CHAPTER XVIII

Out of the jaws of Death

Lying at full length upon the deck of the M.-L., Alec Seton underwent one of the most nerve-racking periods of his life. He could feel the wooden hull quivering under the pulsations of the powerful twin-engines, and the jarring thuds as missiles large and small struck the frail craft. By all the laws of naval warfare, M.-L. 254 ought to have been out of action long ago, for the Huns, finding their prey slipping through their fingers, redoubled their efforts to send the little boat to the bottom of the sea.

Machine-gun bullets sang through the air like the hum of a thousand angry bees. Men, crowded on the M.-L.'s deck, were hit over and over again. Of her own crew, the First Lieutenant and one of the deck hands were killed instantly, while the coxswain was badly wounded. Although three times hit, Lieutenant Drummond, M.-L. 254's skipper, stuck gamely to his post, cleared the entrance, ordered full speed ahead, and made for the open sea.

Into the merciful fog ran the little M.-L. Enveloped in mist, her human cargo was practically safe from fire, but another danger confronted the band of heroes.

The severe gruelling to which M.-L. 254 had been subjected had resulted, amongst other injuries, in the forepart being badly hulled 'twixt wind and water. In spite of every effort to stop the leaks, the M.-L. was settling by the bows.

Speed was promptly reduced in the hope that the inrush of water might be checked. At the same time sound-signals were made in order to get in touch with the off-shore destroyers. For nearly half an hour M.-L. 254 crawled along at slow speed without aid being forthcoming. It seemed as if her deck cargo of human beings--nearly all of them wounded--would soon be struggling for dear life in the numbing water, for the metal dinghy was hopelessly damaged and practically all the life-saving devices had been either swept overboard or destroyed by shell-fire.

Following the gallant and brilliant blocking operations, the threatened fate seemed doubly hard, yet with the heroic fortitude of their race the survivors made light of their difficulties, even laying odds on the chances of being picked up and cutting grim jokes upon the situation. They had faith that even in the fog and darkness the patrols would bear down in time to effect their rescue.

By this time the relative conditions of Seton and Branscombe were reversed. In spite of a slight wound from a shell splinter, Alec had practically recovered from his shaking. Although feeling stiff and bruised, he had regained the use of his limbs; while the wound, received as he lay upon the M.-L.'s deck, was little more than a skin-deep gash on his left cheek.

On the other hand, Branscombe, whose injury was more serious than he cared to admit, was feeling horribly weak from loss of blood. At last he had to give in and allow his chum to attend to his injuries.

With a knowledge of first aid--although hampered by the darkness--Alec cut away his chum's jumper. Just below the lowermost rib on the right side was a small puncture-wound, through which dark blood was welling sullenly. It was not enough to cause weakness unless the wound were bleeding internally. Very tenderly Seton turned his patient over on his side, and made the discovery that the machine-gun bullet had passed completely through, leaving a rather ugly wound where it had emerged.

By the help of a first-aid dressing, Alec succeeded in staunching the flow of blood; then, having done all that he could for the present, he sat down by his comrade's side and waited.

"We'll take to the ditch together, old son," he remarked. "I'll give you a hand. 'Sides, it'll soon be dawn, and then we'll be picked up."

Branscombe nodded in outward accord with his chum's plans. He knew perfectly well that Seton was deceiving him in an attempt to buoy up his spirits. It was some hours till dawn, and the temperature of the sea was too low to enable a man to keep afloat for more than twenty minutes.

"There'll be a fine old jamboree ashore if we are done in," remarked Branscombe. "I never told a soul that we were going on this stunt; not even my people."

"Neither did I," added Seton. "Officially we are on leave. That means we'll be posted as deserters if we fail to report. We were chumps not to take necessary precautions."

"Agreed," declared Branscombe. "It's the penalty for sailing under false colours. At anyrate we've been in the thick of the scrap, so that's some consolation. I say! think you could get me some water? My throat's like a lime-kiln."

Stepping over the prostrate forms of half a dozen exhausted and wounded men, Seton made his way to the companion-ladder leading to the little ward-room. A foot of water was flowing noisily to and fro over the floor. Abaft the bulk-head was the galley. For want of a cup Alec took down a small saucepan and held it under the tap of the water-tank.

The tank was empty. Even its large capacity was not sufficient for the needs of forty-odd thirsty men.

Foiled and disappointed Alec made for the deck. As he descended the ladder, a rousing cheer burst upon the night. Out of the fog a large vessel was bearing down upon the sinking M.-L.

Ten minutes later the survivors of M.-L. 254 and most of the _Vindictive's_ officers and men were safely on board H.M.S. _Warwick_, the flagship of Vice-Admiral Sir Roger Keyes, while M.-L. 254, her work accomplished, disappeared beneath the waves.

Equally daring was the brilliant affair of M.-L. 276, commanded, like M.-L. 254, by a Royal Naval Volunteer Lieutenant. No. 276 followed the _Vindictive_ into Ostend Harbour, her crew boldly engaging the Huns on both piers with machine-guns, as if to impress upon the enemy that they were there and intended to "make a splash". Running alongside the _Vindictive_, after M.-L. 254 had taken off the survivors, the crew of the frail little craft shouted and searched for any possible hands who, in the hurry of abandoning ship, might have been overlooked. Finding no one, the M.-L. backed away the while under a terrific fire. In the midst of a hail of shell and machine-gun bullets the crew of the M.-L. saw a boat floating keel upwards to which were clinging three men.

These were rescued under most difficult circumstances, for the three were badly wounded and practically unable to help themselves. It was afterwards found that one of the rescued was Lieutenant Sir John Alleyne, on whom the command of the _Vindictive_ had fallen on the death of the gallant Godsal.

Almost by a miracle M.-L. 276 got clear. Hit in fifty-five places and with three of her crew casualties, she managed to keep under way until picked up and taken in tow by the British monitor _Prince Eugene_.

The heroic ending of the old _Vindictive_ was literally the clinching of the last nail in the coffin of the Huns' Belgian Coast defences. St. George's Day had all but completed the work; 10th May, 1918 settled it. From that day the Belgian ports were useless to the enemy both as torpedo-boat and submarine bases. The Dover Patrol had closed and secured the Gateway of the Channel against all hostile traffic both on and under the sea.