Hit
With the tips of her periscopes just showing above the surface, R19
stealthily approached her prey. Every water-tight door was closed,
even the hatch between the conning-tower and the centre compartment.
Within the confined space of the conning-tower stood the Hon. Derek,
Fordyce, and Petty Officer Chalmers, whose duty it was to transmit
the Lieutenant-Commander's orders by means of voice-tubes, and
telegraph to the torpedo-hands, engine-room artificers, and men
stationed at the auxiliary ballast-tanks.
The hail and spray beating upon the glass lenses of the periscopes
blurred and distorted the images in the object-bowls. There was no
time for the globules of moisture to fall clear of the prepared glass
before others took their place. Fumes of so-called smokeless powder,
too, were drifting sluggishly to leeward, beaten down by the heavy
fall of rain. In the circumstances, it made the chances of the
slender periscopes being seen very remote, while, on the other hand,
although not to the same extent, the submarine's intended victims
were obscured by the misty conditions.
Twice R19 dived deeply as groups of torpedo-boats tore athwart her
track, ignorant of the presence of the formidable British submarine.
Then, cautiously and deliberately rising towards the surface, R19
again exposed her periscopes.
"Thanks be!" ejaculated the Hon. Derek, as, a couple of points on the
starboard bow, loomed up the towering outlines of one of Germany's
most recent battleships.
A slight touch of the helm and the submarine turned until her
bow-tubes pointed dead on the stem of her prey. At the rate the
battleship was moving she would be struck amidships by the time the
two torpedoes covered the intervening space.
"Fire!"
Down in the bow compartment the alert L.T.O.'s depressed the
firing-levers of the two 21-inch tubes. A faint hiss as the
compressed-air propulsive charges expelled the steel cylinders, and
the gurgling sound of inrushing water, to compensate the weight of
the missiles, alone announced to the cool and determined men that
their part of the immediate business was completed. Whether it was to
be "hit or miss" they were not to know at present. It depended upon
the skill of their daring skipper.
Stockdale took his chance with fate. The moment he made certain, by
the air-bubbles in the wake of the locomotive weapons, that the
torpedoes were speeding towards their mark he dived. So far so good;
but sheer curiosity prompted him to bring the submarine towards the
surface until her periscopes were exposed. True, he ran several
hundred yards under water before he did so.
In the midst of a terrific cannonade the roar of the double explosion
was indistinguishable to the crew of R19. All they could hear was a
constant rumble. They were attacking under novel conditions as far as
they were concerned. It was not a case of lying in wait for a passing
hostile craft. Shells were flying in all directions, torpedo-boats,
on the look-out for submarines, were in attendance upon the larger
vessels. Whether some of the shells were being fired with the
intention of "doing in" the daring British craft none of her crew
would know until the submarine received a hit.
As the light grew brighter on the object-bowl of the conning-tower
periscope, both officers gave vent to a satisfied grunt. Eight
hundred yards away the German battleship was settling by the stern
with a terrific list to starboard. Smoke and steam were pouring from
her three funnels, her decks were thick with humanity, while already
many of the crew were scrambling down the sloping sides of the
listing hull. Destroyers were making for the sinking ship to pick up
the survivors, while others were maintaining a hot fire upon a
totally imaginary periscope a full half mile from those of R19.
Realizing that it was decidedly "unhealthy" to prolong the
satisfactory observation, the Hon. Derek gave orders to dive to 90
feet. In the turmoil of agitated water the submarine would be safe
from the inquisitive attentions of Zeppelins and other German
air-craft.
Before the raised periscopes could dip beneath the waves a dull crash
sounded almost immediately above the head of the Lieutenant-Commander
and the Duty Sub in the conning-tower. Simultaneously the vision in
the object-bowl vanished and the electric lamps were shattered into
framents.
"They've bagged us this time," thought Fordyce, but, restraining an
inclination to shout a cry of alarm, he compressed his lips firmly
and awaited the end. In the pitch-dark blackness, momentarily
expecting to be overwhelmed by the inrush of water, he stood rigidly
prepared to face the Unknown like a true British seaman.
"Ask them how the manometer stands, Chalmers," ordered the Hon.
Derek. There was not the faintest tremor in his clear, modulated
words.
"Ninety feet and still descending, sir," reported the petty officer.
"Good enough; keep her at that, Mr. Fordyce, if you can."
It was easier said than done. To control the diving-planes solely by
the sense of touch was a difficult task to carry out in the Cimmerian
darkness of the conning-tower.
"The sooner we get a light on the scene the better," continued the
Lieutenant-Commander. "Get each compartment to report, Chalmers. Ask
if any damage has been sustained."
Again the reply was satisfactory. Beyond a slight leak in the
'midship compartment--it was right over Fordyce's bunk he afterwards
discovered--the hull of the submarine was as tight as the proverbial
bottle.
Stockdale hesitated no longer. The cover-plate in the floor of the
conning-tower was thrown open, and once more the confined space was
flooded with light as the upcast rays from the centre compartment
were thrown through the circular opening.
"Keep her as she is, Mr. Fordyce," he ordered. "We can carry on a bit
without barging into anything other than a foundering Hun. Wonder
where they strafed us?"
Quickly an electrician fitted new lamps to the holders in the
conning-tower. The leads were intact. It was merely the sudden
concussion that had shattered the glass bulbs. A steady trickle
through the glands of the revolving periscope-shaft at the spot where
it passes through the dome of the conning-tower gave definite
evidence that R19 was no longer capable of vision. The hostile shell
that had all but cracked the massive steel plating had knocked both
periscopes out of action.
For twenty minutes the submarine ran at an average depth of 90 feet,
until, for fear of getting into shoal water, her Lieutenant-Commander
allowed her to rest upon the bottom. Judging by the manner in which
she grounded, the submarine was resting on soft mud, and, since there
was a fairly strong current setting past, the sediment made an
efficient camouflage against the prying eyes of the Huns' aerial
scouts.
The water-tight doors were opened and the Hon. Derek made a tour of
his ship. Already the news of the destruction of one of the German
battleships had spread. Steel bulkheads were not proof against the
transmission of the glad tidings.
In the torpedo-room the men were singing. The Lieutenant-Commander
paused and listened to the refrain. A smile played over his face as
he caught the words, sung to an old music-hall favourite air:
"I don't care what becomes of me,
S' long as a Hun's at the bottom of the sea".
The interior of Fordyce's cabin presented a scene of desolation.
Overhead, the leak had been plugged by means of a steel disk faced
with india-rubber. Until it could be secured by means of bolts and
washers--a job only capable of being undertaken when the submarine
was running on the surface--the plug was shored up by a couple of
stout spars, held by an elaborate contraption of wedges and wire
"racking". While the submarine was deep down, and before the
temporary repairs had been effected, the water had gushed through
with considerable force notwithstanding the smallness of the jet. It
had made a clean sweep of the Sub's _lares_ and _penates_--those
little nicknacks and photographs with which his otherwise Spartan
cabin was adorned. Bedding, spare clothing, and nautical instruments
were lying in sodden confusion upon the floor; for, although the
water had been expelled by means of force-pumps, the damage had been
done before any steps could be taken to prevent it.
"Looks like Christmas Eve ashore, and the water-pipes burst, sir,"
remarked Fordyce, as his skipper offered his condolences. "It might
be worse, and I can sleep on the ward-room settee."
"And don't hesitate to use any of my gear," added the practically
sympathetic Lieutenant-Commander. "Hallo! What's the latest racket?"
He might well ask, for with a dull thud something landed heavily upon
the submarine's deck with a force sufficient to make the vessel roll
sluggishly in her muddy berth.