Half-an-hour later Stapleton is sitting in his cabin in the after
part of the ship.
It is a pleasant little place to look at, with its shining
green-lacquered corticene deck and the framed pictures against the
white enamelled bulkheads. In one respect it is very much like every
other naval officer's cabin; that is to say it makes a subtle
combination of elegance and severity.
The severity is provided by the plain Admiralty furniture, which is
designed rather for usefulness and hard wear than for ornament.
There is an austere looking kneehole table at one side of the cabin,
and on the opposite side a plain rectangular chest of drawers, made
of steel painted to look like mahogany and relieved by shining brass
drawer-handles. The end of the narrow room, otherwise the ship's
side end, where the round scuttle gives light and air to the cabin,
is completely filled with a harrow bunk resting on top of a long
cupboard cunningly contrived with sliding shelves for holding uniform
and other personal gear.
Everything is arranged with this same cunning economy of space. For
it must be understood that his cabin is the sole apartment that an
officer can call his very own, reserved for his own private use, and
it has to fulfil the functions of bedroom, drawing-room and study all
combined in one. Witness the round tin bath which hangs from the
deck overhead, suspended by iron hooks, and the little mahogany
two-shelf book-case at the foot of the bunk; these are but a couple
of the incongruities to be found in that curious blend of rooms which
constitutes a cabin on board ship; and taken in conjunction with the
various adornments which the occupier introduces to beautify the
place, and give it a little reminiscence of home, they certainly must
strike the eye of a stranger as very curious indeed; but there is no
denying that the combined result is very attractive.
But there is one point which Stapleton's cabin offers a contrast to
most of those belonging to his brother officers throughout the navy;
there is no silver-framed photograph placed prominently upon the
kneehole table where the owner of the cabin, when busied in making up
his reports or in the more pleasant task of writing home letters, can
refresh himself by letting his eyes rest from time to time upon the
beloved features of wife or sweetheart.
No, Stapleton was speaking no more than the truth when he told Norah
that never before had he looked with love into a woman's eyes.
Possibly this explains why he has now taken such a bold and sudden
header into the dangerous alluring waters of desire; it very often
happens that way, doesn't it?
Yet, although he has not before him anything visible and tangible to
remind him of his beloved, he feels no need of any such outward
assistance. Sitting at his writing-table with one hand supporting
his head and the other stretched out idly before him, he gazes upward
with a fixed and rapturous stare at the frosted bulb of an electric
light on the bulkhead in front of him; but it is quite evident that
his open eyes see nothing; nothing, that is, of a mere material
nature; their gaze is visualising, by the magic of love, the face and
form of that dark beautiful girl who has come into his life.
Perhaps it is as well that he does not see her as she actually is, at
this very moment, in the wardroom of the destroyer!
All his peevish annoyance with Dale has vanished completely. As a
matter of fact, he has quite forgotten about it; and if Dale were to
remind him of it--and the surgeon, good-natured man, would be the
last person in the world to do such a thing--he would probably ask
with a laugh if it were really possible that he could have made such
a fool of himself as to get annoyed with his best pal over so
trifling a matter.
But he never gets this chance. The thing happens with such terrible
swiftness that for a moment it is just a meaningless shock, too
sudden for the brain to comprehend.
Darkness, and a dull roar: a tinkle of breaking glass, and the deck
rising beneath his feet; a sharp blow on the back of his head with a
swift concussion of air which takes his breath away. All happening
in an instant. A bright purple light shines at the back of
Stapleton's eyes, changing quickly to a vivid orange and dissolving
into a million wandering specks of fire.
Then, as he picks himself up from the deck and comes again to his
senses, he realises that the electric lights have gone out and he is
in total darkness.
All this happens in the veriest flash of time; and even as he rises
to his feet, the whole cabin is still trembling, Stapleton realises
the meaning of it, and his brain is silently framing the word--
"_Torpedoed!_"
Speech comes thickly to his lips, and in a stupid dazed fashion he
keeps saying to himself, as he fumbles and gropes his way to the door
across the overturned furniture, "_Torpedoed! My God, we've got it
this time: we're torpedoed!_"
No need for the loud ringing calls of "Clear lower deck," resounding
everywhere. Stapleton himself joins in the cry: but already the
mess-deck ladders are thronged with men filing upwards in a constant
stream. There is no crowding though, and no confusion. The electric
lights have been extinguished here also, but a match struck here and
there, soon followed by a dozen more, make little points of light in
the general darkness, and a moment later the emergency candle lamps
are lit, and it is now possible to see more or less clearly and to
regulate better the human traffic.
"Steady, lads, steady--the old ship's not done for yet," rings out
the voice of Stapleton as he makes his way swiftly along the
mess-deck. "Everyone on deck and get to your stations for abandoning
ship."
There is seriousness on all faces--so far as they can be seen in the
feeble light of the candles which cast thick massed shadows with
Dantesque effect upon the congregated men--but no sign of panic or
even of anxiety. The British Blue takes the event with his
invincible calmness as something which is all in the day's work: he
is even a little elated and cheerful about it, or at any rate tries
to assume that appearance.
It is this feeling that cheerfulness is the proper thing under the
circumstances which causes one of the men to sing out the obvious
"_Are we down-hearted?_" And the immediate answering chorus is cut
short by the first lieutenant's:
"That will do, lads. Quietly does it--keep your breath, you may need
it presently."
He has made his way through the thronging crowd of men, and at the
foot of the ladder is assisted by the stentorian voice of a petty
officer which rings out, "Gangway there! Make way there for the
first lieutenant!" He knows, as do all the men, that if their
officer wishes to force his way on deck before the others it is not
for the sake of saving his own skin, but in order that he may take
charge of affairs and give orders for the safety of all.
From the moment of groping his way out of his cabin till his foot
steps over the hatchway coaming on to the upper-deck less than a
minute has elapsed. But Stapleton already finds that the ship is
down by the head and fears the worst.
Fortunately it is a clear moonlight night, and almost as bright as
day. That makes things easier, as it is possible for all hands to
get their places and set about what has to be done with the least
possible difficulty.
As soon as he stands on the upper-deck Stapleton finds himself facing
one of the lieutenants. It is Morley, who was officer of the watch
during the last doer, when that other exciting incident occurred, an
incident now forgotten and obliterated by a greater happening.
"Where is the captain--have you seen him anywhere?" is Stapleton's
first question.
"Killed I believe. The foremast has gone over the side and carried
away the whole of the bridge. What's left of it is on fire."
Little need to say that; a cloud of thick smoke obscures the fore
part of the ship, and even as Morley speaks a tongue of flame leaps
upward through the smoke, high into the air.
"Call away the fire party. Take a few hands with you and go and see
if there is anyone left alive there--look out for yourself though.
Here, bugler"--the first lieutenant providentially descries a passing
bluejacket who is in fact looking for him--"sound the Still."
The clear notes of the bugle ring out, and there is silence
throughout the ship, fore and aft, save for the roar and crackle of
the gathering fire forward.
"Send the carpenter to me at once."
The warrant officer carpenter appears immediately in response to the
call, clattering down the foc'sle ladder and running smartly along
the deck to. Stapleton.
The latter's unspoken question is anticipated and replied to in a few
brief words.
"Not a dog's chance, sir. There's a hole in her side big enough to
drive a wagon through. I give her ten minutes at the most; but she
may go any moment."
"Everybody up from the engine-room and stoke-hold. Pass the word
quickly," orders Stapleton quietly. And in response to the order
more men come quickly pouring up on deck.
The boats, meanwhile, have been swung outboard and lowered part way
down the ship's side.
The vessel begins to lose her way; the engineer officers, coming up
last of all those down below, have stopped the engines before
leaving, and have opened the valves so that from the escape-pipes at
the top of the funnels immense jets of steam pour forth like thick
white clouds into the air with a deafening, vibrating roar.
"Abandon ship! Everyone down into the boats!" The ominous order is
executed as though at general drill, and the men make their way
quietly into the boats. Happily the ship is sinking by the head and
without any list to speak of, so there is no difficulty about getting
the boats into the water. Morley comes back at this instant, and
reports that he has seen no one alive, nor indeed anyone at all,
alive or dead.
"The whole place is blazing," he says, "there is nothing left of it
at all. The fore magazine must have been touched off by the
explosion of the torpedo. As far as I can see, the foc'sle has been
blown off, or very nearly."
"The foremost bulkhead has gone, and the ship is filling quickly,"
adds the carpenter; the zealous individual, reckless of his own
safety, has been down below again to make another inspection and see
if there is any chance at all of keeping the ship afloat. At the
first sign of the disaster, the unmistakable sound of the explosion,
the _Marathon's_ one remaining destroyer escort had circled round and
raced back to render assistance. Now she has stopped her engines and
lies abreast of the cruiser, half a cable away.
Her searchlights are turned on the sinking cruiser, lighting up the
deck and the men now swarming down into the boats.
"Shall I come alongside to take you off?" shouts her commander
through a megaphone.
"No--keep away," answers Stapleton; "she may blow up as she goes
down. We will pull off to you. Keep your searchlights on the water
in case any of our boats get into trouble."
This is his last order. With a nod to the other officers who are
remaining by him on deck he signs to them to get down into the boats.
Last of all, he leaves himself.
Most of the boats are already pulling away in the direction of the
destroyer. Those which are still alongside unhook from the falls as
their officers jump into them, and follow as fast as the oars can
strike the water.
None too soon. Scarce is the last boat fifty yards from the doomed
ship when the _Marathon_ plunges forward and dips half her length
into the water. There is no further explosion--it is a quiet end for
the gallant ship. For a few seconds her stern hangs poised almost
perpendicular in the air; then, with a forward glide, it sinks
beneath the waves, and the _Marathon_ has disappeared for ever.