CHAPTER XVII
The Whaler's Voyage
HAVING selected his crew--a matter of personal difficulty--since noman cared to volunteer to exchange a post of peril for a duty onlyslightly less hazardous--Sub-lieutenant Webb proceeded to prepare theboat for her voyage.
The whaler was one of the Service type, twenty-seven feet in length.She had two masts, slightly raking aft, and carried "dipping lug"fore and mainsails--a powerful rig, but one that requires smart andcareful handling when going about in a strong breeze.
The bos'n--the carpenter warrant officer having been lost in thestruggle for the shore--had instructed the carpenter's crew to nailseveral pieces of planking across the bows, covering the rough deckwith canvas from some spare sails. Empty barricoes, of which a numberhad been cast upon the beach, were lashed to the thwarts, thusaffording considerable buoyancy in the event of the boat beingcapsized. These were the only alterations made in preparing thewhaler for her run across to the distant island of Crete.
The number of hands selected for the voyage was the very minimumrequired to work the boat. More would unduly weaken the littlegarrison ashore; the victualling problem had also to be taken intoaccount.
"I can only let you have a gallon of water, sir," decided the bos'n,"and dry biscuit and salt beef enough for two days. Sure 'tis shortrations, but you know, sir, how things go. There are half a dozenlemons, too, sir; some were washed up before they had been in thewater very long, so I don't suppose they're brackish. A fine thing toquench the thirst, Mr. Webb."
Having bade his comrades a hearty adieu, the Sub ordered the whalerto be pushed off. Three cheers were given for the voyagers, thecompliment being returned in right good earnest by the boat's crew.
"Give way, lads," ordered Webb. "Long easy strokes. We'll soon pickup a breeze."
Steadily the shore receded. Ahead the placid water was ruffled by adark-blue line that betokened a smart breeze. Sitting bolt uprightand holding the yoke-lines, the Sub could not help at frequentintervals turning his head and looking back at the inhospitable sandyshore. So fierce was the sun that the radiating heat made the barrendunes appear to quiver, distorting objects ashore. Everything thereseemed quiet. No rifle-shots pulsated on the still air. Beyond a fewseamen, patrolling the beach to look out for further jetsam, therewere no signs of life. The torrid heat had thrown its languorousspell upon Britons and Senussi alike.
"It's hot enough here, in all conscience," thought Tom. "It must belike a slow oven ashore." For an hour the men toiled at the oars, thesweat pouring from their brick-red faces; yet uncomplainingly theymaintained their long swinging strokes, as if they were pullingacross a harbour rather than setting out for a 180-mile voyage.
"Here's the breeze, lads," exclaimed Webb as a faint zephyr fannedhis face. "Well on the starboard quarter, too. Stand by to makesail."
Thankfully the jaded men boated oars. Willing hands stepped the twomasts, and quickly the powerful dipping lugs were bellying to thequartering breeze. The water gurgled pleasantly under the whaler'sforefoot, while a long white wake was a silent testimony to theboat's speed through the blue water.
"Five to six knots now, sir, I'll allow," replied the coxswain inreply to his officer's query. "She's footing it fine."
"That's what I estimate," agreed the Sub. "If it holds, anotherthirty hours ought to bring us within sight of land."
"Not much doubt about it holding, sir," declared the man, glancing towindward. "Unless I'm much mistaken there'll be a power o' wind aforenightfall--more'n we'll want," he added under his breath.
"Cover up that hard tack there," ordered the Sub, as the first sprayflew over the gunwale and threatened to soak the scanty supply ofbiscuits. "A pull on your fore-sheet there. That's better; now shefeels it."
The whaler was moving now, cutting through the rising waves like arace-horse. Every stitch of canvas was drawing, while feathers ofspray dashed over the weather bow. But, in spite of these encouragingconditions, the wind was backing slowly yet steadily. By sunset itwas broad on the starboard beam.
As darkness set in Webb relieved the coxswain at the tiller. Fewwords were spoken between them, for the Sub's attention was mainlydirected to windward, ready to cope with any sudden increase of wind.Either seated or lying on the bottom-boards, the men were engaged inthe time-honoured custom of "chewing the rag" before "turning in" ontheir hard couch. Scraps of conversation caught the Sub's ears. Hesmiled grimly, for the boat's crew were not discussing the chances ofthe hazardous voyage, or the plight of their comrades they had leftbehind: an animated discussion was in progress as to which team wonthe English Cup in a certain year of that remote period previous tothe outbreak of the greatest war the world has yet seen.
At eight bells the "watch below" turned in, their outlines justdiscernible in the starlight as, in unpicturesque attitudes, eachsleeper adapted himself as comfortably to his individual tastes ashard and unyielding bottom-boards permitted. Their comrades, told offfor the night watches, crouched under the lee of the gunwale,sheltering from the keen wind, for with the setting of the sun thetemperature had fallen considerably. Clad only in sub-tropicaluniforms and being unprovided with greatcoats, the men felt acutelythe contrast between the heat of the day and the chilliness of thenight. When at length the order came to reef sails, they obeyedsmartly and cheerfully. The very act of doing something was as balmto their cold and cramped limbs.
Webb had been wise to reef in time. The wind was now for'ard of thebeam and increasing in violence. Directly water showed a tendency tocome over the lee gunwale he had given the order to shorten sail.
He was very anxious--not on account of the rising wind and sea, butbecause it was now only just possible to keep the whaler on hercourse.
"If the wind backs another point it will head us," he remarked to thecoxswain.
"'Fraid it will, sir," was the imperturbable reply. "I'd as lief uphelm and run for Malta as make board after board and not gain more'na few yards to wind'ard."
The Sub had to admit the force of the petty officer's remarks. Thewhaler, being unprovided with a drop keel, would make a veryindifferent performance to windward. There were no tidal currents tohelp her--the Mediterranean being tideless--and what "drift" therewas would be against her, since the currents in this part of the vastinland sea are set up solely by the force of the prevailing wind. Inthese circumstances it might take a week or more to reach Crete, andby that time the comrades they had left behind would be conquered byfamine, even if they succeeded in holding in check the savage foeswho menaced them.
Yet there was another chance. The whaler would soon be in the regularsteamer track between Port Said and the Western Mediterraneanseaports. In normal times the probability of aid from passing vesselswould be great; but now, owing to the U-boat menace, things were verydifferent.
A moaning sound pierced the darkness of the night. In an instant Webbgrasped the situation. A squall was sweeping down.
"Check sheets!" he shouted, at the same time putting the helm downever so slightly, so as not to get the boat "in irons".
The squall hit the boat hard. Green seas poured over her bows,effectually awaking the sleepers. So fierce was the strength of thewind that the Sub was compelled to order the canvas to beclose-reefed.
By dint of strenuous baling the whaler was kept afloat; yet she wassagging to leeward like an empty cask. Worse, the wind was nowabsolutely dead ahead, and more than enough for the meagre amount ofsail that was still set.
"Think she'll stick it?" shouted Webb to the coxswain.
"No, I don't, sir," replied that worthy bluntly. "Better ride to ourgear while there's time."
The petty officer's advice was sound. To attempt to carry on was asuicidal policy. As quickly as possible the oars and yard were lashedtogether, the foresail being still bent to its spar. To these a scopeof grass rope was attached, and the whole of the gear thrownoverboard, the kedge having been previously bent to the lower part ofthe canvas to ensure it floating "up and down".
To
this rough-and-ready sea-anchor the whaler rode in comparativesafety, for, although the seas were breaking all around, there was acomplete absence of crested, dangerous waves in the wake of thefloating gear, fifty yards ahead of the boat.
"So well, so good," thought Webb. "But, unfortunately, though we mayhave saved our own skins, the fact remains that we are not helpingCaptain M'Bride and our comrades ashore."
"She's riding handsomely, sir," remarked the coxswain. "And we'veplenty of sea-room. Short and sharp this has been in coming up, andmaybe 'twill be short and sharp when it does pipe down."
Slowly the minutes sped. The inactivity, combined with a prolongedlack of sleep, was beginning to tell upon the young officer. Once ortwice he found his head involuntarily dropping on his chest.
"All right, sir," said the coxswain, who had "spotted" his superiorofficer's movements. "Just you have forty winks. Nothin' doin'; andI'll pass the word if there is."
It seemed less than a few minutes when Webb was roused by the pettyofficer touching him on the shoulder.
"Vessel o' sorts bearin' down, sir."
There was no time to be lost if help was to be forthcoming in thatdirection. Already the black outlines of a large ship were loomingthrough the night mirk.
The whaler was without means of signalling. Webb found himselfwishing that he had brought the Very's pistol with him, until hereflected that it might perform an even greater service in thedefence of the zariba. There were no rockets in the boat; neitherflashing lamp nor flare. Not even matches, for the very scanty stockhad been used up in a fruitless attempt to light the binnacle lamp,which had been found lying in the bottom of the boat when she hadcome ashore half-filled with water. Nor was there a rifle on board.Every available weapon was required by the men facing the Senussi.
"Stand by to give a hail, men," cautioned the Sub. "When I give theword, then all together. Luckily she'll pass to leeward of us."
At Webb's order the night echoed to the stentorian tones of thewhaler's crew. It must have been impossible for the officer of thewatch not to have heard the combined efforts of the strong-lungedmen.
"She's not slowing down, sir," said one of the men, after a pause.
"Give her time," replied the Sub, hoping against hope that the vesselwould respond to the appeal for aid.
But no; instead of reversing engines she ported helm, and at fullspeed was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
"Rale haythens, sure they be!" muttered an Irishman indignantly.
Webb took the acute disappointment philosophically. These were timeswhen unprecedented horrors encompassed the mariner--cold-bloodedmurder in the darkness of the night by cowardly lurking U-boats.Cases had been known of German vessels of war luring their victims todestruction by false signals of distress, and it was more than likelythat the officer of the watch of the unknown ship, hearing the hail,had come to the conclusion that it was a decoy cry from a hostilesubmarine, and had altered her course in order to avoid a torpedo.
With the first streaks of dawn the wind moderated, although deadahead. The seas, still high, no longer maintained their vicious,crested aspect. It was now safe to rehoist sail, and, accordingly,the sea-anchor was brought on board and the masts restepped.
The Sub had already made up his mind to steer westward. With luck hemight reach Malta, or at least fall in with some of the numerouswar-ships that make Valetta their base.
As luck would have it, the "traveller", or iron ring that runs up anddown the mast and to which is attached the yard, was jerked upwardsduring the operation of making sail. Slackening the halyard made nodifference. The elusive ring remained at a tantalizing distance oftwo or three inches above the tallest man's outstretched hand, andthere was no boat-hook to bring it down.
Webb was about to order the mast to be unstepped, when one of the menswarmed up the swaying pole and recovered the "traveller". As he didso he happened to glance to windward.
"A sail!" he shouted. "Coming bows on."
For a few minutes all on board the whaler were in a state ofsuspense. The vessel was approaching rapidly, but to a great extentwas obscured by the cloud of black smoke that was carried ahead bythe following wind.
"Hurrah, lads!" exclaimed the coxswain. "She's a destroyer."
Soon there was no doubt on the matter. She was a large four-funnelledtorpedo-boat destroyer with a red, white, and green ensign at eachmasthead, indicating her to be a unit of the Italian Navy. The onefly in the ointment was the disconcerting sight of the bowtwelve-pounder gun manned and trained upon the whaler.