Running the Gauntlet
"Land in sight!"
The welcome announcement resulted in a rush on deck on the part of
the motley throng of Anzacs, South Africans, English troops, and
Maoris. Some men eager for a glimpse of the country of their birth,
which they had not seen for many a long-drawn month of campaigning
in the inhospitable waste of Mesopotamia; others for the first sight
of the Mother Country; others out of mere curiosity; while the
Maoris peered through the dim light to feast upon the prospects of
speedily setting foot on dry land.
It was not much to look at, judged from a strictly optical point of
view. Merely a slender lighthouse, rearing itself itself out of the
sea, while miles beyond it, and just visible against the pale rosy
tints of dawn, was a line of dark-grey cliffs, backed by higher
ground that was totally destitute of trees.
The _Pomfret Castle_ and the rest of the convoy had slowed down in
the vicinity of the Wolf Rock Lighthouse. The attendant cruiser was
circling round at top speed, as if to shepherd her flock before
entrusting them to the care of another. Against the line of cliffs
could be discerned a haze of smoke, Out of which appeared a number
of indistinct dots that quickly resolved themselves into a flotilla
of destroyers.
In double-column line ahead the greyhounds of the sea tore to meet
the approaching troopships, then, at a signal from the senior
officer, the destroyers "broke line", tearing hither and thither
seemingly without order or reason--zigzagging, pirouetting, and
crossing each others' bows as if participating in an intricate
maritime dance.
"Putting the wind up any blessed U-boat that might be wanting to
butt in," exclaimed Kennedy. "Hallo! There's our cruiser off. She's
done with us."
The transports dipped ensigns; the cruiser returned the compliment
in a similar manner as she swung round and retraced her course. Her
mission accomplished, she set off on particular service to escort
another convoy from somewhere to somewhere else, while the
destroyers closed round the _Pomfret Castle_ and her consorts as if
to welcome them into port.
For the most part the men ignored the call to breakfast. They had a
different feast on hand--to feast their eyes upon the varying
outlines of the rugged Cornish coast; for as the distance decreased
the monotonous aspect gave place to one of intense interest.
"There's Rame Head," exclaimed a delighted Tommy. "Many a time I've
stood on top of it. I was born an' bred at Cawsand," he added,
gratuitously. "Just round the corner you'll see Plymouth."
"I've seen it three times before," remarked another--the inevitable
grouser of the company; "and, every time it's been raining cats and
dogs. Proper wet 'ole, I calls it."
"Let it, and a jolly good job too," rejoined the first speaker.
"After Mesopotamia you won't hear men grumbling about rain--not
'arf. It can rain every day in the year, an' good luck to it."
"Just you wait till you gets ter France," chipped in another. "Up to
yer neck in mud an' slush. You'll jolly soon wish yourself grilling
again."
"You've turned your back on Mesopotamia, boys," exclaimed the
licensed jester of the company. "Now you've the Mess-up-at-homia,
an' so make the best of it. Blimy, wot's this comin'; a bloomin'
Zeppelin!"
"Where?" exclaimed a dozen voices.
Following the direction of the speaker's outstretched hand Malcolm
had his first view of an airship. It was not a large craft as
airships go. Underneath its silver-grey envelope hung a small car
like the fuselage of an aeroplane. As it approached, the whirring
circle of a single, two-bladed propeller could be discerned. It was
a "Blimp", or dirigible observation balloon.
The airship was flying rapidly "down wind" at an altitude of about
two hundred feet. As it passed almost overhead the fuselage appeared
to scrape the _Pomfret Castle's_ main truck by inches. Presently the
Blimp swung round and faced the wind, keeping on a course slightly
diverging from that of the convoy. Plugging away dead in the eye of
the wind its progress was not more than twenty miles an hour "over
the ground", which in reality was a portion of the English Channel.
Suddenly the _Pomfret Castle_ starboarded helm and broke out of
line. The alteration of course had the effect of causing the huge
vessel to list outwards. As she did so a long trail of foam almost
parallel to the starboard side of the ship shot ahead until it was
lost to sight in the distance.
For some moments not a single man moved. Attention had been shifted
from the Blimp to the milk-white track in the water--the wake of the
torpedo.
Only by prompt use of her helm had the _Pomfret Castle_ escaped
destruction. Even in home waters she had to run the gauntlet,
despite the encircling line of destroyers.
With the utmost audacity a U-boat had lain submerged across the
track of the convoy, trusting to be able to launch her bolt and
disappear before even the swift destroyers could take her bearings,
and close upon the spot where the tips of her periscopes had
appeared when the torpedo had been discharged.
She had seen the escorting vessels and had taken the risk, but she
had reckoned without the far-seeing eyes of the Blimp.
Already the airship had spotted a dark elongated shape beneath the
waves. Invisible when viewed at a narrow angle to the surface, the
submarine stood out clearly against the grey waste of waters when
seen from above.
Something, glittering in the dull light, shot from beneath the
fuselage of the alert Blimp. With a mighty splash the missile struck
the surface of the sea and disappeared.
For five long-drawn seconds nothing appeared to happen. Unseen by
the watchers on the troop-ship, a deadly aerial torpedo was worming
its way through the water until it reached a depth of sixty feet.
Before the spray cast up by the impact of the missile had subsided,
another and far greater column of water leapt a hundred feet or more
into the air. A cloud of smoke hid the Blimp from view, while, out
of the breaking spout of upheaved water, appeared a solid, dark-grey
substance--the after part of a U-boat!
For a brief instant the wreckage was revealed to view. Even the
horizontal and vertical rudders and the twin propellers were
visible. Then, as if reluctant to sink into obscurity, the strafed
U-boat disappeared from mortal ken for all time.
No need for the destroyers to tear at full speed across the
ever-widening circle of oil; no need for explosive grapnels to trail
over the downward path of the vertically-descending pirate craft.
The diabolical _Spurlos versenkt_ policy had recoiled with a
vengeance upon yet another of the Kaiser's _Unterseebooten_.
A hoarse roar of cheering broke from the throats of the men.
Tommies, Anzacs, South Africans, and Maoris vied with each other as
to who could produce the greatest and most prolonged volume Of
sound. Other vessels of the convoy took up the hearty "Hip, hip,
hurrah!" until the watchers on the distant Cornish cliffs must have
heard the strenuous demonstrations of exultation.
Meanwhile the destroyers, their crews grimly silent, merely "carried
on". The men whose lives they were guarding might well let
themselves go, but these units of the great silent navy meant
business. Time for shouting when the German navy ceased to exist as
a fighting force--and "The Day" was yet to come.
The Blimp, also scorning to display any indications of its
triumphant success, turned and flew serenely over the convoy,
outwardly indifferent to the work of destruction it had
accomplished. Not until the last of the convoy passed the western
end of the breakwater, and gained the security of Plymouth Sound,
did the modern counterpart of the
"Little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep guard o'er the life of poor Jack"
relinquish its task. Then, amid a farewell outburst of cheering, the
Blimp flew eastwards, to disappear from view behind the lofty
Staddon Heights.