"A tug and a couple of lighters bearing down, sir," reported the
_Calder's_ look-out before the diver had reappeared from his errand of
investigation.
Approaching at the modest rate of 7 knots was a paddle-wheel steamer
towing two unwieldy craft resembling overgrown canal barges.
The tide was now well on the flood. It wanted about a couple of hours
to high water, and, since the falling glass and clear visibility of
distant objects betokened the approach of bad weather, urgent steps
would have to be taken speedily to extricate the captured submarine from
the embraces of the sand-bank.
The examination of the prize by her captors was now practically
complete. The U boat was one of a new type, and had left Wilhelmshaven
on her maiden trip forty-eight hours previously. She had either lost
her bearings or had purposely approached shoal water. Anyhow she had
been neatly strafed before she had had time to do much mischief.
Already the _Calder's_ crew had taken steps to assist the salvage people
in the task of floating the prize. The hatchways, with the exception of
that of the conning-tower, had been hermetically closed, and the
watertight doors in the for'ard bulkhead shut and shored up to withstand
the pressure of water in the holed fore-peak.
By the time the lighters were made fast, one on either side of the
submarine, the level of the water was up to within fifteen inches of the
conning-tower hatchway. Quickly hoses, connected to Downton pumps, were
led from the lighters to the water-ballast tanks of the submarine, since
it had been found impossible to "start" the ballast by means of hand
pumps.
It was a race against time and tide. The mechanical appliances won, and
soon the _Calder's_ officers and crew had the satisfaction of seeing the
submarine's deck appear close to the surface.
She still had a pronounced "dip", the flooded for'ard compartment
tending to depress her bow; but, supported by the two lighters, she was
prevented from sinking. Then, taken in tow by the tug, the prize, with
her cumbersome attendants, waddled slowly for Harwich.
Her part in this supplementary business ended, the _Calder_ slipped off
at full speed to the position where the _Dimpled Lassie_ and the _Carse
o' Gowrie_ still held a resolute grip on the recovered cable.
As Skipper M'Kie had surmised, neither of the trawlers had been molested
by the German battle-cruisers or destroyers. Carried away by their
frantic desire to make a display of frightfulness upon an unprotected
English watering-place they had totally ignored the seemingly innocuous
cable-grappling craft.
"It will blow like billy-oh before morning," remarked Lieutenant
Crosthwaite to his subordinate. "I'm going to tell them to buoy and slip
the cable. We've done very well, I think. You might make an
observation; I'll take another, and we'll check our calculations. I'll
guarantee we won't have much trouble in fishing up the cable next time."
Crosthwaite's orders to the skippers of the trawlers were smartly
carried out, and the cable, left with its position marked by a green
wreck-buoy, a sufficient guarantee against detrimental examination by
curious fishermen. Before sunset the _Calder_ and her two charges were
snug in Lowestoft harbour, the crews being cautioned against the risk of
letting fall any hint concerning their recent work--an injunction that
they loyally carried out.
It was three days before the gale blew itself out. During that period
events had been moving rapidly. And here one of the few advantages of
being on particular service became apparent. Had not the _Calder_ been
detailed for escort duties to the cable-grappling trawlers the chances
were that she would be plugging against heavy green seas, while those of
her crew not on duty on deck would be existing under battened hatches.
Instead, the destroyer was lying snugly berthed in a harbour, and her
crew were able to enjoy brief spells of liberty ashore.
The next step was to locate the shore end of the cable. This work
required particular skill and discretion, since the German operator
would certainly be on the alert for the first suspicious movement.
Scotland Yard detectives, disguised as fishermen and longshoremen,
eventually succeeded in tracing the source of the leakage of
information. The temporary cable had been brought ashore nearly four
miles from the original landing-place of the severed line, and led to a
wooden hut on the edge of the sandy cliffs.
For the present, all that was required to be done in that direction was
performed. The Admiralty had decided to let the cable turn the tables
upon the Huns, and, until the time was ripe, the spy could telegraph
without interruption, but unwittingly he was digging a pit for himself
from which no escape was possible.
It was well into the third week in May when the _Calder_ received orders
to proceed to Rosyth, replenish stores and oil-fuel, and rejoin her
flotilla. The news was hailed with delight, since it was possible that
many of the officers and crew would be able to proceed on leave.
Another week passed. Information had reached the Commander-in-Chief of
a certain amount of German activity in the North Sea. Something had to
be done to attract the attention of the German populace from the series
of rebuffs experienced by the Huns before Verdun. Exaggerated reports
concerning the prowess of the German High Seas Fleet, coupled with news
of spasmodic raids upon the British coast, helped to foster the
ill-founded belief of the Huns in the invincibility of their navy,
while, to keep up the deceit, Admiral von Scheer took his ships out for
various discreet cruises off the Danish coast, where there was ever a
possibility of making a quick run back under the guns and behind the
minefields of Heligoland.
On the 29th May orders were issued for the First and Second Battle
Squadrons and the Second Battle-Cruiser Squadron to proceed to a certain
rendezvous in order to carry out target practice. The instructions were
issued through the usual channels, with the almost certain knowledge
that the information would leak out. The Commander-in-Chief's
anticipation proved to be correct, for within three hours of the issuing
of the order the news was transmitted to Germany by means of the tapped
cable.
It was not the Admiral's intention to carry out target practice.
Instead, the whole of the Grand Fleet put to sea from its various bases,
ostensibly for the neighbourhood of the Orkneys, but in reality for a
far more important objective.
At 1 a.m. on the 31st the authorities raided the isolated hut on the
Norfolk coast, captured the German telegraph operator in the act of
communicating with Borkum, and hurried him away under close arrest. He
had played his part as far as the British interests were concerned,
since he had informed the German Admiralty of the supposed rendezvous of
Jellicoe's fleet.
"Do you think there's something in the wind, sir?" asked Sefton, as the
_Calder_, in station with the rest of her flotilla, was slipping along
at 18 knots.
Crosthwaite smiled enigmatically. He knew as much as captains of ships
were supposed to know, which wasn't very much, but more than their
subordinates were told.
"Patience!" he replied. "Can't say more at present. You might see how
repairs to that 4-inch gun are progressing."
Sefton descended the bridge ladder and made his way aft. Slight defects
in the mounting of the stern-chaser quick-firer had appeared almost as
soon as the destroyer left the Firth of Forth, and the armourer's crew
were hard at work rectifying the damage.
Gripping the stanchion rail surrounding the gun platform, for the
_Calder_ was rolling considerably in the "wash" of her preceding
consorts, and exposed to a stiff beam wind, the sub watched the
operation. He had no need to ask any questions; there was little about
the mechanism of a 4-inch and its mountings that he did not know. He
could see that the repairs were almost completed, only a few finishing
touches requiring to be done.
"Man overboard!"
The sub rushed to the side just in time to see the outstretched arms of
a bluejacket emerging from the following wave of the swiftly moving
craft. It was indeed fortunate that the man was still alive, not only
had he escaped having his back broken on striking the water, but he had
missed the rapidly revolving starboard propeller. Clad in a "duffel"
suit and wearing sea-boots, his position was precarious in the extreme.
Without hesitation Sefton made a flying leap over the guard-rails. Once
clear of the side he drew up his legs and hunched his shoulders,
striking the water with tremendous force. Well it was that he had taken
this precaution instead of making a dive in the ordinary sense of the
word, for, carried onward at the rate of a mile every three minutes, he
ran a serious risk of dislocated limbs or a broken back had he not
rolled himself into the nearest resemblance to a ball.
[Illustration: "WITHOUT HESITATION SEFTON MADE A FLYING LEAP OVER THE
GUARD RAILS"]
He sank deeply, and was swept irresistibly by the back-wash; it seemed
as if he were fathoms down. Before he emerged he could distinctly hear
the whirr of the triple propellers. Rising to the surface he refilled
his lungs with the salt-laden air, for the concussion had wellnigh
deprived him of breath. Then he gave a hurried glance around him.
The _Calder_ was already a couple of cables' lengths away, while the
destroyer next astern was almost on top of him. As she swept by, a
lifebuoy was hurled towards the sub, luckily missing him by a bare yard.
The second and last destroyer astern saw the swimmer, and by porting
helm avoided him easily, and saved him from the great discomfort of
being flung about in her wake like a pea in a saucepan of boiling water.
Without making any attempt to slow down and send a boat, the destroyer
flotilla held on.
Sefton soon realized the necessity for this apparently inexplicable act.
It was impossible without grave risk to the flotilla to break up the
formation, while the danger was still further increased by the fact that
the First Cruiser Squadron was pelting along somewhere three or four
miles astern, and these vessels, being of a considerable tonnage,
carried a tremendous amount of way. Above all, it was war-time, and
individuals do not count when greater issues are at stake.
Presently the sub descried the head and shoulders of the missing man as
he rose on the crest of the broken waves. He, too, had succeeded in
reaching a lifebuoy thrown by the nearmost destroyer. Short as had been
the time between the man's tumble overboard and Sefton's deliberate
leap, owing to the speed of the flotilla nearly a quarter of a mile
separated the would-be rescuer from the object of his gallant attempt.
"No use hanging on here," thought Sefton, as he clung to the buoy.
"Must get to the man somehow."
Then it was that he realized that he had gone overboard in a thick pilot
coat and india-rubber sea-boots. These he sacrificed regretfully, since
there was no chance of replenishing his kit until the _Calder_ returned
to port--that is, if he had the good fortune to survive his adventure
"in the ditch". The operation of discarding the boots gave him a
tussle, during which he swallowed more salt water than desirable; then,
relaxing his grip on the lifebuoy, Sefton struck out towards the man.
The sub was a good swimmer. At Dartmouth he had been "runner-up" for
the 440 yards championship, but now he realized the vast difference
between swimming that length in regulation costume and an equal distance
almost fully clothed in the choppy North Sea.
By the time the sub came within hailing distance of the seaman his limbs
felt as heavy as lead, while, do what he would, he was unable to raise
his voice above a whisper, much less "assure the drowning man in a loud,
firm voice that he is safe", according to the official regulations.
Sefton was by no means certain that he himself was in anything but a
most precarious position.
Sefton found that the man he had risked his life to save was not half so
exhausted as he was. The seaman had come off lightly in his fall, and
he had had no occasion to tire himself with a long swim to the lifebuoy,
since the crew of the passing destroyer had all but brained him with the
cork "Kisbie".
The A.B. regarded his rescuer with a look that betokened pained
disapproval. He was one of those men who are ever "up against
discipline". To him the gold band and curl on a uniform meant something
more than authority: it roused a spirit of sullen aggression.
And yet Thomas Brown had joined the Royal Navy with the best intentions.
Fate, in the shape of a short-tempered recruiting-officer, had marred
his career from the very start; for, on joining the training-school at
Shotley, one of the questions asked of him was the name of his
birthplace.
"Ashby-de-la-Zouch, sir," replied young Brown, giving the name with the
accepted Leicestershire accent.
"Where did you say?" enquired the lieutenant.
The recruit repeated the words.
"Zoo, did you say?" snapped the officer.
"Yes, sir," rejoined Thomas Brown without a moment's hesitation. "The
next cage to yours."
The repartee came absolutely on the spur of the moment. A second's
reflection might have made all the difference. It was a bad start, and
the newly-entered boy suffered for it. That was some years ago, but in
the Royal Navy the old adage of giving a dog a bad name holds good
longer than anywhere else.
Sefton recognized the man as one who figured frequently in the
"Captain's Report". Young as he was, the sub had a keen insight into
human nature, and although he knew nothing of the first slip that had
marred the A.B.'s career he was certain that there were good points in
the man, and that underneath his rugged, surly exterior there was
something of true worth.
"No need for you to tumble into the ditch after me, sir," said the man.
"I can shift for myself."
He spoke gruffly, but underlying the remonstrance was an unmistakable
tone of gratitude. In the circumstances he was glad of company. He
would have welcomed his "raggie", or chum, in preference to an officer,
but at such times the difference of rank gives place to the equality of
human peril.
"They'll pick us both up," declared Sefton, although in his mind he had
grave doubts as to the matter.
"Not they," rejoined A.B. Brown, indicating the direction of the now
invisible flotilla with a jerk of his closely-cropped head. "The
cruisers might. But take hold of this, sir," he added, pushing the buoy
to within reach of the sub. "You looks as if you want it a long sight
more'n me."
Both men relapsed into silence. Further conversation meant a waste of
precious breath. At intervals, as the buoy rose on the billows, Sefton
"hiked" his head and shoulders well clear of the water in the hope of
sighting the armoured-cruiser squadron.
"They're a precious long time in coming up," he soliloquized. "Seven
minutes ought to have done the trick."
As a matter of fact, the First Cruiser Squadron had received a wireless
message from the _Calder_ within ninety seconds of Sefton's leap
overboard, requesting the vessels to keep a sharp look-out for the two
men.
On receipt of the intelligence the armoured cruisers' speed was reduced
to 10 knots, and this accounted for the seemingly endless time that
elapsed before the vessels came within sight of the two well-nigh
exhausted men as they clung to the lifebuoy.
At length, through the light haze that prevailed throughout the morning,
could be discerned the grey outlines of the First Cruiser Squadron.
The ships were steaming in double column, line ahead, the _Defence_,
flying the Rear-Admiral's flag, leading the starboard and the _Warrior_
the port line. With faultless precision they came on, three cables'
distance separating the units of each division, and twice that interval
betwixt the columns.
"They've spotted us, sir," exclaimed Able Seaman Brown, as the
alteration of position of the red flag and green cone displayed from the
cruiser's mainmast yard-arm told the two men that the _Warrior's_ helm
was being ported. Simultaneously the "steaming cones" were reversed,
showing that the ship's engines were going astern--a manoeuvre followed
by the rest of the squadron.
Almost before way was taken off the ship the _Warrior's_ sea-boat was
rapidly lowered from the davits. Sefton could hear the dull thud of the
lower blocks as the releasing-gear came into action and the falls surged
against the ship's side, and the treble-voiced midshipman urging his
boat's crew to "give way there, my lads, for all you're worth."
Although only a minute and a half elapsed between the time the sea-boat
got away from the ship and her arrival at the scene of the rescue, the
interval seemed interminable to Sub-lieutenant Sefton.
With feelings of indescribable relief he realized that he was being
gripped by two pairs of horny powerful hands and lifted over the dipping
gunwale into the stern-sheets, while others performed a like office for
the saturated A.B.
Smartly the sea-boat was brought alongside the cruiser. Deftly the
hoisting-gear was engaged, and with a hundred-and-twenty men tailing on
the falls the boat and her occupants were whisked up to a level with the
vessel's quarter-deck.
And thus Acting Sub-lieutenant John Sefton found himself on board H.M.S.
_Warrior_, in blissful ignorance of the gallant part the armoured
cruiser was about to bear in the glorious battle off the Jutland Bank.