The Way Out
Sub-Lieutenant Fordyce and his two companions clung desperately to
the motionless blades of the crippled propeller as they awaited what
they were firmly convinced was the end.
Although it seemed an interminable period before the expected
explosion took place, only a few seconds actually elapsed before the
detonation occurred.
Through the lens of his helmet the Sub saw nothing of the nature of a
flash. He heard the roar; it smote upon his temples like the blow of
a club, as a rush of violently agitated water all but swept him from
his precarious position. His head-dress came in contact with a hard
substance. It seemed as if the metal helmet was collapsing under the
shock.
Still he held on, wondering dully why he had not been pulverized by
the explosion, or at least his diving-dress torn asunder. Nothing of
this nature happening, he sought his companions. Cassidy was still
there, literally hugging the outboard part of the propeller shafting,
but of Payne there was no sign. All the tools had vanished, with the
exception of one hack-saw. The rest were lying on the bottom of the
sea, ninety feet or more below, doubtless with the unfortunate Payne.
The Sub still retained his electric lamp. Cassidy also had his, but
the light had failed.
The hull of the submarine was still oscillating gently under the
influence of the disturbed water. It was a good sign. Had the plating
been shattered by the explosion, the vessel would have sunk like a
stone. As it was, she still retained a reserve of buoyancy, but was
prevented from rising only by the retaining influence of portions of
the steel net. Subsequent events proved that this was a blessing in
disguise, for R19 would have risen to the surface in the full glare
of the German torpedo-boat's search-lights.
Signing to Cassidy, the Sub indicated that the task of freeing the
propeller should proceed. It was a slow job with only one hack-saw at
their disposal, but one by one the tough strands were severed.
Fordyce was on the point of giving his companion a spell, when a
scratching, rasping noise against his helmet rudely attracted his
attention. He was just in time to avoid a kick on the plate-glass
front of his head-dress from a leaden-soled boot, as Payne, making
his way down the tapering stern of the submarine, was gamely
returning to his interrupted task. The explosion, the effect of which
was greatly mitigated by the buffer of water, had wrenched him from
his perch, and had lifted him 20 or 30 feet vertically upwards,
depositing him upon the rounded afterpart of the submarine.
The churning sounds of the Hun torpedo-boat's propellers had now
ceased. It was indeed fortunate, Fordyce decided, that the vessel
made no further attempt to use explosive charges. The Sub had no idea
of what time had elapsed since he and his companions left the
submarine. It was certainly not far short of an hour. To let the rest
of the crew know that they were still alive and, what was almost as
important, active, they hammered upon the steel plating.
The task was nearing completion. With the blood running from a dozen
cuts in their benumbed hands, as the strands of the tough wire rasped
the flesh, they deftly unwound the severed layers from the boss of
the propeller, until the gun-metal, polished with the friction of the
wire, was revealed, free from anything that was likely to impede the
propulsive action of the blades.
Unexpectedly, R19 gave a jerk as the remaining strands of the
retaining net parted. Almost before they were aware of it, the Sub
and his companions found themselves a few feet beneath the surface,
still clinging to the propeller blades.
"If they start up the motors it's all U P with us," thought Fordyce,
until he remembered that close at hand there had been a trailing
length of signal halyard.
Thank Heaven, it was still there! Signing to the two men, the Sub
pointed to the rope. Up they swarmed--easily until their helmets
cleared the surface of the water. Beyond that they could not rise
another foot without assistance. Held down by their leaden weights,
the effect of which was almost negligible when submerged, they were
helpless to gain the submarine's deck.
A seaman can almost invariably be relied upon to extricate himself
from a tight corner. Drawing his sheath-knife, Cassidy quickly
severed the cords that attached the leaden weights to the Sub's
chest, and, with a reckless disregard of His Majesty's stores, cut
away his metal-shod boots.
Assisted by the petty officer, Fordyce hauled himself to the deck,
while Cassidy set about to perform a similar office for the A.B. But
help was forthcoming from another direction. Through the
conning-tower hatchway came Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale and a
dozen of the crew. The various members of the diving-party were
relieved of their head-gear and dresses with the utmost dispatch.
"Propeller cleared? Excellent!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "We thought
that you were all knocked out. I cannot account for the fact that the
old boat's hull withstood the explosion."
"There was a wreck lying almost athwart our bows, sir," replied
Fordyce. "The grapnel must have engaged in her topsides, and, when
the charge was detonated, the hull and the water between must have
borne the brunt."
"Fortunately for us," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander. "We'll have
to be making a move before another Hun barges in to attempt to strafe
us. What's that, Wilkins?"
"We're still hung up, sir," reported the petty officer addressed. "A
few strands of wire across the deck just abaft No. 2 quick-firer.
I've told off some hands to hack it through."
"Very good; carry on," said the Hon. Derek. "Report when the job's
done. Pass that gear below, men."
The diving-dresses were returned to their proper place. The
Lieutenant-Commander made his way for'ard to superintend the last of
the task of freeing the submarine from the toils of the net, while
Fordyce and the two divers went below to change into dry clothing and
partake of food and hot drinks.
For the present all was quiet. The patrol vessels were out of sight
and hearing. Their search-lights had been switched off, and there
were no indications that signals were being exchanged. It was safe to
conclude that, under the impression that the intruding submarine had
been effectively accounted for, the Huns did not anticipate further
trouble in that direction.
At length the welcome order came for half-speed ahead. Rhythmically
both propellers began to churn the water. It spoke volumes for the
thoroughness of the shipwrights who had built the vessel that,
notwithstanding the severe strain when the propeller "seized up",
there were no defects from strained shafting, stripped gears, or
leaky stuffing-boxes.
"We've had enough of submarine nets for the present," remarked the
Lieutenant-Commander to Lieutenant Macquare. "I won't risk submerging
until we are well clear of this area, unless, of course, a Hun
destroyer butts in. By Jove! Young Fordyce is a brick! I didn't envy
him his job, but he carried it out splendidly."
"Now it's all over," confided Macquare. "I'm jolly glad I didn't have
to tackle the business. The thought of it gave me cold feet."
"Tut, tut, Macquare!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "You suggested and
volunteered for the task."
"Aye," agreed the Lieutenant. "And I would have done my best to see
it through; but all the same I didn't relish it, and it's no use
saying I did. Yes, Fordyce deserves special recommendation. Cassidy
and Payne too--splendid fellows both."
"And they'll get it," added the Hon. Derek. "That is if we are alive
to tell the tale."
Just before dawn R19 was fairly in the Baltic. The peril of the
mine-field was a thing of the past. Nevertheless, owing to the
possible presence of enemy air-craft and to the fact that several
vessels were sighted, Stockdale decided to submerge and lie on the
bed of the sea until dusk. While the submarine was in the western
Baltic it was a case of hasten slowly, hiding by day and travelling
awash during the hours of darkness.
As the Hon. Derek passed through the ward-room on his way to his
cabin he found Noel Fordyce sitting on a settee and fondling the
faithful Flirt. Chalmers had told the Sub how the dog knew that her
master was out of the vessel. Instinctively the animal had realized
that he was in danger, and her efforts to break loose to find the Sub
were only stopped when the petty officer, at the risk of forfeiting
all future affection from the submarine's mascot, locked Flirt in one
of the store compartments.
"Come and have a snack with me, Fordyce," said the
Lieutenant-Commander. "Bring Flirt too."
It was a pleasant meal. The Hon. Derek was a genial host. He
possessed a strong vein of humour and had the happy knack of putting
a guest entirely at his ease. Not once did he touch upon the subject
of the Sub's heroic act. He purposely avoided talking "shop", and
quite naturally kept the conversation confined to matters of general
interest.
Presently the subject of Flirt's indiscretion and Fordyce's
appearance at the Otherport Police Court came up, and the Hon. Derek,
hearing the story at full length--Noel had but briefly outlined the
account when Flirt smuggled herself on board--laughed heartily at
Nell's impersonation of her daughter.
"There is another yarn in connection with the affair," continued
Fordyce, encouraged by his superior officer's interest. "This
Mindiggle blighter is a queer fish. I went to see him before he took
out the summons and tried to put him off. He seemed to know all about
my being on R19, when she was leaving Otherport, and also her
destination. Then he tried to, well, not exactly blackmail me, but
something preciously close to the wind. The rotter offered to
overlook Flirt's lapse of manners if I consented to do a bit of
smuggling--to take a small parcel of diamonds to some pal of his in
Petrograd."
The Hon. Derek had listened in silence to the Sub's narrative. At
this point he sat bolt upright.
"Fordyce," he exclaimed, "why on earth didn't you spin this yarn to me
before? Diamonds to Petrograd! I suppose you didn't bring any of the
infernal stuff on board?"