British Secret Service During the Great WarEveritt, Nicholas
History
British Secret Service During the Great War
Everitt, Nicholas
Secret service -- Great Britain; World War, 1914-1918 -- Secret service -- Great Britain
"That's the way to sacrifice the lot," I told him. "You don't suppose
those pirates will spare either ship or us."
Whilst we were slanging each other, a wild-eyed woman whose hair was all
down her back clutched the captain and demanded him to surrender at
once. "Save us, save us!" she wailed. Her embrace had to be forcibly
removed.
None of us aboard who took interest in life were agreeable to a stoppage
of the ship or to a surrender in any form. We bluntly said so. But the
captain claimed he was master aboard his own ship and should do as he
thought fit. Having thus delivered himself he proceeded aft and cut away
the lashing of three small rafts, each about ten feet by four, which
appeared to be the only hope of safety left for the forty or more people
aboard.
The engineers had stuck to their posts--all credit to their
bravery!--but the ship, having lost way, was drifting broadside on to
the submarine, which would soon have made her an easier mark to hit.
Whereupon one of the three military officers, a second lieutenant of
infantry, as arranged quickly between ourselves, mounted the bridge and
rang up the engine-room for full speed ahead.
He managed to heave her round and got her going again; and very, very
slowly she was made to steal further and further away. As soon as the
captain realised his vessel was moving he went back to the bridge,
reassumed command, and remained there.
For emergencies there is no school of learning to equal that of
wide-world travel. In a search for more floating accommodation my friend
and myself went forward and released the heavy coverings of the
fore-hold, which provided ten or a dozen good planks quite equal to surf
boards, such as we had seen used by Kanakas of the Sandwich Islands, and
where we had participated with them in the joys of surf-riding on the
Pacific breakers rolling in over the coral reefs. It was undoubtedly a
wise forethought.
Although the fighting lasted, from first shot to last, forty-two
minutes, it but seemed a few seconds to those whose minds were occupied
with the safety of the ship and the lives of all aboard her. We had
quite a lot to do and we were kept busy. Lifebelts had to be handed out
and correctly put on, cigarettes obtained from below and supplied to all
who cared for that form of nerve tonic, a great proportion of the
terrified women pacified, and the rafts arranged on deck with a captain
to each and fresh-water supplies provided.
As soon as necessary matters had been completed I got hold of my friend,
who was taking matters quite philosophically, and we ascended the poop
together to help take observation of our shell fire. Then we noticed
that our gun-layer was serving the gun alone, so I slipped down to him
to help get out more shells and to hand them up to his platform.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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