A stranger, if suddenly transplanted to the spot, would have taken
some time after opening his eyes to realise that the boat was
submerged. He would probably decide at first that she was anchored in
harbour. Far away forward, under an avenue of overhead electric lamps,
figures could be seen--all either recumbent or seated--and from them
the eye was led on till it lost its sense of distance in a narrowing
perspective of wheels, pipes, and gauges. All the while there was a
steady buzzing hum from slowly turning motors, and about every half
minute there came a faint whir of gear wheels from away aft by the
hydroplanes. From the bell-mouths of a cluster of voice-pipes a murmur
of voices sounded--the conversation of officers by the periscope;
while the ear, if close to the arched steel hull, could catch a
bubbling, rippling noise--the voice of the North Sea passing overhead.
The men stationed aft near the motors were not over-clean, and were
certainly unshaven; some were asleep or reading (the literature carried
and read by the crew would certainly have puzzled a librarian--it varied
from 'Titbits' and 'John Bull' to 'Piers Plowman' and 'The Origin of
Species'): a few were engaged in a heated discussion as they sat around
a big torpedoman--the only man of the group actually on duty at the
moment. His duties appeared only to consist in being awake and on the
spot if wanted, and he was, as a matter of fact, fully occupied as one
of the leading spirits in the argument.
"Well, let's '_ear_ what you're getting at," he said. "We 'eard a lot
of talk, but it don't go anywhere. You say you're a philosopher, but
you don't know what you do mean."
"_I_ know blanky well, but you can't understand me," said the
engine-room artificer addressed. "Look here, now--you've got to die
some time, haven't you?"
"Granted, Professor."
"Well, it's all arranged _now_ how you're to die, I say. It doesn't
matter when or how it is, but it's all settled--see? And you don't
know, and none of us know anything about it."
"That's all very well--but 'oo is it knows, then? D'you mean God?"
"No, I don't--I'm an atheist, I tell you. There's _something_ that
arranges it all, but it ain't God."
"Well, 'oo the 'ell is it, then--the Admiralty?"
The Artificer leaned forward, his dark eyes alight and his face
earnest as that of some medieval hermit. "I tell you," he said, "you
can believe in God, or Buddha, or anything you like, but it's the same
thing. Whatever it is, it doesn't care. It has it all ready and
arranged--written out, if you like--and it will have to happen just
so. It's pre--pre----"
"Predestination." The deep voice came from the Leading Stoker on the
bench beside him.
"Predestination. No amount of praying's any good. It's no use going
round crying to gods that aren't there to help you. You've got to go
through it as it's written down."
"Prayer's all right," said the Leading Stoker. "If you believe what
you pray, you'll get it."
"That's not true. Have you ever had it? Give us an instance now----"
"I don't pray none, thank you. All the same, it's good for women and
such that go in for it, like. It ain't the things that alter; it's
yourself that does it. Ain't you never 'eard o' Christian Science?"
"Yes; same as the Mormons, ain't it? Is that what you are?"
"No, it ain't--an' I'm a Unitarian, same as you are."
"I'm not--I'm a Baptist, same as my father was; but I don't believe in
it."
"Well, if you believe in one God, that's what you are."
"But I'm telling you, I _don't_. Look here, now. I don't believe
there's anything happens at all that wasn't all arranged first, and I
know that nothing can alter it."
"Well, 'oo laid it all down first go off, then?" said the Torpedoman.
"Ah! I don't know and you don't know; but I tell you it wasn't God."
"Well, 'e's a bigger man than me then, an' I takes me 'at off to 'im,
'ooever it is. I tell yer, yer talkin' through yer neck. You say if
you're going to be shot, there's a bullet about somewhere in some
one's pouch with yer name writ on it. Ain't that it? Well, 'oo the
'ell put yer name on it, then?"
"It doesn't matter to me so long's it's there, does it?"
"Well, if that was so, I'd like to know 'oo 'e was, so's I could pass
'im the word not to 'ave the point filed off of it for me, anyway."
"Well, you couldn't--and he couldn't alter it for you if he was there,
either."
The Torpedoman moved along the bench and twisted his head round till
his ear was against one of the voice-pipes. The others sat silent and
watched him with lazy interest.
"We're takin' a dip," he said. "Thought I 'eard 'im say, 'Sixty
feet.'" The faint rolling motion that had been noticeable before died
away, and the boat seemed to have become even more peaceful and
silent. The Leading Stoker leaned back against the hull and rested his
head against the steel. From the starboard hand there came a faint
murmur, which grew till the regular threshing beat of a propeller
could be distinguished. The sound swelled till they could hear in its
midst a separate piping, squeaking note. The ship passed on overhead,
and the threshing sound passed with her and faded until again the
steady purr of motors remained the only reminder of the fact that the
boat was diving. They felt her tilt up a little by the bow as she
climbed back to regain her patrol depth.
"That's a tramp," said the Torpedoman; "nootral, I reckon."
"Squeaky bearing, too," said the Artificer judicially. "Don't suppose
he's looked at his thrust since he left port. What's the skipper want
to go under her for?"
"Save trouble, I s'pose; didn't want to alter helm for 'er. What was
you talkin' of--yes, Kismet--that's the word I've been wantin' all
along. You're a Mohammedan, you are?"
"Aw, don't be a fool; I tell you I'm nothing."
The fourth wakeful figure, another Torpedoman, spoke for the first
time. "If you're nothing, and you think you're nothing, what the 'ell
d'yer want to make such a fuss about it for?"
"_I_ don't make a fuss. It's all you people who think you're something
who make a fuss. You can't alter what's laid down, but you think you
can. You fuss and panic to stave things off, but you're like chickens
in a coop--you can't get out till your master lets you, and he can't
understand what you say, and he wouldn't pay any attention to it if he
did."