Broken down in Mid-ocean
"It's all right, boys!" came a deep voice. "It's only the Padre
fallen out of his bunk again."
The men recognized the voice.
"Good old Padre!" they shouted, and then silence fell upon the
crowd. Someone struck a match, and held it so that the feeble
glimmer shone upon his face. It was the C.O.
"File out in an orderly manner, lads," he ordered. "Fall in on the
upper deck. I'll _follow_ you out. We are not going over the top
this time; when we do I'll take good care to _lead_ you."
On the upper deck a bugle rang out shrilly. The seamen, assisted by
some troops, who, detailed for duty, had not attended the sing-song,
were "standing by" ready to lower away the boats.
Rapidly yet without confusion the mess deck was cleared. The first
signs of panic nipped in the bud, the men were now as cool as
cucumbers.
"How far is it to the nearest land?" enquired one as he ascended the
ladder.
"Less'n half a mile underneath your feet," was the grim answer.
True to his word, the Colonel was the last to leave the mess deck.
As he emerged into the open air he remarked to the Chaplain: "My
word, Padre, heaven forgive you for that lie, but you saved the
situation."
Like most of his comrades, Malcolm Carr was under the impression
that he would soon have to swim for it, unless he was one of the
lucky ones to get told off to the boats. If anyone had suggested
that he was afraid, he would have stoutly repudiated the statement;
but he was conscious of a peculiar sinking sensation in the pit of
his stomach. To a man not a sailor by profession the knowledge that
only a comparatively thin steel plate, and fractured at that, is
between him and death by drowning is apt to be decidedly
disconcerting. He had voluntarily contracted to risk his life by
fighting the Boche, but to be "downed" without the chance of seeing
a shot fired in earnest was hardly playing the game.
"Hallo, Malcolm!"
Carr turned his head and peered into the face of his right-hand man.
It was Dick Selwyn.
"Hallo, Dick! I didn't recognize your voice. How goes it?"
"So, so!" replied Dick. "Look here, I vote we stick together. Why
aren't they lowering the boats? They don't seem in any sort of a
hurry."
"Perhaps it is as well. You know----"
Again a bugle rang out. The ranks stiffened.
"Boys!" exclaimed the Colonel; "the Captain has just sent word that
there is no immediate danger. There has been a slight explosion in a
bunker. One compartment--the for'ard stokehold--is flooded. For the
present the men will remain on deck. The cooks will issue a hot
ration. Stand at ease!"
Out came pipes and cigarettes. The men began chatting and yarning,
discussing the possibilities and chances of the catastrophe. The
explosion had been an internal one, sufficient to cripple the
vessel's engines. The question naturally arose as to whether it was
the work of a Hun agent.
"I'd like to know who the idiot was who yelled out something about
being torpedoed," remarked a rifleman.
"I did," owned up the man in question. "What about it?"
"If you were in C Company they'd give you poison," declared the
first speaker contemptuously.
"And," retorted the other, "if I were in C Company I'd take it. As
for----"
"Stop that!" ordered Sergeant Fortescue; then, turning to Malcolm,
he added: "It shows the boys are settling down again. Sort of
psychologic phenomenon; I've noticed it before. While there's danger
they are as well-behaved as kids in a drawing-room; directly it's
over they let themselves go and start treading on each other's
corns. Well, here we are, midway between New Zealand and Cape Horn,
with our engines broken down. A fine old jamboree!"
"We've wirelessed for assistance, I've been told," observed Malcolm.
"Aye," agreed Fortescue, "and received a reply. No. 101, which left
Wellington two days after we did, sends a reassuring message. She's
a faster boat, you know. But I might add," he said, lowering his
voice, "that we've been warned that the _See Adler_ is somewhere
knocking around, and we have to take due precaution. Ah! There you
are. They're serving out small-arms and ammunition to C Company."
The situation was a grave one. Lying helpless on the water was
Transport 99, unescorted and with no other friendly vessel within
ten hours' steaming of her. She was armed with two 4.7 guns both
mounted aft. These were of little use against a swift hostile craft
should the latter approach on a bearing three degrees on either side
of the _Awarua's_ bows. On the other hand there were half a dozen
Maxims and nearly two thousand rifles on board, although these would
be of little use if the raider kept beyond 200 yards' range.
Against an armed and mobile vessel the _See Adler_ would stand but
little chance. She was a sailing craft provided with a powerful
motor installation. Earlier in the year she had caused a certain
amount of sensation by her depredations in the Atlantic, until
British cruisers made that locality too hot for her. She vanished
mysteriously. There were vague rumours that she had been sent to the
bottom by one of the Allied warships. It was now evident that she
had rounded the Horn, making use of her sails only and keeping her
motors for cases of emergency, and at the present was within a few
miles of the transport _Awarua_.
Throughout the rest of the night the transport's crew manned the two
stern-chasers. The Maxims, protected by coal-sacks and mealie-bags,
were kept ready for instant action, while each company took duty in
turn to man the side, ready to supplement the machine- and
quick-firing guns with a fusillade of small arms.
Daybreak came, but with it no signs of the expected raider. Viewed
from the deck, the _Awarua_ showed no trace of the explosion beyond
a slight list to starboard. The steam had been raised from the
auxiliary engines, and the pumps were continuously ejecting water
that made its way from the flooded stokehold to the adjoining
compartments. The ship's artificers were busily engaged in repairing
the fractured main steam-pipe. It was just possible that the vessel
might be able to proceed under her own steam, either back to
Wellington or else to Port Stanley, in the Falkland Islands.
Meanwhile there was no line of churned water extending from under
the vessel's quarter as far as the eye could reach, no dull
reverberations of the "screw". The _Awarua_, lying helpless, rolled
sullenly in the swell at the mercy of wind and ocean current.
Meanwhile the troops were kept fully occupied. Ennui was at all
costs to be banished, and the best antidote for that was plenty of
hard work. Parades, boat drill, physical exercises, almost filled
the bill; but even then there were plenty of enthusiasts to take
part in strenuous games on deck, in which the C.O. and most of the
officers took a personal interest and prominent part.
Just before sunset a blurr of smoke was detected on the horizon.
Transport 101 was arriving upon the scene. Two hours later, in the
starry night, the new arrival came within hailing distance, and
preparations were made to take the _Awarua_ in tow.
By midnight Transport 99 was moving slowly through the water in the
wake of the towing vessel, three hearty cheers from the boys showing
their relief at the thought that the tedious period of immobility
was at an end. The repairs to the steam-pipe were almost completed,
and with reasonable luck the _Awarua_ might be able to proceed under
her own steam before daybreak.
At réveillé Malcolm Carr heard the welcome thud of the propeller.
Going on deck, he found that Transport 101 was hull down to the
west'ard, while a couple of cable-lengths on the _Awarua's_
star-board quarter was a long grey cruiser flying the White Ensign.
Just then one of the crew came aft. Malcolm knew him by sight. He
was a loquacious Welsh-man, always "in the know", and one of the
recognized media between the ship's officers and the rank and file.
"Hallo, Sergeant!" he exclaimed, jerking his thumb in the direction
of the cruiser. "How's that, eh? Sorter objec' lesson on the great
silent navy I'll allow. She's our escort as far as the Falklands."
"She's turned up at just the right moment," remarked Malcolm.
"She's what?" enquired the seaman. "My eye, you don't know nuffink,
Sergeant. She's been hoppin' about us for the last three days. I
'eard our Old Man tell the First Officer so. Got our wireless, but
wouldn't reply."
"Why not?" asked Carr curiously.
"'Cause she was waitin' to mop up that _See Adler_. Kept out of
sight, hoping, in a manner o' speaking, that the Dutchy would have a
smack at us, and then she'd butt in. Howsomever, they say as a jap
cruiser 'as got the hang of the 'Un, an' you chaps 'ave been done
out of a visit to Davy Jones this time."