CHAPTER XXX
A Duel to the Death
Rushing upon the bridge of the foundering vessel, Fordyce lookedaround for signs of R19. The submarine, giving the sinking craft awide berth, was slowly forging ahead to stand by to pick up her boat.At the present moment the intercepting hull of the largest tramp hidher from view.
"Ahoy!" shouted the Sub the moment R19's bows drew clear. "Enemydestroyer bearing east by south, distance two miles."
"Aye, aye," roared Mr. Macquare in reply. "Stand by; we'll pick youup later."
Keenly Fordyce watched the visible evolutions of the submarine as,cleared away for diving, she sped through the waves withoutattempting to submerge. To do otherwise would be running the risk offouling some of the wreckage from the sunken merchantmen. Stockdalewas making sure of his "ground" before seeking cover.
Up pelted the German torpedo-craft, the spray flying from her bowsand sizzling in clouds of steam against her red-hot funnels. Sightingthe submarine just as the latter was gliding beneath the waves, thehostile vessel altered helm and bore down upon the spot where R19 haddisappeared, firing ineffectually with every gun that could bebrought to bear ahead.
To Fordyce it seemed as if the destroyer shuddered under a terrificimpact. He was more than half afraid that her sharp stem had sent R19to her doom. Then came the splash of the mark-buoy being hurledoverboard to indicate the supposed position of the submarine,followed by the detonation of a "depth-charge".
"Best hook it, sir," suggested Chalmers. "This old tub won't keepafloat much longer."
So engrossed was the Sub in the spectacle of the German destroyersearching for her prey that he had entirely overlooked his own peril.Already the tramp's taffrail was level with the water, while her deckbetwixt the poop and the rise amidships was flooded.
Alongside the entry-port the whaler's crew were "fending off" toprevent the boat being pinned against the side by the inrush of water.
"Give way, lads!" ordered Fordyce as he sprang into the waitingboat.
Before the whaler had been rowed a distance of fifty yards a portionof the tramp's deck blew up under the irresistible pressure ofcompressed air. A rush of steam and smoke followed, and the doomedvessel, her last reserve of buoyancy gone, sank like a stone.
It was now moonlight. A mile or so to the east'ard could be discernedthe misty shape of the grey-painted destroyer. She was turning tostarboard, with the intention of retracing her course in order toobserve traces of her presumably shattered foe.
"Keep down, all hands," cautioned Fordyce.
The men, boating their oars, crouched on the bottom boards. There wasjust a chance that the Huns would overlook an apparently empty boatadrift in the midst of a medley of flotsam, for the sea all aroundwas covered with woodwork of various shapes and sizes.
A minute passed in long-drawn suspense. There were audibleindications that the German destroyer was bearing down. Then thetension was broken by a terrific roar, the rush of water being hurledviolently into the air and falling again.
Raising his head above the gunwale, Fordyce gave vent to a shout ofsurprised gratification. A slowly-dispersing cloud of smoke markedthe spot where the enemy craft had been. Broken asunder by theexplosion of a torpedo, she was now lying on the bed of the Baltic.
"One more feather in the Old Man's cap," exclaimed a bluejacket, hisenthusiasm outweighing his sense of respect in thus referring to hisskipper.
"Give way!" ordered the Sub, as he grasped the yoke-lines. "There'ssomeone in the ditch."
The men bent to their oars with a will. At the prospect of savinglife their resentment for the Hun and all his works vanished.
They had not far to row before they entered the zone of acrid fumes,for at the moment of the torpedo's impact the destroyer had lessenedthe distance to about a quarter of a mile of the then motionlesswhaler.
The moonbeams, penetrating the thinning veil of vapour, werescintillating upon the still-agitated waves, while silhouettedagainst the pale-yellow light were the outlines of the head andshoulders of a swimmer.
"In bow!"
The bowman boated his oar, and, grasping the gunwale, leant overboardwith his right hand outstretched.
With the assistance of a comrade the bowman hiked the rescued Germaninto the boat. He was capless, his face was black with burnt powder.He seemed dazed and incapable of speech.
"There's another 'Un!" shouted the bowman. "On your port bow, sir;a-hangin' on to that bit o' wreckage."
The second swimmer was in a desperate state. He was almost destituteof clothing, while his flesh was badly charred by the blast of theexplosion. As he was being lifted into the boat it was noticed thathis left leg was hanging limply, being all but severed above the kneeby a sliver of metal.
Skilfully the British tars proceeded to place a rough-and-readytourniquet round the injured limb, while, fortunately for himself,the wounded man lost consciousness directly he was hauled into theboat.
"There she is, sir," announced Chalmers, as the twin periscopes ofR19, throwing up feathers of spray, emerged from beneath the surface.Followed the conning-tower, the bow portion of the deck, and then,like a huge porpoise, the rest of the hull until the submarine wasawash.
"Look alive, Mr. Fordyce!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander, as heemerged through the conning-tower hatchway. "There may be some otherHun craft knocking around. What's that--survivors?"
"Two, sir; one badly wounded."
The rescued men were lifted on board and passed below. Then, aftercruising round and making sure that there were no more of thedestroyer's men alive, the humane Stockdale gave orders for thesubmarine to submerge once more.
"You bagged her all right, sir," remarked the Sub.
"Yes, the silly ass played into our hands, absolutely," replied theHon. Derek. "It was the result of taking too much for granted, Isuppose. Have you found out the number of the boat?"
"No, sir; but I will ascertain."
Fordyce made his way to the place where the survivors were beingtended by their late antagonists. The German with the broken limblooked on the point of death, while the other, who had lostconsciousness upon being carried below, was found to be sufferingfrom several contusions to the back and ribs.
"'E's an officer, sir," reported one of the men, pointing to thediscarded uniform of the Imperial German Navy.
Fordyce examined the sleeve of the coat. By the distinctive rings heknew that the prisoner was the skipper of the torpedoed destroyer--akapitan-leutnant, whose rank corresponded with that oflieutenant-commander of the British navy.
"Wonder what he's done to get this?" mused the Sub, holding up thedecoration known as the "Ordre pour le M?rite". "Rum-looking josser,too," he continued, studying the coarse features of the man; "brutaleven while unconscious. Hallo! Now what's wrong?"
From for'ard came a succession of violent crashes, mingled withblood-curdling shrieks and unmistakably strong British epithets.Quick to act, Fordyce rushed from the compartment and hurried towardsthe scene of disorder.