THE MIDDLE WATCH
A DULL, reverberating crash roused Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft
from his temporary bunk on board H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer
"Audax."
"Eight bells," midnight, had just gone--silently, for the destroyer
was ploughing through the waves at break-neck speed, without
navigation lights and as steadily as possible. So well were her
oil-fed furnaces tended that no tell-tale sparks escaped from her
four squat funnels. In spite of the heavy seas she was cleared for
action; life-lines took the place of the stanchion rails and
afforded the only means of preventing the bluejackets being swept
overboard by the green seas that poured completely over the raised
fo'c'sle. Around the four-inch guns men hung on, ready at the first
alarm to open fire, while the deadly torpedoes had been launched
into their tubes to be let loose at the word of command upon the
first unit of the German Navy--be she large or small--that had the
temerity to try conclusions with the alert British destroyer.
There had been signs of activity in Hun naval circles--activity
forced upon them by prompt and vigorous measures of the sea-dogs
under the White Ensign. Zeebrugge was getting too hot to hold the
German torpedo-boat flotillas that for months had existed under
nerve-racking conditions in that Belgian port. Constant bombardments
from the sea and from the air had made the Huns' new base so
insecure that the German ocean-going torpedo-boats (craft that
compare in point of size with destroyers, although the term
destroyer does not figure in Hun naval reports) had been compelled
to make a dash for the neutral defences of the Elbe, Weser and Jade.
Existing conditions made it undesirable to sneak through Dutch
territorial waters, and the only other way was by a circuitous
course rendered necessary by the presence of a vast British
minefield.
The British Admiralty, out of consideration for neutral shipping,
had advertised the limits of the danger zone, which was an
aggressive minefield rather than a defensive one--in other words its
base was situated close to the German coast, while its apex
stretched westward far across the North Sea. Round this apex the
German torpedo craft had to make their way.
Knowledge of the attempted dash had reached the ears of the British
Commander-in-Chief, and strong flotillas of destroyers were
patrolling the length and breadth of the North Sea, their search
assisted in broad daylight by seaplanes sent up from attendant
parent ships. At night the difficulty of maintaining the cordon was
enormously increased. A German boat might slip through in the
darkness, while, even if discovered, her attackers would be under
the disadvantage of making sure that she was not one of their
consorts before opening fire.
The "Audax" was operating in the high latitudes of the North Sea. In
fact, if she held on the course for another five hours she would run
ashore somewhere in the close proximity of The Naze of Norway.
Two miles ahead and astern of her were other vessels of the same
class, the line being continued until the chain of destroyers
stretched across the North Sea from Scotland almost to Scandinavia.
The Straits of Dover were similarly patrolled, while auxiliary
destroyers swept the seas between the northern and southern limits,
ready to head off the fugitives or bring them to action.
Rolling fully dressed out of his bunk--for under these conditions it
would be folly to turn in otherwise--Billy dashed on deck, followed
by the Engineer-lieutenant, who happened to be the only officer in
the ward-room not on watch.
Wriggling through the partly-closed hatchway, dubbed by courtesy the
"companion," and receiving a greeting in the form of a cold
douche--the tail end of a particularly vicious comber--Barcroft
stood still until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then,
grasping the life-line, he made his way for'ard, often knee-deep in
water, until he gained the doubtful shelter afforded by the rise of
the fo'c'sle. Here, clustered round the two guns abreast the for'ard
funnel, were a dozen men in "lammy" suits, oilskins and
sou'-westers, all peering through the darkness in the direction in
which the "Audax" was now proceeding.
"What was the explosion, Mr. Black?" inquired Barcroft of the
gunner.
"We don't know, sir," replied the warrant officer. "A mighty big
flash and a brute of a report. We've wirelessed the commodore to ask
permission to investigate, and now we're off to see, judging by the
alteration of course."
The young officer thanked him for the information, vague though it
might be, and ascending the bridge ladder took up his stand in front
of the after guard-rail of the bridge.
Lieutenant-commander Aubyn and three of his officers were standing
with their backs turned to him, oblivious of his presence. Actually
Barcroft had no right there, save on sufferance and by the courtesy
of the skipper. The executive officers were crouching behind the
storm-dodgers--the force of the wind and the sting of the icy spray
made it impossible to withstand the full force of the elements
unless protected by these canvas screens--and were directing their
attention mainly on some as yet invisible object dead ahead. At
intervals one or other of the officers would scan the seas abeam, as
if expecting to see a dark and swiftly-moving vessel--to wit, an
enemy craft pelt through the blackness of the night on her dash for
safety.
The skipper remained as rigid as a statue, the personification of
silent alertness; but the lieutenant and sub of the "Audax" were
conversing, raising their voices in order to make themselves
understood above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves
as they flew over the fore-deck of the destroyer and hurtled against
the bridge. Scraps of the discussion wafted to Barcroft's ears.
"A neutral, I think," remarked the sub. "Swede or Norwegian....
Bumped on a mine."
"Torpedo," declared the lieutenant. "I distinctly saw one flash ...
before the big blaze... second explosion; yet, it points to it."
Billy caught enough of the conversation to read the lieutenant's
theory. Evidently he believed that the victim was one of the British
armed liners patrolling this section of the North Sea. Torpedoed, in
the darkness and in spite of the heavy seas, she had been blown up
by the detonation of her magazine.
Suddenly Aubyn straightened himself and sprang to the telegraph
indicator communicating with the engine-room.
Following the double clang of the bell the destroyer's engines were
promptly stopped and quickly reversed. The skipper's keen eye had
discerned a raft crowded with men as the "Audax" swept past at a
distance of less than twenty yards.
Aubyn gave a brief glance at the raging seas and held up his hand.
The gesture was understood by the men already standing in expectancy
at the falls. It meant "Stand fast." No boat could live in such a
turmoil of angry waves, yet there were heroes ready and willing to
risk their lives in a vain attempt at rescue.
The "Audax" was about to make an effort by other means, but first
the raft had to be found again, for before way had been taken off
the destroyer the handful of survivors of the ill-fated ship were
lost in the darkness and in the wash of water astern.
Nor could the searchlights be switched on without grave risk to the
all-important task of rounding-up the German torpedo-boats. The
"Audax" had to grope round like a blind man in the hope of falling
in with the drifting raft.
"Shoutin' dead to wind'ard, sir, right on the starboard beam,"
shouted half a dozen voices. "There they are, sir, a cable's length
off."
In a patch of phosphorescent foam, as it lifted dizzily on the crest
of a broken wave, could be discerned the object of the search. The
next instant it had vanished in the trough of the seas.
"Hard a-port!" roared the skipper.
"Hard a-port, sir," repeated the quartermaster,
Turning, the "Audax" slowed down, coming to a standstill, save for
the motion created by the scend of the seas and the leeward drift
caused by the strong wind, at a few yards to windward of the raft,
which on nearer acquaintance proved to be a number of deck planks
still adhering to the fractured beams.
Under the lee of the destroyer the raft floated in comparatively
smooth water, and the work of transferring the handful of well-nigh
exhausted men commenced. Five or six were hauled on board by means
of bowlines; three were incapable of stirring a hand to help
themselves, and since their comrades made no effort to assist in
their rescue several of the destroyer's hands went overboard and,
grasping the unconscious men, were heaved back with no greater
damage than bruised knuckles and grazed shins.
"Wot are we to do with these 'ere blokes, Sir?" inquired a seaman of
the destroyer's lieutenant, who had temporarily quitted the bridge
to superintend the work of rescue. "Our mess deck's flooded out."
"They want warmth. Pass the word to the engineer commander to ask if
he has room for nine men in the stokehold."
"Me from Danmark sheep," volubly asserted one man as he was being
led below.
"All right, my man," replied the lieutenant, "We'll hear your story
later. Hullo, Barcroft, you on deck? Make yourself useful, old boy,
and find out what happened to these fellows. I must be hopping back
to my perch. Thank your lucky stars it isn't your watch."
Refraining from remarking that he had already had a voluntary trick
on the sprayswept bridge Billy followed the survivors of the lost
vessel into the hot, steam-laden atmosphere of the stokehold. The
foreigners who were in possession of their faculties had "stripped
to the buff" and were being rubbed down by sympathising British
stokers, while heir clothes were being dried in front of the
furnaces.
The rescued men seemed extraordinarily anxious to assert that they
belonged to a Danish vessel, almost overwhelming Barcroft in their
eagerness to emphasise the point. None of them spoke English, and as
the flight-sub knew hardly a word of Danish his attempt to gain
information seemed hopeless. He tried speaking in German, with no
better results, except for a reiterated chorus of "Me from Danmark."
"It's strange that they don't jabber to each other in their own
lingo, sir," remarked a leading stoker, who was kneeling over one of
the unconscious seamen and methodically pressing his ribs according
to the precepts laid down in the _Manual of Seamanship_ for the
treatment of persons apparently drowned.
The patient was a powerfully built, hugelimbed young giant, by
appearance of far better physique than the others, yet he seemed to
be the worst off from the effects of exposure. External examination
revealed no signs of an injury, although two of the other men had
been badly battered by flying debris from the explosion.
Just then the man stirred, gasped, and endeavoured to free himself
from the attentions of the humane leading stoker.
"Then I am still alive?" he asked feebly. "A prisoner on an English
ship. 'Well, I am not sorry. I am tired of the war."
"Wot's 'e a-sayin', sir?" inquired the leading stoker.
"Quite enough to give the show away," replied Barcroft, fixing with
his eyes the other foreigners, who were now showing every symptom of
consternation, for the man had spoken in German and his comrades had
understood every word.
"So you are from a German ship?" demanded the young officer,
addressing the group of survivors.
The men freely admitted that the game was up, and finding that their
good treatment was not modified they became quite communicative.
They were, they announced, some of the crew of the armed
commerce-raider "Volksdorf," a converted liner that had left the
port of Swinemunde two days previously. Hugging the Norwegian coast
she had sighted two British patrol ships, and turning southward had
shaken off pursuit in hazy weather. Apparently the "Volksdorf's"
attempt was-timed to take place simultaneously with the German
activity in the North Sea, and by keeping slightly to the northward
of the screen of British destroyers she stood a fair chance of
gaining the Atlantic. Unfortunately for her she came within easy
torpedo range of a U-boat, and the pirate, not knowing that she was
of the same nationality and utterly indifferent as to whether she
destroyed enemy or neutral ships without warning, promptly
discharged a torpedo. The missile struck home, causing a second
explosion, as the after magazine of the raider blew up, causing the
ship to sink in less than thirty seconds.
Billy went on deck to find the "Audax" still cruising about in the
hope of finding more survivors, but without success. Making his way
to the bridge he informed Aubyn of his discovery.
"That's great," declared the youthful skipper. "Fritz committing
frightfulness upon his own pals requires some beating. It must have
been a strafed U-boat, since I know for a dead cert that none of our
submarines are taking part in the present operations. Keeping Middle
Watch, Mr. Barcroft? I'd turn in while I had the chance, if I were
you. We're in touch with the 'Hippodrome.' Picked up a wireless call
not five minutes ago. We'll put you on board before many hours, I
dare say, but we don't want to hand you over looking like a sleepy
owl; so down below you go."
"Thanks, sir, I will," replied the flight-sub, who after the heated
atmosphere of the stoke-hold was feeling the cold acutely.
And carrying out the genial lieutenant-commander's advice Billy went
below, pulled off his sea-boots, divested himself of his oil skins,
or, rather, those of the engineer-sub who had insisted on lending
them, and flopped into his bunk. He was dimly conscious of thrusting
his back hard against the partition, gripping the edge of the bunk
with both hands and drawing up his knees to wedge himself
in--matters of precaution owing to the erratic motion of the
destroyer--and in ten seconds he was in a sound, dreamless slumber.