"THE PRICE OF ADMIRALTY."
WHEN Terence recovered his senses he was lying in a crofter's
cottage. A white-haired venerable dame was busying herself with a
large iron pot over a peat fire, while an old fisherman, her husband,
was spreading the lieutenant's clothes to dry. The reek of the peat
and the vapour of the steaming garments seemed to fill the confined
space.
Through the diamond panes of the small window Aubyn could see the
heads and shoulders of several of his men. The devoted tars, having
been provided with dry clothes of weird fit by their poor but
hospitable hosts, were mounting an impromptu guard outside the
cottage in order to hear the news of their popular young officer's
return to consciousness.
Terence sat up. As he did so he became aware of a throbbing pain in
his left hip and leg, while he noticed that his left arm was roughly
bandaged. Fearful lest his leg should be broken, he raised his knee.
Although it caused him agony he realized to his intense satisfaction
that he was capable of moving it.
Hearing him move the old fisherman spoke to him, and although Terence
could not understand one word of the broad Shetland dialect the
lieutenant guessed rightly that the man wanted to know whether the
patient would like to see those of his crew who were disconsolately
lingering outside in spite of the howling wind.
In trooped the seamen; seven burly and extremely diffident specimens
of the Royal Naval Reserve, who, slow of speech except when amongst
themselves, could hardly find means to express their thoughts. They
did not know whether to congratulate their temporary skipper on his
escape or to commiserate with him on his injuries.
"How is Mr. Raeburn, Griffiths?" asked Terence.
The Welsh petty-officer fidgeted with his hands, attempted to reply,
but at last turned with mild entreaty to his comrades.
"Fairish, sir, only fairish," vaguely declared another. "But how's
yourself, sir, if we may make so bold as to ask?"
"Stiff, bruised, but otherwise all right, I think," replied Terence.
"And awfully peckish. Have you men been fed?"
"Yes, sir, we were victualled down at the village," announced the
man. "They did us right well. They say as how we'll have to hang
about on this island till the gale moderates; but they've
communicated with the authorities at Lerwick, sir, and the senior
officer is going to send a vessel to pick us up."
Dismissing his men Terence contrived to borrow some clothes from his
humble yet kindly hosts, and making his way with considerable
difficulty to an upstairs room, proceeded to dress.
Considering the terrific buffeting he had received Aubyn had come off
pretty lightly. He was black and blue from his shoulders to his
knees, his forehead was grazed through coming in contact with the
rock, and there was a clean cut across his cheek. Rigged out in rough
ill-fitting Shetland tweeds, his chin and cheeks black with a stubble
of forty-eight hours' growth, he looked anything but a spruce officer
of his Majesty's Service.
His efforts to borrow a razor were fruitless. His host had never
shaved in the whole course of his existence, and he was now over
eighty years of age. Nor did he know of any of his neighbours who
would be in a position to oblige his guest.
Having found out where Kenneth had been taken, Terence went to see
him. He had to traverse nearly half a mile of bleak moorland, over
which the wind blew with great force. Shelter there was not, except a
few stunted thorns and patches of gorse.
Looking seawards the vista was a turmoil of broken water, divided by
the Island of Fetlar. Close under its lee the sea was comparatively
calm, but owing to the tidal race, the "Sound" or intervening
channel seemed too violent for any craft to navigate in safety.
Cautiously the lieutenant approached the brink of the cliff and
looked down to the cauldron of foam beneath. The tide had ebbed
considerably. Fang-like rocks showed their jagged heads above the
breakers for nearly a quarter of a mile off shore. It seemed
marvellous how the almost waterlogged "Roldal" had contrived to be
swept over those dangerous rocks. In vain he looked for traces of his
first independent command: the ship had literally gone to pieces.
After considerable difficulty Terence succeeded in finding the little
cottage to which his chum had been taken. A big-boned, gaunt-featured
man answered his knock, and without betraying the faintest surprise
at his visitor's garb, invited him into the room. The Shetlander
asked no questions; he seemed to know Aubyn's business. Like the rest
of the islanders, most of whom had played a prominent part in the
rescue of the survivors of the "Roldal," he already know the officers
and most of the men by sight.
Impressed by the gravity of the man's manner, Terence fully expected
to find his chum in a desperate plight, but to his surprise he was
greeted by an outburst of laughter.
"Excuse me, old man," exclaimed Kenneth, "but you do look a sketch!
Who's your tailor? And are you about to cultivate a torpedo beard?"
"How's that arm of yours?" asked Aubyn.
"Feels a bit rotten," admitted Kenneth, "or rather, I can't feel it
at all. It seems a bit numb. But it will be all right in a day or so,
I guess. It was a real plucky thing of yours, old man. Looked like a
case of attempted suicide, when you cut that rope.
"I should have felt like your murderer if I hadn't," retorted Aubyn.
"But it's over and done with. We're lucky to get ashore. By the by,
I suppose you know that they're sending a steamer from Lerwick as
soon as the weather moderates?"
Terence could not talk rationally. He touched upon half a dozen
subjects in as many minutes. His mind was full of sorrow for his
chum's misfortune. He knew what Raeburn was yet to learn: that the
lack of sensitiveness in Kenneth's arm meant that never again would
his chum be able to use the limb.
Raeburn's sanguineness was most pathetic. He had fully made up his
mind to get to Leith and await the "Strongbow's" return. He rehearsed
the little scene he would have when Smithers restored to him his
cherished pipe.
Two days later the sea moderated sufficiently for the shipwrecked men
to be taken to Lerwick. Here they were split up. The German
reservists were sent into detention quarters to await the decision of
the War Office as to their disposal; the Norwegians, whose
indignation towards the apostles of kultur showed no signs of
abatement, were forwarded to Aberdeen, whence they were permitted to
return to their native land, while the detachment of the 'Strongbow'
were given a passage as far as Dingwall, whence they were told to
proceed by train to Leith.
Kenneth Raeburn did not go with them. Upon arrival at Lerwick he was
promptly taken to hospital. A preliminary examination resulted in the
doctors' seriously considering the advisability of amputating his
wounded arm, but upon a further consultation it was found that there
was a possibility of saving the limb, although it would be
practically useless for the rest of his life.
Raeburn was not told of this. In spite of his disappointment at not
being allowed to go with the rest of the prize crew his optimism was
remarkable.
"Can't understand why those doctors insist upon keeping me here, old
man," he remarked to Terence, when the lieutenant came to bid him
good-bye. "I feel as fit as a fiddle, except for the long-winded
business over my arm, you know. And it's rotten not being able to see
the 'Strongbow' come into port. You'll take good care to remind
Smithers to send along that pipe of mine, won't you?"
"I won't forget," asserted Terence.
"And another thing," continued Kenneth. "If you get a chance to go
to Edinburgh you might look up my tailor--you know, the fellow in the
Hogmarket--and get him to knock me up another No. 5 rig. I can't
possibly present myself in this shabby uniform when I have to report
myself for duty. Explain to him that my arm is crocked and I can't
write at the present moment."
The lieutenant could not commit himself to reply. Gripping Raeburn's
left hand he bade him "buck up," and made an undignified retreat from
the man who was never again to wear the uniform of the R.N.R.
Throughout the tedious journey to Leith, Aubyn was on tenterhooks,
for he was a day and a half overdue. During that time the "Strongbow"
might have arrived, coaled, and put to sea again, without waiting for
the men who had formed the prize crew of the "Roldal."
As the train swept across the Forth Bridge, Terence anxiously scanned
the shipping below, on the off-chance of "spotting" his ship should
she by any possibility leave the open roadstead and ascend the Firth.
At Leith he ordered his men to fall in and marched them down to the
harbour. Inquiries of various naval officers elicited no information
of the "Strongbow's" presence. Almost all of the people he questioned
were convinced that the armed merchant-cruiser had not put in an
appearance.
Allowing the men to "stand easy," Terence made his way to the office
of the admiral commanding the Forth division of the auxiliary
cruisers. On sending in his card he was received by the admiral in
person.
"We've had no news of the 'Strongbow' for the last three days," said
the admiral. "She is now forty-eight hours' overdue."
"Has anything happened to her, sir?" asked Terence.
"There is no saying. On Tuesday we received a wireless from her,
reporting all well and giving her position. From that hour till now
there has been a complete blank. Of course, she may have had to stand
by a prize, and if her wireless has broken down her silence is
explicable. However, I wish you to say nothing about the matter. Send
your men to the 'Sailors' Home' and report yourself here at noon.
Remember to leave your telephone number at the office as soon as you
have completed your hotel arrangements, so that, if necessary, we can
send for you."
Terence carried out these instructions and resigned himself for a
disquieting wait. Something serious, he argued, must have befallen
the armed merchant-man. He was somewhat reassured when, on giving his
men orders to proceed to temporary shore quarters, the prize crew
expressed astonishment neither by word nor gesture. His peace of mind
would have been greatly disturbed, however, could he but have heard
the men discussing the "Strongbow's" non-appearance amongst
themselves.
Upon making his third call at the office Terence was again received
by the admiral. The sturdy old officer's face was grave.
"I'm afraid it's a case, Mr. Aubyn," he said. "The 'Strongbow's'
hopelessly overdue. I have just reported her to the Admiralty as
regarded as lost. You had better proceed on leave, and I will notify
Whitehall accordingly."
Terence almost reeled out into the street. The blow had temporarily
unnerved him. Not one thought did he give at the time to the fact
that Raeburn and he had been almost miraculously preserved from
sharing the fate of their gallant comrades: his whole mind was
centred on the appalling disaster.
He mentally pictured the old ship ploughing along in that terrific
gale. A staunch vessel such as she was would have made light of the
climatic conditions. It was fairly safe to conclude that she had been
sunk either by a mine or a torpedo--and sunk so suddenly that there
had been no time to send out a wireless call for aid. The state of
the sea, he knew, would render it impossible to lower the boats even
had there been time. Out in the wild North Sea, miles from land, and
with no means of recording her end in the course of duty, the
"Strongbow" had vanished utterly.
He thought of his comrades. The cool and collected Captain Ripponden;
Commander Ramshaw, one of the very best; Lymore, taciturn, yet a man
who set duty on a high pedestal; slow and deliberate McBride, and
more than a dozen others. All of them, tried comrades in stress and
storm, had given up their lives for their country. Only Raeburn and
he were left--and Raeburn incapacitated for further service afloat.
Verily, the "price of Admiralty" is a huge one, but men will ever be
found ready to comply with its demands.