CHAPTER VIII
Left Behind
Seven days behind scheduled time the _Awarua_ crawled into PortStanley harbour. Here Sergeant Malcolm Carr and Rifleman Macreadywere received in exchange for Panjie, who, thanks to the store offodder on board the transport, had been fed into a state ofadiposity.
Meanwhile a reserve transport had been sent across from Simon's Bay,and orders were given to tranship the troops, stores, and baggagefrom No. 99 to No. 109. Within three days the task was accomplished,and, five other troopships having arrived from Australia, the convoyleft for Table Bay, still under the care of H.M.S. _Gosport_.
Although the transports were still a considerable distance from theU-boat danger zone, every revolution of their propellers wasbringing them nearer to that part of the South Atlantic wherevessels had been known-to have been destroyed by mines.
On the evening of the third day Malcolm had to accompany LieutenantNicholson on the rounds. After visiting the various mess decks theupper deck had to be inspected. It was a pitch-dark night. The starswere obscured. Beyond the long undulations the sea was calm.
Transport 109, otherwise the S.S. _Pintail_, was leading vessel ofthe starboard column, the formation being that known as "doublecolumn ahead". The _Gosport_ was two miles distant on the starboardbow, her position indicated solely by a feeble stern lantern. Thevessels forming the convoy were steaming with all navigation-lampsscreened, keeping station merely by means of the phosphorescent wakeof the vessel next ahead.
"Hallo, what's the move?" exclaimed Mr. Nicholson as the sixtransports altered helm, swung round until they formed double columnline abreast. "We're at right angles to our former course. What'sthe _Gosport_ doing?"
The Lieutenant walked to the rail. Malcolm and the rest of the partyhalted and watched a masthead signalling-lamp that was blinkingrapidly on the cruiser.
Suddenly the beams of two powerful search-lights from the_Gosport's_ bridge pierced the darkness. The giant rays weredirected full upon the hull of a large vessel steaming about fivecable-lengths from, and on a parallel course to, that of thecruiser.
The stranger had been showing no steaminglights. She was atwo-masted, double-funnelled craft of about four thousand tons. Onher side, clearly shown up in the rays of the search-light, werepainted the Dutch national colours, and the words _Waeszyl_, Hollandin letters six feet in height.
Again the _Gosport's_ flashing-lamp began signalling; but while themessage, whatever it might mean, was still in progress, two tonguesof flame leapt from the cruiser's side, and the simultaneous roar ofa double report crashed through the night.
An instant later a stupendous blaze of light, followed by adetonation the volume of which completely drowned all other sounds,dazzled the eyes and burst upon the ears of the spectators. A pallof black smoke, tinted silvery in the rays of the search-lights,marked the spot where the so-called _Waeszyl_ had been. For someseconds objects of varying sizes, hurled high in the air, droppedinto the sea, some of them in perilous proximity to the convoy.After that--silence.
From the troop-decks of the transports crowds of men poured throughthe hatchways. It was an impossible task to try to keep the NewZealanders below. They simply had to see what there was to be seen;which, according to the general verdict, was precious little.
Presently boats were lowered from the cruiser, and a search was madeover and around the spot where the mysterious vessel haddisappeared. In less than half an hour the boats returned, thesearchlights were switched off, and the cruiser and her chargesresumed their interrupted course.
There was very little sleep that night for the men of theThirty-somethingth reinforcements. The men sat up discussing theappalling incident, and forming ingenious theories as to the causeof the _Gosport's_ speedy destruction of the supposed Dutchman. Theyhad reckoned on entering the danger zone when they came within thenormal radius of action of hostile U-boats. Already they hadpractical proof that at almost every knot of thetwelve-thousand-miles voyage they were open to attack--Providenceand the armed unit of Britain's fleet permitting.
Just before noon on the following day the _Pintail_ passed close toa water-logged ship's boat. Kept under observation by means oftelescopes and binoculars, the derelict told its own tale. Therewere evidences that it had been hastily lowered. A gaping hole onone side and a shattered gun-wale on the other, together with tracesof fire, showed that the boat had been shelled. There were distinctsigns that the perpetrators of the outrage had sought to obliterateall traces of their dastardly work: the name of the ship had beenscraped off the boat's bows, her air-tight tanks had been stove in,yet in spite of this precaution the boat still remained awash. Foronce, at least, the policy of _Spurlos versenkt_ had failed.Cold-blooded murder had undoubtedly been committed on the high seas.The _Gosport_ was not in time to prevent this particular crime--butshe had avenged it.
Slowly, but no less surely, the details of the previous night'sengagement leaked out. It had not been, as Malcolm had surmised, aone-sided engagement. A commerce-raider and mine-layer disguised asa Dutch cargo boat had sighted the _Gosport_, and, mistaking her inthe darkness for a merchantman, turned and shaped a parallel courseto that of the cruiser.
Detected by the war-ship's look-out, the suspicious vessel waspromptly challenged by flashing signals. The raider's reply was agrim one. A torpedo fired from a submerged tube tore towards the_Gosport_, passing within a few feet of her stern. Thephosphorescent swirl of the under-water missile told its own tale.The cruiser put two shells into the raider's quarter, in the hopethat her steering-gear would be blown away and the vessel renderedunmanageable. Unfortunately for Hans, one of the projectiles burstin a compartment where a number of mines were stored--result, utterand swift annihilation!
As the transport approached the Cape, justifiable anxiety consumedthose responsible for the navigation of the convoy. The _Pintail's_skipper never left the bridge for thirty-six hours. Two merchant-menhad recently been sunk by mines in these waters. Although the vesselthat had laid these sinister instruments of death and destructionhad been destroyed, the results of her previous activities remained.
At last the convoy dropped anchor in Table Bay. The second stage ofthe long sea voyage was accomplished. The _Gosport_ coaled and leftfor the Pacific, Until it was definitely established that Germanraiders no longer infested the route between Wellington and the Hornthe presence of a few light cruisers was necessary, otherwise armedmerchant-cruisers could effectually perform convoying duties, andrelease the "pukka" warships for other duties in home waters.
"Now I think of it," remarked Dick Selwyn, "I have a second cousinliving at Muizenberg; I'll look him up. There's leave till sixo'clock. Coming?"
"Looking up" even distant relations is a characteristic of the NewZealander. Wounded Anzacs, on receiving the ten-days' leave inEngland before rejoining their units, frequently make railwayjourneys running into hundreds of miles simply for the Purpose of"looking up" a remote blood relation in the Old Country, In Selwyn'scase his relation lived at a small town on the shores of False Bay,a distance of about twenty miles from Cape Town.
"I'm on," replied Malcolm. "It will give us a chance of seeingsomething of South Africa. How about Fortescue?"
Sergeant Fortescue, when appealed to, promptly decided to accompanythem; and as soon as leave was granted the three non-coms. hurriedashore.
The railway journey accomplished, Selwyn made the disappointingdiscovery that his cousin no longer lived at Muizenberg. He hadmoved to a farm near Slang Kop, a distance of about five milesacross the peninsula that terminates in the world-renowned Cape ofGood Hope.
"Game to foot it, you chaps?" asked Selwyn. "I don't like to bedone."
The others agreed without enthusiasm, although loyalty to their chumleft no plausible alternative; so at a steady pace they set outalong an upland track that led to the farm.
Selwyn's cousin "did his visitors right down properly", to quoteMalcolm's description of the reception. So much so that beforeeither of the three realized the
fact it was a question of whetherthey could return to Muizenberg station in time for the train. Aspringless Cape cart drove them at the maximum pace obtainable bythe wiry horse and the vociferous exhortations of the native "boy".In spite of every effort the trio reached the outskirts ofMuizenberg just in time to see the train steam out of the station.
Since Muizenberg is a popular seaside resort for the business folkat Cape Town, there is a fairly frequent train service. Enquiries ofthe railway officials elicited the information that a train wouldleave at 7.15 p.m.
Malcolm and his companions accepted the situation calmly. Mutualrecriminations were absent, although they knew that it was a seriousmatter to overstay shore leave.
"It isn't as if the transport were lying alongside a wharf,"remarked Selwyn. "Our best chance is to hire a boat and trust toluck to get on board without being observed by the officers. Thecorporal on the gangway wouldn't give the show away."
"The main point is to get on board," said Fortescue. "If there is anenquiry we must simply state plain facts and face the music. There'san officer's boat at nine-thirty."
"I'm afraid there isn't," corrected Malcolm. "I saw the announcementcancelled on the notice-board outside the orderly room."
"By gum, that looks fishy!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Supposing the_Pintail_ sails to-night. That yarn about the convoy getting underway on Thursday night may be a blind. They say Cape Town swarms withpro-Germans."
When at length the train crawled out of Muizenberg station the three"Diggers" (as New Zealand infantrymen are commonly dubbed amongstthemselves) had for company a sympathetic fellow-passenger, who onhearing of their plight was quick to suggest a plan.
"I know your boat," he remarked. "No. 109 is lying nearest in-shoreoff Woodstock--that's a suburb of Cape Town, you know. I'm atransport officer, so I know a bit about it. Hop off the train atWoodstock and enquire for Van Hoek's boathouse. It's at the mouth ofSalt River. Old Van will row you off for a matter of ten shillings."
The passenger seemed of a very communicative disposition. He evincedconsiderable interest in various incidents of the New Zealanders'voyage. Without much questioning he led the three Anzacs to give afairly detailed account of what had happened.
"It's all news to me," he remarked. "Even in the Transport Office wehear but very little. Of course the heads know a lot, but the minorofficials, such as myself, are not taken into their confidence."
The train slowing down as it approached Woodstock station terminatedthe conversation. With many thanks for the information, Malcolm andhis chums left the carriage, and, in giving up their tickets,enquired of the Dutch ticket-collector the way to Van Hoek'sestablishment.
The official had never heard of the place; nor had three or fourothers to whom the enquiry was put.
"At any rate," said Fortescue in desperation, "I suppose there issuch a show as Salt River?"
"Oh yes, we know where that is," was the chorused reply.
Declining offers to be shown the way, the three chums set out, andpresently arrived at the low shore of the estuary. The opposite bankwas invisible, as at the spot the mud-flats were covered at hightide. To all appearance it was open water right out to Table Bay.
The shore was deserted. The few buildings were evidently untenanted.On the beach half a dozen boats were hauled up above high-watermark. Farther out were others riding easily to moorings.
The night was calm. The brilliant starlight made it an easy matterto discern the double line of transports.
"By Jove," ejaculated Fortescue, "they're raising steam! They aresailing to-night after all!"
"No good cooling our heels here," said Selwyn. "Let's borrow a boat,since we can't find an owner. The wind's dead on shore, what thereis of it; we can cast her adrift after we get on board."
"And put five shillings on one of the thwarts," added Malcolm. "Thefellow who finds it will be repaid for his trouble."
Of the six boats all were without gear save one. In vain theyattempted to launch it down the beach; their united efforts wereunavailing. Nor was Fortescue's suggestion to transfer the gear to alighter craft productive of better results.
"These boats are as heavy as lead," declared Malcolm, wiping hisheated brow. "I believe they're bolted and riveted to the ground.How about it? Suppose we swim out to the nearest of those boats?"
This proposition was adopted. The three men stripped, secured theirclothing on top of their heads by means of their belts, and, two ofthem taking an oar in case the moored craft was destitute If meansof propulsion, they slipped boldly into the water.
Malcolm was the first to reach the moored boat. Holding on to thegunwale with one hand, he unbuckled his bundle and tossed it intothe boat; then, clambering over the stern, proceeded to dress whilehis companions "got aboard". There were oars already, as well asmast, sails, and other gear.
On the strength of having stroked his college boat Fortescue tookcommand. Under his directions the rudder was shipped, and an attemptmade to raise the anchor. The three men heaving together very nearlyput the boat's bows under, but the refractory mooring refused tocome home. Did they but know it, they were vainly trying to raise aniron chain attached to a mass of stone weighing nearly half a ton.
"We're going the wrong way about the trick," declared Selwyn. "Seethat rope with a chunk of wood on the end of it? That's fastened tothe chain, so if we chuck the lot overboard we'll be able to make astart."
The mooring dropped with a resounding splash. Fortescue and Malcolmmanned the oars and gave way with a will.
"Jolly hard graft," muttered Malcolm breathlessly after a quarter ofan hour's strenuous work. "Do you think we're getting any nearer? Idon't."
Fortescue glanced over his shoulder.
"No, I don't," he admitted bluntly. "What's more, the transports are'on the move. That's put the kybosh on the whole contraption."
A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front Page 8