The stern shivered again, moved, moved on as the cable groaned, coming around. The rock tore out of the bank like a tooth and the cable sagged and the capstan stopped. But Thunder’s stern pointed towards the sea and she floated.
Phizackerly breathed, “Gawd amighty!” He voiced the sentiments of many and one of them Garrick. Phizackerly thought there would be many a tale told about this lot. He would tell a few himself and he wouldn’t need to lie.
A party in the whaler recovered the cable and the boats were taken in tow again. The pinnace took station ahead and Thunder headed once more towards the open sea- stern first.
The channel ran straight. Only once she struck, hesitated for a second on a bar right under her until the engines went full astern and dragged her, grating, over into deep water beyond. Smith thought he could see the faintest wash of phosphorescence where the sea broke at the mouth of the channel and Phizackerly leaned wearily on the rail. “There she is, then. She’s yours, Mister.” He felt washed out, limp, drained by nervous tension. He thought that Smith and his men had laboured like madmen for the privilege of having their heads blown off.
The dinghy was hauled alongside. Smith scribbled in his notebook, ripped out the page and tucked it in the pocket of Phizackerly’s jacket. “A note for Mr. Cherry to say that you’ve done us all an enormous service tonight. Thank you.” He held out his hand and Phizackerly shook it. “The dinghy is yours. Away you go.”
‘“Thank you, sir.” Phizackerly sniffed and cleared his throat. “God bless you, sir. Good luck to all of yez.” He was properly embarrassed so that it came out in an awkward mumble as he headed for the ladder but they heard it and his sincerity. He was their last tie with the land. He went down into the dinghy and the seaman holding it there thrust it clear and climbed the ladder as the dinghy and Phizackerly bobbed away astern of them and was gone.
The boats came alongside and the men poured aboard and went straight to their action stations. Smith snarled at Kennedy, “Get ’em aboard! Quick as you can! Quicker!” Kennedy ran and Smith shouted after him, “And cast off the boats!” Garrick’s head jerked around although he knew the order would come. Smith knew Garrick believed they would need those boats, and he was right, but they could not waste a second now let alone the time needed to recover the boats.
The pinnace they towed.
In the fore-turret the 9.2 was cleared away. Farmer and Chalky White shipped the circuits for lighting the layers and trainers telescopes and Gibb the circuit for lighting the dials. Communications were tested.
Gibb’s heart thumped but he was watching the others and seeing the tension in their faces. Farmer turned his head and winked. Gibb licked his lips and grinned, feeling the muscles move stiffly. But they accepted him. He was back and one of the team; they needed him. Farmer had said, “Just do your job and hold on like the rest of us.”
He would.
A minute later they were clear of the widening channel. For minutes more Thunder steamed out to sea as they strained their eyes against the darkness, but there was no challenge, no sudden salvo smashed out of the dark.
There was a gradual stretching, an easing as the tension ran out of them, so that for the first time they were aware of the chill of the night, of weariness, thick mouths and gummy eyes. There was no sense of achievement, only disbelief that they had done it, that they had forced the channel. Only slowly did it come to them that they had slipped through the net.
Thunder was free.
XIV
Cherry was shot on the stroke of midnight. The German consulate was only minutes away but Muller was long abed, preparing to be out at Punta Negro when the dawn came. It was nearly an hour before his staff, after hearing of the shooting and then dithering, finally woke him. When they did he smelt a rat but his cautious, surreptitious enquiries took time and when he found out the police held Kaufmann he could not believe it. That fool was under orders to watch Thunder!
So it was three in the morning when he went hurrying through the dark alleys down to Kaufmann’s boat and got the story from the yawning engineer. Despite Muller’s efforts the British had found a diver and dragged up from the Gerda — what? He did not know. He could make a guess but it did not matter. They had been satisfied with what they had found and gone running with it to their Consul. That was enough. The British would demand more time for Thunder and would probably get it, though he would fight them. But he was in a bad position now.
One thing was clear: the cruisers must be informed.
Kaufmann’s boat cast off, surged away from the quay and headed for the channel. Muller was gratefully aware that he was leaving a hornets’ nest behind him; the Chileans would be hammering on his door soon and demanding explanations from him. He was grimly aware that he must return sometime and face them, but he had time. He needed time to think.
When they sighted the signalling station at Punta Negro they also sighted the lights that marked Thunder where she lay in Stillwater Cove and as they came abreast of the cove Muller glared in, then stared.
XV
Thunder was free, the Pacific open before her.
Free? It was an illusion. Smith said, “One man from each gun or department to the galley to draw. At the double!” And as the pipes squealed, “Slow ahead both.”
He left the bridge to Garrick and went down to give Manton his orders. The boy looked tired, strained, as also did Wakely who was now on duty on the bridge. Both had worked continuously through a long night. It was still night but the day was not far off and Smith thought it would not be a long one. He gave Manton the orders for the pinnace. “You’ll be running north along the coast, full speed ahead and you must not attempt to conceal it. No stoking restrictions now. You will maintain course and speed until you are recalled. Is that understood? Repeat the orders.”
Manton repeated them, stumbling on a word but correctly. Smith asked, “Any questions?” And when Manton hesitated, Smith told him why.
A messenger trotted up with a paper-wrapped, greasy bundle of sandwiches in one hand, a kettle of tea in the other and lowered them down to the pinnace. The two cooks had prepared a mountain of bacon sandwiches as Thunder had crept through the channel. A low cheer came up from the pinnace.
Smith held out his hand to Manton. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir. And to you, sir.”
Smith watched him climb down into the pinnace. He was sending Manton away with only Buckley and Quinn, the signalman, Rudkin the engineer and Jenner the stoker. He heard Manton give the course, saw the pinnace sheer off and heard Buckley’s pained, outraged protest: “Bloody ’ell! We’ll be seen for miles!”
Smith smiled bleakly and returned to the bridge. He stooped over the chart with Aitkyne and then ordered, “Steer three-four-oh.” He went to the voice-pipe and spoke to Davies in the engine room. “Chief, I’m going to want full speed ahead in a hurry.”
“Not now?” Davies knew they were clear of the channel, had slipped through the net.
“No. Revolutions for eight knots.” Smith turned away and far below in the clanging, roaring cavern of the stokehold the black gang spat on their hands and hefted their shovels.
He stood on the starboard wing of the bridge as Thunder headed out into the Pacific. Davies had thought they would be running full pelt for the north and safety but it was too soon for that. They had forced the channel and slipped the cruisers, but got clean away? That was too much to dare to hope for.