IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
ALMOST stunned by the terrific blast of air, Tressidar, who had been
looking down from the fire-control platform, was at first hardly able
to realise what had taken place. Not until he was aroused by
Midshipman Picklecombe's voice asking faintly for aid did the
seriousness of the situation dawn upon him.
The "Heracles" was foundering. The distinct, ever-increasing heel of
the platform on which he stood proved that. There was no recovery to
the cruiser's list to port.
The "Stoshfeld" during the course of the running fight had thrown
overboard a number of mines, each pair connected by a hundred feet
length of grass-rope. By sheer good luck her pursuer had missed the
lot until she began to steam slowly to the assistance of her foe.
Then, her stem engaged in the bight of the rope, two cylinders filled
with powerful explosive had been swung against either side, the mines
going off on contact with the cruiser's hull.
After the explosion the crew, at first thrown into confusion by the
terrific din and the havoc wrought 'tween decks, were hardly able to
grip the situation until a bugle sounded the "Still" and the men
mustered quietly on the quarter-deck. Orders had been sent to the
engine-room to shut off steam and open the safety-valves. The
"Heracles," her propellers now motionless--whereby a serious menace
to the crew of the foundering vessel was averted--quickly lost way,
and making a half-circle to starboard came to a standstill at a
distance roughly three thousand yards from her antagonist.
The "Stoshfeld" was now keel uppermost. A couple of hundred of her
men had clustered on her bilge-plates, viewing with consternation the
result of their own action; for with the mining of the British
cruiser all hopes of rescue vanished.
On hearing the midshipman call, Tressidar turned. The two officers
were alone, the gunnery lieutenant having left the fire-control
platform with some of the instruments that had suffered slight damage
from concussion during the bombardment, while the seamen told off to
attend to the telephones had followed the lieutenant.
Picklecombe was lying in a corner of the rectangular platform. Blood
was oozing from a gash in the midshipman's left shoulder. A sliver of
steel, hurled to an immense height, had in falling completely
penetrated the light metal canopy and had inflicted a severe wound on
the lad who was standing beneath.
The sub. acted promptly. He knew that delay would mean that the
helpless midshipman would be trapped within the metal cage and
carried down when the ship made her last plunge. The only way of
escape was through a small aperture on the floor leading to the
uppermost ratlines of the shrouds--and the opening was sufficient
only for one man at a time.
Unclasping his knife, Tressidar cut some of the canvas gear into a
long strip. The fabric was strong and tough. It formed an admirable
sling.
The next step was to lower Picklecombe through the trap-door.
"Can you hang on?" asked the sub
"I think so," replied the midshipman. "I'll try."
The pressure of the canvas slung round the lad's chest gave him great
pain, but setting his jaw tightly he allowed no sound to pass his
lips. Dexterously the sub. "paid out" until the wounded youngster's
feet touched the shrouds and his head and shoulders were below the
opening on the floor. Fortunately the list of the ship had brought
the shrouds on the starboard side very little short of a horizontal
position, and thus Picklecombe was supported almost by his own weight
against the wire stays. In a trice Tressidar nipped through and was
by the midshipman's side.
"I'm feeling awfully dizzy," exclaimed Picklecombe. "Everything seems
turning round."
The sub. gripped him as he spoke, for the lad was on the point of
dropping to the deck, a distance of between sixty and seventy feet
beneath his precarious perch. To make matters worse, clouds of smoke
and steam issuing through the funnels and steam-pipes drifted past
and hid the two young officers from the sight of those on deck.
Shouting for help was futile, since the hiss of steam deadened all
other sounds.
Hanging on tenaciously, Tressidar forced himself between the shrouds
and the now almost unconscious midshipman. With his disengaged hand
he held the lad tightly to his back.
"Let go!" ordered the sub. peremptorily.
The sense of discipline overcame the midshipman's almost automatic
inclination to grip whatever came nearest to hand. He relinquished
his hold and his arm fell listlessly over his rescuer's shoulder.
Step by step the sub. descended. The shrouds, stretched almost to
breaking-point by the strain of the heavy mast, were so springy under
the combined weight that at every moment Tressidar was nearly
capsized. The hot steam almost choked him. It also prevented him
seeing where he was or whether the ship was actually on the point of
foundering.
At length he gained a portion of the shrouds beneath the cloud of
vapour. The "Heracles'" fo'c'sle was now awash. Her poop on the
portside was dipping. The remaining serviceable boats, which had been
lowered and filled with wounded men, were lying-to at a safe distance
from the foundering vessel. Officers and men, for the most part
stripped, were leaping over the side in knots of half a dozen or so
at the time, as if reluctant to leave the good old ship.
The next instant the agitated water seemed to rise up to meet the
sub. and his companion. The "Heracles" was capsizing rapidly.
Relaxing his grip upon the shrouds, Tressidar allowed himself and his
burden to be floated away by the eddying sea, using his disengaged
arm to strike out and avoid as far as possible being entangled in the
raffle of gear.
All around him the turmoil of foaming water was emitting steam and
compressed air like miniature geysers, while a huge, grotesquely
distorted mass seemed to rise out of the sea almost within arm's
length. It was the hull of the doomed cruiser, as she turned slowly
over until her keel-plates floated bottom uppermost. Various buoyant
objects came bobbing to the surface with considerable velocity and
added to the danger. A fragment of a shell-shattered cutter missed
him by a bare yard. Had it struck, he would have been almost cut in
two by the sharp, jagged edges of the woodwork.
Whirled hither and thither by the swirl of the water, Tressidar
noticed that the upturned hull showed no signs of disappearing to the
bottom of the ocean. The jets of steam, too, had ceased, and the sea
in the vicinity of the wreck was becoming comparatively tranquil.
Some distance away the sole serviceable boats were lying off, crowded
with men and with scores of less fortunate seamen clinging to the
gunwales. A considerable number of the survivors were relying solely
upon their swimming-collars; others were clinging, more or less in
the water, to barrels, petrol-tins, oars, and mess-gear. In spite of
the danger, they were exchanging banter with the utmost zest. The
fact that they were a thousand miles from the nearest land never
seemed to worry them in the slightest degree.
Numbers of men, finding that the upturned hull still floated, began
to scramble up the sides, since the submergence of the two
bilge-keels to a depth of about a foot made this a comparatively easy
matter. Amongst them were several of the officers, including
Assistant Paymaster Greenwood.
Eric happened to see his chum's plight, for, try as he would, the
sub. had not strength to haul himself and the now unconscious
midshipman into temporary safety. Practically all the ship's company
had mustered aft when the "Heracles" turned turtle, and since
Tressidar had been thrown out of the foremast shrouds he and young
Picklecombe were apart from the rest of the survivors.
Sliding down to the bilge-keel, the A.P., heedless of his injured
arm, gripped Tressidar by the shoulders.
"One minute, old bird," gasped the sub. "Give me a hand with the
youngster. Be steady. He's been hit--shoulder, pretty badly."
Transferring his grasp to the canvas sling, Greenwood hauled the
midshipman into comparative safety, while Tressidar, relieved of the
lad's weight, quickly drew himself up the bilge-keel.
"Thanks, old man," he said simply.
"Let's hope we won't have to make another swim for it," remarked the
A.P. "We're expecting the destroyers, but they haven't shown up yet.
By Jove, the water is cold. Let's shift out of it. The P.M.O. is aft
somewhere, I think. I vote we get hold of him and see what's wrong
with young Picklecombe."
Carrying the midshipman, the two chums gained the main keel-plates.
From there Tressidar surveyed the expanse of sea. The "Stoshfeld" had
vanished. The distance was too great to see with the naked eye
whether any of her crew were still afloat. All around the horizon was
unbroken; sea and sky met in a clear, well-defined line. Of the
"Lemburg" and her pursuers nothing could be discerned, but the dull
rumble of a distant cannonade showed that the running fight was still
in progress.
Greenwood's surmise concerning the surgeon was at fault, the medical
staff being in the boats with the wounded and sick cases. Nor was it
safe to signal to one of the boats to approach and take the wounded
midshipman on board, in case the ship might make a sudden plunge and
take the boat-load of helpless men down with her.
Having applied first aid to the best of their ability, Tressidar and
Greenwood waited, with the rest of the crew, the arrival of the
expected destroyers.
Gradually the rest of the swimmers regained the upturned hull until
every surviving member of the ship's company was either in one of the
boats, on a raft, or on the capsized hull of the "Heracles."
To relieve the tedious wait the men sang the latest music-hall
ditties to the accompaniment of a wheezy concertina, which a stoker
had contrived to save during the few minutes that elapsed between the
mining and the capsizing of the cruiser. Several of the officers had
cigarettes in watertight cases; those of the men who were able to
keep their supply of "fags" dry in their caps shared them with their
less fortunate comrades.
"I don't fancy she's going just at present," remarked Captain
Raxworthy to the commander.
"No, sir," replied the officer addressed. "She seems as steady as a
rock."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a loud
explosion. An under-water valve, under the pressure of air trapped
within the hull, had been blown out. An inrush of water followed.
At first the result was imperceptible, but by degrees the hull began
to settle by the bows. The stern rose until the tips of the twin
propellers showed above the surface.
"All hands aft," ordered Captain Raxworthy, in the hope that the
redistribution of weight would keep the hull in a horizontal
position.
The precaution was in vain. Shuddering, the huge mass dipped and,
gliding, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving four hundred men
struggling for dear life in the agitated water.
The end had come so suddenly that there had not been time for the men
to leap clear. Numbers of them were sucked down by the vortex caused
by the foundering vessel, only to reappear, thirty seconds later, a
struggling, wellnigh breathless mass of humanity.
As the "Heracles" made her final plunge, Tressidar and Greenwood
grasped the motionless form of Midshipman Picklecombe. They had
previously buckled a life-belt, willingly surrendered by a
powerfully-built stoker, round the lad; Greenwood had an inflated
swimming-collar, while Tressidar had to rely upon his own efforts to
keep afloat until he could find something capable of supporting him
in the water.
The three officers were in the midst of a crowd of swimmers, all more
or less boisterous in their determination to encourage each other.
Hard by were the boats, the oarsmen voluntarily taking turns at
leaping overboard and surrendering their place to their less hardy
comrades. The concertina-player still stuck gamely to his instrument,
and, supported by a couple of petrol-tins, was leading the singing of
"A Little Grey Home in the West."
Striking out towards one of the boats, Tressidar and Greenwood handed
their unconscious charge into the care of the fleet surgeon. Relieved
of this anxiety, they floated, exchanging desultory conversation and
keeping a longing watch for the expected aid that showed no signs of
forthcoming.
Half an hour passed. The singing had died away. Men were realising
that every ounce of strength must be jealously guarded. The
concertina-player had abandoned his efforts and had allowed the
instrument to slip from his benumbed fingers and drift slowly away.
With ever-increasing frequency men would relax their grasp and
disappear beneath the surface without a sound. In several instances
their comrades would dive and bring the senseless bodies to the
surface. Deeds of heroism, the facts of which would never be made
public, occurred time after time, but in spite of the efforts of the
hardier of the crew many a man "lost the number of his mess."
Overhead the sun shone resplendent in a cloudless sky, as if to mock
the feeble struggles of the men in the bitterly cold water. And still
no sign of the eagerly expected succour. Hoping against hope, the
survivors began to realise that unless almost a miracle took place
they would never again see their native shores.