The "Havornen's" Warning
Down to fifteen fathoms R19 plunged under the influence of her
diving-rudders and water-ballast admitted to her buoyancy-tanks.
Then, turning eight points to starboard, she shaped a course that
would bring her on a diverging track to that of the destroyer.
Already torpedoes had been "launched in" in both bow and broadside
tubes, ready for instant liberation the moment R19 picked up her
target. Overhead could be distinctly heard the thresh of the vessel's
propellers.
"The silly josser!" muttered the Hon. Derek. "She's slowing down. To
capture the boats most likely. Well, that's her funeral, so here
goes."
Having deemed that the submarine was within striking distance, her
Lieutenant-Commander brought her carefully towards the surface,
slowly, lest a perceptible disturbance of the water should betray her
presence.
Suddenly the object-bowl of the conning-tower periscope was flooded
with light. Right in the centre of the field of vision appeared the
destroyer at a distance of 800 yards. Without having to "con" the
submarine either to port or starboard, Stockdale was in a position to
let loose a couple of 21-inch torpedoes with almost certain chance of
success.
With their senses keenly on the alert, the L.T.O.'s awaited the order
that would send the deadly missiles on their way--but the order did
not come.
Close alongside the destroyer lay R19's whaler. A short distance from
the latter was the Berthon, making her way towards her. Both were in
the direct line of fire. It was one of those perplexing problems that
the naval officer has frequently to solve. Ought he, in the certain
chance of sending an important unit of the enemy's fleet to the
bottom, to sacrifice deliberately the lives of a dozen of his own
men? In an above-water engagement between two destroyers a skipper
would, perhaps, have to accept the risk of having half his ship's
company put out of action before he could claim the fruits of
victory. From a purely professional point of view it would be a
sacrifice well made, although deplorable; but in the present instance
it looked like a cold-blooded butchery of his compatriots.
Even as he looked, Stockdale noticed that the destroyer's
quick-firers, instead of being trained abeam, were fore and aft, and
not manned for action. Most of the crew were clustered along the side
watching the submarine's boats, but making no hostile demonstrations.
Just then a waft of air bore down. The stranger's ensign fluttered in
the faint breeze.
It was a white cross on a red, swallow-tailed field: the naval
ensign of Denmark.
Even then the Hon. Derek had his doubts. The new-comer might be a Hun
under false colours, and might open fire without troubling to
substitute the dishonoured Black Cross Ensign of Germany for the flag
she was displaying. The fact that the guns were not manned rather
knocked that theory on the head. Nevertheless R19, with the tips of
her periscopes showing, forged ahead until her Lieutenant-Commander
was able to read the name on the destroyer's stern--_Havornen_.
Giving the order to the torpedo-men to "stand fast", Stockdale
brought the submarine awash at a distance of 200 yards dead astern of
the _Havornen_. Then, emerging from the conning-tower, and followed
by Macquare and the Sub, he punctiliously exchanged salutes with the
officer commanding the destroyer.
None of the submarine's officers could speak Danish. Fordyce knew a
few words, picked up during his service with the Royal Seal Line, but
not sufficient to carry on a conversation. Still in a quandary, they
were agreeably surprised when the Danish officer addressed them in
English.
"I am glad to see you!" he exclaimed, when the two craft drew within
hailing distance. "I thought, until I spoke to your men in the boats,
that you were Germans."
By his tone the Dane clearly indicated that his pleasure would not
have been anything so cordial if the submarine flew the Black Cross
Ensign.
"Thanks!" replied the Hon. Derek; "and we reciprocate your
expressions of greeting." He did not think it advisable to
congratulate the Danes upon their narrow escape of being blown out of
the water. "Might I call your attention to the fact that you are
within a couple of miles of a German mine-field?"
"Is that so?" asked the Danish officer. "It must have been the work
of a submarine mine-layer--the one that is now hard and fast aground
off Laeso. We will proceed, and set to work to destroy the Germans'
vile handiwork. Thank you for the information. In return, let me warn
you: the Germans have recently laid a new mine-field at the south
entrance of the Sound; so if your Government has given you
instructions, the information will most likely be misleading. More
than that I dare not say, but you have our best wishes."
With another exchange of courtesies the British and Danish vessels
separated, the _Havornen_ making towards the region of the floating
mines, where, presently, musketry reports and, anon, the heavy roars
of a powerful explosive being liberated were evidences that the work
of clearing the deadly menace to neutral shipping was in active
process.
R19, having picked up her boats, gathered way and an hour later was
rounding the Skaw. Here a course S. 3/4 E. was set through the
Kattegat. Beyond lay the Sound, where one of the greatest ordeals in
modern naval warfare was awaiting the dauntless submarine--the
threading of the intricate, uncharted mine-field guarding the
principal entrance to the Baltic Sea.
"Jolly decent of that Dane," remarked Fordyce as he stood with
Lieutenant Macquare upon the navigation-platform. "There's not much
doubt as to which way his sympathies incline."
"It was," agreed Macquare. "I feel sorry for Denmark, one of the most
decent neutral countries, looking on at the great stunt. She'd come
in like a shot--she still remembers being robbed of
Schleswig-Holstein--but it would be the case of Roumania all over
again. With the German fleet having pretty nearly its own way in the
Baltic it would be suicidal policy for Denmark to chip in. Well, I
suppose another twenty-four hours will either see us in the Baltic or
else at the bottom of it."
"This new mine-field has upset our calculations," said the Sub. "Yet
I suppose we'll manage it somehow--we usually do," he added
optimistically.
In defiance of all international treaties the Huns had mined the
territorial waters of the Sound, a strait averaging five miles in
width between Sweden and the Danish island of Zeeland. The mines were
"contact" ones, anchored by means of sinkers and so arranged that the
cylinders containing the explosive charges were at varying depths. A
submarine stood an equally poor chance whether she kept just below
the surface or crept along the bottom of the channel. The original
"field" consisted of three parallel rows, the first 12 feet from the
surface, the second about the same distance from the bed of the sea,
the third midway betwixt the bottom and the surface. Through the
danger zone was a narrow channel, guarded by patrol boats and
destroyers. The British Admiralty had obtained information of this
opening and had used the knowledge to good advantage, when, early in
the war, British submarines had paralysed Germany's trade with Sweden
and the harbours of Stralsund, Danzig, and Memel were chock-a-block
with merchantmen afraid to venture across the comparatively narrow
stretch of water to obtain badly-wanted cargoes of Swedish iron-ore
and foodstuffs.
Now, more than likely, the mine-field was increased in width. There
were also reports that the Huns were employing steel nets as an
additional safeguard, and had augmented the number of patrol boats.
Zeppelins and sea-planes, too, had been constantly sighted south of
the Danish islands, so that R19 was "up against" a particularly tough
proposition.
"Yes; it's easier for a mosquito to find its way through the curtains
of an old West Coaster's bed than for a submarine to nose herself
into the Baltic," declared Macquare. "But we'll do it, laddie, you
mark my words."
Whenever the Lieutenant's grim determination showed itself he
involuntarily rolled his "R's". He did so on this occasion, and
Fordyce knew that Macquare was revelling in the prospect.
It was night. Although land was within ten miles on the port hand not
a light was visible. The island of Anholt had been left astern.
Another hour's run ought to bring the submarine within sight of
Elsinore at the starboard side of the Sound.
At the Lieutenant-Commander's request Flirt had been sent below, much
to her disgust, as she appreciated the night watches crouching on
deck at her master's feet. But now absolute silence was imperative.
By the sense of hearing as much as that of sight were the crew to
guard against the dangers of the unlighted channel.
Just before midnight two topsail schooners were observed, bearing
northwards. Without attempting to submerge, R19 held on, knowing that
her low-lying shape would be indistinguishable except from a distance
of a few yards. Then came a tug, displaying navigation lights and
three masthead lamps, showing that she was towing a vessel over six
hundred feet in length. These were indications that the submarine was
approaching Denmark's principal seaport, and, although the vessels
were neutrals, there was the possibility of their skippers reporting
the presence of a submarine if the latter were spotted. And, then,
where the information would eventually be sent was a matter of
speculation, with the odds that it would reach the ears of the German
patrol commanders.
Proceeding at a bare five knots, R19 was within a few miles of the
mine-field when dawn broke. It was a case of "hasten slowly". To
attempt the forcing of the blockade during the hours of daylight
would be courting failure and disaster, so she promptly "sounded",
resting on the bottom in twelve fathoms.
Never did a day pass more slowly. In spite of various attempts to
provide the men with amusement the enforced watch below for all hands
was a long-drawn period of suspense and irritation. The period of
inaction before undertaking a task of infinite danger is always such,
whether in the case of infantry waiting to "go over the top" or the
ship's company awaiting the order to "open fire". Once in the thick
of things danger is forgotten in the enthusiasm of the encounter, but
until then the minds of even the bravest are filled with morbid
forebodings.
It was not until an hour after sunset that the welcome order came to
blow auxiliary tanks. Without making use of her propelling machinery
the submarine rose steadily towards the surface. Everything seemed
quiet. The periscopes, useless except for the purpose of picking up a
solitary light, revealed nothing, for the night was already as black
as pitch.
With their night-glasses the officers swept the waste of waters.
Ahead a faint "loom" indicated the position of Copenhagen. On the
Swedish side a faint light flickered for a few seconds and then
disappeared.
A quarter of an hour passed, but Stockdale gave no orders to proceed.
Not that he hesitated to face the danger; he was merely waiting an
opportunity.
Suddenly the horizon away to the south'ard was swept by the rays of a
search-light. Another and yet another beam followed suit, until the
sky in that direction was a blaze of light. Then the rays vanished
and a mast-head signalling-lamp began its flickering tale.
"'QKG--TOXZ--PJ'--code, thought so," muttered the
Lieutenant-Commander, as he read the unintelligible message.
"Mast-head signal astern, sir," reported Fordyce.
The Hon. Derek swung round in an instant and levelled his binoculars
at a pin-prick of yellow light.
"Good!" he ejaculated. "That's what I was waiting for."