A Duel to the Death
Rushing upon the bridge of the foundering vessel, Fordyce looked
around for signs of R19. The submarine, giving the sinking craft a
wide berth, was slowly forging ahead to stand by to pick up her boat.
At the present moment the intercepting hull of the largest tramp hid
her from view.
"Ahoy!" shouted the Sub the moment R19's bows drew clear. "Enemy
destroyer bearing east by south, distance two miles."
"Aye, aye," roared Mr. Macquare in reply. "Stand by; we'll pick you
up later."
Keenly Fordyce watched the visible evolutions of the submarine as,
cleared away for diving, she sped through the waves without
attempting to submerge. To do otherwise would be running the risk of
fouling some of the wreckage from the sunken merchantmen. Stockdale
was making sure of his "ground" before seeking cover.
Up pelted the German torpedo-craft, the spray flying from her bows
and sizzling in clouds of steam against her red-hot funnels. Sighting
the submarine just as the latter was gliding beneath the waves, the
hostile vessel altered helm and bore down upon the spot where R19 had
disappeared, firing ineffectually with every gun that could be
brought to bear ahead.
To Fordyce it seemed as if the destroyer shuddered under a terrific
impact. He was more than half afraid that her sharp stem had sent R19
to her doom. Then came the splash of the mark-buoy being hurled
overboard to indicate the supposed position of the submarine,
followed by the detonation of a "depth-charge".
"Best hook it, sir," suggested Chalmers. "This old tub won't keep
afloat much longer."
So engrossed was the Sub in the spectacle of the German destroyer
searching for her prey that he had entirely overlooked his own peril.
Already the tramp's taffrail was level with the water, while her deck
betwixt the poop and the rise amidships was flooded.
Alongside the entry-port the whaler's crew were "fending off" to
prevent the boat being pinned against the side by the inrush of water.
"Give way, lads!" ordered Fordyce as he sprang into the waiting
boat.
Before the whaler had been rowed a distance of fifty yards a portion
of the tramp's deck blew up under the irresistible pressure of
compressed air. A rush of steam and smoke followed, and the doomed
vessel, her last reserve of buoyancy gone, sank like a stone.
It was now moonlight. A mile or so to the east'ard could be discerned
the misty shape of the grey-painted destroyer. She was turning to
starboard, with the intention of retracing her course in order to
observe traces of her presumably shattered foe.
"Keep down, all hands," cautioned Fordyce.
The men, boating their oars, crouched on the bottom boards. There was
just a chance that the Huns would overlook an apparently empty boat
adrift in the midst of a medley of flotsam, for the sea all around
was covered with woodwork of various shapes and sizes.
A minute passed in long-drawn suspense. There were audible
indications that the German destroyer was bearing down. Then the
tension was broken by a terrific roar, the rush of water being hurled
violently into the air and falling again.
Raising his head above the gunwale, Fordyce gave vent to a shout of
surprised gratification. A slowly-dispersing cloud of smoke marked
the spot where the enemy craft had been. Broken asunder by the
explosion of a torpedo, she was now lying on the bed of the Baltic.
"One more feather in the Old Man's cap," exclaimed a bluejacket, his
enthusiasm outweighing his sense of respect in thus referring to his
skipper.
"Give way!" ordered the Sub, as he grasped the yoke-lines. "There's
someone in the ditch."
The men bent to their oars with a will. At the prospect of saving
life their resentment for the Hun and all his works vanished.
They had not far to row before they entered the zone of acrid fumes,
for at the moment of the torpedo's impact the destroyer had lessened
the distance to about a quarter of a mile of the then motionless
whaler.
The moonbeams, penetrating the thinning veil of vapour, were
scintillating upon the still-agitated waves, while silhouetted
against the pale-yellow light were the outlines of the head and
shoulders of a swimmer.
"In bow!"
The bowman boated his oar, and, grasping the gunwale, leant overboard
with his right hand outstretched.
With the assistance of a comrade the bowman hiked the rescued German
into the boat. He was capless, his face was black with burnt powder.
He seemed dazed and incapable of speech.
"There's another 'Un!" shouted the bowman. "On your port bow, sir;
a-hangin' on to that bit o' wreckage."
The second swimmer was in a desperate state. He was almost destitute
of clothing, while his flesh was badly charred by the blast of the
explosion. As he was being lifted into the boat it was noticed that
his left leg was hanging limply, being all but severed above the knee
by a sliver of metal.
Skilfully the British tars proceeded to place a rough-and-ready
tourniquet round the injured limb, while, fortunately for himself,
the wounded man lost consciousness directly he was hauled into the
boat.
"There she is, sir," announced Chalmers, as the twin periscopes of
R19, throwing up feathers of spray, emerged from beneath the surface.
Followed the conning-tower, the bow portion of the deck, and then,
like a huge porpoise, the rest of the hull until the submarine was
awash.
"Look alive, Mr. Fordyce!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander, as he
emerged through the conning-tower hatchway. "There may be some other
Hun craft knocking around. What's that--survivors?"
"Two, sir; one badly wounded."
The rescued men were lifted on board and passed below. Then, after
cruising round and making sure that there were no more of the
destroyer's men alive, the humane Stockdale gave orders for the
submarine to submerge once more.
"You bagged her all right, sir," remarked the Sub.
"Yes, the silly ass played into our hands, absolutely," replied the
Hon. Derek. "It was the result of taking too much for granted, I
suppose. Have you found out the number of the boat?"
"No, sir; but I will ascertain."
Fordyce made his way to the place where the survivors were being
tended by their late antagonists. The German with the broken limb
looked on the point of death, while the other, who had lost
consciousness upon being carried below, was found to be suffering
from several contusions to the back and ribs.
"'E's an officer, sir," reported one of the men, pointing to the
discarded uniform of the Imperial German Navy.
Fordyce examined the sleeve of the coat. By the distinctive rings he
knew that the prisoner was the skipper of the torpedoed destroyer--a
kapitan-leutnant, whose rank corresponded with that of
lieutenant-commander of the British navy.
"Wonder what he's done to get this?" mused the Sub, holding up the
decoration known as the "Ordre pour le Mérite". "Rum-looking josser,
too," he continued, studying the coarse features of the man; "brutal
even while unconscious. Hallo! Now what's wrong?"
From for'ard came a succession of violent crashes, mingled with
blood-curdling shrieks and unmistakably strong British epithets.
Quick to act, Fordyce rushed from the compartment and hurried towards
the scene of disorder.