H.M.S. "STRONGBOW" SAILS.
ALREADY the vessel indicated--H.M.T.B.D. "Lawley"--was within three
miles of the captured trawler, and at a good twenty-five knots was
momentarily decreasing the distance. Her lynx-eyed
lieutenant-commander had spotted the so-called "Vanhuit," and the
tell-tale wireless mast, and the presence of one of the patrolling
motor-boats alongside gave him a right impression that the trawler
had been engaged in illegal work.
The "Lawley" made a fine picture as she pelted through the
leaden-hued water on that grey autumnal morning. She was cleared for
action. Men were standing by the three 4-inch guns ready to let fly
at the first sign of a hostile periscope, for German submarines had
been reported in the vicinity of Yarmouth Roads, and each of her
mast-heads had the White Ensign floating proudly in the breeze
created by her speed. The bunting was the only dash of colour about
her; all the rest of the destroyer was a sombre hue, from the black
hull and funnels to the great-coated forms of the crew.
The skipper of the "Pixie," balancing himself on the cabin-top of his
lively craft, was semaphoring the warning. Almost as soon as his
message ended a triangular strip of bunting--the answering
pennant--was hoisted to the "Lawley's" signal yard-arm. Then, by
means of a megaphone, the lieutenant-commander shouted to the crew of
the "Pixie." The words were unintelligible to the watchers on the
captured trawler, but the skipper of the "Pixie" understood. With a
wave of his arm he descended from his precarious perch just in time
to prevent himself being capsized by the swell of the passing
destroyer, which, instead of making for the trawler, sharply ported
helm and made off in the opposite direction.
"We're to take the prize into Yarmouth under our own steam,"
announced the sub. in charge of the "Pixie," as he came within
hailing distance.
"Right-o," assented Waynsford cheerfully. "Come aboard and we'll tow
both our boats. Now then, below there," he added, addressing the
German skipper and his crestfallen men.
Waynsford literally hustled them into the forepeak and shut the
hatch. The German engineer and the fireman required no compulsion to
remain at their posts. In one sense they were glad at being captured;
it meant the end of the nerve-racking ordeal within sight of the
English coast and miles of mine-strewn waters--the work of their
fellow-countrymen--between them and their Friesian home.
The crew of the motor-boats quickly buoyed and severed the nets that
the pseudo-trawler had out to cloak her true rôle, and having
drifted clear of these entanglements, the captured craft forged ahead
at a modest seven knots with the "Lonette" and "Pixie" towing
sedately astern.
Terence Aubyn, feeling somewhat heavy-eyed by reason of his voluntary
night's work, was pacing the deck, his gaze directed towards the town
of Yarmouth and the low-lying Norfolk coast, now momentarily becoming
clearer in the rays of the early morning sun.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a hurried shout from one of
the deck-hands, followed by a heavy list of the trawler as Waynsford
put the helm hard over.
Fifty yards on the starboard bow was a black object resembling a
short spar floating vertically, yet the object had movement, for a
streak of foam marked the resistance of the water to its progress.
It was Aubyn's first impression of the periscope of a submarine, and
a German one at that.
With admirable presence of mind Waynsford had decided to ram the
lurking peril. Evidently the commander of the submarine had realized
his danger, for the periscope was sinking.
Aubyn held his breath as the heavy hull of the trawler passed
immediately over the spot where the periscope had disappeared. He
waited for the dull grinding sound as the vessel's keel ripped
through the comparatively thin steel hull of the submerged
vessel--but he waited in vain. True, there was a slight
tremor--nothing more.
"I believe we hit her," exclaimed Waynsford. "Did your hear
anything?"
Aubyn was obliged to confess that he had not. The prize crew crowding
to the side looked for signs of a successful issue to their effort.
"Oil and bubbles," declared the sub. in charge of the "Pixie." "She's
done for."
Waynsford, far from being convinced, ordered one of his men to heave
a mark-buoy overboard and mark the spot where the periscope had been
last seen, at the same time a code signal was hoisted indicating the
fact that a hostile submarine had been rammed.
Quickly the destroyer arrived within hailing distance, and Aubyn was
able to see what steps the Navy took to combat the unseen foe. Slowly
the "Lawley" circled round the mark-buoy, paying out over her stern
what appeared to be an exaggerated string of sausages--in reality a
"necklace" of guncotton ready to be fired by means of electricity.
"Prize ahoy! you're much too close," sang out the bronzed
lieutenant-commander impatiently.
Before the trawler was a cable's length from the mark-buoy a series
of columns of water rose two hundred feet in the air, accompanied by
a muffled crash and a haze of smoke. When the water had subsided and
the vapour had drifted on the light breeze the mark-buoy was no
longer to be seen. All around were the bodies of fish killed by the
submarine explosion.
"That's settled her hash," declared Waynsford. "If she survived the
hit we gave her she didn't get over that little attention. See, the
'Lawley' is sending a diver down to report."
"More copy for the Press," remarked his chum, the sub. from the
"Pixie."
Waynsford shook his head.
"Not much," he replied. "It's part of the game to keep this sort of
thing quiet. We don't want to frighten our friends the German
submarines, we want to lure them out and make an end of 'em."
Terence made no remark. He was thinking, striving to picture the
shattered hull with its crew of corpses, lying fifteen fathoms below
on the sandy bed of the North Sea.
Half an hour later the prize was moored alongside one of the Yarmouth
quays, while the German crew were marched off under an armed guard.
Declining an invitation to breakfast with the naval officers of the
port, Aubyn hurried ashore. It was now six o'clock. Already a
wireless report had been received from the "Lawley" stating that her
divers had discovered the wreck of the hostile submarine, which was a
matter for congratulation. But there were no tidings of the spy von
Eckenhardt. In spite of a rigorous search he had contrived to get
clear away, and von Eckenhardt at liberty in in England was a more
serious menace than a dozen German submarines operating in British
waters.
"I say, mater," remarked Terence, while Mrs. Aubyn and her son were
at breakfast, "I think you ought to evacuate 'Aubyn's Battery '--at
least while the war lasts."
Mrs. Aubyn looked at her son in utter astonishment.
"What, leave my home? For why? Surely you don't mean to suggest that
German troops are likely to land in England?"
Terence shook his head. He scouted the idea of invasion, yet he knew
there was a possibility--that a raiding squadron might visit the
Norfolk coast.
"No, I was thinking of the winter coming on," he said equivocally.
"You see, it's rather bleak and lonely for you here. Why not shut the
house up for the next six months and go and live with Aunt Margaret?"
Mrs. Aubyn wavered. Her sister had a large house at Purbrook, a few
miles from Portsmouth. It certainly would be a pleasant change to
spend the winter in the south of England with her nearest relative
rather than exist in solitary state in her home on the bleak East
Coast.
"Besides," continued her son, taking advantage of his parent's
obvious wavering, "the 'Strongbow'--that's the new name for the old
'Saraband'--is fitting out of Portsmouth, and more than likely she'll
make that place here home port. In that case, whenever we put in for
supplies or refit, I ought to be able to see you pretty frequently."
The explanation was a lame one. Terence knew perfectly well that on
being commissioned the "Strongbow" would proceed to the North Sea for
patrol-work. Her connexion with Portsmouth would then be severed. But
to his satisfaction Mrs. Aubyn figuratively hauled down her colours.
A telegram was despatched to her sister, accepting a long-standing
invitation, and at the expiration of his week-end leave,
Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn was accompanied by his mother on his journey to
Portsmouth to rejoin his ship.
Three days later the "Strongbow," looking most business-like in her
garb of neutral grey, slipped unostentatiously between the old
fortifications at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, negotiated the
narrow gateway of the boom-defence, and in the pale dawn of a misty
October day shaped her course for the North Sea.
She was one of perhaps a hundred vessels of whose very existence not
decimal one per cent of the population of Great Britain is aware.
Unless a striking success or a lamentable disaster brings them into
the limelight the great British public never hear their names. Yet
every one of that vast fleet of armed merchantmen was doing its duty
as a unit of the greatest Navy the world has ever yet seen, nobly
performing a service whereby the United Kingdom is spared the horror
of the yoke-mate of war--the scourge of famine.
The "Strongbow" carried the same officers as in the days when she
sailed under the Red Ensign, while in command was a full-fledged
naval officer, Captain Hugh Ripponden.
Captain Ripponden was one of those men who welcomed the outbreak of
hostilities as a godsend. July found him in a hopeless position as
regards seniority on the list of commanders. The prospect of
compulsory retirement at the age of fifty stared him in the face. By
sheer merit and perseverance he had attained his present position,
but unfortunately he lacked the necessary influence "up topsides"
to gain an additional advance in rank.
The absorption into the Service of a fleet of armed merchantmen
proved to be his salvation from a distasteful retirement, and thus he
found himself in command of H.M.S. "Strongbow."
Like many another talented naval officer Captain Ripponden had not
the gift of eloquence. He was a man of few words. A speech was beyond
his powers.
While the crew of H.M.S. "Strongbow" first mustered for Divisions
after commissioning the captain's address was short and to the
point:--
"My lads, you look a smart crew. If you are as smart as you look,
I'll be quite satisfied. Now dismiss."
He was quite right in saying the ship's company were a smart body of
men. In spite of the fact that they were made up of Royal Naval
Reserve men, Royal Fleet Reservists, and a sprinkling of Royal Naval
Volunteers, they presented an appearance that would defy criticism
even from the oldest martinet in the days when a smart lower-yard man
was considered as a greater asset to a ship's company than a good
gun-layer.
The officers of the "Strongbow," from Captain Ramshaw (who now
assumed the rank of Commander, R.N.R.) downwards, quickly voted the
new skipper "a right good sort," while it did not take the crew long
to form the current opinion that "the owner" was a man who, not
shirking work himself, expected others to do their utmost. On board
H.M.S. "Strongbow" there was no room for shirkers or grousers.
Before the vessel passed the Nab Lightship practically the whole of
the Naval Volunteers--men of good position in civil life, whose
previous acquaintance with King Neptune's domains was a view from the
deck of the "President" lying off Temple Pier--were prostrate with
sea-sickness.
Captain Ripponden received the report that ten of his crew were
temporarily hors de combat with equanimity.
"Let the men lie in their hammocks," he replied considerately.
"They'll be all the better for it when they recover their sea-legs."
Therein he was right, and before the "Strongbow" arrived at her
cruising-station the Volunteers were as fit and as eager as the rest
of their comrades for the arduous work on hand.