The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge, April 1918 Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  Torpedoed

  "Port five--steady."

  "Port five it is, sir."

  Alec Seton, sheltering under the lee of the bridge dodger, raised hisbinoculars and peered steadfastly through the gloom. It was night.Patches of fog were ganging around with irritating persistency, as ifbent on following and hampering the _Bolero's_ movements. There wasjust sufficient headwind to throw cascades of icy cold spray over thedestroyer's flaring bows. The breeze whistled mournfully through therigging, while aft a long trail of black smoke, beaten down by theheavy atmosphere, hung sullenly over the short, vicious seas.According to reckoning the Nord Hinder lay 5 miles east by north.

  It was not idle curiosity that had prompted Seton to order the courseto be altered. Less than a mile away was something showing black andill-defined even to the powerful night-glasses. It might be anythingfrom a derelict tramp to an abandoned boat. It might be a Germansubmarine or a sea-going torpedo-boat flying, or rather supposed tobe flying, the craven Black Cross Ensign of Germany.

  Whatever it was, it was Seton's duty to investigate, taking properprecautions in the event of the object turning out to be a hostilewarship.

  There was also the possibility--almost the probability--that thestrange craft, if a craft it were, might be a British or Alliedvessel. In any case, before the _Bolero_ could open fire she had toestablish the national identity of the stranger. A Hun was under nosuch obligation. He could open fire indiscriminately, not caringwhether his target were a hostile or a neutral vessel.

  Again Alec raised his binoculars. By this time the _Triadur_ and theconvoy were two or three miles to the sou'east. The _Bolero's_ crewwere at action stations, ready at the word of command to let looseevery quick-firer that could be brought to bear upon the enemy craft.

  "What do you make of her?" inquired the Lieutenant-Commander, who,acquainted with the alteration of course, had joined his subordinateon the bridge.

  Before Seton could express his opinion the question was answered. Twovivid flashes stabbed the darkness, while a few seconds later acouple of shells burst two hundred yards beyond the Britishdestroyer.

  Almost immediately the _Bolero_ returned the compliment. Her salvohit exactly on the spot that her gun-layers aimed at--but it pitchedinto and partly dispersed a cloud of smoke. The wily Fritz had beenapproaching stern foremost, and directly the German boat fired shewent full speed ahead, at the same time releasing an enormoussmokescreen.

  From the British Senior Officer's ship a message flashed:

  "Stand in pursuit; will remain by the convoy."

  It was an order after Lieutenant-Commander Richard Trevannion's ownheart, and of that of every member of the ship's company.

  Telegraphing for full speed ahead, Trevannion stood in pursuit. Boatfor boat the British destroyer had the advantage both in speed andarmament, but already the Hun had gained in distance, and, takingadvantage of the smoke screen, was now nothing but an indistinct blurin the night. It remained for the _Bolero_ to keep her quarry withinsight, and then the momentarily increasing speed would begin to tell.

  Firing steadily with her pair of fo'c'sle quick-firers the _Bolero_held on. Her whole frame vibrated under the pulsations of herpowerful engines. The wind no longer whistled through the scanty wirerigging: it absolutely shrieked. At times the for'ard guns' crewswere knee-deep in water, as the destroyer literally punched her waythrough the waves.

  "A near one, Sir," exclaimed Alec, as a shell burst within twentyyards of the _Bolero's_ port quarter, some of the splinters cuttingjagged holes in the two after funnels.

  Trevannion smiled grimly.

  "Yes, Fritz can shoot straight sometimes," he replied. "No casualtiesaft, I hope?"

  A signalman ran aft to make inquiries.

  "No, sir," he replied on his return; "the after quick-firer'screw----"

  A terrific detonation, almost instantly followed by an enormouscolumn of water, interrupted the signalman's remarks anent the afterquick-firer's gun's crew. The _Bolero_ seemed to be lifted clean outof the water; then she listed heavily to starboard. Clouds offlame-tinged smoke, mingled with hissing jets of steam, were issuingfrom the engine-room.

  "Fritz has bagged us, my festive!" remarked Trevannion, when the twoofficers recovered their senses, of which the sudden explosion hadtemporarily deprived them. "A fair deal: we've nothing to complainabout. See that our involuntary guest, Count Otto What's-his-name, isnot overboard."

  The Lieutenant-Commander spoke with the admiration of a truesportsman. For once a U-boat had fulfilled her legitimate purpose bytorpedoing a warship. The destroyer had taken the risk, and she hadfallen a victim to the powerful Schwartz-Kopff torpedo.

  It was apparent to every man on board that the _Bolero_ was doomed.The German torpedo-boat had acted the part of a decoy, and had luredthe British destroyer athwart the track of a lurking unterseeboot. Ata range of three hundred metres the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boatfelt sure of his prey; so much so that he decided that one torpedowas enough.

  Hit abaft the boiler-room, the _Bolero_ was practically broken intwain. Her watertight bulkheads were holding, but had been badlystrained. Even at the most sanguine estimate it was doubtful whetherthe bow and stern portions would be able to keep afloat for more thantwenty minutes.

  Meanwhile there was much to be done. While the signalmen were sendingup rockets and firing Verey lights--for the concussion had put thewireless completely out of action--the task of getting away boatsand rafts was proceeded with. The wounded were first lifted into theboats, for the explosion had taken heavy toll of the heroes of theengine-room and stokeholds. Already the Lieutenant-Commander hadthrown overboard the confidential signal-books and log. Impassivelyhe stood upon the bridge, awaiting the end. His duty was almost done.By virtue of the glorious and imperishable traditions of the BritishNavy he stood at his post until the last man was clear of the sinkingship.

  Deftly, and without the faintest suspicion of panic, the crew took tothe boats and rafts. The survivors of the engine-room staff, comingstraight from the heated and confined space below, wereill-conditioned to withstand the bitter coldness of the night.Lightly-clad they stuck it, accepting with grimly-expressed thanksthe offers of additional clothing from their better-clad messmates.

  From the first it was apparent that the boats and Carley rafts wereinsufficient to accommodate all the ship's company, yet not a manmoved out of his turn. Donning lifebelts, those who were unable totake to the boats, without risk of overcrowding and endangering thelives of their messmates, prepared for their long swim, confidentthat help would be assuredly forthcoming to "hike them out of theditch".

  "Pull clear, men!" shouted Trevannion. "Good luck!"

  Standing at the head of the bridge-ladder, and holding on to thestanchion-rail, for the destroyer was listing excessively, Setonwatched the scene with feelings akin to admiration. For himself hecared little, or rather, in the grim excitement of the destroyer'slast throes, his mind was fully occupied with the episode of thefinal moments.

  "Jump for it, Seton!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander.

  Alec shook his head.

  "I'll stand by till you're ready, sir," he replied, proffering alife-belt to his superior.

  Trevannion waved it aside with a grave, gesture of refusal. To him,as captain of the ship, it seemed unbecoming that he should don thelife-saving device.

  "Thanks," he replied. "I'm a good swimmer. I'll find something tohang on to. By Jove! Seton, the men are simply splendid."

  The end came with startling suddenness. With two successive reportsthe sorely-tried bulkheads gave way under the terrific pressure ofwater. In a smother of foam the riven hull sagged until bow and sternreared themselves in the air to such an extent that to Alec it seemedas if the two extremities would meet. Then, with a sickeningmovement, the _Bolero_ plunged to the bed of the North Sea.

  Seton's first sensation of the plunge was that of intense cold. Themoment he felt himself off his feet he struck out to clear thewreck
age. In spite of his efforts he found himself being drawn backas surely as if he were held by a chain. Down, down, down! Would thehorrible descent never end? He held his breath, struggling the whileto force himself to the surface. Already his lungs felt on the pointof bursting.

  "Good heavens! I'm foul of something," was the thought that flashedthrough his mind.

  It seemed like an eternity, that slow and remorseless suffocation inthe icy-cold water. His eyes were wide open, but he could seenothing. Involuntarily he gasped; an inrush of water followed; amoment of intense irritation, and then a period of utter insouciance.His senses were deserting him. In a vague sort of way he realizedthat he was drowning.

  Suddenly the downward movement was arrested. Caught by the upwardrush of air from a burst compartment Seton was impelled to thesurface with incredible speed. He was conscious of being shot almostclear of the water, of a rush of life-giving air into his partlywater-logged lungs; then of striking out almost automatically.

  The sea was horribly cold. Hampered by the weight of his clothes,for, with the exception of his great-coat and sea-boots, he had"taken to the ditch" fully-clad, it was a hard struggle for Seton tokeep himself afloat.

  With a noise like a small pistol-shot the water hitherto pressingagainst his ear-drums dispersed, and his sense of hearing wasrestored. Above the hissing of the waves he could hear shouts ofencouragement and cries for aid from his struggling shipmates. Therewere swimmers all around him. Some men were clinging to oars andpieces of floating wreckage. Others were supporting their less robustcomrades, while a few dauntless spirits were singing, or rathertrying to sing, in order to convey the impression that they still hadtheir "tails up".

  Someone pushed an empty water-beaker almost in Alec's face, with ajerky invitation to "Hold on to that, chum."

  "Thanks," gasped Seton breathlessly.

  "Lumme, if it ain't our sub-lootenant," exclaimed his benefactor."Goin' strong, sir? Shall I stand by and give you a hand?"

  Seton was glad of the moral assistance, although he continued to hangon to the barrel with little effort. For some moments neither manspoke.

  "Bout time the old _Triadur_ showed up sir," remarked the bluejacket."Sure I won't forget to-night, an' it's me birthday. You all right,sir?" he added anxiously.

  "Quite," replied Alec untruthfully, but with a dogged determinationto refuse to acknowledge that things were not going at all well withhim. An ominous numbing sensation in his arms and legs told himplainly and unmistakably that the icy cold water was beginning totake effect.

  Almost directly after he had given his assurance, Alec relaxed hisgrasp of the beaker and without an effort disappeared beneath thesurface.