The Land That Time Forgot

Toward morning, I must have dozed, though it seemed to me at the time that I had lain awake for days, instead of hours.  When I finally opened my eyes, it was daylight, and the girl’s hair was in my face, and she was breathing normally.  I thanked God for that.  She had turned her head during the night so that as I opened my eyes I saw her face not an inch from mine, my lips almost touching hers.

It was Nobs who finally awoke her.  He got up, stretched, turned around a few times and lay down again, and the girl opened her eyes and looked into mine.  Hers went very wide at first, and then slowly comprehension came to her, and she smiled.

“You have been very good to me,” she said, as I helped her to rise, though if the truth were known I was more in need of assistance than she; the circulation all along my left side seeming to be paralyzed entirely.  “You have been very good to me.”  And that was the only mention she ever made of it; yet I know that she was thankful and that only reserve prevented her from referring to what, to say the least, was an embarrassing situation, however unavoidable.

Shortly after daylight we saw smoke apparently coming straight toward us, and after a time we made out the squat lines of a tug—­one of those fearless exponents of England’s supremacy of the sea that tows sailing ships into French and English ports.  I stood up on a thwart and waved my soggy coat above my head.  Nobs stood upon another and barked.  The girl sat at my feet straining her eyes toward the deck of the oncoming boat.  “They see us,” she said at last.  “There is a man answering your signal.”  She was right.  A lump came into my throat—­for her sake rather than for mine.  She was saved, and none too soon.  She could not have lived through another night upon the Channel; she might not have lived through the coming day.

The tug came close beside us, and a man on deck threw us a rope.  Willing hands dragged us to the deck, Nobs scrambling nimbly aboard without assistance.  The rough men were gentle as mothers with the girl.  Plying us both with questions they hustled her to the captain’s cabin and me to the boiler-room.  They told the girl to take off her wet clothes and throw them outside the door that they might be dried, and then to slip into the captain’s bunk and get warm.  They didn’t have to tell me to strip after I once got into the warmth of the boiler-room.  In a jiffy, my clothes hung about where they might dry most quickly, and I myself was absorbing, through every pore, the welcome heat of the stifling compartment.  They brought us hot soup and coffee, and then those who were not on duty sat around and helped me damn the Kaiser and his brood.

As soon as our clothes were dry, they bade us don them, as the chances were always more than fair in those waters that we should run into trouble with the enemy, as I was only too well aware.  What with the warmth and the feeling of safety for the girl, and the knowledge that a little rest and food would quickly overcome the effects of her experiences of the past dismal hours, I was feeling more content than I had experienced since those three whistle-blasts had shattered the peace of my world the previous afternoon.

But peace upon the Channel has been but a transitory thing since August, 1914.  It proved itself such that morning, for I had scarce gotten into my dry clothes and taken the girl’s apparel to the captain’s cabin when an order was shouted down into the engine-room for full speed ahead, and an instant later I heard the dull boom of a gun.  In a moment I was up on deck to see an enemy submarine about two hundred yards off our port bow.  She had signaled us to stop, and our skipper had ignored the order; but now she had her gun trained on us, and the second shot grazed the cabin, warning the belligerent tug-captain that it was time to obey.  Once again an order went down to the engine-room, and the tug reduced speed.  The U-boat ceased firing and ordered the tug to come about and approach.  Our momentum had carried us a little beyond the enemy craft, but we were turning now on the arc of a circle that would bring us alongside her.  As I stood watching the maneuver and wondering what was to become of us, I felt something touch my elbow and turned to see the girl standing at my side.  She looked up into my face with a rueful expression.  “They seem bent on our destruction,” she said, “and it looks like the same boat that sunk us yesterday.”

“It is,” I replied.  “I know her well.  I helped design her and took her out on her first run.”

The girl drew back from me with a little exclamation of surprise and disappointment.  “I thought you were an American,” she said.  “I had no idea you were a—­a—­”

“Nor am I,” I replied.  “Americans have been building submarines for all nations for many years.  I wish, though, that we had gone bankrupt, my father and I, before ever we turned out that Frankenstein of a thing.”

We were approaching the U-boat at half speed now, and I could almost distinguish the features of the men upon her deck.  A sailor stepped to my side and slipped something hard and cold into my hand.  I did not have to look at it to know that it was a heavy pistol.  “Tyke ‘er an’ use ’er,” was all he said.

Our bow was pointed straight toward the U-boat now as I heard word passed to the engine for full speed ahead.  I instantly grasped the brazen effrontery of the plucky English skipper—­he was going to ram five hundreds tons of U-boat in the face of her trained gun.  I could scarce repress a cheer.  At first the boches didn’t seem to grasp his intention.  Evidently they thought they were witnessing an exhibition of poor seamanship, and they yelled their warnings to the tug to reduce speed and throw the helm hard to port.

We were within fifty feet of them when they awakened to the intentional menace of our maneuver.  Their gun crew was off its guard; but they sprang to their piece now and sent a futile shell above our heads.  Nobs leaped about and barked furiously.  “Let ’em have it!” commanded the tug-captain, and instantly revolvers and rifles poured bullets upon the deck of the submersible.  Two of the gun-crew went down; the other trained their piece at the water-line of the oncoming tug.  The balance of those on deck replied to our small-arms fire, directing their efforts toward the man at our wheel.

I hastily pushed the girl down the companionway leading to the engine-room, and then I raised my pistol and fired my first shot at a boche.  What happened in the next few seconds happened so quickly that details are rather blurred in my memory.  I saw the helmsman lunge forward upon the wheel, pulling the helm around so that the tug sheered off quickly from her course, and I recall realizing that all our efforts were to be in vain, because of all the men aboard, Fate had decreed that this one should fall first to an enemy bullet.  I saw the depleted gun-crew on the submarine fire their piece and I felt the shock of impact and heard the loud explosion as the shell struck and exploded in our bows.

I saw and realized these things even as I was leaping into the pilot-house and grasping the wheel, standing astride the dead body of the helmsman.  With all my strength I threw the helm to starboard; but it was too late to effect the purpose of our skipper.  The best I did was to scrape alongside the sub.  I heard someone shriek an order into the engine-room; the boat shuddered and trembled to the sudden reversing of the engines, and our speed quickly lessened.  Then I saw what that madman of a skipper planned since his first scheme had gone wrong.

With a loud-yelled command, he leaped to the slippery deck of the submersible, and at his heels came his hardy crew.  I sprang from the pilot-house and followed, not to be left out in the cold when it came to strafing the boches.  From the engine room companionway came the engineer and stockers, and together we leaped after the balance of the crew and into the hand-to-hand fight that was covering the wet deck with red blood.  Beside me came Nobs, silent now, and grim.  Germans were emerging from the open hatch to take part in the battle on deck.  At first the pistols cracked amidst the cursing of the men and the loud commands of the commander and his junior; but presently we were too indiscriminately mixed to make it safe to use our firearms, and the battle resolved itself into a hand-to-hand struggle for possession of the deck.

The sole aim of each of us was to hurl one of the opposing force into the sea.  I shall never forget the hideous expression upon the face of the great Prussian with whom chance confronted me.  He lowered his head and rushed at me, bellowing like a bull.  With a quick side-step and ducking low beneath his outstretched arms, I eluded him; and as he turned to come back at me, I landed a blow upon his chin which sent him spinning toward the edge of the deck.  I saw his wild endeavors to regain his equilibrium; I saw him reel drunkenly for an instant upon the brink of eternity and then, with a loud scream, slip into the sea.  At the same instant a pair of giant arms encircled me from behind and lifted me entirely off my feet.  Kick and squirm as I would, I could neither turn toward my antagonist nor free myself from his maniacal grasp.  Relentlessly he was rushing me toward the side of the vessel and death.  There was none to stay him, for each of my companions was more than occupied by from one to three of the enemy.  For an instant I was fearful for myself, and then I saw that which filled me with a far greater terror for another.

My boche was bearing me toward the side of the submarine against which the tug was still pounding.  That I should be ground to death between the two was lost upon me as I saw the girl standing alone upon the tug’s deck, as I saw the stern high in air and the bow rapidly settling for the final dive, as I saw death from which I could not save her clutching at the skirts of the woman I now knew all too well that I loved.

I had perhaps the fraction of a second longer to live when I heard an angry growl behind us mingle with a cry of pain and rage from the giant who carried me.  Instantly he went backward to the deck, and as he did so he threw his arms outwards to save himself, freeing me.  I fell heavily upon him, but was upon my feet in the instant.  As I arose, I cast a single glance at my opponent.  Never again would he menace me or another, for Nob’s great jaws had closed upon his throat.  Then I sprang toward the edge of the deck closest to the girl upon the sinking tug.

“Jump!” I cried.  “Jump!” And I held out my arms to her.  Instantly as though with implicit confidence in my ability to save her, she leaped over the side of the tug onto the sloping, slippery side of the U-boat.  I reached far over to seize her hand.  At the same instant the tug pointed its stern straight toward the sky and plunged out of sight.  My hand missed the girl’s by a fraction of an inch, and I saw her slip into the sea; but scarce had she touched the water when I was in after her.

The sinking tug drew us far below the surface; but I had seized her the moment I struck the water, and so we went down together, and together we came up—­a few yards from the U-boat.  The first thing I heard was Nobs barking furiously; evidently he had missed me and was searching.  A single glance at the vessel’s deck assured me that the battle was over and that we had been victorious, for I saw our survivors holding a handful of the enemy at pistol points while one by one the rest of the crew was coming out of the craft’s interior and lining up on deck with the other prisoners.

As I swam toward the submarine with the girl, Nobs’ persistent barking attracted the attention of some of the tug’s crew, so that as soon as we reached the side there were hands to help us aboard.  I asked the girl if she was hurt, but she assured me that she was none the worse for this second wetting; nor did she seem to suffer any from shock.  I was to learn for myself that this slender and seemingly delicate creature possessed the heart and courage of a warrior.

As we joined our own party, I found the tug’s mate checking up our survivors.  There were ten of us left, not including the girl.  Our brave skipper was missing, as were eight others.  There had been nineteen of us in the attacking party and we had accounted in one way and another during the battle for sixteen Germans and had taken nine prisoners, including the commander.  His lieutenant had been killed.

“Not a bad day’s work,” said Bradley, the mate, when he had completed his roll.  “Only losing the skipper,” he added, “was the worst.  He was a fine man, a fine man.”

Olson—­who in spite of his name was Irish, and in spite of his not being Scotch had been the tug’s engineer—­was standing with Bradley and me.  “Yis,” he agreed, “it’s a day’s wor-rk we’re after doin’, but what are we goin’ to be doin’ wid it now we got it?”

“We’ll run her into the nearest English port,” said Bradley, “and then we’ll all go ashore and get our V. C.’s,” he concluded, laughing.

“How you goin’ to run her?” queried Olson.  “You can’t trust these Dutchmen.”

Bradley scratched his head.  “I guess you’re right,” he admitted.  “And I don’t know the first thing about a sub.”

“I do,” I assured him.  “I know more about this particular sub than the officer who commanded her.”

Both men looked at me in astonishment, and then I had to explain all over again as I had explained to the girl.  Bradley and Olson were delighted.  Immediately I was put in command, and the first thing I did was to go below with Olson and inspect the craft thoroughly for hidden boches and damaged machinery.  There were no Germans below, and everything was intact and in ship-shape working order.  I then ordered all hands below except one man who was to act as lookout.  Questioning the Germans, I found that all except the commander were willing to resume their posts and aid in bringing the vessel into an English port.  I believe that they were relieved at the prospect of being detained at a comfortable English prison-camp for the duration of the war after the perils and privations through which they had passed.  The officer, however, assured me that he would never be a party to the capture of his vessel.

There was, therefore, nothing to do but put the man in irons.  As we were preparing to put this decision into force, the girl descended from the deck.  It was the first time that she or the German officer had seen each other’s faces since we had boarded the U-boat.  I was assisting the girl down the ladder and still retained a hold upon her arm—­possibly after such support was no longer necessary—­when she turned and looked squarely into the face of the German.  Each voiced a sudden exclamation of surprise and dismay.

“Lys!” he cried, and took a step toward her.

The girl’s eyes went wide, and slowly filled with a great horror, as she shrank back.  Then her slender figure stiffened to the erectness of a soldier, and with chin in air and without a word she turned her back upon the officer.

“Take him away,” I directed the two men who guarded him, “and put him in irons.”

When he had gone, the girl raised her eyes to mine.  “He is the German of whom I spoke,” she said.  “He is Baron von Schoenvorts.”

I merely inclined my head.  She had loved him!  I wondered if in her heart of hearts she did not love him yet.  Immediately I became insanely jealous.  I hated Baron Friedrich von Schoenvorts with such utter intensity that the emotion thrilled me with a species of exaltation.

But I didn’t have much chance to enjoy my hatred then, for almost immediately the lookout poked his face over the hatchway and bawled down that there was smoke on the horizon, dead ahead.  Immediately I went on deck to investigate, and Bradley came with me.

“If she’s friendly,” he said, “we’ll speak her.  If she’s not, we’ll sink her—­eh, captain?”

“Yes, lieutenant,” I replied, and it was his turn to smile.

We hoisted the Union Jack and remained on deck, asking Bradley to go below and assign to each member of the crew his duty, placing one Englishman with a pistol beside each German.

“Half speed ahead,” I commanded.

More rapidly now we closed the distance between ourselves and the stranger, until I could plainly see the red ensign of the British merchant marine.  My heart swelled with pride at the thought that presently admiring British tars would be congratulating us upon our notable capture; and just about then the merchant steamer must have sighted us, for she veered suddenly toward the north, and a moment later dense volumes of smoke issued from her funnels.  Then, steering a zigzag course, she fled from us as though we had been the bubonic plague.  I altered the course of the submarine and set off in chase; but the steamer was faster than we, and soon left us hopelessly astern.

With a rueful smile, I directed that our original course be resumed, and once again we set off toward merry England.  That was three months ago, and we haven’t arrived yet; nor is there any likelihood that we ever shall.  The steamer we had just sighted must have wirelessed a warning, for it wasn’t half an hour before we saw more smoke on the horizon, and this time the vessel flew the white ensign of the Royal Navy and carried guns.  She didn’t veer to the north or anywhere else, but bore down on us rapidly.  I was just preparing to signal her, when a flame flashed from her bows, and an instant later the water in front of us was thrown high by the explosion of a shell.

Bradley had come on deck and was standing beside me.  “About one more of those, and she’ll have our range,” he said.  “She doesn’t seem to take much stock in our Union Jack.”

A second shell passed over us, and then I gave the command to change our direction, at the same time directing Bradley to go below and give the order to submerge.  I passed Nobs down to him, and following, saw to the closing and fastening of the hatch.

It seemed to me that the diving-tanks never had filled so slowly.  We heard a loud explosion apparently directly above us; the craft trembled to the shock which threw us all to the deck.  I expected momentarily to feel the deluge of inrushing water, but none came.  Instead we continued to submerge until the manometer registered forty feet and then I knew that we were safe.  Safe!  I almost smiled.  I had relieved Olson, who had remained in the tower at my direction, having been a member of one of the early British submarine crews, and therefore having some knowledge of the business.  Bradley was at my side.  He looked at me quizzically.

“What the devil are we to do?” he asked.  “The merchantman will flee us; the war-vessel will destroy us; neither will believe our colors or give us a chance to explain.  We will meet even a worse reception if we go nosing around a British port—­mines, nets and all of it.  We can’t do it.”

“Let’s try it again when this fellow has lost the scent,” I urged.  “There must come a ship that will believe us.”

And try it again we did, only to be almost rammed by a huge freighter.  Later we were fired upon by a destroyer, and two merchantmen turned and fled at our approach.  For two days we cruised up and down the Channel trying to tell some one, who would listen, that we were friends; but no one would listen.  After our encounter with the first warship I had given instructions that a wireless message be sent out explaining our predicament; but to my chagrin I discovered that both sending and receiving instruments had disappeared.

“There is only one place you can go,” von Schoenvorts sent word to me, “and that is Kiel.  You can’t land anywhere else in these waters.  If you wish, I will take you there, and I can promise that you will be treated well.”

“There is another place we can go,” I sent back my reply, “and we will before we’ll go to Germany.  That place is hell.”