Transport 99, otherwise the S.S.Awarua, was a single-screw vessel of 8000 tons. Originally a combined passenger and cargo boat, she had been ruthlessly converted into a troop-conveying ship, and the internal rearrangements were not by any means suitable for her new rôle. Nevertheless, after the first few days, when many of the men were prostrate with sea-sickness, the troops soon accustomed themselves to their new conditions, and settled down with the fixed determination to make the voyage a sort of maritime picnic.
"Say, Quarter," began Fortescue, addressing the Quartermaster-sergeant, "how about a sing-song on the mess deck this evening? Most of the boys have found their sea-legs, and there's no lack of talent."
"Good idea!" replied the Q.M.S. "We'll form ourselves into an entertainment committee. Let me see: there's Sergeant Thomson, he's a bit of a vocalist."
"Unfortunately he shot his false teeth over the side last night," reported Malcolm. "He was so jolly bad that he never realized his loss till this morning. He's out of it, I fancy."
"We'll put him down anyway," declared Fortescue. "There's M'Kie and Macdonald: they'll open with a duet on the bagpipes."
Other names were submitted and approved, not-withstanding the fact that their owners were not consulted on the matter.
"How about the officers?" enquired Selwyn. "They are to be invited, I suppose?"
"Rather," replied Fortescue. "By the way, what has Lieutenant Nicholson been doing to get his left optic in a sling? He wasn't looking skywards out of one of the ports when Thomson jettisoned his ivories?"
"Dunno," replied the M. S. "He was all right when he went the rounds last night."
"I know," chipped in another N.C.O. "It was the Padre."
"The Padre!" exclaimed half a dozen voices. "Our Padre been scrapping?"
"Hardly!" was the reply. "He shares a two-bunk berth with the Lieutenant. Padre has, or had, the upper bunk, and he tops the scale at sixteen stone. I don't insinuate, mind you, that any of the fellows tampered with the ironwork, but all the same the bunk collapsed, and our Padre subsided heavily upon poor little Nicholson."
"We'll get the company poet to write up a special stanza and recite it at the concert," declared Fortescue. "Sort of object lesson on the way our Padre tackles sin."
The men, remembering that the Lieutenant's initials were S.I.N., laughed uproariously. These impromptu concerts gave them poetic licence to joke at the expense of their officers. The latter, too, were quite used to that sort of thing. In fact they enjoyed it. Even the popular Padre found these entertainments a welcome antidote to the dull business of censoring letters.
The concert--as far as it went--was a huge success. According toThe Deep Sea Roll, the Thirty-somethingth's magazine, the opening items and the honorary reporter's notes were as follows:--
"A duet by the brothers Mac. I thought they would never finish, due mainly to Macdonald, who had his Scotch blood up and his bagpipes in good wind."
"Sergeant Thomson next stepped into the ring and gave 'Thora' a slap up. It was a pity he lost his teeth, but, thank goodness, he has not lost his voice."
"Tiny Anderson's voice was like his size--tremendous. 'Asleep in the Deep' was his song. I thought hewasasleep at one part of it."
There was no lack of enthusiasm on the part of the audience. The men, packed like sardines in a barrel, filled the mess-deck almost to suffocation, their boisterous applause increasing in volume as item succeeded item in quick succession.
"Item seven--Cornet Competition," announced Sergeant Fortescue. "Sisters Howard and O'Dowd have kindly consented to act as judges."
Prolonged sounds of cheering greeted the two Red Cross nurses as they stepped upon the platform with marked timidity. They would perhaps--and did--unhesitatingly and calmly assist the medical officers in their work of mercy and within range of hostile shells, but their present task was an ordeal.
Four strapping young fellows, each armed with a highly-polished cornet, appeared and stood facing their critical audience, receiving their caustic comments with a studied indifference.
"Rifleman Gilway."
Rifleman Gilway advanced two paces, lifted the instrument to his lips, and distended his cheeks. Beyond an eerie gurgle ("the last gasp of a dying flounder", according to the above-quoted honorary reporter) not a sound came from the cornet. The audience, rocking with laughter, threw shouts of encouragement and advice to the would-be musician, but all in vain. Rifleman Gilway's eyes were riveted upon the half of a cut, juicy lemon displayed within six inches of his face by a waggish subaltern. The sight of the acid fruit effectually prevented the man getting a single note out of the instrument. He puffed and blew like a grampus, the tears ran down his distended cheeks, and the perspiration oozed from his forehead, till in disgust he retired from the contest.
Cornet No. 2 shared the same fate, after a gallant struggle. By this time the audience was almost silent. The men could laugh no longer. They were almost on the verge of hysterical tears of excessive merriment.
The third competitor withdrew without an effort, but the fourth was something of a strategist. He used his music-card as a screen to shut out the sight of the tantalizing lemon. By so doing he had to lean forward slightly. His cheeks were bulging, but again silence--mysterious silence.
Compared with Rifleman Gilway's efforts those Of Corporal Jephson were simply terrific. His whole frame shook under the tremendous force of lung power. The doctor began to shift uneasily in his chair, anticipating a case of apoplexy. Jephson's face gradually changed in colour fro light bronze to a deep purple. Something had to go----
Something did! From the interior of the instrument a wad of paper was ejected with the velocity of a stone from a catapult. In its wake followed, a compact mass of viscous substance. Both struck the waggish subaltern full in the face, and then the nature of the "main charge" became apparent. It was treacle. A practical joker had primed Jephson's cornet with the sticky stuff, plugging it with a wad. Amidst renewed outbursts of cheering the subaltern retired for repairs and renewals, while the lady judges were fortunately spared the task of bestowing the palm upon the cornet champion of the Thirty-somethingths.
More songs followed, then a series of recitations bearing upon incidents and characters on board Transport No. 99. Many of the references were pointedly personal; the victims enjoyed them as much as anyone, for it is difficult to raise a New Zealander's "dander" by means of a practical joke. And when the reciter commenced a string of verses portraying the catastrophe in the cabin shared by Lieutenant Nicholson and the Padre, the former's "Hear, hear!" and the latter's deep bass laugh were heard above the roars of hilarity.
The composer of the verses had turned the accident into a work of intent on the Padre's part, representing the latter combating the evil influence of sin. The reciter began with slight hesitation; then, finding that he was receiving unstinted approval, he warmed up to his task.
"Sin turned in, and soon was heard the music of his snore,And then the Padre set to work as none had worked before.He got a large belaying-pin, he got the vessel's lead,And everything that weighed at all he piled upon the bed.He took the screws out, one by one, that held the fixing frail,Till all that stood 'twixt him and Sin was but a single nail.Then with a fierce look in his eye, as one who thirsts for blood,He hurled his weight upon the bunk--there came a sickening thud----"
Crash!
The oldAwaruashook under the terrific impact of an unseen force, listed to starboard, and then slowly recovered, to heel to port. Simultaneously every electric light on the ship was extinguished, while above the noise of escaping steam arose the babel of hundreds of voices as the swarm of humanity slithered in a struggling mass along the sloping floor of the mess deck.
"Torpedoed, by Jupiter!" shouted a voice. The ominous words were taken up by others, and in the darkness an ugly rush was made for the upper deck.
"It's all right, boys!" came a deep voice. "It's only the Padre fallen out of his bunk again."
The men recognized the voice.
"Good old Padre!" they shouted, and then silence fell upon the crowd. Someone struck a match, and held it so that the feeble glimmer shone upon his face. It was the C.O.
"File out in an orderly manner, lads," he ordered. "Fall in on the upper deck. I'llfollowyou out. We are not going over the top this time; when we do I'll take good care toleadyou."
On the upper deck a bugle rang out shrilly. The seamen, assisted by some troops, who, detailed for duty, had not attended the sing-song, were "standing by" ready to lower away the boats.
Rapidly yet without confusion the mess deck was cleared. The first signs of panic nipped in the bud, the men were now as cool as cucumbers.
"How far is it to the nearest land?" enquired one as he ascended the ladder.
"Less'n half a mile underneath your feet," was the grim answer.
True to his word, the Colonel was the last to leave the mess deck. As he emerged into the open air he remarked to the Chaplain: "My word, Padre, heaven forgive you for that lie, but you saved the situation."
Like most of his comrades, Malcolm Carr was under the impression that he would soon have to swim for it, unless he was one of the lucky ones to get told off to the boats. If anyone had suggested that he was afraid, he would have stoutly repudiated the statement; but he was conscious of a peculiar sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. To a man not a sailor by profession the knowledge that only a comparatively thin steel plate, and fractured at that, is between him and death by drowning is apt to be decidedly disconcerting. He had voluntarily contracted to risk his life by fighting the Boche, but to be "downed" without the chance of seeing a shot fired in earnest was hardly playing the game.
"Hallo, Malcolm!"
Carr turned his head and peered into the face of his right-hand man. It was Dick Selwyn.
"Hallo, Dick! I didn't recognize your voice. How goes it?"
"So, so!" replied Dick. "Look here, I vote we stick together. Why aren't they lowering the boats? They don't seem in any sort of a hurry."
"Perhaps it is as well. You know----"
Again a bugle rang out. The ranks stiffened.
"Boys!" exclaimed the Colonel; "the Captain has just sent word that there is no immediate danger. There has been a slight explosion in a bunker. One compartment--the for'ard stokehold--is flooded. For the present the men will remain on deck. The cooks will issue a hot ration. Stand at ease!"
Out came pipes and cigarettes. The men began chatting and yarning, discussing the possibilities and chances of the catastrophe. The explosion had been an internal one, sufficient to cripple the vessel's engines. The question naturally arose as to whether it was the work of a Hun agent.
"I'd like to know who the idiot was who yelled out something about being torpedoed," remarked a rifleman.
"I did," owned up the man in question. "What about it?"
"If you were in C Company they'd give you poison," declared the first speaker contemptuously.
"And," retorted the other, "if I were in C Company I'd take it. As for----"
"Stop that!" ordered Sergeant Fortescue; then, turning to Malcolm, he added: "It shows the boys are settling down again. Sort of psychologic phenomenon; I've noticed it before. While there's danger they are as well-behaved as kids in a drawing-room; directly it's over they let themselves go and start treading on each other's corns. Well, here we are, midway between New Zealand and Cape Horn, with our engines broken down. A fine old jamboree!"
"We've wirelessed for assistance, I've been told," observed Malcolm.
"Aye," agreed Fortescue, "and received a reply. No. 101, which left Wellington two days after we did, sends a reassuring message. She's a faster boat, you know. But I might add," he said, lowering his voice, "that we've been warned that theSee Adleris somewhere knocking around, and we have to take due precaution. Ah! There you are. They're serving out small-arms and ammunition to C Company."
The situation was a grave one. Lying helpless on the water was Transport 99, unescorted and with no other friendly vessel within ten hours' steaming of her. She was armed with two 4.7 guns both mounted aft. These were of little use against a swift hostile craft should the latter approach on a bearing three degrees on either side of theAwarua'sbows. On the other hand there were half a dozen Maxims and nearly two thousand rifles on board, although these would be of little use if the raider kept beyond 200 yards' range.
Against an armed and mobile vessel theSee Adlerwould stand but little chance. She was a sailing craft provided with a powerful motor installation. Earlier in the year she had caused a certain amount of sensation by her depredations in the Atlantic, until British cruisers made that locality too hot for her. She vanished mysteriously. There were vague rumours that she had been sent to the bottom by one of the Allied warships. It was now evident that she had rounded the Horn, making use of her sails only and keeping her motors for cases of emergency, and at the present was within a few miles of the transportAwarua.
Throughout the rest of the night the transport's crew manned the two stern-chasers. The Maxims, protected by coal-sacks and mealie-bags, were kept ready for instant action, while each company took duty in turn to man the side, ready to supplement the machine- and quick-firing guns with a fusillade of small arms.
Daybreak came, but with it no signs of the expected raider. Viewed from the deck, theAwaruashowed no trace of the explosion beyond a slight list to starboard. The steam had been raised from the auxiliary engines, and the pumps were continuously ejecting water that made its way from the flooded stokehold to the adjoining compartments. The ship's artificers were busily engaged in repairing the fractured main steam-pipe. It was just possible that the vessel might be able to proceed under her own steam, either back to Wellington or else to Port Stanley, in the Falkland Islands. Meanwhile there was no line of churned water extending from under the vessel's quarter as far as the eye could reach, no dull reverberations of the "screw". TheAwarua, lying helpless, rolled sullenly in the swell at the mercy of wind and ocean current.
Meanwhile the troops were kept fully occupied. Ennui was at all costs to be banished, and the best antidote for that was plenty of hard work. Parades, boat drill, physical exercises, almost filled the bill; but even then there were plenty of enthusiasts to take part in strenuous games on deck, in which the C.O. and most of the officers took a personal interest and prominent part.
Just before sunset a blurr of smoke was detected on the horizon. Transport 101 was arriving upon the scene. Two hours later, in the starry night, the new arrival came within hailing distance, and preparations were made to take theAwaruain tow.
By midnight Transport 99 was moving slowly through the water in the wake of the towing vessel, three hearty cheers from the boys showing their relief at the thought that the tedious period of immobility was at an end. The repairs to the steam-pipe were almost completed, and with reasonable luck theAwaruamight be able to proceed under her own steam before daybreak.
At réveillé Malcolm Carr heard the welcome thud of the propeller. Going on deck, he found that Transport 101 was hull down to the west'ard, while a couple of cable-lengths on theAwarua'sstar-board quarter was a long grey cruiser flying the White Ensign.
Just then one of the crew came aft. Malcolm knew him by sight. He was a loquacious Welsh-man, always "in the know", and one of the recognized media between the ship's officers and the rank and file.
"Hallo, Sergeant!" he exclaimed, jerking his thumb in the direction of the cruiser. "How's that, eh? Sorter objec' lesson on the great silent navy I'll allow. She's our escort as far as the Falklands."
"She's turned up at just the right moment," remarked Malcolm.
"She's what?" enquired the seaman. "My eye, you don't know nuffink, Sergeant. She's been hoppin' about us for the last three days. I 'eard our Old Man tell the First Officer so. Got our wireless, but wouldn't reply."
"Why not?" asked Carr curiously.
"'Cause she was waitin' to mop up thatSee Adler. Kept out of sight, hoping, in a manner o' speaking, that the Dutchy would have a smack at us, and then she'd butt in. Howsomever, they say as a jap cruiser 'as got the hang of the 'Un, an' you chaps 'ave been done out of a visit to Davy Jones this time."
"Party, fall in! Sergeant, march the men aft report to the Second Mate for boat drill. Until you are dismissed you will take your orders from him."
Sergeant Carr saluted, and then devoted his attention to the squad fallen in on the upper deck. They were a set of stalwarts, but without exception were up-country farmers and sheep-shearers before they left New Zealand for the still distant Front. Until they joined the S.S.Awaruaat Wellington, very few of them had ever seen a ship's boat.
Transport 99 was forging ahead at a modest 10 or 11 knots. The 21-knot cruiser, although steaming under natural draught, was cutting rings round her charge, as if reproaching her for her tardiness. The wind was abeam and fairly fresh, making the oldAwaruaroll heavily.
Aft on the port side of the poop stood the Second Mate, a short, bull-necked, burly man, whose attitude, suggested a bored interest in the work in hand. He had the old salt's pitying contempt for "flat-footed landlubbers". Very many times since the outbreak of war had he been called upon to instruct troops in boat drill, and never had he seen any practical result of his labours. The monotony of imparting boat knowledge into the heads of men who possessed not the slightest inclination towards things nautical irritated him. Forgetting that his instruction classes were composed of men who were not seamen, he was apt to give orders without explaining the precise nature of the various terms he employed, and failure on the part of his audience to follow his deep-sea phrases reduced him to a state of profanity.
The boat selected for the drill was a "double-ender" life-boat hanging in the old-fashioned style of davits. The davits were swung inboard, the boat resting on "chocks" or hinged pieces of wood shaped to fit the lower strakes of the boat.
"Now then," began the Second Officer. "In the event of this craft being torpedoed, you men will form the crew of this boat. At a prolonged blast on the syren all hands will come to attention and await orders. At the bugle-call you will throw off coats and boots, put on life-belts--suppose you know by this timehowto put 'em on?--and fall in by numbers, facing outboard. We'll take the life-belts for granted."
The men received this part of the instruction without emotion. They had heard it many times before.
"You are bow, and you are stroke," continued the Second Mate, addressing two of the men.
"Stroke the bow-wow, Tommy," whispered a wag in an audible aside. "Now we are getting on. We'll finish up with a bloomin' menagerie."
"Silence, there!" snapped the instructor. "Bow and stroke will jump into the boat, see that the plug is inserted, and hook the falls--four hands to man each of the falls. You," addressing the would-be humorist, "will attend to the gripes----"
"Should have thought that was a job for the doctor," remarked the mansotto voce, at which several of the men within hearing began to laugh.
"This is no laughing matter, you pack of jackanapes," bawled the now infuriated ship's officer. "You'd feel a bit sick if you found yourselves in the ditch through not knowing how to lower away. Now, then, together."
Out swung the davits, the task rendered difficult by the roll of the ship, until the boat was ready for lowering.
The Second Mate looked at the surging water, and considered the erratic rolling motion of the lofty hull. To lower away with a practised crew manning the falls would entail a certain amount of risk should the boat surge against the ship's side; with a crowd of raw amateurs the danger was magnified threefold.
"Good enough!" he ordered. "We'll suppose the lowering and hoisting part is done. I'll put you through that another day when there's less sea. Now, stand by."
A shrill rasping of chain and an involuntary cry of mingled surprise and apprehension from the two in the boat interrupted the Second Officer's explanation. Accidentally the "stroke" had released the after disengaging-gear. The next instant the boat was hanging vertically, held only by the for'ard tackle.
The bowman, making a frantic grab at the upper block of the davit, hung on like grim death until his feet found a hold on the edge of the foremost thwart. The boat, swinging like a gigantic pendulum, was doing her best to stave in her quarter against the ship's side.
The "stroke" was not so fortunate. With the release of the gear the lower block dealt him a numbing blow on the shoulder. Unable to grasp any object that might afford security, he fell with considerable force into the sea.
"Man overboard!" shouted the Second Officer, and picking up a life-belt he hurled it close to the spot where the luckless fellow had disappeared. Almost at the same time the sentry let fall the patent life-buoy.
For some minutes the rest of the squad were too taken aback by the suddenness of the catastrophe to grasp the situation. The bowman, more scared than hurt, although considerably shaken, clambered out of the boat and gained the deck.
"Good heavens," ejaculated Malcolm, "the man overboard can't swim a stroke!" Heedless of the fact that of all the party he was the only one who had not removed his boots, Malcolm ran aft. With a bound he cleared the rail and dived overboard.
Fortunately for him, theAwaruawas moving at a comparatively low speed. As it was, in spite of the momentum of his leap, he struck the water obliquely, and with a thud that temporarily winded him.
Coming to the surface, he took in a deep breath of salt-laden air, rubbed the water from his eyes, and looked for the missing man.
On the crest of a roller he espied the rifleman's head and shoulders and outstretched arms. In the interval that had elapsed between the accident and Malcolm's dive the ship had travelled a good hundred yards. Midway between the would-be rescuer and the object of his attentions floated the life-buoy, its position clearly indicated by a cloud of calcium smoke. He could see no sign of the life-belt.
Using a powerful trudgeon stroke, Malcolm started and swam towards the spot where he had caught a momentary glimpse of the man. In less than two dozen strokes he found that his saturated sleeves hampered his arms. His boots, too, were acting as a drag, yet there was no time to tread water and kick them off.
On the crest of the third roller Malcolm again caught sight of the man. He had ceased to struggle and was floating without any apparent motion, his head and shoulders clear of the water.
Changing to breast stroke, Carr slid down the slope of the long roller. Then, as he rose on the succeeding crest, he found that he was within ten yards of the man.
"Hang it all!" thought Malcolm as he approached. "I might have saved myself a job. He's better off than I am. The bounder's wearing a life-saving waistcoat."
"Hallo, Sergeant!" gurgled the rifleman. "Did that rotten boat sling you out too? When are they going to pick us up? The water's none too warm. I'm feeling nipped already."
"Oh, it's you, Macready!" exclaimed Malcolm, recognizing a Canterbury farmer, a fellow of magnificent physique. "When are they going to pick us up, you ask? Can't say. I rather fancy they'll have to reverse engines and stop before they lower a boat. That will take some time."
He waited until he found himself on the crest of a long roller, and then looked in the direction of theAwarua. The transport was now nearly two miles away. Whether she had slowed down or was still steaming ahead he could not determine. As far as he could see there were no signs of a boat being lowered.
Macready was certainly right about the low temperature of the sea. Already Carr felt the numbing effect of the water. His fingers as he fumbled with the laces of his boots were practically devoid of feeling.
"I have one of those air waistcoats," explained the man. "It's only partly filled. Much as I could manage to do, that. I guess there's a tidy drop of water got in while I was blowing. If we can get more wind into the thing it'll support two; at least I hope so. The fellow at the stores said it would."
"Don't trouble on my account," said Malcolm. "I'll swim to the life-buoy and bring it back."
The patent life-saving device was still emitting dense clouds of calcium smoke. Provided the expected rescuing-boat made for that there was a good chance of Malcolm and the rifleman being picked up, unless in the meanwhile they were overcome by the acute coldness of the water.
"Any signs of a boat, Sergeant?" asked the man, as Malcolm, evidently exhausted by his exertions, pushed the life-buoy before him to within arm's length of his companion in peril.
Malcolm was reluctantly obliged to admit that the probability of rescue from that direction was of a diminishing nature. TheAwaruawas still holding on her course.
"Suppose they think that as we were a pair of fools to be slung overboard we aren't worth picking up," continued Macready.
Malcolm did not reply. He did not attempt to enlighten the man as to the reason why there were two "in the ditch" instead of one. He was also at a loss to explain the apparent callousness of the responsible officer of Transport 99 in not promptly lowering a boat and effecting a speedy rescue.
The two men were too intent upon the disappearingAwaruato notice the approach of the escorting cruiser. The latter was circling round the transport, and was on the point of turning at a distance of a mile astern, when the alert officer of the watch noticed the accident to the boat.
Bringing his telescope to bear upon theAwarua, he could see quite clearly the life-boat hanging by the bow tackle only. As he looked he was a distant witness of Sergeant Carr's leap into the sea.
Instinctively he grasped the situation and took prompt measures. At his orders a signalman on the fore bridge set the arms of the semaphore at "Attention". When the transport acknowledged the preparatory signal the semaphore began to spell out its message:
"Carry on; we'll pick up your man."
"Away sea-boat's crew," was the next order, and quickly the falls were manned, and the boat, containing her full complement, lowered until the keel was within a few feet of the water. Meanwhile the cruiser's engines had been reversed until her speed diminished five knots.
"Lower away!" was the next order.
With a resounding "smack" the boat "landed" on the crest of a wave. Dexterously the patent releasing-gear was operated, and, carried onward with the momentum imparted by the still-moving cruiser, the sea-boat shot away from the side of her parent.
The order, "Give way, lads, for all you're worth!" given by the midshipman in charge, was somewhat unnecessary. At the prospect of saving life every man was pulling his hardest. The sharp bows of the boat literally cleft the water.
"Way 'nough. In bow," ordered the midshipman, a youth of sixteen or seventeen with the assurance of a successful barrister.
As neatly as if he were bringing a picket-boat alongside the flagship under the super-critical eye of the admiral, the midshipman steered the boat close to the wellnigh exhausted men. Ready hands lifted Malcolm and Macready into the stern-sheets, and within seven minutes of the first order for the sea-boat to be manned, the two New Zealanders were standing upon the quarter-deck of H.M.S.Gosport.
"Take these men to the sick-bay," ordered the officer of the watch; "they both look pretty well knocked up. Semaphore the convoy and report that the men have been picked up. We'll see what's to be done with them later on."
After divisions the Commander reported the circumstances to the Captain. The latter, being a chartered humorist, signalled No. 99 to the effect that when boat-lowering practice was again resorted to it would be advisable to provide ring-bolts and securing lashings to prevent the soldiers falling overboard; meanwhile he would make sure of the two hehadpicked up by keeping them on board theGosportuntil her arrival at Port Stanley with the transport under her charge.
Thus Sergeant Malcolm Carr found himself an honorary member of the C.P.O.'s mess on board theGosport, one of the earlier type of "town" cruisers detailed for convoying duties in the South Pacific.
Malcolm thoroughly enjoyed the novelty of being on board a war-ship. What struck him most was the good order and discipline that prevailed; everything was "carried out at the double", yet there was a total absence of unnecessary noise. Compared with the somewhat boisterous conditions obtaining on board Transport 99, theGosportwas a floating model of smartness and efficiency.
"Do you know anything about a kangaroo, Sergeant?" enquired a burly armourer's mate.
It was Thursday--"make and mend" afternoon. The ship's company was allowed a period of comparative relaxation. Being fine weather, most of the "I watch below" were on deck, sunning themselves upon the raised fo'c'sle.
"A kangaroo?" repeated Malcolm cautiously, half suspecting that the man was trying to "pull his leg".
"Yes," replied the other, a proper kangaroo. "You ought to know a lot about them, since they come from down your way."
"I'm afraid you are mistaken," said Carr. "I have seen kangaroos in New Zealand, but they were looked upon as animal curiosities. Why do you ask?"
"We've got a kangaroo for a ship's mascot. Had it given us when we were coaling ship at Sydney. The brute is pining. He won't tackle ship's beef or condensed milk. His hay ration's expended, but the cook's keeping him going on biscuit mashed in 'bubbly'. Some of the men suggested cocoa as a change of diet. We thought perhaps, seeing that you were an Anzac, that you Could tell us what's the correct grub for the brute."
"It's want of exercise that's put Panjie off 'is feed, Bill," interposed a leading signalman. "That's what's done it."
"Maybe you're right," was the armourer's mate's grudging concession.
"And if," continued the "bunting-tosser", carried away by his brilliant brain-wave, "Panjie was to fall in with the physical-exercise party, an' skip round the ship 'arf a dozen times afore breakfast, I'll allow he'd scoff his 'ard tack without a murmur."
In the course of the afternoon a request was forwarded to the Commander that the kangaroo should be allowed on deck for exercise. The paper, marked "Approved, provided due precautions are taken", was returned to the members of the "Mascot Committee".
Without further delay preparations were made for the kangaroo's course of physical exercise. A space between two of the casemate guns of the starboard side was barricaded off, the officers' practice nets having been loaned for the event.
Practically all the ship's company crowded round to witness the show. Every coign of vantage was packed with interested lower-deck humanity, while from both the fore and after bridges the officers forgathered to watch the performance.
Panjie's cage, carried by half a dozen lusty blue-jackets, was deposited in close proximity to the only opening left in the extensive corral. Not since the eventful day when theGosport'sbarbers close-clipped Bingo, the monkey, had such interest been shown in any unofficial incident. Bingo was Panjie's predecessor, a large Madagascar ape. Curiosity concerning a barrel of coal-tar led to Bingo's undoing. Cropping, and afterwards washing the animal with grease and paraffin, were the only remedies, and but temporary; for, shorn of its warm fur, the monkey caught pneumonia and succumbed.
Heralded by the chief keeper, a corporal of Red Marines, the kangaroo leapt lightly into the arena in an attitude reminiscent of a light-weight boxer. It was a half-grown animal of about four feet six inches in height. Apparently indifferent to the grant of limited freedom, it ambled to a recess formed by the side of the casemate and the raised coaming of a closed ammunition-hoist.
"Put a pair of boxing-gloves on him, Paddy," shouted one of the Corporal's shipmates. "Take him on for half a dozen rounds under the Marquis of Queensberry's rules."
"Enter him for the high jump," vociferated another.
"Take 'im on 'catch as catch can'," suggested a third.
To all these suggestions the marine turned a deaf ear. He had his own idea of the correct method of exercising the animal and at the same time contributing to his comrades' enjoyment.
"Now then, you concertina boys, give us a two-step," he called out. "Come on, my lady, let's see if I can span your slender waist."
Either the kangaroo objected to the marine's mistake in the matter of gender or else he was disinclined to be forced to perform, for, as the Corporal grasped the animal's short fore paws, Panjie let rip with one of his powerful hind legs. The kangaroo might have been off his feed, but his muscular powers seemed in no way impaired. The sharp claws, missing the man's face by a mere inch, sliced his forage jacket and trousers from shoulder to knee.
At the possibility of a scrap the ship's company cheered, some yelling encouragement to the kangaroo, others backing the representative of His Majesty's jollies.
The outburst of sound terrified the animal. With a stupendous bound Panjie leapt at the netting, ripping his way through as easily as a pantomime clown jumps through a paper hoop. Over the heads and shoulders of a tightly-packed throng of bluejackets the brute vaulted; then, viewing a comparatively clear space, it bounded towards the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck.
Here the Fleet-paymaster and the Engineer-commander, who were keeping aloof from the revels, were engaged in a strictly official conversation. Like a dart Panjie dived betwixt the bowed legs of the accountant officer, and, in blind desperation, butted the senior officer of the engineering branch full in the chest. Then with a terrific leap the kangaroo cleared the rail and disappeared overboard.
There was a rush to the side. Some of the men hastened to man the sea-boat, but the upheld hand of the Commander indicated that they were to "stand fast".
The sea was like glass. The usual Pacific roll was entirely absent. A quarter of a mile on the starboard quarter theAwaruawas resolutely plugging along at 10 knots.
Bobbing in the wake of the cruiser was a darkbrown object. It was Panjie. The animal had escaped the suction of the propellers, but the fall from a vessel pelting along at 20 knots had evidently stunned it. At all events it made no effort to swim.
No order was given for theGosportto reverse engines or even to slow down. She merely "carried on" describing a vast circle round the slow-moving Transport 99.
"By Jove, sir!" exclaimed the Commander, addressing the Captain. "TheAwarua'sstarboarding helm."
"She is," admitted the Skipper grimly. "We've played into her hands this time, I fancy."
The "owner's" surmise was correct. Lining the side of the transport were hundreds of troops. Some of them, and several of theAwarua'screw, had provided themselves with running bowlines, and as the unfortunate Panjie drifted close to the ship he was saluted with a shower of lassos.
"They've hooked him, sir!" reported the Commander as the kangaroo's limp body, firmly encircled with three or four bowlines, was unceremoniously hauled on board the transport.
"By the powers they have," agreed the Skipper bitterly, and straightway he left the bridge and went below.
Five minutes later theAwarua'ssemaphore began working rapidly. On theGosport'sbridge a barefooted signalman wrote down the message on a pad. He was unable to conceal a broad grin as he handed the signal to the Commander.
No need for the latter to read the writing. He, in common with nearly all the officers and crew, had read the semaphore verbatim.
With the utmost temerity the skipper of theAwaruahad sent the following report:--
"One of your crew has been picked up by Transport 99. In view of the heavy sea now running" (it was a flat calm a regular "Paddy's hurricane") "I propose retaining the said member, in order to avoid a repetition of the accident. Do you concur?"
The message was sent to the captain of the cruiser. Sportsmanlike the skipper accepted the sarcastic signal with a good grace.
Back came the answer: "Now we are quits! Congratulations!"
Seven days behind scheduled time theAwaruacrawled into Port Stanley harbour. Here Sergeant Malcolm Carr and Rifleman Macready were received in exchange for Panjie, who, thanks to the store of fodder on board the transport, had been fed into a state of adiposity.
Meanwhile a reserve transport had been sent across from Simon's Bay, and orders were given to tranship the troops, stores, and baggage from No. 99 to No. 109. Within three days the task was accomplished, and, five other troopships having arrived from Australia, the convoy left for Table Bay, still under the care of H.M.S.Gosport.
Although the transports were still a considerable distance from the U-boat danger zone, every revolution of their propellers was bringing them nearer to that part of the South Atlantic where vessels had been known-to have been destroyed by mines.
On the evening of the third day Malcolm had to accompany Lieutenant Nicholson on the rounds. After visiting the various mess decks the upper deck had to be inspected. It was a pitch-dark night. The stars were obscured. Beyond the long undulations the sea was calm.
Transport 109, otherwise the S.S.Pintail, was leading vessel of the starboard column, the formation being that known as "double column ahead". TheGosportwas two miles distant on the starboard bow, her position indicated solely by a feeble stern lantern. The vessels forming the convoy were steaming with all navigation-lamps screened, keeping station merely by means of the phosphorescent wake of the vessel next ahead.
"Hallo, what's the move?" exclaimed Mr. Nicholson as the six transports altered helm, swung round until they formed double column line abreast. "We're at right angles to our former course. What's theGosportdoing?"
The Lieutenant walked to the rail. Malcolm and the rest of the party halted and watched a masthead signalling-lamp that was blinking rapidly on the cruiser.
Suddenly the beams of two powerful search-lights from theGosport'sbridge pierced the darkness. The giant rays were directed full upon the hull of a large vessel steaming about five cable-lengths from, and on a parallel course to, that of the cruiser.
The stranger had been showing no steaminglights. She was a two-masted, double-funnelled craft of about four thousand tons. On her side, clearly shown up in the rays of the search-light, were painted the Dutch national colours, and the wordsWaeszyl, Holland in letters six feet in height.
Again theGosport'sflashing-lamp began signalling; but while the message, whatever it might mean, was still in progress, two tongues of flame leapt from the cruiser's side, and the simultaneous roar of a double report crashed through the night.
An instant later a stupendous blaze of light, followed by a detonation the volume of which completely drowned all other sounds, dazzled the eyes and burst upon the ears of the spectators. A pall of black smoke, tinted silvery in the rays of the search-lights, marked the spot where the so-calledWaeszylhad been. For some seconds objects of varying sizes, hurled high in the air, dropped into the sea, some of them in perilous proximity to the convoy. After that--silence.
From the troop-decks of the transports crowds of men poured through the hatchways. It was an impossible task to try to keep the New Zealanders below. They simply had to see what there was to be seen; which, according to the general verdict, was precious little.
Presently boats were lowered from the cruiser, and a search was made over and around the spot where the mysterious vessel had disappeared. In less than half an hour the boats returned, the searchlights were switched off, and the cruiser and her charges resumed their interrupted course.
There was very little sleep that night for the men of the Thirty-somethingth reinforcements. The men sat up discussing the appalling incident, and forming ingenious theories as to the cause of theGosport'sspeedy destruction of the supposed Dutchman. They had reckoned on entering the danger zone when they came within the normal radius of action of hostile U-boats. Already they had practical proof that at almost every knot of the twelve-thousand-miles voyage they were open to attack--Providence and the armed unit of Britain's fleet permitting.
Just before noon on the following day thePintailpassed close to a water-logged ship's boat. Kept under observation by means of telescopes and binoculars, the derelict told its own tale. There were evidences that it had been hastily lowered. A gaping hole on one side and a shattered gun-wale on the other, together with traces of fire, showed that the boat had been shelled. There were distinct signs that the perpetrators of the outrage had sought to obliterate all traces of their dastardly work: the name of the ship had been scraped off the boat's bows, her air-tight tanks had been stove in, yet in spite of this precaution the boat still remained awash. For once, at least, the policy ofSpurlos versenkthad failed. Cold-blooded murder had undoubtedly been committed on the high seas. TheGosportwas not in time to prevent this particular crime--but she had avenged it.
Slowly, but no less surely, the details of the previous night's engagement leaked out. It had not been, as Malcolm had surmised, a one-sided engagement. A commerce-raider and mine-layer disguised as a Dutch cargo boat had sighted theGosport, and, mistaking her in the darkness for a merchantman, turned and shaped a parallel course to that of the cruiser.
Detected by the war-ship's look-out, the suspicious vessel was promptly challenged by flashing signals. The raider's reply was a grim one. A torpedo fired from a submerged tube tore towards theGosport, passing within a few feet of her stern. The phosphorescent swirl of the under-water missile told its own tale. The cruiser put two shells into the raider's quarter, in the hope that her steering-gear would be blown away and the vessel rendered unmanageable. Unfortunately for Hans, one of the projectiles burst in a compartment where a number of mines were stored--result, utter and swift annihilation!
As the transport approached the Cape, justifiable anxiety consumed those responsible for the navigation of the convoy. ThePintail'sskipper never left the bridge for thirty-six hours. Two merchant-men had recently been sunk by mines in these waters. Although the vessel that had laid these sinister instruments of death and destruction had been destroyed, the results of her previous activities remained.
At last the convoy dropped anchor in Table Bay. The second stage of the long sea voyage was accomplished. TheGosportcoaled and left for the Pacific, Until it was definitely established that German raiders no longer infested the route between Wellington and the Horn the presence of a few light cruisers was necessary, otherwise armed merchant-cruisers could effectually perform convoying duties, and release the "pukka" warships for other duties in home waters.
"Now I think of it," remarked Dick Selwyn, "I have a second cousin living at Muizenberg; I'll look him up. There's leave till six o'clock. Coming?"
"Looking up" even distant relations is a characteristic of the New Zealander. Wounded Anzacs, on receiving the ten-days' leave in England before rejoining their units, frequently make railway journeys running into hundreds of miles simply for the Purpose of "looking up" a remote blood relation in the Old Country, In Selwyn's case his relation lived at a small town on the shores of False Bay, a distance of about twenty miles from Cape Town.
"I'm on," replied Malcolm. "It will give us a chance of seeing something of South Africa. How about Fortescue?"
Sergeant Fortescue, when appealed to, promptly decided to accompany them; and as soon as leave was granted the three non-coms. hurried ashore.
The railway journey accomplished, Selwyn made the disappointing discovery that his cousin no longer lived at Muizenberg. He had moved to a farm near Slang Kop, a distance of about five miles across the peninsula that terminates in the world-renowned Cape of Good Hope.
"Game to foot it, you chaps?" asked Selwyn. "I don't like to be done."
The others agreed without enthusiasm, although loyalty to their chum left no plausible alternative; so at a steady pace they set out along an upland track that led to the farm.
Selwyn's cousin "did his visitors right down properly", to quote Malcolm's description of the reception. So much so that before either of the three realized the fact it was a question of whether they could return to Muizenberg station in time for the train. A springless Cape cart drove them at the maximum pace obtainable by the wiry horse and the vociferous exhortations of the native "boy". In spite of every effort the trio reached the outskirts of Muizenberg just in time to see the train steam out of the station.
Since Muizenberg is a popular seaside resort for the business folk at Cape Town, there is a fairly frequent train service. Enquiries of the railway officials elicited the information that a train would leave at 7.15 p.m.
Malcolm and his companions accepted the situation calmly. Mutual recriminations were absent, although they knew that it was a serious matter to overstay shore leave.
"It isn't as if the transport were lying alongside a wharf," remarked Selwyn. "Our best chance is to hire a boat and trust to luck to get on board without being observed by the officers. The corporal on the gangway wouldn't give the show away."
"The main point is to get on board," said Fortescue. "If there is an enquiry we must simply state plain facts and face the music. There's an officer's boat at nine-thirty."
"I'm afraid there isn't," corrected Malcolm. "I saw the announcement cancelled on the notice-board outside the orderly room."
"By gum, that looks fishy!" exclaimed Fortescue. "Supposing thePintailsails to-night. That yarn about the convoy getting under way on Thursday night may be a blind. They say Cape Town swarms with pro-Germans."
When at length the train crawled out of Muizenberg station the three "Diggers" (as New Zealand infantrymen are commonly dubbed amongst themselves) had for company a sympathetic fellow-passenger, who on hearing of their plight was quick to suggest a plan.
"I know your boat," he remarked. "No. 109 is lying nearest in-shore off Woodstock--that's a suburb of Cape Town, you know. I'm a transport officer, so I know a bit about it. Hop off the train at Woodstock and enquire for Van Hoek's boathouse. It's at the mouth of Salt River. Old Van will row you off for a matter of ten shillings."
The passenger seemed of a very communicative disposition. He evinced considerable interest in various incidents of the New Zealanders' voyage. Without much questioning he led the three Anzacs to give a fairly detailed account of what had happened.
"It's all news to me," he remarked. "Even in the Transport Office we hear but very little. Of course the heads know a lot, but the minor officials, such as myself, are not taken into their confidence."
The train slowing down as it approached Woodstock station terminated the conversation. With many thanks for the information, Malcolm and his chums left the carriage, and, in giving up their tickets, enquired of the Dutch ticket-collector the way to Van Hoek's establishment.
The official had never heard of the place; nor had three or four others to whom the enquiry was put.
"At any rate," said Fortescue in desperation, "I suppose there is such a show as Salt River?"
"Oh yes, we know where that is," was the chorused reply.
Declining offers to be shown the way, the three chums set out, and presently arrived at the low shore of the estuary. The opposite bank was invisible, as at the spot the mud-flats were covered at high tide. To all appearance it was open water right out to Table Bay.
The shore was deserted. The few buildings were evidently untenanted. On the beach half a dozen boats were hauled up above high-water mark. Farther out were others riding easily to moorings.
The night was calm. The brilliant starlight made it an easy matter to discern the double line of transports.
"By Jove," ejaculated Fortescue, "they're raising steam! They are sailing to-night after all!"
"No good cooling our heels here," said Selwyn. "Let's borrow a boat, since we can't find an owner. The wind's dead on shore, what there is of it; we can cast her adrift after we get on board."
"And put five shillings on one of the thwarts," added Malcolm. "The fellow who finds it will be repaid for his trouble."
Of the six boats all were without gear save one. In vain they attempted to launch it down the beach; their united efforts were unavailing. Nor was Fortescue's suggestion to transfer the gear to a lighter craft productive of better results.
"These boats are as heavy as lead," declared Malcolm, wiping his heated brow. "I believe they're bolted and riveted to the ground. How about it? Suppose we swim out to the nearest of those boats?"
This proposition was adopted. The three men stripped, secured their clothing on top of their heads by means of their belts, and, two of them taking an oar in case the moored craft was destitute If means of propulsion, they slipped boldly into the water.
Malcolm was the first to reach the moored boat. Holding on to the gunwale with one hand, he unbuckled his bundle and tossed it into the boat; then, clambering over the stern, proceeded to dress while his companions "got aboard". There were oars already, as well as mast, sails, and other gear.
On the strength of having stroked his college boat Fortescue took command. Under his directions the rudder was shipped, and an attempt made to raise the anchor. The three men heaving together very nearly put the boat's bows under, but the refractory mooring refused to come home. Did they but know it, they were vainly trying to raise an iron chain attached to a mass of stone weighing nearly half a ton.
"We're going the wrong way about the trick," declared Selwyn. "See that rope with a chunk of wood on the end of it? That's fastened to the chain, so if we chuck the lot overboard we'll be able to make a start."
The mooring dropped with a resounding splash. Fortescue and Malcolm manned the oars and gave way with a will.
"Jolly hard graft," muttered Malcolm breathlessly after a quarter of an hour's strenuous work. "Do you think we're getting any nearer? I don't."
Fortescue glanced over his shoulder.
"No, I don't," he admitted bluntly. "What's more, the transports are 'on the move. That's put the kybosh on the whole contraption."