CHAPTER XI.

BLACK FRIDAY.

I.

''Appy Noo Year, chum,' said the lookout-man on the starboard side of the _Belligerent's_ bridge, as Pincher Martin came up to relieve him at five minutes past midnight on the morning of 1st January. 'Lawd!' he added with a shiver, stamping his sea-booted feet, 'I shall be glad ter git inter me bloomin' 'ammick.'

'Noo Year, is it?' Pincher queried with a prolonged yawn. 'Well, th' compliments o' th' season to yer, Shiner White. 'Strewth!' he added, 'it's a bit parky, ain't it?' He undid the toggles of his thick lammy coat,[31] and gave the muffler another turn round his neck.

[31] 'Lammy coats,' the name given by the men to the thick duffel coats with hoods served out in cold weather. They are fastened with toggles and beckets instead of buttons and button-holes.

The other man nodded. 'There ain't nothink in sight,' he went on hastily, anxious not to prolong the conversation; 'but if yer sees a light or anythink, look out yer sings out sharp an' loud, so that th' orficer o' the watch'll 'ear yer. S'long, chum!'

'S'long, Shiner! 'Appy dreams.'

Pincher, left to his own devices, looked about him. The squadron was at sea, and to his unpractised eye the night seemed unusually fine. What little wind there was seemed to be coming in from the south-westward in fitful, erratic puffs, and the great ship rode over a smooth, gradually increasing swell without perceptible movement. If he had been a weather prophet the state of the sea and the sky would have warned him to expect a change in the weather; but he was a novice at such things, and the signs and portents of sky and sea conveyed little to his mind.

The moon was up, and the night was not really dark as nights go; but every now and then the brilliance of the moon was temporarily dimmed by great high cloud-masses travelling down from windward across the face of the blue, star-spangled heavens. Away to the south-westward a heavy piled-up bank of dark hue, looking for all the world like a gigantic mountain range overtopping the horizon, was gradually encroaching on the sky as it mounted up and up into space. Its upper edges were frayed and fretted by the wind, and occasional wisps of cloud torn from the main mass were being flung off into space by the upper air-currents, to come scurrying to leeward in low-lying, streaky fragments like spun silk. They were mares'-tails, and the swell and the watery halo round the moon were other bad tokens. They portended wind--wind, and plenty of it. Soon the sky would be completely overcast. Before daylight it would probably be blowing hard.

The _Belligerent_ was somewhere near the tail of the line of battleships. A short distance in front of her came the huge hull of the next ahead clearly silhouetted against the sky. Farther ahead again were the dark outlines of other vessels, their shapes getting smaller and less distinct as they merged in the deep shadows on the horizon.

On board the _Belligerent_ herself half the seamen were at their stations at the guns ready for repelling a possible torpedo attack, and the other half, who had been relieved at midnight, had just retired to their hammocks for four hours' rest before being called up for the morning watch at four o'clock. The ship was in the charge of the officer of the watch, who leant placidly against the standard compass on the upper bridge gazing at the next ahead; while Colomb, the navigator, was asleep on the settee in the charthouse. Captain Spencer was in his sleeping-cabin just underneath, and was dozing, fully dressed, in an arm-chair in front of the stove. The book he had been reading had dropped to the floor, and Joe, his fox-terrier, lay curled up in a tight little bundle at his feet. The captain was a light sleeper at the best of times, and the least unusual sound, even the opening of the door, would have brought him to his feet in an instant. As an extra precaution there was an electric bell screwed to the bulkhead close beside his left ear, and if the officer of the watch desired his immediate presence all he had to do was to place a finger on a push close by the standard compass. The resulting jangle would have roused the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, let alone the skipper, who never indulged in anything but cat-naps at sea. The officers of watches were well aware of it, for Captain Spencer had a habit of prowling about at night, and frequently came on to the bridge when he was least expected. Once or twice he had found the ship some distance out of station, and then there had been trouble.

Of what really occurred, how long it lasted, and of the actual sequence of events, Pincher had a very hazy recollection. He remembered noticing the captain come on to the bridge and start walking up and down with his hands in his great-coat pockets and his dog padding softly after him. Then, quite suddenly, and for no apparent reason, there came the shattering roar of a heavy explosion. The ship quivered and shook violently; and, glancing aft with his heart in his mouth, Pincher saw a great column of whity-gray water towering high over the boat-deck half-way along the starboard side. He watched it spell-bound. The mass hung for a moment glimmering in the half-light, and then tottered and fell with a sound like a waterfall. He could feel the damp spray of it on his face.

The familiar throb of the engines died away, and there came the roaring bellow of escaping steam; and the ship, evidently holed far below the water-line, heeled over to starboard. Then the roaring of the steam ceased, and there came a moment's dead silence, followed by excited shouting as the men who had been asleep in their hammocks thronged on to the upper deck.

The whole thing happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that for the moment Captain Spencer was taken by surprise; and, running to the after side of the bridge, he stood there gripping the rail spasmodically, with a look of utter astonishment on his face. A bare instant later, however, he turned forward again with a gesture of annoyance; while Joe, taking it for some new game for his especial benefit, frisked beside him. 'Down, Joe! down!' Pincher heard him say in his ordinary voice.--'Stop both engines!' came his first order.--'Officer of the watch!'

'Sir.'

'Go down and tell the commander to get the collision-mat out, and then to turn out all boats. He's not to lower them without orders from me; and tell him to let me know the damage as soon as he can!'

'Ay, ay, sir,' said English quite calmly, leaving the bridge.

The captain turned on his heel and dictated a signal informing the flagship of what had occurred. Pincher watched, for even now Captain Spencer's face was absolutely inscrutable, and showed nothing of the awful anxiety which must have been in his heart.

The commander, who had rushed from his cabin when the crash came, had already taken charge on deck. Order was evolved out of chaos, and the shouting had ceased. An instant later a bugle blared the 'Still,' and the boatswain's mates could be heard piping.

There was dead silence among the men as the word was passed, and then the bugle sounded 'Carry on,' and the tramping of feet could be heard as the ship's company ran to their stations.

All except a few unimportant watertight doors, which were closed at the last moment by specially detailed men, were always kept shut at sea; so little could be done to add to the safety of the ship beyond endeavouring to prevent the ingress of water.

The men were well disciplined. They must have felt nervous, must have realised that there was an enormous hole below the water-line through which the water was pouring like a mill-race; added to this, it was dark, and there were no lights on deck. But there were not the smallest signs of panic or confusion. They behaved splendidly, and worked silently under the orders of their officers as if it were an ordinary peace-time evolution instead of grim reality.

Pincher himself was undecided for the moment as to what he should do. Ought he to join his part of the ship and assist in getting out the collision-mat, or should he remain where he was? He had no orders to leave his post, but it was hardly likely that any one would trouble his head about him now. For a moment he was torn with doubt, but finally made up his mind that he would stay on the bridge. He might be of some use in carrying messages, he thought.

The stricken vessel seemed to be leaning more and more over to starboard; but before very long the collision-mat, a large square of several thicknesses of the stoutest canvas well thrummed with oakum, was being lowered into place under the bottom. It was designed, by being stretched taut over the orifice, to reduce the flow of water through a comparatively small hole caused by a collision with another ship, and it seemed hardly likely that it would be of any use in checking the inrush through the gigantic rent caused by an underwater explosion; but there was no harm in trying it. It might do some good.

'Haul away the bottom line!' the first lieutenant's voice could be heard. 'That's the way, lads! Away with her!'

''Vast hauling!' came the next order, accompanied by the shrill trilling of a boatswain's whistle. 'Away with the fore and afters!'

The mat was out of sight below the water, its bottom corner dragged taut against the ship's side by the bottom line passing under the keel and hauled taut on the opposite side of the deck, and the upper corner held in place by the depth-line. The fore and afters were the ropes secured to the side corners, and they, on being hauled taut and belayed, held it out square.

'Mat's placed, sir!' came Chase's voice again.

The wind had increased, and white-capped seas had replaced the smooth swell of an hour before. The ship, listing to an angle of about fifteen degrees, seemed to be remaining fairly steady, but she was appreciably lower in the water, and the starboard edge of the forecastle was barely six feet above the crests of the waves as they raced by.

The cutters at the davits had been turned out ready for lowering, but all the smaller boats, galley, whalers, and gigs, had been landed. Hatherley, who was working the steam boat-hoist used for getting out the heavier boats stowed on the booms between the after funnel and the mainmast, had the derrick topped and the largest rowing-boat in the ship--the forty-two-foot launch, which, at a pinch, could carry one hundred and forty men--hooked on all ready for swinging out into the water as soon as he got orders to do so.

Circling round the injured ship were a couple of light cruisers which had been sent by the vice-admiral to render what assistance they could. Flashing-signals were passing between them and the _Belligerent_, and they were evidently asking if they should lower their boats.

'Tell 'em to wait,' Pincher heard Captain Spencer say to a signalman, without a tremor in his voice. 'Tell 'em to wait. I think we shall be able to keep afloat.'

The sky was nearly overcast, and the night had become very dark, and all the remainder of the squadron had vanished. They were only acting in accordance with their orders, however, for since the loss of the _Aboukir_, the _Cressy_, and the _Hogue_ in the North Sea the previous September, it had been definitely laid down that heavy, deep-draught ships were not to go to the assistance of vessels which had been torpedoed or mined, lest they should share the same fate. It went sadly against the grain for British officers to be forced to leave comrades in distress; but every one realised the necessity for the order, and the two small cruisers were the only ships available for the work of rescue.

'Messenger!' the captain called.

No reply.

'Here, boy, come here!' he went on, catching sight of Pincher on the starboard side of the bridge.

Martin went forward, and felt himself grabbed by the sleeve.

'Go down and tell the commander that I'm waiting to know what damage there is,' Captain Spencer said hurriedly. 'Away you go!'

Pincher scrambled down the sloping ladder with difficulty, but had barely reached the boat-deck to go aft when he cannoned into Commander Travers coming in the opposite direction. 'The capten would like ter know wot th' damage is, sir,' he explained.

'All right, I'm on my way to tell him,' the officer returned curtly. 'Get out of the way, boy!'

Martin stood aside, and followed him up the ladder again, without really meaning to overhear his conversation with the captain.

'How goes it, Travers?' was Captain Spencer's first anxious question.

'Pretty bad, sir,' the commander replied with the least trace of anxiety in his voice. 'Some of the boiler-rooms are flooded, and the water seems to be making its way forward and aft. One or two bulkheads have gone already!'

'Good God!' the captain exclaimed; 'is it as bad as that? Is the mat doing any good?'

The commander shook his head. 'Might just as well try to stop the hole with a bit o' stickin'-plaster, sir,' he said tersely. 'I've just seen the engineer-commander,' he went on, 'and he tells me he's doing all he can, but that the water's gaining on us fast. I've got men down below shoring up bulkheads to prevent their bursting, but I doubt if they'll do much good. However, sir,' he added hopefully, 'she hasn't listed much during the last few minutes, and perhaps we'll be able to save her yet.'

'Pray God we shall, Travers!' Captain Spencer returned gravely. 'You'd better get all the boats out as soon as you can, and keep 'em alongside; but don't allow the men into them until I give orders. I'll tell the cruisers to send theirs across, but we'll make 'em lie off for the time being. Well, so long, commander, in case we don't meet each other again. Do all you can.'

'I hope it's not so bad as I think, sir,' Travers said with a forced laugh as he turned to leave the bridge. 'It's a damned nasty night to go swimmin', I must say. It was a submarine, I suppose, sir?'

'Must have been. By the way, you'd better warn 'em to blow up their swimming-collars.' The captain was ever mindful of his men.

'I will, sir. What about you?'

'Don't worry about me, man. You see to the ship's company. I'll look out for myself.'

The commander disappeared.

The time passed. There was still a chance of the ship remaining afloat, and by about three o'clock, merely as a precautionary measure, the launch and the pinnace had been hoisted out and the boats lowered; though one cutter, lowered too rapidly, had capsized and disappeared. During the interval the ship did not seem to have listed any more to starboard, and favourable reports had come from down below as to the chances of remaining afloat. In fact, they were all congratulating themselves that the damage had been overrated, when another heavy explosion roared out from the port side aft.

'By God!' muttered the captain under his breath; 'that's another torpedo!'

The _Belligerent_, with a fresh wound open to the sea, shuddered violently, and then gave a sickening lurch to starboard, and lay over until her masts were at an angle of thirty degrees from the vertical. The starboard side of the upper deck was under water, and the other lifted high in the air, while the inclination was so great that it was barely possible to walk. Realising that the end could not be long delayed, Captain Spencer dragged himself to the bridge-rail and raised a megaphone to his lips. 'Abandon ship!' he roared in a voice which could be heard above the howling of the wind and the raging of the sea. 'Save yourselves, men! Save yourselves!'

The word was passed along, but still there was no undue haste or confusion. Stokers and other men of the engine-room department who had been employed below until the last moment, some of them clad in their grimy working-clothes, others nearly naked, came pouring up the hatchways leading to the upper deck.

A cloud drifted away from the face of the moon, and a subdued silvery light lit up the awful scene.

The boats, plunging wildly on the rapidly rising sea, pounded and crashed alongside. A small group of officers stood beside each one superintending the disembarkation, and the men, standing in long queues, could be seen jumping into them one by one. Several, leaping too late or too early, fell between the boats and the ship's side, and were never seen again.

The doctors and the sick-berth staff, unmindful of their own safety, passed their sick and ailing into the boats, and remained behind themselves.

'Steady, lads! steady!' the chaplain, gallant man that he was, could be heard saying coolly. 'One at a time! Keep cool, boys! Keep cool!'

Many men, relying on their life-belts or swimming-collars, had flung themselves overboard and were swimming in the direction of the cruisers, whose rescuing boats were on their way across as fast as their eager crews could drive them. A certain number of the swimmers were eventually picked up and saved, but by far the greater proportion perished in the wild tumult. Every one knew that there was room for barely more than a fifth of the ship's company in the boats; but, in the face of almost certain death, there was no panic.

''Ullo, 'Orace,' a burly stoker remarked to a friend with a laugh, 'comin' swimmin'?'

'Looks like it, chum,' answered the other glumly, eyeing the white-capped seas with nervous apprehension. 'Ain't much of a night fur a picnic like, this 'ere, is it?'

'Rottenest bloomin' regatta ever I saw,' rejoined the first speaker, who was attired in nothing but a singlet and an inflated swimming-collar. ''Ow's this fur a bathin'-costoom? What'd my ole 'ooman say if she see'd me on th' beach at Margit in this 'ere? Ow!' he yelled, as a breaking wave deluged him with icy spray. 'Gawd! ain't it cold? Come on, boys; come an' 'ave a dip! Any more fur th' shore?'

The others hung back.

'Wot! not comin'?' he went on, walking to the edge of the boat-deck and gazing out at the sea. 'Well, s'long, blokes. 'Ere goes!'

He clambered down the ship's side on to the net-shelf, waited till a large sea came swishing past, and then slipped into the water, to vanish in a smother of foam. An instant later he reappeared, swimming strongly in the direction of the nearer cruiser. He was never seen again.

Somebody started the chorus of 'Tipperary' to cheer the flagging spirits of his shipmates, but the gallant effort met with little response. Numbers of men, trying to nerve themselves for the ordeal of leaping overboard and of saving themselves by swimming, shrank back at the sight of the raging sea. It was enough to appal the bravest heart, and the ship, though sinking fast, still seemed to offer a safer refuge than that wild waste of water.

The captain, holding on to the bridge-rail to prevent himself from being carried off his feet, surveyed the scene calmly. 'Jump, men! jump!' he bellowed to a hesitating group on the boat-deck. 'For God's sake, jump! It's your only chance!' Turning round, he noticed that Pincher and one or two signalmen were still on the bridge. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded with a touch of his old asperity. 'The ship's sinking! Get down out of it, and save yourselves!'

Pincher and some of the others obeyed, but the chief yeoman of signals, noticing that the captain wore no life-belt or swimming-collar, calmly proceeded to divest himself of a cork jacket. 'Take this, sir,' he said, handing it across; 'I've got my collar.'

Captain Spencer pushed it away. 'Use it yourself, man!' he said firmly. 'Use it yourself!'

'But I don't want it, sir,' the chief yeoman persisted.

'Do what you're told, Morris,' came the answer. 'Leave the bridge and save yourself; she'll go in another minute or two! I'll look out for myself!'

Morris hesitated for another instant, saw his commanding officer was in earnest, and left the bridge.

'Good luck to you, Morris!' the captain called out after him.

'Good luck, sir.'

Captain Spencer, alone with his dog, leant down and lifted him into his arms. 'I'm afraid we're done in this time, old man,' he whispered sadly. 'We may as well go together. Good-bye, old Joe!' His voice was husky with emotion as he buried his face in the animal's warm coat; and the dog, seeming to understand, turned his head and licked his master's cheek.

The end came almost immediately, for before some of the boats had got clear the ship lurched drunkenly to starboard, to hurl men and movable fittings in one awful chaotic avalanche into the water. For one moment there was wild confusion, and the sea was covered with the heads of swimmers fighting for their lives; the next, there came the muffled roar of bursting bulkheads, and the _Belligerent_ hove herself back on to an even keel, with the water washing across her decks.

A searchlight flickered out from one of the cruisers and lit up the scene. Lower and lower sank the doomed ship, until at last the waves were breaking across the top of the boat-deck, and only the two masts, the funnels, and the bridge showed above the surface. She seemed to hesitate for a moment as if unwilling to take the final plunge, and then, with a dull, booming sound as the water reached the boilers, slowly slid from view.

There was no vortex or upheaval of spray, merely a swift rush of sparks and a cloud of smoke and steam, which rapidly dissolved on the wind, and in a few more seconds the ship had vanished for ever. Nothing remained to tell of her presence except the boats, the dark heads of the battling survivors, some débris, and an ever-widening circle of calm, oil-strewn water, on the outskirts of which the waves leapt tumultously. But on the bridge, game to the very last, two heroic spirits, a man and a dog, had gone to their long last rest together.

II.

To this day Pincher never really remembers how he got into the water. The events of that night still seem like some ghastly nightmare, a horrible dream in which incidents and impressions succeeded each other with such rapidity that the memory of them seems almost unreal. He recollects standing on the boat-deck with a group of other men and divesting himself of his thick duffel coat. He did it reluctantly, for it was bitterly cold. Then, after inflating the rubber swimming-collar round his neck, he waited. The ship lay over at an alarming angle, and it was all he could do to stand upright.

'Jump, men! jump!' an officer kept on shouting. 'For God's sake, save yourselves!'

A few, nerving themselves for the effort, cast themselves overboard, and were lost to sight in the raging sea; but Pincher and many others, eyeing the tumult with horror, instinctively hung back. Life was very dear at that moment, and it seemed sheer madness to cast one's self into that seething maelstrom of one's own free-will. Then it was that he remembered his heavy sea-boots. Fool! They would infallibly drag him under if he had to swim for it; and, bending down, he kicked and wriggled his right foot free. He was repeating the process with the other when the end came. The ship lurched horribly to starboard, and flung him to the deck with a shock which jarred every bone in his body. The next instant he started slithering and sliding down a steep slope, to bring up with a thud against a projection on the deck. The impact nearly knocked the wind out of his body; but, stretching out his arms with an instinct of self-preservation, he grasped something solid with both hands, and clung madly on to it with all his strength. For a second or two he hung there, gasping for breath, with sheets of spray flying over his head. Then something soft cannoned into him and tore him from his hold. He felt himself sliding again, then falling, falling.

Next a feeling of bitter cold and utter darkness as a sea snatched him in its grasp and flung him away. He went down and down until his lungs seemed on the point of bursting for want of air; but the swimming-collar was still round his neck, and with a swift upward rush he felt himself borne to the surface. On opening his mouth for air a gigantic white-cap promptly broke over his head and left him spluttering and gasping. At one moment he was carried high on the crest of a sea, and the next he was deep down in a hollow; but by some miracle he still managed to breathe, and retained sufficient presence of mind to strike out away from the sinking ship.

He could see nothing, but the sea all round him was dotted with the heads of other swimmers. Some had life-belts, some swimming-collars or flotsam, and, like Pincher, were making the best of their way from the scene of the disaster. Others had no life-saving appliances at all, and were drowning in dozens.

Twice was Pincher clutched round the body, but each time he fought with the mad energy of despair, and wrenched himself free of the suffocating embrace of a shipmate less lucky than himself. He was no coward, but it was a case of each man for himself, and his desire to live was overwhelming.

How long he was in the water he never knew. He merely battled on, fighting for breath. Presently, when all but exhausted and numb through and through with cold, he was carried to the summit of a huge wave to see the dark shape of a boat barely twenty feet from him. In the dim half-light he could see it was crowded with men, and raising his voice, he tried to shout for help. He emitted no sound but a feeble croak, and the next time he was borne aloft the boat had vanished. Then it was that Pincher commended his soul to his Maker. He could do no more.

He seemed to have been swimming for hours, and was breathless and very weary. His limbs felt incapable of further movement, and it was with almost a feeling of relief that he gave up the struggle as hopeless. But for his swimming-collar he would have sunk then and there. How long he remained quiescent he could not tell; but during this awful time his senses never left him, and he found himself wondering how long it would take him to die. He did not dread the prospect; anything seemed better than this awful shortness of breath and the constant buffeting by the seas. The most trivial events and the most important happenings of his short life crowded into his overwrought brain. His thoughts travelled to his home, and he pictured his mother the last time he had seen her, framed in the doorway of her cottage. He almost laughed when he remembered himself tearing down the road to catch the train. He must have looked funny, excruciatingly funny, but he felt a slight pang of regret on thinking that he would never tread that road again. Next his mind reverted to Billings, and he wondered hazily what had become of him. Poor Joshua, he had been a good friend to him! He hoped he was not drowned. What was Emmeline doing at this moment? The recollection of her seemed indistinct and shadowy, somehow. He could not picture her face, merely remembered that she was pretty and fascinating. What would she say when she heard he had been drowned? Would she go into mourning and cry her pretty eyes out? Perhaps she would marry some one else.

Then, quite suddenly, he heard a voice. ''Ere's another on 'em!' it said gruffly. He felt his head come into violent contact with something solid and unyielding, and the next moment he was seized by the hair. The pain of it hurt him abominably, but he was far too weak and short of breath to expostulate. Then he was grasped under the armpits, and, after describing what seemed a giddy and interminable parabola through the air, heard himself descend with a crash on to something very hard. The impact should have hurt him, but he felt nothing, and merely realised in a hazy sort of way that he was in the bottom of a boat.

It was bitterly cold. He shivered as with ague, while constant showers of spray left him coughing and gasping for breath. Water washed over him perpetually, and a horrible, never-ceasing oscillation flung him violently to and fro. It was almost as bad as being in the water. But he was past caring. Then came a feeling of terrible nausea, and, rolling over abjectly, he was violently sick. Next, darkness, the utter blackness of absolute oblivion. Pincher Martin had fainted.

When he recovered his senses some hours later he could not for the moment recollect where he was or what had happened. He felt chilled through and through with the cold, but some kind Samaritan had removed his sodden garments, and had left him lying in the bottom of the boat covered with a portion of the sail and its tarpaulin cover. Several other men lay there with him. Then he remembered. He felt bruised all over, stiff, miserable, and very weak; but he could breathe, and found, on trying to shift his position, that he had recovered the use of his limbs, though the effort caused him agony. Glancing round, he saw he was in the stern-sheets of the _Belligerent's_ forty-two-foot launch, the largest pulling-boat she had carried.

The sea was still running very high, and the boat pitched and rolled violently and unceasingly, while constant showers of spray came driving aft as her bluff bows plunged into the waves. At one moment he found himself watching the dark clouds chasing each other across the gray sky overhead; and the next, as the boat rolled, he was vouchsafed momentary glimpses of a heaving expanse of gray-green sea, lashed and torn into white, insensate fury by the wind. It was blowing a full gale.

The boat was half-full of water, and amidships some men were busy bailing, one with a bucket, and others with boots and caps. Crouching down under the thwarts, with the water washing over them, were many more men in the last stages of misery. Some showed signs of life; some looked almost dead. Another melancholy party were clustered in the stern, huddling together to get some warmth into their numbed limbs. All sorts and conditions of men were there--stokers in their grimy flannel shirts and fearnought trousers, just as they had come up out of the stokehold; bluejackets in jerseys and blue serge trousers; some marines; and a ship's steward's assistant with nothing but a swimming-collar and a sodden white cotton shirt. Their lips were blue with cold, their teeth were chattering, they looked abject and utterly forlorn, but they were still alive. One or two of them were actually talking.

Standing up in the stern with the gunner and the boatswain was Petty Officer Bartlett. The last-named was attired in his undergarments, a cholera-belt, and one blue stocking, and in the intervals of gazing anxiously round the horizon he was flapping his arms to restore his circulation. How he managed to keep on his feet at all was a marvel.

'Anythink in sight?' somebody asked in a husky whisper.

'Not a ruddy thing!' Bartlett returned. 'I thought I seen somethin' 'bout ten minutes since, the smoke of a steamer on the 'orizon, but she ain't there now.'

The questioner, an able seaman, cursed under his breath. ''Ow long's this ---- show goin' ter last?' he queried plaintively. 'I'm so ---- cold. Such a ---- picnic I never did see. Gawd! why didn't I join th' ruddy army? They kills yer quick there, not like this 'ere. I'll be a gonner in another hour, see if I ain't,' he added weakly, trying to get a little sympathy. 'Carn't feel me bloomin' legs no'ow; ain't got none p'r'aps.'

'Cheer up, Joe!' said the man alongside him, who seemed a little happier; 'we ain't dead yet. Like me ter give yer another rub dahn?'

Joe nodded wearily and closed his eyes.

Pincher, unwilling to leave the shelter of his canvas, tried to attract some one's attention. He endeavoured to speak, but could get no more than a husky, almost inaudible, whisper; so, withdrawing one arm from its covering, he moved it feebly up and down. After a lengthy pause one of the marines noticed him.

''Ere,' he said, patting Petty Officer Bartlett on the leg, 'one o' them 'ere deaders 'as come back ter life!'

Bartlett turned round. 'Deader!' he said. 'Which one?'

'One o' them 'ere blokes yer pulled out o' th' ditch,' the marine answered.

'Blimy! So 'e 'as!' the petty officer exclaimed, rather surprised. 'I thought 'e'd chucked 'is hand in long ago.--'Ere, me son,' he added, coming across to where Martin lay, ''ow goes it?'

Pincher smiled wearily.

'Carn't talk, eh?' Bartlett remarked with rough kindliness. 'Like a drop o' rum[32] an' a bit o' somethin' t' eat?'

[32] When a ship is abandoned a certain amount of water, biscuit, and rum is placed in all the boats.

Martin nodded.

'Hand us that there rum-jar,' the petty officer said over his shoulder. 'Easy now--easy!' as the man he had spoken to nearly let it fall. 'That there may 'ave to last us for days!' He extracted the cork from the wicker-covered jar and poured some of the spirit into a small tin mug. 'Damn me eyes!' came an angry ejaculation, as the boat gave a particularly violent lurch and a few drops of the precious liquid slopped over the edge. He replaced the cork carefully, and, putting one arm under Pincher's head, held the pannikin to his lips. 'Try to swaller it,' he said. 'It'll do you good.'

Martin obeyed; and, though a certain amount of the liquor trickled over his face, the greater proportion went down his throat. The burning fieriness of the neat spirit made him choke and splutter, but the feeling of warmth it induced was very comforting.

''Ere's a bit o' biscuit,' said Bartlett again, extracting a broken fragment from the waistband of his nether garments, where he had been keeping it dry. 'Put that inside you, an' w'en you've finished it I'll come along an' give you a bit of a rub down like to warm you up--see?'

Pincher, still too weak to bite, consumed the flinty fragment by nibbling round its edge until he could nibble no more, and then, when the petty officer had rubbed his numbed and aching body with a pair of horny hands, which rasped him like a file and threatened to take every inch of skin off his long-suffering limbs, he felt tolerably warm and much better. The blood coursed through his veins. Life was again worth living.

'Thanks!' he was able to murmur feebly when the painful ordeal was over.

'That's all right, me son. See if you carn't git a bit of a caulk,' said Bartlett, getting up from his knees.

It may have been the dose of rum, a spirit to which he was entirely unaccustomed, which had the desired effect, but five minutes later Pincher Martin was asleep.

Immediately on being hoisted out, the launch had been dashed bows on into the ship. She had been badly damaged; but men, stripping themselves, had stuffed their clothes into the rents to keep the water out. Time after time breaking seas had nearly swamped her; but by dint of constant bailing with boots, caps, and anything they could lay their hands upon, they had somehow managed to keep her afloat.

Most of the oars had been broken in frantic efforts to fend the boat off from the ship, and none remained to keep her head on to the sea when they finally got clear of the wreck. Then they had lashed all the boat's lumber together, and had dropped it overboard to form a floating sea-anchor; and the launch, secured to it by a rope, rode head on to the waves. But still the wretched survivors were in a bad way. They had yearned, with all the longing their souls possessed, that a ship would be in sight when morning came. They had practically pinned their faith to it, for they were aware that they were in a part of the English Channel where traffic was constant. But when the night lifted and the gray dawn gave way to full daylight there was nothing in sight. Not the least vestige of a steamer or the welcome gleam of a rescuing sail; only the gray-white expanse of the raging sea, and the sombre, wind-driven clouds chasing each other across the gray void overhead. Then a faint feather of smoke had shown up over the rim of the horizon to the southward. It was fully ten miles off, but they all thought for one wild moment that salvation was at hand. Their drooping spirits revived; but a minute later the smoke had disappeared, and their hopes were dashed to the ground.

They were exhausted, wet through, chilled to the bone, and utterly miserable, and some of that little band of two warrant-officers and seventy odd men resigned themselves to their fate. They could not last much longer. And so the launch, with a woollen scarf lashed to an oar amidships fluttering as a mute signal of distress, drifted on at the mercy of the wind and sea. Her crew were past caring.

III.

Early in the morning of that fateful New Year's Day the Brixham trawler _Providence_ was running back to her port for shelter from the gale; but when she was off Start Point the wind and sea had increased to such an extent that there was nothing to be done but to heave-to and ride out the storm. Between eleven o'clock and noon the smack was hove-to on the starboard tack, when the third hand, who was on deck, saw a large gray open boat to leeward. She was full of men, and was flying a muffler tied to an upright oar as a signal of distress; but so heavy was the sea that she was obscured for minutes at a time in the trough of the waves.

The smack's crew of three men and a boy, Little Dan, were soon on deck, and promptly got to work to take another reef in the mainsail and to set their small storm jib. It was a hard tussle, for the wind was blowing with hurricane force, and seas were constantly breaking over the deck; but it was the only thing to be done if a rescue was to be effected.

The _Providence_ was on the starboard tack, let it be understood. This meant that the wind was blowing from her starboard side; but, to reach the launch at all, she had to pass round on to the port tack. There are two ways of manoeuvring a sailing-vessel from one tack to the other. The first, the shortest method, is by 'going about,' or turning the vessel round head to wind, and then allowing her sails to fill on the other side. The second way, a longer method, in which more ground is lost, is by 'gybing' or 'wearing,' in which the ship passes from tack to tack by turning her stern to the wind. Both are comparatively simple evolutions in calm weather, but any sailor will say that in a small fore-and-aft rigged craft both are dangerous in a heavy sea and a gale of wind. Of the two, however, gybing is by far the more hazardous, even perilous, for there is a grave risk of the craft being pooped by a heavy sea, or of her being dismasted when the large mainsail swings across the deck and suddenly bellies out on the other side. But Captain Pillar, the skipper, realised it was the only thing to be done. He was a thorough seaman, who knew his craft well, and he decided to take the risk.

The helm was put hard up, and the _Providence_ paid off gradually until her stern was in the wind's eye, and then, sweeping round on the crest of a gigantic billow, came on to the port tack. An enormous sea broke on board as she did so, and the heavy mainsail came across with a crash and a jerk which nearly wrenched the mast out. But the men who had built the sturdy _Providence_ knew their work, and the mast was a good sound stick, and the rigging honest steel wire. It was a good test of their workmanship, for by some miracle the gear held.

Drawing close to windward of the launch, the smacksmen hove a rope across as they drifted by. It missed. Another attempt, and yet another, but on each occasion the line fell short. Then, when those in the boat had almost given it up as hopeless, a fourth heave was successful. The rope was caught by the bluejackets, held, and belayed, and slowly but surely the launch was hauled toward the stern of her rescuer. Then the warp was passed forward along the lee side of the _Providence_, and the man-of-war's boat was drawn cautiously ahead until her bows were level with the lee quarter of the smack.

The exhausted bluejackets were ordered to jump on board, and one by one they obeyed. It was a perilous business, for the waves were running twenty to thirty feet high, and at one moment both craft were lifted high in the air, while the next they were deep down in a hollow, with an awful, roaring breaker threatening to overwhelm them. It took half-an-hour before the whole seventy of them reached their haven of refuge; but the work was accomplished without the loss of a single soul; while the senior officer present, the torpedo gunner, true to the traditions of the service, was the last man to leave. Then the launch was cast adrift. She had served her purpose, and was never seen again.

The rescued men, many of them in the last stages of exhaustion and numbness after their frightful ordeal, were accommodated wherever room could be found for them. What food and tobacco the smack carried were shared out equally, and hot coffee was served out all round.

The _Providence_ then shaped her course for home, and, after being taken in tow by another vessel when close to her destination, eventually berthed alongside the quay at Brixham at eight o'clock in the evening. And so, from the very jaws of death, Pincher Martin stepped ashore.