CHAPTER VIII
"In the Ditch"
IT was one of the rare occasions when Tom Webb could not carry outthe Scout's maxim, "Keep smiling"--at least outwardly. On being slungout of the boat he had been temporarily winded by the edge of thegunwale buffeting his ribs. He had sunk to a considerable depth, andjust before he regained the surface he had been compelled to swallowa mouthful--not of honest sea water, but of some vile liquid of whichpetrol and oil formed component parts. Fortunately the coating of oilon the surface was not thick, otherwise his chance of reappearingwould have been very remote.
"Here you are, sir; clap hold of this," exclaimed a deep voice closeto his ear, and a large grating was thrust into his grasp.
Rubbing the water from his eyes with his disengaged hand, Webb sawthat his benefactor was the coxswain of the cutter. Half a dozen ormore men were swimming about, some supporting their less-giftedcomrades who were unable to swim.
Owing to the presence of oil the turmoil of broken water had alreadysubsided. Ten yards away the cutter was floating lazily upon the longswell, keel uppermost and with five or six men holding on, or elsesomewhat foolishly attempting to clamber upon her upturned bilges.Still farther away was the whaler, waterlogged and with only her bowand stern-posts showing above the surface. Quite half a mile off, andstill carrying way in spite of having reversed her engines, was thecause of the disaster to the boats.
"Stick it, men," exclaimed Webb encouragingly. "They'll soon pick usup."
At which information, unnecessary since the _Portchester Castle's_intention was obvious, the men gave a cheer. Most of them had been"in the ditch" before, and in far more hazardous conditions. Thisimmersion in a warm sea and on a calm day was of the nature of anaquatic picnic, while with the prospect of a speedy rescue none ofthe men thought it worth while to sacrifice his boots.
The Sub found himself counting the heads of the survivors. Thank God!the number tallied with that of the complete boat's crew. In fact, hewas not sure but that there seemed to be more.
"Any casualties?" he enquired of the coxswain, who was lazilyswimming close to his young officer.
"Bill Evans, sir; stopped a bullet. Right shoulder, sir. They've gothim in tow alongside the cutter. Nothing more."
The coxswain did not think it necessary to inform Webb that hehimself had a little memento of the brief scrap with the U-boat'screw, in the shape of a wound just above the left knee. In the waterit was hardly noticeable.
The whaler's people, too, seemed to be in the best of spirits. Theyhad closed in around the waterlogged craft, each man gripping thepartly submerged gunwale and lustily singing one of the latestditties, just to emphasize the fact that they were very far frombeing down-hearted. With them were five or six survivors of theU-boat. Enmity had disappeared, the whaler's men treating theircompanions in misfortune with the utmost good humour.
Presently Webb felt a hand clutch at his shoulder.
"Here, come off it!" exclaimed the coxswain.
"If you do want a leg-up, don't put your dirty paws on our officer."
The Sub turned his head. Behind him was a German seaman, obviouslydistressed and in difficulties. He had been holding on to an oar, butthe buoyancy of the wood was insufficient to keep his head above thesurface.
"Can you swim?" asked Webb.
"Nein," spluttered the Hun. "Me vos no swim----"
"Then hang on to this," continued the Sub, pushing the broad end ofthe grating within reach of the German. The fellow seized it withouta word of thanks.
"Most amiable-looking blighter," commented Webb, regarding the heavy,sullen features of the submariner. "Wonder if you were one of thecrowd that jeered at the crew of that torpedoed Italian liner theother day? Shouldn't be at all surprised, but I suppose I must notask awkward questions. Hallo, what's wrong now?"
A yell of rage attracted the young officer's attention. One of theGermans, either rendered temporarily insane by the fate of theU-boat, or else filled to overflowing with the gospel of "Gott strafeEngland", had made a sudden and furious attack upon one of thewhaler's crew, who a minute or so previously had generously made roomfor the half-drowned Hun.
The latter, having regained his breath, had drawn a knife and hadmade several ineffectual attempts to sheathe the blade in the Britishseaman's body.
Jack Tar was quite equal to the occasion, although interrupted in themidst of "spinning a yarn" with his chum. Evading a sweep with theknife he gripped the German's arm, and drawing up his legs threw themover the shoulders of his assailant. Then, literally sitting on theHun, he held him under water until he had swallowed a quart ofpetrol-tainted fluid and was reduced to a state of insensibility.This done, he allowed his assailant's head to appear above thesurface, and supported him until the arrival of the _PortchesterCastle's_ boats.
"Why didn't you 'out' him while you were about it, mate?" enquiredthe man's "raggie".
"No bloomin' fear," was the reply of the magnanimous bluejacket.Then, anxious to excuse himself, he added: "Drownin's too good forthat brute. Well, I was a-tellin' you about that there bloke wotsneaked Bill's plug o' bacca. You see it wur like this----"
And as if the incident of the murderous Hun had never occurred, thesailor resumed his yarn.
Five minutes later the saturated but undaunted crews of the capsizedboats were safe and sound on board. Nine members of the U-boat'scomplement were sent below after having been provided with dryclothing by their good-natured foes. The cutter and the whaler wererecovered and hoisted inboard, having sustained very little damage.Then, having made their report and been complimented on their work,Webb and Haynes went below to change their soaked uniforms. The_Portchester Castle_, this part of her mission successfullyaccomplished, put about and retraced her course to Gibraltar.
Here the prisoners were to be sent ashore until an opportunityoccurred to put them on board a vessel bound for England, there toswell the total of ever-increasing numbers of Hun pirates living in astate of comparative ease in a hostile country, while thousands ofBritons, who had fought cleanly for King and Country, werelanguishing, half-starved and in rags, in the hideous prison-camps ofGermany.
"Hallo, there's a fellow who evidently wants to pow-wow with you,Tom," said Osborne, as the two officers stood at the head of thegangway, watching the U-boat's survivors being marched ashore.
The German whom Osborne had indicated had stepped forward and wassigning vigorously to Webb. Then, to the Sub's surprise, the manproduced a small packet and held it out.
"Tanks!" he exclaimed. "For you--many tanks."
Then it was that Webb recognized the man whose life he had beeninstrumental in saving. The Hun had some sense of gratitude afterall, he reflected, as he took the proffered packet.
But before Webb could examine its contents a loud yell distracted hisattention from the Hun's gift. The last of the prisoners to leave theship was the fellow who had attempted to knife one of the whaler'screw. With a show of bravado and out of sheer cruelty, he haddeliberately kicked Laddie in the ribs as he passed towards thegangway.
The Hun had one of the shocks of his life. He had underestimated thespirit of an Old English sheep-dog.
Although the kick was a heavy one, Laddie never uttered a sound. Likean arrow from a bow the dog flew straight at the leg that was wearingthe offending boot.
Laddie bit hard--so hard that Osborne afterwards declared that hecould hear the dog's teeth grinding upon the aggressor's shin-bone.Yelling frantically with pain and terror the German strove to shakeoff the animal, but, retaining a vice-like hold, Laddie hung on, andfinally threw the fellow on deck. As for his comrades, they ranpanic-stricken down the brow and across the Mole in spite of theefforts of the guards to keep them under control. Nor did the Britishbluejackets attempt to interfere. There was no knowing what the angryanimal might or might not do, and since the Hun brought thepunishment upon himself there was no great anxiety on the part of thecrew to intervene.
"That's enough, I think, Mr. Osborne," said Captain M'Bride
quietly.
The Lieutenant had his doubts as to whether his pet would, in hisfury, listen to his master's voice.
"Come here, Laddie," he ordered sternly.
The dog obeyed instantly, and releasing his grip trotted over toOsborne's feet. Not possessing the luxury of a tail, Laddie waggedthe whole of his hind quarters as much as to say: "Now, who says adog cannot do his bit for his country?"
Limping painfully the brutal German was assisted down the gangway. Hehad had his lesson.
"What did that Hun give you?" asked Osborne some minutes later.
"I'd forgotten all about it," said Webb, producing the packet fromhis pocket. "Laddie's little dust-up put all thought of it out of myhead. It is from a fellow to whom I gave a hand when we were 'in theditch'. He didn't seem particularly grateful then, but I suppose hewas a bit done up. Hallo, what's this?"
He held up an Iron Cross.