CHAPTER XXV
IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH
ALMOST stunned by the terrific blast of air, Tressidar, who had beenlooking down from the fire-control platform, was at first hardly ableto realise what had taken place. Not until he was aroused byMidshipman Picklecombe's voice asking faintly for aid did theseriousness of the situation dawn upon him.
The "Heracles" was foundering. The distinct, ever-increasing heel ofthe platform on which he stood proved that. There was no recovery tothe cruiser's list to port.
The "Stoshfeld" during the course of the running fight had thrownoverboard a number of mines, each pair connected by a hundred feetlength of grass-rope. By sheer good luck her pursuer had missed thelot until she began to steam slowly to the assistance of her foe.Then, her stem engaged in the bight of the rope, two cylinders filledwith powerful explosive had been swung against either side, the minesgoing off on contact with the cruiser's hull.
After the explosion the crew, at first thrown into confusion by theterrific din and the havoc wrought 'tween decks, were hardly able togrip the situation until a bugle sounded the "Still" and the menmustered quietly on the quarter-deck. Orders had been sent to theengine-room to shut off steam and open the safety-valves. The"Heracles," her propellers now motionless--whereby a serious menaceto the crew of the foundering vessel was averted--quickly lost way,and making a half-circle to starboard came to a standstill at adistance roughly three thousand yards from her antagonist.
The "Stoshfeld" was now keel uppermost. A couple of hundred of hermen had clustered on her bilge-plates, viewing with consternation theresult of their own action; for with the mining of the Britishcruiser all hopes of rescue vanished.
On hearing the midshipman call, Tressidar turned. The two officerswere alone, the gunnery lieutenant having left the fire-controlplatform with some of the instruments that had suffered slight damagefrom concussion during the bombardment, while the seamen told off toattend to the telephones had followed the lieutenant.
Picklecombe was lying in a corner of the rectangular platform. Bloodwas oozing from a gash in the midshipman's left shoulder. A sliver ofsteel, hurled to an immense height, had in falling completelypenetrated the light metal canopy and had inflicted a severe wound onthe lad who was standing beneath.
The sub. acted promptly. He knew that delay would mean that thehelpless midshipman would be trapped within the metal cage andcarried down when the ship made her last plunge. The only way ofescape was through a small aperture on the floor leading to theuppermost ratlines of the shrouds--and the opening was sufficientonly for one man at a time.
Unclasping his knife, Tressidar cut some of the canvas gear into along strip. The fabric was strong and tough. It formed an admirablesling.
The next step was to lower Picklecombe through the trap-door.
"Can you hang on?" asked the sub
"I think so," replied the midshipman. "I'll try."
The pressure of the canvas slung round the lad's chest gave him greatpain, but setting his jaw tightly he allowed no sound to pass hislips. Dexterously the sub. "paid out" until the wounded youngster'sfeet touched the shrouds and his head and shoulders were below theopening on the floor. Fortunately the list of the ship had broughtthe shrouds on the starboard side very little short of a horizontalposition, and thus Picklecombe was supported almost by his own weightagainst the wire stays. In a trice Tressidar nipped through and wasby the midshipman's side.
"I'm feeling awfully dizzy," exclaimed Picklecombe. "Everything seemsturning round."
The sub. gripped him as he spoke, for the lad was on the point ofdropping to the deck, a distance of between sixty and seventy feetbeneath his precarious perch. To make matters worse, clouds of smokeand steam issuing through the funnels and steam-pipes drifted pastand hid the two young officers from the sight of those on deck.Shouting for help was futile, since the hiss of steam deadened allother sounds.
Hanging on tenaciously, Tressidar forced himself between the shroudsand the now almost unconscious midshipman. With his disengaged handhe held the lad tightly to his back.
"Let go!" ordered the sub. peremptorily.
The sense of discipline overcame the midshipman's almost automaticinclination to grip whatever came nearest to hand. He relinquishedhis hold and his arm fell listlessly over his rescuer's shoulder.
Step by step the sub. descended. The shrouds, stretched almost tobreaking-point by the strain of the heavy mast, were so springy underthe combined weight that at every moment Tressidar was nearlycapsized. The hot steam almost choked him. It also prevented himseeing where he was or whether the ship was actually on the point offoundering.
At length he gained a portion of the shrouds beneath the cloud ofvapour. The "Heracles'" fo'c'sle was now awash. Her poop on theportside was dipping. The remaining serviceable boats, which had beenlowered and filled with wounded men, were lying-to at a safe distancefrom the foundering vessel. Officers and men, for the most partstripped, were leaping over the side in knots of half a dozen or soat the time, as if reluctant to leave the good old ship.
The next instant the agitated water seemed to rise up to meet thesub. and his companion. The "Heracles" was capsizing rapidly.
Relaxing his grip upon the shrouds, Tressidar allowed himself and hisburden to be floated away by the eddying sea, using his disengagedarm to strike out and avoid as far as possible being entangled in theraffle of gear.
All around him the turmoil of foaming water was emitting steam andcompressed air like miniature geysers, while a huge, grotesquelydistorted mass seemed to rise out of the sea almost within arm'slength. It was the hull of the doomed cruiser, as she turned slowlyover until her keel-plates floated bottom uppermost. Various buoyantobjects came bobbing to the surface with considerable velocity andadded to the danger. A fragment of a shell-shattered cutter missedhim by a bare yard. Had it struck, he would have been almost cut intwo by the sharp, jagged edges of the woodwork.
Whirled hither and thither by the swirl of the water, Tressidarnoticed that the upturned hull showed no signs of disappearing to thebottom of the ocean. The jets of steam, too, had ceased, and the seain the vicinity of the wreck was becoming comparatively tranquil.
Some distance away the sole serviceable boats were lying off, crowdedwith men and with scores of less fortunate seamen clinging to thegunwales. A considerable number of the survivors were relying solelyupon their swimming-collars; others were clinging, more or less inthe water, to barrels, petrol-tins, oars, and mess-gear. In spite ofthe danger, they were exchanging banter with the utmost zest. Thefact that they were a thousand miles from the nearest land neverseemed to worry them in the slightest degree.
Numbers of men, finding that the upturned hull still floated, beganto scramble up the sides, since the submergence of the twobilge-keels to a depth of about a foot made this a comparatively easymatter. Amongst them were several of the officers, includingAssistant Paymaster Greenwood.
Eric happened to see his chum's plight, for, try as he would, thesub. had not strength to haul himself and the now unconsciousmidshipman into temporary safety. Practically all the ship's companyhad mustered aft when the "Heracles" turned turtle, and sinceTressidar had been thrown out of the foremast shrouds he and youngPicklecombe were apart from the rest of the survivors.
Sliding down to the bilge-keel, the A.P., heedless of his injuredarm, gripped Tressidar by the shoulders.
"One minute, old bird," gasped the sub. "Give me a hand with theyoungster. Be steady. He's been hit--shoulder, pretty badly."
Transferring his grasp to the canvas sling, Greenwood hauled themidshipman into comparative safety, while Tressidar, relieved of thelad's weight, quickly drew himself up the bilge-keel.
"Thanks, old man," he said simply.
"Let's hope we won't have to make another swim for it," remarked theA.P. "We're expecting the destroyers, but they haven't shown up yet.By Jove, the water is cold. Let's shift out of it. The P.M.O. is aftsomewhere, I think. I vote we get hold of him and see what's
wrongwith young Picklecombe."
Carrying the midshipman, the two chums gained the main keel-plates.From there Tressidar surveyed the expanse of sea. The "Stoshfeld" hadvanished. The distance was too great to see with the naked eyewhether any of her crew were still afloat. All around the horizon wasunbroken; sea and sky met in a clear, well-defined line. Of the"Lemburg" and her pursuers nothing could be discerned, but the dullrumble of a distant cannonade showed that the running fight was stillin progress.
Greenwood's surmise concerning the surgeon was at fault, the medicalstaff being in the boats with the wounded and sick cases. Nor was itsafe to signal to one of the boats to approach and take the woundedmidshipman on board, in case the ship might make a sudden plunge andtake the boat-load of helpless men down with her.
Having applied first aid to the best of their ability, Tressidar andGreenwood waited, with the rest of the crew, the arrival of theexpected destroyers.
Gradually the rest of the swimmers regained the upturned hull untilevery surviving member of the ship's company was either in one of theboats, on a raft, or on the capsized hull of the "Heracles."
To relieve the tedious wait the men sang the latest music-hallditties to the accompaniment of a wheezy concertina, which a stokerhad contrived to save during the few minutes that elapsed between themining and the capsizing of the cruiser. Several of the officers hadcigarettes in watertight cases; those of the men who were able tokeep their supply of "fags" dry in their caps shared them with theirless fortunate comrades.
"I don't fancy she's going just at present," remarked CaptainRaxworthy to the commander.
"No, sir," replied the officer addressed. "She seems as steady as arock."
The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a loudexplosion. An under-water valve, under the pressure of air trappedwithin the hull, had been blown out. An inrush of water followed.
At first the result was imperceptible, but by degrees the hull beganto settle by the bows. The stern rose until the tips of the twinpropellers showed above the surface.
"All hands aft," ordered Captain Raxworthy, in the hope that theredistribution of weight would keep the hull in a horizontalposition.
The precaution was in vain. Shuddering, the huge mass dipped and,gliding, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving four hundred menstruggling for dear life in the agitated water.
The end had come so suddenly that there had not been time for the mento leap clear. Numbers of them were sucked down by the vortex causedby the foundering vessel, only to reappear, thirty seconds later, astruggling, wellnigh breathless mass of humanity.
As the "Heracles" made her final plunge, Tressidar and Greenwoodgrasped the motionless form of Midshipman Picklecombe. They hadpreviously buckled a life-belt, willingly surrendered by apowerfully-built stoker, round the lad; Greenwood had an inflatedswimming-collar, while Tressidar had to rely upon his own efforts tokeep afloat until he could find something capable of supporting himin the water.
The three officers were in the midst of a crowd of swimmers, all moreor less boisterous in their determination to encourage each other.Hard by were the boats, the oarsmen voluntarily taking turns atleaping overboard and surrendering their place to their less hardycomrades. The concertina-player still stuck gamely to his instrument,and, supported by a couple of petrol-tins, was leading the singing of"A Little Grey Home in the West."
Striking out towards one of the boats, Tressidar and Greenwood handedtheir unconscious charge into the care of the fleet surgeon. Relievedof this anxiety, they floated, exchanging desultory conversation andkeeping a longing watch for the expected aid that showed no signs offorthcoming.
Half an hour passed. The singing had died away. Men were realisingthat every ounce of strength must be jealously guarded. Theconcertina-player had abandoned his efforts and had allowed theinstrument to slip from his benumbed fingers and drift slowly away.
With ever-increasing frequency men would relax their grasp anddisappear beneath the surface without a sound. In several instancestheir comrades would dive and bring the senseless bodies to thesurface. Deeds of heroism, the facts of which would never be madepublic, occurred time after time, but in spite of the efforts of thehardier of the crew many a man "lost the number of his mess."
Overhead the sun shone resplendent in a cloudless sky, as if to mockthe feeble struggles of the men in the bitterly cold water. And stillno sign of the eagerly expected succour. Hoping against hope, thesurvivors began to realise that unless almost a miracle took placethey would never again see their native shores.