CHAPTER X

Half-an-hour later Stapleton is sitting in his cabin in the after part of the ship.

It is a pleasant little place to look at, with its shining green-lacquered corticene deck and the framed pictures against the white enamelled bulkheads. In one respect it is very much like every other naval officer's cabin; that is to say it makes a subtle combination of elegance and severity.

The severity is provided by the plain Admiralty furniture, which is designed rather for usefulness and hard wear than for ornament. There is an austere looking kneehole table at one side of the cabin, and on the opposite side a plain rectangular chest of drawers, made of steel painted to look like mahogany and relieved by shining brass drawer-handles. The end of the narrow room, otherwise the ship's side end, where the round scuttle gives light and air to the cabin, is completely filled with a harrow bunk resting on top of a long cupboard cunningly contrived with sliding shelves for holding uniform and other personal gear.

Everything is arranged with this same cunning economy of space. For it must be understood that his cabin is the sole apartment that an officer can call his very own, reserved for his own private use, and it has to fulfil the functions of bedroom, drawing-room and study all combined in one. Witness the round tin bath which hangs from the deck overhead, suspended by iron hooks, and the little mahogany two-shelf book-case at the foot of the bunk; these are but a couple of the incongruities to be found in that curious blend of rooms which constitutes a cabin on board ship; and taken in conjunction with the various adornments which the occupier introduces to beautify the place, and give it a little reminiscence of home, they certainly must strike the eye of a stranger as very curious indeed; but there is no denying that the combined result is very attractive.

But there is one point which Stapleton's cabin offers a contrast to most of those belonging to his brother officers throughout the navy; there is no silver-framed photograph placed prominently upon the kneehole table where the owner of the cabin, when busied in making up his reports or in the more pleasant task of writing home letters, can refresh himself by letting his eyes rest from time to time upon the beloved features of wife or sweetheart.

No, Stapleton was speaking no more than the truth when he told Norah that never before had he looked with love into a woman's eyes. Possibly this explains why he has now taken such a bold and sudden header into the dangerous alluring waters of desire; it very often happens that way, doesn't it?

Yet, although he has not before him anything visible and tangible to remind him of his beloved, he feels no need of any such outward assistance. Sitting at his writing-table with one hand supporting his head and the other stretched out idly before him, he gazes upward with a fixed and rapturous stare at the frosted bulb of an electric light on the bulkhead in front of him; but it is quite evident that his open eyes see nothing; nothing, that is, of a mere material nature; their gaze is visualising, by the magic of love, the face and form of that dark beautiful girl who has come into his life.

Perhaps it is as well that he does not see her as she actually is, at this very moment, in the wardroom of the destroyer!

All his peevish annoyance with Dale has vanished completely. As a matter of fact, he has quite forgotten about it; and if Dale were to remind him of it--and the surgeon, good-natured man, would be the last person in the world to do such a thing--he would probably ask with a laugh if it were really possible that he could have made such a fool of himself as to get annoyed with his best pal over so trifling a matter.

But he never gets this chance. The thing happens with such terrible swiftness that for a moment it is just a meaningless shock, too sudden for the brain to comprehend.

Darkness, and a dull roar: a tinkle of breaking glass, and the deck rising beneath his feet; a sharp blow on the back of his head with a swift concussion of air which takes his breath away. All happening in an instant. A bright purple light shines at the back of Stapleton's eyes, changing quickly to a vivid orange and dissolving into a million wandering specks of fire.

Then, as he picks himself up from the deck and comes again to his senses, he realises that the electric lights have gone out and he is in total darkness.

All this happens in the veriest flash of time; and even as he rises to his feet, the whole cabin is still trembling, Stapleton realises the meaning of it, and his brain is silently framing the word--

"_Torpedoed!_"

Speech comes thickly to his lips, and in a stupid dazed fashion he keeps saying to himself, as he fumbles and gropes his way to the door across the overturned furniture, "_Torpedoed! My God, we've got it this time: we're torpedoed!_"

No need for the loud ringing calls of "Clear lower deck," resounding everywhere. Stapleton himself joins in the cry: but already the mess-deck ladders are thronged with men filing upwards in a constant stream. There is no crowding though, and no confusion. The electric lights have been extinguished here also, but a match struck here and there, soon followed by a dozen more, make little points of light in the general darkness, and a moment later the emergency candle lamps are lit, and it is now possible to see more or less clearly and to regulate better the human traffic.

"Steady, lads, steady--the old ship's not done for yet," rings out the voice of Stapleton as he makes his way swiftly along the mess-deck. "Everyone on deck and get to your stations for abandoning ship."

There is seriousness on all faces--so far as they can be seen in the feeble light of the candles which cast thick massed shadows with Dantesque effect upon the congregated men--but no sign of panic or even of anxiety. The British Blue takes the event with his invincible calmness as something which is all in the day's work: he is even a little elated and cheerful about it, or at any rate tries to assume that appearance.

It is this feeling that cheerfulness is the proper thing under the circumstances which causes one of the men to sing out the obvious "_Are we down-hearted?_" And the immediate answering chorus is cut short by the first lieutenant's:

"That will do, lads. Quietly does it--keep your breath, you may need it presently."

He has made his way through the thronging crowd of men, and at the foot of the ladder is assisted by the stentorian voice of a petty officer which rings out, "Gangway there! Make way there for the first lieutenant!" He knows, as do all the men, that if their officer wishes to force his way on deck before the others it is not for the sake of saving his own skin, but in order that he may take charge of affairs and give orders for the safety of all.

From the moment of groping his way out of his cabin till his foot steps over the hatchway coaming on to the upper-deck less than a minute has elapsed. But Stapleton already finds that the ship is down by the head and fears the worst.

Fortunately it is a clear moonlight night, and almost as bright as day. That makes things easier, as it is possible for all hands to get their places and set about what has to be done with the least possible difficulty.

As soon as he stands on the upper-deck Stapleton finds himself facing one of the lieutenants. It is Morley, who was officer of the watch during the last doer, when that other exciting incident occurred, an incident now forgotten and obliterated by a greater happening.

"Where is the captain--have you seen him anywhere?" is Stapleton's first question.

"Killed I believe. The foremast has gone over the side and carried away the whole of the bridge. What's left of it is on fire."

Little need to say that; a cloud of thick smoke obscures the fore part of the ship, and even as Morley speaks a tongue of flame leaps upward through the smoke, high into the air.

"Call away the fire party. Take a few hands with you and go and see if there is anyone left alive there--look out for yourself though. Here, bugler"--the first lieutenant providentially descries a passing bluejacket who is in fact looking for him--"sound the Still."

The clear notes of the bugle ring out, and there is silence throughout the ship, fore and aft, save for the roar and crackle of the gathering fire forward.

"Send the carpenter to me at once."

The warrant officer carpenter appears immediately in response to the call, clattering down the foc'sle ladder and running smartly along the deck to. Stapleton.

The latter's unspoken question is anticipated and replied to in a few brief words.

"Not a dog's chance, sir. There's a hole in her side big enough to drive a wagon through. I give her ten minutes at the most; but she may go any moment."

"Everybody up from the engine-room and stoke-hold. Pass the word quickly," orders Stapleton quietly. And in response to the order more men come quickly pouring up on deck.

The boats, meanwhile, have been swung outboard and lowered part way down the ship's side.

The vessel begins to lose her way; the engineer officers, coming up last of all those down below, have stopped the engines before leaving, and have opened the valves so that from the escape-pipes at the top of the funnels immense jets of steam pour forth like thick white clouds into the air with a deafening, vibrating roar.

"Abandon ship! Everyone down into the boats!" The ominous order is executed as though at general drill, and the men make their way quietly into the boats. Happily the ship is sinking by the head and without any list to speak of, so there is no difficulty about getting the boats into the water. Morley comes back at this instant, and reports that he has seen no one alive, nor indeed anyone at all, alive or dead.

"The whole place is blazing," he says, "there is nothing left of it at all. The fore magazine must have been touched off by the explosion of the torpedo. As far as I can see, the foc'sle has been blown off, or very nearly."

"The foremost bulkhead has gone, and the ship is filling quickly," adds the carpenter; the zealous individual, reckless of his own safety, has been down below again to make another inspection and see if there is any chance at all of keeping the ship afloat. At the first sign of the disaster, the unmistakable sound of the explosion, the _Marathon's_ one remaining destroyer escort had circled round and raced back to render assistance. Now she has stopped her engines and lies abreast of the cruiser, half a cable away.

Her searchlights are turned on the sinking cruiser, lighting up the deck and the men now swarming down into the boats.

"Shall I come alongside to take you off?" shouts her commander through a megaphone.

"No--keep away," answers Stapleton; "she may blow up as she goes down. We will pull off to you. Keep your searchlights on the water in case any of our boats get into trouble."

This is his last order. With a nod to the other officers who are remaining by him on deck he signs to them to get down into the boats. Last of all, he leaves himself.

Most of the boats are already pulling away in the direction of the destroyer. Those which are still alongside unhook from the falls as their officers jump into them, and follow as fast as the oars can strike the water.

None too soon. Scarce is the last boat fifty yards from the doomed ship when the _Marathon_ plunges forward and dips half her length into the water. There is no further explosion--it is a quiet end for the gallant ship. For a few seconds her stern hangs poised almost perpendicular in the air; then, with a forward glide, it sinks beneath the waves, and the _Marathon_ has disappeared for ever.

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