The Submarine Hunters by Percy F. Westerman (ebook pc reader txt) 📖

Had it not been for the sheep-dog, whose sagacity made him recognize that Jolly was a friend of his master's, the A. P. would have ended his career in the burning hull of the Hunbilker.

"Hurry up!" exclaimed Ross. "Let's get him aboard the destroyer."

Between them they carried the insensible officer across the quarter-deck, but as they reached the side abreast the wreckage of the superstructure they came to an abrupt halt.

The destroyer had sheered off and was out of sight.

"Now what's to be done?" asked Vernon, aghast at the latest turn of fortune.

They laid the A. P. on the deck and looked over the side. Still made fast to the falls was a whaler, with her keel ten feet above water. When the order had been given to abandon ship, the boat had been lowered, but the appearance of the destroyer had done away with the necessity of having to make use of her.

"Lower away!" ordered Ross.

Checking the descent by taking a turn round the cleats, the lads allowed the whaler to reach the water. To their satisfaction they found that she leaked but very little. Oars and crutches were already on board, together with mast and sail.

"Down you get," said Ross. "Let go the after disengaging gear, then stand by. I'll let Jolly down to you."

Vernon quickly swarmed down the falls, while his chum carried the A.P. to the now empty davit. Taking a few turns with his strong muffler round the chest of the unconscious man, Ross engaged the hook of the lower block, and slowly lowered him into Vernon's arms. Shrap followed in a similar manner, since the drop was too great for him to leap without risk of limb. Then Ross climbed down and gained the boat. He was not a minute too soon, for the flames were drawing nearer and the heat was becoming almost unbearable.

Placing Jolly in the stern-sheets, the lads stepped the mast and hoisted sail. Nothing else was in sight, although the rumble of heavy firing was still audible.

"I'll steer north," declared Ross, who had taken the helm, while Vernon attended to the A.P.'s ugly wound. "If we are not picked up by one of our own boats, we are almost bound to hit one of the Danish islands."

There was but little wind. What there was, blew from a couple of points abaft the beam, so that the little craft was able to lie comfortably upon her course.

At length Jolly opened his eyes. Somewhat to his companions' amusement his first words were:

"Dash it all! Where did I leave my glasses? Hulloa! I've been plugged. Where am I?"

He attempted to sit up, but promptly subsided upon the gratings in the stern-sheets, and in a very short time he began to talk incoherently, and finally dropped off into a fitful slumber.

The fog had now increased in density, so that it was no longer possible to see more than a hundred yards ahead. Several vessels moving at high speed passed within hailing distance, but no reply came to the lads' shouts.

"There's a hail!" exclaimed Vernon.

Again came the sound of a human voice. It was a call for aid, and was uttered in German.

"Steady!" cautioned Vernon, as Ross put the helm down. "We don't want to run alongside a cargo of Huns."

"There's only one, I should imagine," replied his chum. "At any rate we'll have a look. If there are too many, we'll sheer off."

Guided by the repeated calls for assistance, the midshipmen came in sight of a disabled boat. It had been holed, and was kept afloat only by some of its air-tanks which had escaped damage. The gunwales, jagged by shell-fire, were showing only a few inches above the water. The stern was almost awash, but the bows rose sufficiently high for the forefoot to be seen. Crouching on the for'ard thwart was a German officer. He was bareheaded. The collar of his greatcoat was turned up. His face was blanched by the intense cold. As the whaler approached and he saw that it was a British one, he held up his hands in token of surrender.

Dropping to leeward, Ross luffed smartly. The whaler lost way almost alongside the waterlogged boat.

Awkwardly the German clambered over the gunwale, for his limbs were numbed. Then, as soon as he was safely on board, he drew a revolver from the pocket of his greatcoat and fired twice in quick succession.

Ross saw his chum throw up his arms and pitch across the centre thwart. The next instant he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, as if it were pierced by a red-hot needle.

"The brute has plugged me!" was the thought that flashed through his mind, as he subsided heavily upon the grating by the side of the A. P.

He was still conscious, although everything seemed misty. Up to a certain point he remembered exactly what happened, for with a sudden spring Shrap flew at the treacherous Teuton's throat.

Again and again the German fired, wildly and in the air, for the sheep-dog had him fixed in his unyielding jaws, shaking the fellow like a rat. Unable to move a limb, Ross remained conscious until the issue was decided and victory rested with the devoted Shrap; then his head dropped upon his chest and everything became a blank.

Ross Trefusis recovered consciousness to find himself in hospital on the East coast. In the next cot was Jolly, cutting a sorry figure with his head swathed in surgical bandages. Vernon was in an adjoining ward, making a promising recovery from the wound caused by the cowardly German's bullet that had passed between his ribs, fortunately just missing his lungs.

It was not until a week later that Ross heard of the manner of his rescue. The whaler had been picked up by a destroyer. In it they found the three wounded British officers, and a dead German with his throat fearfully lacerated. Not only had Shrap saved the situation, but he had helped still further to save his master's life, for it was owing to the warmth of the dog's body that Vernon was saved from death by exposure.

One of the first of visitors to Ross's bedside was John Barry, now Commander Barry, R.N.R., D.S.O.

"And how did the scrap come off?" asked Ross.

"Fairly well," replied the Commander. "We bagged a cruiser and a couple of destroyers. The old Hunbilker justified her existence, you see."

"I'm afraid Haye and I are out of the running," remarked Ross disconsolately.

"Not a bit of it," replied Barry in his breezy way. "Not a bit of it. You'll both be as fit as fiddles in a couple of months. The Navy's pushing on with the job all right, Ross, but it's slow and sure. You'll be at it again long before the end."

Ross gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"Sounds promising, sir, doesn't it?" he exclaimed.

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