round to his way of thinking.
The skipper waited a moment or two, thinking, and then nodded slowly.
“Hooray!” shouted the boy. “I’ll get ready at once!” He ran off the
bridge.
Ten minutes later, with a cork jacket round his body and clutching a
life-buoy, to which the end of a thin line had been made fast, Tom leapt
into the water over the tug’s stern. The line was slacked, and, striking
out with his legs, he pushed the buoy through the water and soon got
clear of the tug.
In five minutes he was half-way between the two ships, but it was
becoming hard work.
At times he would be borne skywards on the foaming crest of a sea, while
the next moment he would be deep down in a hollow. Still he struggled on
with dogged perseverance, and though breathing was difficult and his
eyes were full of scud, so that he could hardly see where he was going,
he was moving slowly forward.
Those in the liner had noticed what had taken place, and while the
passengers thronged the side and watched the lad’s gallant struggle, for
it was now daylight, a rope ladder was lowered over the bows, and a man
with a rope round his waist and with the coil of another in his hand,
descended to the bottom to help Tom on his arrival.
On and on struggled the swimmer, until at last he came within fifty feet
of the great ship, whose tall, black side towered high above him. He was
beginning to feel tired and cold; but he still swum strongly, and in a
short time was close to the foot of the ladder.
A second or two later a gigantic sea lifted him towards it, and he made
a frantic grasp for the lower rung. He missed it, and was being swept
away, when the man on the ladder seized his opportunity and threw his
rope.
The bowline in the end fell close to the boy, who had the presence of
mind to clutch it and place it round his body under his arms. He then
undid the smaller rope attached to the life-buoy, and made that also
fast round his waist, and, lifting his hand, gave the signal for those
on deck to haul in. They pulled with a will, and in a second he felt
himself swing into the air, and managed to grasp the ladder.
He rested for a moment, for his ordeal had tired him out, and then, with
the man’s assistance, slowly climbed on deck. He had done what he said
he would, and as he appeared the crew and passengers of the _Cashmere_
broke into cheer after cheer.
Tom was exhausted after his swim, but was soon taken below to a cabin
and provided with a suit of clothes, while before he reappeared on deck
the hawser from the _Evening Star_ had been hauled on board, and the two
vessels were moving slowly up Channel.
Soon afterwards the wind and sea began to go down, and eight hours later
the two ships dropped their anchors in Halmouth harbour. Morris came on
board the _Cashmere_ immediately afterwards, and was greeted by his son
at the top of the accommodation ladder.
“I’m proud of ye, my son,” exclaimed the skipper, with a quiver in his
voice, and wringing the boy’s hand; “I’m proud of ye!”
“So are we all,” said the captain of the liner, coming forward with
outstretched hand, “and the passengers have all been spoiling him. I
should be proud to have a son like him!”
Tom blushed.
“Well, well,” said Morris, “he’s a good son, an’ all’s well that ends
well.”
“You’ve both done us a good turn,” said the other, “and a good stroke of
business for yourself at the same time, for I can assure you my owners
won’t forget it. Come along to the saloon, captain,” he continued, “for
the passengers want to thank you, too.”
Much against his will, the skipper was ushered below, and on his
appearance in the gorgeously decorated saloon, where all the passengers
were assembled, there was a burst of cheering.
Morris stood nervously fingering his cap, for he was unused to things of
this kind; but, holding up his hand for silence, the captain of the
liner made a short speech.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “you have all met the captain’s son,
but now I must introduce the captain himself. He saw our rockets and
came to our assistance, and Master Tom here swam across with the line
after the hawser broke. It is due to them both that we have reached our
journey’s end in safety, and I will ask you to give them three cheers. I
think they deserve it.”
This was the signal for another outburst, and when at length it had
subsided a well-groomed, portly old gentleman advanced.
“Captain Morris,” he began, “I have been asked by the passengers to
express to you, your noble son, and your gallant crew, our heartfelt
thanks for what you have done for us. Er--you have saved us from a
predicament which might well have resulted in a tragedy had it not been
for your timely assistance, and I have great pleasure in handing you
this small gift on behalf of us all, as a thank-offering for our
deliverance.”
Here he handed the skipper a small brown-paper parcel.
Ten minutes later Tom and his father, having thanked the passengers for
their gift, were back on board the tug, and when the skipper, and his
son, the mate, and the engineer were sitting down to tea in the little
cabin, the skipper produced the parcel from his pocket, and opening it
took out two envelopes, one addressed to himself and the other to Tom.
“By gum!” he cried, opening his, and pulling out a bundle of notes and
cheques, “fifty, a hundred, two hundred, three hundred pounds!”
“And a hundred here!” shouted Tom, displaying a cheque. “Father, they
have been good to us!”
* * * * *
Little more remains to be said. The captain distributed the money among
his crew in shares, the latter insisting that Tom should keep the whole
of his hundred pounds.
Soon afterwards another substantial sum of money was received from the
owners of the _Cashmere_, and it far exceeded the amount Morris had
expected; for his share, when invested, gave him an income sufficient to
keep him in comfort for the remainder of his life.
The skipper has now left the sea, but the _Evening Star_ is still
running, under the command of her former mate.
Tom realised his ambition, for he is now a wireless telegraphy operator
on board one of the large Transatlantic liners, and, though he has been
through many adventures, he has never forgotten his swim on the occasion
when he helped to salve the _Cashmere_.
VI
THE INNER PATROL
War was a reality, and had actually been in progress for over a month,
and the four destroyers, their black shapes sliding noiselessly
throughout the night, steamed to and fro with no lights off the entrance
to the blockaded harbour. They had been doing this for over three weeks,
and since the day after the fleet action on the very outbreak of
hostilities in which the enemy had been badly worsted and compelled to
retire under the guns of their fortress, they had been carrying out the
same routine. There were well over forty torpedo craft actually
patrolling, but of these four had been told off for the advanced patrol
line and were consequently some distance inshore of the remainder of
their consorts.
Sometimes at night they would move slowly to and fro on a line parallel
to and about five miles off the coast and the entrance to the harbour,
but during the daytime they withdrew seaward, and their places were
filled by a cordon of cruisers stationed fifteen miles off the land. A
nearer approach in broad daylight was not permissible, for the enemy’s
coast defences, armed with powerful long-range guns, had to be treated
with due respect. The blockade was maintained with ruthless vigilance,
however, for the lines of destroyers, scouts and cruisers guarded all
means of exit from the doomed fortress. Away to seaward lay the whole
battle fleet, the admiral in command being in constant communication
with his inshore vessels by means of wireless telegraphy.
The enemy had not been particularly active, and except for the fleet
action, in which it was reported that four of their battleships had been
sunk and three more and one battle-cruiser badly damaged, their losses
were not known. At the close of the battle the torpedo craft had been
sent in to convert the retreat into a rout, but although they had
attacked the fleeing enemy the results of their efforts were not known,
while several of the destroyers had been badly injured and had finally
sunk. Since then there had been little going on, for although the
hostile torpedo craft had put to sea at night on three different
occasions, they had each time been forced back by the watching vessels.
The losses in these encounters were not known for certain, but while
that of the blockaders consisted of some couple of dozen men killed and
wounded and a destroyer temporarily disabled, it was thought that two of
the enemy’s craft had been lost. The hostile submarines, strangely
enough, had been comparatively inactive.
The men in the blockading craft were getting sick of it. Not sick of the
war, but tired of doing nothing, and in spite of the hard time they were
having they were spoiling for a fight.
The weary monotony of the patrol was beginning to tell on their nerves,
and they were all, without exception, decidedly annoyed with the enemy
for not having more dash and initiative.
The last ship of the four comprising the inner patrol is the one which
principally concerns us, and her ship’s company, although the remainder
of their flotilla mates called them “pirates,” were perhaps more than
usually anxious for the fight from this selfsame reason. It was a
pitch-dark night, and the stars and moon were obscured in the heavy
clouds banked in the sky, while the north-westerly wind whistled over
the surface of the sea and flung the foam from the top of the short
curling seas to leeward in sheets of spray. It was midwinter and
bitterly cold, and the icy blast numbed all those on board to the very
marrow, while to touch metal with the bare hand was painful. The decks,
in the places to which the warmth of the boilers had not penetrated,
were covered with a thin sheet of ice which was momentarily becoming
thicker as the driving spray fell and froze, and in spite of their
sheepskin coats, leather sea-boots, and fur caps with ear flaps, the
officers and men were almost numb.
On the bridge stood the captain--a young lieutenant-commander--with his
sub-lieutenant, signal man, and quartermaster, and every now and then
the officers would stamp their feet and swing their arms to restore
their circulation. The ship ahead, the white wash of her wake showing up
through the blackness of the night, could be seen as a dim shadow over
the bows, while far off on the beam the dull line of the coast was
occasionally visible through the rifts in the driving squalls. The
little ship was all ready for action, for steam was up for full speed,
while the torpedoes were ready in their tubes and the guns had their
ammunition by them. The watch on deck, except for a look-out at each
tube, were huddled together under such shelter as they could obtain
from the wind; some were smoking and talking in a low voice, while
others were fitfully dozing. Sleep, however, was out of the question on
account of the cold, and every now and then a recumbent form would sit
up with a grunt and a yawn and curse the weather in extremely nautical
language.
“Strike me bloomin’ well pink, Bill,” said an able seaman to his chum.
“I’m gettin’ fair fed up with this ’ere, for all the fun we’ve ’ad we
might as well be mobilisin’!”
“What yer talkin’ about?” replied his friend. “When they does come out
you’ll get yer bellyful all right, I expect. You’ll be singin’ out then
right enuf!”
“I ain’t afraid of ’em,” answered the first speaker, “but this ’ere
show’s too perishin’ parky for the likes o’ me; knockin’ abart the ’ole
time doin’ nothing gives me the fair ’ump. G-r-r-r, it’s cold!”
“Never mind, ole chum, you’ll be warm soon enuf, I reckon,” said the
other.
The conversation continued, and the commanding officer, happening to
hear what was said, for the speakers were sitting on the deck at the
foot of the ladder leading to the bridge, turned to his sub-lieutenant
and said, “Well, judging from what they say they’re just about as fed up
with this show as I am. I wish to goodness they’d come and have it out!”
He was referring to the enemy.
“Yes, sir, so do I,” replied the sub. “We ought to be at the end of the
patrol line in another twenty minutes,” he added, “and then we make the
sixteen-point turn to the opposite course.”
“Oh, well, keep a good look out, and call me if you see or hear
anything,” said the lieutenant-commander. “I’ll try to get a bit of a
caulk. Look out, and don’t get astern of station,” and so saying he lay
down in a deck chair on the bridge.
Now a deck chair on the bridge of a destroyer in midwinter is not an
ideal place for sleep, however many clothes you may have on, and the
commanding officer soon gave it up as a bad job and sat staring up at
the scurrying clouds above his head. It was getting on for one o’clock
in the morning, and he had spent most of his nights in this manner for
the past three weeks, taking what sleep he could in the daytime. He had
had a hurried wash now and then, but had hardly been out of his clothes,
except to change them occasionally, for the whole period. His young
face, the cheeks and chin now covered with a thick stubble, seemed
prematurely aged, and he bore no resemblance to the smart young officer
of three months before. He had aged, and no wonder, for was he not one
of the watches upon whom his admiral depended to stop the hostile
torpedo craft if they came out? If they were allowed to steal unmolested
to the open sea they might be able to deliver a successful attack on the
battle fleet, so it was not to be marvelled at that the officers on the
advanced patrol felt the responsibility laid heavily upon them.
The weary night drew on, and the patrolling boats steamed to and fro on
their beat, but the enemy showed no signs of activity. At about 2.15
a.m., however, the sullen thud of a heavy explosion in the direction of
the harbour floated down on the wind. “Cæsar’s aunt!” shouted the
lieutenant-commander, springing up. “What’s that?” “Sounded to me like
a mine,” answered the sub-lieutenant. “I’ll take my oath it wasn’t a
gun.”
“But who’d be messin’ about on top of mines at this time of night? There
are none of our craft inshore of us,” said the commanding officer. “By
George, though! I’ve got it,” after a minute’s thought, “you know our
minelayers were at work off the harbour entrance about a week ago.
That’s what it is. The other fellows are comin’ out, and one of the
silly blighters has got mixed up in our minefield. It can’t be
destroyers, they’d never come out at this time of the mornin’, give them
no time to get back before daylight, and it’s their big ships or I’m a
Dutchman!” He was still looking towards the shore some five miles away,
and had barely spoken when the fiery trail of a rocket shot skywards
from close in under the land. It burst in a shower of stars which
illuminated everything in the vicinity, and for a brief moment the
watchers saw, or thought they could see, a series of deeper shadows
gathered under the low cliffs. Before they could make certain, however,
the light had gone. But if the shadows were really there they could only
be one thing, the enemy’s fleet.
“We’re in for a scrap at last,” exclaimed the captain, rubbing his
hands. “Send down and tell the engineer to stand by for a spurt, and
warn the hands to be ready!”
The men needed no encouragement, for they were all awake. All hands and
the cook were on deck gazing anxiously landwards, and soon dispersed to
their stations at the guns and torpedo tubes. The lieutenant-commander,
meanwhile, was watching his next ahead, and as he looked he saw a
series of red flashes made with a hand lamp, and a second later a
whistle sounded shrilly along the line.
“Great Scott! He’s going in to attack!” he exclaimed, jumping to the
engine-room telegraphs and jamming them on to full speed. “Look out for
the foremost tube, sub. You’ll have to fire when your sights come on,
and stand by to come up here if I get knocked out.” He was right. The
senior officer had decided to take his chance and to attack, and in a
short time the four destroyers were on their way for the harbour
entrance at a good twenty knots.
Suddenly from the darkness right ahead the dazzling white ray of a
searchlight shot out; it flickered for an instant, and then rested full
on the leading boat. In another second at least half a dozen more had
been switched on, and shortly afterwards the guns commenced their
uproar. The vivid red flashes stabbed the darkness of the night, while
the thundering reports, punctuated now and then by the poom-poom-poom of
the lighter guns--for the enemy were using pom-poms--reverberated
through the air in a noisy crescendo of sound. The whine of the shell
and the crash of their explosions could be heard above the din, while at
times the beams of the searchlights would be all but obscured by the
fountains of spray flung up by the falling projectiles. At first the
shooting was wild, but as more guns chimed in it became better, and the
thrown-up spray was falling on the decks of the attacking boats while
the shell splinters whistled through the air. Nobody as yet had been
actually hit, and they drew closer and closer, until the leading boat
put her helm over and swung abruptly to starboard, and followed by the
remainder of her flock steamed at full speed along the enemy’s line some
six hundred yards off. It could now be seen that there were about half a
dozen big ships moving slowly ahead, and the leading destroyer, as she
swung, fired two torpedoes. Then, after what seemed an eternity, an
enormous upheaval of mingled water and flame rose at the side of the
battleship, as still firing wildly she vanished in the smoke and spray
astern. The roar of the detonation was all but drowned by the reports of
the guns, but there was no doubt that one torpedo had gone home.
The fire had now become accurate, and shell after shell, bursting on
impact with the water, sent its jagged fragments whistling across the
attackers’ deck. Men commenced to fall, rents appeared in the funnels,
boats were splintered, but still they swept on, each vessel as she came
abreast her opposite number in the enemy’s line firing her torpedoes.
How many got home it was impossible to say, for the smoke and spray all
but blotted out the outline of the hostile ships. A series of explosions
were heard, however, so it was hoped that several of the weapons had
found their billet.
The whole attack was over in less than four minutes from the first gun
being fired, and in another two the destroyers were swallowed up in the
darkness and were steaming to sea as fast as their damaged condition
could allow them. The enemy were still firing, but their shot was
falling nowhere near the retreating destroyers. Presently, however, this
ceased and all was silent once more.
On getting about three miles from the coast the leading boat stopped,
and on comparing notes with the others it was found that in the whole
sub-division one officer and eighteen men had been killed outright,
while fourteen others were wounded. The boats themselves were not
vitally damaged, but the funnels, sides, and decks of all four were
badly perforated and torn. There was an underwater hole--the only
one--in the second boat, but the engines and boilers remained untouched,
and on the orifice being plugged she could keep down the flow of water
with her pumps.
A wireless signal was made to the supporting cruisers telling them that
an attack had been made, and the wounded were made as comfortable as
possible until daylight, when the destroyers would be able to approach
their own fleet. Towards 4 a.m. another burst of firing broke out in the
direction of the harbour, and it was surmised that the outer patrolling
boats had gone in to attack. More firing took place at irregular
intervals till daylight, as attack after attack was pressed home, and it
was evident that the enemy were having anything but a pleasant time.
Towards six o’clock the first signs of dawn appeared to the eastward,
and by 6.30 it was light enough to see the harbour entrance. Two big
ships appeared to be ashore, and another was sunk with her masts and
funnels above water, but beyond this it was impossible to see any
details. At 7 a.m. the four destroyers steamed slowly seawards, and
passing the outlying cruisers, met the battle fleet, which had
approached to within twenty miles of the coast. The killed and wounded
were sent aboard the larger vessels, and after being supplied with
spare torpedoes the four proceeded at their best speed for their base to
repair damages. As they left the signal “Well done, destroyers”
fluttered from the foremost head of the flagship, and the weary crews
broke into a throaty cheer as the signalmen read out the meaning of the
cluster of flags.
They had done their work, and done it well, for the enemy’s fleet had
been badly mauled. Life was well worth living. Even the thought of their
dead and wounded messmates did not damp their spirits, for they knew
they had carried out their work, and that their days and nights of weary
watching had not been in vain.
VII
THE GUN-RUNNERS
I
There was no doubt that Jim Watson was in a very bad way. For three
long, weary weeks he had wandered round the London docks on the look-out
for a berth as cabin-boy. He had interviewed many masters and mates, but
without success, for the first question he was invariably asked was:
“Have you been to sea before?”
“No,” was all he could say; and, sick at heart, he had been turned away
again and again. The family had migrated to England some four years
previous to the time of which I write, and Jim’s mother had died a year
afterwards. Mr. Watson had managed to secure a subordinate position in a
shipping office in the City, but the loss of his wife had preyed on his
mind, and three years afterwards he too had died.
So Jim had found himself an orphan at the age of fifteen, and, with two
sovereigns and a few silver coins in his pocket, was cast out into the
world to earn his own living. Relatives in England to whom he could
apply for assistance he had none, and although his father’s old friend
gave him a position as office boy, the meagre wages he received barely
sufficed to pay for his food, let alone lodging. He had relations and
friends in Australia, and determined to throw up his position at the
office and endeavour to work his way out there as a cabin-boy in a ship;
but in spite of tramping the docks every day for three long weeks, he
had not yet succeeded in obtaining a berth. His small amount of money
was vanishing rapidly; for although he cut his food down to the smallest
possible limit, he found he could not live on less than 9d. a day, while
his bed in a doss-house cost him another 6d. a night. He had no
professional training, and although he was painstaking and plodding, his
schooling had not fitted him for any employment ashore which would bring
him in a living wage.
While tramping the docks he had known what hunger was--that awful,
gnawing feeling of absolute emptiness which will turn even the strongest
man into a living wreck--and as he pursued his weary way along the
dock-side at Limehouse, he wondered how long it would last.
Walking along, he came to a small grey-painted steamer called the _Sea
Foam_, made fast alongside the wharf. She was being loaded, and case
after case was lowered into her hold, while a swarm of stevedores were
hard at work amidst the rattling of steam winches and the shouts of the
foremen. He stood and watched the busy scene for a while, and then
noticing someone whose uniform cap showed him to be an officer of the
ship, he formed a sudden resolve to go on board and ask for a berth.
Walking up the gangway, he made his way forward and accosted the mate,
for he it was.
“Please, sir,” he commenced, “could you----?”
“What is it, boy?” shouted the officer, turning round; “what do you
want?”
Jim trembled; but in spite of the ferocity of the officer’s voice, there
was a gleam of kindness in his eyes, and taking courage again he said:
“Please, sir, could you give me a berth? I want to go to Australia.”
“Australia, boy?” thundered the mate. “Australia? We’re not going
there--going up the Straits. General cargo.”
The boy thought for a minute, and then came to the conclusion that if
there was a chance of a berth he would give up the idea of joining his
relations.