, yet, thanks to the
sea-anchor, hardly a drop of water was taken in over the boats'
gunwales.
The men sat in silence, turning their backs to the keen wind. A few
who had tobacco smoked. Those who had not were glad to chew the small
quantity given them by their more fortunate comrades. As for Ross and
Vernon, they were glad to doze, lying on the damp bottom-boards with
their heads pillowed on their arms.
Ross was almost asleep when he was aroused by one of the men announcing
that a vessel was in sight. At the prospect of rescue, all hands were
alert. The man was right, for, as the whaler rose on the crests of the
waves, a dark, grey shape could be discerned through the mirk at a
distance of about a couple of miles.
Quickly the shape resolved itself into a large four-funnelled cruiser
pelting down-Channel at full speed. Unless she altered her course she
would pass within a hundred yards of the boats.
"Lash a shirt to the boat-hook, lads!" ordered Ross.
A few moments of intense anxiety followed. Then a groan of
disappointment rose from the men as the cruiser ported helm.
She was then a couple of miles to windward. The smoke from her funnels
drifted around the boats, making it impossible for the derelict men to
see what she was doing, until the evil-smelling haze dispersed, showing
the cruiser less than two cables' length away and bearing down towards
them.
From her after bridge a seaman was semaphoring vigorously.
"Will slow down to windward of you," read the message.
"Oars, lads!" ordered Ross.
The bowman of each boat promptly cut the painter. With renewed spirit
the rowers bent to their work, and soon the boats were alongside and
under the lee of H.M.S. _Oxford_, armoured cruiser of the County class.
By the aid of bowlines the rescued men were quickly hauled over the
side. Without delay the _Capella's_ boats were cut adrift, and the
cruiser proceeded on her way.