CHAPTER XXV.
THE WRECK.
THE Norwegian skipper saw the twin periscopes almost at the sametime, as, owing to the "jump" of the submarine, they bobbed up anddown in the raging sea. At one moment they would be completelysubmerged; at another the top of the conning-tower would appear abovethe surface.
"German, eh?" asked the skipper, with a shrug of his shoulders."Them everywhere; but I think they will not hurt us--we Norwegianship. They go to read name on our stern."
Terence did not reply. He gripped the rail and looked stedfastly inthe direction of the latest menace. It reminded him of that awfulperiod of suspense when the torpedo came speeding towards theill-fated "Terrier."
Perhaps, seeing the desperate plight of the "Roldal" the Germancommander would not waste a precious torpedo. If he did, Terencereasoned it would only hasten the seemingly inevitable end.
"By Jove, what a chance if we had a quick-firer!" exclaimed a voicein his ear, and turning the lieutenant saw that Raeburn had emergedfrom the chart-room, where he had been during all those hours ofdanger.
"And if we had use of the helm we would settle her," added Aubyn."As it is----"
A glistening object cleaving through the waves caused him to breakoff suddenly. The submarine, with a fiendish disregard of humanity'slaws, had let loose a torpedo.
It came straight towards the luckless "Roldal," at times jumpingclear of the terrific seas, at others cutting through the great waveswith a hiss of escaping air and a smother of foam from its doublepropellers.
Fully expecting the missile to strike fairly amidships andimmediately under the bridge the three officers scurried to thestarboard side, Kenneth being assisted by his chum as he lurchedacross the steeply shelving planks.
"Missed!" he shouted, as the wake of the receding torpedo caught hiseye. The weapon had, owing to an erratic roll of the ship, passed afew inches beneath her keel and was now expending its store ofcompressed air in a useless run.
"The lubbers! The lubbers!" exclaimed the Norwegian skipper, using aterm which he considered to be the last word of nautical malediction.Whatever sympathies he had for the Teuton had now flown to the winds.The torpedo from the recreant submarine had converted one morebiassed neutral into a staunch moral foe of kultur.
Chagrined by the failure, the German submarine did not dischargeanother torpedo. Her periscopes disappeared, and although Aubyn kepta vigilant lookout, he saw no more signs of her.
By this time the "Roldal" was badly down by the head. At intervals itseemed as if she would not shake herself free of the tons of waterthat poured over her decks. Her very sluggishness suggested to theexperienced seamen that there was very little life left in thevessel.
"Release the prisoners, Saunders," ordered Terence, leaning over thebridge rails and addressing a petty officer. "See that they areserved out with lifebelts."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, as he hurried below, where eighteenfrenzied Germans were clamouring to be let out.
There was nothing more to be done to safeguard the lives of the crew.The men, British and Norwegian, were steady and under perfectcontrol. All wore either life-belts or inflated swimming-collars,although the possibility of gaining the shore seemed very remote inview of the mountainous seas breaking against the sheer wall ofiron-bound cliff.
"Let me give you a hand, old man," said Terence, offering a life-beltto Raeburn.
The assistant engineer shook his head.
"Thanks, I'm not having any," he replied. "I never was fond of icycold water, so the sooner it's over the better. Wonder what oldSmithers will do with my pipe? I wish I had it now."
"Try a cigarette," suggested Aubyn.
Kenneth took one from the proffered case, and, awaiting hisopportunity, made a dash for the lee side of the chart-house. In afew seconds he was back again, with the cigarette between his teeth.A shower of ice spray extinguished it, but seemingly unconscious ofthe fact he puffed away at the unlighted cigarette.
One of the "Strongbow's" men ascended a few rungs of the ladder andsaluted. Terence beckoned him to come close.
"Beg pardon, sir," announced the seaman, "I know the coast. We'redrifting on to a bad part of the Shetlands. Yon island's Unst;t'other is Fetlar, and beyond it, though it looks all one island, isYell. D'ye happen to know what time o' tide it is, sir?"
"High water at about seven o'clock at Lerwick," replied Terence.
"Then, sir, if we hit to the south'ard of Fetlar, God help us. It'ssure death; but if so be we get swept to the nor'ard of it, there's a'swilkie'--that's what they call a race in these parts--that'll takeus into Dalsetter--unless we founder first," he added, as anafter-thought.
Anxiously Aubyn kept his telescope levelled on the north end ofFetlar. By taking a bearing he was able to realize that the ship hada perceptible northerly drift. If this movement were maintained itmight be possible to escape being cast upon the perpendicular cliffs,otherwise all hopes of rescue must be abandoned.
In breathless suspense the crew watched their vessel bear down uponthe forbidding shore, till caught by the "swilkie" she was sweptclear of the dreaded cape. Yet so close had she shaved the land thatin fine weather it would have been possible to "toss a biscuit"ashore.
Although the sea still ran high the force of the wind was lessened bythe slight shelter afforded by the island. Ahead lay the large islandof Yell, wherein could be distinguished the comparatively safe haventhat terminates at the village of Dalsetter.
"Look, sir," exclaimed the seaman, who at Terence's request hadremained on the bridge. "There are people ashore. They're signallingto us to edge to starboard."
"Would if we could," muttered the lieutenant grimly. "By Jove,they're sending out a couple of boats."
Such was the case. In spite of the mountainous seas, some of thehardy Shetlanders had put off in two of the typically seaworthy craftfor which Lerwick and the fishing harbours of these islands arejustly celebrated.
Tack after tack they made. At times only the peaks of the closelyreefed dipping lugsails were visible. The rest of the boats were lostto sight between the crests of the waves.
It was soon evident to the Shetland fishermen that they could donothing in the way of salvage, and having been able to ascertain thatthe distressed vessel was not under control and incapable ofanswering to her helm, they contented themselves by tacking to andfro to wind'ard, waiting for the "Roldal" to make her final plunge.
Yet the Norwegian vessel showed no undue haste. She had reached acertain stage when she retained just sufficient buoyancy to keep herafloat. After all, it seemed as if she would ground rather thanfounder.
"We can't fetch the creek, sir," declared the seaman. "We're settingtoo much to the nor'ard. It's only a question of time, sir."
Almost as he spoke the "Roldal's" hull shuddered under a terrificblow. Heeling to port, she swung almost broadside on to the waves;with a crash her masts went by the board, the foremast buckling closeto the deck, and about ten feet of the main-mast remaining.
Two more heavy bumps she gave, then, settling on hard rock, merelyquivered as the seas broke over her.
"Hold on, men, for your lives!" shouted Terence. "The tide's ebbing.We may be all right even yet."
The crew needed no caution in this respect. Hanging on desperately towhatever came to hand they resisted the efforts of the breakers tosweep them overboard and into the chaos of broken water between themand the low cliffs.
The fishing-boats had gone. Brave as were their crews the hardyShetlanders knew that to venture anywhere in the vicinity of thestranded vessel meant almost certain death without the slightestchance to render any assistance.
Then, with surprising suddenness, the summit of the hitherto desertedcliffs was teeming with people--men, women, and children. Theinhabitants of the little village had been waiting by the side of thesheltered firth, fully expecting to see the disabled vessel crawlinto safety. But with the news that she had failed to weather theheadland they rushed to the cliffs, and, what was more, they broug
hta rocket apparatus with them.
The first rocket, deflected by the wind, fell fifty feet from thewreck. The second was fired immediately on the deck of the "Roldal."Several of the seaman, at imminent risk of being swept overboard,secured the light line and began to haul away.
In ten minutes a means of communication with the shore wasestablished. Beginning with the prisoners, the shipwrecked party werehauled to land, one by one till only Raeburn and Terence were left,for in spite of Aubyn's representations that the partly disabledofficer should be sent early in the course of the operations, Kennethstoutly refused to budge until all the passengers and crew weresaved.
"Now, then, old man," exclaimed Terence. Gently he assisted his chuminto the breeches-buoy, and, since the assistant engineer wasincapable of raising his right hand and arm, the lieutenant made himadditionally secure by lashing a rope round his shoulders and to theslings of the buoy.
"'Fraid I'll get a ducking after all," remarked Kenneth, with mockruefulness. "Never mind, I'll get my pipe again."
Terence gave the signal. The strain on the hauling rope increased,and Kenneth started on his semi-aerial, semi-submarine journey to thecliffs of Yell.
Anxiously the lieutenant followed his chum's progress. He knew howhard the tail of a wave can hit, and that Kenneth was in seriousdanger of having his still unhealed arm broken again by even a fairlylight blow. White-crested waves were breaking right over the occupantof the breeches-buoy, for he was now nearly half-way to the shore andat the lowermost limit of the sagging rope. At times lifted by theseas, he would be swung into an almost horizontal position. At othershe would be suspended in the air, with the water pouring from himlike a miniature cascade.
"He's making slow progress," thought Terence. Then he looked at theendless travelling line. It was not running through the block.Something had jammed and the men on the cliff were unable to haul thebreeches-buoy another foot.
Frantically Terence signalled for them to slack away. Putting everyounce of strength into his effort he tugged at the line in the hopeof freeing it from the jammed block, but without avail.
"He'll be drowned, or he'll die of exposure," thought Terence, as hedesperately taxed his powers of resourcefulness to devise some meansof extricating his comrade from his dangerous position.
"There's only one thing to be done," he continued. "It's kill orcure, so here goes."
Pulling out his pocket-knife, Terence made his way to the stump ofthe mainmast, to which, ten feet above the deck, was bent the "tailjigger," or rope through which the endless line was rove and thestout hawser from which the breeches-buoy was suspended.
Securing a foothold on the spider-band Aubyn found that he could noweasily reach the object of his attack. The blade of his knife, thoughsmall, was sharp. The strain on the hemp aided his efforts, and in avery short time both means of communication with the shore weresevered.
His own retreat was cut off, but the helpers on the cliff were nowable to haul Kenneth through the breakers. They understood the act ofself-sacrifice of the solitary figure on the wreck and actedpromptly.
"The strain on the hemp aided his efforts."]
Anxiously he followed the progress of that small black object thatwas being towed rapidly towards the base of the cliffs. He knew therisk. Even in the case of a man in full possession of the use of hislimbs the danger of being hurled against that almost perpendicularwall of rock was appalling.
He held his breath. Kenneth was clear of the waves--no, almost, for asmother of white foam had hidden him temporarily from thelieutenant's sight. The next moment the surf had subsided, revealingthe breeches-buoy and its occupant like a spider at the end of itsthread.
The rope was swinging violently, but owing to the fact that here thecliffs overhung the sea Raeburn was not being continually bumpedagainst the rocks. Instead he seemed to be clear of that danger, andthe higher he was pulled up, the shorter became the swing of thatexaggerated pendulum.
Men were lying flat upon the brink, waiting to receive the rescuedofficer. Others, still hauling, but with less speed, awaited theorder to belay. The last ten feet of the ascent were the mostdifficult of all, for here Kenneth's body and maimed limb were inactual contact with the rugged granite. Yet, from where he stood,Terence could see no sign of life in the saturated burden of thebreeches-buoy.
Now the rescuers had the object of their attention within arms'reach. Grasped by the muscular hands of the hardy Shetlanders,Kenneth was lifted clear of the jagged edge of the cliff. Willinghelpers released him from the buoy, and still without showing signsof movement Raeburn was carried out of his chum's sight.
Leaning against the lee side of the chart-house, for the bridge wasnow at an alarming angle, Terence quietly reviewed the position. The"Roldal" was breaking up fast. Already the bow portion had vanished,and the 'midship portion seemed in a great hurry to disintegrateitself under the sledge-hammer like blows of the waves.
His first idea was to throw himself into the sea and trust to fate.He might perhaps escape being dashed against the cliff and contriveto seize a bowline lowered from above; but the possibility of gettingsafely through that turmoil seemed wellnigh hopeless.
The tide was still falling. Every few minutes meant the uncovering ofthe reef on which the vessel struck, and a compensating diminution ofthe force of the waves. On the other hand, delay resulted in theincrease of the numbness of his body and limbs, which were alreadyfeeling the effects of the cold and wet.
Hundreds of eyes were fixed upon him. In addition to the inhabitantsof the village and the surrounding district, his own men and theNorwegian crew were standing on the cliffs in apparent helplessness,waiting for the final act of the tragedy.
Presently a hand-cart drawn by half a dozen fishermen appeared uponthe scene. It was another life-saving apparatus, for the first hadbeen rendered useless owing to the accident.
With a hiss the light-line fell handsomely across the wreck, the ropealmost falling into Terence's hand. To it was attached the hawser,but the lieutenant knew that it was beyond his strength to attach thestout rope to the stump of the mast. Since Raeburn had been hauledthrough the breaking seas, he argued, why could he not follow hisexample?
Securing the running rope round his waist, and making sure that nopart of the gear was likely to foul any part of the wreckage, Terencemade his way down the shelving bridge. The lee side was now only sixor seven feet above the water. The whole structure was quiveringviolently. At the most it could not hold together for many minuteslonger.
Using his arms as a semaphore the lieutenant signalled to those onshore that he was ready to be hauled through the surf. A reply to theeffect that he was understood came from the "Strongbow's" men. Then,making a leap clear of the bridge, Terence plunged into the sea. Evenas he did so, the chart-house and the weather part of the bridge wereswept bodily away.
Upon rising to the surface Aubyn found himself being dragged throughthe water at a rapid rate. Ten yards or so behind him was an enormousmass of woodwork--a part of the bridge-planking--bearing down on thecrest of a billow. Swift as was his progress, the floating timberthreatened to overtake and overwhelm him.
The rescuers, too, saw the danger, and redoubled their efforts tohaul the lieutenant clear of the pursuing mass. Buffeted by thewaves, his limbs completely numbed by the action of the icy-coldwater, Terence was hardly conscious of what was happening, till hefound himself being lifted clear of the chaos of broken water.
Before he was out of danger an exceptionally heavy sea completelyburied him as he swung with irresistible force towards the base ofthe cliff. The "backlash" of the foam alone saved him from beingdashed to death against the solid mass of granite. As it was hereceived such a severe blow that he lost consciousness.