The "Sunderbund's" Life-boat
THE latitude and longitude given showed that the attack upon the
mail-boat had occurred close to the Tripolitan coast off the province
of Barca, a desolate country on the western frontier of Egypt. At the
time of receiving the message the _Portchester Castle_ was twenty
miles S.E. of Cape Sidero, in the island of Crete, and roughly 250
miles from the scene of the disaster.
Immediately upon receipt of the wireless the armed merchant-cruiser
set off at full speed to carry out instructions. A message from the
_Restormel_ announced the fact that that vessel was eighty miles to
the westward.
"Glass tumbling down as if someone had knocked a hole in the bulb,"
remarked Osborne. "We're in for a spell of very dirty weather before
very long. The _Sunderbund's_ boats won't stand much chance in the
heavy seas one meets with in the Eastern Mediterranean, and heaven
help them if they are cast ashore. They've an even chance of death by
starvation--that is, if they survive the landing through the
breakers--or captivity in the hands of the Senussi."
"I thought that those fellows had been knocked out long ago,"
remarked Haynes.
"Yes, as far as the Sollum district is concerned," replied the
Lieutenant. "But, unfortunately, numbers of these undesirables have
made their way westward into the fringe of the Tripolitan desert.
They have, apparently, lost their Turkish officers, and are acting as
banditti. From all accounts they are well armed with modern rifles,
although their field-guns and machine-guns were captured several
months ago."
The barometer had given a certain warning of bad weather, and before
many hours had elapsed it was blowing hard from the east'ard. The sun
set in a ragged bank of indigo-coloured clouds. The wind whistled
shrilly through the armed merchant-cruiser's rigging, and the
spindrift began to fly in heavy masses over the weather bow.
Morning brought no improvement in the weather. In fact it looked
worse, for the waves were so heavy that the _Portchester Castle_ had
lost a quantity of deck gear, while two of the boats had been "stove
in" at the davits, owing to the gripes being carried away under the
hammer-like blows of the green seas.
"Not much chance for the _Sunderbund's_ boats," said Haynes. "They
couldn't possibly make headway against this tumble. They'd be swamped
to a dead cert."
"Unless they rigged up sea-anchors and rode to them," added Webb.
"These waves are not so steep as those we get in the North Sea, and
luckily the wind is not blowing dead on shore. It's my belief that
the _Restormel_, being farther to lee'ard, will stand a better chance
than we shall of picking up the boats."
By this time the _Portchester Castle_ had altered helm and was
steering eastward, right into the eye of the wind. Broad on the
starboard beam could be faintly discerned the low, sandy cliffs of
the African shore, fringed by a wide belt of milk-white foam. North,
west, and east the horizon was unbroken. Sea and sky met in an
ill-defined blurr. Not another sail was in sight, nor had the
_Portchester Castle_ passed any wreckage, although her course had
taken her over the spot where the ill-fated liner had been reported
to have sunk.
Wireless messages constantly passed between the _Portchester Castle_
and the _Restormel_, each vessel keeping her consort posted as to her
position; but neither was able to announce the gratifying news that
the object of their quest had been achieved. About eight bells (8
a.m.) the officer of the watch reported what appeared to be a boat,
well on the starboard bow. A course was immediately shaped to
approach the supposed craft, while the _Portchester Castle's_
officers kept it well under observation with their glasses.
"I don't think it is a boat," suggested Haynes. "Looks to me like
surf breaking over a rock."
He wiped the moisture from the lens of his telescope and looked
again.
"It's only broken water," he said with conviction.
"I believe it is a boat--a white-painted one," said Webb.
"Sure?" enquired Haynes, unwilling to own that his surmise was at
fault.
"Yes; she's lifting to the waves. I can see people in her."
"By Jove, yes," agreed Osborne. "And they are unpleasantly close to
the broken water. They don't seem to be making headway."
"We're in as close as we dare go, I fancy, Mr. Osborne," remarked
Captain M'Bride. "We cannot hazard the ship by going inside the
ten-fathom line. Fire a couple of rockets, and see if they will be
able to pull out to us."
Quickly the order was carried out. The two detonating rockets
exploded with loud reports, and, in spite of the fury of the wind,
the people in the boat heard the signal. Hitherto their attention
seemed to have been directed towards the inhospitable shore, and they
had not noticed the _Portchester Castle's_ approach. The latter
slowed down, steaming at half-speed into the wind at a distance of a
couple of miles from one of the _Sunderbund's_ life-boats, for such
she was.
"They'll never do it," declared Captain M'Bride. "They're only
pulling four oars and look quite done up. We'll have to call for
volunteers, Mr. Osborne, to take the steamboat in and give them a tow
back to the ship."
"Very good, sir," replied the Lieutenant. "I'll go."
"No, not you, Mr. Osborne," said the skipper. "You'll be more useful
on board. It will be a ticklish job lowering the steamboat."
"May I, sir?" asked Webb eagerly.
Captain M'Bride assented. He had great confidence in the
Sub-lieutenant's capability, coolness, and sound judgment, and
already Webb had acquired a considerable amount of practice in
handling the steam cutter.
There was no lack of volunteers to man the boat, and the Sub had no
difficulty in picking out those men who were accustomed to the
cutter. Steam was quickly raised, and in a very short time the heavy
craft was ready to be hoisted out.
The _Portchester Castle's_ helm was then starboarded, bringing the
vessel broadside on to wind and sea, and thus affording a floating
breakwater for the rescuing boat. Even then the vessel rolled so
heavily, and the waves even to leeward were so vicious, that the
operation of casting off from the ship's side would be fraught with
danger.
"We'll try the effect of a little oil," declared the skipper. "Pass
the word for a cask of heavy stuff to be started. Look lively there."
The effect of the oil was little short of marvellous. Far to leeward
the tumultuous seas subsided as if by magic, leaving a calm,
fan-shaped belt of iridescent water bounded by a terrific turmoil of
broken water.
Clad in oilskins, sou'wester, and rubber boots, Webb took his place
by the side of the coxswain. For'ard everything had been battened
down, while in the stern-sheets were a couple of coils of rope and a
strongly-stropped empty water breaker.
"Easy ahead," ordered the Sub. Although every moment was precious, he
was too good a seaman to attempt to drive his boat at full speed
through the turmoil of foaming seas immediately beyond the belt of
oil-quelled water. To have done so would have resulted in a severe
strain upon the engines owing to the racing of the propeller as the
boat's stern lifted clear of the waves, and quite possibly the cutter
would have found herself in a far more dangerous predicament than the
life-boat to whose assistance she was proceeding.
Soon the steamboat was in the thick of it. Solid waves swept her as
far aft as the cabin top; clouds of vapour, caused by the cold water
coming in sudden contact with the hot funnel-casing, enveloped the
Sub and the coxswain in a blinding, scurrying pall of moisture. Only
by holding on like grim death were the two able to save themselves
from being thrown overboard by the erratic, almost vertical jerk of
the boat's stern. At rapid intervals the helm had to be smartly
ported in order to enable the steamboat to meet the hissing crested
waves, which, had they hit the craft on her broadside, might easily
have capsized her, or at least flooded her cockpit flush with the
coamings.
Nobly the cutter struggled onwards. Every foot gained was the result
of sheer hard work--a contest of the product of a mechanical age with
the forces of nature. Gradually the distance between her and the
_Portchester Castle_ increased; she was making slow but sure headway
against wind and waves.
"See anything of the boat?" asked Webb, bellowing into the coxswain's
ear in order to make himself understood in the racket of pounding
machinery and the roar of the elements.
"Not a sign, sir," replied the man. "Maybe she's in the trough of the
sea when we're on top of a wave, and t'other way about. Anyways,
we'll pick her up if she's still afloat."
For full half an hour the strenuous struggle continued, then the
steamboat entered a comparatively calm belt of water. The respite was
but temporary, for two hundred yards ahead began the broken water as
the waves began to thunder on the flat shore.
"There she is, sir," shouted the coxswain, as the glistening white
bows of the _Sunderbund's_ life-boat were for a brief instant visible
on the summit of a wave. "And lumme," he added under his breath,
"they're about done in, I fancy. At all events it'll take some
getting out of that jumble of surf."
The man was quite right in his surmise. The liner's boat was
gradually and steadily losing ground. Despite the desperate and
heroic efforts of her rowers--they had double- and treble-banked the
oars that still remained serviceable--the physical strain was
beginning to tell.
"Where she can keep afloat we can go," decided the Sub. "So here
goes."
The steamboat approached cautiously, easing down as each successive
comber swept towards her. Already there was a foot of water in the
engine-room, while, in spite of the most skilful handling, the
propeller was racing madly as the boat dipped her nose and threw her
stern clear of the waves.
It was, indeed, almost miraculous that the _Sunderbund's_ life-boat
had so far weathered the storm. As it was, green seas were breaking
over her, necessitating prompt, vigorous, and constant baling on the
part of her passengers and crew. Many of the former, too, were down
with sea-sickness of the worst form, and only lay inertly on the
bottom-boards, too ill to take further interest in the proceedings.
At length the steamboat approached sufficiently near to enable the
breaker and grass rope to be veered to the sorely pressed life-boat.
Directly the towing-hawser was made fast the former forged ahead; but
hardly had she taken the strain when the means of communication
parted like packthread, one portion narrowly missing being caught by
the propeller. Had it done so the steamboat would have been helpless
in the trough of the sea.
It was now an even more difficult matter to take the boat in tow
again, for the breaker and grass rope had been taken on the
_Sunderbund's_ boat. Meanwhile both craft had drifted farther to
leeward, and closer to the worst of the broken water. Clearly Webb
had to act now or the opportunity would be gone for ever.
Frequently buried in green seas, from which she shook herself clear
like an enormous dog, the steam cutter staggered to windward of the
boat and, turning, approached within casting distance.
Dexterously communication was re-established, and once more the
steamboat began to take the strain of the towing-hawser. At one
instant stretched as taut as a steel bar, at another dipping limply
in the sea, the stout rope stood the strain, and gradually the
life-boat began to gather way. If progress was slow on the outward
run, the journey back to the ship was even more so. Yet the
_Portchester Castle_ was unable to approach another cable's length
without an almost certain risk of grounding.
"The old ship's chucking overboard some more oil, sir," reported the
coxswain. "Maybe we'll get some benefit, although I'll allow it'll
drift too far to wind'ard."
"It's spreading," shouted Webb in reply. "That will do the trick."
Twenty minutes later the steamboat ran alongside her parent. The
hawser was transferred to the latter's steam-capstan, and the cutter
was deftly hoisted inboard.
Now came the more difficult task of transhipping the rescued men from
the life-boat to the _Portchester Castle_. Without means of hoisting
the heavy boat bodily out of the water, the armed merchant-cruiser's
crew had to haul each survivor separately by means of bowlines and
bos'n's chairs, for most of the passengers had collapsed from
exposure.
There were two exceptions, however: one a tall, fair-haired man in
the khaki uniform of a Major of artillery. In spite of the fact that
his left arm was in a sling, he experienced no difficulty in making
the ascent, and came over the side with a decided smile on his face.
Sub-lieutenant Webb looked at him intently; then, to confirm his
surmise, he glanced at the officer's companion--a slightly shorter
and broad-shouldered man of about forty. His face was bronzed, his
hair, crisp in spite of the drenching spray, was tinged with grey at
the temples. His attire consisted of a pair of navy-blue trousers and
a shirt. It afterwards transpired that he had given his monkey-jacket
to one of the lady passengers, or Webb would have recognized him as a
Lieutenant-commander of the Royal Naval Reserve.
"By Jove, Billy!" drawled the naval man. "Thought you and I, old
bird, would have had to swim for it--eh what? How's that groggy wrist
of yours now?"
Tom Webb hesitated no longer. He stepped up to the pair of rescued
officers and held out his hand.
"Thanks, many thanks," exclaimed the coatless one. "You're the Sub in
charge of the steamboat? Smart bit of work, 'pon my word."
"Glad to have the opportunity of repaying a good turn, Mr. Dacres,"
said Webb.
"Good turn?" repeated Dacres, knitting his brows. "Good turn. I don't
follow you. I haven't met you before, have I?"
"Yes, and so has Mr. Fane."
Mr. Fane was equally at a loss.
"Give it up," he declared. "All the same----"
"Dash it all, I've tumbled to it," interrupted Dacres. "You were that
curly-headed Sea Scout I met at Haslar Creek three or four years ago.
I believe you were the means of enabling me to get a yacht off my
hands."
"And incidentally the means of getting me my commission," added the
ex-Tenderfoot. "And Osborne is on board too. There he is: officer of
the watch. If it hadn't been for the experience we gained on board
the old _Petrel_, I don't suppose we would have been here."
"Then the little yacht did some practical good work after all. I told
you so, Billy," said Dacres, addressing his companion. "Yes, thanks
very much," he added, in response to the Sub's invitation. "The loan
of a dry kit and a good meal would be very acceptable. It's
nearly----"
"Submarine on the starboard bow, sir!" roared the mast-head man, his
words unmistakably clear in spite of the howling of the wind.
The _Portchester Castle_ began to turn in obedience to a quick
movement of the helm. Hoarse orders were shouted from the bridge and
taken up by the bos'n's mates in other parts of the ship. But the
warning came too late. The armed merchant-cruiser reeled as with a
terrific explosion a torpedo "got home" just abaft her engine-room.