MYSTERIES OF THE GREAT SEA WASTES
THE piratical warfare of German submarines produced many sea mysteries.
Some were solved after the lapse of months and even years, while others
will, in all probability, remain unknown until the sea gives up its
dead.
Among the latter may be numbered the curious discovery in the North
Atlantic of a nameless sailing ship, without cargo, identifying papers
or crew, but sound from truck to kelson, and with her two life-boats
stowed neatly inboard and a half-finished meal on the cabin table.
Experts examined this vessel when brought into port, but so far have
been utterly unable to offer any solution or discover any clue, beyond
the fact that she was built and fitted out in some American port and
carried an unusually large crew.
Another similar mystery was the disappearance of a French vessel while
on a voyage to New Orleans and the discovery eleven months afterwards
that she had called for water and food at a small port on the Pacific
coast of South America. No further trace has so far come to light, nor
the reason for her changing course and rounding Cape Horn.
A mystery which remains a mystery to the end of the chapter is likely to
be irritating to the imaginative mind, but to the following occurrence
there came a solution after the lapse of a few weeks.
THE SPECTRE OF THE GOODWINS
It was a pitch-black night, with fine rain driving up from the
south-west. The summer gale which had raged for the past twenty-four
hours had blown itself out, and although the steep seas still retained
their night-caps, the wind came only in fitful gusts. Away to starboard
an indistinct blur of white foam stretched athwart the sea and the dull
roar from the maelstrom of the Goodwins rolled across the miles of
intervening water.
The armed trawler _Curlew_ bravely shouldered her way through each green
comber as it rose to meet her, lurching over the seas in a smother of
spray. Oilskinned figures moved warily along the life-lines, for when a
wave struck her tons of water swept across her slanting decks,
submerging the bulwarks and causing the sturdy ship to groan and tremble
from stem to stern.
In the little bridge-house the dim light from the binnacle shone on the
hard wet face of the commanding officer, who watched the seas as they
rose up ahead, giving directions to the man at the wheel, and all the
while keeping a watchful eye on the distant blur of foam covering the
treacherous shoals.
Few except sailormen can realise the dangers and anxieties of navigation
in times of war. The absence not only of the warning lights which in
days of peace flash their signals far out over the seas, marking the
innumerable dangers which lie along treacherous coasts, but also of
warships and merchantmen rushing through the night with not even the
flicker from a port-hole to denote their coming--perhaps at a speed of
nearly three-quarters of a mile a minute; a second's indecision on the
part of the brain and nerve directing each ship, a momentary
forgetfulness of that elusive "right thing to do"--some second danger to
attract a flash of attention from the first--even a blinding cloud of
spray at the psychological moment and, well, two more ships have gone,
with perhaps hundreds of lives. Yet these things but seldom happened,
and the reason was that all that tireless energy, skill and nerve could
do was done on the sea in those years of storm and stress.
Some two hours later, and just before dawn broke over the tumbling sea,
an exceptionally heavy wave struck the trawler full on the port-bow. The
hammer-like blows of the water as it poured on board and struck the base
of the wheel-house and superstructure momentarily drowned all other
sound. When the air had cleared of flying spume a big black hull loomed
out of the darkness ahead and seemed suddenly to grow to an immense
size, towering high above the trawler's forecastle-head. A blast on the
whistle, a sharp order and the trawler swung off to starboard, with the
great black mass perilously near. It was a close shave, and the watch
held their breath while waiting for the crash and shock which for a
brief second seemed inevitable.
There was no time for action or signal. The great ship slid past like
some black phantom framed in the white of flying scud. It faded into the
misty darkness of sea and sky almost as quickly as it had appeared, and,
curiously, no sound of throbbing engines accompanied its passage.
It took the captain of the patrol but a minute to make up his mind what
to do. He gave a quick order to the helmsman and a warning shout to the
watch below on deck. The little ship, as she came about, lurched into
the trough of a sea and rose shivering from end to end. The next moment
an avalanche of white and green water poured over her, flooding the
decks and sending clouds of spray high over the funnel and masts. Then
commenced an exciting chase, with the seas racing up astern and all eyes
trying to penetrate the darkness ahead.
The faint misty light of a new day had brightened the eastern horizon
before the mysterious ship again loomed up ahead. The heavy sea still
running made it difficult, however, to distinguish any national or local
characteristics which might give a clue to her identity or intentions,
and the suspense was keen.
The two guns of the patrol vessel were manned, and a three-flag signal
fluttered from the jumper-stay but received no immediate reply from the
ship ahead. Then, after a few minutes' pause, during which time the
trawler manoeuvred for the advantage of the light from the breaking
dawn, a yellow flash belched from her side and a shell ricochetted off
the water just ahead of the mysterious steamer. Still there was no
response; but it could now be plainly seen that the engines were not
working and that she was drifting before the wind and sea.
Was it merely a _ruse de guerre_ to gain the advantage in the event of
an attack, or was she a vessel disabled by the storm which had raged
during the past forty-eight hours? Neither of these suppositions,
however, satisfactorily explained the total disregard of signals and the
warning shot which had been fired across her bows.
Again a line of flags were hoisted on the trawler's halyards, this time
a well-known signal from the _International Code_, but still no notice
was taken of the peremptory order it conveyed.
After the chase had been on for over an hour another shot was fired from
the trawler. The report echoed across the still boisterous sea and the
splash of the shell just cleared the ship's bow. Still there was no
response, and the trawler's course was altered so that she would soon
close in on her quarry. As the light increased it was seen that a stout
wire hawser was trailing in the water from the starboard bow, and
suspicion of some new evidence of sea _kultur_ increased. When the range
had closed to about 1000 yards she slowly swung round until almost
broadside-on to the trawler, whose guns instantly opened fire in
earnest. The third shell struck the large wheel-house of the mystery
ship, demolishing it completely. When it became evident that the fire
was not going to be returned, the guns of the trawler again ceased, and
the two vessels drew close to each other. A partly defaced name, which
was rendered indecipherable by the splash of the seas as they struck the
counter, could be distinguished with the aid of binoculars in the
quickening light of early morning, but neither officers nor crew could
be seen, the bridge and decks appearing deserted.
Not to be misled by this ruse, however--for on similar occasions ships
had been blown to pieces at close range by concealed batteries--the
_Curlew_ approached cautiously, bows-on, offering the smallest possible
target, and with her guns trained on the quarry. This sea-stalking is
nervy work and must be played slowly. Twice the trawler circled round
the mysterious ship, and the sun had mounted high, penetrating the banks
of cloud which scudded across the summer sky and tingeing the still
boisterous sea with flecks of golden light, before it was considered
safe to relax all precautions. Even then the sea prevented any attempt
being made to board the curious craft, and for six hours the trawler
clung to the heels of her quarry, which was rapidly drifting far out
into the North Sea.
The danger of attack from hostile submarines was great, and the gunners
stood by their weapons although drenched every few seconds by the floods
of heavy spray which still poured over the bows. At last patience and
endurance were rewarded. The sea calmed sufficiently to enable a boat to
be lowered and with difficulty brought up under the lee of the
mysterious ship.
An armed guard, headed by the sub-lieutenant, eagerly scrambled up the
lofty rolling sides. They had scarcely reached the deck before their
only means of retreat was cut off. The two men left in the life-boat
were unable to keep her off the iron sides of the big ship. She rose
like a cork on the crest of a wave until almost level with the top line
of port-holes and then dropped back, catching the edges of the
rolling-stocks. There was a crash of splintering wood and the next
minute two half-drowned men were being hauled up the sides by their
comrades on deck.
It was an anxious moment, for although the decks seemed deserted there
was that curious, uncanny feeling which is ever present when facing an
unknown peril. After all it _might_ prove to be a _ruse de guerre_ or
some new form of frightfulness. There were only six men from the
trawler--a small enough party, however well armed, if it came to a
fight--and great caution was observed while exploring the ship. A signal
had been arranged in the event of treachery, and the _Curlew_, with her
guns _and wireless_, would prove a dangerous antagonist.
All was well, however, for the ship was deserted. A careful inspection
of the cabins showed that the departure of officers and crew had been a
hasty one, but all the ship's papers had been carefully removed. The
forepeak or bow water-tight compartment was full of water, but the
bulk-head had held and kept the vessel afloat. Beyond this no damage
was visible above the water-line and the condition of both hull and
engines was good. She proved to be a Spanish ship, and to make the
mystery deeper her four life-boats were still on the davits, although
swung outboard ready for lowering.
In those troublous days the fact of the life-boats being hoisted out in
readiness for eventualities conveyed little or nothing, but when a
careful search proved that many of the life-belts had gone with the crew
the problem became an interesting one. Had they been taken on to the
deck of a German submarine which had subsequently dived and left them to
drown, as was the case with the crew of a British fishing vessel, or had
they been conveyed as prisoners of war to Germany? Against both of these
surmises was the fact that _all_ the ship's boats remained, and a German
submarine would scarcely be likely to come close alongside even a
neutral ship, especially during the bad weather that had prevailed for
the past few days. Would it remain one of the many mysteries of the
great sea war?
Some few hours later the trawler, with her big "prize"--under her own
steam--entered an eastern naval base and berthed her capture with the
aid of tugs.
* * * * *
The explanation came from headquarters several weeks later. The s.s.
----, of Barcelona, had grounded on the Goodwins about three hours
before she nearly ran down the trawler. Her crew, thinking that she
would rapidly break up in the surf, had fired distress signals and been
taken safely ashore in a life-boat. The rising tide and south-westerly
wind had done the rest, freeing her from the dangerous sands.