AN OCEAN DUEL.
THE new course taken by the "Saraband" was in accordance with the
instructions given by the lieutenant of H.M.S. "Padstow." Avoiding
Las Palmas the vessel made for the African coast, making a landfall
in the neighbourhood of Cape Verd. Thence by a judicious use of his
coal, and by hugging the shore as close as possible without risk of
grounding on the outlying shoals, Captain Ramshaw hoped to bring his
command safely into Gibraltar.
At nights all lights were screened. Board of Trade regulations in the
matter of the use of navigation lamps were deliberately ignored. The
"Saraband," at a steady seventeen knots, forged blindly ahead through
the black waters.
During this anxious period Captain Ramshaw rarely quitted the bridge.
If he did so it was only for a few minutes. When compelled by the
demands of nature to rest, he slept on a deck-chair in the
chart-room, ready at an instant's notice to give orders for the
safety of the ship.
On the second night after the meeting of the "Padstow" the
quartermaster had just reported four bells--the actual ringing had
been dispensed with as a matter of precaution--when a wireless S.O.S.
call was received.
It was Terence Aubyn's watch. Promptly the young officer informed the
skipper of the call--a summons for aid that is never ignored by the
vessels that are within range of wireless.
"S.O.S. call, sir; H.Q.C.P. reports being in collision with a
derelict--lat. 22°5'10" N., long. 15°50'20" W."
The thought flashed through the "old man's" mind that the message
might be a decoy; yet the claims of humanity urged him to alter
course and steam at full speed to the rescue.
Meanwhile Aubyn had referred to the "British Code List," in which he
found that the signal letters H.Q.C.P. denoted the SS. "Corona," of
West Hartlepool, of 2576 registered tonnage and of 720 horse-power.
The "Corona," he knew, was a tramp engaged in running between the
Tyne Ports and the Gold Coast.
Captain Ramshaw gave no inkling of the doubt that existed in his
mind. He immediately ordered the "Saraband" to be steered towards the
position indicated, although he would not allow the wireless to be
made use of in order to acquaint the distressed vessel that help was
forthcoming. This was one of the steps he took to guard against the
base misuse of the hitherto inviolate S.O.S. call. In addition, as
previously, the guns' crews stood by their two powerful weapons.
Hour after hour passed as the "Saraband" sped on her errand of mercy.
Fitfully the S.O.S. was received as if the ill-fated crew of the
"Corona," despairing at not having news that their message had been
picked up, were still calling for aid from passing vessels.
Down below McBride's staff was working heroically. The firemen,
stripped to the waist, were shovelling coal with rapid yet dexterous
haste. Stoking is an art: it requires more than merely piling fuel
into the furnaces; but there was no lack of capability on the part of
the "Saraband's" stokehold staff. Quickly the old boat worked up to
her maximum speed.
"Light on the port bow, sir," sung out the mastheadman. "Red flame
throwing out red stars."
"That's the 'Corona' then," declared the "old man." "Starboard your
helm, quartermaster: keep her at that. Mr. Lymore, see that the
cutter is cleared away."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer.
The signal of distress flare was calculated to be seen from twelve to
fourteen miles off In three-quarters of an hour the "Saraband" would
be on the spot, by which time daylight would have dawned.
As the distance decreased the frequent flares could be observed from
the bridge of the "Saraband." Anxiously the officers brought their
night-glasses to bear upon the scene, as the dull patch of ruddy
light rose higher and higher above the horizon.
"It's a four-masted vessel, sir!" exclaimed Terence. "The 'Corona'
has only two. She looks to be about six thousand tons displacement."
"By Jove, you're, right Mr. Aubyn!" said the "old man." "Hard a-port,
quartermaster. It's a ruse."
The steam steering-gear snorted as the helm flew hard over. Listing
heavily outwards as she swung round the "Saraband" sought to avoid
the danger. Alarmed by the sudden heel several of the passengers
rushed from below.
"Reassure these people and send them to their cabins," ordered
Captain Ramshaw, addressing his third officer. "Stand by----"
A vivid flash burst from the supposed disabled ship, and a shell,
hurtling a cable's length astern on the now fleeing "Saraband"
announced the stranger in her true colours. She was a German armed
liner. Her keen lookout had detected the phosphorescent swirl from
the bows of the British vessel as she swung to starboard.
The peremptory greeting was quickly followed by a wireless order:--
"Heave-to, or I'll sink you. Disconnect your wireless. Stand by to
receive a boat."
To this demand Captain Ramshaw paid no attention. His true British
blood was up. As long as he could run and fight he would keep the Old
Flag flying.
With the whole of her fabric trembling under the vibrations of her
powerful engines the "Saraband" began her bid for safety. The
passengers, according to previous instructions, were ordered forward,
while the stewards calmly went about distributing life-belts, at the
same time assuring the more timorous of their charges that the
procedure was merely a matter of precaution.
From her wireless-room messages were sent for aid from any British
cruisers likely to be in the vicinity, while at the same time
warnings were issued for all merchantmen to avoid the danger that now
threatened the hard-pressed "Saraband."
For hard-pressed she certainly was. When day broke the German liner,
identified as the 25-knot "Osnabruck," was now five miles astern. In
spite of her supposed superior speed she was not doing her best,
although her two huge funnels were belching out enormous clouds of
black smoke.
That she was prepared for the work of destruction there was no doubt.
Her black hull, white deck houses, and lofty yellow funnels had been
repainted a neutral grey. For'ard she mounted two guns, while the
muzzles of several others could be discovered trained abeam.
She was steadily gaining. Shells from her guns were ricochetting on
either side of the fleeing "Saraband," throwing up columns of spray
fifty feet into the air.
"You'll have to do better than that, my friend," said the "old man"
grimly. The spirit of fight--the old Bersark strain in his blood--was
strong within him. But for his passengers he would have risked an
engagement. As it was, he had to run for it, but he meant to show
that even a British merchantman could show her teeth.
Meanwhile, Terence Aubyn had made his way aft to take charge of the
starboard quarter 4.7-in. gun, the other one being under the orders
of the third officer, a hot-blooded Irishman, named O'Reilly, who
could hardly prevent himself from giving a premature order to open
fire.
"Let her have it: at six thousand yards," came the order from the
bridge.
Both guns spoke simultaneously. Almost before the powerful weapons
had recovered from the recoil, which was taken up by the hydraulic
mountings, the breech blocks were thrown open and another shell in a
gleaming brass cylinder was thrust into each gun.
"A hit, sir!" shouted one of the gun's crews, for even with the naked
eye a dense haze of yellow smoke was seen to be enveloping the fore
part of the "Osnabruck."
Whatever the damage it did not compel the German vessel to cease
pursuit. Soon her grey outlines were observed to be emerging from the
mist of smoke that partly hid her from view. Spurts of yellow flame,
stabbing the early morning air, showed that her bow guns were still
in action.
An appalling crash, outvoicing the simultaneous barks of the British
guns, denoted the disconcerting fact that one, at least, of the
hostile projectiles had "got home."
Pungent fumes drifted aft; splinters, hurled high in the air, began
to fall all around the gun's crews.
"Steady, men, steady!" shouted Aubyn encouragingly, for some of the
crew were attracted by the sound and were endeavouring to ascertain
the result of the havoc. "Never mind that. Keep at it."
Even as he spoke the "Saraband" swung round quite fifteen degrees to
port, thus exposing her length and lofty freeboard to the German
vessel. The gunners of the latter were not slow to take advantage.
One shell crashed through the side amidships, just above the
water-line, and completely wrecked the passengers' third-class
dining-room. Fortunately, owing to Captain Ramshaw's precautions,
this part of the ship was unoccupied.
A second shell, ricochetting a hundred yards off, leapt up and
wrecked the after-funnel, causing dense volumes of smoke to eddy
along the alleyways.
The first projectile that hit the "Saraband" was responsible for the
damage done by the other two. Bursting underneath the bridge it
demolished that structure, sending the breastwork of sacks of flour
far and wide like an avalanche.
Captain Ramshaw and Chief Officer Lymore were both flung from the
crumbling structure on to the cargo hatch abaft the foremost.
Fortunately beyond being considerably shaken, they were not seriously
hurt, but with the destruction of the bridge the steam steering-gear
was affected, and this caused the "Saraband" to begin to circle to
port.
Although partly dazed by the fall, the "old man," with a true
seaman's instinctive sense, knew that the ship was fairly off her
course. Staggering to his feet he made his way across the chaotic
pile of flour-sacks, many of which had been ripped open by fragments
of shell, and ordered the hand steering-gear to be manned. In five
minutes the "Saraband" was once more under control, although the
demolition of one of her funnels and the consequent reduction of
draft caused an appreciable diminution in speed.
While the ship was broadside on to the enemy the gun under Aubyn's
orders was temporarily out of action. It could not be trained upon
the "Osnabruck" without a serious risk of injury to the second gun's
crew by the blast from the weapon.
It was indeed fortunate that while in this position she was not sent
to the bottom. According to the rules of naval strategy and tactics
she ought to have been, were it not for the indifferent aim of the
German gun-layers.
On the other hand, the British 4.7-in. guns were getting in hit after
hit with admirable precision. Already the "Osnabruck's" upper works
appeared to be a mass of scrap iron. Fires had broken out in several
places, yet she held grimly in pursuit, under the erroneous
impression that the few shells she did get home would terrorise the
"Saraband" into surrendering.
Presently the fourth officer's gun made a splendid hit. Striking the
German vessel's bows almost on the water-line the shell made a clean
hole before exploding. When it did the damage in the confined space
was terrific. Her thin bow plates were burst outwards, while the
for'ard watertight bulkhead was strained till it admitted the sea
like a mill sluice.
A cheer broke from the parched lips of the "Saraband's" crew. Her
antagonist was settling down by the head. Her speed slackened
rapidly. Her engines were going half-speed astern in the hope of
checking the inrush of water.
"She's done for, sir!" exclaimed Terence excitedly, as Chief Officer
Lymore, his face and clothes mottled with flour and smoke, came aft.
"Ay, she's settled with," agreed Lymore grimly. "Cease firing. It's
no use wasting ammunition."
"If only we would slow down and pepper her till she surrenders,"
declared Terence, the lust of battle in his heart.
"She will, right enough," said the chief officer consolingly. "We've
our passengers to consider. The 'old man' is going to take the ship
out of range and wait. We'll have to pick up the survivors somehow,
but there isn't a boat that won't leak like a sieve."
Such, indeed, was the case. Those of the boats that were not
shattered by direct hits or holed by flying fragments of shell, were
so utterly strained by the concussion as to be unfit for use. Already
the carpenter's crew were setting to work, caulking the gaping seams
of the boats which seemed likely to be used for the forthcoming work
of rescue.
When well out of range, the "Saraband" swung round and stopped, her
bows pointing in the direction of the foundering "Osnabruck," that
appeared to be little more than a dot upon the horizon. By the aid of
glasses brought to bear upon the scene, the German vessel was
observed to be listing slightly to starboard and very much down by
the head. All her upper works were hidden by a thick cloud of smoke.
Meanwhile, Captain Ramshaw took up his position on the boat-deck,
owing to the demolition of the bridge. Here receiving reports from
various officers concerning the amount of damage done to the ship and
giving brief and concise orders as to what was to be done, he was as
busy as ever he had been in the whole course of his thirty-odd years
at sea.
Now that the danger was over the passengers were allowed to leave
their cramped quarters, and, subject to certain restrictions, allowed
to make use of most of the decks. One, a short, pompouslooking
individual, holding a camera, boldly approached the skipper.
"I say, Captain Ramshaw," he began in a high, affected voice, "don't
you think you could take us a little nearer, so as to get a view of
the object of our triumph? The sinking ship would be a unique object
to snapshot, don't you think?"
The "old man" showed not the slightest sign of annoyance or surprise
at the interruption.
"My dear sir," he replied affably, "would you put your fingers
within snapping range of a mad dog, even if the animal were chained
up and dying? I think not. Yonder vessel will bark as long as the
muzzles of her guns are above water. Remember, sir, that this is the
real thing, and that we are up against an enemy that we cannot afford
to underestimate. I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request."
The passenger went away. Captain Ramshaw and the chief officer
exchanged glances. The latter uttered a short laugh.
"I think if I'd been in your place, sir, I would have booted him out
of it," declared Lymore.
"So I should have done," rejoined the skipper, "if I had been in my
own place--but I'm not. I'm an employee of the Company, and have to
study their interests. By Jove, Lymore, we do look a pair of
ragamuffins! Talk about the dignity of the Company's uniform! But I
wouldn't have missed the fun for a thousand pounds."
Captain Ramshaw was as elated as a young subaltern who had donned
uniform for the first time. He had reason to be so. He had fought
against considerable odds, and had come out "top dog." It was but
one of many instances where the peaceful British mercantile marine
officer shows that the training he has had amid the perils of the sea
can be utilized as a powerful asset to the armed strength of the
Empire upon whose banner the sun never sets.