Out of the jaws of Death
Lying at full length upon the deck of the M.-L., Alec Seton underwent
one of the most nerve-racking periods of his life. He could feel the
wooden hull quivering under the pulsations of the powerful
twin-engines, and the jarring thuds as missiles large and small
struck the frail craft. By all the laws of naval warfare, M.-L. 254
ought to have been out of action long ago, for the Huns, finding
their prey slipping through their fingers, redoubled their efforts to
send the little boat to the bottom of the sea.
Machine-gun bullets sang through the air like the hum of a thousand
angry bees. Men, crowded on the M.-L.'s deck, were hit over and over
again. Of her own crew, the First Lieutenant and one of the deck
hands were killed instantly, while the coxswain was badly wounded.
Although three times hit, Lieutenant Drummond, M.-L. 254's skipper,
stuck gamely to his post, cleared the entrance, ordered full speed
ahead, and made for the open sea.
Into the merciful fog ran the little M.-L. Enveloped in mist, her
human cargo was practically safe from fire, but another danger
confronted the band of heroes.
The severe gruelling to which M.-L. 254 had been subjected had
resulted, amongst other injuries, in the forepart being badly hulled
'twixt wind and water. In spite of every effort to stop the leaks,
the M.-L. was settling by the bows.
Speed was promptly reduced in the hope that the inrush of water might
be checked. At the same time sound-signals were made in order to get
in touch with the off-shore destroyers. For nearly half an hour M.-L.
254 crawled along at slow speed without aid being forthcoming. It
seemed as if her deck cargo of human beings--nearly all of them
wounded--would soon be struggling for dear life in the numbing water,
for the metal dinghy was hopelessly damaged and practically all the
life-saving devices had been either swept overboard or destroyed by
shell-fire.
Following the gallant and brilliant blocking operations, the
threatened fate seemed doubly hard, yet with the heroic fortitude of
their race the survivors made light of their difficulties, even
laying odds on the chances of being picked up and cutting grim jokes
upon the situation. They had faith that even in the fog and darkness
the patrols would bear down in time to effect their rescue.
By this time the relative conditions of Seton and Branscombe were
reversed. In spite of a slight wound from a shell splinter, Alec had
practically recovered from his shaking. Although feeling stiff and
bruised, he had regained the use of his limbs; while the wound,
received as he lay upon the M.-L.'s deck, was little more than a
skin-deep gash on his left cheek.
On the other hand, Branscombe, whose injury was more serious than he
cared to admit, was feeling horribly weak from loss of blood. At last
he had to give in and allow his chum to attend to his injuries.
With a knowledge of first aid--although hampered by the
darkness--Alec cut away his chum's jumper. Just below the lowermost
rib on the right side was a small puncture-wound, through which dark
blood was welling sullenly. It was not enough to cause weakness
unless the wound were bleeding internally. Very tenderly Seton turned
his patient over on his side, and made the discovery that the
machine-gun bullet had passed completely through, leaving a rather
ugly wound where it had emerged.
By the help of a first-aid dressing, Alec succeeded in staunching the
flow of blood; then, having done all that he could for the present,
he sat down by his comrade's side and waited.
"We'll take to the ditch together, old son," he remarked. "I'll give
you a hand. 'Sides, it'll soon be dawn, and then we'll be picked up."
Branscombe nodded in outward accord with his chum's plans. He knew
perfectly well that Seton was deceiving him in an attempt to buoy up
his spirits. It was some hours till dawn, and the temperature of the
sea was too low to enable a man to keep afloat for more than twenty
minutes.
"There'll be a fine old jamboree ashore if we are done in," remarked
Branscombe. "I never told a soul that we were going on this stunt;
not even my people."
"Neither did I," added Seton. "Officially we are on leave. That means
we'll be posted as deserters if we fail to report. We were chumps not
to take necessary precautions."
"Agreed," declared Branscombe. "It's the penalty for sailing under
false colours. At anyrate we've been in the thick of the scrap, so
that's some consolation. I say! think you could get me some water? My
throat's like a lime-kiln."
Stepping over the prostrate forms of half a dozen exhausted and
wounded men, Seton made his way to the companion-ladder leading to
the little ward-room. A foot of water was flowing noisily to and fro
over the floor. Abaft the bulk-head was the galley. For want of a cup
Alec took down a small saucepan and held it under the tap of the
water-tank.
The tank was empty. Even its large capacity was not sufficient for
the needs of forty-odd thirsty men.
Foiled and disappointed Alec made for the deck. As he descended the
ladder, a rousing cheer burst upon the night. Out of the fog a large
vessel was bearing down upon the sinking M.-L.
Ten minutes later the survivors of M.-L. 254 and most of the
_Vindictive's_ officers and men were safely on board H.M.S.
_Warwick_, the flagship of Vice-Admiral Sir Roger Keyes, while M.-L.
254, her work accomplished, disappeared beneath the waves.
Equally daring was the brilliant affair of M.-L. 276, commanded, like
M.-L. 254, by a Royal Naval Volunteer Lieutenant. No. 276 followed
the _Vindictive_ into Ostend Harbour, her crew boldly engaging the
Huns on both piers with machine-guns, as if to impress upon the enemy
that they were there and intended to "make a splash". Running
alongside the _Vindictive_, after M.-L. 254 had taken off the
survivors, the crew of the frail little craft shouted and searched
for any possible hands who, in the hurry of abandoning ship, might
have been overlooked. Finding no one, the M.-L. backed away the while
under a terrific fire. In the midst of a hail of shell and
machine-gun bullets the crew of the M.-L. saw a boat floating keel
upwards to which were clinging three men.
These were rescued under most difficult circumstances, for the three
were badly wounded and practically unable to help themselves. It was
afterwards found that one of the rescued was Lieutenant Sir John
Alleyne, on whom the command of the _Vindictive_ had fallen on the
death of the gallant Godsal.
Almost by a miracle M.-L. 276 got clear. Hit in fifty-five places and
with three of her crew casualties, she managed to keep under way
until picked up and taken in tow by the British monitor _Prince
Eugene_.
The heroic ending of the old _Vindictive_ was literally the clinching
of the last nail in the coffin of the Huns' Belgian Coast defences.
St. George's Day had all but completed the work; 10th May, 1918
settled it. From that day the Belgian ports were useless to the enemy
both as torpedo-boat and submarine bases. The Dover Patrol had closed
and secured the Gateway of the Channel against all hostile traffic
both on and under the sea.