BLACK FRIDAY.
I.
''Appy Noo Year, chum,' said the lookout-man on the starboard side of
the _Belligerent's_ bridge, as Pincher Martin came up to relieve
him at five minutes past midnight on the morning of 1st January.
'Lawd!' he added with a shiver, stamping his sea-booted feet, 'I shall
be glad ter git inter me bloomin' 'ammick.'
'Noo Year, is it?' Pincher queried with a prolonged yawn. 'Well, th'
compliments o' th' season to yer, Shiner White. 'Strewth!' he added,
'it's a bit parky, ain't it?' He undid the toggles of his thick lammy
coat,[31] and gave the muffler another turn round his neck.
[31] 'Lammy coats,' the name given by the men to the thick
duffel coats with hoods served out in cold weather. They are
fastened with toggles and beckets instead of buttons and
button-holes.
The other man nodded. 'There ain't nothink in sight,' he went on
hastily, anxious not to prolong the conversation; 'but if yer sees a
light or anythink, look out yer sings out sharp an' loud, so that th'
orficer o' the watch'll 'ear yer. S'long, chum!'
'S'long, Shiner! 'Appy dreams.'
Pincher, left to his own devices, looked about him. The squadron was at
sea, and to his unpractised eye the night seemed unusually fine. What
little wind there was seemed to be coming in from the south-westward in
fitful, erratic puffs, and the great ship rode over a smooth, gradually
increasing swell without perceptible movement. If he had been a weather
prophet the state of the sea and the sky would have warned him to
expect a change in the weather; but he was a novice at such things, and
the signs and portents of sky and sea conveyed little to his mind.
The moon was up, and the night was not really dark as nights go; but
every now and then the brilliance of the moon was temporarily dimmed by
great high cloud-masses travelling down from windward across the face
of the blue, star-spangled heavens. Away to the south-westward a heavy
piled-up bank of dark hue, looking for all the world like a gigantic
mountain range overtopping the horizon, was gradually encroaching on
the sky as it mounted up and up into space. Its upper edges were frayed
and fretted by the wind, and occasional wisps of cloud torn from the
main mass were being flung off into space by the upper air-currents, to
come scurrying to leeward in low-lying, streaky fragments like spun
silk. They were mares'-tails, and the swell and the watery halo round
the moon were other bad tokens. They portended wind--wind, and plenty
of it. Soon the sky would be completely overcast. Before daylight it
would probably be blowing hard.
The _Belligerent_ was somewhere near the tail of the line of
battleships. A short distance in front of her came the huge hull of the
next ahead clearly silhouetted against the sky. Farther ahead again
were the dark outlines of other vessels, their shapes getting smaller
and less distinct as they merged in the deep shadows on the horizon.
On board the _Belligerent_ herself half the seamen were at their
stations at the guns ready for repelling a possible torpedo attack, and
the other half, who had been relieved at midnight, had just retired to
their hammocks for four hours' rest before being called up for the
morning watch at four o'clock. The ship was in the charge of the
officer of the watch, who leant placidly against the standard compass
on the upper bridge gazing at the next ahead; while Colomb, the
navigator, was asleep on the settee in the charthouse. Captain Spencer
was in his sleeping-cabin just underneath, and was dozing, fully
dressed, in an arm-chair in front of the stove. The book he had been
reading had dropped to the floor, and Joe, his fox-terrier, lay curled
up in a tight little bundle at his feet. The captain was a light
sleeper at the best of times, and the least unusual sound, even the
opening of the door, would have brought him to his feet in an instant.
As an extra precaution there was an electric bell screwed to the
bulkhead close beside his left ear, and if the officer of the watch
desired his immediate presence all he had to do was to place a finger
on a push close by the standard compass. The resulting jangle would
have roused the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, let alone the skipper, who
never indulged in anything but cat-naps at sea. The officers of watches
were well aware of it, for Captain Spencer had a habit of prowling
about at night, and frequently came on to the bridge when he was least
expected. Once or twice he had found the ship some distance out of
station, and then there had been trouble.
Of what really occurred, how long it lasted, and of the actual sequence
of events, Pincher had a very hazy recollection. He remembered noticing
the captain come on to the bridge and start walking up and down with
his hands in his great-coat pockets and his dog padding softly after
him. Then, quite suddenly, and for no apparent reason, there came the
shattering roar of a heavy explosion. The ship quivered and shook
violently; and, glancing aft with his heart in his mouth, Pincher saw a
great column of whity-gray water towering high over the boat-deck
half-way along the starboard side. He watched it spell-bound. The mass
hung for a moment glimmering in the half-light, and then tottered and
fell with a sound like a waterfall. He could feel the damp spray of it
on his face.
The familiar throb of the engines died away, and there came the roaring
bellow of escaping steam; and the ship, evidently holed far below the
water-line, heeled over to starboard. Then the roaring of the steam
ceased, and there came a moment's dead silence, followed by excited
shouting as the men who had been asleep in their hammocks thronged on
to the upper deck.
The whole thing happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that for the
moment Captain Spencer was taken by surprise; and, running to the after
side of the bridge, he stood there gripping the rail spasmodically,
with a look of utter astonishment on his face. A bare instant later,
however, he turned forward again with a gesture of annoyance; while
Joe, taking it for some new game for his especial benefit, frisked
beside him. 'Down, Joe! down!' Pincher heard him say in his ordinary
voice.--'Stop both engines!' came his first order.--'Officer of the
watch!'
'Sir.'
'Go down and tell the commander to get the collision-mat out, and then
to turn out all boats. He's not to lower them without orders from me;
and tell him to let me know the damage as soon as he can!'
'Ay, ay, sir,' said English quite calmly, leaving the bridge.
The captain turned on his heel and dictated a signal informing the
flagship of what had occurred. Pincher watched, for even now Captain
Spencer's face was absolutely inscrutable, and showed nothing of the
awful anxiety which must have been in his heart.
The commander, who had rushed from his cabin when the crash came, had
already taken charge on deck. Order was evolved out of chaos, and the
shouting had ceased. An instant later a bugle blared the 'Still,' and
the boatswain's mates could be heard piping.
There was dead silence among the men as the word was passed, and then
the bugle sounded 'Carry on,' and the tramping of feet could be heard
as the ship's company ran to their stations.
All except a few unimportant watertight doors, which were closed at the
last moment by specially detailed men, were always kept shut at sea; so
little could be done to add to the safety of the ship beyond
endeavouring to prevent the ingress of water.
The men were well disciplined. They must have felt nervous, must have
realised that there was an enormous hole below the water-line through
which the water was pouring like a mill-race; added to this, it was
dark, and there were no lights on deck. But there were not the smallest
signs of panic or confusion. They behaved splendidly, and worked
silently under the orders of their officers as if it were an ordinary
peace-time evolution instead of grim reality.
Pincher himself was undecided for the moment as to what he should do.
Ought he to join his part of the ship and assist in getting out the
collision-mat, or should he remain where he was? He had no orders to
leave his post, but it was hardly likely that any one would trouble his
head about him now. For a moment he was torn with doubt, but finally
made up his mind that he would stay on the bridge. He might be of some
use in carrying messages, he thought.
The stricken vessel seemed to be leaning more and more over to
starboard; but before very long the collision-mat, a large square of
several thicknesses of the stoutest canvas well thrummed with oakum,
was being lowered into place under the bottom. It was designed, by
being stretched taut over the orifice, to reduce the flow of water
through a comparatively small hole caused by a collision with another
ship, and it seemed hardly likely that it would be of any use in
checking the inrush through the gigantic rent caused by an underwater
explosion; but there was no harm in trying it. It might do some good.
'Haul away the bottom line!' the first lieutenant's voice could be
heard. 'That's the way, lads! Away with her!'
''Vast hauling!' came the next order, accompanied by the shrill
trilling of a boatswain's whistle. 'Away with the fore and afters!'
The mat was out of sight below the water, its bottom corner dragged
taut against the ship's side by the bottom line passing under the keel
and hauled taut on the opposite side of the deck, and the upper corner
held in place by the depth-line. The fore and afters were the ropes
secured to the side corners, and they, on being hauled taut and
belayed, held it out square.
'Mat's placed, sir!' came Chase's voice again.
The wind had increased, and white-capped seas had replaced the smooth
swell of an hour before. The ship, listing to an angle of about fifteen
degrees, seemed to be remaining fairly steady, but she was appreciably
lower in the water, and the starboard edge of the forecastle was barely
six feet above the crests of the waves as they raced by.
The cutters at the davits had been turned out ready for lowering, but
all the smaller boats, galley, whalers, and gigs, had been landed.
Hatherley, who was working the steam boat-hoist used for getting out
the heavier boats stowed on the booms between the after funnel and the
mainmast, had the derrick topped and the largest rowing-boat in the
ship--the forty-two-foot launch, which, at a pinch, could carry one
hundred and forty men--hooked on all ready for swinging out into the
water as soon as he got orders to do so.
Circling round the injured ship were a couple of light cruisers which
had been sent by the vice-admiral to render what assistance they could.
Flashing-signals were passing between them and the _Belligerent_, and
they were evidently asking if they should lower their boats.
'Tell 'em to wait,' Pincher heard Captain Spencer say to a signalman,
without a tremor in his voice. 'Tell 'em to wait. I think we shall be
able to keep afloat.'
The sky was nearly overcast, and the night had become very dark, and
all the remainder of the squadron had vanished. They were only acting
in accordance with their orders, however, for since the loss of the
_Aboukir_, the _Cressy_, and the _Hogue_ in the North Sea the previous
September, it had been definitely laid down that heavy, deep-draught
ships were not to go to the assistance of vessels which had been
torpedoed or mined, lest they should share the same fate. It went sadly
against the grain for British officers to be forced to leave comrades
in distress; but every one realised the necessity for the order, and
the two small cruisers were the only ships available for the work of
rescue.
'Messenger!' the captain called.
No reply.
'Here, boy, come here!' he went on, catching sight of Pincher on the
starboard side of the bridge.
Martin went forward, and felt himself grabbed by the sleeve.
'Go down and tell the commander that I'm waiting to know what damage
there is,' Captain Spencer said hurriedly. 'Away you go!'
Pincher scrambled down the sloping ladder with difficulty, but had
barely reached the boat-deck to go aft when he cannoned into Commander
Travers coming in the opposite direction. 'The capten would like ter
know wot th' damage is, sir,' he explained.
'All right, I'm on my way to tell him,' the officer returned curtly.
'Get out of the way, boy!'
Martin stood aside, and followed him up the ladder again, without
really meaning to overhear his conversation with the captain.
'How goes it, Travers?' was Captain Spencer's first anxious question.
'Pretty bad, sir,' the commander replied with the least trace of
anxiety in his voice. 'Some of the boiler-rooms are flooded, and the
water seems to be making its way forward and aft. One or two bulkheads
have gone already!'
'Good God!' the captain exclaimed; 'is it as bad as that? Is the mat
doing any good?'
The commander shook his head. 'Might just as well try to stop the hole
with a bit o' stickin'-plaster, sir,' he said tersely. 'I've just seen
the engineer-commander,' he went on, 'and he tells me he's doing all he
can, but that the water's gaining on us fast. I've got men down below
shoring up bulkheads to prevent their bursting, but I doubt if they'll
do much good. However, sir,' he added hopefully, 'she hasn't listed
much during the last few minutes, and perhaps we'll be able to save her
yet.'
'Pray God we shall, Travers!' Captain Spencer returned gravely. 'You'd
better get all the boats out as soon as you can, and keep 'em
alongside; but don't allow the men into them until I give orders. I'll
tell the cruisers to send theirs across, but we'll make 'em lie off for
the time being. Well, so long, commander, in case we don't meet each
other again. Do all you can.'
'I hope it's not so bad as I think, sir,' Travers said with a forced
laugh as he turned to leave the bridge. 'It's a damned nasty night to
go swimmin', I must say. It was a submarine, I suppose, sir?'
'Must have been. By the way, you'd better warn 'em to blow up their
swimming-collars.' The captain was ever mindful of his men.
'I will, sir. What about you?'
'Don't worry about me, man. You see to the ship's company. I'll look
out for myself.'
The commander disappeared.
The time passed. There was still a chance of the ship remaining afloat,
and by about three o'clock, merely as a precautionary measure, the
launch and the pinnace had been hoisted out and the boats lowered;
though one cutter, lowered too rapidly, had capsized and disappeared.
During the interval the ship did not seem to have listed any more to
starboard, and favourable reports had come from down below as to the
chances of remaining afloat. In fact, they were all congratulating
themselves that the damage had been overrated, when another heavy
explosion roared out from the port side aft.
'By God!' muttered the captain under his breath; 'that's another
torpedo!'
The _Belligerent_, with a fresh wound open to the sea, shuddered
violently, and then gave a sickening lurch to starboard, and lay over
until her masts were at an angle of thirty degrees from the vertical.
The starboard side of the upper deck was under water, and the other
lifted high in the air, while the inclination was so great that it was
barely possible to walk. Realising that the end could not be long
delayed, Captain Spencer dragged himself to the bridge-rail and raised
a megaphone to his lips. 'Abandon ship!' he roared in a voice which
could be heard above the howling of the wind and the raging of the sea.
'Save yourselves, men! Save yourselves!'
The word was passed along, but still there was no undue haste or
confusion. Stokers and other men of the engine-room department who had
been employed below until the last moment, some of them clad in their
grimy working-clothes, others nearly naked, came pouring up the
hatchways leading to the upper deck.
A cloud drifted away from the face of the moon, and a subdued silvery
light lit up the awful scene.
The boats, plunging wildly on the rapidly rising sea, pounded and
crashed alongside. A small group of officers stood beside each one
superintending the disembarkation, and the men, standing in long
queues, could be seen jumping into them one by one. Several, leaping
too late or too early, fell between the boats and the ship's side, and
were never seen again.
The doctors and the sick-berth staff, unmindful of their own safety,
passed their sick and ailing into the boats, and remained behind
themselves.
'Steady, lads! steady!' the chaplain, gallant man that he was, could be
heard saying coolly. 'One at a time! Keep cool, boys! Keep cool!'
Many men, relying on their life-belts or swimming-collars, had flung
themselves overboard and were swimming in the direction of the
cruisers, whose rescuing boats were on their way across as fast as
their eager crews could drive them. A certain number of the swimmers
were eventually picked up and saved, but by far the greater proportion
perished in the wild tumult. Every one knew that there was room for
barely more than a fifth of the ship's company in the boats; but, in
the face of almost certain death, there was no panic.
''Ullo, 'Orace,' a burly stoker remarked to a friend with a laugh,
'comin' swimmin'?'
'Looks like it, chum,' answered the other glumly, eyeing the
white-capped seas with nervous apprehension. 'Ain't much of a night fur
a picnic like, this 'ere, is it?'
'Rottenest bloomin' regatta ever I saw,' rejoined the first speaker,
who was attired in nothing but a singlet and an inflated
swimming-collar. ''Ow's this fur a bathin'-costoom? What'd my ole
'ooman say if she see'd me on th' beach at Margit in this 'ere? Ow!' he
yelled, as a breaking wave deluged him with icy spray. 'Gawd! ain't it
cold? Come on, boys; come an' 'ave a dip! Any more fur th' shore?'
The others hung back.
'Wot! not comin'?' he went on, walking to the edge of the boat-deck and
gazing out at the sea. 'Well, s'long, blokes. 'Ere goes!'
He clambered down the ship's side on to the net-shelf, waited till a
large sea came swishing past, and then slipped into the water, to
vanish in a smother of foam. An instant later he reappeared, swimming
strongly in the direction of the nearer cruiser. He was never seen
again.
Somebody started the chorus of 'Tipperary' to cheer the flagging
spirits of his shipmates, but the gallant effort met with little
response. Numbers of men, trying to nerve themselves for the ordeal of
leaping overboard and of saving themselves by swimming, shrank back at
the sight of the raging sea. It was enough to appal the bravest heart,
and the ship, though sinking fast, still seemed to offer a safer refuge
than that wild waste of water.
The captain, holding on to the bridge-rail to prevent himself from
being carried off his feet, surveyed the scene calmly. 'Jump, men!
jump!' he bellowed to a hesitating group on the boat-deck. 'For God's
sake, jump! It's your only chance!' Turning round, he noticed that
Pincher and one or two signalmen were still on the bridge. 'What are
you doing here?' he demanded with a touch of his old asperity. 'The
ship's sinking! Get down out of it, and save yourselves!'
Pincher and some of the others obeyed, but the chief yeoman of signals,
noticing that the captain wore no life-belt or swimming-collar, calmly
proceeded to divest himself of a cork jacket. 'Take this, sir,' he
said, handing it across; 'I've got my collar.'
Captain Spencer pushed it away. 'Use it yourself, man!' he said firmly.
'Use it yourself!'
'But I don't want it, sir,' the chief yeoman persisted.
'Do what you're told, Morris,' came the answer. 'Leave the bridge and
save yourself; she'll go in another minute or two! I'll look out for
myself!'
Morris hesitated for another instant, saw his commanding officer was in
earnest, and left the bridge.
'Good luck to you, Morris!' the captain called out after him.
'Good luck, sir.'
Captain Spencer, alone with his dog, leant down and lifted him into his
arms. 'I'm afraid we're done in this time, old man,' he whispered
sadly. 'We may as well go together. Good-bye, old Joe!' His voice was
husky with emotion as he buried his face in the animal's warm coat; and
the dog, seeming to understand, turned his head and licked his master's
cheek.
The end came almost immediately, for before some of the boats had got
clear the ship lurched drunkenly to starboard, to hurl men and movable
fittings in one awful chaotic avalanche into the water. For one moment
there was wild confusion, and the sea was covered with the heads of
swimmers fighting for their lives; the next, there came the muffled
roar of bursting bulkheads, and the _Belligerent_ hove herself back on
to an even keel, with the water washing across her decks.
A searchlight flickered out from one of the cruisers and lit up the
scene. Lower and lower sank the doomed ship, until at last the waves
were breaking across the top of the boat-deck, and only the two masts,
the funnels, and the bridge showed above the surface. She seemed to
hesitate for a moment as if unwilling to take the final plunge, and
then, with a dull, booming sound as the water reached the boilers,
slowly slid from view.
There was no vortex or upheaval of spray, merely a swift rush of sparks
and a cloud of smoke and steam, which rapidly dissolved on the wind,
and in a few more seconds the ship had vanished for ever. Nothing
remained to tell of her presence except the boats, the dark heads of
the battling survivors, some débris, and an ever-widening circle of
calm, oil-strewn water, on the outskirts of which the waves leapt
tumultously. But on the bridge, game to the very last, two heroic
spirits, a man and a dog, had gone to their long last rest together.
II.
To this day Pincher never really remembers how he got into the water.
The events of that night still seem like some ghastly nightmare, a
horrible dream in which incidents and impressions succeeded each other
with such rapidity that the memory of them seems almost unreal. He
recollects standing on the boat-deck with a group of other men and
divesting himself of his thick duffel coat. He did it reluctantly, for
it was bitterly cold. Then, after inflating the rubber swimming-collar
round his neck, he waited. The ship lay over at an alarming angle, and
it was all he could do to stand upright.
'Jump, men! jump!' an officer kept on shouting. 'For God's sake, save
yourselves!'
A few, nerving themselves for the effort, cast themselves overboard,
and were lost to sight in the raging sea; but Pincher and many others,
eyeing the tumult with horror, instinctively hung back. Life was very
dear at that moment, and it seemed sheer madness to cast one's self
into that seething maelstrom of one's own free-will. Then it was that
he remembered his heavy sea-boots. Fool! They would infallibly drag him
under if he had to swim for it; and, bending down, he kicked and
wriggled his right foot free. He was repeating the process with the
other when the end came. The ship lurched horribly to starboard, and
flung him to the deck with a shock which jarred every bone in his body.
The next instant he started slithering and sliding down a steep slope,
to bring up with a thud against a projection on the deck. The impact
nearly knocked the wind out of his body; but, stretching out his arms
with an instinct of self-preservation, he grasped something solid with
both hands, and clung madly on to it with all his strength. For a
second or two he hung there, gasping for breath, with sheets of spray
flying over his head. Then something soft cannoned into him and tore
him from his hold. He felt himself sliding again, then falling,
falling.
Next a feeling of bitter cold and utter darkness as a sea snatched him
in its grasp and flung him away. He went down and down until his lungs
seemed on the point of bursting for want of air; but the
swimming-collar was still round his neck, and with a swift upward rush
he felt himself borne to the surface. On opening his mouth for air a
gigantic white-cap promptly broke over his head and left him
spluttering and gasping. At one moment he was carried high on the crest
of a sea, and the next he was deep down in a hollow; but by some
miracle he still managed to breathe, and retained sufficient presence
of mind to strike out away from the sinking ship.
[Illustration: Raising his voice, he tried to shout for help.
PAGE 203.]
He could see nothing, but the sea all round him was dotted with the
heads of other swimmers. Some had life-belts, some swimming-collars or
flotsam, and, like Pincher, were making the best of their way from the
scene of the disaster. Others had no life-saving appliances at all, and
were drowning in dozens.
Twice was Pincher clutched round the body, but each time he fought with
the mad energy of despair, and wrenched himself free of the suffocating
embrace of a shipmate less lucky than himself. He was no coward, but it
was a case of each man for himself, and his desire to live was
overwhelming.
How long he was in the water he never knew. He merely battled on,
fighting for breath. Presently, when all but exhausted and numb through
and through with cold, he was carried to the summit of a huge wave to
see the dark shape of a boat barely twenty feet from him. In the dim
half-light he could see it was crowded with men, and raising his voice,
he tried to shout for help. He emitted no sound but a feeble croak, and
the next time he was borne aloft the boat had vanished. Then it was
that Pincher commended his soul to his Maker. He could do no more.
He seemed to have been swimming for hours, and was breathless and very
weary. His limbs felt incapable of further movement, and it was with
almost a feeling of relief that he gave up the struggle as hopeless.
But for his swimming-collar he would have sunk then and there. How long
he remained quiescent he could not tell; but during this awful time his
senses never left him, and he found himself wondering how long it would
take him to die. He did not dread the prospect; anything seemed better
than this awful shortness of breath and the constant buffeting by the
seas. The most trivial events and the most important happenings of his
short life crowded into his overwrought brain. His thoughts travelled
to his home, and he pictured his mother the last time he had seen her,
framed in the doorway of her cottage. He almost laughed when he
remembered himself tearing down the road to catch the train. He must
have looked funny, excruciatingly funny, but he felt a slight pang of
regret on thinking that he would never tread that road again. Next his
mind reverted to Billings, and he wondered hazily what had become of
him. Poor Joshua, he had been a good friend to him! He hoped he was not
drowned. What was Emmeline doing at this moment? The recollection of
her seemed indistinct and shadowy, somehow. He could not picture her
face, merely remembered that she was pretty and fascinating. What would
she say when she heard he had been drowned? Would she go into mourning
and cry her pretty eyes out? Perhaps she would marry some one else.
Then, quite suddenly, he heard a voice. ''Ere's another on 'em!' it
said gruffly. He felt his head come into violent contact with something
solid and unyielding, and the next moment he was seized by the hair.
The pain of it hurt him abominably, but he was far too weak and short
of breath to expostulate. Then he was grasped under the armpits, and,
after describing what seemed a giddy and interminable parabola through
the air, heard himself descend with a crash on to something very hard.
The impact should have hurt him, but he felt nothing, and merely
realised in a hazy sort of way that he was in the bottom of a boat.
It was bitterly cold. He shivered as with ague, while constant showers
of spray left him coughing and gasping for breath. Water washed over
him perpetually, and a horrible, never-ceasing oscillation flung him
violently to and fro. It was almost as bad as being in the water. But
he was past caring. Then came a feeling of terrible nausea, and,
rolling over abjectly, he was violently sick. Next, darkness, the utter
blackness of absolute oblivion. Pincher Martin had fainted.
When he recovered his senses some hours later he could not for the
moment recollect where he was or what had happened. He felt chilled
through and through with the cold, but some kind Samaritan had removed
his sodden garments, and had left him lying in the bottom of the boat
covered with a portion of the sail and its tarpaulin cover. Several
other men lay there with him. Then he remembered. He felt bruised all
over, stiff, miserable, and very weak; but he could breathe, and found,
on trying to shift his position, that he had recovered the use of his
limbs, though the effort caused him agony. Glancing round, he saw he
was in the stern-sheets of the _Belligerent's_ forty-two-foot launch,
the largest pulling-boat she had carried.
The sea was still running very high, and the boat pitched and rolled
violently and unceasingly, while constant showers of spray came driving
aft as her bluff bows plunged into the waves. At one moment he found
himself watching the dark clouds chasing each other across the gray sky
overhead; and the next, as the boat rolled, he was vouchsafed momentary
glimpses of a heaving expanse of gray-green sea, lashed and torn into
white, insensate fury by the wind. It was blowing a full gale.
The boat was half-full of water, and amidships some men were busy
bailing, one with a bucket, and others with boots and caps. Crouching
down under the thwarts, with the water washing over them, were many
more men in the last stages of misery. Some showed signs of life; some
looked almost dead. Another melancholy party were clustered in the
stern, huddling together to get some warmth into their numbed limbs.
All sorts and conditions of men were there--stokers in their grimy
flannel shirts and fearnought trousers, just as they had come up out of
the stokehold; bluejackets in jerseys and blue serge trousers; some
marines; and a ship's steward's assistant with nothing but a
swimming-collar and a sodden white cotton shirt. Their lips were blue
with cold, their teeth were chattering, they looked abject and utterly
forlorn, but they were still alive. One or two of them were actually
talking.
Standing up in the stern with the gunner and the boatswain was Petty
Officer Bartlett. The last-named was attired in his undergarments, a
cholera-belt, and one blue stocking, and in the intervals of gazing
anxiously round the horizon he was flapping his arms to restore his
circulation. How he managed to keep on his feet at all was a marvel.
'Anythink in sight?' somebody asked in a husky whisper.
'Not a ruddy thing!' Bartlett returned. 'I thought I seen somethin'
'bout ten minutes since, the smoke of a steamer on the 'orizon, but she
ain't there now.'
The questioner, an able seaman, cursed under his breath. ''Ow long's
this ---- show goin' ter last?' he queried plaintively. 'I'm so ----
cold. Such a ---- picnic I never did see. Gawd! why didn't I join th'
ruddy army? They kills yer quick there, not like this 'ere. I'll be a
gonner in another hour, see if I ain't,' he added weakly, trying to get
a little sympathy. 'Carn't feel me bloomin' legs no'ow; ain't got none
p'r'aps.'
'Cheer up, Joe!' said the man alongside him, who seemed a little
happier; 'we ain't dead yet. Like me ter give yer another rub dahn?'
Joe nodded wearily and closed his eyes.
Pincher, unwilling to leave the shelter of his canvas, tried to attract
some one's attention. He endeavoured to speak, but could get no more
than a husky, almost inaudible, whisper; so, withdrawing one arm from
its covering, he moved it feebly up and down. After a lengthy pause one
of the marines noticed him.
''Ere,' he said, patting Petty Officer Bartlett on the leg, 'one o'
them 'ere deaders 'as come back ter life!'
Bartlett turned round. 'Deader!' he said. 'Which one?'
'One o' them 'ere blokes yer pulled out o' th' ditch,' the marine
answered.
'Blimy! So 'e 'as!' the petty officer exclaimed, rather surprised. 'I
thought 'e'd chucked 'is hand in long ago.--'Ere, me son,' he added,
coming across to where Martin lay, ''ow goes it?'
Pincher smiled wearily.
'Carn't talk, eh?' Bartlett remarked with rough kindliness. 'Like a
drop o' rum[32] an' a bit o' somethin' t' eat?'
[32] When a ship is abandoned a certain amount of water,
biscuit, and rum is placed in all the boats.
Martin nodded.
'Hand us that there rum-jar,' the petty officer said over his shoulder.
'Easy now--easy!' as the man he had spoken to nearly let it fall. 'That
there may 'ave to last us for days!' He extracted the cork from the
wicker-covered jar and poured some of the spirit into a small tin mug.
'Damn me eyes!' came an angry ejaculation, as the boat gave a
particularly violent lurch and a few drops of the precious liquid
slopped over the edge. He replaced the cork carefully, and, putting one
arm under Pincher's head, held the pannikin to his lips. 'Try to
swaller it,' he said. 'It'll do you good.'
Martin obeyed; and, though a certain amount of the liquor trickled over
his face, the greater proportion went down his throat. The burning
fieriness of the neat spirit made him choke and splutter, but the
feeling of warmth it induced was very comforting.
''Ere's a bit o' biscuit,' said Bartlett again, extracting a broken
fragment from the waistband of his nether garments, where he had been
keeping it dry. 'Put that inside you, an' w'en you've finished it I'll
come along an' give you a bit of a rub down like to warm you up--see?'
Pincher, still too weak to bite, consumed the flinty fragment by
nibbling round its edge until he could nibble no more, and then, when
the petty officer had rubbed his numbed and aching body with a pair of
horny hands, which rasped him like a file and threatened to take every
inch of skin off his long-suffering limbs, he felt tolerably warm and
much better. The blood coursed through his veins. Life was again worth
living.
'Thanks!' he was able to murmur feebly when the painful ordeal was
over.
'That's all right, me son. See if you carn't git a bit of a caulk,'
said Bartlett, getting up from his knees.
It may have been the dose of rum, a spirit to which he was entirely
unaccustomed, which had the desired effect, but five minutes later
Pincher Martin was asleep.
Immediately on being hoisted out, the launch had been dashed bows on
into the ship. She had been badly damaged; but men, stripping
themselves, had stuffed their clothes into the rents to keep the water
out. Time after time breaking seas had nearly swamped her; but by dint
of constant bailing with boots, caps, and anything they could lay their
hands upon, they had somehow managed to keep her afloat.
Most of the oars had been broken in frantic efforts to fend the boat
off from the ship, and none remained to keep her head on to the sea
when they finally got clear of the wreck. Then they had lashed all the
boat's lumber together, and had dropped it overboard to form a floating
sea-anchor; and the launch, secured to it by a rope, rode head on to
the waves. But still the wretched survivors were in a bad way. They had
yearned, with all the longing their souls possessed, that a ship would
be in sight when morning came. They had practically pinned their faith
to it, for they were aware that they were in a part of the English
Channel where traffic was constant. But when the night lifted and the
gray dawn gave way to full daylight there was nothing in sight. Not the
least vestige of a steamer or the welcome gleam of a rescuing sail;
only the gray-white expanse of the raging sea, and the sombre,
wind-driven clouds chasing each other across the gray void overhead.
Then a faint feather of smoke had shown up over the rim of the horizon
to the southward. It was fully ten miles off, but they all thought for
one wild moment that salvation was at hand. Their drooping spirits
revived; but a minute later the smoke had disappeared, and their hopes
were dashed to the ground.
They were exhausted, wet through, chilled to the bone, and utterly
miserable, and some of that little band of two warrant-officers and
seventy odd men resigned themselves to their fate. They could not last
much longer. And so the launch, with a woollen scarf lashed to an oar
amidships fluttering as a mute signal of distress, drifted on at the
mercy of the wind and sea. Her crew were past caring.
III.
Early in the morning of that fateful New Year's Day the Brixham trawler
_Providence_ was running back to her port for shelter from the gale;
but when she was off Start Point the wind and sea had increased to such
an extent that there was nothing to be done but to heave-to and ride
out the storm. Between eleven o'clock and noon the smack was hove-to on
the starboard tack, when the third hand, who was on deck, saw a large
gray open boat to leeward. She was full of men, and was flying a
muffler tied to an upright oar as a signal of distress; but so heavy
was the sea that she was obscured for minutes at a time in the trough
of the waves.
The smack's crew of three men and a boy, Little Dan, were soon on deck,
and promptly got to work to take another reef in the mainsail and to
set their small storm jib. It was a hard tussle, for the wind was
blowing with hurricane force, and seas were constantly breaking over
the deck; but it was the only thing to be done if a rescue was to be
effected.
The _Providence_ was on the starboard tack, let it be understood.
This meant that the wind was blowing from her starboard side; but, to
reach the launch at all, she had to pass round on to the port tack.
There are two ways of manoeuvring a sailing-vessel from one tack to
the other. The first, the shortest method, is by 'going about,' or
turning the vessel round head to wind, and then allowing her sails to
fill on the other side. The second way, a longer method, in which more
ground is lost, is by 'gybing' or 'wearing,' in which the ship passes
from tack to tack by turning her stern to the wind. Both are
comparatively simple evolutions in calm weather, but any sailor will
say that in a small fore-and-aft rigged craft both are dangerous in a
heavy sea and a gale of wind. Of the two, however, gybing is by far the
more hazardous, even perilous, for there is a grave risk of the craft
being pooped by a heavy sea, or of her being dismasted when the large
mainsail swings across the deck and suddenly bellies out on the other
side. But Captain Pillar, the skipper, realised it was the only thing
to be done. He was a thorough seaman, who knew his craft well, and he
decided to take the risk.
The helm was put hard up, and the _Providence_ paid off gradually
until her stern was in the wind's eye, and then, sweeping round on the
crest of a gigantic billow, came on to the port tack. An enormous sea
broke on board as she did so, and the heavy mainsail came across with a
crash and a jerk which nearly wrenched the mast out. But the men who
had built the sturdy _Providence_ knew their work, and the mast
was a good sound stick, and the rigging honest steel wire. It was a
good test of their workmanship, for by some miracle the gear held.
Drawing close to windward of the launch, the smacksmen hove a rope
across as they drifted by. It missed. Another attempt, and yet another,
but on each occasion the line fell short. Then, when those in the boat
had almost given it up as hopeless, a fourth heave was successful. The
rope was caught by the bluejackets, held, and belayed, and slowly but
surely the launch was hauled toward the stern of her rescuer. Then the
warp was passed forward along the lee side of the _Providence_, and the
man-of-war's boat was drawn cautiously ahead until her bows were level
with the lee quarter of the smack.
The exhausted bluejackets were ordered to jump on board, and one by one
they obeyed. It was a perilous business, for the waves were running
twenty to thirty feet high, and at one moment both craft were lifted
high in the air, while the next they were deep down in a hollow, with
an awful, roaring breaker threatening to overwhelm them. It took
half-an-hour before the whole seventy of them reached their haven of
refuge; but the work was accomplished without the loss of a single
soul; while the senior officer present, the torpedo gunner, true to the
traditions of the service, was the last man to leave. Then the launch
was cast adrift. She had served her purpose, and was never seen again.
The rescued men, many of them in the last stages of exhaustion and
numbness after their frightful ordeal, were accommodated wherever room
could be found for them. What food and tobacco the smack carried were
shared out equally, and hot coffee was served out all round.
The _Providence_ then shaped her course for home, and, after being
taken in tow by another vessel when close to her destination,
eventually berthed alongside the quay at Brixham at eight o'clock in
the evening. And so, from the very jaws of death, Pincher Martin
stepped ashore.