A Sub. of the R.N.R.: A Story of the Great War

  CHAPTER VI.

  AN OCEAN DUEL.

  THE new course taken by the "Saraband" was in accordance with theinstructions given by the lieutenant of H.M.S. "Padstow." AvoidingLas Palmas the vessel made for the African coast, making a landfallin the neighbourhood of Cape Verd. Thence by a judicious use of hiscoal, and by hugging the shore as close as possible without risk ofgrounding on the outlying shoals, Captain Ramshaw hoped to bring hiscommand safely into Gibraltar.

  At nights all lights were screened. Board of Trade regulations in thematter of the use of navigation lamps were deliberately ignored. The"Saraband," at a steady seventeen knots, forged blindly ahead throughthe black waters.

  During this anxious period Captain Ramshaw rarely quitted the bridge.If he did so it was only for a few minutes. When compelled by thedemands of nature to rest, he slept on a deck-chair in thechart-room, ready at an instant's notice to give orders for thesafety of the ship.

  On the second night after the meeting of the "Padstow" thequartermaster had just reported four bells--the actual ringing hadbeen dispensed with as a matter of precaution--when a wireless S.O.S.call was received.

  It was Terence Aubyn's watch. Promptly the young officer informed theskipper of the call--a summons for aid that is never ignored by thevessels that are within range of wireless.

  "S.O.S. call, sir; H.Q.C.P. reports being in collision with aderelict--lat. 22°5'10" N., long. 15°50'20" W."

  The thought flashed through the "old man's" mind that the messagemight be a decoy; yet the claims of humanity urged him to altercourse and steam at full speed to the rescue.

  Meanwhile Aubyn had referred to the "British Code List," in which hefound that the signal letters H.Q.C.P. denoted the SS. "Corona," ofWest Hartlepool, of 2576 registered tonnage and of 720 horse-power.The "Corona," he knew, was a tramp engaged in running between theTyne Ports and the Gold Coast.

  Captain Ramshaw gave no inkling of the doubt that existed in hismind. He immediately ordered the "Saraband" to be steered towards theposition indicated, although he would not allow the wireless to bemade use of in order to acquaint the distressed vessel that help wasforthcoming. This was one of the steps he took to guard against thebase misuse of the hitherto inviolate S.O.S. call. In addition, aspreviously, the guns' crews stood by their two powerful weapons.

  Hour after hour passed as the "Saraband" sped on her errand of mercy.Fitfully the S.O.S. was received as if the ill-fated crew of the"Corona," despairing at not having news that their message had beenpicked up, were still calling for aid from passing vessels.

  Down below McBride's staff was working heroically. The firemen,stripped to the waist, were shovelling coal with rapid yet dexteroushaste. Stoking is an art: it requires more than merely piling fuelinto the furnaces; but there was no lack of capability on the part ofthe "Saraband's" stokehold staff. Quickly the old boat worked up toher maximum speed.

  "Light on the port bow, sir," sung out the mastheadman. "Red flamethrowing out red stars."

  "That's the 'Corona' then," declared the "old man." "Starboard yourhelm, quartermaster: keep her at that. Mr. Lymore, see that thecutter is cleared away."

  "Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer.

  The signal of distress flare was calculated to be seen from twelve tofourteen miles off In three-quarters of an hour the "Saraband" wouldbe on the spot, by which time daylight would have dawned.

  As the distance decreased the frequent flares could be observed fromthe bridge of the "Saraband." Anxiously the officers brought theirnight-glasses to bear upon the scene, as the dull patch of ruddylight rose higher and higher above the horizon.

  "It's a four-masted vessel, sir!" exclaimed Terence. "The 'Corona'has only two. She looks to be about six thousand tons displacement."

  "By Jove, you're, right Mr. Aubyn!" said the "old man." "Hard a-port,quartermaster. It's a ruse."

  The steam steering-gear snorted as the helm flew hard over. Listingheavily outwards as she swung round the "Saraband" sought to avoidthe danger. Alarmed by the sudden heel several of the passengersrushed from below.

  "Reassure these people and send them to their cabins," orderedCaptain Ramshaw, addressing his third officer. "Stand by----"

  A vivid flash burst from the supposed disabled ship, and a shell,hurtling a cable's length astern on the now fleeing "Saraband"announced the stranger in her true colours. She was a German armedliner. Her keen lookout had detected the phosphorescent swirl fromthe bows of the British vessel as she swung to starboard.

  The peremptory greeting was quickly followed by a wireless order:--

  "Heave-to, or I'll sink you. Disconnect your wireless. Stand by toreceive a boat."

  To this demand Captain Ramshaw paid no attention. His true Britishblood was up. As long as he could run and fight he would keep the OldFlag flying.

  With the whole of her fabric trembling under the vibrations of herpowerful engines the "Saraband" began her bid for safety. Thepassengers, according to previous instructions, were ordered forward,while the stewards calmly went about distributing life-belts, at thesame time assuring the more timorous of their charges that theprocedure was merely a matter of precaution.

  From her wireless-room messages were sent for aid from any Britishcruisers likely to be in the vicinity, while at the same timewarnings were issued for all merchantmen to avoid the danger that nowthreatened the hard-pressed "Saraband."

  For hard-pressed she certainly was. When day broke the German liner,identified as the 25-knot "Osnabruck," was now five miles astern. Inspite of her supposed superior speed she was not doing her best,although her two huge funnels were belching out enormous clouds ofblack smoke.

  That she was prepared for the work of destruction there was no doubt.Her black hull, white deck houses, and lofty yellow funnels had beenrepainted a neutral grey. For'ard she mounted two guns, while themuzzles of several others could be discovered trained abeam.

  She was steadily gaining. Shells from her guns were ricochetting oneither side of the fleeing "Saraband," throwing up columns of sprayfifty feet into the air.

  "You'll have to do better than that, my friend," said the "old man"grimly. The spirit of fight--the old Bersark strain in his blood--wasstrong within him. But for his passengers he would have risked anengagement. As it was, he had to run for it, but he meant to showthat even a British merchantman could show her teeth.

  Meanwhile, Terence Aubyn had made his way aft to take charge of thestarboard quarter 4.7-in. gun, the other one being under the ordersof the third officer, a hot-blooded Irishman, named O'Reilly, whocould hardly prevent himself from giving a premature order to openfire.

  "Let her have it: at six thousand yards," came the order from thebridge.

  Both guns spoke simultaneously. Almost before the powerful weaponshad recovered from the recoil, which was taken up by the hydraulicmountings, the breech blocks were thrown open and another shell in agleaming brass cylinder was thrust into each gun.

  "A hit, sir!" shouted one of the gun's crews, for even with the nakedeye a dense haze of yellow smoke was seen to be enveloping the forepart of the "Osnabruck."

  Whatever the damage it did not compel the German vessel to ceasepursuit. Soon her grey outlines were observed to be emerging from themist of smoke that partly hid her from view. Spurts of yellow flame,stabbing the early morning air, showed that her bow guns were stillin action.

  An appalling crash, outvoicing the simultaneous barks of the Britishguns, denoted the disconcerting fact that one, at least, of thehostile projectiles had "got home."

  Pungent fumes drifted aft; splinters, hurled high in the air, beganto fall all around the gun's crews.

  "Steady, men, steady!" shouted Aubyn encouragingly, for some of thecrew were attracted by the sound and were endeavouring to ascertainthe result of the havoc. "Never mind that. Keep at it."

  Even as he spoke the "Saraband" swung round quite fifteen degrees toport, thus exposing her length and lofty freeboard to the Germanvessel. The gunners of the latter were n
ot slow to take advantage.One shell crashed through the side amidships, just above thewater-line, and completely wrecked the passengers' third-classdining-room. Fortunately, owing to Captain Ramshaw's precautions,this part of the ship was unoccupied.

  A second shell, ricochetting a hundred yards off, leapt up andwrecked the after-funnel, causing dense volumes of smoke to eddyalong the alleyways.

  The first projectile that hit the "Saraband" was responsible for thedamage done by the other two. Bursting underneath the bridge itdemolished that structure, sending the breastwork of sacks of flourfar and wide like an avalanche.

  Captain Ramshaw and Chief Officer Lymore were both flung from thecrumbling structure on to the cargo hatch abaft the foremost.Fortunately beyond being considerably shaken, they were not seriouslyhurt, but with the destruction of the bridge the steam steering-gearwas affected, and this caused the "Saraband" to begin to circle toport.

  Although partly dazed by the fall, the "old man," with a trueseaman's instinctive sense, knew that the ship was fairly off hercourse. Staggering to his feet he made his way across the chaoticpile of flour-sacks, many of which had been ripped open by fragmentsof shell, and ordered the hand steering-gear to be manned. In fiveminutes the "Saraband" was once more under control, although thedemolition of one of her funnels and the consequent reduction ofdraft caused an appreciable diminution in speed.

  While the ship was broadside on to the enemy the gun under Aubyn'sorders was temporarily out of action. It could not be trained uponthe "Osnabruck" without a serious risk of injury to the second gun'screw by the blast from the weapon.

  It was indeed fortunate that while in this position she was not sentto the bottom. According to the rules of naval strategy and tacticsshe ought to have been, were it not for the indifferent aim of theGerman gun-layers.

  On the other hand, the British 4.7-in. guns were getting in hit afterhit with admirable precision. Already the "Osnabruck's" upper worksappeared to be a mass of scrap iron. Fires had broken out in severalplaces, yet she held grimly in pursuit, under the erroneousimpression that the few shells she did get home would terrorise the"Saraband" into surrendering.

  Presently the fourth officer's gun made a splendid hit. Striking theGerman vessel's bows almost on the water-line the shell made a cleanhole before exploding. When it did the damage in the confined spacewas terrific. Her thin bow plates were burst outwards, while thefor'ard watertight bulkhead was strained till it admitted the sealike a mill sluice.

  A cheer broke from the parched lips of the "Saraband's" crew. Herantagonist was settling down by the head. Her speed slackenedrapidly. Her engines were going half-speed astern in the hope ofchecking the inrush of water.

  "She's done for, sir!" exclaimed Terence excitedly, as Chief OfficerLymore, his face and clothes mottled with flour and smoke, came aft.

  "Ay, she's settled with," agreed Lymore grimly. "Cease firing. It'sno use wasting ammunition."

  "If only we would slow down and pepper her till she surrenders,"declared Terence, the lust of battle in his heart.

  "She will, right enough," said the chief officer consolingly. "We'veour passengers to consider. The 'old man' is going to take the shipout of range and wait. We'll have to pick up the survivors somehow,but there isn't a boat that won't leak like a sieve."

  Such, indeed, was the case. Those of the boats that were notshattered by direct hits or holed by flying fragments of shell, wereso utterly strained by the concussion as to be unfit for use. Alreadythe carpenter's crew were setting to work, caulking the gaping seamsof the boats which seemed likely to be used for the forthcoming workof rescue.

  When well out of range, the "Saraband" swung round and stopped, herbows pointing in the direction of the foundering "Osnabruck," thatappeared to be little more than a dot upon the horizon. By the aid ofglasses brought to bear upon the scene, the German vessel wasobserved to be listing slightly to starboard and very much down bythe head. All her upper works were hidden by a thick cloud of smoke.

  Meanwhile, Captain Ramshaw took up his position on the boat-deck,owing to the demolition of the bridge. Here receiving reports fromvarious officers concerning the amount of damage done to the ship andgiving brief and concise orders as to what was to be done, he was asbusy as ever he had been in the whole course of his thirty-odd yearsat sea.

  Now that the danger was over the passengers were allowed to leavetheir cramped quarters, and, subject to certain restrictions, allowedto make use of most of the decks. One, a short, pompouslookingindividual, holding a camera, boldly approached the skipper.

  "I say, Captain Ramshaw," he began in a high, affected voice, "don'tyou think you could take us a little nearer, so as to get a view ofthe object of our triumph? The sinking ship would be a unique objectto snapshot, don't you think?"

  The "old man" showed not the slightest sign of annoyance or surpriseat the interruption.

  "My dear sir," he replied affably, "would you put your fingerswithin snapping range of a mad dog, even if the animal were chainedup and dying? I think not. Yonder vessel will bark as long as themuzzles of her guns are above water. Remember, sir, that this is thereal thing, and that we are up against an enemy that we cannot affordto underestimate. I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request."

  The passenger went away. Captain Ramshaw and the chief officerexchanged glances. The latter uttered a short laugh.

  "I think if I'd been in your place, sir, I would have booted him outof it," declared Lymore.

  "So I should have done," rejoined the skipper, "if I had been in myown place--but I'm not. I'm an employee of the Company, and have tostudy their interests. By Jove, Lymore, we do look a pair ofragamuffins! Talk about the dignity of the Company's uniform! But Iwouldn't have missed the fun for a thousand pounds."

  Captain Ramshaw was as elated as a young subaltern who had donneduniform for the first time. He had reason to be so. He had foughtagainst considerable odds, and had come out "top dog." It was butone of many instances where the peaceful British mercantile marineofficer shows that the training he has had amid the perils of the seacan be utilized as a powerful asset to the armed strength of theEmpire upon whose banner the sun never sets.