CHAPTER IX
HOW THE LIGHTERS FARED
"HOPE the brutes won't konk," thought Sub-lieutenant Jock McIntosh,R.N.V.R., as he dispassionately surveyed the unlovely outlines ofX-lighters 5 and 6.
After being second-in-command of a crack M.L., McIntosh felt noviolent enthusiasm over his job--to take the two cumbersome craft toa strange port eighty odd miles along the coast. At a maximum speedof five knots, it meant a sixteen hours' run; but McIntosh, knowingthe vagaries of the X-lighters' motors, refrained from being sanguineon the matter.
It was one of the jobs that fall to all branches of the Navy. With astrange crew, and not having navigated a lighter before, McIntosh wastaking on "some stunt." He had charts and navigating instruments, buthe would have felt easier in his mind had he possessed "localknowledge" of this part of the coast. On an M.L., where he was undera competent officer, navigation was fairly simple as far as the Subwas concerned; but now the whole responsibility of getting hischarges safely into port rested on his shoulders.
It was the morning of von Preussen's visit to Auldhaig. The fog haddispersed. In its wake had sprung up a fresh southerly breeze, whichin turn gave indications of decreasing in velocity before noon.
Stopping to give his final instructions to the coxwain of No. 6, andimpressing upon him to follow at a cable's length in her consort'swake, McIntosh boarded the lighter which for the nonce was to be theleading craft. Already the twin heavy oil engines were "warming up,"making the decks quiver, and filling the air with oil-laden smoke.
Making his way aft to the rough wooden hut that served as awheel-house, the Sub gave the signal to the engine-room staff to"stand by."
"Rummiest packets that ever sailed under the White Ensign," hesoliloquised, as his eye caught sight of the dingy bunting floatingfrom the yard-arm of the lighters' stumpy masts. "Ah, well; it's allin a day's work."
He gave the telegraph lever another jerk.
"Cast off!" he shouted.
Sluggishly the deeply-laden barge gathered way. She had a freeboardof barely ten inches--a fact that portended wet decks before long.
Having satisfied himself that No. 6 was following, McIntosh devotedhis attention to shaping a course out of harbour, undergoing a dozenmental thrills as his unwieldy packet scraped past buoys and showed adecided tendency to commit suicide across the steel stems of a coupleof anchored cruisers.
Once clear of the harbour, the Sub called to a seaman.
"Take her," he ordered, handing over the wheel. "Keep her as she is:south a half west."
"South a half west it is, sir," replied the man in the time-honouredformula of the sea.
Free to devote his attention to other things, McIntosh secured thestorm-flap of his oilskin coat and, leaving the shelter of thewheel-house, looked towards the following boat.
No. 6 was coming along well. The "bone in her teeth" glistened whiteas she pushed her snub nose through the waves. Both craft were"taking it green" as the water flowed over the tarpaulined hatchesand surged along the broad waterways.
"We'll carry our tide for another hour," he said to himself. "Thenit'll be a slow job. One thing, we can't have every blessed thing inlife, but I hope to goodness nothing goes wrong."
He glanced ahead. In an incredibly short space of time, the boldoutlines of Dunkennet Head had vanished. Dead to windward haze,possibly fog, was bearing down. It was something that McIntosh hadnot bargained for. The glass had shown indications of fine weather,but unfortunately it was not capable of indicating the approach ofmist.
"Hazy ahead," he remarked to the petty officer.
"Yes, sir," was the reply. "Will you be altering course a point orso, sir? There's a nasty set of the tide inshore about these parts."
"Yes," decided the Sub, and gave the necessary instructions to thehelmsman.
"Get a nun-buoy ready to veer astern," he continued, "and signal toNo. 6 to keep the thing dose under her bows. If she doesn't, we'll belosing each other."
While the men were making these preparations the hideous clamour ofNo. 6's foghorn attracted their attention. The lighters had increasedtheir distance to nearly a quarter of a mile, and No. 6 was stilldropping astern.
"Ask 'em what's wrong," ordered McIntosh.
A signalman, steadying himself with feet planted widely apart on theplunging deck, semaphored the message. From No. 6 two red and yellowhand-flags replied. McIntosh, unable to follow the swift movements ofthe flags, was obliged to await the signalman's report:
"Says, sir, she's overheated her bearings. She'll have to stop or herengines'll seize up."
It was exactly what the Sub was anticipating, and now trouble hadcome he met it promptly and resolutely.
"Tell them to stand by and receive a hawser," he ordered, at the sametime ringing down for "Slow." "Look alive, there, with that six-inchrope."
While the men were engaged in bringing one end of the hawser to theafter "towing-bitts," McIntosh took the helm and began to run tostarboard in order to close with the disabled lighter. He was workingagainst time, for already the mist was upon them--the outflungtentacles of a bank of fog. With a range of visibility of three orfour hundred yards, matters were somewhat complicated, but themanoeuvre of establishing communication with the helpless craft wouldbe rendered fourfold difficult, should the baffling fog envelop thetwo boats.
"All ready with the heaving-line?" shouted the Sub.
"All ready, sir."
Slowly, even for the low-speed lighter, McIntosh, made for thedisabled vessel, which was now lying broadside on to the fairlyconfused sea. The Sub was cautious. Strange to the boat, he knew thatthere was a vast difference between the manoeuvring capabilities ofan M.L. and a lighter, and with that fact in mind he displayed anexcess of caution.
Almost before he realised the danger, disaster came. Answering tooslowly to her helm, No. 5 crashed heavily against the bluff steelbows of No. 6. Amidst the hiss of inrushing water, the two engineersscrambled through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the motor-room andgained the deck with the tidings that the sea was pouring in like amill-race. And to add to the peril the fog was then enveloping thecolliding craft.
There seemed no doubt about it: No. 5 was sinking. Had she beenstruck anywhere but right aft, her heavy rubbing-strake would havesaved her. As it was she had been hit in a vital spot--herengine-room.
As luck would have it, both lighters drifted together, theirmetal-bound sides grinding and bumping in the agitated waves. SinceNo. 5 was evidently sinking, the only refuge for her crew was thedeck of disabled No. 6.
"Jump for it!" shouted McIntosh. "Every man for himself."
Waiting till the last, the Sub snatched up his confidential papers,thrust them into the pocket of his oilskins, and, as the two lightersrolled heavily together, he made a flying leap for the deck of No. 6.
He was not a moment too soon. At the next roll there was a gap offive or six yards between the two vessels. Separated by a freak eddyof the tidal stream, they increased their distance more and more,until the holed lighter, with her stern level with the water, waslost to sight in the fog.