CHAPTER XXXI
MONITORS IN ACTION
UNDER a screen of smoke from a far-flung line of destroyers the"Anzac" picked up her steamboat's crew. Being under fire, she couldnot hoist in the picquet-boat. Wind and tide being favourable, theboat was cut adrift. Unless sunk by a chance shot, she could berecovered when the monitors withdrew at the conclusion of thebombardment.
"Fire-control platform, Mr. Tressidar," ordered the captain when thesub. reported himself in the conning-tower. "Mr. McTulloch has justbeen sent down--badly wounded. Look alive--we want the range ofBattery 45 pretty quickly."
The monitor had ceased firing, owing to the smoke from theintervening destroyers. It also gave the guns a chance to cool, forthey had been firing continuously for the last two hours.
Through the acrid-smelling smoke that wafted from below the sub. madehis way to one of the oblique legs of the tripod mast. One glanceshowed that it was no longer possible to gain the lofty platform bythat means, for the metal tube was torn half-way through by a shell,a dozen or more of the metal rungs of the ladder had been shorn away,and the steel was still unbearable to the hand owing to the heatgenerated by the terrible impact.
Fifteen feet above the sub.'s head dangled the frayed end of the ropeby which the officer he was about to relieve was lowered from thefire-control platform. McTulloch, seriously wounded by a fragment ofshell, had hardly gained the deck ere another sliver of steel had cutaway his means of descent.
Crossing to the second inclined leg of the tripod mast, Tressidarfound that the steel ladder was comparatively intact. The metaltubing of the mast had been dented in several places and perforatedmore than once. The metal, too, was hot, but not to the same extentas was the damaged leg.
Up through the drifting smoke the sub. made his way, the whole fabricof the mast trembling under the continuous discharge of the heavyordnance.
When half-way up he felt a terrific jar, accompanied by a roar thatoutvoiced the noise of the guns. The smoke was torn by lurid flashes;fragments of metal hurtled past him or struck the mast with a soundlike that of a heavy hammer clanging on an anvil.
Temporarily blinded by the glare and partly stunned by theconcussion, Tressidar hung on like grim death. It was the triumph ofmuscles over mind, for the action was purely automatic. Out swung thetripod mast till the leg by which he was ascending was perpendicular,although normally inclined thirty degrees to the vertical line. Frombeneath him dense clouds of black and yellow smoke vomited from thesuperstructure, to the accompaniment of the crackling of flames andthe groans of the wounded.
A hostile shell had scored a direct hit, partially wrecking theafter-end of the superstructure, making a clean sweep of the gear,including the two anti-aircraft guns.
Tressidar was yet to know this. He was merely aware that the Huns had"got one home." He wondered whether he was still alive, until themist cleared before his eyes and he found himself still clinging tothe slippery rungs.
At last he reached the small platform at the head of the two slopinglegs where they joined the higher and vertical "stick" of the tripod.Ten feet above him was the oval aperture leading to the fire-controlplatform. Hitherto the metal tube had formed a defence between himand the direct line of fire--a moral protection rather than a realone, since the metal was not proof against heavy shell-fire. But now,owing to the vertical rungs being on the fore-side of the mast, hewas directly exposed to the fire of the shore batteries, and the Hunhad a nasty habit of using shrapnel in conjunction with thehigh-explosive shells.
Another crash this time high above his head. For the moment hethought that the fire-control platform had been swept out ofexistence, for a raffle of spars, wire-rigging, and splinters ofmetal tumbled past him, some of the debris so close that he felt the"windage" on his cheeks.
Instinctively he ducked. When he raised his head again, he saw, tohis relief, that his appointed post still remained--at least the"deck" of the fire-control platform was intact. The shell had struckthe topmast, cutting it in twain and bringing the wireless aerialswith the severed portions as it fell to augment the debris alreadylumbering the deck.
The destroyers had now forged ahead. Their smoke no longer screenedthe "Anzac" from the enemy. The monitor's guns, elevated to an angleof thirty degrees, were pointed shoreways, but neither sent forth itsfifteen hundred pounds of death-dealing shell.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Tressidar. "They're waiting for someone toregister."
Spurred by the thought, he redoubled his energies, swarmed up theremaining rungs of the ladder, and squeezed through the narrowaperture on the deck of the fire-control station.
The sight which met his gaze was a terrible one. The metal roof hadbeen ripped through as easily as if it had been made of cardboard; adozen jagged holes were visible in the sides. The delicateinstruments were shattered almost out of recognition.
Huddled in one corner was the gunnery lieutenant. At his feet lay aseaman; another was lying inertly across the body of the first.Seated on the floor was Eric Greenwood with his head resting on hisdrawn-up knees. The A.P. had been struck by a fragment of shell thathad inflicted a nasty scalp-wound. Partly stunned by the concussionand blinded by the blood that streamed from the wound, he was justable to recognise his chum.
"A clean wipe out," he muttered weakly. "Everything blown to blazes.No use hanging on here, old man."
It was not a time for Tressidar to attend to his chum. Seizing thevoice-tube communicating with the conning-tower, he reported thedestruction of the registering gear. There was no response. He wastalking to empty air, for both voice-tubes and telephone-wires hadbeen severed; and since the target was invisible, the "Anzac's" hugeguns were practically useless without the directing force in thefire-control station.
Risking death, Tressidar looked out over the side of his precariousperch. The monitor was circling slowly to port. The fire that hadbroken out in the superstructure was practically under control,thanks to the copious stream of water played upon it by the "Downton"pumps; but the deck looked a veritable shambles. Owing to her low,armoured freeboard the "Anzac" had escaped injury 'twixt wind andwater, but almost everything on deck that was not protected haddisappeared in a veritable holocaust. The single funnel, partly shotthrough, had buckled about fifteen feet close to the deck, the bentportion resting against the after-leg of the tripod mast and swayingdangerously with each roll of the ship.
The turret, scarred by several glancing hits, was still intact,although hardly a vestige of grey paint remained; while the two gunshad shed their coats through the tremendous heat generated by thesustained firing. The bridge had been swept clean away; only a fewbent and twisted stanchions remained. With its disappearance the topof the conning-tower was revealed, the massive steel plating showingsigns of a complete fracture that extended from the edge about to thecentre of the elongated, domed roof.
The sight was not an encouraging one. It was evident that the "Anzac"had received a terrible hammering and was no longer able to keep herstation.
Tressidar next devoted his attention to the rest of the flotilla. Theremaining monitors had fared considerably better. One, however, hadlost her tripod mast, while damage to topmasts and wireless mastsseemed pretty general. They had succeeded in breaking down most ofthe resistance on the part of the enemy, for with few exceptions theshore batteries were silent. Aided by wireless from the seaplanesthat serenely hovered over the German defence, the monitors' guns hadwrought terrific destruction upon the fixed positions amongst thesand-dunes. Most of the hostile shells came from mobile batteries,which were more difficult to locate; but as their guns were limitedin weight and calibre, these were puny when compared with the monsterweapons that the monitors had succeeded in silencing.
All this Tressidar took in almost at a glance. He had two tasks toperform: to rescue the A.P. from his perilous position and to informthe conning-tower of the state of the registering apparatus.
Mentally he compared the present situation with that on board the"Heracles," when he had t
o take Midshipman Picklecombe down from thefore-top. Eric Greenwood was a hefty man, whereas the midshipman wasa mere slip of a youth. The "Anzac" was still under fire--a desultoryone, but none the less nerveracking--while the "Heracles" was notsubjected to the attentions of hostile shells when she was on thepoint of turning turtle. Again, there was a vast difference betweenthe ratlines of the cruiser and the slippery steel rungs of themonitor's tripod mast.
"It's more than a one-man job," decided Tressidar reluctantly. "Thereisn't enough rope to lower him down. I'll nip below and getassistance."
The A.P. was now unconscious. He had fallen sideways, his headresting on his arm Even as Tressidar bent over him he became awarethat the whole fabric of the fire-control platform was collapsing.The tripods, already damaged, had given way under the strain and weretoppling overboard.
Throwing his left arm round Greenwood's inert body and hanging onlike grim death to a steel handrail, Tressidar braced himself to meethis impending fate. The platform was inclining slowly but surely.Already his feet were wedged against the now almost horizontal side.Through the shattered roof he could see the water.
"There'll be a deuce of a smash," he thought. "Wonder if I can jumpclear before we're trapped?"
The triple mast had buckled, but its fall was retarded by the strainupon the metal tubing. Instead of snapping off like a carrot, it wasas though the tripod was held by a stiff and rusty hinge.
For perhaps five seconds the fall was retarded, then with a quickmovement the bulky top-hamper lurched with a sickening movement untilit brought up across the broad deck, with the metal box in which thesub. and his chum were penned hanging seven or eight feet over theside.
Bruised and shaken, Tressidar retained his alertness of mind andbody. Without relaxing his grip upon his chum he scrambled throughthe partly demolished roof. It was the only way, since the aperturein the floor was too small for a hurried exit, especially whenburdened with a helpless comrade.
Not knowing how he did it, the sub. found himself perched on the mastwith the A.P. clasped tightly to his back. Now it was that hisgymnastic training proved of service, for, in spite of his burden, hewalked the outboard part of the now almost horizontal mast anddropped lightly to the "Anzac's" deck--the only unwounded executiveofficer of the crippled monitor.