In the Whaler
Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert's feelings were far from
comfortable when the crash of the _Bolero's_ quick-firers told him
unmistakably that the destroyer was in action.
With his broken collar-bone and other injuries he was practically
helpless, while to make matters worse, as far as he was concerned,
his captors had put him under lock and key. Evidently these English
meant to take no risks, he soliloquized.
It was no exaggeration to state that he was in a blue funk. At one
moment he cursed the German vessel for replying to the British
destroyer's fire; at another he hoped and prayed that the former
would draw out of range. Not once did he express a wish that the
Black Cross Ensign might prove victorious.
With the perspiration oozing in large beads on his bullet forehead he
lay and quaked, his mind torn with agitated thoughts. He remembered
vividly--the reminiscence was frequently in his mind--how on one
occasion, when he was in command of a U-boat, he had taken out of a
badly-damaged boat an old, white-haired British merchant skipper. It
was not by reason of the call of humanity that he had done this: it
was part of a cool, calculated plan of action whereby the Huns vainly
thought that, with British captains and engineers detained on board
the submarines as hostages, the hunters would hesitate to sink the
modern pirates. It was but one of the many instances in which the Hun
miscalculated the spirit of Britain. Von Brockdorff-Giespert's
submarine was being chased by a particularly aggressive P-boat. A
depth charge was exploded so near that the hunted U-boat reeled and
quivered under the shock. By sheer good luck Count Otto's command
escaped, and the Hun commander lost no time in taunting his captive.
"Are you not glad you weren't blown up by your fellow-countrymen?" he
asked.
The old skipper shook his head.
"I'm downright sorry," he replied boldly.
"Sorry our fellows didn't do you in. My sole regret would have been
that I should have to go to Davy Jones' locker in such rotten
company."
Filled with a violent passion von Brockdorff-Giespert swore at and
threatened the imperturbable Englishman. He gave him no credit for
his patriotism. To the Hun such a standpoint was incomprehensible. He
could only attribute it to the crass stupidity of the schweinhund
Englander. Yet, somehow, Count Otto rather admired the old skipper in
the present juncture. He envied his calm demeanour. The bronzed face
and white hair of the old man haunted him.
Then came the terrific impact of the Boche torpedo. Flung completely
out of his bunk von Brockdorff-Giespert lay inertly upon the floor
for nearly a couple of minutes. At length, regardless of his
injuries, he staggered to his feet and battered the locked door with
his open palm, the while bellowing for assistance.
To be drowned like a rat in a trap: it was a fate inconceivable to a
member of the Prussian nobility--a junker of the first water. He
redoubled his cries as the doomed destroyer listed more and more. Had
he but known it he might well have saved his breath. His shouts were
drowned by the hiss of escaping steam and the inrush of water.
At length through sheer exhaustion he ceased his cries, yet he sobbed
like a child in his rage and terror. It seemed an eternity, but in
reality only three minutes elapsed between the time of the explosion
and the unlocking of his prison door.
"Blow me, ain't the Boche got the wind up?" remarked one of the
bluejackets to his raggie, as the pair lifted the now speechless Hun
from the cabin floor, over which the water was rising swiftly, and
carried him up the narrow companion-way to the deck.
Very carefully and tenderly the men lifted their enemy into the first
boat to be cleared away. In the company of half a dozen badly wounded
and scalded men the men pushed off, deeply laden for the high sea
that was running.
Placed in the stern sheets and supported by a rolled canvas awning
von Brockdorff-Giespert could watch with every roll of the boat the
last throes of the British destroyer. Had he not been in peril of
being thrown into the sea by the swamping of the boat he might have
gloated over the scene. As it was he watched and waited, fervently
hoping that before long he would be transferred to a larger and more
seaworthy craft.
For several seconds following the final plunge of the torpedoed
vessel silence reigned. The wind lulled, the waves were quelled under
the influence of the widely-spreading oil. It seemed as if Nature
were paying homage to the departed destroyer. Then the silence was
broken by shouts of encouragement and exchange of rough, almost
incomprehensible banter by men struggling for their lives.
In spite of their efforts--for there were only two oars
available--the whaler drifted considerably to leeward of the rest of
the boats. Even the Carley rafts were lost to sight in the darkness.
Presently a voice hailed.
"Boat ahoy! Can you take an officer on board?"
The stroke boated his oar and peered into the faces of the men lying
in the stern-sheets before replying.
"Right-o," he replied.
"No, don't," expostulated von Brockdorff-Giespert. "Already the boat
is overcrowded. It is madness."
"Shut up!" growled the man, a first-class petty officer. "Are you
running this show, or am I? If it weren't for the likes o' you the
likes of us wouldn't be in this bloomin' fix."
"But----" persisted the Count.
"Dry up," growled the petty officer, "or into the blinkin' ditch you
go pretty sharp! Toss them two overboard, mate," he continued,
addressing another seaman. "They won't want any more suppers."
It was no time for respect to the dead when the fate of the living
was at stake. Without ceremony the corpses of two men who had died of
injuries were given to the waves, while willing hands hauled the
senseless form of Sub-lieutenant Alec Seton into the boat.
"Look alive!" shouted the bowman to Alec's rescuer, who, on noticing
the Sub relax his grasp of the beaker, had promptly dived and brought
the young officer to the surface. "Stroke ahead; I'll give you a
hand."
"Too many in the boat already, mate," was the reply. "I've a mother
living in Lowestoft, and I'll have a shot at swimming there. How
far--eighty miles?"
Without further ado the chivalrous bluejacket turned and began
swimming away from the boat.
"'Ere, no you don't!" shouted the bowman, and with a quick movement
he engaged his boat-hook in the neck of the bluejacket's jumper.
"Plenty of room in the stalls, mate. Two blokes wot booked seats
ain't taking 'em up."
"Is that jonnick?" asked the swimmer suspiciously.
"Proper jonnick," asserted the other.
"Good enough," rejoined Alec's rescuer, and suffered himself to be
hauled over the gunwale into a place of at least temporary safety.
For nearly two hours the boat continued to drift in spite of the
dogged efforts of the two oarsmen. The breaking of an oar made
matters worse, and all that could be done was to keep the whaler
stern-on to the waves. Where were the rest of the _Bolero's_ crew,
and how they fared, were merely matters for speculation.
Meanwhile the whaler's crew were unremitting in their attention to
their disabled messmates, two of the men chafing Alec's numbed limbs
in the hope of restoring him to consciousness. In this they
succeeded, and presently the Sub opened his eyes.
"Quite all right, sir," said one of the men reassuringly in answer to
Alec's unspoken question. "Just you lie quiet, sir. It'll be dawn
very soon, and then we'll be picked up."
"How did I come to be picked up?" asked Alec.
"Just hiked on board like any old bundle done up ugly, sir," replied
the man. "In a manner of speaking you didn't care whether it was
Christmas or Easter."
"I remember," continued the Sub. "A bluejacket--Saunders is his name
was--standing by when I was hanging on to the beaker. Where is he?"
"Having a caulk on the bottom-boards, sir. He's as right as
ninepence; but we've had to heave four of the hands overboard. They
were pretty far gone when we put them into the boat."
Tediously the night passed. Signs of other movements were absent,
with one exception. That was about three in the morning when a
sea-plane of unknown nationality passed high overhead. Even her
presence would have passed unnoticed, for the whine of the wind
completely muffled the noise of the motors, had not the pilot started
to use his flashing lamp. Apparently he was calling up a sister
sea-plane in code, for the message was unintelligible to the whaler's
crew. Nor was there, as far as they could see, any response.
Gradually the dawn began to gain mastery in the south-eastern sky. A
rosy hue crept upwards from the misty horizon, betokening a spell of
wet and stormy weather. Already the whaler's crew had all their work
cut out to prevent the boat being swamped. They were baling
incessantly with the solitary baler and their caps. With the increase
of wind, and consequently heavier sea, it was doubtful whether the
boat could survive, since there was nothing of which to make anything
in the nature of a sea-anchor.
[Illustration: "ENGLISCH OFFIZIER-PIG!" HE SHOUTED. "WE YOU TAKE
PRISONER"]
Yet not for one moment did a single British member of the party show
signs of being dismayed. Even the badly wounded men cracked jokes
with their comrades, while others, whose injuries were of a slighter
nature, insisted on being allowed to take their turn at baling.
Von Brockdorff-Giespert, on the other hand, looked the picture of
misery and despair. He grumbled incessantly, asserting, with true
Hunnish arrogance, that he was being neglected by his captors. It was
not until he was sternly threatened, if he did not hold his tongue,
that the Count began to realize that there was a limit beyond which
even he must not go when in the company of British tars.
"There's a craft of sorts," announced the bowman, who, maintaining a
precarious perch on the thwart, was scanning the horizon.
"Away on the starboard bow. Think she is coming this way."
"Wave your scarf, Lofty," suggested another member of the crew.
The man began to unwrap his "comforter". Then very abruptly he sat
down.
"We'll hang on a little longer, mates," he said in a low voice. "I
don't quite like the look of her. Strikes me she's a Fritz."
"By smoke, you're right!" exclaimed another, taking a cautious view
of the oncoming craft. "A dirty U-boat. Lie down all hands. 'Ere, you
blinkin' Fritz, none of your capers. Stow it!"
Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert, on hearing of the approach of
what was apparently a German submarine, was making an effort to stand
up and attract his compatriots' attention.
"It is time for me to do as I like," he replied, sneeringly.
"Is it? Then you're jolly well mistaken," retorted the stroke of the
whaler, as he ostentatiously spat upon his hands and gripped a
boat-stretcher.
The German's beady eyes contracted, and, thinking that discretion is
ever the better art of valour, he shrugged his shoulders, and then
winced with pain.
There was soon no doubt as to the type and nationality of the
approaching craft. She was a U-boat. She was running on the surface.
On the platform in the wake of the elongated conning-tower stood two
men in black oilskins. At times completely enveloped in clouds of
spray, they were intently searching the horizon either on the watch
for likely prey or else keeping a sharp look-out for the dreaded
British submarine-hunters.
"Looks like giving us the go-by after all," whispered one of the
whaler's men, as the U-boat bore broadside on at a distance of about
three-quarters of a mile.
"Let her," added his mate fervently. "Us don't want to see the likes
of she just now. I'd give a month's pay to have her at yon range for
twenty seconds."
"O, Lud!" exclaimed another with a grunt "she's starboarding helm.
She's spotted us, lads!"
Clearly the whaler's crew were "in the soup", for the U-boat had
altered course and was bearing down upon the luckless British seamen.
Four or five hands made their way for'ard of the German craft's
conning-tower, and in a few seconds a 4.7-inch gun rose from its
place of concealment. Quickly the sinister weapon was manned and
trained full at the helpless boat's crew.
"Murderous swine!" exclaimed the bowman, shaking his fist in futile
defiance of the pirates.
Moments of intense suspense followed, yet the Huns refrained from
opening fire. It might have been a matter for precaution that the
quick-firer was trained upon the whaler; but, on the other hand,
there was abundant evidence in the past to prove that the modern
pirates had no scruples about murdering in cold blood the survivors
of torpedoed merchantmen.
The while the officers outside the conning-tower were still busy with
their binoculars. One of them kept the whaler under observation,
while the other, evidently fearing a trap, swept the waste of water
in case the periscope of a British submarine were watching Fritz with
a view to blowing him to atoms.
Raising himself with his uninjured arm, Count Otto von
Brockdorff-Giespert shouted something in German. The distance was
still too great to enable the U-boat's officers to understand. This
time the Count was not called to order, for the whaler's crew knew
only too well that the tables had been turned.
Slowing down, and then reversing her engines, the U-boat came to a
standstill within twenty yards of the survivors of the _Bolero_.
"Vot boat is dat?" hailed the U-boat's unter-leutnant. "Vere you
from? Vot is der name of der schip you vos come from?"
"Better tell him civil-like," suggested the bow-man. "So here goes."
But von Brockdorff-Giespert again took up his parable. Speaking
volubly, he quickly explained matters to his satisfaction. Although
none of the British seamen understood German, the purport of the
Count's words were sufficiently plain to them.
Interpolated with numerous "Ja, Herr Kapitan" from the obsequious
unter-leutnant of the U-boat, von Brockdorff-Giespert gave a string
of orders. The whaler was then commanded to come alongside, and the
Count was assisted on board the submarine.
"Now," thought Alec, "he's out of it. Wonder if the dirty dogs are
going, to turn a machine-gun on us, or ram the boat."
His natural curiosity was quickly satisfied, for the unter-leutnant,
stepping to the rail, leered down into the boat.
"Englisch offizier-pig!" he shouted. "You der hospitality of Zherman
U-boat must make. We you take prisoner."