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Gorges Edmond Howard - "The Female Gamester"

Andrew Lang - "Ballads in Blue China and Verses and Translations"

Martinovitsné Kutas Ilona - "Baron Pál Podmaniczky and the Norwegian Bible"

Gilbert Parker - "Embers, Volume 3."

The Cruise of the Dry Dock

T >> T. S. Stribling >> The Cruise of the Dry Dock




"Spell it out!" commanded Caradoc from the bridge. "Sharp about it!"

The men worked in a clutter of buntings, assembling the flags in nervous
haste. Black laid out the nine letters and the crew hurriedly hooked
them together. Ten minutes later, they strung the signal between the two
splintered masts with a queer drunken gala effect.

The _Vulcan_ was no longer the German squadron's sole target. Down
on the Teuton battle line thundered five English cruisers, filling the
north with rolling smoke, their turrets spangled with cannon flashes,
prows shearing white walls of foam.

The sky above the _Vulcan_ was filled with the drone of hurtling
shells. They sounded as thick as swarming bees. The cannon fire of the
approaching English ships mounted to a ragged roar. When the on-coming
line was less than five miles distant, Caradoc shouted an order to
Galton and the little tug swung around broadside on, displaying her
warning signal like a billboard. Through the battle smoke, Madden saw an
answering flag go up on the nearest ship. A cheer broke out from the
crew at this recognition of their work.

"They'll pass it around among the fleet by wireless!" shouted Caradoc in
Madden's ear.

"Do you know that ship, Smith?" called Madden excitedly.

"The _Panther_--held a commission on her once."

"Is it possible?" Madden peered at her through his glasses with renewed
scrutiny.

They were so close now that the American could pick out the crew of
range finders working in the fighting tops; he could glimpse the huge
guns in the forward turrets as they flashed and roared amid shrouds of
smokeless powder haze. Madden realized he was seeing what every landsman
dreams of seeing: a naval battle. For some inscrutable reason, Caradoc
had headed the _Vulcan_ clear around and now faced the enemy, like
a rat terrier amid a battle of mastiffs.

Madden turned aft as the tug swung around to follow the fortunes of the
_Panther_. He could see German shells exploding now and then on her
decks; sometimes they would strike the sea and send up typhoons of water
and weed. As he gazed a small-calibre gun was struck, and there was
nothing but a ragged smoking hole where the port had been. An instant
later, the mizzen top was shrouded in an emerald flame, and when the
smoke cleared, only a jagged stump of iron thrust skyward. The crew of
range finders had been wiped out in an instant. Several hours later,
Leonard learned that the whole German gunfire had been focussed for
several minutes on the _Panther_.

But now that gray, smoke-wreathed cruiser rushed on indomitably, flanked
by her thundering consorts. The half-naked men on the _Panther's_
decks looked curiously small in their huge rushing fortress. German
shells battered her decks amid spangling green flames but could not stop
her. As she overtook the _Vulcan_, the concussion of cannon fire
and bursting shells grew so terrific it ceased to be noise. It resolved
itself into blows, terrific air movements that smote Madden all over. It
pounded his ear drums with physical blows; it tore at the bridge of his
nose, jarred his teeth, sent shooting pains through his head, for he was
not wise enough to stuff his ears with cotton and hold his mouth open.
It shook the pit of his stomach and nauseated him. It was a sound
cyclone. Added to this the sickening acrid smell of niter explosives
filled the atmosphere.

On came the _Panther_ through the green foam of German fire,
mingling the mighty vibrations of her engines, the hiss of leaping walls
of water, tempests of cannon fire and vindictive shriek of leaping
shells.

Caradoc leaned over to Madden and yelled something at the top of his
voice. Madden shook his head as a signal that he could not hear. Smith
repeated so loudly that his long face grew red with the strain. It was
impossible to catch a word. Besides, Leonard's ears ached as if the
drums were ruptured.

Caradoc caught up a speaking trumpet and held it to his friend's ear.

"Don't look at the _Panther_!" cried a drowned voice. "Watch ahead
for the submarine!"

The submarine! Sure enough, there was the submarine, silent stiletto,
waiting beneath the sea to stab this fiery monster. Madden's heart
leaped into his throat. Was it possible so slight an antagonist could
engulf the battle cruiser?

The American turned and stared ahead over the shell-beaten sea with all
his eyes. The little _Vulcan_ was now racing along some half-mile
in front of the English battle line, her warning signal still stretched
between her splintered masts. She rushed at top speed, vibrating under
the stress of her engines. Five or six miles ahead the German squadron
had turned and was flying southward before the superior English force.
Flashes of fire and dull thunder still belched from their after turrets.

Leonard tried to confine his attention to the adjacent waters in careful
search for the diving boat's periscope, but the terrific spectacle
across the smoky spangled sea gripped his eyes beyond his control.

The ship on the eastern wing of the Teuton line was in flames. The fire
burst out of the gun deck ports, lapping up over the boat decks in long
red curling tongues. Her cannon fire had ceased, and from what Leonard
could see, he thought the English ships had quit firing at her. She
still fled southward, however. Smoke began to roll out of her turrets,
and her crew came swarming out on her deck like a disturbed ant's nest.
Through his glasses, Madden saw them hunched against the fire, working
to launch a boat, when of a sudden there was a blinding flare; a huge
cloud of smoke leaped from the sea, and after four or five minutes, a
thunder heavily audible even amid the roar of battle rumbled in Madden's
ears. It was the solemn note of a battleship destroyed by its own
magazines. When the smoke cleared away there was left nothing save
tossing waves and bits of flotsam here and there.

The horror of the tragedy was lost for Leonard in another, more
appalling scene. The right central battleship had lost control of her
steering gear, and now she ran wildly amuck in the fleeing line like a
drunken giant of steel.

Through accident, or by the last shift of seamanship, she veered about
broadside on, her huge guns still belching defiance. In crazy flight,
she barely missed one of her own squadron, then rounded back in a great
circle for the English line. No doubt her crew did not try to stop her,
hoping that her unguided charge might work some damage to the enemy.

On she came, against the focussed storm of English cannon, her prow,
forward turrets, bridge, masts, fairly disintegrated under a bastinado
of twelve and fourteen-inch shells. Yet it seemed as if she would
survive it all and ram some English cruiser, when a cloud of steam broke
out of her hold. A lucky shot had exploded her boilers. Her wild charge
ceased instantly, but her sub-calibre guns still chattered defiance at
the crushing odds. Giant shells were now pounding her at point-blank
range. At some stroke of a cruiser to the right of the _Panther_,
the German ship heeled heavily on her starboard side.

Through his glasses, Madden could see the
sailors still struggling to work the guns, though
scores of them were wiped from the deck at
every English shell. Amid clouds of smoke the
black cross of the German battle flag fluttered
undaunted.

In a few minutes the enemy listed until her guns were at such a high
angle they could no longer be trained against the enemy. Her forward
turret was completely blown away. Bursting shells kept a constant glare
around her. Her boiler and furnace rendered her hold untenable, for her
crew came out of the smoke and formed orderly platoons on her crippled
deck. Shells swept gaps through their files, but they closed again in
regular formation, standing oddly erect on the up-tilted deck. There
was not a gun they could man, not a blow could they strike, yet the men
stood firm in the steel cyclone sweeping across their shattered deck.
Then Madden turned his lens on a group a little to one side of the main
formation, and his eye caught the gleam of silver horns, the rise and
fall of a drummer's arm, the fierce beating of a director with a baton.
It was the ship's musicians. The band was playing, the men were chanting
the battle hymn of the empire; out of the heart of the foundering
cruiser, out of the souls of the passing warriors rose triumphantly,
"_Die Wacht am Rhein_."

Sudden tears filled the eyes of the American and dimmed the splendid
sight. He turned impulsively to his friend.

"Caradoc! My God!" he screamed in his ear, "why don't they quit firing!"

"Their flag is still flying--no doubt the halyards are shot away!"

Even while Smith screamed, a sudden and startling attack was launched
from the _Panther's_ rapid fire and machine guns. They sounded
a shrill treble amid the profound shaking bass of the giant cannon.
The boys looked sharply about to see the object of this abrupt attack,
when they suddenly heard the shrill whistling of steel all about their
ears.

With the utmost horror, Madden saw every tiny port spouting continuous
flame in his direction. Steel frothed the sea all around the
_Vulcan_. Missiles struck the little tug and glanced off with sharp
musical twangs. The crew of the little boat, who swarmed on deck,
wonderstruck at the battle of the giants, suddenly darted to cover with
wild yells.

"They're crazy! They're daft!" screamed Madden. "Shooting at us! What's
the matter with 'em?"

Caradoc, also, seemed to share the madness. He suddenly spun his wheel
to the left, veered in a sharp circle, and dashed straight toward the
course of the _Panther_ into the thickest of the hail. Leonard
stood beside him, frozen stiff, when straight ahead, he suddenly saw a
periscope show for an instant, then disappear in a little swirl of
water. The submarine had come into the action.

The tug rushed straight through the bullet-rumpled water to the point
where the metal fin had disappeared, like a terrier dashing at a
rathole.

With the disappearance of the submarine's "eye," the fusillade ceased
abruptly. The great cannon were firing more slowly now and there came
short intervals of comparative silence in the battle.

From the bridge Caradoc bellowed fiercely at his men: "Spread around the
rail--keep a sharp lookout for the submarine!" The crew came back with a
will now that they learned the bombardment had not been intended for
them.

In the meantime the tiny David had put the great Goliath to flight. The
_Panther_ was endeavoring to save herself. She veered out of the
thundering battle line and zigzagged easterly, in full flight from any
enemy that she could almost drop down one of her smokestacks.

And the little _Vulcan_ swung about in an effort to keep up with
her principal. On she rushed, shaking and puffing like a locomotive, her
bright flags flying the submarine warning, as if the speeding giant
ahead of her were likely to forget it.

Suddenly Hogan bawled out: "By th' port! By th' port, sir! There she
rises!"

Another shrill storm from the giant showed that the gunners aboard the
_Panther_ also saw the periscope.

Again the _Vulcan_ dashed at the diving terror as it disappeared
and the cruiser swung clear around in a northerly tack. Her commander
was trying to outguess the man under the sea.

A strange game of blind-man's-buff the three dissimilar crafts were
playing. Caradoc assumed the submarine pilot would guess that the
_Panther_ had fled north, and he sent the tug spitting along a
course that would lie between the cruiser and her enemy. The
_Panther_ was forced to repass the _Vulcan_ in the new maneuver.
The giant and pygmy were flying along at top speed, fairly abreast,
scarcely five hundred yards apart.

Leonard took his eyes off the starboard sea a moment to look at the lion
which this mouse was trying to nibble free, when suddenly, not thirty
yards on the _inside_ of the tug popped up the periscope.

The American rushed to the wheel, jerked it to the starboard. "Yonder!
Yonder!" he bellowed in Caradoc's ear, pointing.

[Illustration: The Battle.]

Again the guns shrilled forth; a steel sleet wailed about the
_Vulcan_. Into the teeth of this blast, the tug circled and lunged.

With fascinated eyes, Madden watched the periscope cut a swirling circle
on the midst of the beaten water and straighten on the _Panther_.

Now the metal eye was directly under their swaying starboard. A moment
they sped side by side, toward the imperiled cruiser. Madden could
almost have touched the wireless masts. A whine of bullets ripped one of
their lifeboats like a saw and sputtered through the superstructure.

The periscope, which thrust six or seven feet out of water, disappeared
under the swell of the _Vulcan's_ hull. Suddenly the tug swung her
blunt beak around with the sidelong blow of an angry swine. Madden went
flying to the right rail of the bridge to stare down at the imminent
tragedy.

A dim shadowy bulk was hurtling through the blue water. Suddenly, just
as the tug's prow swung athwart her course, the submarine lined up
straight with the _Panther_. A great belching of bubbles wallowed
up through the turbulent sea as a sign that the torpedo was launched.

A heart-stopping moment, in which the diving boat, the darting shadow of
the torpedo, the blocking prow of the _Vulcan_ was clear.

A titanic upheaval of water; volcanic fires leaping out of the heart of
the deep; a roar so absolutely appalling that it reduced the battle to a
whisper!

The prow of the _Vulcan_ reared up and bent back over the main
deck. In the same instant, out of the cauldron sea, an enormous
cigar-shaped object was flung end-over-end, as a child flings a spindle.
There was one flashing glimpse of conning tower, smashed plates. Then a
clap of surging air that seemed as solid as oak picked Madden up as if
he had been thistledown. He felt himself whirling through space.
Somehow, he caught a glimpse of a string of signals that had been blown
from the wrecked masts of the shattered _Vulcan_. Then he felt a
stinging blow of water as he hit the sea.

The submarine had destroyed both herself and the tug with her first
torpedo.




CHAPTER XXII

THE VICTORIA CROSS


Shocked, stunned, half blinded, Madden found himself kicking in the
water amidst a wreckage of spars, planks, buoys, with here and there a
swimmer struggling to stay on the surface. The whole mass of flotsam
swung slowly around the whirlpool where tug and submarine had sunk.

The circling water was filmed with oil, the life-blood of the stricken
submarine. Presently the concavity in the ocean mounted to level, and
its rotation slowly died away. The American found that his arms had
unwittingly clasped something which proved to be an empty tin canister
with a screw top. He hung to it apathetically. His ears bled from the
concussion of the torpedo, and it was with difficulty that he focussed
his eyes on anything.

Presently he became aware of a voice calling his name. It seemed a long
way off, but when he looked around he saw Farnol Greer quite close to
him. The thick-set black-headed fellow motioned for Madden to approach,
and the American kicked himself and his float in that direction. A
little later he saw that Malone was with Farnol, and that the two were
supporting a third man.

"Lend us a 'and, 'ere, Madden," called Malone; "our chap's knocked out."

"Who is it? Oh, it's Caradoc!" Madden stared down into the still,
upturned face with a dull emotionless feeling. He was too numb to feel
or sympathize. "Is he dead?" he finally asked.

"Wounded, sir," replied Greer.

At that moment, the Englishman moved slightly, opened his eyes.
"We--stopped it, Madden."

"Are you badly hurt?" inquired the American, becoming more nearly normal
himself.

"Punch through my shoulder."

"Were you hit in the explosion?"

"One of the _Panther's_ machine guns--ricocheted, I think."

"What rotten luck!" growled Madden.

Smith reached his good arm to the float. "Had it all my life in little
things, Madden, but the _Panther_--that torpedo----"

"Boat ahoy!" called Farnol Greer suddenly.

Leonard looked about and saw that the _Panther_ had laid to, a good
two miles distant, and two of her cutters were coming back to pick up
the survivors. A blue-jacket on the sharp bow of the little vessel waved
an arm at Farnol's cry, and presently the rescuing party was alongside.
Caradoc went up first, then Farnol, Malone and Madden, who automatically
clung to his tin canister.

The sailors from the warship were chattering excitedly over the
miraculous preservation of the _Panther_.

"If that tug had been 'arf a second later," declared one, "she'd 'ave
'ad us, Sniper, sure--to th' port, there, Bobby, there's another chap
kickin' in th' water."

One of the sailors had a roll of bandages, and he now moved over to
Caradoc and stooped over the wounded man.

"You're pinked," he said in a tone of authority. "I'll take a turn o'
this linen around your shoulder." Suddenly he paused as he glanced into
the sufferer's face. "Why--why, hit's the Lieut'nant!" he stammered.
Then he stood erect and saluted properly. "Would you 'ave a bandage,
sir?" he asked in a different one.

Caradoc assented wearily and shifted his shoulder for the band of linen.
The fellow must have been a surgeon's helper, for he applied the strip
rather dexterously as the cutter steamed about picking up the rest of
the _Vulcan's_ crew who had survived the catastrophe.

Half an hour later friendly hands helped the waifs up the
_Panther's_ accommodation ladder, where a group of officers and men
waited to be of service to the _Vulcan's_ crew.

The deck of the cruiser was torn and blackened from the German fire;
here and there were sailors in bandages. Stretchers were placed at the
head of the ladder for the tug's wounded.

The crew, of the _Panther_ showed the utmost cordiality and also
the utmost curiosity toward their visitors. A dapper young midshipman
gripped Madden's hand as he stepped on the broad deck.

"Where did that tug come from?" he inquired at once. "Most extraordinary
sight--whole fleet pounding away at a tug--Ponsonby is my name."

Madden mentioned his own, and several brother officers, seeing that here
was an intelligent fellow, gathered about the American. Two or three
were introduced with English formality.

"If you are not too bowled over, old chap," begged a middy named
Gridson, "explain to us how a tug ever happened in the middle of the
Sargasso in full flight from a hostile fleet."

Some of the wounded were still coming up from the cutter, as Madden made
a beginning of the tug's story. Just then he was interrupted by
Ponsonby.

"Pardon, Madden, but who is that chap coming up--Say, Gridson, that
isn't--why that's Wentworth!" The middy suddenly dropped his voice.
"That's Wentworth or his ghost, fellows--off of a _tug_!"

Madden looked. Smith was coming on the deck under the solicitous escort
of a surgeon.

"That's Caradoc Smith," said Madden. "He assumed command of the tug when
he found out war was declared."

"Smith was part of his name," explained Gridson. "Caradoc
Smith-Wentworth was the way he signed the register. He's of the Sussex
Smith-Wentworths. His brother took the title, you know."

"Just fancy!" marveled Ponsonby. "Cashiered six months ago, comes back
chasing submarines on a tug, a hero, from boot strap to helmet--a bloody
hero----"

"Hold there, Ponsonby," cautioned another officer named Appleby. "The
chap may be hurt seriously--you oughtn't to laugh."

"Just look at the old man shaking his hand!" ejaculated Gridson, as a
very erect gray-headed officer came down off the bridge and extended his
hand. "You wouldn't think he had cashiered him six months ago."

"I hope he gets his commission back," said Ponsonby, "but he will likely
lose it again from tippling."

"I believe he is cured," said Madden.

Appleby made some reply as the little group moved forward to meet the
wounded man. However, the surgeon and three senior officers were walking
with him below to the ship's hospital.

It required two full days to get the _Panther_ into shipshape
condition, and during that time the entire fleet kept a sharp lookout
for the German mother ship, but that huge mysterious vessel had
disappeared as utterly as if the Sargasso had swallowed her up.

Perhaps she did destroy herself to prevent capture, or perhaps her
sky-blue hue allowed the fleet to sail under her very prow while she
remained invisible. No doubt the two German warships which escaped had
warned their consort of her danger, and she had sailed for some port in
German Africa. At any rate she was never captured or destroyed.

However, on the evening of the third day, the looming red walls of the
floating dock appeared on the eastern horizon. It was so huge and vast
that even the crew of the battleship burst into a cheer.

Captain Ames of the _Panther_ immediately communicated with the
admiralty and arrangements were made to tow the dock to Antigua, where
she would be kept as a naval reserve until the end of the war and then
allowed to proceed to Buenos Aires.

The British Towing and Shipping Company was repaid for the loss of the
_Vulcan_, and a prize of five hundred thousand dollars distributed
among the tug's crew for sinking the submarine. Thus the dreams of
wealth aroused by the ill-fated _Minnie B_ were realized in a small
way by the dock's crew. No doubt Deschaillon has his frog pond, old Mrs.
Galton her plot of flowers, and Hogan a tall hat, a long-tailed coat and
a silver-headed cane.

One week after the Battle of the Sargasso, a formal dinner was given in
the officers' mess. At this affair two civilians were present, Leonard
Madden and Caradoc Smith-Wentworth.

Under the radiance of many electric lights, Caradoc appeared rather weak
and bloodless. However, everyone seemed quite cheerful. The talk was
naturally of the war. The officers were speculating upon the entrance of
Italy and Turkey into the struggle.

Presently Captain Ames touched an electric button and Gaskin, serene,
deferential and wearing an added dignity along with his new uniform,
entered the cabin with a basket full of ice and bottles on his arm.

When his helpers had cleared the table, the fat fellow moved decorously
from diner to diner, announcing each port of call by the subdued pop of
a champagne cork muffled in his napkin. Madden shook his head when the
solemn fellow bent solicitously over him. "Make mine water, Gaskin," he
requested in an undertone, laying three fingers over his goblet.

The cook changed almost imperceptibly from a straw colored bottle to a
glittering carafe of water; then he moved to Caradoc.

The Englishman hesitated a moment, glanced at Madden and said, "Same
thing, Gaskin."

Captain Ames must have observed his action, and showed his silent
approval by requesting water for himself. A few moments later the
captain arose.

"Gentlemen," he began in his crisp military voice, "His Majesty, and all
England, are greatly pleased at the work of the South Atlantic fleet. In
the report of our recent victory, the commander of the _Panther_
had an extremely cogent reason to commend very heartily the action of a
former officer of this vessel. To be exact and fair, it was an act upon
which the safety of this vessel and her crew depended."

A little polite applause filled the slight interval in the speech.
Caradoc colored somewhat and the captain continued.

"It is pleasant to me to announce that His Majesty, through the
Admiralty, has seen fit to reward this act by tendering Caradoc
Smith-Wentworth his commission as first lieutenant in His Majesty's
navy."

A real outburst of applause greeted this announcement, but the captain
held up his glass and raised his voice for silence.

"And I have the further pleasure to tender to Mr. Smith-Wentworth, at
his Majesty, George the Fifth's, express command, the Victoria Cross for
conspicuous bravery upon the field of battle."

"Let us drink his health!" he finished above the congratulatory uproar
that broke out on the announcement.

The men held their goblets at arm's length.

"Here's to you, Wentworth!" "To your deserved honor, my boy!" "To your
well-earned promotion, Wentworth!" they chorused heartily.

In the lull of drinking, Madden lifted his water to his friend.

"Here's to the _remittance_ man," he proposed solemnly, "who
vanishes to-night and leaves a _Man_."

Caradoc's long face was deeply moved as he looked into the eyes of the
youth whose life Providence had so intimately entwined with his own.
After a moment he responded steadily enough, "With all my heart, Madden.
And here's to the land which you taught me how to serve, my country--my
home--Old England!"

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