CHAPTER XVII
THE MIDDLE WATCH
A DULL, reverberating crash roused Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroftfrom his temporary bunk on board H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer"Audax."
"Eight bells," midnight, had just gone--silently, for the destroyerwas ploughing through the waves at break-neck speed, withoutnavigation lights and as steadily as possible. So well were heroil-fed furnaces tended that no tell-tale sparks escaped from herfour squat funnels. In spite of the heavy seas she was cleared foraction; life-lines took the place of the stanchion rails andafforded the only means of preventing the bluejackets being sweptoverboard by the green seas that poured completely over the raisedfo'c'sle. Around the four-inch guns men hung on, ready at the firstalarm to open fire, while the deadly torpedoes had been launchedinto their tubes to be let loose at the word of command upon thefirst unit of the German Navy--be she large or small--that had thetemerity to try conclusions with the alert British destroyer.
There had been signs of activity in Hun naval circles--activityforced upon them by prompt and vigorous measures of the sea-dogsunder the White Ensign. Zeebrugge was getting too hot to hold theGerman torpedo-boat flotillas that for months had existed undernerve-racking conditions in that Belgian port. Constant bombardmentsfrom the sea and from the air had made the Huns' new base soinsecure that the German ocean-going torpedo-boats (craft thatcompare in point of size with destroyers, although the termdestroyer does not figure in Hun naval reports) had been compelledto make a dash for the neutral defences of the Elbe, Weser and Jade.Existing conditions made it undesirable to sneak through Dutchterritorial waters, and the only other way was by a circuitouscourse rendered necessary by the presence of a vast Britishminefield.
The British Admiralty, out of consideration for neutral shipping,had advertised the limits of the danger zone, which was anaggressive minefield rather than a defensive one--in other words itsbase was situated close to the German coast, while its apexstretched westward far across the North Sea. Round this apex theGerman torpedo craft had to make their way.
Knowledge of the attempted dash had reached the ears of the BritishCommander-in-Chief, and strong flotillas of destroyers werepatrolling the length and breadth of the North Sea, their searchassisted in broad daylight by seaplanes sent up from attendantparent ships. At night the difficulty of maintaining the cordon wasenormously increased. A German boat might slip through in thedarkness, while, even if discovered, her attackers would be underthe disadvantage of making sure that she was not one of theirconsorts before opening fire.
The "Audax" was operating in the high latitudes of the North Sea. Infact, if she held on the course for another five hours she would runashore somewhere in the close proximity of The Naze of Norway.
Two miles ahead and astern of her were other vessels of the sameclass, the line being continued until the chain of destroyersstretched across the North Sea from Scotland almost to Scandinavia.The Straits of Dover were similarly patrolled, while auxiliarydestroyers swept the seas between the northern and southern limits,ready to head off the fugitives or bring them to action.
Rolling fully dressed out of his bunk--for under these conditions itwould be folly to turn in otherwise--Billy dashed on deck, followedby the Engineer-lieutenant, who happened to be the only officer inthe ward-room not on watch.
Wriggling through the partly-closed hatchway, dubbed by courtesy the"companion," and receiving a greeting in the form of a colddouche--the tail end of a particularly vicious comber--Barcroftstood still until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then,grasping the life-line, he made his way for'ard, often knee-deep inwater, until he gained the doubtful shelter afforded by the rise ofthe fo'c'sle. Here, clustered round the two guns abreast the for'ardfunnel, were a dozen men in "lammy" suits, oilskins andsou'-westers, all peering through the darkness in the direction inwhich the "Audax" was now proceeding.
"What was the explosion, Mr. Black?" inquired Barcroft of thegunner.
"We don't know, sir," replied the warrant officer. "A mighty bigflash and a brute of a report. We've wirelessed the commodore to askpermission to investigate, and now we're off to see, judging by thealteration of course."
The young officer thanked him for the information, vague though itmight be, and ascending the bridge ladder took up his stand in frontof the after guard-rail of the bridge.
Lieutenant-commander Aubyn and three of his officers were standingwith their backs turned to him, oblivious of his presence. ActuallyBarcroft had no right there, save on sufferance and by the courtesyof the skipper. The executive officers were crouching behind thestorm-dodgers--the force of the wind and the sting of the icy spraymade it impossible to withstand the full force of the elementsunless protected by these canvas screens--and were directing theirattention mainly on some as yet invisible object dead ahead. Atintervals one or other of the officers would scan the seas abeam, asif expecting to see a dark and swiftly-moving vessel--to wit, anenemy craft pelt through the blackness of the night on her dash forsafety.
The skipper remained as rigid as a statue, the personification ofsilent alertness; but the lieutenant and sub of the "Audax" wereconversing, raising their voices in order to make themselvesunderstood above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the wavesas they flew over the fore-deck of the destroyer and hurtled againstthe bridge. Scraps of the discussion wafted to Barcroft's ears.
"A neutral, I think," remarked the sub. "Swede or Norwegian....Bumped on a mine."
"Torpedo," declared the lieutenant. "I distinctly saw one flash ...before the big blaze... second explosion; yet, it points to it."
Billy caught enough of the conversation to read the lieutenant'stheory. Evidently he believed that the victim was one of the Britisharmed liners patrolling this section of the North Sea. Torpedoed, inthe darkness and in spite of the heavy seas, she had been blown upby the detonation of her magazine.
Suddenly Aubyn straightened himself and sprang to the telegraphindicator communicating with the engine-room.
Following the double clang of the bell the destroyer's engines werepromptly stopped and quickly reversed. The skipper's keen eye haddiscerned a raft crowded with men as the "Audax" swept past at adistance of less than twenty yards.
Aubyn gave a brief glance at the raging seas and held up his hand.The gesture was understood by the men already standing in expectancyat the falls. It meant "Stand fast." No boat could live in such aturmoil of angry waves, yet there were heroes ready and willing torisk their lives in a vain attempt at rescue.
The "Audax" was about to make an effort by other means, but firstthe raft had to be found again, for before way had been taken offthe destroyer the handful of survivors of the ill-fated ship werelost in the darkness and in the wash of water astern.
Nor could the searchlights be switched on without grave risk to theall-important task of rounding-up the German torpedo-boats. The"Audax" had to grope round like a blind man in the hope of fallingin with the drifting raft.
"Shoutin' dead to wind'ard, sir, right on the starboard beam,"shouted half a dozen voices. "There they are, sir, a cable's lengthoff."
In a patch of phosphorescent foam, as it lifted dizzily on the crestof a broken wave, could be discerned the object of the search. Thenext instant it had vanished in the trough of the seas.
"Hard a-port!" roared the skipper.
"Hard a-port, sir," repeated the quartermaster,
Turning, the "Audax" slowed down, coming to a standstill, save forthe motion created by the scend of the seas and the leeward driftcaused by the strong wind, at a few yards to windward of the raft,which on nearer acquaintance proved to be a number of deck planksstill adhering to the fractured beams.
Under the lee of the destroyer the raft floated in comparativelysmooth water, and the work of transferring the handful of well-nighexhausted men commenced. Five or six were hauled on board by meansof bowlines; three were incapable of stirring a hand to helpthemselves, and since their comrades made no effort to assist intheir rescue several of the dest
royer's hands went overboard and,grasping the unconscious men, were heaved back with no greaterdamage than bruised knuckles and grazed shins.
"Wot are we to do with these 'ere blokes, Sir?" inquired a seaman ofthe destroyer's lieutenant, who had temporarily quitted the bridgeto superintend the work of rescue. "Our mess deck's flooded out."
"They want warmth. Pass the word to the engineer commander to ask ifhe has room for nine men in the stokehold."
"Me from Danmark sheep," volubly asserted one man as he was beingled below.
"All right, my man," replied the lieutenant, "We'll hear your storylater. Hullo, Barcroft, you on deck? Make yourself useful, old boy,and find out what happened to these fellows. I must be hopping backto my perch. Thank your lucky stars it isn't your watch."
Refraining from remarking that he had already had a voluntary trickon the sprayswept bridge Billy followed the survivors of the lostvessel into the hot, steam-laden atmosphere of the stokehold. Theforeigners who were in possession of their faculties had "strippedto the buff" and were being rubbed down by sympathising Britishstokers, while heir clothes were being dried in front of thefurnaces.
The rescued men seemed extraordinarily anxious to assert that theybelonged to a Danish vessel, almost overwhelming Barcroft in theireagerness to emphasise the point. None of them spoke English, and asthe flight-sub knew hardly a word of Danish his attempt to gaininformation seemed hopeless. He tried speaking in German, with nobetter results, except for a reiterated chorus of "Me from Danmark."
"It's strange that they don't jabber to each other in their ownlingo, sir," remarked a leading stoker, who was kneeling over one ofthe unconscious seamen and methodically pressing his ribs accordingto the precepts laid down in the _Manual of Seamanship_ for thetreatment of persons apparently drowned.
The patient was a powerfully built, hugelimbed young giant, byappearance of far better physique than the others, yet he seemed tobe the worst off from the effects of exposure. External examinationrevealed no signs of an injury, although two of the other men hadbeen badly battered by flying debris from the explosion.
Just then the man stirred, gasped, and endeavoured to free himselffrom the attentions of the humane leading stoker.
"Then I am still alive?" he asked feebly. "A prisoner on an Englishship. 'Well, I am not sorry. I am tired of the war."
"Wot's 'e a-sayin', sir?" inquired the leading stoker.
"Quite enough to give the show away," replied Barcroft, fixing withhis eyes the other foreigners, who were now showing every symptom ofconsternation, for the man had spoken in German and his comrades hadunderstood every word.
"So you are from a German ship?" demanded the young officer,addressing the group of survivors.
The men freely admitted that the game was up, and finding that theirgood treatment was not modified they became quite communicative.
They were, they announced, some of the crew of the armedcommerce-raider "Volksdorf," a converted liner that had left theport of Swinemunde two days previously. Hugging the Norwegian coastshe had sighted two British patrol ships, and turning southward hadshaken off pursuit in hazy weather. Apparently the "Volksdorf's"attempt was-timed to take place simultaneously with the Germanactivity in the North Sea, and by keeping slightly to the northwardof the screen of British destroyers she stood a fair chance ofgaining the Atlantic. Unfortunately for her she came within easytorpedo range of a U-boat, and the pirate, not knowing that she wasof the same nationality and utterly indifferent as to whether shedestroyed enemy or neutral ships without warning, promptlydischarged a torpedo. The missile struck home, causing a secondexplosion, as the after magazine of the raider blew up, causing theship to sink in less than thirty seconds.
Billy went on deck to find the "Audax" still cruising about in thehope of finding more survivors, but without success. Making his wayto the bridge he informed Aubyn of his discovery.
"That's great," declared the youthful skipper. "Fritz committingfrightfulness upon his own pals requires some beating. It must havebeen a strafed U-boat, since I know for a dead cert that none of oursubmarines are taking part in the present operations. Keeping MiddleWatch, Mr. Barcroft? I'd turn in while I had the chance, if I wereyou. We're in touch with the 'Hippodrome.' Picked up a wireless callnot five minutes ago. We'll put you on board before many hours, Idare say, but we don't want to hand you over looking like a sleepyowl; so down below you go."
"Thanks, sir, I will," replied the flight-sub, who after the heatedatmosphere of the stoke-hold was feeling the cold acutely.
And carrying out the genial lieutenant-commander's advice Billy wentbelow, pulled off his sea-boots, divested himself of his oil skins,or, rather, those of the engineer-sub who had insisted on lendingthem, and flopped into his bunk. He was dimly conscious of thrustinghis back hard against the partition, gripping the edge of the bunkwith both hands and drawing up his knees to wedge himselfin--matters of precaution owing to the erratic motion of thedestroyer--and in ten seconds he was in a sound, dreamless slumber.
Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War Page 17