Held Up by a U-Boat
"HARD-A-STARBOARD!" roared Osborne. In the vivid glare of the now
unmasked searchlights he had detected a short spar-like object
projecting a couple of feet or more above the waves. Almost at the
same time three of the _Portchester Castle's_ quick-firers united in
a loud roar, their projectiles knocking up tall clouds of foam in the
vicinity of the supposed periscope ere they ricochetted a mile or so
away.
Dipping in the trough of an enormous roller the slight target was
lost to sight. Whether hit by the shell the young lieutenant could
not determine. In any case he meant to try and ram the skulking foe.
Round swung the armed liner and, steadying on her helm, bore down
upon the spot where the submarine was supposed to be lurking. No
slight jarring shock announced the successful issue of her attempt.
"Missed her, I'm afraid, Mr. Osborne," exclaimed a deep voice.
The Lieutenant turned and found himself confronted by the Captain,
who, aroused from his slumbers, had appeared on the bridge dressed
only in pyjamas, a greatcoat, and carpet slippers.
"And fortunately she missed us, sir," replied Osborne. "The wake of
the torpedo was close under our stern."
"Did anyone sight her?"
"The dog, sir," said the Lieutenant. "He began barking at something.
I immediately hurried up to see what was amiss, and ordered the helm
to be ported."
"Then your wall-eyed pet has done us a good turn," observed Captain
Staggles grimly. He was a keen disciplinarian, and did not altogether
approve of a dog being brought on board. It was only on Osborne's
earnest request that the skipper had relented, and then only on the
condition that the animal must be got rid of should he give trouble.
Osborne had run the risk. To lose his pet would be nothing short of a
calamity, but such was his confidence in Laddie that he had brought
him on board; and now, within a few hours of leaving port, the
sheep-dog had gained distinction.
"Suppose the brute's got second sight," remarked the Captain. "Well,
carry on, Mr. Osborne, and put the ship on her former course. Call
for more speed--the sooner we get away from this particular danger
zone the better, since we can do nothing on a night like this. See
that a wireless is sent reporting the presence and position of the
U-boat."
Having steadied the vessel and dispatched a signalman to the wireless
room, Osborne rejoined Webb, who was methodically examining the
surface of the sea with his night glasses. Already the search-lights
had been switched off and the guns cleaned and secured.
"A close shave," remarked Webb. "I thought she'd bagged us that time.
It was fortunate that Laddie gave us warning."
"Fortunate in a double sense," added Osborne. "The skipper will be
more favourably disposed towards Laddie after this. I've nothing to
say against the Captain (wouldn't if I had, you understand). From
what I know of him he's a jolly smart skipper, but I fancy he doesn't
cotton on to animals."
"He ought to as far as Laddie is concerned, after this," said the
Sub. "It is a perfect mystery to me how the dog spotted the
submarine. I'll swear he did. He was so excited that I thought he was
going to jump over the rail."
Just then a signalman ran up the bridge-ladder and tendered a
writing-pad to the officer of the watch.
"'S.O.S.' call, sir," he explained. "Sparks can't make head or tail
of it, in a manner of speaking. He's jotted it down just as it was
received."
Osborne took the message and retired into the chart-room. At a glance
he discovered that the message was partly in International Code and
partly in Spanish, or a language closely approaching it. An intimate
knowledge of the ports of the Pacific coast of South America had
enabled Osborne to understand a good many words in Spanish. He could
therefore make a fair translation of the appeal for aid.
"It's a message from a Portuguese merchantman--the _Douro_," he
explained to Webb. "She is being pursued by a German submarine. She
gives her position. We're thirty miles to the nor'nor'-east. Inform
Captain Staggles," he added, addressing the signalman.
In a very short space of time the Captain again appeared on the
bridge.
"It will be daybreak before we sight her," he observed when Osborne
had made his report. "You didn't acknowledge the signal, I hope?"
"No, sir."
"That's good. Sorry to keep Senhor Portuguese on tenterhooks, but if
we wirelessed him the strafed Hun might pick up the message. We must
try and catch the U-boat on the hop. Pass the word for the look-out
to keep his eyes well skinned."
The Captain leant over the for'ard guard-rail of the lofty bridge.
Beneath lurked two greatcoated figures sheltering under the lee side
of the deckhouse from the driving spray.
"Bos'n's mate!" shouted Captain Staggles.
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Pipe General Quarters."
The shrill trills of the whistle brought the watch below surging on
deck. Already by some mysterious means the news had spread along the
lower deck. Taking into consideration the fact that the ship had been
but newly commissioned, there was little fault to be found with the
way in which the men responded to the call.
In the engine-room the staff had risen nobly to the Captain's request
to "whack her up". Quickly speed was increased to twenty knots as the
_Portchester Castle_ hastened on her errand of succour to the
harassed Portuguese merchantman.
"I shouldn't be surprised if we are too late," remarked Captain
Staggles. "That wireless will most certainly be picked up by the
Portuguese destroyer flotilla patrolling the Tagus. They'll be on the
spot before us, I fancy."
Lieutenant Osborne did not reply. He had good cause to think
otherwise, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Nevertheless he was
glad when the skipper expressed his intention of "carrying on" in the
direction of the pursued tramp.
With daybreak came the sound of distant intermittent gun-fire. For
five minutes the cannonade was maintained, and then an ominous
silence. In addition the hitherto constant wireless appeals for aid
ceased abruptly.
"They've got her, I'm afraid," remarked Webb to his chum and brother
officer as the twain searched the horizon with their binoculars.
"Not a sign of her," began Osborne.
"Sail ahead, sir," reported the masthead man, who from his point of
vantage could command a far greater distance than the officers on
the bridge.
"Where does she bear?" shouted Osborne.
"Two points on the port bow, sir," was the prompt reply.
In anxious suspense officers and crew waited for the Portuguese
vessel to come within range of vision. Quickly the daylight grew
brighter. A slight mist that hung around in low, ill-defined patches
began to lift. The sea, still high, rendered it difficult to locate a
vessel at any considerable distance from the British auxiliary
cruiser.
Presently Osborne went to the voice-tube communicating with the
engine-room. His observant eye had noticed that the _Portchester
Castle's_ funnels were throwing out considerable volumes of smoke.
Since it was imperative that she should conceal her approach until
the last possible moment, he requested the Engineer-lieutenant to
exercise a little more care in the stokeholds. A minute or two later
the black volumes of smoke gave place to a thin haze of bluish
vapour.
"There she is!" exclaimed Webb. "By Jove, they've bagged her! She's
hove-to."
The tramp, a vessel of about 2000 tons, was lying motionless and
showing almost broadside on to the oncoming _Portchester Castle_. As
yet there was no sign of the pursuing submarine.
By the aid of the binoculars the British officers could just discern
the red and green mercantile ensign of Portugal being slowly lowered
from the vessel's ensign-staff. The _Douro_ had surrendered: would
the _Portchester Castle_ be in time to save her from being sunk, or
merely able to witness her final plunge, and experience the
mortification of finding that the lawless U-boat had submerged into
comparative safety?
For some seconds the silence on board the _Portchester Castle_ was
broken only by the swish of the water against her bows, the muffled
thud of the propeller shaftings, and the clear incisive tones of the
range-finding officer as the distance rapidly and visibly decreased
betwixt the ship and the supposed position of the German submarine.
Presently, upon the rounded crest of a roller appeared the elongated
conning-tower and a portion of the deck of the U-boat. She was
forging gently ahead, and was just drawing clear of the bows of the
_Douro_.
The situation was a delicate one. If the German commander's attention
were wholly centred upon his capture it might be possible that the
submarine would increase her distance sufficiently to enable the
_Portchester Castle_ to send a shell into her without risk to the
Portuguese vessel. If, on the other hand, the approaching succourer
were sighted by the Huns, the submarine would have time to go astern,
close hatches under the lee of the _Douro_, and dive.
Five thousand yards.
A uniformed figure appeared above the poop-rail of the captured
tramp. The officers of the British vessel, keeping him under
observation by means of the powerful glasses, could see him
gesticulating to the submarine. The latter began to lose way before
going astern.
Now or never. A gap of barely fifty yards lay betwixt captor and
prize. At the word of command the gun-layers of the two for'ard
quick-firers bent over their sights. The two reports sounded as one
as the projectiles screeched on their errand of destruction.
One shell hurtled within a few feet of the top of the conning-tower,
sweeping away both periscopes in its career. The other struck the
raised platform in the wake of the conning-tower, exploded, tearing a
jagged hole in the hull plating. Before the smoke had time to clear
away the U-boat had vanished for all time, only a smother of foam and
a series of ever-widening concentric circles of iridescent oil
marking her ocean bed.
Viewed from the deck of the _Portchester Castle_ there could be no
doubt as to the fate of the modern pirate. Simultaneously a deafening
cheer burst from the throats of the British crew. It was a feat to be
proud of, sending a hostile submarine to her last account before the
_Portchester Castle_ was three days out of port.
When within signalling distance of the _Douro_ the latter rehoisted
her colours and made the "NC" signal, "Immediate assistance
required".
"Perhaps the Huns have already begun to scuttle her," remarked Tom
Webb. "Although I can't detect any sign of a list."
"We'll soon find out," replied Osborne. "Pipe away the cutter," he
ordered, in response to a sign from the skipper.
Quickly the falls were manned, the boat's crew, fully armed,
scrambling into the boat as it still swung from the davits.
Sub-lieutenant Webb, being the officer in charge, dropped into the
stern-sheets.
"Lower away."
With a resounding smack the cutter renewed a touching acquaintance
with the water. The falls were disengaged, and, to Webb's encouraging
order, "Give way, lads!" the boat drew clear of the now almost
stationary ship, which was within a couple of cables' lengths of the
_Douro_.
"Wonder what's wrong?" thought Webb, for there were still no signs
that the Portuguese vessel had sustained damage. She was rolling
heavily in the seaway. Her engines being stopped, she had fallen off
in the trough of the sea.
Rounding under her stern the Sub brought the cutter under the lee of
the tramp. The bowman dexterously caught a coil of rope thrown by a
seaman on the _Douro's_ deck. The trouble was how to board without
staving in the cutter's planks against the heaving, rusty sides of
the tramp.
The _Douro_ had not come off unscathed in her flight from the German
submarine. Under her quarter, and about three feet above the
water-line, were a couple of shell-holes. Fortunately the projectiles
had failed to burst, otherwise the tramp would not be still afloat.
The missiles had partly demolished the wheel-house and played havoc
with the bridge, as the shattered woodwork and the debris that
littered the deck bore witness. Two of the crew had been slain and
three wounded, as a result of being unable to lift a hand in
self-defence, yet the Portuguese skipper had held gallantly on his
way until a sliver of steel from one of the shells had penetrated the
main steam-pipe and had rendered the _Douro_ incapable of further
flight.
A Jacob's ladder--a flexible wire arrangement with wooden rungs--had
been lowered from the tramp's side. At one moment its bottommost end
was swaying far from the vessel's water-line; at another it was
pinned hard against her side according to the roll of the ship.
Boarding was a difficult--nay, dangerous--business.
Standing with his feet wide apart on the stern-sheets grating, Webb
awaited his opportunity. Then he became aware that his boot was
touching something soft and endowed with life. To his surprise he
found Laddie crouching under the seat.
Evidently the sheep-dog was under the impression that the boat was
bound for the shore. He had contrived to leap into the cutter as it
was on the point of being lowered, and, although the Sub had not
noticed him, the boat's crew had seen and had winked at the presence
of the canine stowaway.
"All right, my boy," thought Webb as he made a spring for the
swinging ladder. "There you'll have to stop, I fancy. Now you're
properly dished."
But the young officer was mistaken. Laddie waited until the last of
the boarding party had gained the deck of the _Douro_, then,
knowingly biding his time until the tramp had rolled away from the
boat, he made a spring at the ladder and gained the deck.
"Good morning, senhor!" exclaimed the Portuguese skipper in very good
English as he greeted the British boarding officer. "We are grateful
for your assistance. Another five minutes and the _Douro_ no more
would be. I offer my respects to the brave representative of our
ancient ally."
"Thank you, senhor capitan," replied Tom with a bow, for he was
determined not to be outdone in courtesy by the grateful Portuguese
skipper. "Yes, we have sent that submarine to Davy Jones, I fancy.
But I have to convey the compliments of Captain Staggles of His
Majesty's armed merchant-cruiser _Portchester Castle_, and to offer
you any assistance that lies in our power. You have the 'NC' signal
flying, I see."
"Yes," replied the skipper, grinning broadly and shrugging his
shoulders in a manner peculiar to dwellers in southern climes. "The
trouble, senhor, is this: down below in the fore-hold are six
Germans--men sent on board from the submarine to place explosives in
the hold. They are armed, we are not. Can you get them out for us?"