A fleet of torpedo boats combing the seas for German raiders. The
Allied Fleets maintained their vigil until the German Navy was
surrendered at Scapa Flow.]
“Once in the saloon, he and the young Belgian soldier took off my
loosely fixed lifebelt and laid me on a couch. One forced a glass
of whisky down my throat, which burned and gave me back renewed
consciousness, while the other ran for brandy. I was terribly cold, and
the good Belgian took off my boots and puttees and stockings and chafed
my feet till one was warm. The other had no sensation for over twelve
hours, and five days later, when it was radiographed, proved to be
sprained and fractured.
“WHAT IS IT TO DIE?”
“After that, long hours of waiting. A woman shrieked incessantly up on
deck. A man with a wounded head came and sat patiently in a corner. A
girl, complaining of a pain in her chest, came down the stairs and lay
down on a corner couch. She never moved nor spoke again. By midnight
she was dead. None of us guessed, none of us knew. She died bravely
and silently, quite alone. Another woman showed signs of approaching
hysteria. A young Belgian officer, who had been attending her, suddenly
ceased his gallantry, and standing sternly before her, said brusquely,
‘After all, if the very worst comes, you can only die. What is it to
die?’ The words acted on her like a douche of cold water. She became
herself again and never murmured. We others, perhaps, benefited too.
It is nerve-racking work lying helpless in a damaged vessel, wondering
whether the rescue ship or another enemy submarine will appear first on
the scene. And no ship came. At intervals the Belgian boy soldiers came
down to reassure us: ‘The wireless had been repaired. Forty vessels
were searching for us. There was a light to starboard. We were drifting
towards Boulogne. The “Phares” of the coast were in sight.’ But no ship
came. The light to starboard faded. Another appeared, and faded too.
“Then we heard the regular boom of a cannon or a rocket. We all knew
that something must have blocked our wireless, but no one said so. The
Belgian came down to sleep, fixing his lifebelt first. With him came a
good French-woman, who was very kind to me and washed the blood from my
face and rinsed out my bleeding mouth. She was very hungry, and all I
could do to help her was to hold her jewels while she went on deck to
search for her hand baggage, and, later, to give her some soaked food
out of my pocket. There was no food left anywhere. She said some brave
words, too, about death coming to all, only coming once, and being
soon over. How much one person’s courage can help others at such a
time! Then she tied on a lifebelt and went to sleep beside me. The ship
was rolling now, and the seas slapped noisily against her somewhere,
jarring her all through her frame. But the Captain had said she would
not sink for eighteen hours, and we all believed his word implicitly.
Still, it was an ugly noise, and seemed to betoken her helplessness.
“WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST”
“And then at last the news of rescue! A French fishing-boat was coming!
‘Women and children first,’ the young Belgians cried. My Belgian
succorer roused himself and fetched my stockings and boots. My right
boot would not go on. My puttees he could not manage, and so he tied
them round me. He was always cool and practical and matter-of-fact.
‘I have been in the Belgian Congo,’ he explained, ‘and in shipwrecks
before. I know what to do, and I am not alarmed. You can trust entirely
to me.’ And I did. There was a great bump as the fishing-boat came
alongside, and a rush upstairs. Once more I was left alone, for my
Belgian friend had gone up to see about getting me helped on board. He
came back to say that the crush was so great that he would wait till
it was over and then take me. It seemed a long time, but he came back
at last, only to find he could not lift me. Then he went away calling
for an ‘homme de bonne volonté’ to help. A young Chinese responded,
and together they staggered up the heaving stairway with me. When
they reached the ship’s rail it was to hear that the boat had gone! A
British torpedo boat was coming, we were told, and so the fisherman had
gone off with as many as he could safely carry to Boulogne. With her
went my hope of reaching my own hospital in France. I had been sure the
destroyer would take her load to England.
[Illustration:
_Courtesy of Leslies._