Even in broad daylight there is something about a submarine that is
uncanny. The capacity to float half-submerged, the peculiar shape and
the dull slatey colour of this latest triumph of naval science, remind
one of some weird antediluvian animal--one of those strange, gigantic
monsters that are known to have inhabited the world long before man made
his appearance. On this fateful night the bright moonshine,
scintillating on the broken surface of the water, made the German
submarine seem ghost-like and supernatural. Its sudden and unexpected
appearance had the effect upon Jimmy Burke of a douche of ice-cold
water. For several seconds he remained standing quite motionless and
breathless, staring in stupefied amazement at the dark outline of the
enemy.
Crouch, on the other hand, wasted not as much as the fraction of a
second. A man who has spent a great part of his life in shooting wild
and savage beasts is not easily taken by surprise. He was used to
shocks. He saw at once that the peril in which the "Harlech" stood was
both extreme and immediate. At such a moment it was not his business to
ask himself why this calamity had come to pass. He was concerned only
with the ship that he commanded, which it was his duty to save at every
cost.
As quick as thought he turned, and dashing up the bridge steps, thrust
the quartermaster aside and seized the spokes of the wheel.
The "Harlech" was travelling at full speed ahead--that is to say, she
was making a poor seven knots an hour. The U93 lay on the starboard
quarter; and Crouch, without a moment's hesitation, put the helm hard
aport, with the result that the bows of the ship swung round on an angle
of forty-five degrees, until she was heading straight for the submarine.
The moment was one of such intense excitement that Jimmy could think of
nothing else but the extreme danger in which he found himself; he had
forgotten completely all about Rudolf Stork. Crouch had sent below the
quartermaster on duty, with orders for the boatswain to summon the crew;
and in less than a minute every one--with the exception of those who
were at work in the engine-room and stokeholds--was on deck.
The members of the crew crowded along the taffrails on the starboard
side of the ship, where they shouted to one another and pointed
excitedly in the direction of the submarine. Jimmy found himself in the
midst of a crowd of half-clad, panic-stricken men, who jostled one
another, and whose voices were inarticulate and hoarse. It is a
significant fact that these men, who had sustained unflinchingly the
fire of the "Dresden's" guns, who had behaved like heroes throughout,
were now as senseless and as frightened as a flock of sheep in a field
with a savage dog. The reason of this is not so far to seek: the
submarine is not only as deadly a weapon as has ever been contrived,
but, so far, no adequate means have been invented to counteract its
subtle powers of aggression. Submarine is useless against submarine;
destroyers are not able to account for under-water craft without having
luck on their side--an auxiliary to warfare that is seldom absent, and
yet which can hardly be relied upon. Neither are wire nets wholly
adequate, since these can be utilized with effect only in certain
localities where the seas are narrow and not deep.
None the less, though the crew of the "Harlech" were excited and
apprehensive, they could not fail to see that it was Crouch's object to
run the submarine down. One and all, they had supreme confidence in
Crouch, and knew--now that the captain himself was at the wheel---that
their lives could not be entrusted to safer hands.
They heard the tinkling of the engine-room bell when Crouch rang down to
tell the chief engineer to let her go. The captain's teeth were set; he
held the wheel at arm's length in an attitude of tension, his one eye
staring straight before him, over the peak of the vessel, to the point
where the U93 lay upon the surface of the water, her conning-tower and
superstructure showing like the back of a whale.
It seemed at first that they would succeed, that the submarine would be
rammed, cut in half and sent to the bottom like a stone. There could
not have been fifty feet between the bows of the "Harlech" and her
little venomous enemy when the U93 began to move, gaining almost at once
sufficient velocity to cause the water to part about her forward
ventilators in a long feathery wave, arrow-shaped and snow-white in the
moonshine.
For ten minutes the chase continued; and those were moments of
breathless and intense excitement. Once, at least, a torpedo was fired,
which missed the ship by a matter of yards, passing on the port side,
leaving a trail in the moonlight that was like the sheen on the scales
of a fish. It caused each man on board who saw it firstly to shudder,
and secondly to lift a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the great God
above.
Had Crouch not turned the ship head-on to the submarine, had the
"Harlech" presented a broadside target, there is small doubt the torpedo
would have found its mark, and all on board would have perished.
Afterwards, no one was able to testify that more than a single torpedo
had been fired.
It now became clear that the submarine commander had decided to gain his
ends by swift manoeuvring. Crouch himself was the first to recognize
that the "Harlech" stood no chance of overhauling its enemy. The U93
could apparently travel on the surface at the rate of not less than
fifteen knots; and even had the "Harlech" not been so sadly disabled,
she could hardly have overtaken her quarry.
The submarine drew away some distance ahead, and then made a half circle
to the left, returning on a parallel course, until she was level with
the steamer. The "Harlech" was then not more than a mile away from the
Cornish coast, where the dark, rugged outline of the hills was clearly
visible in the moonlight.
Suddenly the hatch in the conning-tower of the U93 was seen to open, and
two men made their appearance, one of whom shouted through a megaphone.
He spoke good English. In the stillness of the night every word he said
was audible.
"Ahoy, there!" he cried. "Slow down at once, and stop; or we send you
to the bottom."
"Who are you?" asked Crouch, more with the idea of wasting time than of
gleaning any definite information.
"His Imperial Majesty's submarine U93," came the answer. "Heave to, at
once!"
Crouch saw that he had no alternative but to surrender. The "Harlech"
was now broadside on to the submarine, which was not a hundred and fifty
yards away. A torpedo, if discharged, could no more fail to strike its
target than send the merchant ship to the bottom in the space of a few
moments. It was a bitter pill to swallow; and as he paced to and fro
upon the bridge, the little wizened master-mariner thought of Jason,
Junior, sitting in his spacious offices in the midst of the hurry and
commotion of New York.
He looked again at the submarine, which had now turned round and was
following its victim as a cat plays with a mouse--except that, in this
case, the mouse was huge and cumbrous, the cat quite small and fragile.
In something that was very like a fit of rage Crouch grasped the handle
of the telegraph, and rang down to the engine-room to "Stop."
The submarine drew even closer, until at last the German commander was
able to make himself heard without the use of his megaphone.
"Are you the 'Harlech'?" he demanded.
"How do you know that?" said Crouch.
This seemed to anger the German, for he shouted even louder than before.
"I am not here to answer questions, but to ask them. Please understand
that I am master of the situation: I have but to give the order, and a
torpedo puts an end to you all."
"Do what you like," said Crouch. "We've no means of self-defence, as
you can see."
"You have contraband goods on board," said the other.
"That may, or may not, be."
The German laughed.
"I know it," said he. "And now, I give you fair warning: you and your
men have precisely five minutes in which to leave the ship. If you are
not gone by the end of that time, you will pay the penalty of death, for
the ship goes to the bottom."
Captain Crouch knit his brows in a frown. This was the first time in
the life of the little man that he had met with anything in the shape of
failure. As we have already pointed out, he was one who had made a
success of most things. He had risen from extreme poverty and small
beginnings to be a man of note--one whose name was well known in the
four quarters of the globe. Just now, he felt as if he would never be
able to hold up his head again, to look in the face the old friends who
had followed him through thick and thin, who had always thought so
highly of their leader.
Still, if he felt all this, he showed it neither in the expression of
his face nor in the tones of his voice. In much the same manner as he
would have given an everyday and simple order, he raised a hand to his
mouth, and shouted at the full power of his lungs--
"All hands to the boats!"