THE SUBMARINE SCORES.
THE seaman was right. It was a British submarine, one of the E class.
Terence could hardly believe his eyes to see the craft emerge from
beneath the waves almost within sight of the German coast and
certainly within the limits of the hostile mine-field. He had yet a
lot to learn concerning the bravery and resource of the commanders
and crews of these marvellous craft, operating, without support from
the destroyer flotillas, at the very gates of Germany's naval
strongholds.
The watertight hatch in the conning-tower opened and the head and
shoulders of a young officer appeared. He bent to give an order, then
leapt out and gained the navigating platform, where he was joined by
three of the crew, clad in "fearnought" suits and seaboots.
"Come alongside as sharp as you can!" he shouted.
"Can't sir," replied Stairs. "We've no oars, and we're pretty well
done up."
The officer gave the order for "easy astern"; then judging that there
was sufficient room for the intended manoeuvre he ordered "easy
ahead," at the same time steering the submarine to pass about ten
feet to windward of the remains of the boat.
Meanwhile, those of the crew on deck had detached two boathooks from
the handrail to which they had been secured by "beckets," and
standing by, awaited for their craft to pass within reach of the
object of their attentions.
Simultaneously the two boathooks engaged, and the boat was drawn
alongside. While thus firmly held, one of the crew leapt into her,
and raising Terence, passed him on to the willing arms of his
companions. Without loss of time Stairs was likewise rescued, and
both men, practically "done up," were taken below. Then, the officer
and his men having returned to the shelter of the hermetically-sealed
steel hull, the submarine prepared to dive.
While kindly helpers were assisting to strip the clothing from the
almost unconscious sub., massaging his body and limbs with more
energy than skill, and were pouring hot drinks down his throat,
Terence could hear as in a dream the order given by the captain of
the submarine.
"Diving stations. Flood main ballast.... Flood auxiliary ballast
tanks!"
Dimly Aubyn began to realize that he was actually in a steel prison,
several feet beneath the surface of a sea sown with deadly mines.
"Easy ahead. Elevate horizontal rudders!"
The submarine, now weighing nearly the same as the amount of water
she displaced, was ready for diving. That part of the operation was
performed by means of the horizontal planes or rudders, trimming them
to give the required angle of descent.
"Down to seventy feet, sir!" reported a voice, sounding hollow in the
ribbed, vaulted space.
"Stand by--let go!"
With a subdued rattle the anchor, hitherto bedded underneath the
fore-part of the hull, dropped to the bed of the North Sea,
additional water ballast being admitted into the tanks of the vessel
to compensate the loss of weight of the ground-tackle. Save for a
faint pendulum-like motion as the submarine swayed to the tension on
the bight of her cable, the craft lay calmly in twelve fathoms, for
the time being safe from the perils of naval warfare.
Warm both externally and internally, Terence dropped to sleep in a
comfortable bunk in the officers' part of the vessel. Three hours
later he awoke, feeling much his former self, for the beneficial
effects of the oxygen-charged atmosphere were as invigorating as the
air on the summit of a lofty mountain.
The instant he awoke the circumstances which led to his being on
board the submarine flashed across Aubyn's mind with vivid clearness.
He contrasted his experiences with his regaining consciousness in
Shotley Sick Quarters. There his brain worked slowly--it took
considerable time for him to recall the events subsequent to the
torpedoing of the ill-fated "Terrier." Here, owing possibly to the
chemically charged atmosphere, his mind was as fresh as if he had
awakened from a normal sleep.
The submarine was still at anchor. Beyond the purring of the dynamos
for supplying the electric light there was no noise of machinery. Men
were laughing and talking freely: he could hear Stairs' voice,
holding forth with a vivacity that betokened no ill-effects from his
voluntary immersion.
Terence sprang out of his bunk and began to dress. His own clothing,
dried in the motor-room, was ready for him to put on. Just as he had
completed his toilet a man of about thirty, dressed in the uniform of
a lieutenant-commander, entered and introduced himself as Paul
Maynebrace, captain of Submarine "E Something."
"Sorry we can't land you for a day or two," he remarked, after
inquiring after Aubyn's state of health. "We're on observation duty,
and are not due back at Harwich until noon on Thursday. However,
we'll do our level best to make you comfortable. Of course, I suppose
I am right in assuming that you haven't been on a submarine before?
It will be something of a novelty to you, but we are getting used to
it. Rather boring, in fact."
"Boring?" repeated Terence.
"Well, rather. We are stationed to observe the approach through the
mine-field to Wilhelmshaven. It means that every few hours we have to
pop to the surface and have a look round; and except for the
departure of some of the raiding German cruisers late on Saturday
night (which we duly reported to the Admiralty, by the by) it's
usually a case of a lot of work for nothing--for the beggars won't
come out."
"Supposing a German warship did make a dash while you are down
below?" asked Terence.
"We could tell by the noise of the propellors," replied the
lieutenant-commander. "She is bound to keep almost immediately above
us, owing to the narrowness of the passage through the mine-field."
"Then what would happen?" queried Aubyn, keenly interested in the
information.
"If she were unsupported we would try the effect of a torpedo,"
replied Maynebrace, with a smile. "Ten to one the disaster to one of
von Tirpitz's pets would be put down to the accidental displacement
of one of the mines. In the case of the 'Derfflinger' and her
consorts we let the whole crowd go. It would be impossible to torpedo
the lot, and even if we hit one the remainder might scoot back to
Wilhelmshaven. On the other hand, by not giving them a scare we help
to keep their spirits up, so to speak, and let our battle-cruisers do
the smashing-up part of the business. By the by, the seaman who was
with you on the derelict boat told us of the result of the dust-up:
how the 'Bluecher' went under."
"It was a pity we didn't get the rest," remarked Terence.
"Fortune of war," declared the lieutenant-commander. "And, as luck
would have it, the three German battle-cruisers did not return to
Wilhelmshaven by the same channel, otherwise I might have had a try
for one or two of them. No, they made for Heligoland, I fancy, and
thence either to Kiel or Wilhelmshaven by a passage inside the
mine-field. Well, I must leave you for a while. I'll send young
Warborough--he's my sub.--to have a yarn with you. And as soon as I
get the chance I'll get off a wireless announcing that you are safe
and sound on board."
It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Warborough arrived upon the
scene. He was a young, easy-going officer, wholeheartedly devoted to
his career; yet, when on leave he was a worry to the police in the
vicinity of each of the great naval ports. His brother-officers in
the submarine flotilla were apt to remark that Dick Warborough was a
"bit of a scorcher" in more ways than one. On one occasion a lively
scene in a Portsmouth theatre, in which Warborough played a leading
though unrehearsed part, almost ended in a police-court. Perhaps it
was lucky for the sub. that his father was a man of position and
influence. Warborough freely confessed to half a dozen endorsements
on his motor-driver's licence. The fines he had been ordered to pay
in his twelve-month amounted to almost as much as his pay and
allowance as a sub-lieutenant in the submarine service, so once again
he thanked his lucky stars that his parent was rich and, what was
more, generous. Yet, with all his foolish pranks ashore, he was keen
and a capable officer from the moment he passed through the dockyard
gates to return to duty till the time when he was again able to
proceed on leave.
"Skipper says I'm to hold a pow-wow with you, Aubyn," began
Warborough, not with any suspicion of condescension but in a frank,
easy-going manner. "Glad to have someone to spin a yarn with. Do you
motor?"
Terence had to confess that, except for trips in hired cars during
his brief visits to his home, his experiences in that direction were
few and far between; then, by way of altering the topic of
conversation, he asked what the young officer thought of the
submarine service.
"Top-hole--absolutely ripping!" declared Warborough. "This lying in
wait is apt to be a bit tedious, but there are moments when you feel
downright happy at being in the submarine service."
"Pretty dangerous?" hazarded Aubyn, who had not entirely got over the
feeling that he was imprisoned at the bottom, or nearly at the bottom
of the sea.
"That's what gives a spice to the business," said Warborough. "If we
do bump a mine there's precious little chance for us. The worst part
of the job is when we are getting fairly close to Harwich, and
running awash. The helmsman of one of your destroyers might get a
trifle jumpy, you know--mistakes have been made in that direction,
especially at night."
"That I can quite understand," rejoined Terence, recalling the many
anxious hours he had passed on the "Strongbow" as officer of the
watch, and straining his eyes in the darkness till he fancied he saw
the periscope and conning-tower of more than one submarine.
"And the rotten part of the business is, the man in the street
grumbles," continued Warborough. "It's all very fine saying that the
Silent Navy is above public opinion and all that--it isn't, and it's
a bit rough. Our men come back from leave with the yarn that they are
continually being asked, 'What is the Navy doing?' And if people find
out that they belong to the submarine service they ask still more
pointed questions. Civilians forget that the German ships rarely put
to sea, except when they think they can do a sneaking bit of damage.
And after this recent scrap they'll be still more chary about coming
out. Now, if there's nothing or hardly anything afloat for us to go
for, it's not much use running a great risk of being rammed by our
own destroyers. Submarines can't fight submarines, and the fact that
a few German 'unterseeboots' have started playing the fool with our
merchant craft complicates the situation. However, there are four of
our submarines keeping an eye on the approach to the German North Sea
ports, so perhaps, after the war is over and people are let into the
know, we may be vindicated in the minds of the Great British Public.
Why, man, what's wrong now? Your nose has started to bleed."
Terence brought out his handkerchief and applied it to his nasal
organ. It was a very rare thing for it to bleed, and he wondered
whether it was the result of the concussion when he was blown from
the deck of the "Livingstone."
"I don't fancy so," remarked Warborough. "It's the excess of oxygen.
We are frequently affected that way. Shove your head in that basin
and let me pour cold water on your neck: that will stop it pretty
quickly."
Aubyn's companion was quite right. In less than two minutes the flow
had entirely ceased.
"How about the water?" asked Terence. "I suppose this is the pump?"
"Yes. You'll have to exert a fair amount of strength to get rid of
the water, you know."
Aubyn seized the pump lever, but in spite of his efforts he could not
force the water out of the basin. "Back pressure too much," commented
Warborough. "We're more than fifty feet below the surface. We'll have
to get rid of this water pretty quickly, so I'll ask the skipper to
bring the boat twenty feet or so nearer the surface."
"Sorry to give you so much trouble," said Terence apologetically.
"Not at all, my dear fellow. It will give the men something to do to
relieve the monotony. Come with me, if you're fit to move, and you
can see the operation."
Terence followed the junior officer to the base of the conning-tower,
and upon Warborough explaining matters to the lieutenant-commander,
the latter concurred in the desirability of ascending.
"While we are about it we may as well go up and look round," he
added.
Word was then passed for the crew to stand at their stations. Inside
a water-filled compartment, separated from the rest of the vessel by
strong watertight bulkheads, the electrically-worked winch could be
dimly heard as it hauled in the cable, till the stockless anchor was
safely housed flush with the outer plating of the submarine.
The reserve tanks were "blown," the electric motors for propelling
purposes were set in motion, and the horizontal fins trimmed for the
ascent. Steadily the pointer of the depth indicator began to fall
till it registered ten feet. At that distance below the surface it is
quite possible to make use of the periscope.
The lieutenant-commander watched the seemingly monotonous changing
panorama depicted upon the bowl at the base of the periscope, as the
eyepiece swept the horizon.
Suddenly he checked the training handle. A small and rather
indistinct object had appeared in view.
"What do you make of that, Warborough?" asked the skipper calmly.
"Light-cruiser, sir!" replied that officer, after a brief glance at
the reflected picture. "And a German, by all the powers!"
"May as well have a look, Mr. Aubyn," said the lieutenant-commander
considerately. "She seems in no hurry, and unless she takes it into
her head to change her course, she'll pass within eight hundred yards
of us."
Terence inspected the periscope representation of the German vessel.
Although she flew no ensign, her characteristic masts, funnel, and
derricks, as well as her protruding bows--a combination of both
clipper and ram--proclaimed her as one of the "Freya" class cruisers,
averaging 5600 tons. Her guns were trained abeam, but from their
direction it was evident that the Germans had no idea of the peril
that menaced them.
The sub. felt his blood tingling. It was the "Terrier" incident over
again, only the boot was on the other foot this time.
"Down to thirty feet--charge firing-tank--flood both
torpedo-tubes--stand by!" ordered the lieutenant-commander.
He would not run the risk of allowing the tip of the periscope to
remain on the surface while the crew were thrusting the two steel
cylinders into their respective tubes.
"All correct, sir!" reported the leading torpedo-hand.
"To fifteen feet, then," was the order.
Once again daylight filtered through the periscope. On the bowl stood
the image of the doomed cruiser, now showing with remarkable
vividness. A slight touch on the steering gear and "E Something"
swung a point or so to starboard to enable her tubes to be trained a
few feet in advance of the cruiser's bows--a sufficient allowance for
the vessel to be fairly in the path of the deadly weapon by the time
the torpedo travelled the intervening distance.
A faint detonation, caused by the release of the propelling charge of
compressed air was followed by the rush of the water admitted into
the now empty tube to compensate the loss of weight of the torpedo.
The missile was on its way.
A few seconds of tense silence followed, then came the muffled sound
of a terrific detonation, as the warhead exploded fifteen feet below
the surface and fairly amidships of the doomed cruiser. No need to
let loose a second missile.
"Got her!" exclaimed the skipper laconically, as the submarine dived
to fifty feet to avoid detection and its natural sequence--a hail of
quick-firer projectiles from the already sinking vessel.
A quarter of an hour later the "E Something" again showed her
periscope. The lieutenant-commander's surmise was correct. The German
cruiser had plunged to the bottom, while half a dozen boats, crammed
to their utmost capacity, were laboriously rowing towards the
invisible island of Borkum.
"Thank you, Mr. Aubyn!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, extending
his hand towards the sub.
"What for, sir, might I ask?"
"For letting your nose bleed at a most opportune moment," was the
cool rejoinder.