The Affair off Kiel
Clad in their oilskins over their greatcoats, the two midshipmen
accompanied Barry to the bridge. The A. P., on second thoughts,
decided to remain below. He had a rooted objection to getting his
glasses smothered in spray if it could be avoided.
Steam had been raised a week ago, when the _Hunbilker_ left Newcastle
for Cromarty, so there was no delay on that account. Already the steam
capstan was clanking dolorously as fathom after fathom of chain crept
with seeming reluctance through the hawse-pipe.
It was a night. Towering seas, sweeping in from the exposed Moray
Firth, surged madly into the more sheltered inlet where the dummy
battleship strained at her cable. The air was thick with sleet.
Overhead, black clouds scudded rapidly across the moon.
Even though the ship was partly under the lee of the projecting ground,
the midshipmen knew that it would be hopeless to attempt to lower a
boat. For good or ill they were bound to remain on board.
"Suppose it's all right," remarked Ross. "We may get a chance of doing
something, far more so than if we were on board the _Capella_, now this
submarine blockade fiasco is finished. At any rate it's not our fault
we're here."
"But our good fortune," added Vernon. "Evidently there's a big affair
coming off, though I can't quite see what this vessel's going to do in
it."
For fifteen hours of darkness the _Hunbilker_ plodded steadily onwards.
No lights were shown, yet it was a known fact that at least thirty
vessels of various types were converging upon the rendezvous.
Captain Barry never once quitted the bridge. Although his lofty post
was constantly deluged by clouds of icy spray, and the weather side of
the bridge-rail canvas was inches deep in sleet, he braved the elements
through watch and watch, snatching a hasty meal of cocoa (which was
cold by the time it reached him) and biscuits under the lee of the
chart-house.
Day dawned at last. Ross and Vernon, who had gone below to snatch a
few hours' sleep, came on deck to find the _Hunbilker_ at the
rendezvous. She lay in the midst of a fleet. There were the great
battle-cruisers, Dreadnoughts and their replicas, light cruisers, and a
galaxy of torpedo-boats--the latter swept from stem to stern by the
waves.
Without any appreciable weakening of the Grand Fleet, this maritime
force had been assembled for particular service--presumably in the
Baltic, although no orders to that effect had yet been received.
All that short January day the fleet steamed slowly eastward, while
signal flags fluttered incessantly. No hostile submarine put in an
appearance. Either the Germans feared the swift destroyers that
encircled the large vessels, or else they were in ignorance of the
presence of the British within four hours' steaming of their shores.
It was not until night that the _Hunbilker_ received her orders. She
had to proceed in advance of the destroyers, and under cover of
darkness pass through the Great Belt. Having done so, she was to be
run aground on a shoal between the Danish island of Laaland and the
Prussian island of Fehmern, the latter being within forty miles of the
stronghold of the German Navy at Kiel.
Then she was to await developments. If attacked by submarines, the
British destroyers would dash in; but what the British Admiral fondly
hoped was that the hostile battleships or armoured cruisers would not
be able to resist the temptation of sallying forth from Kiel to give
the supposed Dreadnought her _coup de grâce_. In this case our
submarines would "chip in", and possibly the battle-cruisers might
score with their deadly and accurate long-range salvoes.
"It's not so risky as it looks," commented Barry as he explained the
tactics to the midshipmen. "You see, they can torpedo us as much as
they like, and blow the dummy sides of the ship to bits piecemeal. We
can't sink, since we'll be hard aground. We can't take fire--at least,
it would be quite a job to get any part of her to burn without being
able to keep the flames under control. Gunnery, of course, puts a
different aspect on the subject. If the enemy start shelling us with
their heavy guns, then the sooner we abandon ship and clear out the
better, and leave our big cruisers to mop up the Huns."
Grey dawn was breaking when the _Hunbilker_, having made the passage
through the Great Belt, ran gently aground at the spot indicated in the
Admiral's orders. Away in the sou'west, a glare in the sky that was
rapidly fading with the growing morn indicated the search-lights of the
Kiel defences. Eastwards, two huge grey shapes loomed ghost-like in
the half-light. Whether they were British cruisers or decoys, or even
German battleships, Ross could not determine.
The _Hunbilker_ lay with a slight list to starboard. All around her
the sea was covered with drifting ice. An utter stillness brooded over
everything. The silence was in keeping with the scene of desolation.
Suddenly the deafening blast of the _Hunbilker's_ siren rent the air.
It was the prearranged signal that she was in readiness; it was also
her challenge to the Kiel-tied German fleet.
Ten minutes later a lurid flash, followed by a dull booming noise, came
from the nearmost of the two vessels Ross had previously noticed.
"Either mine or torpedo," remarked Barry casually. "It doesn't
signify. They won't sink her in a hurry."
"What is she, sir?" asked Vernon.
"Our opposite number, the _Snark_," replied the Lieutenant-Commander.
"See, she's steaming northwards, without any apparent injury. It will
be our turn before very long."
At frequent intervals the siren shrieked, as if calling to the rest of
the squadron for assistance. Then out of the rising mist, for with the
break of day a thin pall of vapour rose from the ice-flecked water,
leapt two German torpedo-boats.
"Port side, all hands!" roared Barry.
Officers and crew put the greatest possible distance between them and
the side of the ship exposed to the hostile craft. Without slackening
speed, the torpedo-boats described a sharp curve. Their officers must
have wondered why they were not greeted by the stranded battleship's
quick-firers. As they turned, two gleaming objects flopped
ungracefully from their decks and disappeared with a splash beneath the
surface. Each boat had fired a torpedo from her broadside tubes.
From the place where the midshipmen stood, they were not able to follow
the track of the formidable missiles; but they had not long to wait.
Both torpedoes struck almost simultaneously--one abreast of the for'ard
dummy turret, the other fifty feet farther aft.
High in the air rose a column of water mingled with fragments of iron
plating; while in their place of hiding the two lads were smothered
with cork-dust and blackened cotton that had been blown from the space
betwixt the outer and inner hulls.
"It's lucky for us that they didn't use their quick-firers," remarked
Barry. "They would have pulverized us before our destroyers romped up.
By Jove, Haye, that dog of yours looks as though he likes it! Hulloa!
There you are!"
The Lieutenant-Commander pointed to the southward. A rift in the mist
disclosed a two-masted, two-funnelled armoured cruiser about two miles
off.
"The _Prinz Heinrich_ or the _Fürst Bismarck_," declared Barry. "We've
turned 'em out. Hope to goodness our little lot will be in time to
snap them up. Unless I'm much mistaken, there are two more astern of
her."
Almost as he spoke, a spurt of flame rent the dull sky. Then, to the
accompaniment of a vivid flash and an ear-splitting detonation, a
5.9-inch shell burst against the for'ard dummy turret of the
_Hunbilker_.
When the smoke had cleared away, guns, turret, and conning-tower,
together with a portion of the bridge, had vanished.
"All hands abandon ship!" ordered Barry, as a salvo of light
projectiles flew round, over, and through the decoy.
It was quite time. Several men had been hit, since there was nothing
to afford complete protection from the hail of shells. The difficulty
was to find a boat that was seaworthy, since these suffered almost at
once from the flying fragments of metal.
"Hurrah, sir!" shouted one of the men. "There are our destroyers."
He was right. Seven British destroyers were tearing through the water,
intent upon giving the Germans the punishment that they had boasted to
inflict upon the strafed Englishmen--a hussar stroke.
Instantly the galling fire ceased. The German cruiser had all her work
cut out to endeavour to beat off her wasp-like antagonists.
The _Hunbilker_ was doomed. In spite of elaborate precautions against
fire, she was burning furiously. Her fo'c'sle was a mass of flames,
generated by the intense heat of the first shell that had struck her.
Smaller fires, too, had started in other parts of the ship.
But help was at hand. One of the covering destroyers had witnessed her
plight. Adroitly manoeuvring, she came right alongside the burning
ship.
"Jump, men!" shouted Barry.
There was no time to be lost. The danger of the flames communicating
with the shells and war-heads on the destroyer's deck was to be taken
into consideration.
"Come on, old man!" exclaimed Ross, as his chum looked anxiously about
him.
"Where's Shrap?" asked Vernon. "He was here a minute ago."
In the confusion, occasioned by the rush of men to leap upon the
destroyer, the dog had vanished.
Without a word Vernon ran towards the companion leading to the
half-deck. Above the roar of the flames and the hissing of steam, he
had heard the well-known bark of his pet.
"Silly ass!" muttered Ross; but he, too, followed his chum.
Wreaths of thin smoke were issuing from the companion as Ross gained
the head of the ladder. Putting his muffler round his mouth, he groped
his way down. 'Tween decks the air was full of smoke. He could hear
Shrap's insistent bark, and Vernon's voice as, amidst fits of coughing,
he called to his canine companion.
"Whatever is the matter with the brute?" thought Ross, as he fought his
way along the half-deck.
A gaping hole in the ship's side admitted sufficient light to enable
him to discern his comrade backing from one of the cabins. Shrap was
preceding him, while Vernon was dragging something limp and heavy. It
was the body of the luckless A. P.
Without a word, for the atmosphere was hot and choky, Ross bore a hand.
Stumbling and slipping, the two lads bore their burden to the
companion, and by dint of much exertion carried Jolly on deck.
"Is he dead?" asked Ross, after he had refilled his lungs with less
smoke-laden air.
"I don't think so," said Vernon. "It was good old Shrap that found
him."
The A. P. was below when the salvo from the German cruiser struck the
ship. He had gone to the cabin temporarily allotted to him to obtain
some small but cherished belonging. A fragment from one of the shells
had inflicted a nasty scalp wound, stretching him senseless upon the
floor.
Had it not been for the sheep-dog, whose sagacity made him recognize
that Jolly was a friend of his master's, the A. P. would have ended his
career in the burning hull of the _Hunbilker_.
"Hurry up!" exclaimed Ross. "Let's get him aboard the destroyer."
Between them they carried the insensible officer across the
quarter-deck, but as they reached the side abreast the wreckage of the
superstructure they came to an abrupt halt.
The destroyer had sheered off and was out of sight.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Vernon, aghast at the latest turn of
fortune.
They laid the A. P. on the deck and looked over the side. Still made
fast to the falls was a whaler, with her keel ten feet above water.
When the order had been given to abandon ship, the boat had been
lowered, but the appearance of the destroyer had done away with the
necessity of having to make use of her.
"Lower away!" ordered Ross.
Checking the descent by taking a turn round the cleats, the lads
allowed the whaler to reach the water. To their satisfaction they
found that she leaked but very little. Oars and crutches were already
on board, together with mast and sail.
"Down you get," said Ross. "Let go the after disengaging gear, then
stand by. I'll let Jolly down to you."
Vernon quickly swarmed down the falls, while his chum carried the A.P.
to the now empty davit. Taking a few turns with his strong muffler
round the chest of the unconscious man, Ross engaged the hook of the
lower block, and slowly lowered him into Vernon's arms. Shrap followed
in a similar manner, since the drop was too great for him to leap
without risk of limb. Then Ross climbed down and gained the boat. He
was not a minute too soon, for the flames were drawing nearer and the
heat was becoming almost unbearable.
Placing Jolly in the stern-sheets, the lads stepped the mast and
hoisted sail. Nothing else was in sight, although the rumble of heavy
firing was still audible.
"I'll steer north," declared Ross, who had taken the helm, while Vernon
attended to the A.P.'s ugly wound. "If we are not picked up by one of
our own boats, we are almost bound to hit one of the Danish islands."
There was but little wind. What there was, blew from a couple of
points abaft the beam, so that the little craft was able to lie
comfortably upon her course.
At length Jolly opened his eyes. Somewhat to his companions' amusement
his first words were:
"Dash it all! Where did I leave my glasses? Hulloa! I've been
plugged. Where am I?"
He attempted to sit up, but promptly subsided upon the gratings in the
stern-sheets, and in a very short time he began to talk incoherently,
and finally dropped off into a fitful slumber.
The fog had now increased in density, so that it was no longer possible
to see more than a hundred yards ahead. Several vessels moving at high
speed passed within hailing distance, but no reply came to the lads'
shouts.
"There's a hail!" exclaimed Vernon.
Again came the sound of a human voice. It was a call for aid, and was
uttered in German.
"Steady!" cautioned Vernon, as Ross put the helm down. "We don't want
to run alongside a cargo of Huns."
"There's only one, I should imagine," replied his chum. "At any rate
we'll have a look. If there are too many, we'll sheer off."
Guided by the repeated calls for assistance, the midshipmen came in
sight of a disabled boat. It had been holed, and was kept afloat only
by some of its air-tanks which had escaped damage. The gunwales,
jagged by shell-fire, were showing only a few inches above the water.
The stern was almost awash, but the bows rose sufficiently high for the
forefoot to be seen. Crouching on the for'ard thwart was a German
officer. He was bareheaded. The collar of his greatcoat was turned
up. His face was blanched by the intense cold. As the whaler
approached and he saw that it was a British one, he held up his hands
in token of surrender.
Dropping to leeward, Ross luffed smartly. The whaler lost way almost
alongside the waterlogged boat.
Awkwardly the German clambered over the gunwale, for his limbs were
numbed. Then, as soon as he was safely on board, he drew a revolver
from the pocket of his greatcoat and fired twice in quick succession.
Ross saw his chum throw up his arms and pitch across the centre thwart.
The next instant he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, as if it were
pierced by a red-hot needle.
"The brute has plugged me!" was the thought that flashed through his
mind, as he subsided heavily upon the grating by the side of the A. P.
He was still conscious, although everything seemed misty. Up to a
certain point he remembered exactly what happened, for with a sudden
spring Shrap flew at the treacherous Teuton's throat.
Again and again the German fired, wildly and in the air, for the
sheep-dog had him fixed in his unyielding jaws, shaking the fellow like
a rat. Unable to move a limb, Ross remained conscious until the issue
was decided and victory rested with the devoted Shrap; then his head
dropped upon his chest and everything became a blank.
* * * * *
Ross Trefusis recovered consciousness to find himself in hospital on
the East coast. In the next cot was Jolly, cutting a sorry figure with
his head swathed in surgical bandages. Vernon was in an adjoining
ward, making a promising recovery from the wound caused by the cowardly
German's bullet that had passed between his ribs, fortunately just
missing his lungs.
It was not until a week later that Ross heard of the manner of his
rescue. The whaler had been picked up by a destroyer. In it they
found the three wounded British officers, and a dead German with his
throat fearfully lacerated. Not only had Shrap saved the situation,
but he had helped still further to save his master's life, for it was
owing to the warmth of the dog's body that Vernon was saved from death
by exposure.
One of the first of visitors to Ross's bedside was John Barry, now
Commander Barry, R.N.R., D.S.O.
"And how did the scrap come off?" asked Ross.
"Fairly well," replied the Commander. "We bagged a cruiser and a
couple of destroyers. The old _Hunbilker_ justified her existence, you
see."
"I'm afraid Haye and I are out of the running," remarked Ross
disconsolately.
"Not a bit of it," replied Barry in his breezy way. "Not a bit of it.
You'll both be as fit as fiddles in a couple of months. The Navy's
pushing on with the job all right, Ross, but it's slow and sure.
You'll be at it again long before the end."
Ross gave a sigh of satisfaction.
"Sounds promising, sir, doesn't it?" he exclaimed.
By PERCY F. WESTERMAN
"No boy alive will be able to peruse Mr. Westerman's pages without a
quickening of his pulses."--Outlook.
With Beatty off Jutland. A Romance of the Great Sea Fight.
The Submarine Hunters. A Story of Naval Patrol Work.
A Lively Bit of the Front. A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the
Western Front.
A Sub and a Submarine. The Story of H.M. Submarine R19 in the Great
War.
Under the White Ensign. A Naval Story of the Great War. "No one can
tell sea stories like Percy F. Westerman."--Outlook.
The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists with
the Belgian Forces. "No boy will find a dull page in Mr. Westerman's
story."--Bookman.
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read it with avidity."--Athenaeum.
Rounding up the Raider: A Naval Story of the Great War.
The Fight for Constantinople: A Tale of the Gallipoli Peninsula.
"Breathless adventures crowd into this thrilling story.... It teems
with enthralling episodes and vivid word-pictures."--British Weekly.
"The reader sits absolutely spellbound to the end of the
story."--Sheffield Daily Telegraph.
Captured at Tripoli: A Tale of Adventure.
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present."--Schoolmaster.
The Quest of the "Golden Hope": A Seventeenth-century Story of
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persons."--Globe.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Submarine Hunters, by Percy F. Westerman