IT was some moments before Sub-Lieutenant Farrar realised the disconcerting fact that the cruiser had been torpedoed. He was dimly conscious of a rush of feet overhead and a confused scramble as his companions sorted themselves out in the dim atmosphere of the half-deck. He was aware that Bruno was licking his hand, and that holding on to the animal's collar was the padre—transformed into one of the coolest men of the crowd.
On the upper deck the quick-firers were barking angrily, the gun-layer letting rip at a dozen different purely imaginary objects that had resolved themselves into the periscopes of a swarm of U-boats. Barefooted seamen and booted marines were pouring through the hatchways—not under the blighting influence of panic, but rather with a desire to see what was going on.
Just as the sub gained the poop at the tail-end of a pack of wildly excited midshipmen a marine bugler sounded the "Still."
Not in vain had months of discipline beendrilled into the crew of the "Tantalus." Every man stood rigidly at attention, the babel of voices ceased as if by magic, and the only sounds that broke the silence were the rapid crashes of the quick-firers, the hiss of escaping steam, and the inrush of water through the gaping hole in the ship's side fifteen feet below the waterline.
The "Tantalus" had received a mighty blow. Whether it were sufficient to sink her was yet to be determined. One torpedo had missed its mark, but the other had exploded in No. 1 stokehold on the starboard side, almost instantly flooding that compartment and killing most of the stokers on duty in that part of the ship.
For five long-drawn-out minutes the men stood motionless, while the captain, commander, and officer of the watch conferred and awaited reports. From the engine room came the information that the port engine was still intact, thanks to the longitudinal bulkhead. The starboard engines were almost useless, owing to the loss of pressure. In the flooded stokehold gallant volunteers were groping in the swirling water and risking death from the deadly fumes in an endeavour to rescue their luckless comrades.
The cruiser was heeling badly to starboard. Although her steering gear was unaffected she had begun to circle under the impulse of the port propeller; until steadied on her helm, shefloundered through the water at the greatly reduced speed of five and a half knots.
"We'll save the old ship yet, I fancy," remarked the captain to the commander. "It will be best, I think, to muster all hands aft. Is steam available for the boat-hoists?"
"Yes, sir," replied the commander.
"Very good. It's well to know that in case we have to hoist out the boom-boats. Pass the word for the men to fall in."
The shrill trill of the bos'uns' mates' pipes and the hoarse orders, unintelligible to the civilian element on board, had the result of clearing the lower deck in a remarkably short space of time. Clad in a motley of garments the watch below surged through the doorways in the after-bulkhead of the battery, each man with his pneumatic life-saving collar and in many cases a small bundle containing his cherished possessions. A petty officer appeared with a Manx cat in his arms; a yeoman of signals with a parrot that persisted in screeching choice lower-deck epithets at a piebald monkey; a corporal of Red Marines was grasping a cage containing a couple of canaries; while it would be impossible to guess with any degree of accuracy how many men had pets securely hidden in their jumpers.
The ship had now slightly recovered her heel and evinced no tendency to capsize. A course was now being shaped for the North Cornishcoast, in the hope that the vessel could be beached or, at least, anchored in shallow water. Very sluggishly she forged ahead, the bent plates in the vicinity of the hole made by the torpedo requiring a considerable amount of helm to counteract the inclination of the ship to turn to starboard.
The din of the quick-firers had died away. Cheerful optimists there were amongst the crew who felt certain that the U-boat had been properly strafed, but there was no evidence to confirm their belief. As a matter of precaution the guns were still manned, while the wireless, which had been temporarily deranged, was sending out appeals for aid.
The order was now given for the men to "stand easy." Pipes and cigarettes were lighted and conversation began, although curiously enough the present state of affairs was hardly discussed. The chief anxiety on the part of the ship's company appeared to be the possibility of having to "stand by" the vessel, or whether there would be general leave granted before the men returned to the depôt for commissioning another craft.
Parties were told off to go below and salve various articles. The paymaster was working heroically, directing the removal of the ship's ledgers, the men's "parchments "—the seaman's record during the course of his career afloat—and other documents. The "coin"also was brought on deck, buoyed lines being attached to the canvas bags, so that the money could be recovered should the "Tantalus" sink in comparatively shallow water. The Treasury notes were left severely alone, since others could be issued in lieu of the missing numbers.
Most of the ward-room and gun-room officers not actually on duty also went below, the former to their cabins and the latter to their "common room," in order to retrieve their small but personally valuable belongings. Amongst them went Farrar, with Bruno, not completely recovered from his indisposition, ambling in his wake.
At the foot of the ladder leading to the halfdeck the sub encountered the captain of marines, followed by two stalwart men carrying the ward-room gramophone.
"Hullo, Slogger!" exclaimed the captain. "Do you want to buy a clinking little motorbike? I've a beauty stowed away in the steerage flat. What offers for spot cash?"
"Half a crown!" offered the sub promptly.
"Make it four shillingsand it's a deal," rejoinedthe marine officer laughingly. "Done. I'll write you out a receipt when we get ashore. By the by, Farrar, talk about devotion to duty under hazardous circumstances, one of those bright bounders (indicating the two marines who were just disappearing over the coaming ofthe hatchway) deserves the Iron Cross of the Nth Degree—and all on account of that ferocious beast of yours."
The captain patted Bruno's massive head, and whimsically eyed the sub.
"How was that?" asked Farrar, unable to restrain his curiosity.
"The door of the padre's cabin was open," continued the marine officer, "and on the floor was Private Puddicombe diligently carrying out pre-torpedoing instructions by mopping up the corticine, It seems to me that there'll be water enough and to spare in the Woolly Lamb's den before very long. Hullo! What's up now?"
The quick-firers were opening out again, the six-inchers punctuating the sharp detonations of the twelve-pounders.
Following the marine officer on deck Farrar was just in time to see the frothy wake of a torpedo that, missing the cruiser's port quarter by a few feet, was tearing at thirty knots, to break surface a couple of miles beyond its desired victim.
Eighteen hundred yards astern a terrific cauldron of foam marked the spot where a hostile periscope had been momentarily sighted. The U-boat had evidently seen that the cruiser was not hurrying to the bed of the Atlantic, and was doing her level best to hasten matters.
"Fritz is a bit of a sticker for once," remarkedthe engineer-lieutenant, catching sight of Farrar in the bustle and noise. "He usually makes himself very scarce after having got one home when there are quick-firers knocking about. How far is it to the nearest land, navigator?" he inquired of Buntline, one of the lieutenants who happened to be passing.
"A matter of two hundred fathoms under your feet, my lad," was the reply without a moment's hesitation.
"Not taking any," replied the engineer sub with a laugh. "And you'll find nobody asking for greengage jam."
A roar of laughter from the other officers greeted this sally as the discomfited lieutenant, unable to rap out a fitting repartee, vanished through the armoured door of the battery.
"What's the joke about greengage jam, Tommy?" asked Farrar.
"At tea last night," explained the engineer sub, "Old Frosty asked Buntline to pass the greengage jam. It is rather rough luck on Buntline that he's still a bit deaf after that little affair off Zeebrugge. At any rate he thought Frosty had said, 'I am an engaged man,' and proceeded to offer congrats to the fleet paymaster, who, as you know, is a 60 per cent. above proof St. Anthony. Bless my soul! What's that I hear? Only doing four knots now. Think we'll make land before dark?"
The "Tantalus" was slowly foundering.Inspite of the continuous action of the powerful Downton pumps the water was gaining. The explosion had not only resulted in the flooding of No. 1 stokehold, but had started some of the plates in the for'ard bulkhead. The damaged metal wall had been shored up and a cofferdam of hammocks and other gear built up to strengthen the weak spot, but even then the precaution failed to do the work that was expected of it.
For four continuous hours the gramophone was grinding out its metallic notes under the indefatigable attentions of a private of marines, while the two corner men of the cruiser's minstrel troupe kept their messmates in roars of laughter. Even when confronted with the none too remote prospect of being "in the ditch" the imperturbable tars were in high spirits. The captain and officers let them "stand by," knowing that nothing more could be done to safeguard the ship, and confident that when the critical moment drew near the men would respond cheerfully and gallantly to the call of duty.
Presently a hoarse cheer came from the men on the fo'c'sle; the sound was caught up by their comrades aft as the welcome news was announced that the destroyers were approaching.
The destroyers were five in number. Four of them were of the E Class, while the fifth was one of the latest words in that type of marine architecture. Well clear of the others she wasdescribing swift and erratic evolutions, for her look out had reported a periscope.
"The 'Antipas,'" ejaculated a gunner's mate upon the appearance of the swift, low-lying craft. "One of our mystery destroyers. It'll be all U P as far as Fritz is concerned if she gets a sniff in."
"And 'ere's a bloomin' Blimp buttin' in," added another petty officer, as the dull grey envelope of a coastal airship drew within range of vision. "She wants to chuck her weight about too, I guess. Wot price that strafed U-boat now?"
"We'll see something neat in a brace of shakes, chum," remarked the gunner's mate cheerfully. "They've started to dust the floor."
U 254 arrived at the position indicated by her kapitan-leutnant nearly forty-eight hours before H.M.S. "Tantalus" sailed from Trecurnow Roads. During the period of waiting for her anticipated victim the submarine remained almost inactive, although nearly a dozen merchantmen were sighted on the first day and fifteen on the second.
With more important ends in view von Loringhoven made no attempt to sink the vessels flying the red ensign, lest news of the U-boat's presence might be communicated to the naval authorities at Trecurnow.
There was one exception, however, and the ober-leutnant risked a torpedo on the chance of aiding rather than hazarding his piratical progress.
Just before sunset a steamer was reported about three miles to the sou'westward. Von Loringhoven, binoculars in hand, clambered upon the flat top of the conning-tower, and having searched the horizon with his glasses, focussed them upon the approaching vessel.
Satisfying himself that the tramp was alone, and noting the fact that she carried a puny gun mounted for'ard and perhaps one aft—although from the way the vessel was pointing it was impossible to verify the suggestion—von Loringhoven descended from his elevated position and shouted orders to the men on deck to go below.
"I am about to torpedo that ship, Kuhlberg," announced the ober-leutnant, after he had followed his men into the interior of the steel hull and had closed the watertight hatch in the conning-tower.
The unter-leutnant regarded his superior with undisguised surprise.
"Is it wise, Herr Kapitan?" he asked. "I thought you had decided not to trouble about any vessel until we have attacked the 'Tantalus'?"
"Do not question your commanding-officer's decisions," snapped von Loringhoven. "The vessel will be sunk without leaving a trace, and there will be few survivors. Those few I will make good use of during the next day or two."
"Gunfire, Herr Kapitan?"
Von Loringhoven turned away from his subordinate and jerked down one of the levers actuating the valves of the diving tanks. Hans Kuhlberg, thinking that the ober-leutnant had not heard the question, repeated it.
"Himmel!" growled von Loringhoven overhis shoulder. "Where are your wits, Kuhlberg? That craft carries a gun; perhaps two. We could out-range her, of course, but then, there would be the delay before we sent her to the bottom."
The ober-leutnant did not think it worth while to mention that he had a wholesome respect for the comparatively short-range guns carried on tramps and drifters. Experience had taught him that lesson.
With the tips of her periscopes showing at intervals above the waves, U 254 manoeuvred until she was in a favourable position for firing a torpedo. At a distance of three hundred yards the chances of hitting the tramp were practically certain.
"Fire!" ordered the ober-leutnant.
The submarine tilted slightly as the powerful weapon left the starboard tube. Barely had the hiss of the compensating quantity of water rushing into the vacated tube ceased, when the dull roar of the exploding missile was borne to the ears of the piratical crew.
"Another cursed Englander gone," grunted von Loringhoven, as he ordered the ballast tanks to be blown.
Very cautiously, after a lapse of five minutes, the dealer of the recreant stroke poked her periscopes above water. As the ober-leutnant expected, the tramp was sinking rapidly. The force of the explosion, for the torpedo hadstruck her abreast of the engine room, had practically shattered the lightly built hull. Bow and stern were cocked high in the air, while amidships the frothy sea was pouring over the submerged deck.
One boat had already been lowered. Another had been swung out and the falls manned. The crew were waiting for something. Curious on that point, von Loringhoven peered intently through the eyepiece of the periscope. Presently he saw a man, waist deep in water, staggering aft, carrying the body of an insensible comrade on his back. So steep was the deck and so strong the swirling water that the devoted rescuer had all his work cut out to reach the boat, where willing hands relieved him of his burden.
The boat got away only just in time. Even as the lower blocks of the falls were disengaged, the doomed tramp slid beneath the waves, the davits just missing the laden boat's gunwale as the crew fended off with oars and boathooks.
Then in a smother of foam and a dense pall of smoke and steam the two boats were left tossing upon the waves, eighty miles from the nearest land, and without a friendly craft in sight.
The ober-leutnant deemed it quite safe to bring the U-boat to the surface. As soon as the submarine's deck was awash, von Loringhoven called away the guns' crews, and, followedby Kulhberg, he emerged from the conning-tower.
At the sight of the submarine bearing down upon the boats the survivors of the torpedoed tramp lay on their oars.
"What is the name of the ship we have sunk?" demanded von Loringhoven.
"The 'Guiding Star' of Newcastle, from Bahia to London with a general cargo," replied the master promptly.
"Where are your papers?"
"With the ship. We hadn't too much time," was the answer.
"Come alongside," was the ober-leutnant's next order.
The boats closed. The men had no option but to obey, but even the muzzles of the two quick-firers failed to terrorise them.
"You have had enough of the sea, captain," continued von Loringhoven mockingly.
"Not I," replied the master, a short, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, whose iron-grey hair contrasted vividly with his brick-red features, dark with hardly suppressed anger. "I'll put to sea again within twenty-four hours if my owners give me another ship. Next time I fall in with you I hope the boot will be on the other foot. It won't be my fault if it isn't."
The master of the "Guiding Star" had spoken his mind. It was indiscreet, and he knew it;but he came of a stubborn stock, that fears nothing either on land or sea.
"You amuse me, captain," said von Loringhoven, his thick lips curling ominously. "So much so that I want to have more of your company. Come on board."
The tough old skipper said a few hurried words to the mate, then, with an exhortation to his men to stick to it and keep together, he stepped out of the boat and gained the U-boat's deck.
"Take him below," curtly ordered the ober-leutnant, addressing two of his crew.
With folded arms von Loringhoven waited until the master of the "Guiding Star" was taken to a compartment in the after part of the submarine, and securely locked in. One of the two sailors returned and reported that the instructions had been carried out.
"You may go now," said the ober-leutnant to the crews of the boats.
The men pushed off and commenced rowing in the direction of the invisible land. The crew in one of the boats set to work to step the mast and set sail, calling to their companions in misfortune that they would take them in tow.
Von Loringhoven made his way to the navigation platform, where Kuhlberg was standing by the steering-wheel.
"Gunfire, Herr Kapitan?" asked the unter-leutnant.
"You have gunfire on the brain," replied the ober-leutnant. "We have made quite enough noise already. Order half speed ahead and port your helm."
The U-boat swung round, gradually increasing her way until her bows pointed towards the two boats.
"Steady on your helm," ordered von Loringhoven. "At that.... Full speed ahead!"
At fifteen knots the blunt bows of the modern pirate crashed into the foremost boat, rending the elm planking like matchboard. A few of the men who escaped being crushed by the enormous bulk of the murderous craft were left struggling in the water. Of these only one wore a lifebelt. Von Loringhoven had not noticed it when the boat was alongside. He signed to a petty officer standing aft. The Hun drew a revolver and, as the lifebelted seaman swept past, shot him through the head with as little compunction as a gamekeeper would have at killing a stoat or a weasel.
The rest of the survivors, finding themselves in the U-boat's wake, struck out for the remaining boat. It was an unavailing struggle for life, for, turning again, U 254 charged down upon the second of the "Guiding Star's" boats and the tragedy was re-enacted.
"Enough!" ordered the ober-leutnant, scanning the horizon, over which the shadow of night was rapidly drawing. "With the sea atthis low temperature a man cannot last more than ten minutes."
It was about noon on the following day, when U 254 was gently forging ahead at seventy feet beneath the surface, von Loringhoven ordered the skipper of the "Guiding Star" to be brought to his cabin.
"Well, captain," began the ober-leutnant with a burst of assumed affability. "I am sorry that I was compelled to detain you. On the other hand we did all we could to assist your crew on their long voyage."
The skipper made no audible comment. If von Loringhoven imagined that he was ignorant of the cold-blooded tragedy he was grievously mistaken. The master of the tramp had heard the double crash as the U-boat collided with the two boats, and had formed his own conclusions—which happened to be perfectly correct.
"I must explain my reasons for receiving you as a guest," continued von Loringhoven. "We are now bound for Wilhelmshaven by the shortest route, which, as you know, is through the Straits of Dover. As I am under the impression that you were furnished with Admiralty directions concerning the course through the mine-fields you will be most useful to us as a pilot. I am certain that you would not throw away your life by withholding your assistance."
The skipper of the "Guiding Star" looked the Hun straight in the face.
"If that's what you've made me a prisoner for you might have spared yourself the trouble," he said pointedly. "As for the mine-fields, you'll fetch up against them right enough if you aren't sent to Davy Jones by the latest anti-U-boat appliance, which ought to be in full working order by now."
"What appliance is that?" demanded von Loringhoven uneasily.
"I can understand your anxiety, but I won't enlighten you further on the matter," replied the master of the "Guiding Star."
The ober-leutnant literally snarled. He was baulked, and he knew it. He had made the mistake of gauging the British merchant skipper's calibre with that of the Hun.
"You'll feel sorry for yourself, Englishman, when we arrive at Wilhelmshaven," he said.
"Which will be never," rejoined the prisoner. "You'll be trapped, whether you make up-channel or try to dodge round the Orkneys."
"And I need hardly remind you," continued von Loringhoven, "that if anything befalls this vessel you will most certainly perish."
"I am not afraid to die," announced the master in a tone that carried conviction. "My only regret is that I may have to put up with a crowd of skulking German pirates for messmates in Davy Jones's locker."
With an oath von Loringhoven levelled an automatic pistol at the old man's head. Onlythe pressure of a few ounces upon the sensitive hair-trigger stood between the tramp's skipper and death. Not a muscle of his features moved as he calmly eyed the muzzle of the powerful weapon and the sardonic face of the pirate behind it.
Again von Loringhoven had made an error. He had failed entirely to intimidate or terrorise his helpless captive, and he was now on the horns of a dilemma. He did not want to shoot: it would come in handy to have a hostage should he find himself in a tight corner; on the other hand, once having levelled the pistol he could not without loss of dignity put the weapon down.
"I give you twenty seconds to agree to my proposal," he said.
"You mentioned a good many proposals," replied the skipper of the "Guiding Star" sarcastically. "Which one do you mean?"
"To give us the British Admiralty sailing course."
"I'll see you to Hades first!" declared the prisoner.
Von Loringhoven began to count—slowly, in the hope that the Englishman's spirit would be broken under the prolonged mental strain.
Suddenly there was a peremptory knock at the cabin door, and in answer to an invitation to enter a petty officer appeared.
"Your pardon, Herr Kapitan, but Unter-Leutnant Kuhlberg ordered me to inform you that the English cruiser is in sight."
"Very good," replied the ober-leutnant. "Tell a couple of hands to lock this schweinhund in the empty store-room."
He waited until the prisoner had been removed, then snatching up his binoculars he hastened to bring the submarine awash. Five miles away was a large, grey four-funnelled cruiser. She had just altered helm on a zig-zag course, and her new direction, if maintained, would bring her within torpedo range of U 254.
"That is the 'Tantalus,'" declared the ober-leutnant. "Diving stations, there; launch home in both bow and broadside tubes. We'll have her right enough."
"YOU'RE wanted on the 'phone, sir. Senior Officer Trecurnow Base is speaking."
Flight-Lieutenant Barcroft, V.C., was coming away from the airship sheds when a petty officer brought the urgent message that Sir George Maynebrace wanted him on the telephone.
The lieutenant was acting-commander of a "wing" of coastal airships stationed at Toldrundra Cove, within ten miles of Trecurnow Base. During the last few days "business" had been slack. Regularly the Blimps flew over their allotted patrolling districts without sighting a single one of the Kaiser's underwater boats. It looked as if the German submarine had given up the chops of the Channel as a bad job.
It was a great blow to Billy Barcroft when, consequent upon injuries received in a seaplane raid, the Medical Board refused to allow him to fly again in a machine heavier than air. As a partial compensation he was appointed to the airship branch, which, although lacking theopportunities of raiding, was not devoid of excitement and danger.
144A, the Blimp in which Barcroft had just completed the morning flight, consisted of a cigar-shaped envelope one hundred and twenty feet in length, and with an extreme girth of ninety feet. Suspended from the envelope by a ramification of light but enormously strong wire cables was a four-seated fuselage, similar to, but on a slightly larger scale than, the bodies of the battle-seaplanes. Fore and aft was mounted a machine-gun, while projecting through the floor of the fuselage was a complicated arrangement that at first sight looked like three drain-pipes with mushroom heads and a small crowd of "gadgets" thrown in. This was the aerial torpedo projector, a highly perfected apparatus capable of hurling its sinister missiles with uncanny accuracy. The 'midship section of the fuselage was taken up by the propelling machinery—a petrol motor coupled direct to the shafting of a huge aerial propeller.
Aft was the wireless installation, the petty officer occupying the dual rôle of machine-gunner and telegraphist. Underneath the chassis were the emergency water ballast tanks, but for normal alterations of altitude the Blimp depended upon her elevating rudders and also upon the reduction or addition of gas in the envelope—the reserve of hydrogen being kept under pressure in strong metal cylinders.
Hastening to the air-station office Barcroft entered the telephone cabinet and picked up the receiver.
"Yes, sir; Barcroft," he replied in answer to the senior officer's inquiry.
"Look here, Barcroft," resumed Sir George. "'Tantalus' has been submarined. She's still afloat. Her reported position is—— Got that down? Good. There's something very fishy about the business. The escorting destroyers had just returned under wireless orders from goodness only knows who. I am sending 'Antipas' and other destroyers to 'Tantalus's' assistance. I want a coastal airship to be on the spot with the utmost dispatch."
"Very good, sir," rejoined the flight-lieutenant.
"And," added Sir George Maynebrace drily, "I might add for your information that there are no British submarines operating within fifty miles of the given position. Good luck, Mr. Barcroft. Ring off."
Replacing the receiver Barcroft doubled back towards the sheds, adjusting his leather flying helmet as he ran. Half way across the large open space he encountered Kirkwood, the O.C. of Coastal Airship No. 144B, which was undergoing slight adjustments.
"Hullo, Bobby!" exclaimed Barcroft. "You're just the bounder I wanted. Look here, my sub's crocked—sprained his wrist. Ihad to push him into sick quarters not ten minutes ago."
"You want to pinch my sub, then, Billy?" asked Kirkwood with a smile.
"No," was the reply. "It's you I'm after, old man. The 'Tantalus' has been torpedoed, and I'm off to see what's to be done."
"Good enough!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "I'm ready. Grub on board, I hope?"
"Enough for a month on the Rhondda scale," replied Barcroft. "At any rate, there'll be sufficient even for your huge appetite.... Messenger!"
"Sir?"
"Rout out Anderson and Bell. Tell them we must get under way in five minutes."
Quickly the preparations for the urgent flight were completed. Squads of mechanics set to work, each man knowing exactly what was required of him, and doing it expeditiously and without undue noise. The petrol tank was filled by means of hose pipes communicating with the distant fuel reservoir, hydrogen was pumped into the pressure cylinders and thence into the envelope, until the manometer registered the requisite lifting power. Machine-gun ammunition was already on board, but the deadly aerial torpedoes, risky missiles to handle even with the safety caps in position over the sensitive detonating mechanism, had to be brought from a store at some distance from the sheds.
While this work was in progress, Barcroft and Kirkwood were busily engaged in testing controls and supervising the work of the mechanics. Long experience had taught them that "if you want a thing to be well done, you must do it yourself"; failing that, the next best course is personally to overlook the job.
Presently the two remaining members of the Blimp's complement hurried up. It occasioned them no surprise to be turned out almost as soon as one cruise had been completed. The airship patrol was much like the lifeboat service or a fire-brigade in the metropolis: its work was never ended. Beyond the ordinary routine there were emergency calls at any hour of the day or night.
"All ready?" asked the lieutenant.
He raised his hand. The motor began to purr, the swiftly revolving propeller churning up a cloud of dust that speedily rose as high as the recently vacated shed. The assistants, holding on to the restraining ropes, awaited the signal.
Barcroft lowered his hand smartly. With a motion not unlike that of a lift suddenly starting to ascend, the Blimp shot vertically upwards, the drag of her propeller being just sufficient to counteract the light head wind.
Not until the altitude gauge registered two hundred feet did the airship begin to forge ahead. Gradually the motor controls wereopened out until the din of the whirling propeller grew terrific. At fifty miles an hour, and with the huge gasbag quivering under the enormous wind pressure, the Blimp tore to the aid of the torpedoed cruiser.
Kirkwood, who was searching the vast expanse of sea with his binoculars, raised the voice-tube to his lips.
"Say, old man," he exclaimed. "The destroyers have nearly twenty miles' start of us. I can spot them."
"The 'Antipas' is out," remarked Barcroft with a chuckle. "Won't old Tressidar be in a tear if we beat her! We'll try it, anyway."
Anderson and Bell, although ignorant of the precise nature of No. 144A's mission, were keenly on the alert. No doubt, in that mysterious way that supposedly secret information spreads with incomprehensible rapidity, the news of the torpedoing of the "Tantalus" was common property in and around Trecurnow; but beyond giving Kirkwood a brief account of what had occurred, Barcroft had refrained from mentioning the matter to any one at the airship station.
Twenty minutes after leavingterra firmathe Blimp had left Land's End on her starboard quarter. Just within the western horizon could be discerned the cluster of small islands and rocks comprising the Scillies. North and south wisps of smoke gave evidence that, U-boatsnotwithstanding, the British mercantile marine was still unperturbed, for liners and tramps were to be seen either making for or leaving the Bristol Channel and English Channel ports.
"Are we gaining, do you think?" inquired Barcroft.
"Don't know, Billy, my festive," replied his second-in-command. "We seem to be overhauling the four older destroyers, but the 'Antipas' is a slipper. It's this head wind that's doing us in the eye."
The Blimp had struck a "rough patch." Tricky air currents, requiring all Barcroft's skill to counteract, made her plunge and yaw in a most erratic manner. At one moment the fuselage would be shooting ahead in practically a straight line, while overhead the gas envelope would be swaying from side to side like an ungainly pendulum; at another, the suspended car would be rearing and plunging like a dinghy rowed against short, steep seas; the while the breeze was whistling through the network of tensioned wires, the shrieking of the wind being audible even above the bass hum of the propeller and the noisy pulsations of the open exhaust.
Five hundred feet below the sea looked as calm as a mill-pond. Away to the west'ard patches of fog rendered observation a spasmodic business. Occasionally the horizon would be clearly visible, while a few minuteslater a bank of thin vapour would form and blot out everything beneath it.
"There's the 'Tantalus'—a couple of points on our port bow!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "She's still afloat, then.... By Jove! She has a list."
Barcroft gave the Blimp the necessary amount of helm to bring her nose pointing directly for the painfully crawling cruiser.
"She's got it properly in the neck," he admitted. "We're gaining a bit, I think (his anxiety to beat 'Antipas' was almost an obsession). I can fancy Old Tress jumping about on the bridge like a cat on hot bricks, and working the engine-room johnnies like billy-ho."
"The wind's dropping; that's why we're gaining," said Kirkwood. "It's petrol motor versus turbine now, and let the best craft win. ...Hullo! the cruiser's opened fire again. Billy, my lad, we look like strafing that U-boat. Fritz is getting much too rash: he wants correcting."
"Stand by!" ordered Barcroft, addressing the aerial torpedo man through the voice-tube.
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied Anderson confidently. Then, bringing the tube into the nearest possible position to the horizontal, he carefully placed a sixty-pound missile into the breech, trained the weapon downwards, and stood by with his hand resting lightly upon the firing lever.
"All correct, sir," he reported.
Maintaining her former altitude the Blimp passed immediately above the badly listing "Tantalus," the crew of which raised a mighty cheer. The faint echoes of the true British greeting were wafted to the airship like a gentle murmur, in spite of the noise of the motor. Barcroft acknowledged the cheering with a wave of his hand, then, knitting his brows and compressing his lips, he centred all his attention upon the grim work that was about to be done.
Presently his eyes glittered with the light of battle, Three miles astern of the cruiser, and almost in the frothy wake of her labouring propeller, could be discerned an elongated, shadowy form, showing faintly against the greenish grey expanse of water. It was the U-boat running under the surface.
"Confound it!" ejaculated the lieutenant, as a dark grey swiftly moving vessel zig-zagged towards the spot where the U-boat's periscopes were last seen. "The old 'Antipas' is going to spoil my game."
A violent upheaval of foam, followed by a muffled detonation, announced that the destroyer had exploded a depth charge.
"You'll have to be a jolly sight more careful, Tressidar, old boy," soliloquised Barcroft. "You'll be blowing up the stern of your old hooker if you don't mind.... Ah! I thought so. You've missed your bird this time. Now,for goodness' sake fade away and let me have a look in."
"How's that?" morsed the wireless, as the operator of the "Antipas" sought advice and guidance from the Blimp.
"Missed!" replied the airship's wireless laconically. "If you can't do better than that, push off. You're in our light."
Ronald Tressidar, lieutenant-commander of the "Antipas," was nothing if not a sportsman. First upon the scene he had done his level best to send the U-boat to Davy Jones; failing at the first attempt, and not knowing the direction taken by the submerged pirate, he was not one to fail to recognise that the Blimp was better adapted to the task than the destroyer.
"Good luck!" flashed the aerial message from the "Antipas," as she steadied her helm and dashed away from the scene of her futile efforts.
The dark shadow was twisting and turning. The U-boat had dived so deeply that, viewed from the airship, she could hardly be distinguished from the water. It was enough for Barcroft: once on the trail it was a rare occurrence for him to be put off the scent when it came to Fritz hunting.
"Set to twenty fathoms!" he ordered.
"Twenty fathoms, sir!" replied Anderson, as he manipulated the fuse-timing that would allow the aerial torpedo to sink to the stated depth before detonating.
In his former seaplane career Barcroft had bombed his various objectives with uncanny precision. Good luck and sound judgment combined to make him a past master in the art of "getting there." But in aerial torpedo work against a submerged object a new factor had arisen—the effect of refraction. Unless a bomb-dropping machine—be it airship or seaplane—is directly over its objective, due allowance must be made for the deceptive qualities of air and water in conjunction. A simple experiment will easily show this. Take a bowl of water and place in it an object heavier than water—for example, a penny. Stand immediately over the bowl, and with a long rod attempt to "spear" the coin. Unless one's hand be wobbly the task will be easy enough. Next, take up a position so that an imaginary line from the eye to the penny forms an angle of about forty-five degrees with the horizontal. Repeat the thrusting operation and the coin will be missed handsomely, while the rod will appear to be sharply bent from the point where it enters the water.
Down to two hundred feet dropped the Blimp. The loss of altitude diminished the visibility of the presence of her prey, but there was just enough indication of the presence of the submerged submarine to enable Barcroft to risk a shot.
The motor was throttled down. Flyingslowly and almost dead in the eye of the wind the airship was keeping pace with her blinded antagonist. It was like a keen-eyed hawk hovering over a stream and waiting to pounce upon an all unsuspecting fish.
Leaning over the side of the fuselage, Barcroft awaited the crucial moment. Then he raised his hand in a peremptory and unmistakable manner.
Instantly Anderson thrust down the firing lever. With a hiss of compressed air being released the powerful missile sped on its way, its course being clearly visible to the watchers from above.
A slight splash marked the torpedo's impact with the surface of the sea. Then, after a seemingly interminable wait, a dome-shaped mass of water was lifted bodily upwards, breaking and falling back in a smother of foam.
"Bon voyage, Fritz!" exclaimed Kirkwood.
"BOTH bow tubes—fire!"
Von Loringhoven's voice, pitched in a low guttural key, rose through the space of two words to an excitable crescendo. At last was the hour of his triumph; In spite of his ferocious zest at torpedoing helpless merchantmen, he realised in his inmost mind that it was but a sorry business; but now he had dared to torpedo a British cruiser—and had achieved his object.
Almost before U 254 recovered from the displacement of trim as the weapons left their tubes a muffled sound greeted the straining ears of the Huns.
"Only one, Herr Kapitan," exclaimed Unter-Leutnant Kuhlberg after a pause. "The other has missed."
"One will be enough," rejoined von Loringhoven. "Port your helm, quartermaster.... At that."
Blindly, and at a depth of thirty metres, the U-boat forged ahead. The ober-leutnant dared not risk rising, even for a momentary glimpsethrough the periscope, for the sharp crash of the cruiser's quick-firers told him that the "Tantalus," though sorely stricken, could still bite—and bite hard.
Not until the U-boat was two miles on the British vessel's port quarter did von Loringhoven bring her to the surface.
"They're firing at a piece of wreckage—what good fortune for us!" he exclaimed aloud without addressing his remark to any one. "Himmel!she has received her death-blow."
One by one the crew were permitted to take a peep at the hated English ship as she lay with a distinct list to starboard. Clouds of smoke and steam enveloped her for'ard portion, the wind driving the vapour in front of the slowly moving craft.
"She seems in no hurry, Herr Kapitan," the unter-leutnant ventured to remark. "They are not even hoisting out the boom-boats, although they have swung out the boats in davits."
"If they do not abandon ship very soon they'll have to swim for it," said von Loringhoven. "No sign of any of those cursed destroyers?"
Hans Kuhlberg revolved the eyepiece of the periscope and made a clear sweep of the horizon.
"None, Herr Kapitan," he replied.
Von Loringhoven nodded his satisfaction atthe intelligence. He had resigned the periscope to the unter-leutnant and was engaged in fitting a new roll of films to his camera with the idea of taking a series of snapshots of the "Tantalus" in her last throes.
"That's all ready," he remarked, as he snapped to the back of the camera and wound the first film into position. "Isn't it about time we broke surface? How goes the cruiser?"
"She does not appear to be going at all in the direction we want her to, Herr Kapitan," answered the unter-leutnant, after a prolonged look through the periscope, "If anything she is about the same, sinking no deeper in the water. She is steaming ahead."
"Gott in himmel!" exclaimed von Loringhoven furiously, laying aside the camera and pushing his subordinate away from the object-bowl of the periscope. "Must we do our work all over again? Torpedo-room there!" he shouted through the voice-tube. "Launch home both tubes. Set the torpedoes to run at three metres this time.... Stand by."
Taking a compass bearing of the cruiser and ordinating her rate through the water, von Loringhoven gave orders for U 254 to dive to ten metres. Then, running at ten knots, in order to make the surface wake as inconspicuous as possible, he manoeuvred for a chance to deliver another blow.
It was a tedious, nerve-racking business.When at the end of an hour's cautious stalking the U-boat poked the tips of her periscopes above the surface their appearance was greeted with a hot fire from the alert gun-layers of the "Tantalus."
Von Loringhoven shuddered with apprehension as he feverishly tilted the diving rudders.
Not until the submarine was deep down did he heave a sigh of relief. Yet with dogged determination he resolved to make another attempt to give his foe thecoup de grâce.
An hour and twenty minutes later U 254 prepared for another torpedo attack, but upon her periscopes breaking surface the ober-leutnant made the disconcerting discovery that a bank of sea-fog had swept down. The laboured churning of the cruiser's propeller could be faintly heard, but whether she was half a mile away or thrice that distance he had no means of ascertaining.
"Stand here, Herr Kuhlberg," was von Loringhoven's order as he stepped aside from the periscope. "My eyes are strained with peering into the object bowl. Report directly you see anything."
"It is clearing somewhat, Herr Kapitan," announced the unter-leutnant after a space of ten minutes. "I can just make out the cruiser. ...Ach! Donnerwetter!The English patrol boats. One is almost on us."
With an oath von Loringhoven shouted forthe hydroplanes to be depressed, and for full speed ahead. Under the enormous resistance of the diving rudders the U-boat flung her stern clear of the water as she sought the depths. At a steeper angle than she had ever done before she sank, throbbing under the pulsations of her powerful electric motors.
Suddenly an appalling roar seemed to come from somewhere in close proximity to the hull. Caught by a tremendous swirl of displaced water, the submarine swung round like a straw in the grip of a foaming torrent. Many of the crew were hurled to the deck-plates, while von Loringhoven and the unter-leutnant saved themselves from being precipitated through the opening in the floor of the conning tower by ignominiously embracing the shaft of the periscope. With the concussion every light went out, the fuses being blown by the terrific shock.
Gasping in momentary expectation of finding themselves overwhelmed by an inrush of water the two officers could do nothing but cling tenaciously to their support, while from the terrified crew came a babel of shouts, oaths, and shrieks of dismay and despair.
Hans Kuhlberg was the first to recover to a certain extent from his state of panic.
"We are still alive, Herr Kapitan," he exclaimed, in a broken high-pitched voice.
"For how long?" added von Loringhoven.
"This darkness!... Are the motors still running?... Are we rising or sinking until the hull plates crack like an egg-shell under the exterior pressure?Himmel!Tell me that."
"The chlorine fumes!" exclaimed Kuhlberg, relapsing into his state of blind panic. "We will be stifled like——"
"Hold your idiotic tongue!" hissed the ober-leutnant. "Where is the torch?"
He was groping for a pocket electric lamp that was usually kept on a bracket on the wall of the conning tower. It was no longer there. So great had been the submarine's dip that the torch had fallen on the floor of the armoured box.
"Here it is, Herr Kapitan," said the unter-leutnant. "Ach!What a comfort is this light!"
"Silence below there!" ordered von Loringhoven, shouting to the still frantic crew. "You are making as much noise asfrauenclamouring for meat rations. The worst of the danger is past if you will only keep your heads cool."
A glance at the depth gauge showed him that the U-boat was down to seventy-five metres—almost the maximum depth at which the hull was capable of withstanding the enormous pressure of water. A wrench at the diving-plane levers counteracted the tendency to dive deeper, and the submarine rose until she was within forty metres of the surface.
The motors were still running, but far from smoothly. The engine room was a blaze of blue light as the current short-circuited at half a dozen different points. It was indeed an inexplicable problem why the heavily charged air did not explode and complete the catastrophe.
"Both glands in the propeller shafting are leaking badly, Herr Kapitan," reported a mechanic.
"It cannot be helped," rejoined von Loringhoven. "At the depth we have just been, and with the shaking we have experienced, it is a marvel that things are no worse. All joints are sound?"
"No, Herr Kapitan; there is a steady trickle over the motors. It is that which accounts for the sparking across. Miller is taking steps to prevent the water spouting upon the dynamos."
The ober-leutnant flashed his torch upon the binnacle. The compass was useless. The concussion had cracked the thick plate glass and jerked the bowl completely off the gimbals. Nor was the gyro-compass in any better state. For purposes of direction the submarine had to rely solely upon luck. Without means of counteracting the side thrust of the propeller she would have a tendency to describe a succession of wide circles.
The thresh of the destroyer's screws overhead had now ceased. Things were looking a littlemore hopeful, since the submarine hunters had evidently lost touch with their quarry.
Just as hope was reviving another ear-splitting crash, out-voicing the previous detonation, shook the U-boat like a rat in the jaws of a terrier. Thrown first on one side and then on the other, she hurled her crew about like peas in a box, while everything that was not firmly secured was thrown about to add to the clatter and confusion.
"We are sinking!" shouted a dozen terrified voices. "The hull is giving way."
The hiss of inrushing water showed that the thick steel plates had been strained. Already the U-boat was settling towards the bed of the Atlantic.
There was just one chance, and von Loringhoven took it. At the imminent risk of being pulverised by the shells from the "Tantalus," or being rammed by the alert destroyers, he gave orders for all ballast tanks to be blown, at the same time elevating the diving rudders.
With both hands grasping the cam-action bolts of the lid of the conning-tower hatchway, von Loringhoven waited until the U-boat broke surface. With the perspiration rolling down his face, and in momentary anticipation of a salvo of shells landing on the exposed conning tower, the ober-leutnant darted for the open door, Kuhlberg and the quartermaster tying for the second place.
Less than two hundred feet above the now motionless U-boat floated Coastal Airship No. 144A, manoeuvring to repeat her strafing operations.
Promptly von Loringhoven raised his hands above his head in token of surrender, while the rest of the crew, who had taken their cue from the cowardly commander, stood in line with their arms upraised.