CHAPTER XIII
The "Sunderbund's" Life-boat
THE latitude and longitude given showed that the attack upon themail-boat had occurred close to the Tripolitan coast off the provinceof Barca, a desolate country on the western frontier of Egypt. At thetime of receiving the message the _Portchester Castle_ was twentymiles S.E. of Cape Sidero, in the island of Crete, and roughly 250miles from the scene of the disaster.
Immediately upon receipt of the wireless the armed merchant-cruiserset off at full speed to carry out instructions. A message from the_Restormel_ announced the fact that that vessel was eighty miles tothe westward.
"Glass tumbling down as if someone had knocked a hole in the bulb,"remarked Osborne. "We're in for a spell of very dirty weather beforevery long. The _Sunderbund's_ boats won't stand much chance in theheavy seas one meets with in the Eastern Mediterranean, and heavenhelp them if they are cast ashore. They've an even chance of death bystarvation--that is, if they survive the landing through thebreakers--or captivity in the hands of the Senussi."
"I thought that those fellows had been knocked out long ago,"remarked Haynes.
"Yes, as far as the Sollum district is concerned," replied theLieutenant. "But, unfortunately, numbers of these undesirables havemade their way westward into the fringe of the Tripolitan desert.They have, apparently, lost their Turkish officers, and are acting asbanditti. From all accounts they are well armed with modern rifles,although their field-guns and machine-guns were captured severalmonths ago."
The barometer had given a certain warning of bad weather, and beforemany hours had elapsed it was blowing hard from the east'ard. The sunset in a ragged bank of indigo-coloured clouds. The wind whistledshrilly through the armed merchant-cruiser's rigging, and thespindrift began to fly in heavy masses over the weather bow.
Morning brought no improvement in the weather. In fact it lookedworse, for the waves were so heavy that the _Portchester Castle_ hadlost a quantity of deck gear, while two of the boats had been "stovein" at the davits, owing to the gripes being carried away under thehammer-like blows of the green seas.
"Not much chance for the _Sunderbund's_ boats," said Haynes. "Theycouldn't possibly make headway against this tumble. They'd be swampedto a dead cert."
"Unless they rigged up sea-anchors and rode to them," added Webb."These waves are not so steep as those we get in the North Sea, andluckily the wind is not blowing dead on shore. It's my belief thatthe _Restormel_, being farther to lee'ard, will stand a better chancethan we shall of picking up the boats."
By this time the _Portchester Castle_ had altered helm and wassteering eastward, right into the eye of the wind. Broad on thestarboard beam could be faintly discerned the low, sandy cliffs ofthe African shore, fringed by a wide belt of milk-white foam. North,west, and east the horizon was unbroken. Sea and sky met in anill-defined blurr. Not another sail was in sight, nor had the_Portchester Castle_ passed any wreckage, although her course hadtaken her over the spot where the ill-fated liner had been reportedto have sunk.
Wireless messages constantly passed between the _Portchester Castle_and the _Restormel_, each vessel keeping her consort posted as to herposition; but neither was able to announce the gratifying news thatthe object of their quest had been achieved. About eight bells (8a.m.) the officer of the watch reported what appeared to be a boat,well on the starboard bow. A course was immediately shaped toapproach the supposed craft, while the _Portchester Castle's_officers kept it well under observation with their glasses.
"I don't think it is a boat," suggested Haynes. "Looks to me likesurf breaking over a rock."
He wiped the moisture from the lens of his telescope and lookedagain.
"It's only broken water," he said with conviction.
"I believe it is a boat--a white-painted one," said Webb.
"Sure?" enquired Haynes, unwilling to own that his surmise was atfault.
"Yes; she's lifting to the waves. I can see people in her."
"By Jove, yes," agreed Osborne. "And they are unpleasantly close tothe broken water. They don't seem to be making headway."
"We're in as close as we dare go, I fancy, Mr. Osborne," remarkedCaptain M'Bride. "We cannot hazard the ship by going inside theten-fathom line. Fire a couple of rockets, and see if they will beable to pull out to us."
Quickly the order was carried out. The two detonating rocketsexploded with loud reports, and, in spite of the fury of the wind,the people in the boat heard the signal. Hitherto their attentionseemed to have been directed towards the inhospitable shore, and theyhad not noticed the _Portchester Castle's_ approach. The latterslowed down, steaming at half-speed into the wind at a distance of acouple of miles from one of the _Sunderbund's_ life-boats, for suchshe was.
"They'll never do it," declared Captain M'Bride. "They're onlypulling four oars and look quite done up. We'll have to call forvolunteers, Mr. Osborne, to take the steamboat in and give them a towback to the ship."
"Very good, sir," replied the Lieutenant. "I'll go."
"No, not you, Mr. Osborne," said the skipper. "You'll be more usefulon board. It will be a ticklish job lowering the steamboat."
"May I, sir?" asked Webb eagerly.
Captain M'Bride assented. He had great confidence in theSub-lieutenant's capability, coolness, and sound judgment, andalready Webb had acquired a considerable amount of practice inhandling the steam cutter.
There was no lack of volunteers to man the boat, and the Sub had nodifficulty in picking out those men who were accustomed to thecutter. Steam was quickly raised, and in a very short time the heavycraft was ready to be hoisted out.
The _Portchester Castle's_ helm was then starboarded, bringing thevessel broadside on to wind and sea, and thus affording a floatingbreakwater for the rescuing boat. Even then the vessel rolled soheavily, and the waves even to leeward were so vicious, that theoperation of casting off from the ship's side would be fraught withdanger.
"We'll try the effect of a little oil," declared the skipper. "Passthe word for a cask of heavy stuff to be started. Look lively there."
The effect of the oil was little short of marvellous. Far to leewardthe tumultuous seas subsided as if by magic, leaving a calm,fan-shaped belt of iridescent water bounded by a terrific turmoil ofbroken water.
Clad in oilskins, sou'wester, and rubber boots, Webb took his placeby the side of the coxswain. For'ard everything had been batteneddown, while in the stern-sheets were a couple of coils of rope and astrongly-stropped empty water breaker.
"Easy ahead," ordered the Sub. Although every moment was precious, hewas too good a seaman to attempt to drive his boat at full speedthrough the turmoil of foaming seas immediately beyond the belt ofoil-quelled water. To have done so would have resulted in a severestrain upon the engines owing to the racing of the propeller as theboat's stern lifted clear of the waves, and quite possibly the cutterwould have found herself in a far more dangerous predicament than thelife-boat to whose assistance she was proceeding.
Soon the steamboat was in the thick of it. Solid waves swept her asfar aft as the cabin top; clouds of vapour, caused by the cold watercoming in sudden contact with the hot funnel-casing, enveloped theSub and the coxswain in a blinding, scurrying pall of moisture. Onlyby holding on like grim death were the two able to save themselvesfrom being thrown overboard by the erratic, almost vertical jerk ofthe boat's stern. At rapid intervals the helm had to be smartlyported in order to enable the steamboat to meet the hissing crestedwaves, which, had they hit the craft on her broadside, might easilyhave capsized her, or at least flooded her cockpit flush with thecoamings.
Nobly the cutter struggled onwards. Every foot gained was the resultof sheer hard work--a contest of the product of a mechanical age withthe forces of nature. Gradually the distance between her and the_Portchester Castle_ increased; she was making slow but sure headwayagainst wind and waves.
"See anything of the boat?" asked Webb, bellowing into the coxswain'sear in order to make himself understood in the racket of po
undingmachinery and the roar of the elements.
"Not a sign, sir," replied the man. "Maybe she's in the trough of thesea when we're on top of a wave, and t'other way about. Anyways,we'll pick her up if she's still afloat."
For full half an hour the strenuous struggle continued, then thesteamboat entered a comparatively calm belt of water. The respite wasbut temporary, for two hundred yards ahead began the broken water asthe waves began to thunder on the flat shore.
"There she is, sir," shouted the coxswain, as the glistening whitebows of the _Sunderbund's_ life-boat were for a brief instant visibleon the summit of a wave. "And lumme," he added under his breath,"they're about done in, I fancy. At all events it'll take somegetting out of that jumble of surf."
The man was quite right in his surmise. The liner's boat wasgradually and steadily losing ground. Despite the desperate andheroic efforts of her rowers--they had double- and treble-banked theoars that still remained serviceable--the physical strain wasbeginning to tell.
"Where she can keep afloat we can go," decided the Sub. "So heregoes."
The steamboat approached cautiously, easing down as each successivecomber swept towards her. Already there was a foot of water in theengine-room, while, in spite of the most skilful handling, thepropeller was racing madly as the boat dipped her nose and threw herstern clear of the waves.
It was, indeed, almost miraculous that the _Sunderbund's_ life-boathad so far weathered the storm. As it was, green seas were breakingover her, necessitating prompt, vigorous, and constant baling on thepart of her passengers and crew. Many of the former, too, were downwith sea-sickness of the worst form, and only lay inertly on thebottom-boards, too ill to take further interest in the proceedings.
At length the steamboat approached sufficiently near to enable thebreaker and grass rope to be veered to the sorely pressed life-boat.Directly the towing-hawser was made fast the former forged ahead; buthardly had she taken the strain when the means of communicationparted like packthread, one portion narrowly missing being caught bythe propeller. Had it done so the steamboat would have been helplessin the trough of the sea.
It was now an even more difficult matter to take the boat in towagain, for the breaker and grass rope had been taken on the_Sunderbund's_ boat. Meanwhile both craft had drifted farther toleeward, and closer to the worst of the broken water. Clearly Webbhad to act now or the opportunity would be gone for ever.
Frequently buried in green seas, from which she shook herself clearlike an enormous dog, the steam cutter staggered to windward of theboat and, turning, approached within casting distance.
Dexterously communication was re-established, and once more thesteamboat began to take the strain of the towing-hawser. At oneinstant stretched as taut as a steel bar, at another dipping limplyin the sea, the stout rope stood the strain, and gradually thelife-boat began to gather way. If progress was slow on the outwardrun, the journey back to the ship was even more so. Yet the_Portchester Castle_ was unable to approach another cable's lengthwithout an almost certain risk of grounding.
"The old ship's chucking overboard some more oil, sir," reported thecoxswain. "Maybe we'll get some benefit, although I'll allow it'lldrift too far to wind'ard."
"It's spreading," shouted Webb in reply. "That will do the trick."
Twenty minutes later the steamboat ran alongside her parent. Thehawser was transferred to the latter's steam-capstan, and the cutterwas deftly hoisted inboard.
Now came the more difficult task of transhipping the rescued men fromthe life-boat to the _Portchester Castle_. Without means of hoistingthe heavy boat bodily out of the water, the armed merchant-cruiser'screw had to haul each survivor separately by means of bowlines andbos'n's chairs, for most of the passengers had collapsed fromexposure.
There were two exceptions, however: one a tall, fair-haired man inthe khaki uniform of a Major of artillery. In spite of the fact thathis left arm was in a sling, he experienced no difficulty in makingthe ascent, and came over the side with a decided smile on his face.
Sub-lieutenant Webb looked at him intently; then, to confirm hissurmise, he glanced at the officer's companion--a slightly shorterand broad-shouldered man of about forty. His face was bronzed, hishair, crisp in spite of the drenching spray, was tinged with grey atthe temples. His attire consisted of a pair of navy-blue trousers anda shirt. It afterwards transpired that he had given his monkey-jacketto one of the lady passengers, or Webb would have recognized him as aLieutenant-commander of the Royal Naval Reserve.
"By Jove, Billy!" drawled the naval man. "Thought you and I, oldbird, would have had to swim for it--eh what? How's that groggy wristof yours now?"
Tom Webb hesitated no longer. He stepped up to the pair of rescuedofficers and held out his hand.
"Thanks, many thanks," exclaimed the coatless one. "You're the Sub incharge of the steamboat? Smart bit of work, 'pon my word."
"Glad to have the opportunity of repaying a good turn, Mr. Dacres,"said Webb.
"Good turn?" repeated Dacres, knitting his brows. "Good turn. I don'tfollow you. I haven't met you before, have I?"
"Yes, and so has Mr. Fane."
Mr. Fane was equally at a loss.
"Give it up," he declared. "All the same----"
"Dash it all, I've tumbled to it," interrupted Dacres. "You were thatcurly-headed Sea Scout I met at Haslar Creek three or four years ago.I believe you were the means of enabling me to get a yacht off myhands."
"And incidentally the means of getting me my commission," added theex-Tenderfoot. "And Osborne is on board too. There he is: officer ofthe watch. If it hadn't been for the experience we gained on boardthe old _Petrel_, I don't suppose we would have been here."
"Then the little yacht did some practical good work after all. I toldyou so, Billy," said Dacres, addressing his companion. "Yes, thanksvery much," he added, in response to the Sub's invitation. "The loanof a dry kit and a good meal would be very acceptable. It'snearly----"
"Submarine on the starboard bow, sir!" roared the mast-head man, hiswords unmistakably clear in spite of the howling of the wind.
The _Portchester Castle_ began to turn in obedience to a quickmovement of the helm. Hoarse orders were shouted from the bridge andtaken up by the bos'n's mates in other parts of the ship. But thewarning came too late. The armed merchant-cruiser reeled as with aterrific explosion a torpedo "got home" just abaft her engine-room.