Torpedoed
"Port five--steady."
"Port five it is, sir."
Alec Seton, sheltering under the lee of the bridge dodger, raised his
binoculars and peered steadfastly through the gloom. It was night.
Patches of fog were ganging around with irritating persistency, as if
bent on following and hampering the _Bolero's_ movements. There was
just sufficient headwind to throw cascades of icy cold spray over the
destroyer's flaring bows. The breeze whistled mournfully through the
rigging, while aft a long trail of black smoke, beaten down by the
heavy atmosphere, hung sullenly over the short, vicious seas.
According to reckoning the Nord Hinder lay 5 miles east by north.
It was not idle curiosity that had prompted Seton to order the course
to be altered. Less than a mile away was something showing black and
ill-defined even to the powerful night-glasses. It might be anything
from a derelict tramp to an abandoned boat. It might be a German
submarine or a sea-going torpedo-boat flying, or rather supposed to
be flying, the craven Black Cross Ensign of Germany.
Whatever it was, it was Seton's duty to investigate, taking proper
precautions in the event of the object turning out to be a hostile
warship.
There was also the possibility--almost the probability--that the
strange craft, if a craft it were, might be a British or Allied
vessel. In any case, before the _Bolero_ could open fire she had to
establish the national identity of the stranger. A Hun was under no
such obligation. He could open fire indiscriminately, not caring
whether his target were a hostile or a neutral vessel.
Again Alec raised his binoculars. By this time the _Triadur_ and the
convoy were two or three miles to the sou'east. The _Bolero's_ crew
were at action stations, ready at the word of command to let loose
every quick-firer that could be brought to bear upon the enemy craft.
"What do you make of her?" inquired the Lieutenant-Commander, who,
acquainted with the alteration of course, had joined his subordinate
on the bridge.
Before Seton could express his opinion the question was answered. Two
vivid flashes stabbed the darkness, while a few seconds later a
couple of shells burst two hundred yards beyond the British
destroyer.
Almost immediately the _Bolero_ returned the compliment. Her salvo
hit exactly on the spot that her gun-layers aimed at--but it pitched
into and partly dispersed a cloud of smoke. The wily Fritz had been
approaching stern foremost, and directly the German boat fired she
went full speed ahead, at the same time releasing an enormous
smokescreen.
From the British Senior Officer's ship a message flashed:
"Stand in pursuit; will remain by the convoy."
It was an order after Lieutenant-Commander Richard Trevannion's own
heart, and of that of every member of the ship's company.
Telegraphing for full speed ahead, Trevannion stood in pursuit. Boat
for boat the British destroyer had the advantage both in speed and
armament, but already the Hun had gained in distance, and, taking
advantage of the smoke screen, was now nothing but an indistinct blur
in the night. It remained for the _Bolero_ to keep her quarry within
sight, and then the momentarily increasing speed would begin to tell.
Firing steadily with her pair of fo'c'sle quick-firers the _Bolero_
held on. Her whole frame vibrated under the pulsations of her
powerful engines. The wind no longer whistled through the scanty wire
rigging: it absolutely shrieked. At times the for'ard guns' crews
were knee-deep in water, as the destroyer literally punched her way
through the waves.
"A near one, Sir," exclaimed Alec, as a shell burst within twenty
yards of the _Bolero's_ port quarter, some of the splinters cutting
jagged holes in the two after funnels.
Trevannion smiled grimly.
"Yes, Fritz can shoot straight sometimes," he replied. "No casualties
aft, I hope?"
A signalman ran aft to make inquiries.
"No, sir," he replied on his return; "the after quick-firer's
crew----"
A terrific detonation, almost instantly followed by an enormous
column of water, interrupted the signalman's remarks anent the after
quick-firer's gun's crew. The _Bolero_ seemed to be lifted clean out
of the water; then she listed heavily to starboard. Clouds of
flame-tinged smoke, mingled with hissing jets of steam, were issuing
from the engine-room.
"Fritz has bagged us, my festive!" remarked Trevannion, when the two
officers recovered their senses, of which the sudden explosion had
temporarily deprived them. "A fair deal: we've nothing to complain
about. See that our involuntary guest, Count Otto What's-his-name, is
not overboard."
The Lieutenant-Commander spoke with the admiration of a true
sportsman. For once a U-boat had fulfilled her legitimate purpose by
torpedoing a warship. The destroyer had taken the risk, and she had
fallen a victim to the powerful Schwartz-Kopff torpedo.
It was apparent to every man on board that the _Bolero_ was doomed.
The German torpedo-boat had acted the part of a decoy, and had lured
the British destroyer athwart the track of a lurking unterseeboot. At
a range of three hundred metres the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat
felt sure of his prey; so much so that he decided that one torpedo
was enough.
Hit abaft the boiler-room, the _Bolero_ was practically broken in
twain. Her watertight bulkheads were holding, but had been badly
strained. Even at the most sanguine estimate it was doubtful whether
the bow and stern portions would be able to keep afloat for more than
twenty minutes.
Meanwhile there was much to be done. While the signalmen were sending
up rockets and firing Verey lights--for the concussion had put the
wireless completely out of action--the task of getting away boats
and rafts was proceeded with. The wounded were first lifted into the
boats, for the explosion had taken heavy toll of the heroes of the
engine-room and stokeholds. Already the Lieutenant-Commander had
thrown overboard the confidential signal-books and log. Impassively
he stood upon the bridge, awaiting the end. His duty was almost done.
By virtue of the glorious and imperishable traditions of the British
Navy he stood at his post until the last man was clear of the sinking
ship.
Deftly, and without the faintest suspicion of panic, the crew took to
the boats and rafts. The survivors of the engine-room staff, coming
straight from the heated and confined space below, were
ill-conditioned to withstand the bitter coldness of the night.
Lightly-clad they stuck it, accepting with grimly-expressed thanks
the offers of additional clothing from their better-clad messmates.
From the first it was apparent that the boats and Carley rafts were
insufficient to accommodate all the ship's company, yet not a man
moved out of his turn. Donning lifebelts, those who were unable to
take to the boats, without risk of overcrowding and endangering the
lives of their messmates, prepared for their long swim, confident
that help would be assuredly forthcoming to "hike them out of the
ditch".
"Pull clear, men!" shouted Trevannion. "Good luck!"
Standing at the head of the bridge-ladder, and holding on to the
stanchion-rail, for the destroyer was listing excessively, Seton
watched the scene with feelings akin to admiration. For himself he
cared little, or rather, in the grim excitement of the destroyer's
last throes, his mind was fully occupied with the episode of the
final moments.
"Jump for it, Seton!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander.
Alec shook his head.
"I'll stand by till you're ready, sir," he replied, proffering a
life-belt to his superior.
Trevannion waved it aside with a grave, gesture of refusal. To him,
as captain of the ship, it seemed unbecoming that he should don the
life-saving device.
"Thanks," he replied. "I'm a good swimmer. I'll find something to
hang on to. By Jove! Seton, the men are simply splendid."
The end came with startling suddenness. With two successive reports
the sorely-tried bulkheads gave way under the terrific pressure of
water. In a smother of foam the riven hull sagged until bow and stern
reared themselves in the air to such an extent that to Alec it seemed
as if the two extremities would meet. Then, with a sickening
movement, the _Bolero_ plunged to the bed of the North Sea.
Seton's first sensation of the plunge was that of intense cold. The
moment he felt himself off his feet he struck out to clear the
wreckage. In spite of his efforts he found himself being drawn back
as surely as if he were held by a chain. Down, down, down! Would the
horrible descent never end? He held his breath, struggling the while
to force himself to the surface. Already his lungs felt on the point
of bursting.
"Good heavens! I'm foul of something," was the thought that flashed
through his mind.
It seemed like an eternity, that slow and remorseless suffocation in
the icy-cold water. His eyes were wide open, but he could see
nothing. Involuntarily he gasped; an inrush of water followed; a
moment of intense irritation, and then a period of utter insouciance.
His senses were deserting him. In a vague sort of way he realized
that he was drowning.
Suddenly the downward movement was arrested. Caught by the upward
rush of air from a burst compartment Seton was impelled to the
surface with incredible speed. He was conscious of being shot almost
clear of the water, of a rush of life-giving air into his partly
water-logged lungs; then of striking out almost automatically.
The sea was horribly cold. Hampered by the weight of his clothes,
for, with the exception of his great-coat and sea-boots, he had
"taken to the ditch" fully-clad, it was a hard struggle for Seton to
keep himself afloat.
With a noise like a small pistol-shot the water hitherto pressing
against his ear-drums dispersed, and his sense of hearing was
restored. Above the hissing of the waves he could hear shouts of
encouragement and cries for aid from his struggling shipmates. There
were swimmers all around him. Some men were clinging to oars and
pieces of floating wreckage. Others were supporting their less robust
comrades, while a few dauntless spirits were singing, or rather
trying to sing, in order to convey the impression that they still had
their "tails up".
Someone pushed an empty water-beaker almost in Alec's face, with a
jerky invitation to "Hold on to that, chum."
"Thanks," gasped Seton breathlessly.
"Lumme, if it ain't our sub-lootenant," exclaimed his benefactor.
"Goin' strong, sir? Shall I stand by and give you a hand?"
Seton was glad of the moral assistance, although he continued to hang
on to the barrel with little effort. For some moments neither man
spoke.
"Bout time the old _Triadur_ showed up sir," remarked the bluejacket.
"Sure I won't forget to-night, an' it's me birthday. You all right,
sir?" he added anxiously.
"Quite," replied Alec untruthfully, but with a dogged determination
to refuse to acknowledge that things were not going at all well with
him. An ominous numbing sensation in his arms and legs told him
plainly and unmistakably that the icy cold water was beginning to
take effect.
Almost directly after he had given his assurance, Alec relaxed his
grasp of the beaker and without an effort disappeared beneath the
surface.