No one was hurt, and I made one jump for the bridge and rang the telephone for full speed ahead.
“Shove your helm over hard-a-port!” I shouted at the man at the wheel.
As the old Narcissus started to pay off I saw a flash aboard the submarine, now about two and a half miles away, or perhaps a bit less. And then, almost in the same instant, the queer, beastly “meeee” whine of the high-velocity shell crowding the wide miles into a couple of seconds. “Mee-owww,” it went, changing its note in a queer fashion as it came for us. Then “cr-rash” again, and the whole top of the engine-room skylight seemed to fly up in a shower of glass splinters.
I grabbed the speaking-tube to the engine-room.
“Anyone hurt?” I called.
After a few moments the Third Engineer’s voice answered:
“It got the Second, Sir. He’s dead. The engine’s all right, though,” he said. He sounded calm enough, and I sent a man for the Steward to go down to the engine-room and see if the Second was quite knocked out. Then I turned and looked for the submarine again. She was right astern now and seemed to be gaining only slowly. As I stared I saw the flash of the gun again, and then once more came the beastly whine of the shell.
“Bang!” it struck the middle steel bridge-stanchion which supports the center of the bridge. This is a stout three-inch stanchion of solid steel. The shell gouged away a piece as easily as if it had been putty and burst with a stunning crash direction under the bridge. Two of the middle planks were blown up on end, and in three places fragments of shell struck clean up through the deck of the bridge penetrating right through the heavy planks. One of these fragments killed the man at the wheel, and I jumped to steady the helm, while I sung out for another man to come aft.
I looked round with a feeling of despair. The whole sea was empty of shipping from horizon to horizon, and I didn’t pretend to hide the fact that nothing short of a miracle could save us; for the German wasn’t out to coddle us, I could bet on that!
The Steward came up on the bridge and reported that the Second Engineer was headless and therefore unmistakably dead. I told him to give a hand to carry the dead Helmsman down on to the main-deck hatch, and then bring a flag and cover him. I guessed we’d be gone inside twenty minutes; but we might as well be decent.
I was just beginning to get sentimental over the old folks at home and saying a last farewell, as it were, to all my pals in Newfoundland I should never see again, when I caught suddenly the “meeee” scream of another shell coming. “Meeee-oww, cr-rash!” ...It ripped a monstrous great chunk out of the funnel, about half of it; and it seemed to me I felt our speed drop right then in that same moment.
Then one, two, three, four...one after the other they loosed off at us as fast as they could work the quick-firer. The air seemed one whining scream as the four shells came “Cr-rash! Cr-rash! Cr-rash! Cr-rash!” The rest of the funnel vanished. The wheel, and the man at it, went in a flying cloud of spokes and torn flesh and clothing, and the aftermast was punched clean through, and the chart-house was wrecked. My Steward was wounded, and I saw one of the deck boys limping along the main-deck.
“Jehoshaphat!” I said; “we’re done!” ...I didn’t even know I was bleeding all down my face where a shell-splinter had cut me.
Two more shells came Thud! Thud!—dull ugly thumps away aft in the stern of her that told me the Germans had started now to sink us in real earnest. You never saw such deliberate murder!
“Cr-rash!” came another shell, higher this time, and killed the boy who was limping along the deck.
I stared round and round the horizon in despair. I sung out to the man aloft to know whether he could see anything. He simply shook his head in a hopeless, silent sort of way.
I found myself praying aloud in a fierce sort of fashion for a miracle to happen; for nothing but a miracle could save us now.
And suddenly, like the voice of God:
B-A-N-G!
It was coming from somewhere ahead of us on the starboard bow, but precious close.
I raced across to the starboard end of the bridge:
B-A-N-G!
The miracle had happened. A long gray shepe was tearing through the sea, firing as she went.
I was one of our latest submarines that had just bobbed up:
B-A-N-G!
I whipped round with my binoculars and stared at that murdering brute astern.
“Flash!”
I was just in time to see her go straight down into Hades with all her devils aboard of her. The shell from the submarine ahead had hit her slap at the base of the conning-tower, and she just simply vanished—went!
No, there was no miracle about it; not if you want to argue. But I don’t!
The dinghy was overhauled and my two Mates and the Greaser taken aboard by the submarine, one of our latest type on patrol duty. The poor old Narcissus foundered inside of half an hour.
But, by the Lord, I’m a believer in miracles from now onwards.
Revenants
(or Posthumously Published
Stories of the Sea)
In the Danger Zone
S.S. Futerpe. January 31st, 1918.
Out from Liverpool.
“
“SUB—MAR—EEN—on—th’ starr—boarrd—boww, Sir!” came the far-drawn-out hail of the man aloft.
“There she is!” I said, reaching into the box under the rail for my glasses. What I had expected had happened. “Muster all hands aft, Mr. Perry,” I called to the Second Mate. “I’ll take charge.”
I walked over to the starboard end of the bridge and took a look for the submarine. I couldn’t spot her at first; but in about half a minute I could see her three periscopes. She looked to be submerged right to about the top of her conning-tower. At least I thought I could see the top of the conning-tower every now and again between the seas. But it wasn’t easy to see.
I guessed that she’d be quite six or seven miles away, and judging by the fact that her three periscopes were all in a line, she was not making towards us.
That puzzled me quite a bit, for if she were out sinking helpless British merchant vessels, why didn’t she come for us and get it over? I couldn’t see her making any bones about it. And why was she running submerged, as if she wanted to keep out of sight? I guessed it was not likely to be mercy, but plain, hard reason—which is the god the Germans imagine they worship, poor devils!
Anyway, as you can suppose, I took a look around for something that might account of their actions, from a Germanic point of view. Then I understood. There was a big Ballett Line vessel coming down from the norrard, and the submarine was keeping out of sight lest the big Ballett Liner should alter her course. It was clear to me that the submarine was plainly aiming to get the two of us, without having to do any superfluous chasing.
However, I wasted less than five seconds, once I’d realised the situation. I made one dive for my chart-house, and banged out a warning to her on my wireless (my own personal plant). My word, but she didn’t require two tellings.... By the time I got out onto the bridge again she had ported her helm, and was heading to the East’ard; and, by Jove, the submarine didn’t take long to show her little plan; for she started after her. She knew all right that we were a slow packet, and she could pick us up any time she wanted; but the other was a big 19-knot vessel and carried passengers as well as cargo, and in addition she was a whole heap more valuable a vessel—three sound Germanic reasons for sinking her as soon as possible.
However, with the start she had, I was fairly confident that the submarine could never come near enough to her to do any damage, and I knew that as soon as the German officer realised this for himself, back would come the brute and take it out of us. And, to be frank, I’ve always thought the cold-water method of going to heaven distinctly unattractive!
“The men are mustered aft, Sir,” said the Second Mate at this moment.
“Very good,” I answered, and I stepped to the front of the bridge. “Men,” I said,
“there’s a German submarine away out on the beam. I’ve no doubt she means to try to sink us. There’s one of the Ballett Line vessels away to the Norrard; but we can’t look for help from her, and I’ve just warned her off. I guess we’ve got to help ourselves. And we’re going to put up a fight before that German water-rat gets us!”
There was quite a healthy little fighting yelp from them at that. They’re a crowd of Britishers, thank goodness! A man knows where he is with a lot of grousing Cockneys and Scotsmen. They grumble like blazes every time they get a chance; but when the tight time comes they’re right there. I guess the right time had come right then!
“Any of you men been in the Naval Reserve?” I asked.
“Me, Sir,” said a big fellow, named Gatley.
“Good!” I told him. “Anyone else?”
But not another one of them had ever been anything but plain shellbacks all their lives.
“Well,” I said, “I guess I’ll have to manage with Gatley.
I turned to the First Mate:
“Mister Alfred,” I said, “turn all hands to number three hatch, and break out those cases marked machinery. You’ll remember I told you to have them stored right in the mouth of number three.”
“Very good, Sir” said the First Mate, and carried the crowd off.
The chief thing to do was to take advantage of the extra time we should have to make every possible preparation to fight off that murdering under-water devil, away there on the beam. It wasn’t a bit of use trying to run for it, except to gain time. Our top speed, with a Stoker cussing on the safety valve, was 12.9; and I guessed the big submarine would be able to manage an easy eighteen, on the surface.
No, what we’d got to do, was to put the helm over, as I’d already done, get up all the steam possible and run to the best of our ability, so as to gain an extra hour or so. For the rest, it was trust in God, and do our number one best. I certainly had no notion of doing anything else.
“Well, George,” I heard the Chief Engineer saying from the foot of the starboard bridge-ladder. “What’s all this about a German submarine?”
“Come up, Mac,” I told him. “Things are looking ugly, and we’ve got to put our heads together.”
Mac came up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes; for he’s a worker, and stands his own watch every night, instead of trusting to his Third. He came up now, buttoning his waistcoat; and I gave him the details.
“I’ll start my bucks right on the job this blessed moment, George,” he said, as soon as he’d got my plan. He looked as nearly joyful as I’ve ever seen him. “I get your notion; and I think it’s got sense to it. I’ll take charge of my lads on deck, and I’ll keep Mister Alec below. He’ll make those Stokers sweat!”
The last idea seemed to give him particular pleasure, and he started off at a run; but stopped on the port steps to fire back a question:
“Ye don’t think they’ll try torpedoes, George?”
“No,” I said. “Torpedoes cost quite some money, as you should know, Mac. And I don’t suppose even these new super-subs will carry more than about twenty. They’re luxuries kept for special occasions and war craft. We’ll get the humble but quite effective German fourteen-pound shell in our ribs. She may, of course, carry a twenty-two-pounder; but I have my doubts, Mac.”
“I’m thinking the size needn’t worry us,” I heard Mr. MacCall saying to himself, as he went down the steps. “A fourteen-pound shell in the right place will send us all to hell, I’m thinking, as quick as a four-inch!”
“Mr. Perry,” I sung out, over the bridge rail, “come up here and take the bridge for a few minutes. Keep your glasses on the submarine.”
“Very good, Sir,” said the Second; and I went down then to see how the First Mate and his gang were getting on at number three hatch.
I found things humming, and told the Mate to send for Chips and get the three cases marked C2, C3 and C4 opened in the hatch. That would save rigging gear to hoist them out.
“While Chips is busting these cases,” I told him, “take some of the hands, Mister, and roust out some of that dunnage from the forepeak. There’s some six-by-six timber there, and we shall want them in a bit.”
“Now then, Chips,” I said, when he came along with his tools, “get going smartly now!”
I jumped down into the hatch myself, and grabbed a hammer and a chisel. Inside of five minutes we had the lid of the long case, marked C2, lifted clean off. And there she was, resting sweetly in her chocks.
Gatley, the A.B. who had been in the Naval Reserve, let out a yelp.
“Jeerusalem! She’s a pom-pom! That’s to say she’s got the build of one, to my eye; but she’s mighty short in the barrel.”
“Come and have a look at her,” I told him, and he jumped into the hatch and “felt” the gun over.
“She’s a bit new to me, Cap’n,” he said. “I reckon she’s a two-pounder, or maybe three. But she’s that short in the barrel she’ll never throw far. She’ll never punch through the top of yon submarine, Sir, not in a month of Sundays; not ’nless she were right close up. And I don’t reckon she’ll come up near to be plugged. She’ll put us down and out a couple miles away.”
“Jove!” I said. “I believe you’re right, Gatley. But, anyway, she’s the best we can manage at short notice!”
And then, like a flash, a plan struck me. I vaulted out over the coaming of the hatch and ran aft to the chart-house.
“She’s rigged her wireless, Sir,” said the Second Mate, as I came up to him.
I nodded.
“Get me the code book,” I said, interrupting him. “Toggle these hoists together and get the first one hoisted as soon as she gives up trying to overhaul the liner—see?”
This was the message:
“Carrying bullion. One hundred thousand pounds. Anxious. Are you British?”
The Second Mate looked a bit puzzled for a moment. Then he grabbed round for my plan.
“That’s a smart notion,” he said, reaching for the flag halyards. “You’re betting that he’ll not care to sink us till he’s got that fancy bullion.... Is that it, Sir?”
“Largely,” I told him. “You see, Mister, the Mate and I have just discovered a gun in a case in number three hatch. But Gatley, that old Naval Reserve man, says it’s too short in the barrel to carry far, and I guess he’s right. Unless we can coax that darned submarine close up to us, before she starts cutting loose on us, well, I guess we shall be in a hole—that’ll reach the bottom of the Atlantic. That gave me the notion to try this dodge. She can’t know that I wirelessed the other packet about her; for, as you’ve just said, she’s only now rigged her own. I’m going to pretend I think she’s British, but am keeping out of her way till I’m sure. I expect they’ll think that I’ve got softening of the brain; but I don’t mind, as long as they don’t think I’ve got anything more dangerous! They’re bound to feel interested in all that case! A hundred thousand, I think I said. Better make it five hundred thou, while we’re on the job. She’ll feel bound to have a try for that little lot. It’d break my heart, let alone a German’s, to sink five hundred thousand golden quidlets. Well, when he comes to get it, I guess we’ll hand him something so hard as cash any day—eh? That’s if we can only drop across some ammunition to fit the gun.”
The Second Mate smiled a little when I said that last bit. He’s sailed with me before, I’d better mention, and he’s a smart lad. But he made no comment, like a wise man.
“Now then, Mister,” I said, “stand by ready with that lot and get ’em strung out when I give you the word. But don’t mention them to Mister Andrews. I haven’t time to keep making explanations. The Second grinned again, and I bolted off down to get hold of Mac.
“I’ve had to change my plans, Mac,” I told him. “We’ve got the gun uncovered, but she’s a short brute, and she’ll never punch a hole through anything unless it’s right close up to her.”
I explained to him my latest dodge, and told him just how I was rearran
ging various details.
“Instead of keeping that brute astern all the time now, Mac, by running for it, while we tried long pots,” I told him, “I’ll have to port the helm a bit, as soon as we’re ready, so as to let her drop in easily from the starboard beam after she’s given up chasing the other packet. She’ll probably put a shot across our bows then, and if that doesn’t stop us, smack will go your engines, Mac!”
Mac swore suddenly as the reality of the whole beastly business hit him.
“What you’d best do,” I went on, “is to take those six-by-six timbers the Mate’s routing out and shove them up on the starboard side of your engines. Then shove in some hatches across them, on edge and put your trimmers and Stokers on the job of filling in the space between them and the ship’s side with coal—as much as you can pack in. That way you may save the engines, and, please God the powers that be, we shall have a good use for ’em yet!”
Mac approved of my plan and went off at a good lick, and I ran down on to the main-deck to tackle number three hatch again. The other two cases marked C3 and C4 had been broken open. C3 contained the mountings and shield for the gun, and C4 held a thousand rounds of ammunition, which Gatley was examining curiously.
“Well?” I said, “what is it?”
“New to me, Sir,” he replied. “But it looks good stuff. They’re mighty long shells—considering the bore. They must weigh a matter of nigh five pound each. I reckon, if we can get ’er to come near enough, I could plug ’er; though you’ll remember no man can swear how he’s a-goin’ to shoot with a gun he’s never tried out.”
“Quite so,” I agreed. “We’re just going to do our best, Gatley.... Now then, all of you, bear a hand here and lift this gun—altogether now. Steady!”
Half an hour later we had her mounted in my chart-house. The Chief came up himself to give us a hand in assembling her, and taking it all round, we made a smart job if it, I reckon. She was mounted just inside the starboard doorway, and by opening the door she commanded all the sea to starboard.
The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea Page 54