Part 15 (1/2)

Let us go on a couple of years. The moment thought of by the gunnery-lieutenant, the day acclaimed by the Prussian officer had come.

England was at war. Der Tag was a reality. No longer did silks and shaded lights form part of the equipment of the Navy, but grim and sombre, ruthlessly stripped of everything not absolutely necessary, the great grey monsters watched tirelessly through the flying scud of the North Sea for ”the fleet that stayed at home.” Only their submarines were out, and these, day by day, diminished in numbers, until the men who sent them out looked at one another fearfully--so many went out, so few came back.

Tearing through the water one day, away a bit to the south-west of Bantry Bay, with the haze of Ireland lying like a smudge on the horizon, was a lean, villainous-looking torpedo-boat-destroyer. She was plunging her nose into the slight swell, now and again drenching the oilskinned figure standing motionless on the bridge. Behind her a great cloud of black smoke drifted across the grey water, and the whole vessel was quivering with the force of her engines. She was doing her maximum and a bit more, but still the steady, watchful eyes of the officer on the bridge seemed impatient, and every now and again he cursed softly and with wonderful fluency under his breath.

It was our friend Jerry, who at the end of his time on the flags.h.i.+p had been given one of the newest T.B.D.'s, and now with every ounce he could get out of her he was racing towards the spot from which had come the last S.O.S. message, nearly an hour ago. There was something grimly foreboding about those agonised calls sent out to the world for perhaps twenty minutes, and then--silence, nothing more. German submarines, he reflected, as for the tenth time he peered at his wrist-watch, German submarines engaged once again in the only form of war they could compete in or dared undertake. And not for the first time his thoughts went back to the vainglorious boastings of his friend the Baron.

”d.a.m.n him,” he muttered. ”I haven't forgotten the sweep.”

There were many things he hadn't forgotten; how, when he'd gone to call on the lady as requested, she had been ”out,” and it was that sort of ”out” that means ”in.” How a letter had been answered courteously but distinctly coldly, and, impotent with rage, he had been forced to the conclusion that she was offended with him. And with the Prussian able to say what he liked, it was not difficult to find the reason.

Then the Fleet left, and Jerry resigned himself to the inevitable, a proceeding which was not made easier by the many rumours he heard to the effect that the Baron himself had done the trick. Distinctly he wanted once again to meet that gentleman.

”We ought to see her, if she hasn't sunk, sir, by now.” The sub-lieutenant on the bridge spoke in his ear.

Travers nodded and shrugged his shoulders. He had realised that fact for some minutes.

”Something on the starboard bow.” The voice of the look-out man came to his ears.

”It's a boat, an open boat,” cried the sub., after a careful inspection, ”and it's pretty full, by Jove!”

A curt order, and the T.B.D. swung round and tore down on the little speck bobbing in the water. And they were still a few hundred yards away when a look of dawning horror strangely mixed with joy spread over Jerry's face. His gla.s.s was fixed on the boat, and who in G.o.d's name was the woman--impossible, of course--but surely.... If it wasn't her it was her twin sister; his hand holding the gla.s.s trembled with eagerness, and then at last he knew. The woman standing up in the stern of the boat _was_ Maisie, and as he got nearer he saw there was a look on her face which made him catch his breath sharply.

”Great G.o.d!” The sub's voice roused him. ”What have they been doing?” No need to ask whom he meant by ”they.” ”The boat is a shambles.”

The destroyer slowed down, and from the crew who looked into that little open boat came dreadful curses. It ran with blood; and at the bottom women and children moaned feebly, while an elderly man contorted with pain in the stern, writhed and sobbed in agony. And over this black scene the eyes of the man and the woman met.

”Carefully, carefully, lads,” Travers sang out. This was no time for questions, only the poor torn fragments counted. Afterwards, perhaps.

Very tenderly the sailors lifted out the bodies, and one of them--a little girl in his arms, with a dreadful wound in her head--jabbered like a maniac with the fury of his rage. And so after many days they again came face to face.

”Are you wounded?” he whispered.

”No.” Her voice was hard and strained; she was near the breaking point.

”They sunk us without warning--the _Lucania_--and then sh.e.l.led us in the open boats.”

”Dear heavens!” Jerry's voice was shaking. ”Ah! but you're not hurt, my lady; they didn't hit you?”

”My mother was drowned, and my father too.” She was swaying a little.

”It was the U 99.”

”Ah!” The man's voice was almost a sigh.

”Submarine on the port bow, sir.” A howl came from the look-out, followed by the sharp, detonating reports of the destroyer's quick-firers. And then a roaring cheer. Like lightning Jerry was upon the bridge, and even he could scarcely contain himself. There, lying helpless in the water, with a huge hole in her conning tower, wallowed the U 99. Two direct hits from the destroyer's guns in a vital spot, and the submarine was a submarine no longer. Just one of those strokes of poetic justice which happen so rarely in war.

Like rats from a sinking s.h.i.+p the Germans were pouring up and diving into the water, and with snarling faces the Englishmen waited for them, waited for them with the dying proofs of their vileness still lying on the deck as one by one they came on board. Suddenly with a sucking noise the submarine foundered, and over the seething, troubled waters where she had been a sheet of blackish oil slowly spread.

But Jerry spared no glance for the sinking boat--he did not so much as look at the German sailors huddled fearfully together. With hard, merciless eyes he faced the submarine commander. For the first time in his life he saw red: for the first time in his life there was murder in his soul, and the heavy belaying-pin in his hand seemed to goad him on.

”Suppose the positions had been reversed,” mocked a voice in his brain.