TORPEDOED
IT was some moments before Sub-Lieutenant Farrar realised the
disconcerting fact that the cruiser had been torpedoed. He was dimly
conscious of a rush of feet overhead and a confused scramble as his
companions sorted themselves out in the dim atmosphere of the
half-deck. He was aware that Bruno was licking his hand, and that
holding on to the animal's collar was the padre--transformed into
one of the coolest men of the crowd.
On the upper deck the quick-firers were barking angrily, the
gun-layer letting rip at a dozen different purely imaginary objects
that had resolved themselves into the periscopes of a swarm of
U-boats. Barefooted seamen and booted marines were pouring through
the hatchways--not under the blighting influence of panic, but
rather with a desire to see what was going on.
Just as the sub gained the poop at the tail-end of a pack of wildly
excited midshipmen a marine bugler sounded the "Still."
Not in vain had months of discipline been drilled into the crew of
the "Tantalus." Every man stood rigidly at attention, the babel of
voices ceased as if by magic, and the only sounds that broke the
silence were the rapid crashes of the quick-firers, the hiss of
escaping steam, and the inrush of water through the gaping hole in
the ship's side fifteen feet below the waterline.
The "Tantalus" had received a mighty blow. Whether it were
sufficient to sink her was yet to be determined. One torpedo had
missed its mark, but the other had exploded in No. 1 stokehold on
the starboard side, almost instantly flooding that compartment and
killing most of the stokers on duty in that part of the ship.
For five long-drawn-out minutes the men stood motionless, while the
captain, commander, and officer of the watch conferred and awaited
reports. From the engine room came the information that the port
engine was still intact, thanks to the longitudinal bulkhead. The
starboard engines were almost useless, owing to the loss of
pressure. In the flooded stokehold gallant volunteers were groping
in the swirling water and risking death from the deadly fumes in an
endeavour to rescue their luckless comrades.
The cruiser was heeling badly to starboard. Although her steering
gear was unaffected she had begun to circle under the impulse of the
port propeller; until steadied on her helm, she floundered through
the water at the greatly reduced speed of five and a half knots.
"We'll save the old ship yet, I fancy," remarked the captain to the
commander. "It will be best, I think, to muster all hands aft. Is
steam available for the boat-hoists?"
"Yes, sir," replied the commander.
"Very good. It's well to know that in case we have to hoist out the
boom-boats. Pass the word for the men to fall in."
The shrill trill of the bos'uns' mates' pipes and the hoarse orders,
unintelligible to the civilian element on board, had the result of
clearing the lower deck in a remarkably short space of time. Clad in
a motley of garments the watch below surged through the doorways in
the after-bulkhead of the battery, each man with his pneumatic
life-saving collar and in many cases a small bundle containing his
cherished possessions. A petty officer appeared with a Manx cat in
his arms; a yeoman of signals with a parrot that persisted in
screeching choice lower-deck epithets at a piebald monkey; a
corporal of Red Marines was grasping a cage containing a couple of
canaries; while it would be impossible to guess with any degree of
accuracy how many men had pets securely hidden in their jumpers.
The ship had now slightly recovered her heel and evinced no tendency
to capsize. A course was now being shaped for the North Cornish
coast, in the hope that the vessel could be beached or, at least,
anchored in shallow water. Very sluggishly she forged ahead, the
bent plates in the vicinity of the hole made by the torpedo
requiring a considerable amount of helm to counteract the
inclination of the ship to turn to starboard.
The din of the quick-firers had died away. Cheerful optimists there
were amongst the crew who felt certain that the U-boat had been
properly strafed, but there was no evidence to confirm their belief.
As a matter of precaution the guns were still manned, while the
wireless, which had been temporarily deranged, was sending out
appeals for aid.
The order was now given for the men to "stand easy." Pipes and
cigarettes were lighted and conversation began, although curiously
enough the present state of affairs was hardly discussed. The chief
anxiety on the part of the ship's company appeared to be the
possibility of having to "stand by" the vessel, or whether there
would be general leave granted before the men returned to the depôt
for commissioning another craft.
Parties were told off to go below and salve various articles. The
paymaster was working heroically, directing the removal of the
ship's ledgers, the men's "parchments "--the seaman's record during
the course of his career afloat--and other documents. The "coin"
also was brought on deck, buoyed lines being attached to the canvas
bags, so that the money could be recovered should the "Tantalus"
sink in comparatively shallow water. The Treasury notes were left
severely alone, since others could be issued in lieu of the missing
numbers.
Most of the ward-room and gun-room officers not actually on duty
also went below, the former to their cabins and the latter to their
"common room," in order to retrieve their small but personally
valuable belongings. Amongst them went Farrar, with Bruno, not
completely recovered from his indisposition, ambling in his wake.
At the foot of the ladder leading to the halfdeck the sub
encountered the captain of marines, followed by two stalwart men
carrying the ward-room gramophone.
"Hullo, Slogger!" exclaimed the captain. "Do you want to buy a
clinking little motorbike? I've a beauty stowed away in the steerage
flat. What offers for spot cash?"
"Half a crown!" offered the sub promptly.
"Make it four shillings and it's a deal," rejoined the marine
officer laughingly. "Done. I'll write you out a receipt when we get
ashore. By the by, Farrar, talk about devotion to duty under
hazardous circumstances, one of those bright bounders (indicating
the two marines who were just disappearing over the coaming of the
hatchway) deserves the Iron Cross of the Nth Degree--and all on
account of that ferocious beast of yours."
The captain patted Bruno's massive head, and whimsically eyed the
sub.
"How was that?" asked Farrar, unable to restrain his curiosity.
"The door of the padre's cabin was open," continued the marine
officer, "and on the floor was Private Puddicombe diligently
carrying out pre-torpedoing instructions by mopping up the
corticine, It seems to me that there'll be water enough and to spare
in the Woolly Lamb's den before very long. Hullo! What's up now?"
The quick-firers were opening out again, the six-inchers punctuating
the sharp detonations of the twelve-pounders.
Following the marine officer on deck Farrar was just in time to see
the frothy wake of a torpedo that, missing the cruiser's port
quarter by a few feet, was tearing at thirty knots, to break surface
a couple of miles beyond its desired victim.
Eighteen hundred yards astern a terrific cauldron of foam marked the
spot where a hostile periscope had been momentarily sighted. The
U-boat had evidently seen that the cruiser was not hurrying to the
bed of the Atlantic, and was doing her level best to hasten matters.
"Fritz is a bit of a sticker for once," remarked the
engineer-lieutenant, catching sight of Farrar in the bustle and
noise. "He usually makes himself very scarce after having got one
home when there are quick-firers knocking about. How far is it to
the nearest land, navigator?" he inquired of Buntline, one of the
lieutenants who happened to be passing.
"A matter of two hundred fathoms under your feet, my lad," was the
reply without a moment's hesitation.
"Not taking any," replied the engineer sub with a laugh. "And you'll
find nobody asking for greengage jam."
A roar of laughter from the other officers greeted this sally as the
discomfited lieutenant, unable to rap out a fitting repartee,
vanished through the armoured door of the battery.
"What's the joke about greengage jam, Tommy?" asked Farrar.
"At tea last night," explained the engineer sub, "Old Frosty asked
Buntline to pass the greengage jam. It is rather rough luck on
Buntline that he's still a bit deaf after that little affair off
Zeebrugge. At any rate he thought Frosty had said, 'I am an engaged
man,' and proceeded to offer congrats to the fleet paymaster, who,
as you know, is a 60 per cent. above proof St. Anthony. Bless my
soul! What's that I hear? Only doing four knots now. Think we'll
make land before dark?"
The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering. In spite of the
continuous action of the powerful Downton pumps the water was
gaining. The explosion had not only resulted in the flooding of
No. 1 stokehold, but had started some of the plates in the for'ard
bulkhead. The damaged metal wall had been shored up and a cofferdam
of hammocks and other gear built up to strengthen the weak spot, but
even then the precaution failed to do the work that was expected of
it.
For four continuous hours the gramophone was grinding out its
metallic notes under the indefatigable attentions of a private of
marines, while the two corner men of the cruiser's minstrel troupe
kept their messmates in roars of laughter. Even when confronted with
the none too remote prospect of being "in the ditch" the
imperturbable tars were in high spirits. The captain and officers
let them "stand by," knowing that nothing more could be done to
safeguard the ship, and confident that when the critical moment drew
near the men would respond cheerfully and gallantly to the call of
duty.
Presently a hoarse cheer came from the men on the fo'c'sle; the
sound was caught up by their comrades aft as the welcome news was
announced that the destroyers were approaching.
The destroyers were five in number. Four of them were of the E
Class, while the fifth was one of the latest words in that type of
marine architecture. Well clear of the others she was describing
swift and erratic evolutions, for her look out had reported a
periscope.
"The 'Antipas,'" ejaculated a gunner's mate upon the appearance of
the swift, low-lying craft. "One of our mystery destroyers. It'll be
all U P as far as Fritz is concerned if she gets a sniff in."
"And 'ere's a bloomin' Blimp buttin' in," added another petty
officer, as the dull grey envelope of a coastal airship drew within
range of vision. "She wants to chuck her weight about too, I guess.
Wot price that strafed U-boat now?"
"We'll see something neat in a brace of shakes, chum," remarked the
gunner's mate cheerfully. "They've started to dust the floor."