Chapter 2

THE LAST OF THE 'CARDIGAN CASTLE'

Ken's head whirled. For the moment he was unable to collect his ideas. He stood, grasping the door handle, listening to the thunder of feet overhead and the shouted orders which came dimly to his ears.

He heard distinctly the creaking of winches, and knew that the boats were being lowered. His worst suspicions were true; the ship was actually sinking.

This lasted only a few seconds. Ken Carrington was not the sort to yield weakly to panic. He pulled himself together, and felt for the switch.

It clicked over, but nothing happened. The shock of the explosion had evidently thrown the dynamo out of gear. Then he remembered the little electric torch which he always carried, and in an instant had it out of his pocket, and switched it on.

He flashed the little beam across the floor, and its light fell upon the wooden grating over which he had stumbled in his first rush at the enemy signaller. This lay alongside the bath. It was about six feet long and made of four heavy slats nailed on a framework.

It took Ken just about five seconds to lay down his lamp and heave up the grating.

Short as the time had been since the first shock of the torpedo, the ship was already beginning to list heavily. The floor of the bathroom now sloped upwards steeply to the door.

The grating was very heavy, but in his excitement Ken swung it up as though it had been no more than a feather. Balancing it, he charged straight at the door.

The end of the grating struck the woodwork with a loud crash, but the result was not what Ken had hoped. Hinges and lock remained firm. One panel, however, was cracked and splintered.

He retreated again to make another attempt. But the list was growing heavier every moment. It was all he could do to keep his feet. Ugly, sucking noises down below told him that the water was rushing in torrents into the hold of the doomed ship.

There was no question of making a second charge. Balancing himself as best he could opposite the door, he pounded frantically at the cracked panel, and at the third blow it broke away, leaving a jagged hole.

But this was not large enough for him to put his head through--let alone his body. His one chance was that the key might still be in the lock.

Small blame to him that his heart was going like a trip-hammer as he dropped the useless grating and snatched up his lamp.

The list was now so heavy that he had to cling to the door, as he thrust his arm through the gap.

A gasp of relief escaped his lips as his fingers closed on the key. It turned, but even then the door would not open. It was wedged.

Ken made a last desperate effort, and managed to force it open. As he clawed his way through into the passage, the sea water came bursting up through the floor of the bathroom behind him.

Somehow he managed to scramble along the passage, and up the companion to the mess deck. There was not a soul in sight, and the ship now lay over at such an angle that every moment it seemed as though she must capsize.

Up another ladder. He was forced to go on hands and feet, clinging like a squirrel. Then he was on the boat deck, in a glare of white light flung on the sinking ship by the searchlight of a British cruiser which had rushed up to the rescue.

The sea seemed thick with boats pulling steadily away, and in every direction the searchlights of the escorting destroyers wheeled and flashed, as they rushed in circles, hunting for the submarine which had struck the blow.

But the 'Cardigan Castle' was empty and deserted. With that marvellous speed which only perfect discipline ensures, every soul had already been got away into the boats. So far as he could see, Ken was left alone on the fast sinking ship.

Even so, he was not ungrateful. If he had to perish, it was far better to drown in the open than to come to his end like a trapped rat down below.

'Ken! Ken!'

Some one came rushing up into the searchlight's glare.

It was Dave Burney.

'I've been hunting the ship out for you,' exclaimed Dave breathlessly.

'I got locked in the bathroom,' Ken answered quickly. 'No time to explain now. Tell you afterwards. I say, old man, it was jolly good of you to wait for me, but I'm afraid you've overdone it. All the boats are away.'

'Hang the boats! Here--put this on. Sharp, for she won't last more'n a couple of minutes.'

As he spoke, he flung Ken one of the life-saving waistcoats which are now used instead of the old-fashioned lifebelts.

'It's all right,' he added, as he saw Ken glance at him sharply. 'I've got one, too.'

Ken did not waste a moment in slipping on the queer garment, and blowing it up.

'This way,' said Dave, as he scrambled up the steep deck to the weather rail. Ken followed, and they had barely reached the rail when the big liner rolled slowly over on to her side.

Dave sprang out on to her steel side which was now perfectly level.

'Hurry!' he shouted. 'She'll pull us down if we're not clear before she sinks.'

He sprang out into the water. Ken followed his example, and the two paddled vigorously away. Luckily for them, the ship did not sink at once. She lay upon her beam ends for four or five minutes, and gave them time to get to a safe distance. They were perhaps forty yards away when there came a loud, hissing, gurgling sound.

'She's going!' cried Ken. Turning, he saw her stern tilt slowly upwards. Then, with hardly a sound, the fine ship slid slowly downwards, and a minute later there was no sign of her except a great eddy in which swung a tangled mass of timber, lifebelts, canvas chairs, and all sorts of floating objects from the decks.

'The brutes!' growled Dave. 'This means that the Turks have got submarines.'

'I doubt it. That was probably the work of an Austrian or German craft. Well, thank goodness, they only got the ship and not the men.'

'Ay, we'll get our own back for this before we're through,' growled Dave. 'My word, but it's cold! Hope they're not going to be long picking us up.'

'No. Here comes a boat,' Ken answered, as the searchlight showed a boat pulling hard towards them. A couple of minutes later they were hauled aboard, and in a very short time found themselves on the British destroyer 'Teaser.'

'Any more of you in the water?' asked her commander, Lieutenant Carey, a keen, hard-bitten young man of about twenty-eight.

'No, sir, I think not,' Ken answered. 'I believe every one else got off in the boats.'

'Yes, I don't think our German friends have much to boast of,' said the other with a smile. 'We can build fresh ships all right, and so far as I know they haven't got a single man. But you fellows look perished. Down with you to the engine-room. Coxswain, get out some lammies for them, and see they have cocoa.'

'Ay, ay, sir,' answered the coxswain.

But Ken paused.

'I have a report to make before I go below, sir.'

The commander looked a little surprised.

'All right. But quick about it. You'll be a hospital case if you stick about in those wet togs much longer.'

Ken wasted no time in telling what he had seen in the bathroom of the 'Cardigan Castle,' just before she was sunk.

Commander Carey listened with interest.

'Who was this fellow?' he demanded.

'I never saw his face, sir, but by his voice I am pretty sure he was Kemp, a steward.'

'Hm, it was rotten bad management, allowing a fellow like that to be aboard a transport,' growled Carey. 'Very well, Carrington, I shall report the matter at once by wireless, and if he is aboard any of the other ships, you may be sure he'll be attended to. And I congratulate you on getting out alive. Now go below and get a warm and a change. I'll land you and your friend in Mudros Bay if I can, and if I have other orders I'll tranship you.'

Feeling very shivery and tired, Ken was escorted below to the genial warmth of the engine-room, where he found Dave already changed, and engaged in putting away a great mugful of hot Navy cocoa.

The coxswain, big Tom Tingle, fished him out a suit of lammies, the warm gray woollen garments which are the regular cold weather wear of the British Navy, and, as soon as he had got into them, put a mug of steaming cocoa into his hands.

'Prime stuff, ain't it, Ken?' said Dave, and Ken, as he felt the grateful warmth creeping through his chilled frame, nodded. Then he and Dave were given a couple of blankets apiece, and with the beat of the powerful engines as a lullaby were soon sleeping soundly.

When they awoke, the gray dawn light was stealing through the hatch overhead, and the smart little ship lay at anchor, rocking peacefully to the lift of a gentle swell.

'Rouse out, you chaps,' came Tingle's voice. 'Rouse out, if you want some breakfast. The old man's going to put you aboard the 'Charnwood' to finish your voyage. You'll find some of your pals in her, I reckon.'

'Did they get the submarine?' was Ken's first question.

Tingle's honest face darkened.

'No, by gosh. She slipped away in the dark, and never a one of us set eyes on her. What are ye to do with a thing like that? It's like trying to tackle a shark with a shot gun.'

'Here's your khaki,' he continued, 'dry and warm. Shift as sharp as ye can. The old man, he don't wait for nobody.'

Ken and Dave changed in quick order, and as soon as they had finished were conducted for'ard for breakfast. Biscuit, butter out of a tin, sardines, and cocoa. War fare, but all the best of its kind, and the boys did justice to it.

The 'old man'--that is, Commander Carey--was on the bridge when they came on deck. He greeted them kindly, and Ken ventured to ask if anything had been heard of Kemp.

'Not a word,' was the answer. 'He's not been picked up, so far as any one knows. Probably he's food for the fishes by this time. Well, good-bye to you. Wish you luck.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Ken and Dave together. Then they were over the side into the collapsible, and were pulled straight across to the wall-sided 'Charnwood' which lay at anchor less than half a mile away.

Mudros Bay, which is a great inlet in the south of the island of Lemnos, was alive with craft of all sorts. Warships and transports by the dozen, British and French, were lying at anchor in every direction, and in and out among them, across the brilliant, sunlit waters, dashed picket boats and all sorts of small craft.

'My word, this looks like business!' said Dave, as he glanced round at the busy scene.

'It does,' agreed Ken. 'Last time I was here, there were two tramps and an old Turkish gunboat. Not a darned thing else.'

A couple of minutes later they were alongside the big 'Charnwood,' to be greeted with shouts of delight from a number of their Australian comrades who were leaning over the side.

They said good-bye to the destroyer men who had ferried them across, and climbed the ladder to the deck, where they were immediately surrounded and smacked on the back, and generally congratulated. The two were very popular with the whole of their battalion, and their comrades were unfeignedly glad to find that they had not lost the number of their mess.

Pushing through the throng, they went aft to report themselves to their commanding officer, Colonel Conway. He had, of course, already heard of Ken's adventure with the spy in the bathroom, but took him aside to get further particulars.

'No, nothing has been heard of him,' he said. 'I do not think it possible that he can have been picked up.

'And yet,' he added, 'that's odd, for he must have had plenty of time to get on deck, and, so far as we can learn, we have not lost a man.'

'Do you think the submarine could have picked him up, sir?'

'Not a chance of it. She went under the very moment she had fired her torpedo. If she had not, the destroyers would have got her.'

'I ought to have got Kemp, sir,' said Ken, rather ruefully.

'You did your best, Carrington,' the other answered kindly. 'And you are to be congratulated that Kemp did not get you.'

Ken went back to join his friends forward, and answer a score of questions as to the struggle in the bathroom. By the remarks of his companions who had, one and all, lost everything they possessed, except what they stood up in, it was clear that Kemp, if still alive, would stand a pretty thin chance should any of these lusty Australians set eyes on him again.

There was no shore leave. No orders were out yet, but the rumour was everywhere that they were to sail that very day.

Presently a tug came alongside with fresh provisions. She also brought a quantity of rifles and ammunition to replace those lost in the sunken 'Cardigan Castle.' Spare uniforms, overcoats, and other kit were also put aboard, and shared up among the shipwrecked troops.

'The old country's waked up this time,' said Dave to Ken, as he tried the sights of a new rifle. 'There's stuff ashore here for an army corps, they tell me. It's no slouch of a job to fit us all out fresh in a few hours. They'd never have done it in the Boer War.'

'My dear chap, the Boer War was child's play compared with this. Willy has set the whole world ablaze. All the same, I agree with you that England is getting her eyes open at last. But it's a pity the people at home didn't realise first off that forcing the Dardanelles was almost as important as keeping the Germans out of Calais. If they'd sent us here two months ago instead of fooling round trying to get warships through the Straits, the job would have been done by now. As it is, they've given the Turks a chance to fortify all the landing places, and I'll bet they've done it too.'

'What sort of landing places are they?' asked Dave.

'Just beaches--little bays with cliffs behind them. And the cliffs are covered with scrub, and so are the hills inland. Ideal ground for the defence, and rotten to attack.'

'You talk as if you'd been there?'

The speaker was a big, good-looking young New Zealander, with a face burnt almost saddle colour by wind and sun. His dark blue eyes gleamed with a merry, devil-may-care expression which took Ken's fancy at once.

'Yes, I've been there,' Ken answered modestly, and was at once surrounded by a crowd all eager for any information he could give. Luckily for him, at that very minute some one shouted.

'We're off, boys. There's the signal to weigh anchor.'

Instantly all was excitement; the cable began to clank home, smoke poured from the funnels, and in a very short time the whole fleet of transports was moving in a long line out of the harbour, escorted by a bevy of busy, black destroyers.

As the 'Charnwood' passed into her place, the men lined the sides and cheered for all they were worth.

'What day is this?' said Ken to Dave, as the big transport passed out of the mouth of the bay.

'Friday, the twenty-third,' was the answer.

'Twenty-third of April,' said Ken. 'St. George's Day. Then I tell you what, Dave, this is going to be a Sunday job.'

'You mean we'll be landed on Sunday?'

Ken nodded.

'That's about it,' he answered.