CHAPTER NINETEEN.
DESCRIBES A STIRRING FIGHT.
It was late when I folded this letter, about the surprising effects ofwhich I have yet to speak.
Having been very much overwrought in the hospitals that day, I flungmyself on my bed and fell into a sound sleep, having previouslycautioned my assistant, who occupied a couch opposite mine, not todisturb me except in a case of necessity.
It could not have been long afterwards when I was awakened by himviolently, and told that a telegram had just arrived summoning me home!I sprang up and read it anxiously. There was no explanation. Thetelegram was simple but urgent. My mother, my sister, Nicholas,illness, death, disaster of some sort, filled my mind as I huddled on myclothes and made hurried preparations to obey the summons. Of course noinquiries could be made. The telegram was peremptory. I crushed a fewthings into a portmanteau, and, obtaining permission, left the hospitalwithout a moment's delay.
The distance to the coast was considerable, but I had ample means, andfound no difficulties in the way. It is always so in this life--atleast in regard to ordinary things--when one possesses unlimited means.
Now I must pause at this point, and beg the reader to bear with me whileI relate a few things that may appear at first sight overdrawn. Letjudgment be suspended until all has been told.
There was no difficulty whatever, I repeat, in reaching Varna. Fromthence to Constantinople was merely a matter of a few hours' in anordinary steamer. My personal acquaintance with several Europeanambassadors enabled me to pass the lines and travel in the enemy'scountry without obstruction or delay. My position as occasionalwar-correspondent of the _Scottish Bawbee_ would have procured meinterviews with many celebrities, but anxiety prevented my takingadvantage of this.
In process of time I arrived at Besika Bay, and here I found the Britishfleet at anchor. Of course I had been aware of its presence there, andfelt some pleasure in contemplating a visit to some of the ships, inseveral of which I had friends. It was with great surprise that I foundthe _Thunderer_ among the war-ships assembled in the Bay. I had neverheard of her having left England, though I had been told that hersister-ship the _Devastation_ was at Besika.
Remembering the injunction of my friend Biquitous, I went on board the_Thunderer_, and was hospitably received by the captain. He had onlytime, however, to shake hands and beg me to make myself at home. Therewas obviously something of importance about to happen, for greatactivity prevailed among officers and men. It seemed to my untutoredeye as if they were getting up steam and preparing for some sort ofexpedition. The captain did not invite me to accompany them;nevertheless I went. It was not long before the object of theexpedition was revealed. A monster Russian ironclad, it was said, laysomewhere "outside." We were sent to observe her. In the evening wesighted her. There was another Russian war-ship--a frigate--close toher. The ironclad was similar to ourselves: a long low hull--a coupleof turrets with a central "flying" structure or "hurricane-deck." Wemade straight towards her. The bugle sounded and the crew was called toquarters.
"My dear sir," said I to the captain, "has war been declared betweenEngland and Russia?"
The captain made no reply. On repeating the question anxiously hemerely said--
"Never mind!"
I was surprised, almost hurt, and greatly perplexed, for the captain wasnoted for politeness and urbanity, but of course I retired at once.
Next moment I saw a puff of smoke burst from the side of the Russianironclad, and a shot leaped towards us. Its size was such that we couldtrace it from the muzzle of the gun. Describing, as I thought (forstrange is the power of thought), a rather high trajectory, it passedover us and plunged into the sea with a swish that sent hundreds of tonsof water like an inverted cascade into the air. A gush of indignationfilled my breast. That the warship of a nation with which we were atpeace should fire at us without provocation was more than I couldendure.
"Are you going to stand _that_, captain?" I asked, with anuncontrollable gush of indignation at the Russian's audacity.
The captain gave one sardonic laugh, and a shrug of his shoulders, butvouchsafed no reply.
Hearing one of the officers give some order about Whitehead torpedoes, Iran to the room where these monsters were kept. I was just in time tosee one lifted on to a species of carriage and wheeled to the side ofthe ship. Here a powerful air-pump was set to work, and the torpedo'slungs were filled almost to the bursting point. Its deadly head--brought from the magazine--was at the same time attached to its body.Another instant and a port was thrown open in the _Thunderer's_ side,through which the Whitehead was launched. It went with a sluggishplunge into the sea. While it was in the act of passing out a triggerwas touched which set the pneumatic engines agoing. Thescrew-propelling tail twirled, and the monster, descending ten feetbelow the surface, sped on its mission. I rushed on deck. Theair-bubbles showed me that the engine of destruction had been aimed atthe Russian frigate. In a few seconds it had closed with it. I couldsee that there was terrible consternation on board. Next moment afountain of foam shot from the deep and partially obscured the frigate.I saw men leaping overboard and spars falling for a few moments, thenthe frigate lurched heavily to port and went head foremost to thebottom.
I stood gazing in a species of horrified abstraction, from which I wasrecalled by some of our men running to the side of the vessel. Theywere about to lower the steam-launch. It was to be sent out as atorpedo-boat, and young Firebrand, whom I now observed for the firsttime, took command.
Just then a torpedo-boat was seen to quit the side of the Russian. Wewere ready for her. Our largest Gatling gun had been hoisted to thatplatform on our mast which is styled the "top."
When within range this weapon commenced firing. It was absolutelyhorrible. One man turned a handle at the breech, another kept supplyingthe self-acting cartridge-box. As the handle was turned the cartridgesdropped into their places and exploded. Six or nine tubes, I forgetwhich, were thus made to rain bullets without intermission. They fellon the screen of the advancing torpedo-boat like hail, but quiteharmlessly. Then I heard a voice within the fore-turret give a commandwhich sounded like "Extreme depression." It was quickly followed by"Fire!" and the _Thunderer_ quivered from keel to truck under the mightyexplosion. The great 38-ton gun had been splendidly served, for themonster ball hit the boat amidships and crushed the bow under water, atthe same instant the stern leaped into the air, and she went down with adive like a Greenland whale.
Hearty cheers burst from the men in the "top." These were echoed with amuffled sound from the men shut up in the armoured hull below--for itmust be remembered that not a soul had been visible all this time on the_Thunderer_ except the men in the "top" and those who had been sent tolower the steam-launch.
Apparently rendered savage by this event, the Russians let fly a volleyfrom their four great-guns, but without serious result. They had beenadmirably pointed, however, for the two outer shots hit our turrets,deeply indented them, and glanced off, while the inner shots went slapthrough the flying structure as if it had been made of pasteboard,leaving clean-cut holes, which, of course, only made the place moreairy.
Night had now fallen. The danger of attack by torpedo-boats having beenrecognised, both ironclads had let down their crinolines. But thecaptain of the _Thunderer_ had resolved on a--a--what shall I call it?--a "dodge," which would probably deceive the enemy. He had an electriclight on board. Every one knows nowadays that this is an intense light,which, being thrown on a given point, illuminates it with a glare equal,almost, to that of day. After dark the captain shot this light from hismast-head straight at the enemy, and in the full glare of it oursteam-launch or torpedo-boat was sent out!
I was amazed beyond measure. Forgetting myself for a moment, Iexclaimed, "Captain, you are mad!"
As might have been expected, the captain made no reply.
The steam-launch carried two torpedoes, each containing 100 pounds ofpowder.
Firebrand replied, "Yes, sir," respectfully, but I heard him distinctlyadd, in a low tone, to himself, "I'll run slap into her and blow her toatoms as well as myself. _Somebody_ must fail in every action. It's aforlorn hope at sea, that's all.--Full steam!" he added aloud to theengineer.
As the boat rushed away in the blaze of the electric light, thecaptain's _ruse_ suddenly dawned on my mind. The Russian at once sawthe boat, and, with naturally nervous haste, knowing the terrible natureof such boats, made preparations to thwart her. Close in the wake ofthe boat the _Thunderer_ followed with the intent to run the Russiandown with her ram, which is a tremendous iron beak projecting, belowwater, from her bow. The "dodge" was to dazzle the enemy with theelectric light, and, while her attention was concentrated on thetorpedo-boat, to "ram" her!
"Steady!" said Firebrand, in a deep voice.
Something else was replied by somebody in a deeper voice.
The boat ploughed on its way like a furious hornet.
"Fire!" shouted the Russians.
Instantly, from turret, bulwark, and mast-head leaped livid flames offire, and the sea was torn up by bullets, while fearful spouts were hereand there raised by shots from the heavy guns. Everything wasconcentrated on the torpedo-boat. It was obvious that the dazzlinglight at the mast-head of the _Thunderer_ had blinded her adversary asto her own movements.
"Let drive!"
I heard the order of the Russian captain as distinctly as if I had beenon board his own ship, and was somewhat surprised at its being given inslang English.
The result was a rain of musketry, which rattled on the iron armour ofthe launch's protecting screen as the sticks rattle on a kettle-drum.
"Ready!" said Firebrand, with suppressed intensity.
As the boat drew near the Russian small shot was tearing up the sea likea wintry storm. The order having been given, the torpedo-spars werelowered, so that each torpedo sank ten feet under water.
"Fire!" yelled Firebrand.
Electricity was applied, both torpedoes exploded, and the launch sheeredoff gallantly in cataracts of foam.
At the same moment the Russians observed us not ten yards distant,coming stem on at full speed. Her turret guns were concentrated andfired; so were ours. The crash was indescribably hideous, yet it was asnothing compared with that which followed a few seconds later. Our ram,entering the Russian fairly amidships, cut her almost in two. We backedout instantly, intending to repeat the operation. Well was it for usthat we did so. We had just backed a few hundred yards astern, andgiven the order to go ahead full steam, when the Russian's magazineexploded. Our charge had somehow fired it. Instantly there was acrashing roar as if heaven and earth had met in chaotic conflict. Theair was darkened with bursting clouds of blackest smoke, in the midst ofwhich beams, guns, pistons, boilers, armour-plates, human limbs andheads were seen hurling about like the debris of a wrecked universe.Much of this came down upon our iron deck. The clatter was appalling.It was a supreme moment! I was standing on the flying structure besideone of the officers. "Glorious!" he muttered, while a pleasant smileplayed upon his lips. Just then I chanced to look up, and saw one ofthe Russian fore-turret 85-ton guns falling towards me. It knocked meoff the flying structure, and I fell with an agonising yell on the deckbelow.
"Hallo!" exclaimed a familiar voice, as a man stooped to raise me.
I looked up. It was my hospital-assistant. I had fallen out of bed!
"You seem to have had a night of it, sir--cheering and shouting to suchan extent that I thought of awaking you once or twice, but refrainedbecause of your strict orders to the contrary. Not hurt, I hope?"
"So, then," I said, with a sigh of intense relief, as I proceeded todress, "the whole affair has been--A DREAM!"
"Ah!" thought I, on passing through the hospital for the last timebefore quitting it, and gazing sadly on the ghastly rows of sick andwounded, "well were it for this unfortunate world if war and all itshorrors were but the phantasmagoria of a similar dream."
In the Track of the Troops Page 19