IN AN IRISH MIST
The _Q-4_ slid down a long foam-patterned wave that hid the horizon
behind, wallowed a moment in the green hollow and began her climb once
more. Those seas were awe-inspiring, and Nelson, viewing them from a
conning tower port, felt that the submarine was a ridiculously tiny
thing to be afloat in. Even Martin, who had preceded him up the ladder,
looked a bit serious as he raised his eyes to the crest of the next
monster that came, towering far against a stormy gray sky, toward them
as if to engulf the little craft. But the _Q-4_ kept on climbing, her
decks aslant, until she seemed to hang motionless there between sky and
water. Then, with a flirt of her tail, she was off again, coasting down
for another wallow in the trough.
She had been doing that ever since the evening before when the peaceful
quiet of the hundred foot depth had given place to the clatter and
clang of surface steaming. The gale was a thing of the past, but
the effect of it was still apparent in the monstrous seas that came
charging out of the north-east. Once during the forenoon the sun
had peered out for a brief moment from behind the wrack of leaden
clouds, but now the world visible from the _Q-4_ was gray and somber
slatey-green. The other ships were not in sight, for each had fought
the gale in its own way and set its own course, but the wireless had
picked up one of the destroyers the night before. She had had her bow
bent by a sea and lost a funnel, but was keeping on about sixty miles
north. Later the _Q-4_ got into communication with the flagship and
with two submarines. Each reported having had a hard time of it. One
of the smaller subs was believed to have been lost. (That, however, as
they were to learn weeks later, was not so. She had submerged early
in the trouble, but her batteries had been quickly exhausted and she
had been forced to the surface again where for two days she had been
tossed about and driven so far from her course that, engine trouble
developing, she had limped in to Bermuda, by that time her nearest
port!) The _Q-4_ was doing eleven knots and had been putting the miles
behind her at that speed ever since coming up, and, with the barometer
acting reasonably there seemed a fair chance of reaching Queenstown in
the course of another three days, for the _Q-4_ had also got too far
south.
Over Nelson’s head, on the swaying bridge, the junior luff and a
steersman were “taking her through.” Here in the conning tower, behind
the head-high ports, two lookouts were on duty, scanning the tumbling
sea for “smoke, sail or periscope.”
Nelson and Martin descended to the central station, the former, at
least satisfied to exchange the uneasy tower deck for the comparative
calm of the torpedo compartment whither he accompanied Martin. He
aided, or tried to aid, in the duty of inspecting the torpedoes
and verifying the pressure in the air flasks, a daily proceeding.
Afterwards he visited Clancy in the engine room and asked so many
questions, having to shout to make himself heard, that the machinist’s
mate drove him forth with a wrench. Life aboard was quite sociable that
evening, for there was a game of pitch in the forward quarters and a
tow-headed electrician produced a mouth organ and played spiritedly, if
out of tune, and all who could make any sort of a vocal sound tried to
sing.
The next day dawned with a smoother sea, and at about six bells in
the forenoon watch they sighted smoke and picked up the torpedo boat
destroyer _Stacey_. They were in the German submarine zone and the
watch became sharper than ever. Just before dark the main body of the
flotilla was sighted and the next morning the _Q-4_ was back with her
companions, some of them showing effects of their struggles with the
storm. Nelson learned that the _Gyandotte_ was one of the gray shapes
ahead and he wondered whether the captain would attempt to put him
aboard her. He didn’t quite see the possibility of it, nor did Martin,
and the latter prophesied that Nelson would stay just where he was
until they reached port, something that Nelson was glad enough to do.
The junior lieutenant informed him that evening that they had reported
his rescue to the _Gyandotte_, but that it wouldn’t be advisable to
attempt any transfer at present.
The flotilla was back in two-column formation by that time, with
destroyers and cruisers forming a cordon about them, and in such order
they steamed toward Cape Clear. The following day the lookouts on all
the ships were kept perturbed and busy, for the sea was a graveyard
thereabouts and the surface was fairly cluttered with wreckage. Scarce
an hour passed that a floating cask or spar or hatch did not send the
destroyer and cruiser gun crews to stations. About noon the _Q-4_
rode through a patch of oil nearly an acre in extent. They wanted to
think that it was evidence of a destroyed German submarine, but the
more likely explanation had to do with an Allied tanker sunk by mine or
torpedo. Toward dusk general quarters was sounded on the _Q-4_ and the
two deck guns were manned and the torpedo crew flew to their stations.
For several minutes the supposed enemy submarine lay in plain sight
against the sunset glow while the destroyers converged toward it, three
and four-inch guns popping. Then they swung around and hurried back in
disgust and as the signals wigwagged from ship to ship the officers
on the _Q-4’s_ bridge chuckled. The submarine had proved to be a dead
whale!
And that was as close to sighting a German U-boat as they came. For the
last two nights of the run they traveled without even a stern light and
scattered at dark to reassemble at the first streak of morning. Fastnet
Light appeared off the port bow late that night and when day came, a
misty, soft day, they were carefully picking their way through the mine
fields, with the green hills of Ireland stretching alongside. And that
afternoon they passed the Head and slowly slipped into Cork Harbor,
dropping anchors at last under the slopes of Queenstown.
Back home they never heard of that voyage until long after, which
perhaps is to be regretted, since the war developed few more courageous
incidents than that twenty-five hundred mile run of United States
submarines, many of which were but coastal boats and never meant for
such a venture.
But, although they had all come through safely save one, each was
in need of some repairs, inside or out, and the next morning they
gathered about the mother ship like chickens about a clucking hen
and the overhauling began. Nelson bade good-bye to Martin and to the
rest of the _Q-4’s_ men and returned to the _Gyandotte_, which had
dropped her hooks nearly a mile below. Minus one funnel, she had a
most reprehensible appearance. The officer of the deck shook his
hand, something quite foreign to precedent, and for the subsequent
hour Nelson was treated like a hero by the men below. He had to tell
his story more than once and was glad when his shipmates began at
last to lose interest in his exploit. Getting back to the freedom and
spaciousness of the cruiser was rather pleasant, after the confinement
of the _Q-4_, but he missed Martin Townsend and somehow regretted the
uncomfortable, happy-go-lucky existence he had left. Martin he was
to see again soon, for all ships were destined to remain in port for
a number of days, according to report, and they had planned to get
liberty together.
Some of the ships began coaling the next morning, but, fortunately
for Nelson, the _Gyandotte_ was not of the number and his watch was
given liberty. If you have never been through a week of such stress
and anxiety as those aboard the _Gyandotte_ you can’t well imagine the
positive joy of setting foot ashore once more. A quartermaster voiced
the sentiment of all in Nelson’s boat when, as it drew toward the
landing, he remarked: “The best thing about going to sea is getting
back on land, fellows.” They all agreed to that. And they groaned
derisively when the boatswain’s mate in charge added: “Yeah, and the
best thing about being ashore is getting back to your ship.” It might
be quite true, but it was untimely!
Nelson found Martin awaiting him, according to arrangement, at the
little Y. M. C. A. hut which had just been erected as a temporary
headquarters for the sailors, and they saw the town pretty thoroughly
during the next two hours. In fact, they practically exhausted it long
before the two hours were over, for Queenstown, although beautiful
as to natural surroundings, holds in itself little of interest. The
harbor, however, held plenty of action, for there were craft of all
sorts, sizes and nationalities there, even including a German mine
layer which had been brought in early in the war and was lying, a
sad-looking hulk, on the flats near Haulbowline Island. At least, the
tattered lounger who pointed her out to them said she was German,
and as they wanted to think so they didn’t seek corroboration. There
was even a Portuguese destroyer in sight, a strangely-shaped craft
that curved forward and aft until bow and stern sat low in the water.
She had been streaked and spotted with grays and greens and blues
until she was at once strange and elusive to the sight. Camouflaged
hulls were fewer then than later and the British destroyers, of which
there was one even then steaming slowly past Spike Island, were still
unrelievedly black. A French chaser, however, had added pink to her
other tones and looked like a nautical hummingbird or, possibly, a gay
butterfly alighted on the water. The boys climbed the hill back of the
town later and were well rewarded by the view that spread before them.
Fortunately the sun was shining and they could see far out onto the
channel southward and even locate Cork by the haze of smoke that lay in
the northwest. Toward two o’clock they reached the town again and set
out in search of dinner. They found it at last, but the least said of
it the better. The only point in its favor that Nelson could think of
was its price, and that was so ridiculous that he felt as though he had
cheated the proprietor of the little water-front hotel.
They wrote letters that afternoon in the Y. M. C. A. hut, disputing a
table with so many others that elbows knocked together. Nelson’s brief
epistle to his uncle was soon finished and then he wrote a longer
letter to his relations in Boston and, finally, a shorter one to
Billy Masters. After that he looked through a two-months-old American
magazine and waited for Martin to finish “pouring his heart out.” The
expression is Nelson’s. Perhaps he was a little bit envious. Having
someone to write to, someone who really cared to hear from a chap, was
pretty nice! Neither found letters from home, a fact which disturbed
Martin more than it did his companion. Nelson pointed out, however,
that American mail hadn’t had time to reach Queenstown yet, and Martin
felt better. They joined forces with nearly a dozen members of the
_Q-4’s_ petty officers and crew and hired numerous carriages――only
they called them cars there――and were driven around the island. It
was an hilarious and rather noisy trip, for they were well through
with a dangerous enterprise, the sun was shining, the Irish fields
were tender green and they were young. Many a gossoon who had never
been familiar with a United States coin before was richer by reason of
that expedition. As Clancy remarked――for Clancy was along and led the
singing: “There’s nothing in the stores worth buying and we’ve got to
spend it somehow!”
Coming back they spied a baseball game going on and, emitting wild
shrieks of approval, abandoned their equipages――paying the jarveys far
more than was reasonable――and joined the spectators. Inquiry elicited
the information that the contending nines represented an American
destroyer and an American supply ship. Clancy learned which team was
leading in the score and then, summoning his companions, began a vocal
bombardment of that team which so surprised and distressed its pitcher
that he added to the joy of nations by passing the next two batsmen
and throwing an easy grounder over first baseman’s head. The game
had reached the end of the seventh inning when the _Q-4’s_ rioters
appeared and the score was 18 to 7 in favor of the destroyer’s team,
but Clancy rallied the neutrals, which included many amused British
Tommies from the garrison, and conducted such a siege of cheering and
raillery that the supply ship came through in the ninth with enough
hits to win.
The destroyer team’s catcher, a big two-handed Irish-American with
flaming red hair and a belligerent disposition, took Clancy to task
the instant he was free of his mask and protector and there ensued
as pretty a little informal scrap as it had been the pleasure of the
Britons to witness for some time. They were awfully appreciative,
those Tommies, and did everything in their power to make the affair a
success, even to joining hands and establishing a ring. A red-cheeked
sergeant took charge of proceedings and appointed himself referee and
everything went off very nicely indeed. They found six rounds before
the destroyer “gob” took the count, during which it was give-and-take
all the way, with some really scientific work by both men. Clancy
looked a bit the worse for wear at the end of the battle, but he had
the satisfaction of knowing that this opponent looked a sight more
disreputable. Subsequently the late foes shook hands quite amicably,
and principals, seconds and spectators returned to the town in the
finest of spirits, Briton and American fraternizing in a fashion almost
touching.
Despairing of finding a supper fit for persons of their refinement and
condition of hunger, Martin and Nelson called it a day and returned to
their respective ships, agreeing to meet again at the first opportunity.
The opportunity didn’t occur until the second day later, for the
_Gyandotte_ filled her bunkers and Nelson’s presence was necessary on
board. The captain didn’t put it in those words, of course. In fact,
he didn’t say anything about it. The order was “Coal ship,” and you
knew what that meant without being told, and knew that your chance of
getting ashore was just about as bright as a lighted candle’s in a
gale of wind. The _Gyandotte_ tried for a record that day, but failed
by a matter of six minutes, and there was subsequent gloom that was
dispelled only when soap and water had removed the signs of toil and
“chow” had refreshed the inner man. The next day the task of painting
fell to the other hands and Nelson again spread himself luxuriously on
a thwart of the first boat bearing the liberty party to shore. Martin
failed to show up until almost noon, however, and Nelson passed rather
a dull morning. He read all the newspapers and magazines he could
get his hands on at the hut and mailed three picture postcards, and
after that strolled along the one main street of the town and wondered
whether any of the citizens of Queenstown ever did any work. So far
as he could see most of the inhabitants were holding up the fronts of
the buildings along the water! He yielded to the blandishments of four
beggars, tried to understand the tearful tale of a stranded Norwegian
sailor, bought some butterscotch and got his jaws stuck so firmly
together that he feared he would have to seek the aid of a surgeon, and
then literally walked into the arms of Martin.
“Hello, Nep,” laughed the latter, releasing him. “Lost your eyesight?”
“Nobagamatetutugada,” replied Nelson earnestly.
“Come again, please!”
“IhayIgamate――――”
“Yes, I understand that,” said Martin gravely, “but what happened after
the torpedo struck?”
Nelson seized him by the arm, in desperation, and started him up the
hill.
“Oh, I see,” jabbered the other. “You’ve hidden the corpse on top of
the hill, eh? Better look back and see if we’re followed, Nep. The
last time I got mixed up in a crime of this sort I was electrocuted.”
“Dobesiechum,” expostulated Nelson impatiently. “Hapiesef.” He drew the
bag of butterscotch from his pocket and held it forth. Martin viewed it
suspiciously.
“Yes, I’m quite happy, thanks, but I don’t think I want to eat any of
that stuff. What is it?”
“Buherhoct.”
“Indeed? Has it any other name? Let’s look at it. Oh, I get you, Nep.
It’s butterscotch. Why didn’t you say so?”
“Idi!”
“Not at all, old scout. You said something that sounded like a giraffe
blowing bubbles. No, thanks, Nep. You may be stuck on that stuff, but
I’m not, and don’t intend to be. Is there any hope for you? Or do you
remain stuck-up and inarticulate all day?”
“Iamin,” responded Nelson hopefully.
“Iamin, eh? Think of that? Why, I used to know him. Nice chap, too.
Say, where are you taking me? _I_ don’t want to go and see that castle
or monastery or whatever it is up there. Let’s look for a movie show.”
Nelson freed his jaws by a final, despairing effort and after an
agonized period of suspense deposited a lump of butterscotch on
someone’s doorframe.
“Hang the stuff!” he exclaimed ruefully. “I’ve nearly broken my jaws
with it. Wonder what sort of glue they put into it. Someone could make
his fortune if he could find out. Gee, but my mouth aches!”
“What are you going to do with the rest of it?” inquired Martin.
“Throw it away as far as――――”
“Wait a bit! Don’t be wasteful, Nep. I know something better. We’ll go
back to Main Street or Prairie Boulevard or whatever they call that
causeway down there and drop it along the pavement. Then we’ll wait
until it gets nice and soft and make a lot of money prying folks loose.”
But Nelson didn’t think the scheme practical and so they compromised
by laying the bag on a doorsill and hurrying off before they could be
caught and made to take it back.
The south of Ireland has a delightful climate if you don’t mind being
a bit damp. The sun disappeared behind a fog bank about noon and when
they emerged from dinner――they had taken advice and been rewarded by a
well-cooked meal――it was raining. At least, they called it rain, but
the inhabitants spoke of it as a mist. Whatever it was, it made them
wish they had their rubber coats. They retired to the Y. M. C. A. hut
to wait for it to stop, but it showed no intention of doing anything
so obliging, and so, after awhile, finding the hut deficient in
excitement, they metaphorically shrugged damp shoulders and swaggered
forth again. Perhaps it would have been as well if they hadn’t, as
things turned out. Or perhaps, on the other hand, it was fortunate that
they did. It all depends on how you look at it.