THE "STRONGBOW'S" PRIZE.
BEFORE eight on the following morning Terence rejoined the
"Strongbow." The heartiness of his welcome almost banished the sense
of disappointment he felt at having to serve on patrol duty instead
of in a sphere of belligerent activity.
Captain Ripponden honoured him by requesting his company at
breakfast; Commander Ramshaw was enthusiastic at seeing his former
fourth officer again; even the somewhat taciturn Lymore smiled grimly
as he shook Aubyn's hand; while Chief-Engineer McBride delivered such
a welcome in the broadest Scotch that he was seized with a fit of
violent coughing that did not subside till he rushed to his cabin and
drained a stiff glass of "Hie'land Dew."
Kenneth Raeburn, who happened to be on watch in the engine-room on
Terence's arrival, quickly sought out his chum as soon as he was off
duty.
"I hear you've been having a high old time," he exclaimed
boisterously. "You always were a lucky chap, old man. Let's hear all
about it."
"I'll begin stern-foremost," began Terence, and to Raeburn's
astonishment he related the circumstances that culminated in the
death of Karl von Eckenhardt.
"By Jove, old man, you'll be lionized over this business!--saving a
troop train and settling that bounder."
"I think not," rejoined Terence. "Fact is, I slipped away while they
were all busy with the investigations. Didn't want to be detained
over a rotten inquest. Don't believe in them myself."
"Neither do I," asserted Raeburn. "I had to attend one once, and the
whole thing struck me as an utter farce, beginning with the false
evidence of the village bobby and finishing up with the doctor's
report. I know for a fact that when he examined the body he was as
drunk as a fiddler. But is there anything in the papers?"
"Can't tell," replied Terence. "The bumboat hasn't come alongside
yet. Anyway, I don't want you to say a word to anybody about the
business; I want to be afloat. Any idea of the programme?"
"Same old game," said Kenneth, with a grin. "Between the south of
Iceland and the Faroe Islands. Hullo, here's the bumboat! Now for a
paper."
The "Strongbow" was lying about a mile from the West Pier of the port
of Leith in company with half a dozen Admiralty craft of various
sizes. Communication with the shore was maintained by means of
frequent picquet boats, while tradesmen were allowed to supply
luxuries to the ships by means of sailing craft known from time
immemorial as bumboats.
Terence showed no hurry in securing his copy of the paper, but his
interest was none the less acute. Having received one he retired to
the seclusion of the deserted smoking-room and opened the damp
sheets.
Quickly he scanned the news columns. Nothing escaped him, but there
was no mention of the attempted outrage on the troop train. For good
reasons, mainly to avoid creating any alarm on the part of the public
and partly to conceal the fact from the German authorities that their
master-spy had paid the penalty for his activities, the news had been
completely suppressed by the Censor, although already eight-hundred
soldiers were spreading the report amongst their comrades on
Salisbury Plain.
Terence gave vent to a chuckle of satisfaction. Nevertheless, he kept
an anxious eye on the boats putting off to the ship, in case one of
them contained a messenger bearing a demand for the lieutenant to
report himself to the civil authorities. Nor did his uneasiness
subside until the "Strongbow" weighed and proceeded towards her
station.
For weeks she cruised, save for the short visits she was compelled to
pay when requiring coal and provisions. Yet nothing occurred to mar
the uneventfulness of that lone patrol.
The principal topic on board was now the question of the Dardanelles
operations, of which reports were received by wireless.
Amongst the officers there were two distinct parties in the matter of
opinion. One, headed by Commander Ramshaw, expressed the belief in
the success of the attempt to force the supposedly impregnable
waterway. The other, though smaller, was represented by Lieutenant
Lymore, who pessimistically regarded the operations as hopeless.
"It's not the Turkish guns," he declared. "It's that rotten current
setting down from the Marmora. I've been there, and I know what it's
like. The Turks will be chucking cartloads of mines overboard, and
there'll be no end of a mess up."
The very next morning came the news of the totally unexpected
appearance of the Super-Dreadnought "Queen Elizabeth." Ramshaw was so
elated that he upset a cup of coffee over the ward-room tablecloth,
and cheerfully paid up the sixpence demanded by McQuid, the assistant
paymaster, who in his capacity of member of the Mess Committee was as
sharp as needles in mulcting a delinquent.
"That's the way," declared the commander. "Taking those forts in the
rear. They'll be through within a week."
A week passed, and still no news of the successful forcing of the
Dardanelles. Then came the disquieting tidings of the sinking of the
"Ocean," "Irresistible," and "Bouvet" and the disablement of the
"Gaulois."
"Just what I said!" declared Lymore. "It's those beastly mines. Now,
if I had a prominent voice----"
"You have, old man!" exclaimed the assistant paymaster.
Lymore glared at the interrupter.
"I'd chuck the idea of pushing up through the Narrows."
"A pretty figure you'd cut," remarked McBride. "There's nae true
Briton wha'd back down once he's taken on the wurrk."
"I didn't mean that, my dear sir," continued the lieutenant. "I'd
devote my energies in another direction. There's the Peninsula of
Saros, about five miles in width and about eighty feet in height."
"Well?" inquired the assistant paymaster.
"I'd land a strong force under cover of the warship guns, whip
together a regular army of navvies and all the steam navvies I could
lay my hands on. In six weeks, and at a cost of less than that of the
battleships we've already lost, there would be a canal twelve feet in
depth from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. And, remember,
both seas are practically tideless."
"Sounds feasible, laddie," remarked McBride.
"And then it would be a simple matter to send out the monitors. With
their draught of seven feet they could easily pass through, as well
as our earlier type of destroyers. Without paying the faintest
attention to the Dardanelles forts the monitors could strike hard at
Constantinople."
"Lymore, you ought to be on the Board of Admiralty," said Commander
Ramshaw gravely.
"Instead of which I'm only a Reserve officer on the armed merchantman
'Strongbow'," added Lymore, with a grim smile.
At that moment came a knock at the wardroom door, and a messenger
announced that an accident had occurred in the engine-room.
McBride was on his feet in an instant. The thought of anything
happening to his beloved engines acted like a red rag to a bull.
All the executive officers not actually on duty gathered round the
engine-room hatchway, from which clouds of steam were issuing. It was
as far as they dared go towards setting foot in McBride's domain.
After ten minutes' wait, two stokers were sent on deck, both
suffering from severe scalds. These were followed by Kenneth Raeburn,
whose right arm was swathed in cotton waste soaked with oil.
"Rotten luck, old man!" he exclaimed, with forced cheerfulness, as he
caught sight of his chum, Terence. "It's not much as far as I am
concerned; merely a slight burn."
Aubyn could see by the expression upon the assistant engineer's
features that he was suffering acutely. He did not know at the time
that in addition to being severely scalded by the bursting of a steam
pipe, Raeburn's wrist had been broken in a gallant attempt to rescue
the two stokers as they lay, overcome by the hot steam, upon the
floor of the stokehold.
Terence accompanied his chum to the sick-bay, where the surgeon
quickly made the discovery that the plucky officer had sustained
injuries that would probably necessitate his being invalided out of
the Service.
Kenneth read the doctor's fears as clearly as if he had been bluntly
told the truth.
"Hard lines," he exclaimed. "Looks as if I'm to be chucked out of
the old 'Strongbow'."
"Only for a time, I hope," rejoined the surgeon. "Now, keep as steady
as you can. I may hurt you a bit."
Aubyn watched his chum's face as he proceeded to dress the doubly
injured limb. Beads of perspiration stood out on the young assistant
engineer's face, but not a sound escaped from his lips, but before
the dressing was completed Kenneth fainted.
"He's real pluck," declared the surgeon. "I dare not give him an
anaesthetic, and the fracture of the wrist, complicated by the burns,
made it a fearfully painful business for him. It's as well he's
unconscious."
"Will he be invalided?" asked Aubyn.
"I'm afraid so," replied the medico. "The effect of the burn upon
the tendons will probably result in a permanent weakening of the
muscular action of the hand. I may be wrong--I hope so; but time
alone will tell."
For the next week Raeburn was confined to the sick-bay. At the end of
that time he was able to get on deck, with his bandaged arm in a
sling. The doctor suggested to Captain Ripponden the desirability of
landing the patient at the first opportunity, and the captain
concurred.
Two days later a sail was reported. Of late the "Strongbow" had not
fallen in with any craft, either British or neutral, and the news was
hailed with mild excitement. Anything to relieve the monotony of the
daily routine was welcome.
As soon as the stranger sighted the British merchant-cruiser he
turned tail and steamed as hard as he could. A thrill of expectancy
took possession of the "Strongbow's" crew. They were out to chase
something, and the mere fact that the unknown vessel had shown her
heels went to prove that she was a of suspicious character.
Calling every ounce of steam, Captain Ripponden stood in pursuit. It
was the first time in her existence as an armed merchant-cruiser that
the "Strongbow" was called upon to engage in a chase. Hitherto every
craft she had subjected to examination had submitted passively. Now
she was having a run for her money. Her hull quivered under the rapid
pulsations of her powerful engines. The grey paint on her funnel
casings blistered and peeled in large flakes, while for miles astern
the thick cloud of smoke gave some indication of the activities of
the "black squad" as they piled shovelful after shovelful of coal
into the furnaces.
Half an hour's chase showed that the "Strongbow" was overhauling her
quarry. Twenty minutes later the merchant-cruiser dropped a plugged
shell a hundred yards abeam of the fugitive. Even this was not
sufficient to impress upon the stranger that the game was up, and it
was not until the "Strongbow" planted another shot within fifty feet
of the unknown vessel that she slowed down and hoisted Norwegian
colours.
The craft proved to be the "Roldal," a passenger and cargo steamer,
of Bergen; but the fact that she had attempted to escape was in
itself significant.
"Boarding-party away."
Into the boat tumbled fifteen bluejackets. In command was Lieutenant
Terence Aubyn.
"I protest against the outrage," exclaimed the Norwegian captain in
good English, as the boat ran alongside the "Roldal," which was now
hove-to within two cables' lengths of her successful pursuer. "This
is a neutral ship."
"And carries twenty passengers--citizens of the Republic of the
United States of America, sonny," added a man standing by the
gangway, whose "twang" would in itself be a sufficient indication of
his nationality.
"Sorry, captain," replied Terence, "but my duty compels me to board
you."
"Then a curse upon your duty!" retorted the captain. "Your
Government will regret this outrage."
"If you will kindly allow me to come on board," remarked the
lieutenant courteously, according to his instructions, although he
felt he would have given a month's pay to have spoken his mind,
"I'll go through the formality of examining your papers, and if they
are in order you will not be detained more than a few minutes."
After intentional delay a tarry rope-ladder was lowered. Terence
could have insisted upon having the accommodation-ladder let down,
but instead he swarmed up the swaying perpendicular means of access,
and followed by six of his men gained the "Roldal's" deck.
Ignoring the studied rudeness of the passengers, one of whom loudly
protested against the "darned interference of cocksure Britishers!"
Terence requested the captain to produce the ship's papers.
Grudgingly these documents were handed over. The "Roldal" was a
Norwegian-owned vessel, bound from Boston, U.S.A., to Bergen. Her
passenger list showed that there were nineteen American subjects and
four Norwegian. Her cargo consisted of wheat and iron ware.
Glancing down the passenger list Terence saw the name "Octavius P.
Rand, of Norfolk, Virginia." Going to the door of the cabin he
requested the owner of the name to step forward.
There were looks of blank astonishment on the faces of eighteen of
the American citizens. The nineteenth, the fellow who had protested
so emphatically, began nudging a round-faced man in the group.
"You are Octavius P. Rand?" inquired the lieutenant, and receiving an
affirmative reply, conveyed by means of a decided inclination of the
head, he asked the man a few questions of various places in
Norfolk--a town with which Terence happened to be fairly well
acquainted. It was quickly apparent that the so-called Octavius had
never set foot in that part of Virginia. By his Teutonic accent he
was either a German or a German-American.
Of the others not one could speak English properly. They were
eighteen Germans, domiciled in the United States, but on the way to
the Fatherland to join the reserves. The nineteenth was a Yankee
agent for a munition business in Hamburg.
A peculiar buzzing from the wireless-room of the "Roldal" told
Terence that the operators were at work. Ordering two armed seamen to
follow him, the lieutenant peremptorily told the wireless men to
cease operations, and having placed sentries outside the door, he
returned to his work of examination.
The Bills of Lading, Manifest, and Charter Party were palpable
forgeries, while a survey of the hold showed that a quantity of the
"iron ware" was copper ingots.
"You must consider your ship under arrest," declared Terence to the
still aggressive skipper.
Without a word the captain flung himself into his cabin. He did not
mind the ship being taken as a prize. His liberty would not be
affected, since he was a Norwegian subject, while a substantial sum
of money had already been paid to him by his employers, and the money
had been sent by mailboat to his home. He had no interests at stake,
but he was determined not to render his captors the slightest
assistance in navigating the ship.
Leaving a strong armed party on board the prize, Terence returned to
the "Strongbow" and made his report. On the strength of this Captain
Ripponden had no hesitation in taking possession of the ship. A
wireless was sent to the Admiral of the Armed Merchant Fleet
announcing the capture, and proposing that the "Strongbow" should
escort the "Roldal" into Cromarty Firth.
Promptly came the reply: "'Strongbow' not to escort prize. Send
'Roldal' into Cromarty Firth with a prize crew."
"Very good," commented Captain Ripponden when the message was
delivered. "Mr. Aubyn, you will please take command of the prize,
and upon arrival at Dingwall hand her over to the authorities for
disposal. Then bring your men on to Leith. We will be putting in
there for coal on the 26th, and you can rejoin the ship on that
date."
The lieutenant saluted, and turned to go to his cabin and make brief
but urgent preparations for his independent command.
"One moment, Mr. Aubyn."
Terence saluted and awaited the captain's pleasure.
"You may as well take Mr. Raeburn with you," continued Captain
Ripponden. "Dr. Hardiman seems to think that the sooner he is ashore
and able to obtain hospital treatment the better. Now, carry on, and
good luck to you."
Ten minutes later Terence and Kenneth were ready to proceed to the
prize. The assistant engineer, in spite of the fact that his right
arm was still crippled and showed no immediate prospects of healing,
was in the best of spirits and, unassisted, gained the stern-sheets
of the boat amid a fire of farewell greetings from his
brother-officers.
"Give way!" ordered Terence.
The men bent to their supple ash oars with a will, while the
lieutenant steered towards the prize.
"What's up, old man?" he asked, suddenly noticing a perplexed look on
Raeburn's face.
"Left my best pipe behind," was the dejected reply. "No, don't put
back--'tis beastly unlucky."
He faced aft, then using his sound hand as a speaking trumpet he
shouted to another assistant engineer.
"I say, Smithers, I've left a presentation pipe in my cabin. You
might look to it, old man."
"Right-o!" was the reply. "I'll send it off as soon as we arrive at
Leith. You can rely upon getting it by Monday morning. So don't get
into a tear."
"If I don't, look out for squalls," retorted Kenneth.
Smithers shouted something in reply that was evidently intended to be
facetious, but by this time the distance between the "Strongbow" and
the receding boat was too great for the words to be understood.
"I'll never forgive old Hardiman for having me sent ashore," declared
Raeburn. "It isn't as if I were properly crocked. I could do a trick
in the engine-room even with a damaged hand. It's hard lines on
Smithers and the others: they'll have to put in extra time."
Terence did not reply. He knew that it would be a long time--perhaps
never--before Kenneth Raeburn would be on duty in the engine-room of
a British warship, or even on a merchantman.
By the time the boat came alongside the "Roldal" those of the
"Strongbow's" crew who had been left on board the prize had cleared
away and lowered the accommodation-ladder. The Norwegians had stood
sullenly aside, not a man stirring a finger to help. The skipper had
made up his mind to adopt an attitude of passive resistance, and his
crew took their cue from him.
As soon as the rest of the prize crew boarded the ship and their
scanty gear and provisions hoisted up, the boat returned to the
"Strongbow."
From the yard-arm of the latter a string of bunting fluttered in the
breeze. It was the signal to part company. Then gathering way the
armed merchantman circled to port, and steamed in a westerly
direction.
Left to himself Terence proceeded to take the necessary steps for the
safeguarding of his charge. The Norwegian crew were ordered to keep
for'ard; the officers were allowed the run of the deck aft, while the
passengers, with the exception of the American, were placed under
arrest as German subjects capable of bearing arms.
Since the ship's officers bluntly refused to take any part in
navigating the ship, Terence had a bed prepared in the chart-room. He
knew that it meant forty-eight hours' duty.
He was short-handed. With sentries posted at the wireless-room, the
fo'c'sle, and over the prisoners, the number of men at his disposal
was far too small. He could not compel the engine-room staff to work;
so some of his own men were sent to the stokehold and engine-room
under the charge of an experienced engine-room artificer. Yet in
spite of the willingness of the volunteer stokers, it was impossible
to keep a full head of steam. Eleven knots was the maximum speed that
could, under these circumstances, be screwed out of the captured
"Roldal."
Before night the wind freshened. By six bells in the middle watch it
was blowing a gale from the east'ard. The "Roldal" made bad weather
of it. Broadside on to the direction of the wind she rolled like a
barrel, shipping green seas amidships.
Clad in oilskins Terence remained on the bridge throughout the
terrible night. He mentally condemned the fate that put him in charge
of a cranky tramp-steamer, when he might be sleeping soundly on board
the weatherly "Strongbow." Hour after hour he stood gripping the rail
of the erratically swaying bridge and peering through the welter of
broken water and pitch-dark sky. For the first time in his nautical
existence he realized the responsibility of being in sole charge of a
ship and of the lives of men.
Before it was dawn a hideous clamour, distinctly audible above the
howling of the gale, came from somewhere for'ard. Terence strained
his ears to try to detect by the nature of the sound what had gone
adrift. It was the clanging of metal against metal.
Watching their opportunity during the slight interval when the broken
water receded from amidships, two of the prize crew dashed aft from
the fo'c'sle and sprang up the bridge-ladder.
"Starboard anchor broken adrift, sir," reported one. "It's hammering
against the bows for all it's worth."
Aubyn considered the problem for a few moments. To send some of the
scanty crew to work upon the exposed fo'c'sle to secure and re-cat
the recalcitrant anchor would be a difficult task even with
sufficient hands and in a moderate sea. Better by far unshackle the
cable and allow the anchor to go.
He gave the order. Between the pounding of the heavy mass of forged
steel, for the anchor weighed more than a ton, could be heard the
blows of the mauls as the two seamen knocked out the pin of the
shackle. Then, after the whirr of the chain through the hawse-pipe,
the noise ceased. Terence knew that the anchor had plunged to the
bottom of the Atlantic.
A babel of shouting came from the forepeak. The Norwegian seamen were
clambering to be let out. There was no need for Terence to ask why:
the damage was already done, for the "bills" of the anchor had
penetrated the hull below the water-line.
The sense of danger had overcome their resolution to remain passive.
They had attempted to plug the hole with hammocks, but the inrush of
water was too great. Already the forepeak was flooded to a depth of
three feet.
Shouting orders to the engine-room for the bilge and condenser pumps
to be brought into action, Terence bade the quartermaster turn the
ship head to wind. Even as the "Roldal" swung round, a terrific sea
slapped her quarter and wrenched away the rudder brackets. The strain
upon the insufficiently supported rudder resulted in the carrying
away of the sole means of steering, for being a single screw vessel
it was not possible to control her by means of the propeller.
Her only chance lay in forging ahead and trusting to luck that she
did not fall off and wallow in the trough of the mountainous seas.
Mechanically the quartermaster stood by the steam steering-gear.
Years of implicit trusting to a vessel to answer to her helm had left
such an impression upon the seaman that he could not realize that the
sole means of keeping the vessel on her course was denied him.
The "Roldal" was slowly turning to starboard. At one moment her stern
would be deep in the waves, at another it would be high in the air,
accompanied by a nerve-racking jar as the propeller, lifted from its
natural element, raced wildly. Then, _swish!_ A cascade of surging
green water would sweep across the deck and pour in a smother of
white foam to leeward.
Another appalling crash aft caused Terence to turn his head. To his
dismay he saw that one of the fore mainmast derricks, which had been
triced up and housed in a perpendicular position, had broken adrift.
Like a gigantic flail it swept from side to side, clearing rails and
deck-fittings as easily as if they were made of matchwood.
For a few seconds the heavy spars would bring up against the foremast
iron wire shrouds supporting the mainmast, then, with the roll of the
vessel, it would fly against the corresponding one on the other side,
making the stay sing like a gigantic harp-string. A few minutes of
that sort of game, Terence knew, would result in the carrying away of
the shrouds and the loss of the mainmast.
The lieutenant motioned to some of the men: his own crew and a few of
the Norwegians were sheltering under the lee of one of the intact
deck-houses. At all costs the erratic derrick must be secured.
The men obeyed the unspoken order, for it would be useless even to
shout in the midst of the tumult. Rigging a tackle they awaited an
opportunity to slip a stout strip over the end of the terrible flail.
Over came the spar, missing a man's head by a hair's-breadth. Two of
the Norwegians sought to secure the derrick during its temporary
inactivity, but an extra roll to leeward caused the spar to give an
irresistible lurch. The next instant the men were hurled into the
mountainous sea.
Nothing could be done to save them. To lower a boat would be a worse
than useless act. It would be simply throwing away human life in an
impossible attempt to save two already doomed men.
One of the unfortunate wretches was apparently stunned by the blow,
for he was never seen again; the other could be discerned for a brief
instant as he raised his arms in a mute despairing appeal for aid
that was not humanly possible; then he was lost to sight in the chaos
of the dark turmoil of broken water.
Dawn was just breaking as a sudden rush of steam through the
engine-room fidley, followed by the slowing down of the engines,
announced the disconcerting fact that the water had put out the
stokehold fires. Quickly losing way the "Roldal" rolled excessively,
helpless in the trough of the raging sea.
Hanging on to the rail like grim death the now thoroughly chastened
Norwegian skipper mounted the bridge. Terence offered no objection.
In the hour of danger little unpleasantnesses were lost sight of.
They were now human beings fighting against a common foe.
"Can you set canvas on her?" shouted Aubyn.
The Norwegian understood.
"Ay," he roared in reply. "I will see to that."
Calling half a dozen of the men the skipper, accompanied by the first
and second mates, made their way for'ard, not without imminent danger
of being washed overboard. From the partly flooded sail-locker a
storm staysail was produced. It had been rolled up for months,
perhaps for years. Its hanks were stiff with rust. It took ten
minutes' hard work to bend the canvas to the forestay; then slowly it
was sent up and sheeted home. Gradually the vessel's head began to
pay off. Under the pressure of the sail she would run before the
wind. It was her one chance. Scudding before the mountainous seas the
"Roldal" might keep afloat some hours longer, in which time she might
be sighted by another ship and her crew given a fighting chance of
being rescued.
Without warning came a sharp, whip-like crack. The clew cringle of
the sail had burst. With a series of terrific reports, like the bark
of a quick-firer, the rotten canvas flogged itself to ribbons. In two
minutes hardly a vestige of the staysail was to be seen.
Once again, helpless and in imminent danger of foundering, now that
the steam-pumps were useless, the ship rolled broadside on in the
trough of the waves. The motion was now decidedly sluggish, her
recovery slow. Another hour, or two at the very most, would see the
end unless something totally unforeseen occurred to baulk the sea of
its prey.
"Land ahead!"
Five miles to leeward appeared a chain of rugged cliffs, topped with
treeless ground that culminated in a gaunt peak. Here and there were
gaps of varying sizes, but whether these were inlets, or merely
patches of low-lying ground, invisible owing to the curvature of the
ocean, the lieutenant could not for the time being decide.
All this while, from the moment the Norwegian operator thought it
advisable to relinquish his attitude of passive resistance, the
wireless had been sending out calls for aid; but, although Terence
swept the horizon with his glasses, no smoke announced the approach
of a succouring steamer.
Presently a line of surf, as the tremendous seas hurled themselves
against the rock-bound coast, became visible. The "Roldal" was
evidently doomed either to founder or else be driven upon the bleak
and frowning cliffs.
Suddenly the quartermaster, forgetting disparity in rank in his
excitement, grasped Terence by the arm.
"Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "A submarine!"