Part 7

The conversation continued, and the commanding officer, happening to hear what was said, for the speakers were sitting on the deck at the foot of the ladder leading to the bridge, turned to his sub-lieutenant and said, “Well, judging from what they say they’re just about as fed up with this show as I am. I wish to goodness they’d come and have it out!” He was referring to the enemy.

“Yes, sir, so do I,” replied the sub. “We ought to be at the end of the patrol line in another twenty minutes,” he added, “and then we make the sixteen-point turn to the opposite course.”

“Oh, well, keep a good look out, and call me if you see or hear anything,” said the lieutenant-commander. “I’ll try to get a bit of a caulk. Look out, and don’t get astern of station,” and so saying he lay down in a deck chair on the bridge.

Now a deck chair on the bridge of a destroyer in midwinter is not an ideal place for sleep, however many clothes you may have on, and the commanding officer soon gave it up as a bad job and sat staring up at the scurrying clouds above his head. It was getting on for one o’clock in the morning, and he had spent most of his nights in this manner for the past three weeks, taking what sleep he could in the daytime. He had had a hurried wash now and then, but had hardly been out of his clothes, except to change them occasionally, for the whole period. His young face, the cheeks and chin now covered with a thick stubble, seemed prematurely aged, and he bore no resemblance to the smart young officer of three months before. He had aged, and no wonder, for was he not one of the watches upon whom his admiral depended to stop the hostile torpedo craft if they came out? If they were allowed to steal unmolested to the open sea they might be able to deliver a successful attack on the battle fleet, so it was not to be marvelled at that the officers on the advanced patrol felt the responsibility laid heavily upon them.

The weary night drew on, and the patrolling boats steamed to and fro on their beat, but the enemy showed no signs of activity. At about 2.15 a.m., however, the sullen thud of a heavy explosion in the direction of the harbour floated down on the wind. “Cæsar’s aunt!” shouted the lieutenant-commander, springing up. “What’s that?” “Sounded to me like a mine,” answered the sub-lieutenant. “I’ll take my oath it wasn’t a gun.”

“But who’d be messin’ about on top of mines at this time of night? There are none of our craft inshore of us,” said the commanding officer. “By George, though! I’ve got it,” after a minute’s thought, “you know our minelayers were at work off the harbour entrance about a week ago. That’s what it is. The other fellows are comin’ out, and one of the silly blighters has got mixed up in our minefield. It can’t be destroyers, they’d never come out at this time of the mornin’, give them no time to get back before daylight, and it’s their big ships or I’m a Dutchman!” He was still looking towards the shore some five miles away, and had barely spoken when the fiery trail of a rocket shot skywards from close in under the land. It burst in a shower of stars which illuminated everything in the vicinity, and for a brief moment the watchers saw, or thought they could see, a series of deeper shadows gathered under the low cliffs. Before they could make certain, however, the light had gone. But if the shadows were really there they could only be one thing, the enemy’s fleet.

“We’re in for a scrap at last,” exclaimed the captain, rubbing his hands. “Send down and tell the engineer to stand by for a spurt, and warn the hands to be ready!”

The men needed no encouragement, for they were all awake. All hands and the cook were on deck gazing anxiously landwards, and soon dispersed to their stations at the guns and torpedo tubes. The lieutenant-commander, meanwhile, was watching his next ahead, and as he looked he saw a series of red flashes made with a hand lamp, and a second later a whistle sounded shrilly along the line.

“Great Scott! He’s going in to attack!” he exclaimed, jumping to the engine-room telegraphs and jamming them on to full speed. “Look out for the foremost tube, sub. You’ll have to fire when your sights come on, and stand by to come up here if I get knocked out.” He was right. The senior officer had decided to take his chance and to attack, and in a short time the four destroyers were on their way for the harbour entrance at a good twenty knots.

Suddenly from the darkness right ahead the dazzling white ray of a searchlight shot out; it flickered for an instant, and then rested full on the leading boat. In another second at least half a dozen more had been switched on, and shortly afterwards the guns commenced their uproar. The vivid red flashes stabbed the darkness of the night, while the thundering reports, punctuated now and then by the poom-poom-poom of the lighter guns--for the enemy were using pom-poms--reverberated through the air in a noisy crescendo of sound. The whine of the shell and the crash of their explosions could be heard above the din, while at times the beams of the searchlights would be all but obscured by the fountains of spray flung up by the falling projectiles. At first the shooting was wild, but as more guns chimed in it became better, and the thrown-up spray was falling on the decks of the attacking boats while the shell splinters whistled through the air. Nobody as yet had been actually hit, and they drew closer and closer, until the leading boat put her helm over and swung abruptly to starboard, and followed by the remainder of her flock steamed at full speed along the enemy’s line some six hundred yards off. It could now be seen that there were about half a dozen big ships moving slowly ahead, and the leading destroyer, as she swung, fired two torpedoes. Then, after what seemed an eternity, an enormous upheaval of mingled water and flame rose at the side of the battleship, as still firing wildly she vanished in the smoke and spray astern. The roar of the detonation was all but drowned by the reports of the guns, but there was no doubt that one torpedo had gone home.

The fire had now become accurate, and shell after shell, bursting on impact with the water, sent its jagged fragments whistling across the attackers’ deck. Men commenced to fall, rents appeared in the funnels, boats were splintered, but still they swept on, each vessel as she came abreast her opposite number in the enemy’s line firing her torpedoes. How many got home it was impossible to say, for the smoke and spray all but blotted out the outline of the hostile ships. A series of explosions were heard, however, so it was hoped that several of the weapons had found their billet.

The whole attack was over in less than four minutes from the first gun being fired, and in another two the destroyers were swallowed up in the darkness and were steaming to sea as fast as their damaged condition could allow them. The enemy were still firing, but their shot was falling nowhere near the retreating destroyers. Presently, however, this ceased and all was silent once more.

On getting about three miles from the coast the leading boat stopped, and on comparing notes with the others it was found that in the whole sub-division one officer and eighteen men had been killed outright, while fourteen others were wounded. The boats themselves were not vitally damaged, but the funnels, sides, and decks of all four were badly perforated and torn. There was an underwater hole--the only one--in the second boat, but the engines and boilers remained untouched, and on the orifice being plugged she could keep down the flow of water with her pumps.

A wireless signal was made to the supporting cruisers telling them that an attack had been made, and the wounded were made as comfortable as possible until daylight, when the destroyers would be able to approach their own fleet. Towards 4 a.m. another burst of firing broke out in the direction of the harbour, and it was surmised that the outer patrolling boats had gone in to attack. More firing took place at irregular intervals till daylight, as attack after attack was pressed home, and it was evident that the enemy were having anything but a pleasant time.

Towards six o’clock the first signs of dawn appeared to the eastward, and by 6.30 it was light enough to see the harbour entrance. Two big ships appeared to be ashore, and another was sunk with her masts and funnels above water, but beyond this it was impossible to see any details. At 7 a.m. the four destroyers steamed slowly seawards, and passing the outlying cruisers, met the battle fleet, which had approached to within twenty miles of the coast. The killed and wounded were sent aboard the larger vessels, and after being supplied with spare torpedoes the four proceeded at their best speed for their base to repair damages. As they left the signal “Well done, destroyers” fluttered from the foremost head of the flagship, and the weary crews broke into a throaty cheer as the signalmen read out the meaning of the cluster of flags.

They had done their work, and done it well, for the enemy’s fleet had been badly mauled. Life was well worth living. Even the thought of their dead and wounded messmates did not damp their spirits, for they knew they had carried out their work, and that their days and nights of weary watching had not been in vain.

VII

THE GUN-RUNNERS

I

There was no doubt that Jim Watson was in a very bad way. For three long, weary weeks he had wandered round the London docks on the look-out for a berth as cabin-boy. He had interviewed many masters and mates, but without success, for the first question he was invariably asked was: “Have you been to sea before?”

“No,” was all he could say; and, sick at heart, he had been turned away again and again. The family had migrated to England some four years previous to the time of which I write, and Jim’s mother had died a year afterwards. Mr. Watson had managed to secure a subordinate position in a shipping office in the City, but the loss of his wife had preyed on his mind, and three years afterwards he too had died.

So Jim had found himself an orphan at the age of fifteen, and, with two sovereigns and a few silver coins in his pocket, was cast out into the world to earn his own living. Relatives in England to whom he could apply for assistance he had none, and although his father’s old friend gave him a position as office boy, the meagre wages he received barely sufficed to pay for his food, let alone lodging. He had relations and friends in Australia, and determined to throw up his position at the office and endeavour to work his way out there as a cabin-boy in a ship; but in spite of tramping the docks every day for three long weeks, he had not yet succeeded in obtaining a berth. His small amount of money was vanishing rapidly; for although he cut his food down to the smallest possible limit, he found he could not live on less than 9d. a day, while his bed in a doss-house cost him another 6d. a night. He had no professional training, and although he was painstaking and plodding, his schooling had not fitted him for any employment ashore which would bring him in a living wage.

While tramping the docks he had known what hunger was--that awful, gnawing feeling of absolute emptiness which will turn even the strongest man into a living wreck--and as he pursued his weary way along the dock-side at Limehouse, he wondered how long it would last.

Walking along, he came to a small grey-painted steamer called the _Sea Foam_, made fast alongside the wharf. She was being loaded, and case after case was lowered into her hold, while a swarm of stevedores were hard at work amidst the rattling of steam winches and the shouts of the foremen. He stood and watched the busy scene for a while, and then noticing someone whose uniform cap showed him to be an officer of the ship, he formed a sudden resolve to go on board and ask for a berth. Walking up the gangway, he made his way forward and accosted the mate, for he it was.

“Please, sir,” he commenced, “could you----?”

“What is it, boy?” shouted the officer, turning round; “what do you want?”

Jim trembled; but in spite of the ferocity of the officer’s voice, there was a gleam of kindness in his eyes, and taking courage again he said:

“Please, sir, could you give me a berth? I want to go to Australia.”

“Australia, boy?” thundered the mate. “Australia? We’re not going there--going up the Straits. General cargo.”

The boy thought for a minute, and then came to the conclusion that if there was a chance of a berth he would give up the idea of joining his relations.

“I’m not very keen about Australia, sir,” he said. “I’m strong, and I could do any work.”

“Humph! On your beam ends, eh?” grunted the officer more kindly. “Well, I did hear the old man say he wanted a boy to help the steward, and I know he hasn’t shipped one yet. It’s a dog’s life, though,” he added, looking at Jim. “Been to sea before?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I don’t know that that matters; you won’t have much sailoring to do. Best wait and see the old man, he’ll be down along in an hour. Had your breakfast?”

“No, sir.”

For answer the mate walked aft, and putting his head through the door leading to the officers’ quarters under the bridge, bawled for the steward, who presently emerged.

“Look here, steward; take this youngster down below and give him something to eat. He looks as if he wanted it, poor little chap!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jim gratefully, and following the steward, he was soon gobbling up an enormous meal in the little cubby-hole which did duty as a pantry.

“Well, my son, you’re a rare ’un on the victuals!” gasped the steward, as he watched the food disappear. “Hungry? Ain’t had nothing to eat for a fortnight, I should think! What did you come here for?”

“The officer said I might be taken on as a cabin-boy,” said Jim, between his mouthfuls.

“Oh, yes, I did hear the old man say something about having a boy to help me,” replied the steward. “Ye’ll have to mind your eye if he does take you on, though; the old man’s a fair caution when he gets his rag out.”

“I don’t mind that, sir,” said Jim. “Can you tell me where the ship’s going?”

“I dunno exactly,” replied the man; “I believe it’s somewhere up the Straits--Mediterranean, you know. This is her first trip; she’s a brand-new ship--just been built on the Tyne.”

“Do you know how long she will be away, sir?”

“No, sonny, I don’t know for certain. The crew’s only signed on for the voyage. The old man told them he thought ’twould be about three months; but I don’t think he knows for certain. She’s a good ship, though. Not like some of them ordinary tramps you see knocking around. She can do her fifteen knots easy--most of them can’t do more than ten.”

The conversation was here interrupted by shouts of “Steward!” And answering, “Coming, sir!” the man said, as he left the pantry, “That’s the old man. I expect he’ll want to see you in a minute.”

Jim waited in anxiety, and when the steward reappeared and said, “Come this way--he wants you,” he got up and followed the man to the officers’ berth.

“Are you the boy who wants a berth?” inquired a short, thick-set, bearded man, who was sitting in front of the stove. He looked ferocious, but his tone was not unkindly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Any experience?”

“No, sir,” said the boy, his heart failing him as he was asked the inevitable question.

“Well, we’ll knock some into you; and so long as you do your work you won’t fall foul of me. What about wages, now?”

“I’m ready to take anything, sir.”

“Five shillings a week I’ll give you. You get your food with the steward, of course,” said the captain.

“Thank you, sir,” gratefully replied Jim, for the amount, though small, was more than he had expected.

“Well, get your clothes aboard and the steward will show you your work. We sail on the evening tide, about four o’clock.” He waved his hand to show that the interview was at an end.

Jim left the cabin delighted at the prospect of getting away so soon, and, after asking his new master’s permission, went ashore to fetch his scanty belongings and to purchase a few more necessary articles with the remainder of his money.

Returning towards noon, he found the cargo stowed and the men busy preparing the ship for sea. He was not idle long, however, for the steward soon pounced upon him and initiated him into his new duties. These consisted in fetching the officers’ food from the galley, laying and clearing away the table before and after meals, waiting on the officers, washing up the plates, knives and forks, cleaning out, making the beds, and being generally responsible for the chief and second mates’ berths. There was plenty of work to be done, and the whole afternoon he was hard at it.

Towards half-past three steam was up and ready, and soon afterwards the dock gates opened and the _Sea Foam_ was warped out through a basin crowded with shipping, until she finally passed into the muddy Thames. With a pilot on board she steamed slowly down the sinuous reaches of the river, past the Rotherhithe, East India, and Victoria and Albert Docks, and, off Gravesend, the pilot was dropped into his boat alongside, and the ship increased her speed and shaped her course towards the open sea.

It was all entirely novel to Jim, and he stood just below the bridge ladder looking at the ever-changing panorama of ships and land as the ship steamed along. All sorts and conditions of vessels there were: great passenger liners, tramp steamers, large four-masted ocean-going sailing ships, barges, etc., all claimed his attention in turn. He was, however, interrupted; for the mate, who had been aft, suddenly rushed forward, and, pushing Jim aside, dashed up the ladder on to the bridge, taking the steps two at a time. From where the boy stood the skipper could not be seen, but Jim could distinctly hear what was said.

“There’s a Customs launch following us, sir!” the mate shouted. “She’s cracking on all she knows, and will be alongside us in ten minutes!”

“They must have spotted those cases of rifles and ammunition,” said the skipper. “Look here, Barter, tell the engineer to go on all he knows. If he can give us fifteen knots, we should give them the slip all right. I hope they haven’t thought of wiring to Sheerness. They’ll have torpedo-boats out looking for us if they have.”

The mate did not wait to reply, but, running down the bridge ladder, rushed to the engine-room hatch, down which he disappeared. The vibration increased, and the _Sea Foam_ was soon travelling at full speed, with the foam dashing from her bows and clouds of black smoke pouring from her funnel.

“Rifles?” thought Jim. “What on earth are they up to?” Moreover, there was something suspicious in the fact of the Customs boat’s following them and the captain’s taking steps to prevent her overhauling his ship. Glancing aft, he could see the little black-painted launch travelling at full speed, while a man in the bows was waving his arms and motioning to the steamer to stop. It was obvious, however, that the _Sea Foam_ was gaining, and going to the end of the bridge the captain derisively waved his hand in reply, but made no effort to reduce speed.

The pursuit was still kept up, and the steamer dashed along at a rate which was entirely against all rules and regulations governing the speed of vessels navigating the Thames. Try as she might, the Customs launch could not overhaul her. From four hundred yards astern she had dropped to half a mile, and at last, when darkness crept on and the sea got choppy as the _Sea Foam_ left the river and entered the estuary, her pursuer turned tail and abandoned the chase.

By 5:30 it was practically dark, and dashing along at her best speed the steamer rapidly neared the open water. In another half-hour the short, choppy waves had given way to heavier seas, and soon afterwards the little vessel was pitching and rolling more; as her bows were turned to the south-eastward towards the open sea.

It was blowing hard from the south-west, and the heavy masses of cloud were flying down from windward on the strong breeze. Occasional heavy rain-squalls all but blotted out the lights round about, and it was obvious that they were in for a dirty night. But in spite of the risk the captain had ordered all lights to be obscured, for he was anxious lest torpedo-boats from Sheerness might have been sent out to intercept him, and these he naturally wished to avoid.

Jim was still standing at the foot of the bridge ladder when he heard someone come to the top of it.

“Is that you, boy?” said the captain’s voice.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jim.

“Go to the steward and tell him to send up some hot coffee for me and the mate.”

Jim departed on his errand, and presently returned on deck and went to the bridge with two cups of the steaming fluid balanced on a tray. It was pitch dark and blowing hard, while the violent movement of the ship made climbing the bridge ladder rather a difficult matter. The captain and mate took the cups; and, left to himself, Jim had a chance to look about him. Far away to starboard twinkled the lights of Margate, while nearer there were the red, white and green lights of a number of steamers. Going to the end of the bridge, the boy peered over the canvas weather-screen, noticing as he did so that the lights were still unlit; and, as he watched the foaming white caps of the waves go seething past the side of the ship, he heard the skipper make a sudden exclamation:

“What’s that right ahead there, with no lights, Barter?” he gasped, pointing out over the bows.

“Destroyer or torpedo-boat!” said the mate, seizing his night glasses and levelling them.

Jim looked in the direction indicated, and there, barely a quarter of a mile ahead, wallowing in the sea, was a long black shape whose four funnels proclaimed her to be a torpedo-boat destroyer.

“Hard-a-port!” shouted the captain, dropping his coffee cup on to the deck with a crash; “we shall be into her!”