On the Bed of the Sea
For the next twenty-four hours nothing exciting occurred. The U-boat
kept to the surface as much as possible, running under her petrol
motors at fifteen knots. To exceed that pace would mean too great a
consumption of fuel, and already the vessel was short of petrol.
Kapitan Schwalbe was prone to act on the side of extreme caution.
Having sunk one vessel, he would not tackle another in the same
vicinity. He invariably put at least a hundred miles between him and
the scene of his latest ignominious exploit before attempting another
act of kultur.
Three times during that twenty-four hours he dived: twice on sighting
what were unquestionably Bristol Channel pilot-boats, and on the third
occasion when a Penzance lugger under motor-power (for it was a dead
calm) crossed his track.
All this time a regular stream of shipping was passing up and down the
Bristol Channel, as unconcernedly as in the piping days of peace. To
anyone but a bumptious German, the sight would have told its own tale;
for the British Mercantile Marine, used to danger and difficulties, was
not to be deterred by the "frightfulness" of von Tirpitz's blockade.
On the contrary, the possibility of falling in with a hostile submarine
gave an unwonted spice to the everyday routine of the toilers of the
sea.
After breakfast on the following morning Ross and Vernon were told to
go on deck. The sea was still calm, and the submarine, now running
awash at full speed, was cleaving the water with practically dry decks.
The lads soon realized what was in progress. A couple of miles away
was a large ocean cargo-boat, outward bound, and U75 was in pursuit.
Trefusis and his chum were not allowed for'ard, where the quick-firer
was already in position for opening fire. They were ordered abaft the
conning-tower, the hatch of which was open.
Kapitan Schwalbe's head and shoulders could be seen projecting above
the opening. On the raised grating surrounding the conning-tower,
stood a boyish-looking Unter-leutnant. Hermann Rix was nowhere to be
seen. Apparently his duties compelled him to remain below.
Presently the quick-firer barked, and a projectile struck the water
about a hundred yards from the starboard side of the pursued vessel.
With the discharge of the gun, a sailor hoisted the black cross ensign
of Germany from a small flagstaff aft, while a signal in the
International Code ordering the British vessel to heave to instantly
fluttered from the light mast immediately abaft the conning-tower.
The only response from the chase was the hoisting of the red ensign,
for previously she had shown no colours. Slowly, defiantly, the
bunting was hauled close up, and ironically "dipped" three times.
Again and again the submarine's bow-chaser fired. The shells were well
aimed as regards direction, but all fell short. Imperceptibly the
merchantman had increased distance.
"Look at the fools!" Ross heard the Kapitan remark, as he kept his
binoculars focused on his intended prey. "They are trying to snapshot
us. Are all Englishmen so blind to peril?"
"Are you sure they haven't a couple of quick-firers mounted aft, sir?"
asked the Unter-leutnant. "There are several men gathered round
something on the poop."
"Himmel, I hope not!" ejaculated Schwalbe. "But no; had they any guns
they would have opened fire before now. What is the matter with our
gun-layer? It is about time he got a shell home."
The Unter-leutnant lowered himself on the foredeck, and shouted angrily
at the seaman whose duty it was to "lay" the bow-chasers. The man
again bent over the sights.
This time the shell pitched ahead of the chase, but slightly to port.
Some of the spray thrown up by the projectile fell on board.
"Is that the best you can do, you brainless idiot?" shouted Schwalbe
wrathfully. Now that he was in pursuit he was loath to be baffled, but
at the same time he realized that the submarine was using a lot of
precious fuel and a prodigious amount of ammunition without any
definite result.
In the midst of his torrent of abuse directed upon the luckless
gun-layer, Kapitan Schwalbe suddenly stopped. Gripping the rim of the
oval hatchway he gazed, horror-stricken, at two objects bobbing in the
water directly in the path of the submarine. Then, recovering his
voice, he shouted to the quartermaster to port helm.
The fellow obeyed promptly, but it was too late. Practically
simultaneously, two barrels swung round and crashed alongside the
submarine's hull.
Officers and men, expecting momentarily to find themselves blown into
the air, stood stock-still. Then, as nothing so disastrous occurred,
Schwalbe gave orders for easy astern.
The barrels, connected by a span of grass rope, had been thrown
overboard from the pursued vessel, in the hope that the submarine would
foul her propellers in the tangle of line. Once a blade picked up that
trailing rope, the latter would coil round the boss as tightly as a
band of flexible steel.
The plan all but succeeded; only the metal guards protecting the
propellers saved them from being hopelessly jammed. Yet the attempt
was attended with good results as far as the British ship was
concerned, for by the time U75 had lost way and had cautiously backed
away from the obstruction, the swift cargo-vessel had gained a distance
that put her beyond all chance of being overhauled.
Infuriated by his failure, Kapitan Schwalbe went aft and descended into
his cabin. He was hardly conscious of the presence of his two
involuntary guests as he passed. He was thinking of the fate that had
consigned him to a perilous and uncongenial task. Without doubt the
vessel he had been pursuing was equipped with wireless, and by this
time a number of those dreaded hornets would be tearing towards the
spot. To add to his discomfiture it was reported to him that the
reserve of fuel on board had seriously dwindled. In order to remain
effective it was necessary that U75 should replenish her tanks before
another forty-eight hours had passed.
According to his customary tactics, Schwalbe ordered the submarine to
dive to sixty feet. At that depth she would be safe from any
possibility of being rammed. Provided she could avoid the under-water
obstructions with which the British naval authorities had sown the bed
of the sea at almost every point likely to be frequented by lurking
hostile submarines, she was in no actual danger.
Gaining his diminutive cabin, Schwalbe by sheer force of habit
consulted the aneroid. The mercury was falling rapidly. Since he last
looked, barely two hours previously, it had dropped 764 to 734
millimetres, or an inch and two-tenths. That meant that the
anti-cyclone was rapidly breaking up, and that a severe gale was
approaching with considerable swiftness.
U75 must submerge and seek shelter. It was impossible for her to keep
at a uniform depth unless she maintained steerage-way; that meant a
great demand upon her storage batteries. She could not remain on the
bottom of the sea in a heavy gale, owing to the constant "pumping" or
up-and-down movements caused by the varying pressure of passing waves,
unless she sought a sheltered roadstead--and sheltered roadsteads were
generally mined, or guarded by some ingenious device that had already
accounted for several of U75's consorts.
Producing a chart of the Bristol Channel, Schwalbe unfolded and spread
it upon a table. Then, in conjunction with a translation of the latest
British Admiralty guide to the west coast of England, he proceeded to
select what he hoped would be a snug shelter during the coming storm.
"Herr Rix!" he shouted. "I'll make for this anchorage. There's every
indication of a strong blow from the nor'-east."
"This" was Helwick Channel, a deep, almost blind passage between the
Glamorgan coast and an outlying submerged reef known as the East and
West Helwick. In fine weather it was a short cut for traders plying
between Llanelly and Swansea. In bad weather it was a place to be
avoided, as far as sailing vessels were concerned. Sheltered by the
bold outlines of Worm's Head, it ought to prove an ideal lurking-place
until the gale had blown itself out, for there was little danger of the
place being used as an anchorage, since vessels preferred to give the
rock-bound coast a wide berth. On this account, it was also highly
probable that the Helwick channel had not been safe-guarded by the
British naval authorities.
Just before sunset, U75, having made the passage unobserved, brought up
in twelve fathoms of water, resting evenly on the firm, hard sands at
the bottom.
Ross and his chum turned in early. There was nothing for them to do.
They held aloof from the crew; there were no books to entertain them,
no games to amuse them. The submarine was now motionless, sufficient
water ballast having been taken in to allow her to settle firmly upon
the bottom; but, in order to be prepared, the anchor was let go. Thus
not the slightest movement of the hull was apparent. The rest, after
hours of erratic movement on the oily swell, was a welcome one.
The lads had set their joint watch by the submarine's time, which,
being mid-European standard, was one hour fast of Greenwich.
For several hours they slept soundly and undisturbed. Suddenly they
were both awakened by the muffled tramp of men in heavy sea-boots. The
solitary light in the alley-way was switched off; the water-tight doors
were firmly closed. Already the air in the confined space was stifling.
"What has happened?" asked Vernon anxiously, for the vessel, instead of
resting immovably upon the bed of the channel, was now rolling
sluggishly. Yet she could not be under way, for the motors were silent.
Springing from his bunk, Ross felt for the switch of the electric
light. It was already down, yet the flow of current was interrupted.
"Let's find out," he said. "Come along."
The lads, before turning in, had carefully laid out their clothes, so
as to be ready to slip into them at a moment's notice, yet it was a
matter of considerable difficulty to dress in the dark.
"The door's closed," announced Ross as the lads groped their way to the
end of the alley-way.
"I believe the submarine's holed," suggested Haye.
"No; she wouldn't lift as she's doing. Besides, the crew are moving
about. Let's bang on the door with our boots."
For several minutes they hammered, but without result. The air, never
very fresh, was now almost unbearable, owing to lack of ventilation.
The imprisoned youths began to get desperate.
Then, without warning, the door slid back. The alley-way was flooded
with brilliant light.
"Make haste!" shouted a voice which the lads recognized as that of Hans
Koppe. At the same time he grasped Ross by the shoulder and literally
dragged him across the steel threshold. Vernon followed quickly, but
barely had he gained the compartment beyond than the massive steel door
shot back again.
"Didn't you hear the order all hands for'ard?" asked Hans, not
unkindly, for the white faces of the English lads told their own tale.
"No," replied Ross. "Besides, we are not included in the 'hands', are
we?"
"You'll have to bear the consequences if you don't obey," rejoined
Koppe. "I'm supposed to be looking after you, but how was I to know
you hadn't turned out? Fortunately for you, I heard your knocking, and
asked Herr Kapitan to open the doors. He was angry, but did so."
"What has happened then?" asked Trefusis, for the seaman seemed in a
communicative mood.
"A shift of wind. It's blowing great guns up aloft, and there's a
terrific tumble into this channel. We've dragged, or, rather, swung
round our anchor."
"But we are safe enough?" asked Vernon.
"Yes, safe," replied Hans. "Too safe; we cannot break out our anchor.
They are sending a diver to see what is amiss."
Evidently the diving arrangements on board were not considered to be of
a confidential nature, for Hans led the way to the compartment under
the fore-hatch, without the lads being sent back by the significant
word "verboten".
A man was preparing for a submarine walk. He was already dressed in an
india-rubber suit, with leaden weights attached to his chest, back, and
boots. Two others were standing by, ready to place the helmet over his
head, when Leutnant Rix had finished giving him minute directions.
The officer spoke rapidly and in a low tone. Ross could not catch all
he said, but the words "gefährliche Strömungen" (dangerous currents)
and "Der Wendepunkt der Flut" (slack water) and "Drei Viertel funf" (a
quarter to five) occurred frequently.
Vernon glanced at his watch. It was then a minute after four.
Apparently Rix was impressing upon the man that he must clear the
anchor at slack water, which occurred at a quarter to five.
The two attendants then proceeded to place the diver's helmet on his
head. The lads noticed that it had neither air-tube nor telephone
wire. Nor was there a life-line attached to his waist. Fresh air was
obtained from a metal case strapped to his back. The man was able to
work independently, and without having to rely upon his air supply from
the submarine.
The oval door in the diving-chamber was thrown open. The diver
entered, and the water-tight panel was quickly replaced. One of the
seamen thrust over a short lever, and immediately water rushed into the
small compartment. As soon as the space was filled the diver was able
to open a similar door in the outer plating of the submarine, and thus
gain the bed of the sea.
Presently Leutnant Rix turned, and saw for the first time that Ross and
Vernon were discreetly standing in the background.
"Go away. It is forbidden!" he shouted angrily.
They obeyed promptly, retreating to the space allotted to the crew,
since it was neither desirable nor possible to return to their bunks.
For some minutes the luckless Hans Koppe was subjected to a severe
dressing-down by his hot-headed officer, and when at length the seaman
rejoined the lads he was in no humour to resume conversation.
Slowly the minutes sped. The submarine was still rolling sluggishly,
in spite of the fact that more water had been admitted into the ballast
tanks.
The men were talking seriously amongst themselves. From scraps of
conversation that drifted to the lads' ears, it was evident that they
had grave doubts concerning the ability of the diver to perform his
task, and even of his chances of regaining the submarine, owing to the
violent disturbances of the water.
Presently the motion of the anchored submarine became more acute. A
weird grating sound--the noise made by the hull rasping over the bed of
the sea--was distinctly audible.
One of the seamen produced a pocket compass. His startled exclamation
brought other members of the crew around him. The magnetic needle was
apparently describing a semicircle. U75 was swinging round her anchor.
Just then a bell tinkled, and a disc oscillated on the indicator board
on the bulkhead. Instantly the two men who had been told off as
attendants upon the diver hurried aft, while their companions crowded
expectantly around the door.
The two men came back, staggering under the weight of the diver. They
had already removed his head-dress and leaden weights. Water dropped
from his rubber suit. His face was livid, his eyes wide open and
rolling. One of his bare hands was streaked with blood that flowed
sullenly from a cut in his numbed flesh.
Kapitan Schwalbe and Leutnant Rix followed him into the crew-space. It
was not through feelings of compassion that they had come for'ard. It
was acute anxiety to hear the diver's report.
The luckless man was laid upon the mess-table. His attendants divested
him of his diving-suit, and rubbed his body with rough towels. A petty
officer poured half a glass of brandy down his throat.
"What is amiss?" Kapitan Schwalbe kept on repeating.
With a great effort the diver sat up.
"An anchor, sir," he gasped feebly. "An anchor--an English naval
pattern one--has been dropped right over ours. A very big one."
Then his eyes closed, and he fell back unconscious.
"Gott in Himmel!" ejaculated Rix. "We are trapped!"