CHAPTER XXVII
BATTERED BUT UNDAUNTED
"FORE-CONTROL, there! Anything to report?"
It was ten and a half hours after the light-cruiser squadron had leftAuldhaig. At thirty knots the light cruisers were approaching therendezvous mentioned in their sealed orders--orders that were nolonger secret, since they were opened and communicated within onehour of clearing harbour.
On either side of the cruisers, which were steaming in double columnline ahead, were the destroyers--long, lean, and eager to be releasedfrom the leash that held them to that comparatively modest thirtyknots.
For the sixth time in the last hour the Commodore had asked thequestion. His impatience was natural. Visibility was good, and fromthe lofty eerie of the fore-control platform a wide expanse ofhorizon lay revealed.
Before the fore-control could reply, the navigating lieutenant, whowas standing by the Commodore on the bridge, threw back his head andlistened intently.
Above the whine of the wind past the tautened wire shrouds andsagging aerials came a long, low rumble.
"Gunfire!" he announced laconically, yet there was keen anticipationin his tone.
"Quick-firers," added the gunnery lieutenant.
"Suppose it's too much to expect--to find Fritz's battle fleet out?"remarked the navigator. "We'd shake 'em up a bit, I reckon."
The Commodore smiled at the subordinate's enthusiasm for a"hussar-stroke" of the light, swiftly-moving vessels against theheavily-armoured battleships of Germany.
"We'll think ourselves more than lucky if their light cruisers areout," he replied. "Lucky if there are only destroyers. If----"
He broke off abruptly to receive a message through a voice-tube.
"Good enough," he replied. "Increase speed to thirty-four," heordered. "Keep her as she is, Quartermaster."
"Is it they, sir?" asked the gunnery lieutenant.
"Look-out has reported a smoke-screen dead ahead," replied theCommodore. "We'll be seeing the enemy ships above the horizon in afew minutes."
"Then my name's Johnny Walker, sir," said the gunnery officerwhimsically, as he hurried off to his post to superintend the firingof the long-distance salvoes.
A signal was hoisted to the signal-yard arm of the flagship. Hardlyhad it appeared ere a similar hoist appeared "at the dip" on everyship of the squadron--there to pause for a brief instant before beinghauled "close up."
It was a signal well understood, although the opportunities for itsuse were few and far between. It signified "Enemy in sight; prepareto open fire."
"Enemy torpedo boats beating east by north, sir," came the welcomenews. "Heavy firing from the leading boats." Then, fifty secondslater: "One blown up, sir.... Another on fire."
Moments of suspense followed. Would the Huns, intent upon batteringthe vessel that the approaching flotillas were bent upon rescuing,spot the presence of the British light cruisers and destroyers beforethey drew within effective range?
Up in the fire-control station the range-finding officer was callingout the range, much like an intonation: "Twelve thousand yards...eleven thousand yards... ten thousand----"
A flash, immediately followed by a loud report, gave very audiblewarning that the flagship had opened the ball. The officers and menon the bridge could follow the flight of the spinning projectile,until it was lost to sight in the blue atmosphere. But they knew itwas hurtling and climbing to an immense height, thence to drop, stillwith terrific speed, until it burst where, according to the highestefforts of ballistic science, and when it was intended to do--to thedetriment, physical and moral, of the King's enemies.
Simultaneously the leading light cruiser of the port division openedfire, the following vessel executing an echelon manoeuvre in orderthat they too could join in the grim carnival of battle and suddendeath.
The hitherto flanking destroyers were now, with two exceptions, farahead, one division steering east by south in order to cut off, ifpossible, the enemy's retreat behind the Heligoland batteries; theother was pelting east-north-east to frustrate Fritz's flight roundthe northernmost point of Denmark. The exceptions were the T.B.D.'s_Pylos_ and _Polyxo_, on board of which their officers fumed inimpatient and excusable wrath while sweating engine-room artificerswere desperately striving to effect repairs to defective condensers.
So at a modest fifteen, soon afterwards increased to twenty-two,knots, the _Pylos_ and _Polyxo_ followed their more fortunatecompetitors in the "Fritz Stakes." To all appearances they were "outof it" and numbered amongst the "Also Rans." Yet they held on, hopinglike Mr. Wilkins Micawber that something might turn up.
Already Fritz had turned tail. Under cover of a heavy smoke-screenthe remaining Hun torpedo boats were "legging it," steering zig-zagcourses in order to avoid, if possible, the long-range shells thatfollowed with uncanny accuracy. And they were steering neither forthe Bight nor for the Kattegat. The Zeppelin, that had been hoveringaround throughout the operations, had given warning of theoutflanking British destroyers, and they were making for a place ofsecurity which is recognised as such by the navies of the world savethat of Germany--the three-mile limit of a neutral seaboard.
The light cruisers opened outwards to avoid the far-flung line ofartificially-created fog. It was unwise to penetrate that screen. AHun torpedo boat at bay might seize an opportunity to "slap atinfish" into an opponent at close range, or U-boats might be lurkingin the fringe of the pall to claim a victim.
The _Pylos_ and the _Polyxo_, jogging along, held straight on. By thetime they reached the fog-screen the smoke would have lifted, andthere was a chance that they might pick up some of the lightcruisers' leavings in the shape of a few Huns.
It so happened that a sudden dispersal of a part of the smoke-screenunder the steady westerly breeze revealed to the _Polyxo_ whatappeared to be an intact hostile torpedo boat with her engines brokendown. She was still flying the Black Cross Ensign.
Gleefully the destroyer altered helm, let fly with her bowquick-firer, and prepared to send Fritz to the bottom by means of atorpedo.
But Fritz objected. He had had no compunction at firing, togetherwith half a dozen of his kind, at a solitary British Q-boat; and hehad been considerably surprised when the Q-boat had chopped offtwenty or thirty feet of her stern. But when a destroyer suddenlyloomed out of the fog, the panic-stricken kapitan-leutnant promptlygave orders to lower the Black Cross Ensign and substitute one thatwas as blank and pale as his face.
While the officers and men of the _Polyxo_ were enjoying aperformance of the "Kamerad" order, the _Pylos_, slower than herconsort, butted up against what she took to be at first sight a Hunsubmarine, down by the head and with practically all her top hampergone. From her mast-head hung a flag, tattered, torn and dun-colouredby smoke and dust.
"By Jove!" ejaculated the astonished lieutenant-commander of the_Pylos_. "It's Q 171."
Every officer and man on board the destroyer had been firmlyconvinced that the mystery ship had been sunk. Indeed it seemedincredible that the lightly-built vessel could have withstood ahammering from half a dozen relatively heavily-armed ocean-goingtorpedo boats, and yet remain afloat.
On the Q-boat's deck were standing ten or twelve grimy men, strippedto the waist, and for the most part wearing bandages. There wereothers--some sitting with their heads supported by their hands,others stretched motionless.
"Pass the word for the surgeon," ordered the lieutenant-commander, ashe rang for "half-speed" and then "stop."
Adroitly manoeuvred, the _Pylos_ ran alongside the cruelly batteredQ-boat and made fast. A sub-lieutenant, the surgeon and a dozen handsboarded the disabled boat.
"Not an officer left standing, sir," reported a chief petty officer,whose rank was indicated only by a battered peak cap set at a rakingangle on his head and partly counterbalanced by a stained bandage.The rest of his attire consisted of a pair of trousers hanging inshreds below the knees, and the remains of a singlet that failed toconceal a lacerated wound on the man's broad chest. "And only ahandful of us--mos
tly engine-room ratings."
Leaving the doctor and his assistants to deal with their grim andstupendous task, the sub-lieutenant proceeded to investigate thestate of the ship. A decision had to be arrived at with the utmostpromptitude--whether she should be sunk or steps taken to tow herback across the North Sea.
Her bows were battered and the for'ard compartment flooded. Beyondthat she seemed fairly water-tight. Her engine-room was practicallyintact, although there were several gaping holes just above thewater-line.
"I think we can save her yet," decided the Sub--a lad of nineteen,with the mature judgment of one who has seen three years of navalwarfare.
He made his way aft, encountering the surgeon.
"A hard case, Pills," he remarked. "How many casualties?"
"Seventeen killed," was the reply. "Nine wounded. The disparity showsthat she must have had a gruelling. There are only eight men fit tocarry on, and most of them have scratches or are shaken up by theconcussion. There are three officers right aft--all badly knockedabout."
Lying side by side, close to the disabled after quick-firer, wereMorpeth, Wakefield and Meredith. A short distance away was all thatwas mortal of young Ainslie.
Morpeth was unconscious, his left arm shattered below the elbow andhis skull laid bare by a fragment of shell. Wakefield, already underthe influence of morphia, was lying on his back, staring blankly atthe tattered White Ensign. Aware that something was wrong with him,he was ignorant of the fact that four pieces of German shells werefinding a temporary lodging in his body. For the present, he wasserenely happy--not solely on account of the morphia injection, butbecause he realised that he had "seen it through," and that Q 171 wasstill flying the flag that symbolises the real Freedom of the Seas.
Next to him was Kenneth Meredith, his bandaged head supported on acoir fender. Seeing the destroyer's sub-lieutenant, he made an effortto rise.
"Now lie still, my lad," said the doctor kindly, but authoritatively."You can tell us all about it when we get you in the sick bay."
He turned to his companion.
"That youngster's got something on his chest that he wants to get ridof," he remarked. "I can't make out what he wants. P'raps you can. Itwill relieve his mind." The Sub of the _Pylos_ knelt by Meredith'sside.
"Well, what is it?" he asked.
Kenneth moved his lips in a vain endeavour to speak.
"This won't hurt him, I suppose?" inquired the sub-lieutenant,producing a spirit flask.
"Only a small nip," replied the doctor, as he busied himself withanother case.
Kenneth drank the proffered brandy. The spirit put fresh life intohim. He raised himself and pointed below, but no words came from hislips.
The Sub of the _Pylos_ looked puzzled.
"It's all right," he replied soothingly. "She's as tight as a bottle.We'll tow her in yet."
Meredith shook his head.
"I'm on the wrong tack evidently," thought the Sub. "I wonder if hecan write down what he wants."
He handed Kenneth a pencil and notebook. The wounded officer tookthem eagerly and, with trembling fingers feebly grasping the pencil,he wrote:
"Prisoners still below."
"Good enough," exclaimed the other. "I'll see to that."
Kenneth smiled, closed his eyes, and relapsed into unconsciousness.
* * * * *
Accompanied by a couple of hands, the sub-lieutenant of the _Pylos_went below and hurried aft.
Stretched at full length in the narrow alley-way was one of themystery ship's crew. He had been detailed at the commencement of theaction to mount guard outside the compartment in which von Preugfeldand von Loringhoven had been placed. His orders were, in the event ofthe ship beginning to sink, to liberate the prisoners and give theman equal chance with their captors of saving their lives.
Unknown to the rest of the crew, the sentry had been renderedinsensible, apparently by concussion only, for no marks of injurywere visible.
They found the key of the compartment lying on the floor within a fewinches of the man's hand, but no amount of persuasion could shootback the wards of the lock. They had jammed possibly through the sameshock that had rendered the bluejacket unconscious.
"Stand clear inside there!" shouted the Sub warningly; then, placingthe muzzle of his revolver a few inches off the door, he fired andshattered the lock.
The sight which met his eyes was an unexpected one. Ober-leutnantHans von Preugfeld was lying on his back with a ghastly wound in hischest. Even in death his heavy Prussian features looked grim andforbidding.
In the far corner von Loringhoven was leaning against the bulkhead,pale-faced and terror-stricken, with three fingers of his right handtorn away.
"You're all right, old bean!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant of the_Pylos_. "You'll enjoy the hospitality of Donnington Hall yet. Comealong and let's see what our doc. can do for you."
In spite of every precaution that Morpeth had taken to safeguard hisprisoners, Nemesis in the shape of a German shell had overtaken vonPreugfeld. Placed for his protection as far below the water-line aspossible, the ober-leutnant had been slain by a three-pounder shell,which, without exploding, had penetrated Q 171's side about two feetabove the water-line. Glancing from the underside of the metal baseof one of the triple torpedo-tubes, the missile had been deflecteddownwards. Penetrating the roof of the prisoners' cell, the pointedmissile had gone completely through von Preugfeld's body and hadended its career by pulverising von Loringhoven's fingers and jammingthe door.
By the time the Sub returned to the deck the work of rendering firstaid to the wounded was accomplished. The _Polyxo_, having transferredthe German crew as prisoners from the torpedo boat that Q 171 hadrammed, was engaged in sending to the bottom the still floatingportion. Already the light cruisers were returning, having beenrobbed of the fruits of complete victory by their foe taking shelterin neutral waters.
Twenty minutes later Q 171, taken in tow by the _Pylos_, was on herway back to Britannia's shores.
The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War Page 27
