The world was a streak of green and white bubbles, and there was a
great roaring noise which disturbed his thoughts. "Boots--boots--I
must get them off." He remembered the only occasion on which he had
experienced an anæsthetic, the mental struggle to retain his ego, and
the loss of will-power he had known at every breath. He was going down
now, the roaring was less terrible and he felt very tired. A check in
his descent and a little voice at the back of his brain: "There was a
big sea running." Then a blur of white foam and a long gasping breath.
Something rasped his forehead and a rough serge sleeve was across his
throat. He fought feebly to keep the choking arm away, but as they
rose on the crest of a long blue-green swell, he was jerked from the
water by the neck and the belt of his overcoat. His first clear
sensation was one of intense chill. Although there was little wind, it
was cold in the air. He raised his head and moved to avoid the
uncomfortable pressure of something on his chest. As he saw his
situation he dropped his head again quickly and lay still. He was
across the keel of a broad grey boat which pitched and heaved at
terrifying angles as the seas passed. He crawled cautiously round,
pivoting on his stomach till his legs straddled the keel and he had a
grip on it with his hands under his chin. Facing him in a similar
attitude was a seaman he knew, a tall brawny torpedoman whom he had
noticed rigging the lights in the Wardroom flat on occasions when
Evening Service had been held there. What was his name--Davies? Denny?
No, Dunn! of course--the ship's boxer, and the funny man at the
concerts. Were they two all that was left? He opened his mouth and
gasped a little before speaking.
"All right, sir--take it easy--I've been off this billet twice, and
it's no joke getting back to it. Good thing you're a light weight,
sir, or you'd've pulled me in just now."
"Are there--are there any more, Dunn?"
"God knows, sir--beggin' your pardon, that is--the mine got us forr'd
and the magazine went. This is the pinnace we're on, and it's the
biggest bit of the ship I've seen floating yet."
"Good God! Where were you?"
"On the bridge, sir, just sent for by the Officer of the Watch about
the telephones; but I'm--I don't know 'ow I got away, sir--flew, I
reckon. Where were you, sir?"
"Coming up the Wardroom ladder, and as I got on deck I was washed
away. Dunn! do you think we'll be picked up?"
The seaman raised his head and shoulders cautiously and took a rapid
glance around as they topped a sea, then resumed his attitude along
the keel, his chin on his crossed wrists. "You're a parson, sir," he
said, "and you're ready for it, so I'll tell you. We were on detached
duty, and there mayn't be another ship here for a week yet."
"A week! But, man, a merchant ship or fisherman might pass any time."
"A fisherman might, sir; but I never saw a merchantman since we came
on this trip, and I don't see anything now."
There was a pause, and the padre shivered in his thin wet clothes.
"The sea was going down this morning; how long do you think we could
stay alive on this?"
"That's the trouble, sir. This is the pinnace, and she's stove in a bit."
"Do you mean she'll sink? But they float when they are waterlogged,
don't they?"
"Not this one, she won't, and she's got the launch's slings in her
too--half an hour I give her; but you're right, sir; the sea's going
down, and I'm keeping a watch out for more wreckage if it goes by, sir."
The shivering-fit passed and he tried to collect his thoughts. Yes,
the pinnace _had_ settled a bit since he had been dragged aboard. She
did not lift so easily to the sea, and had lost the tendency to
broach-to which had made him grip the keel so tightly at first. He was
quite calm now, and everything seemed much more simple. Half an hour!
He lowered his forehead to his hands and his thoughts raced. What had
he left undone? Yes, the ship was gone, so he had nothing to think of
in connection with her. As Dunn would say, his affairs in her were all
"clewed up" by her loss. But ashore, now--ah! For a full minute he
fought with his panic. He felt a rage against a fate that was blindly
killing him when he had so much more of life to enjoy. He wanted to
scream like a trapped rabbit. He felt his eyes wet with tears of
self-pity, and at the feeling his sense of humour returned. He thought
of himself as a child about to be smacked, and when he raised his head
he was smiling into Dunn's eyes. "Half an hour is not long, Dunn," he
said, "but it is longer than our friends had."
Dunn took another swift glance to right and left, then, reaching a
hand cautiously into his jumper, pulled out a wet and shiny briar
pipe, and began to reflectively chew the mouthpiece.
He was a young _padre_, but he had been in the Service most of the
war. He knew enough to choose his words with care as he spoke again.
"Dunn," he said, "we haven't got long. I am going to pray."
"Yessir," said the bony, red face before him.