BRUNO'S ESCAPADE
AT eight o'clock on the following Thursday morning H.M.S. "Tantalus"
cast off from her moorings in Trecurnow Roads and stood down
Channel.
She was an armoured cruiser of an obsolescent type, and although not
powerful enough to be of material use to the Grand Fleet, was
admirably adapted to the work allotted to her--ocean patrolling and
escorting transports to and from overseas. Since the outbreak of war
her steaming mileage worked out at a little over 200,000 miles, or
roughly eight times the circumference of the earth. During this
stupendous task her engines had given hardly any trouble, and never
once had had a serious breakdown--a feat that was rendered possible
solely to the unremitting care and attention of her engineering
officers and ratings. Sixteen years previously her contract speed
was twenty-five knots; and when occasion required her "black squad"
could whack her up to her original form.
On either side of the cruiser a long, lean destroyer kept station,
for the "Tantalus" was to be escorted through the danger zone.
Waspish little motor patrol boats, too, were dashing and circling
around her, their task being to put the wind up any lurking U-boat
that was bold enough to risk being rammed or blown up by depth
charges by the attendant destroyers.
"Mornin', Slogger, old bird," exclaimed a voice. "Looking for your
friend, Holcombe?"
Farrar, whose turn it was to be Duty Sub of the Watch, was levelling
his glass at one of the destroyers. Upon hearing himself familiarly
addressed--for the nickname of schooldays still stuck--he turned and
placed the telescope under his arm.
"Mornin', Banger," he replied. "No; I knew it was no use looking for
Holcombe on that packet. The 'Antipas' is of a later type; besides,
she's not completed commissioning yet. How's that dog of mine
behaving?"
Dick Sefton was another of the "Tantalus's" sub-lieutenants, a short
and heavily built fellow whose full face was brimming over with
good-humour. He was an R.N.R. man, called up for duty as a
midshipman on the outbreak of hostilities. For some obscure reason
his messmates had nicknamed him Banger, although there was a
suspicion that those tinned delicacies, otherwise known as
"Zeppelins in the Clouds," had something to do with it. Sefton had
already had a fair share of adventure. He had been torpedoed
twice--once in the AEgean Sea, and again somewhere within the Arctic
Circle; he had been in a tough engagement between two armed
merchantmen, and had taken part in a hand-to-hand struggle between
the crews of a U-boat and a possible victim that proved to be a
veritable Tartar. He had braved the rigours of two winters in the
North Sea on Examination Service, and had spent four days without
food and a very little water in an open boat under the blazing sun
in the Eastern Mediterranean. Yet in spite of hardships and perils
his cherubic smile still clung to his homely features. Not a soul of
the "Tantalus's" ship's company could truthfully say that he had
seen Banger in a bad temper.
"Bruno is in great form, absolutely," replied Sefton. "During the
absence of his worthy master, namely yourself, he has been improving
his acquaintance with the rest of the mess--and their effects."
"Eh?" exclaimed Farrar. "Been in mischief?"
"The casualties to date are--killed: one pot of honey belonging to
little Tinribs, two gramophone records, the property of the mess,
and Johnson's pneumatic waistcoat; wounded: the messman and one of
the marine servants while attempting to rescue the before-mentioned
waistcoat under a heavy fire; missing: the contents of a tin of
condensed milk and a plate of curried fowl. The messman and the
marine contemplating reprisals, Bruno merely beat a strategic
retreat to the padre's cabin. Latest reports state that the animal,
possibly owing to a surfeit of condensed milk and curried fowl,
combined with the unaccustomed motion of the ship, strongly
resembles the present state of Russia; to wit, violent internal
disorder. So, my festive Slogger, you'll have something to answer
for."
"By Jove!" ejaculated Farrar. "I hope the padre won't complain to
the commander. I can square the messman and make it all right with
the rest of the mess, but the chaplain----"
"Plenty of time for that," resumed Sefton. "There are indications
that the padre is in a state of siege. Bruno is lying on the floor
of the cabin and against the door. The padre is sitting on his bunk
and cuddling his knees. Every time he tries to get out Bruno growls,
although I fancy that the animal's malady is responsible for that.
The awkward part of the business is that the padre is mortally
afraid of dogs. They are his pet antipathies. A yapping little
terrier would give him cold feet, so you can imagine what effect
Bruno would have on him."
"For goodness' sake, Banger, hike the animal out of it," replied
Farrar. "I can't leave the deck, you know."
"I'll do my best," replied Sefton. "It is indeed fortunate that our
Fleet Surgeon underwent a course in the Pasteur Institute. Do you
happen to know whether a fat fellow is more susceptible to
hydrophobia than a thin one? If so, I'll shunt Jenkyns on to the
job."
Sefton departed upon his errand, while Farrar, wondering what the
outcome of Bruno's escapade would be, made his way to the weather
side of the navigation bridge.
The "Tantalus" was now well on her way down Channel. The Wolf
Lighthouse, rising like a slender shaft from the sea, lay broad on
the starboard beam. The motor patrol boats, having reached the limit
of their station, were hoisting the affirmative pennant in answer to
a signal for the cruiser to part company. From the as yet invisible
Scillies another flotilla of patrol boats was approaching to take
over escorting duties until the cruiser with her cargo of important
civil personages was beyond the dangerous "chops of the Channel."
On board the "Tantalus" the utmost vigilance was maintained, the
escorting destroyers notwithstanding. The six-inch and light
quick-firers on the upper deck were manned ready to open fire at a
moment's notice, should the sinister, pole-like periscopes of a
U-boat show above the surface.
Every possible precaution had been taken to safeguard His Majesty's
ship, and the party of civilians who, under Providence, were
entrusted to the care of one of the units of the Great Silent Navy.
The members of the deputation were standing on the after bridge,
watching with absorbed interest the stately progress of a huge
flying-boat that was making her way back to Trecurnow. Already that
morning the sea had been explored for miles on either side of the
cruiser's course, and the aerial scout had wirelessed to the effect
that no hostile submarine had been sighted.
Within the microphone room on the fore bridge an alert petty officer
stood with the receivers clipped to his ears, listening for any
suspicious sound that might emanate from the churning of a U-boats
propeller; but beyond the rhythmic purr of the engines of the two
destroyers not a sound of machinery in motion in the vicinity of the
cruiser was audible.
In less than ten minutes Sefton returned.
"A proper lash up, Slogger," he announced. "Bruno's gone and done it
this time."
He paused to note the effect of his words.
"Out with it, man!" exclaimed Farrar. "Don't say he's put the padre
out of action."
"He has," said Banger, with an extra special grin.
"Bitten him?"
"I don't think so," replied Sefton. "In default of definite evidence
the answer is in the negative."
"Then what has the dog done?"
"Well, to express the matter in a delicate way," continued Sefton
slowly and deliberately, "Bruno has been taken violently ill in the
padre's sanctum."
"Did you hike him out?"
"Who--the padre or the dog?"
"Either--or both."
"Couldn't," was the exasperating reply.
"Why not, dash it all?"
"Simply because I wasn't equal to the job. Neither are all the
marine servants nor the best part of the carpenter's crew. The
Bloke's (commander) gone to inspect the place, so all the fat's in
the fire."
"Is Bruno showing temper, then?" asked his master anxiously.
"No; he's as quiet as the proverbial lamb."
"Look here, Banger!" exclaimed Farrar. "Can't you pitch a
straightforward yarn without my having to drag it all from you in
bits?"
"All right," replied Sefton. "It's like this. By some
means--possibly Bruno rubbed against the door--the door's bolted on
the inside. The padre won't muster up courage to let himself out,
and the mob outside can't get in. The carpenter's mate is going to
take out the jalousie--and the door's made of steel, remember. I
have an idea---- Hullo, here's the Owner. I'm off."
Catching sight of the oak-leaved cap as the captain ascended the
starboard ladder, Sefton promptly dived down the ladder on the port
side, while Farrar, smartly saluting, awaited the approach of the
controller of the destinies of nine hundred officers and men forming
the "Tantalus's" ship's company.
"Where's the officer of the watch, Mr. Farrar?" asked the skipper.
"In the chartroom, eh? Very good, carry on. Inform Mr. Sitwell that
a wireless has just come through from the Admiral, Trecurnow Base.
The escorting destroyers are to return; we are to shape a course for
Queenstown and await further orders. What are we making?"
"Eighteen knots, sir."
"Increase to twenty-two, then.... What's that--signalling?"
"Destroyers request permission to part company, sir."
"Hoist the affirmative. All right, Mr. Farrar. Keep me well posted
should anything untoward occur."
The captain left the bridge and the sub communicated his
instructions to the lieutenant on duty as Officer of the Watch.
"Jolly rummy," commented Mr. Sitwell. "Did the Owner look at all
surprised?"
"Not so far as I could see," replied the sub.
"Then I expect the Commander-in-Chief has had warning that there's a
swarm of U-boats off the Irish coast.... Starboard four,
quartermaster."
The destroyers had flung about and were tearing off in the direction
of Trecurnow Harbour; the Scilly patrol had been left astern, and
the "Tantalus" was alone in the midst of a waste of white-topped
waves. She was now beginning to follow a zigzag course--a precaution
invariably taken when within the U-boat zone.
Nigel Farrar felt convinced that the captain was uneasy in his mind
on the subject of the wireless orders. In view of the presence of
diplomats and other Government Civil Officials on board, the
peremptory removal of the destroyer escort seemed very bad policy.
But the orders had been given in secret code, and had to be obeyed
without demur.
"Now, then, old bird, foot it!" exclaimed Sefton, as he reappeared
on the bridge. "Anything to report?"
Farrar glanced at his watch. To his surprise he found that the last
hour had passed with great rapidity. His work was now at an end; his
relief had arrived to take on the duties of Sub of the Watch, while
the Officer of the Watch had also turned over his responsibilities
to another lieutenant.
At the first opportunity the sub hastened to the half-deck, where,
outside the padre's cabin, a number of perspiring men were still
busily engaged in removing the steel lattice work, known as a
jalousie, from that officer's cabin door. Standing in a semicircle
around them were all the midshipmen not on duty, taking no pains to
conceal their amusement at the naval instructor's discomfiture. On
the fringe of the ring stood the commander and three or four other
wardroom officers, the former eyeing with grim displeasure the
disfigurement of this part of the "internal fittings" of one of His
Majesty's cruisers.
Through the slits of the jalousie came sounds of the padre,
breathing stertorously, and the deep snores of the dog, who, having
"mustered his bag," was sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.
"Can't you unbolt the infernal door, padre?" shouted the commander
impatiently. He had asked the same question half a dozen times
already, and the monotony of the request was beginning to jar the
already overstrung nerves of the chaplain.
"Heaven forbid," he muttered. "My calling urges me to do the very
opposite."
"It strikes me, sir," remarked the first lieutenant, addressing the
commander, "that we have here an example of the lion and the lamb
lying down together."
The pun--for the padre's name was Lamb--fell upon deaf ears as far
as the commander was concerned, although the midshipmen smiled
broadly at the popular Number One's wit.
"Look alive, there, men!" the commander exclaimed impatiently.
"Don't waste the whole day getting that frame unstowed."
The carpenter's crew "bucked up" at these words. Truth to tell they
had been proceeding leisurely at their work. The last bolt was
removed and the jalousie fell away from the surrounding steel frame.
One of the men, thrusting his arm through the aperture, shot back
the catch of the door.
"Call the brute away, Mr. Farrar," said the commander.
Before the sub could approach the door to secure his troublesome
pet, a violent concussion shook the ship from stem to stern. The
electric lights on the half-deck went out, plunging the enclosed
space into semi-darkness, while the sudden upheaval of some 14,000
tons of deadweight resulted in capsising almost every member of the
party outside the padre's cabin.
"They've got us this time!" ejaculated the first lieutenant
dispassionately.
And less than eight hundred yards away Ober-Leutnant Otto von
Loringhoven was expressing similar views concerning the expected
result of the impact of two Schwartz-Kopff torpedoes against the
side of H.M.S. "Tantalus."