Two Against One
Once clear of the "chops of the Channel" the _Complex_ had increased
her pace to a good eighteen knots. In due course, she arrived at the
Bermudas and replenished her fuel tanks at the Admiralty
yard--taking advantage of a privilege accorded to merchant vessels
seeking assistance from Government resources.
The light cruiser _Basilikon_ and her attendant destroyers
_Messines_ and _Armentières_ had preceded her, and were lying off
the town of Hamilton. They knew what she was, she knew what they
were there for, but no sign of recognition passed between the
rusty-sided tramp and her spick-and-span consorts.
Continuing her voyage, the _Complex_ sighted nothing conspicuous.
Without incident, she arrived at Bahia, where she received
telegraphic orders from her imaginary owners to proceed to Savannah
to unload.
Accordingly, she turned her head to the nor'ard, and, at a modest
eight knots, proceeded to invite the as yet mythical pirate to
"tread on the tail of her coat".
Several days passed. No calls from distressed vessels were received.
Ships of all nations were passing on their lawful occasions without
let or hindrance. Cape St. Roque, the north-easternmost point of
Brazil, had been passed on the port hand, and a course shaped
north-west by west to enable the decoy ship to keep within a hundred
miles of the coast.
At one bell in the first Dog-watch on the day following, Cavendish,
who was on duty as officer of the watch, heard the look-out report
"vessel on the port bow, sir."
The Sub brought his binoculars to bear upon the vessel in question.
She was quite five miles off and apparently on a course practically
the same as that of the _Complex_.
In spite of the purposely slow speed of the latter, the _Complex_
gained rapidly on the stranger, and presently Cavendish saw that she
was not making way and that she was flying the N.C.--the
international signal requesting immediate assistance. The glasses
also revealed the information that the vessel was a tramp, flying
the Red Ensign and bearing the name _Holton Heath_--_London_ on her
counter.
In response to a message from the officer of the watch, Captain
Meredith was quickly on the bridge.
"No wireless from her?" inquired the owner.
"No, sir."
"H'm, that's remarkable, very. Action stations. We can't afford to
take risks of this description.... Signalman?"
"Sir?"
"Stand by with the International Code flags," continued the Skipper.
"Don't be too smart in making the hoists. Ask 'em what's wrong."
Stealthily the crew went to action stations, allowing no chance of
their presence being visible to anyone on board the _Holton Heath_.
Leaving Carr and Cavendish on the bridge, Meredith went below, made
his way for'ard by means of the specially provided armoured
alley-way, and gained the fo'c'sle conning-tower.
Meanwhile, the _Holton Heath_ had made her number correctly and had
given the information that her main-shaft had been broken. Could she
be taken in tow?
Carr reported the request from voice tube to Captain Meredith.
"Round-to under her stern," ordered the Captain. "Don't hurry, I
want to have a good look at her. Reply, 'I will take you in tow '."
The _Complex_ was manoeuvred according to orders. Half a dozen hands
went aft, ready to receive and secure the hawser to the
towing-bitts. The Captain of the _Holton Heath_ stepped to the
starboard side of the bridge and waved an acknowledgment.
Presently Captain Meredith's voice-pipe whistle sounded.
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Cavendish.
"She seems jonnick," said the Skipper, in a somewhat disappointed
tone. "We'll take her hawser. Pass the word for a hand to stand by
the Senhouse slip, in case we want to cast off in a hurry."
The Sub leant over the bridge-rail to give the order to one of the
deck-hands, when his eye caught sight of the wake of a torpedo
rapidly approaching the now almost stationary _Complex_. It was
coming, not from the _Holton Heath_, but from a submerged source
broad on the _Complex's_ beam.
Cavendish watched it like one in a trance. His parched throat
refused to utter a warning. For days he had expected this to happen.
He had hoped it would, and now, this being the first time that he
had experienced the sight of a live torpedo approaching, he found
that it was a totally different experience from watching a "tinfish"
being discharged _from_ the ship, and he was dumbfounded.
Too late he recalled the special orders given in anticipation of
such an occurrence--orders which he and every other executive
officer in the ship had countersigned--that in the event of a
torpedo being sighted as fired from a submerged submarine, no effort
was to be made to _avoid_ the impact. On the other hand, the ship
must be brought to meet it, so that the torpedo would strike
anywhere except in the vicinity of the engine-room. In brief, the
decoy ship was to sacrifice herself in the almost certain hope that,
before she sank, the enemy would reveal himself and fall a victim to
her guns.
Tardily, Cavendish jumped to the engine-room telegraph and rang for
"easy astern". Before the order could be acted upon, the torpedo hit
the _Complex_ twenty feet abaft the bridge, against the starboard
engine-room. There was a terrific report. A column of water was
thrown violently into the air to a height of nearly two hundred
feet, mingled with smoke, oil, and pieces of cork and shattered
timber. The _Complex_ heeled rapidly to port, then, recovering
slightly, lay well over on her starboard side, and the engine- and
boiler-rooms were flooded by the irresistible inrush of water.
In view of the suddenness of the attack, coming from a totally
unexpected quarter, it would not have been surprising had the
_Complex_ unmasked her guns and thus revealed her identity.
But nothing of the sort happened. Not a man of the concealed crew
started to his feet. Discipline--perfect order--prevailed; all on
board, with the exception of three victims of the explosion who had
already "slipped their cables", remaining alert, awaiting their
Captain's orders.
Undoubtedly, it was a complex situation, and one for which no
adequate provision had been made.
Cavendish, now that the explosion had taken place, was wondering
what he ought to do. Should he order away the panic-party? If he
did, they would be obliged, for appearance's sake, to make for the
_Holton Heath_. But was she what she purported to be? Or was she
acting in consort with the still unseen submarine?
"If," reasoned the Sub, "if she's a British merchantman, why did the
submarine waste a torpedo on us when she had an easy victim of about
three times our tonnage?"
[Illustration: THE "PANIC PARTY" (missing from book)]
Similar thoughts were flashing across the mind of the imperturbable
Captain Meredith.
"Order away the panic party, officer of the watch," he shouted per
voice-tube. For the present he would ignore the submarine and keep
the _Holton Heath_ under observation, he decided.
The latter vessel had swung round slightly, so that her starboard
beam was exposed to the sinking _Complex_. On the bridge of the
former, her captain was bellowing incoherent cries. A few hands were
preparing to lower the quarter-boats.
Cavendish gave the order verbally. It would not do to trust to the
prearranged system of gongs.
Instantly, there was a well-simulated panic-stricken rush for the
_Complex's_ boats, men falling over each other in their efforts to
swing clear and lower away. Carrying out the lesson learnt at their
rehearsals, they let one of the boats down by the head, staving in
her gunwale against the listing side of the ship.
Suddenly, the supposed disabled _Holton Heath_ underwent a
transformation. Portions of her bulwarks dropped, revealing the
muzzles of half a dozen quick-firers. Simultaneously, swarms of men
appeared on deck to gloat over the anticipated spectacle, while
several machine-guns were being placed in position with a view to
mowing down the survivors of the helpless and foundering British
ship.
There was now no doubt in the minds of the officers and men of the
_Complex_ who were in a position to see what was going on, of the
manner in which so many craft flying the Red Ensign had vanished
without a trace.
The Rioguayan crew were in no hurry. They prepared to prolong the
business, before commencing a general and cold-blooded massacre. But
on this occasion, the already sinking victim was to prove a very
unpleasant surprise-packet.
Captain Meredith was quick to act. Alarm gongs rang out in all parts
of the stricken ship. The panic-party, abandoning their role, threw
themselves prone and began to wriggle their way to their appointed
battle stations. The Red Ensign was hurriedly lowered, to be
replaced by the emblem of British naval power.
Down clattered the gun-screens. Before the astonished and terrified
Rioguayans could realize their mistake, the vengeful quick-firers
took a heavy toll, receiving but one shell in reply--a 4-inch
missile that whizzed harmlessly between the rigging.
The British gun-layers made one mistake. In their anxiety to settle
with their treacherous foes, they aimed, not at the enemy's
waterline, but at the dense mob on deck. There the havoc was beyond
description.
Before the error could be corrected, the _soi-disant_ S.S. _Holton
Heath_ had forged ahead, until she was end on to the bows of the
_Complex_. The latter, stopped dead and unable to gather way, was
sorely handicapped, for her 4.7-inch was masked by the rise of the
fo'c'sle and the explosion of the torpedo had disarranged the
training gear of the for'ard 12-pounder--the only gun that in
ordinary circumstances could be brought to bear upon the fleeing
vessel.
A triple-screwed cruiser disguised as a tramp, the _Cerro
Algarrobo--alias Holton Heath_--was "legging it" at twenty-two
knots, yet it was evident that, apart from the raking she had
received, she had been hulled aft, since she was yawing badly. A
12-pounder shell had penetrated the submerged steering flat and had
put the rudder out of action.
All need for concealment now at an end, Captain Meredith emerged
from the fo'c'sle conning-tower and climbed the bridge-ladder.
By this time, the _Complex_ had settled well down aft. Fumes and
steam were still issuing from her engine-rooms. The acrid smell of
burnt cordite still wafted from the unsecured guns.
The skipper had to make up his mind quickly--whether it were worth
while pretending to abandon ship again and thus lure the submarine
into rising to the surface, or to wireless for assistance.
He decided on the latter course. It might not be too late for the
_Messines_ and _Armentières_ to stand in pursuit of the somewhat
damaged _Cerro Algarrobo_. The seaplanes from the _Basilikon_ might
be able to spot the lurking submarine, if, as was likely, she
continued to remain in the vicinity to make sure of the sinking of
the _Complex_.
Accordingly, the wireless telegraphist began sending out an urgent
signal to the _Basilikon_. The reply was prompt and to the point.
The cruiser and her attendant destroyers were roughly seventy miles
off. The _Messines_ and _Armentières_ were detached to proceed at
full speed to the foundering decoy ship.
The _Complex_ was in no immediate hurry to make her acquaintance
with the bed of the Atlantic. Her cargo of cork and her elaborate
system of water-tight bulkheads were playing their parts well. Those
of the crew who were not at the guns were busily engaged in shoring
up the bulkheads and endeavouring to pass a collision-mat over the
gaping rent caused by the torpedo. The flooding of the boiler-rooms
had automatically put out of action the mechanical bilge-pumps, but
the hand-pumps, manned by the stokers of both watches, helped to
delay the inevitable.
Meanwhile, the boats were lowered, each armed with a Lewis gun in
the likely event of the submarine attempting to massacre the
survivors. The wounded were transferred to one of the boats, the
medical officer and sick-berth staff being in attendance.
Having taken all precautions, Captain Meredith and his crew could
but await the end, whatever way it might turn out.
"Periscope right astern, sir," reported the Gunner. Hardly able to
credit the good news, the skipper crossed to the port side of the
bridge and looked. To his surprise and satisfaction, the submarine
was within eighty yards of her victim. Her commander, judging that,
as the stern of the _Complex_ was almost awash, it was safe to make
a periscopic view of the foundering vessel at short range, was in
complete ignorance of the fact that the decoy ship still carried a
most formidable sting in her tail. It might be that through
inexperience he had misjudged his distance and had brought the
submarine closer to the _Complex_ than he thought.
Dead astern of the decoy-ship, he imagined himself to be safe. A
Rioguayan invariably plays for "safety first". The two after
12-pounders could not be brought to bear astern. Even if they could,
they could achieve nothing beyond demolishing one of the three
periscopes with which the submarine was equipped. Twenty feet of
water between the surface of the sea and the armoured back of the
submarine would deflect any shell striking the water obliquely.
"Mr. Jones!" sang out Captain Meredith, "let her have it in the
neck."
The warrant-officer signed to a couple of hands. Deftly and
cautiously, the howitzers were loaded with their deadly
depth-charges and trained to extreme elevations.
Both weapons were discharged simultaneously. The missiles rose with
apparent slowness. Viewed from the bridge, they looked like enormous
cricket-balls being lobbed by a titanic hand. Describing parabolic
curves, they struck the water almost vertically--one on either side
and about ten yards from the periscope. There was a double splash.
The tip of the periscope was hidden in spray, but still there was no
explosion. The depth-charges had to sink to a distance of thirty
feet before they were automatically detonated.
Right aft, the Gunner was standing knee-deep in water, with a hand
over his eyes as he watched. In vain the Skipper shouted to him to
take cover. His interest in what was about to take place had
rendered him deaf to every other sound.
Suddenly there was a stupendous upheaval. Almost the entire length
of the submarine was lifted clear of the agitated sea, but only for
a few brief moments. Completely torn asunder, the doomed craft
disappeared from view, amidst a pall of smoke and under a rapidly
increasing circle of oil and charred débris.
A wave of foaming water swept over the now submerged stern of the
decoy-ship, hurling the zealous Gunner Jones against the dummy
steering wheel.
The _Complex's_ stem rose sullenly, until the whole of her forefoot
showed clear. She was making her last plunge. The concussion of the
exploding depth-charges, while they had sent her foe to her doom,
had also hastened her parting.
"Abandon ship--all hands!" shouted the Old Man.