Part 17

Then that awful thunder-clap sounded again, there was a terrific crash behind us, a huge mass of iron crashed down on the deck, and one of the men said quite calmly, 'The foremost funnel's gone, sir,' but I dare not look--I was too terrified.

We couldn't move that wreckage off the fore bridge, so I ordered the men inside the turret, and then tried to ring up the conning-tower, but couldn't make the telephone work. I tried the telephone to the transmitting station, the room below the water-line, at the foot of the foremast, which passed all messages to us from the fire-control position, on the mast above it, and I heard the Fleet Paymaster's voice at the other end. 'Please tell the Captain----' I'd just got as far as that when the ship shook and trembled again, and we could feel something crashing and bursting inside her.

I tried the telephone once more, but it wouldn't work at all. I knew that I ought to tell the Captain and ask what should be done, so I bit my lips and crept out of the turret, down the rails at the back, and jumped down on deck, but it was all covered with burning bits of wood and twisted and torn, almost red-hot, iron plates. Smoke and steam was pouring up from where the foremost funnel had been, and flames from the boiler furnaces were licking the grey paint off, but the rest of our guns, on the starboard side, were still firing very fast.

I kept my eyes down and dashed through the smoke to try and get under the fo'c'stle and nearly fell through a hole in the deck. The gangway was blocked up with wreckage. Several bodies lay underneath it, and I saw one arm sticking out, a signalman's badge on the sleeve. I ran back and had to crawl under the fallen funnel, through a gap where it had crumpled up, wondering when that next thunder-clap would come and kill me. I crawled under it, noticed that the 7.5 turret next to ours seemed out of place and the deck very uneven, saw the Shadow's face in the sighting-hood of the second 7.5 turret just as his gun fired, and darted between the funnel casings to the port side. I had to go quickly because the paint was burning on the iron plates on each side of me. That thunder-clap seemed to be awfully long in coming, and I thought that perhaps, after all, we'd beaten the huge ship and scrambled for'ard, over more smoking wreckage, towards the fo'c'stle, 'Blotchy' Smith looking out from the port for'ard 9.2 turret, very white in the face, and yelling to know how things were going.

I couldn't stop to speak to him because of the smoke pouring up from the foremost funnel hatchway, and I just put my sleeve in front of my eyes and my mouth and darted through it, under the fo'c'stle. Even then I couldn't get to the conning-tower, where the Captain was, because the whole of the shelter deck was crumpled up like paper, but the port door leading on to the fo'c'stle had been blown off, and just as I looked through it, the for'ard 9.2 fo'c'stle gun fired. I heard Billums shout, 'Hit!' and there he was still perched on top of the turret, his head bare, and his yellow hair showing.

'We're jammed! Mr. Bigge's killed! I want to tell the Captain,' I shouted, but he couldn't hear what I'd said, and only pointed over the starboard quarter. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted, 'The _Hercules_!'

Oh! wasn't I glad, and was just going to try and climb up to the conning-tower, when I saw O'Leary put his head out of the sighting-hood and speak to Billums. I heard Billums shout, 'Cease fire.' Then the Commander came scrambling along past me with some men, a bugler sounded 'Collision Quarters,' and I noticed, for the first time, that we had a tremendous list to starboard. The Commander bellowed at me to make myself useful, and sent me down below with a message to the First Lieutenant, so I hadn't time to ask any one what was the matter.

I could hardly find my way along the lower deck. Everything was wrecked, the mess tables and lockers were burning furiously, and I could hardly see for smoke, which poured out through great gaps in the port side. I managed to find one of the hatchways open--the cover must have been blown off--and got down into the 'bag flats,'[#] but it was worse here, pitch-dark, and water, up to my knees, was rolling from side to side. There was a sickening smell there too. As I groped my way along to try and find the for'ard hatchway leading down to the ammunition passages, where the First Lieutenant was, I saw a light and heard the Fleet Paymaster's voice. He was looking out of the fore transmitting room, and some candles were burning inside it. 'We haven't been able to make any one hear for the last quarter of an hour,' he said. 'What's gone wrong?'

[#] Narrow spaces, below the water-line and behind the upper coal-bunkers, where the men's bags are stowed.

'I don't know, sir. The ship has escaped, I think; Mr. Bigge's killed.' Mr. Perkins came along, splashing through the water, so I gave him the message and climbed up on deck again. I met Billums under the shelter deck--or rather what had been the shelter deck--and he told me that some armour-plates had been smashed in below the water-line--that was why we were heeling over so badly.

'Two shell struck almost together, drove a plate clean through the side, and killed every one in the after bag flats--Dr. Clegg, the Padre, and the whole of the 'stretcher party' aft there.' He was very sad.

'Is the "Angel" all right?' I asked, feeling perfectly miserable. He put his hand on my shoulder and led me back out on the fo'c'stle again. I knew at once that my chum was killed.

'Be brave, Bob; look up!' he said.

I looked; oh! it was awful, the topmast and the control-position had disappeared, and there wasn't anything left there, except a few bits of wire hanging down, and a copper voice-pipe sticking out by itself.

'One shell in that second broadside burst against it, Bob,' and Billums put his hand on my shoulder, very gently, to steady me; 'it must have been all over in a second. They felt no pain.'

I simply buried my face in his monkey-jacket and sobbed and sobbed.

'Pull yourself together, Bob,' he whispered, 'remember that you are an officer. They felt no pain.'

I heard the Commander bellow at Billums; he roared my name too and cursed me, sending me down to the Engineer Commander for as many stokers as he could spare.

I was too absolutely frozen to care about anything, and when I met 'Blotchy' Smith, half blubbing, and he told me that Barton had been killed in the after turret and the Forlorn Hope in his, I hardly heard what he said--I felt quite silly and 'wobbly' in my head.

I really could not tell you what happened for the next five hours--I was so dazed and numbed--but I found myself going down into a boat with a lot more of our mids., and we crawled up a ladder on board the _Hercules_. We huddled up in a corner of her gun-room, and they brought us something to eat, but it nearly made me sick to look at it. The _Hercules_ mids. let us alone and didn't ask any questions, and for hours we sat there, covered with dirt and smoke, till some one led us away and made us clean ourselves. Some one lent me a pair of pyjamas, and I crawled into a hammock, but daren't shut my eyes, and had to get out and sit close to a light. I don't know how long I sat there, but one of the _Hercules'_ doctors found me, and lifted me back into my hammock. He injected something into my arm, and was going away, but I clutched his sleeve--I couldn't be left alone--and then cried till I thought I should die.

*CHAPTER XV*

*The Santa Cruz Fleet again*

_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._

For days after that awful morning we seemed half stunned. We had left El Castellar the night before, as smart a ship and as cheery a lot of officers and men as there were in the Navy, and fifteen minutes after _La Buena Presidente_ fired her first broadside the _Hector_ was a complete wreck above the waterline, and was so badly holed beneath it that she only managed with difficulty to keep herself afloat and crawl back into shallow water. Fortunately one anchor and cable had not been destroyed, and we anchored under El Castellar, the _Hercules_ anchoring as close as possible in case it should become necessary for us to abandon the ship.

She sent working parties aboard at once, and we eventually managed to make the _Hector_ fairly water-tight, pump her dry, and get her on an even keel again. But that was not until the third day, and those three days and nights have always been like a horrible nightmare.

We could not get away from things--the stump of the foretopmast and that single copper voice-pipe, sticking out where the fore control had been, to remind us that Montague, Pearson the A.P., Marchant the cheery little Clerk, and the 'Angel' had simply disappeared--blown to pieces; the stump of the after 9.2, inside the turret of which Barton had been killed, and the wreckage of the bridge, on top of the starboard foremost turret, which had crushed poor Bigge.

It was two days before it was possible to cut a way into the wreck of the Forlorn Hope's turret and get out what remained of him and his crew, and really I don't know what we should have done had we not had to work, hour after hour, day after day, trying to make the _Hector_ seaworthy, and ready to tackle _La Buena Presidente_ again.

Practically everything above the level of the armour had been either completely destroyed, or so crumpled and twisted, as to be almost unrecognisable. We had not one single boat left, and the _Hercules_ had to lend us two of theirs. The foremost funnel had fallen during the action, and the next one was so damaged that it fell overboard that same night. The fo'c'stle mess-decks, the sick-bay, the whole of the lower deck, the ward-room, and nearly all the upper cabins were now simply great blackened spaces, filled with tangled and crumpled iron bulkheads, deck plates and beams, from which every vestige of paint had been burnt off.

Our galleys had been completely destroyed, and it was impossible to do any cooking, so the _Hercules_ cooked food for us and sent it on board till we could rig up temporary fittings.

Of Dr. Clegg and the poor little Padre, or of their stretcher party, not a trace remained. We did find a foot in the wreckage of the after magazine cooling-room, but we could not tell to whom it belonged, and it was buried at sea by the _Hercules_ with the remains of Barton, the Forlorn Hope, and what we thought were thirty-two bodies.

Twenty-four men were missing besides these, and we sent forty-one wounded on board the _Hercules_ to be treated there.

To think that---- No! It's no use thinking.

Strangely enough the Captain's quarters had not been damaged, nor had the gun-room and the gun-room flat; and when I first went below from that scene of desolation above to where the midshipmen's chests stood in four rows, their hammocks slung above them, and their blankets hanging down untidily, just as they had been left when 'General Quarters' had sounded, and the gun-room clock was still ticking cheerfully, I almost imagined that I _had_ woke from some horrible dream.

I am thankful to say that the mids. were all sent on board the _Hercules_ to get them away from the ship, and also to let the ward-room officers come down into the gun-room. Their chests were sent after them the following day, and it was the saddest thing in the world to see the four belonging to Barton, the 'Angel,' the Assistant Paymaster, and Marchant standing alone by themselves. We could not stand the sight of them, and Mr. Perkins had them taken away somewhere.

The only bright spot in those dreary days was that Ginger and I told each other that we were silly fools, and made up our stupid quarrel. His mids., too, had behaved so jolly well to mine that there was every chance of them also making friends.

The fact that _La Buena Presidente_ had escaped did not even give me any pleasure, for Gerald's sake, because the Skipper was determined to sink her as soon as he could steam to San Fernando, off which she had anchored, and whatever she did, and however she damaged us above the water-line, she could not, in the narrow Laguna, escape our torpedoes.

I had a long yarn with my chum Navarro, the fat little A.D.C. Strangely enough he seemed quite pleased that the insurgent ship had escaped.

'It was a great fight,' he said, his eyes glistening, 'for Santa Cruz--the Santa Cruz Navy have much honour to beat the great English ship.'

'But if we'd captured or sunk her the Santa Cruz fleet would have been safe,' I said, wondering why he was not sorry that she had got away.

He shrugged his shoulders: 'Captain Pelayo is the best officer in the Navy of Santa Cruz--all men on board her belong to Santa Cruz Navy--it has much honour to Santa Cruz.'

Nobody was allowed ashore, and no boats came off to the ship, so I never heard from Gerald; but the green and black flag now flew over El Castellar, and we knew that the Commandant had at last surrendered. I thought of the 'Gnome' marching across that dirty red parade-ground with the black and green bundle under his arm, and hoped that Gerald had allowed him to hoist it himself.

In a week there was no danger of our sinking, and the _Hercules_ went across to Princes' Town to land the wounded at the Colonial Hospital, and to telegraph home news of the engagement and request orders. I got Ginger to send a telegram to the pater to tell him that Bob and I were all right, although, as a matter of fact, I was very worried about my cousin. He had not 'bucked up' in the least. Ginger told me that he hardly spoke a word to any one, and moped all day, so I very much hoped that the change to Princes' Town, and getting away from the sight of the _Hector_ and of that broken mast, would do him good.

Whilst the _Hercules_ was away the Skipper got out a kedge-anchor astern, to keep us 'broadside on' to the narrow entrance, in case _La Buena Presidente_ tried to put to sea, and each night we swept 'La Laguna' with our searchlights, and stood ready to fire our torpedoes. However, nothing happened, and when the _Hercules_ returned with orders that _La Buena Presidente_ was to be sunk at all costs, if she would not surrender, we almost immediately weighed anchor and steamed towards San Fernando.

Captain Roger Hill wanted to lead the way in the _Hercules_--as we were crippled--but the Skipper would not hear of this at any price, so with our mutilated foremast, wrecked bridge and upper works, and our two remaining funnels we started up the bay.

All our big guns, except the after 9.2 and two of the 7.5's, were fit for action, Mr. Perkins took charge in the after fire-control position, and I do not think we cared what happened to us so long as we sunk the insurgent ship, and avenged our defeat.

The Skipper did not mean to stand off and plug at _La Buena Presidente_, but to steer straight at her and torpedo her. In fact, if he found her still at anchor, he intended to send everybody, even the guns' crews, down below the water-line, only himself and enough people to transmit orders and fire the submerged torpedo-tubes remaining above in the conning-tower.

We went to 'General Quarters' before we were abreast Marina and the Casino, and I sat on the top of my turret with the long 9.2 cocked up in the air in front of me.

I soon spotted _La Buena Presidente's_ tripod mast, and as we gradually drew nearer expected her to open fire any minute, but she didn't, and we crept along for another ten minutes or so. She seemed to be very low in the water, and I was wondering whether that would be due to the mirage, when a signalman, perched on the wreck of the fore bridge, shouted that she was sunk, and, sure enough, as we drew still nearer, we saw that her upper deck was all awash, and only her tripod mast, funnels, and upper works showed above water--the black and green flag hanging from her gaff.

We were too astonished to feel relieved, and anchored within a couple of cables of her.

Almost immediately the Provisional Government came off to make the most abject apologies for what had happened--they wouldn't have come, I suppose, if their ship had not sunk--and with them came Captain Don Martin de Pelayo--just such another as General Zorilla, as Gerald had told me. He wore eyeglasses, talked English, was awfully polite, and genuinely sorry for the damage he had done.

'I had my orders--you had yours,' I heard him tell the Skipper, after they had shaken hands very heartily. 'I am very sorry. We are not enemies of the English. I try to run past you without firing, but--_voila!_' (and he shrugged his shoulders) 'you shoot so fast and you damage my ship so much, I fear that I shall never arrive at San Fernando. Fifty times you fire--I do nothing--but then I had to fire--it was necessaire, and my guns--_voila!_ they are very big.'

'Why did you sink her?' the Skipper asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Treachery--the night after that we come in--we land our wounded--they are many--and many killed--some traitor open our valves, and in the middle of the night we sink in the mud.'

'We should have sunk you with our torpedoes, so it doesn't make any difference,' the Skipper said.

Well, that was the end of _La Buena Presidente_ and the end to all the hopes of the insurgents. The Santa Cruz fleet could come and go where and when it pleased, land another army, and drive Gerald and the Provisional Government into the forest again, beyond the reach of their guns, and there was not the slightest chance either, whilst the fleet controlled the coast, of joining forces with the insurgents in the north and of attacking Santa Cruz itself.

That same evening our young red marine subaltern, the 'Shadow,' went mad.

He'd been very peculiar ever since that awful morning when his chum, the Forlorn Hope, had been killed, and the strain of the next few days, followed by the prospect of fighting the insurgent ship again, was too much for his brain. He went raving mad, and had to be shut up in his cabin and his marine servant shut in with him, to see that he did not hurt himself. For three days and nights, although the Fleet Surgeon tried everything to make him sleep, he did not stop shouting and knocking on the cabin bulkhead, and as his cabin was in the gun-room flat we couldn't get away from his shouting, and it got on our nerves most terribly, so much so that we were all beginning to feel jumpy ourselves. On the fourth morning he was quiet, and the Fleet Surgeon hoped he would recover, but he died early in the afternoon without having ever regained intelligence.

This had a most awfully depressing effect on us all, and, in addition, Cousin Bob was giving Ginger and me a lot of worry. Several times I had been across to the _Hercules_ to see him, and I didn't like the look of him at all. He could talk of nothing else but that awful fifteen minutes, and of his poor little chum the 'Angel,' so that I feared that his brain, too, might be affected.

'He's young,' the Fleet Surgeon said, 'he'll get over it;' and I only prayed that he was right.

Gerald, I heard, was all this time busy mounting some of _La Buena President's_ small guns on the walls of El Castellar and on that ridge behind San Fernando, hoping to drive off the Santa Cruz fleet if it came again and brought old Zorilla with another army. Still, even if he did drive the fleet away, he had no possible chance of bringing the revolution to a successful termination till he had destroyed it, and there was not the slightest chance of his doing that.

There had been a good deal of trouble ashore since we left San Fernando, because, as soon as the insurgent troops learnt that _La Buena Presidente_ was to be captured by us and handed over to President Canilla at Santa Cruz, and heard of the part we had played in delaying the surrender of El Castellar, they were so bitter against the English that they burnt the Club, and would have killed the Englishmen if the Provisional Government had not, with much difficulty, prevented them doing so. Now, however, that the big ship had been sunk by treachery and El Castellar had surrendered, they, in some way or another, thought that we would again help them, and were just as keen on us as ever. The Provisional Government simply loaded us with fruit and fresh food whilst we remained at San Fernando busy trying to make the poor old wrecked and gutted _Hector_ seaworthy. No leave was given because of the trouble ashore, so that I could not go and see Gerald, and of course, with that warrant for his arrest still lying in the Skipper's knee-hole table, he could not come and see me.

We heard that General Zorilla and the fleet were preparing for another attack on San Fernando--now that _La Buena Presidente_ no longer could prevent them--and every day we expected to hear the guns firing from El Castellar and to see the ships steaming past it.

And one afternoon they did come; they were half-way between us and the entrance before they were sighted, and we rushed on deck to see them, very glad of any excitement to make us forget our own troubles, but we couldn't understand why we hadn't heard any firing, and how it was that Gerald had allowed the ships to slip by him without making an effort to stop them. Poor old Gerald, he'd had a good many 'ups' and 'downs,' but now it seemed to be all 'downs.'

I ran below to tell Navarro, and he was as puzzled as I was, shrugging his shoulders as he always did when he couldn't understand, or didn't care to tell what he thought.

I ran up on deck again, and on shore we could see the people running about in a scared kind of way, and the small guns on that ridge being manned. I only wished that our mids. could have fought them again.

The flagship was already abreast of El Casino, the three remaining ships, the two torpedo-boats and one wretched transport, following her.

Why only one transport, we wondered!

As we watched and waited for the small guns to fire, the torpedo-boats suddenly increased speed and came steaming quickly towards us.

'What can be their game?' we were all thinking, when there were shouts from all over the ship, 'Look at their flags! Look at their flags! The stripes are horizontal! It's the black and green flag! It's flying on the flagship as well! Look!'

There wasn't a doubt about it. Each torpedo-boat had a huge black and green flag at her masthead, and in ten minutes we could see the colour and the horizontal stripes with the naked eye, as they dashed along close to the shore. We heard hurrahing, and saw hundreds of the little brown forest-men crowding down on the beach as they passed, jumping about on the sand, wading into the sea up to their waists towards them, and waving their rifles. The shouting and the hurrahs spread along the road till the town itself was full of voices, all the bells in the place began ringing, and hundreds of black and green flags were hoisted.

'I'm blowed if they haven't become insurgents themselves,' the Skipper muttered, dropping his eyeglass in his surprise; and there couldn't be the least doubt of it, for now we could see the crews of the torpedo-boats waving their caps to the troops on the beach, and could hear the crews of the ships cheering.

Well, that pretty nearly knocked us all 'flat aback,' and we realised at once that now Gerald, with the Santa Cruz fleet to help him, would be master at sea and could do anything he liked, join forces with the insurgents in the northern province, and attack Santa Cruz itself whenever he was ready. It was so grand and so jolly unexpected that I hardly know what I felt, only awfully thankful that the revolution would be over soon, and that Gerald wouldn't be worrying them all at home.