A Lively Bit of the Front Part 4

"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 a.s.sistance, 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 rea.s.suring message. She's a faster boat, you know. But I might add," he said, lowering his voice, "that we've been warned that the _See Adler_ is 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 the _Awarua's_ bows. 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 the _See Adler_ would 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 wars.h.i.+ps. 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 transport _Awarua_.

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, the _Awarua_ showed 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 s.h.i.+p'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". The _Awarua_, 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 the _Awarua_ in 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 the _Awarua_ might be able to proceed under her own steam before daybreak.

At reveille 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 the _Awarua's_ star-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 s.h.i.+p'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 that _See Adler_. Kept out of sight, hoping, in a manner o' speaking, that the Dutchy would have a smack at us, and then she'd b.u.t.t in. Howsomever, they say as a j.a.p cruiser 'as got the hang of the 'Un, an' you chaps 'ave been done out of a visit to Davy Jones this time."

CHAPTER VI

Man Overboard

"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. _Awarua_ at Wellington, very few of them had ever seen a s.h.i.+p'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 old _Awarua_ roll heavily.

Aft on the port side of the p.o.o.p stood the Second Mate, a short, bull-necked, burly man, whose att.i.tude, 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 cla.s.ses 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-fas.h.i.+oned 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 time _how_ to 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 man _sotto 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 s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p'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 s.h.i.+p'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," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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, the _Awarua_ was 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.