weather was clear, and here outside the harbour the sea was nearly
smooth, and the razor fore-foot cut a great sheaf of water away on
either bow as her engines worked up to top speed. Her gun-screws were
closed up and her look-outs posted. A large red flag was hoisted at the
yard-arm and every eye was kept glued on the harbour mouth, watching
for the first sight of ‘123’ on her way out.
Every five minutes Jenkins altered the course, edging her gradually
out to sea until the harbour was left about ten miles astern. Arrived
there, the _Zero_ ran up and down parallel to the land, waiting for her
foe to appear.
Presently the signal boy lowered his glass sharply and reported, ‘“123”
coming out, sir.’
Away over the entrance a small smudge showed up, which the glasses
revealed as Raymond’s submarine doing her best on her gas engines. Her
bridge-screen was down and all appeared to be ready for diving.
‘All right,’ said Jenkins, after carefully inspecting her. ‘Keep an eye
on her and let me know when she dives.’
Up went the telescope again, while the _Zero_ continued her hurried
beat. Then down came the glass, and ‘Diving, sir,’ the boy announced.
Away over on the starboard hand ‘147,’ who had seen the red flag and
knew its meaning, hauled up to the Northward to approach the harbour
by a roundabout route and leave the Channel clear for her submerged
sister. Not a sign of Raymond’s boat could now be seen, and the game of
‘touch’ began in earnest.
The _Zero_ had to get back into harbour, while ‘123’ would exert every
effort to torpedo her. It was like looking for a poisoned needle
in a bundle of hay, and one realised what it is like when hostile
submarines with real live torpedoes are in one’s vicinity. Then,
it occurred to Jenkins, there was always the chance of something
going seriously wrong with Raymond’s boat, and he might run her down
unknowingly. Well, that was up to her captain, and he must look out for
himself. Although he had given practice-attacks to many submarines, the
Torpedo Boat captain could never overcome an uneasy feeling when his
‘enemy’ had dived. He couldn’t see them, they were away under water,
and if the attack were not made as soon as he expected it, doubts
would come over him as to whether all were well below. Was anything
the matter, and ought he to stop, buoy the spot, and return to harbour
and report it? Then when he was getting really anxious the submarine
would rise or fire at him, and he would have to call himself a fool for
his doubts and fears. He was getting over it now, but he still felt
the anxiety if, for any reason, an attack were unusually prolonged.
Standing now in a wing of the bridge with his binoculars glued to his
eyes, he scanned every inch of the water within a two miles’ radius.
On the other side Burton was similarly employed, and look-outs in all
parts of the ship were doing their best with their naked eyes.
The helm was put over, and, always edging towards the distant harbour,
the _Zero_ dodged and turned and retraced her tracks to the skipper’s
orders. She pirouetted like a debutante, and it seemed as if she fully
appreciated the fact that, all the while, somewhere beneath her, ‘123’
an enemy for the moment, was watching and waiting the opportunity to
fire her torpedoes at her. The sun shone brightly and danced on the
wavelets as they advanced to meet her. Occasionally a light spray
kissed her in passing, and the harbour and ‘home’ drew nearer and more
acceptable. Away ahead a gull circled and flew down to the wave tops,
hovered an instant, wheeled up, and finally fluttered slowly down as if
seeking something.
Jenkins brought his glass down with a bang.
‘Hard-a-port!’ he cried. ‘There she is! Quarter of a mile off, four
points on the port bow.’
The _Zero_ swung round in her own length, but even as she turned two
glittering objects showed up in the water, leaving white streaks behind
them and approaching her at a prodigious speed.
‘Steady!’ shouted Jenkins. ‘Watch the torpedoes! Stop her!’
One ‘fish’ passed well astern while the other barely grazed under her
counter. Five hundred yards farther on they broke surface, and the
red-painted collision heads bobbed up and down in silent mockery.
‘Away gig!’ piped the quartermaster, as Burton came tumbling down the
ladder. Two seamen jumped into the boat while the others lowered her to
the water, where on the tables being unhooked she towed alongside by
her painter, which was made fast from the _Zero’s_ fo’c’sle. The man
in the stern-sheets grasped the tiller and sheered her out, for the
Torpedo Boat had not lost way yet and was still going through the water
at a good five knots. Then quietly he eased in again, and the remainder
of the crew dropped into the boat followed by the T.I. and Burton.
‘Ready!’ cried the latter, as he took his seat. ‘Let go, for’ard. Way
together!’
As she sheered out, the Torpedo Boat slid swiftly past her. When all
was clear, her engines churned astern and she gradually lost her weigh
and came to a standstill.
All this time Jenkins could see no sign of the submarine, which had
evidently retired to a discreet depth after firing the ‘mouldies.’
Nothing was to be seen of her as he looked all round in the proximity
of his vessel. Then suddenly he realised with a shock that she was
there, had risen just behind him within a biscuit’s throw, bobbed
up like a Jack-in-the-Box, in fact. True, she was deep in the water
but her whole superstructure was above surface, and as she lay there
apparently deserted she put him in mind of some monster of the deep
thrown up by an underwater explosion. Presently the conning-tower hatch
opened and Raymond and the helmsman appeared. A moment or two passed,
an order was given, and she slid quietly alongside, within hailing
distance.
‘Saw you!’ shouted Jenkins triumphantly. ‘I spotted the periscope on my
port bow and put the helm hard-a-port just in time!’
‘Saw me, eh!’ Raymond bellowed back. ‘For how long?’
‘Only about a half a minute. Just when you had the “look-stick” up the
last time. When you fired, it must have been. You bore about sou’-west
as near as I could get it. I was afraid it was too late and you were
going to get your shot in.’
‘I rather thought I should get you that time. How did the “fish” run?’
‘Very well. A good straight run, but they seemed to me to be a bit
deep. What depth did you have them set at?’
‘Sixteen feet. Best to be on the safe side. That makes sure of them
going well underneath you if I get a good shot in, and leaves a margin
in case they rise a bit. I don’t want to damage ’em if I can help it.’
‘No, of course not. Do you want another run?’
‘Yes, please. I’d like to get rid of the other two fish now we’re on
the job. Same speed zig-zag will do me nicely.’
‘Right-oh. I’m picking up your torpedoes now. If you sheer off at once,
by the time I get ’em aboard you’ll be far enough away to dive. I’ll
get out to sea again to the limit of the area.’
‘All right. Thanks very much. But I shall be some time, so don’t
shake things too much. I’m pumping out the tubes so as to go through
the whole show again for the benefit of the crew. I haven’t had any
attacks for some time and there are some new hands in the boat.’
‘Never mind!’ bawled Jenkins, waving the megaphone in adieux. ‘I’ll
steam out slowly and give you plenty of time. Cheer-oh.’
Meanwhile the gig had pulled quickly to the nearer of the two
torpedoes. The war-heads, with their great charges of T.N.T., had been
removed the night before and the harmless collision or peace-heads
substituted. Other slight adjustments had also been made in order to
make them sufficiently buoyant, to control their speed and the depth
and distance they should run, and now they bobbed on the surface in a
perpendicular position, spouting water and pointing their noses to the
skies.
As they drew alongside the first of them the T.I. grabbed at the wire
grummet fixed to the head, and passed the end of a line through it.
The torpedo was then pulled gently forward by the boat’s crew until
the expert could reach and force back the starting lever, rendering
harmless her knife-edge propellers. Then off they pulled for the other,
the ‘mouldy’ touring astern and bobbing after them.
Presently they had them both fast, and rowed gently back to the _Zero_,
Burton and the T.I. holding the towing lines well apart to prevent them
banging against one another and injuring themselves.
Arrived alongside under the out-swung torpedo davit, the boat was made
fast and a line passed over the propellers of the inboard ‘fish.’ Its
other end was thrown aboard, and the _Zero’s_ men clapped on to the
nose and tail ropes and lifted her bodily out of the water. Then the
T.I. passed a thin steel band round the body of the torpedo at its
point of balance, screwed in a shackle, hooked on the davit runner, and
all was ready.
‘Hoist away!’ cried Burton from the stern sheets.
The torpedo crept quietly up the _Zero’s_ side, the men guiding her as
she rose. When she cleared the deck level, the davit was swung round
and she was gently lowered on to the wooden chocks prepared to receive
her. The second torpedo followed, and all but two of the boat’s crew
came aboard, the coxswain and the bow oar remaining to get her inboard.
She was pulled under the davits, hooked on, and as her dripping keel
rose out of the water, Jenkins put the telegraphs ahead and the _Zero_
was under weigh again.
Before the gig was up the T.I. was fussing round the recovered torpedo
like a hen round a long-lost chicken, putting on tail clamps, draining
the engines, and generally seeing to their needs.
As Burton went up to the bridge, after seeing the boat in, ‘123,’ who
was now about a mile away, slowly disappeared from sight.
First of all she settled down bodily in the water until her
superstructure was awash. Slowly her decks submerged, leaving only
her gun and conning-tower visible. Then as she sank deeper, her
periscope’s standard sticking out of the water was the only evidence
of her existence. The standard vanished, and through binoculars the
periscope alone could be seen, leaving a thin wake behind it. Then
that, too, disappeared, and there was no longer anything to tell the
watchers that ‘123’ had ever existed.
Down in her internals the crew was at diving-stations ready for the
next attack. In the fore-end, where Seagrave was in charge of the
torpedo tubes, the electric light winked and shimmered on the round
copper doors. The T.I. and two seamen were busy with valves and levers,
and the sound of a pump rose above the hissing of escaping air. Raymond
was in the control room, by the periscope, and Boyd stood by, ready to
record every course and bearing on the chart and carry out any special
orders the captain might give.
She had dived to thirty feet as a preliminary canter in order to get
well clear of the Torpedo Boat, before showing her periscope, and now,
at an order from Raymond, the two coxswains slowly brought her up. Very
gingerly the captain raised the instrument, took a quick glance round,
and lowered it again.
‘Thirty feet,’ he ordered. ‘Course 20 deg., Boyd. _Zero_ bearing 120
deg. We’ll let her get well out to sea again and have another smack at
her on her way back.’
‘All ready for’ard, sir,’ said Seagrave, coming aft. ‘We haven’t had
a great deal of practice in the fore-end lately, but that new man
seems to understand his job. I’ve drained the tubes, so that we can go
through the whole routine again.’
‘Very good. I’ll let you know in plenty of time. We’ve got to get old
Jinks this journey, remember. He mustn’t be allowed to crow twice.
Up periscope,’ he added to the able seaman who was controlling the
movements of the ‘look-stick’ so that the captain might be free to make
his observations.
‘All right,’ he continued, finishing his brief survey. ‘Carry on
for’ard. Jinks has turned back now. Keep her at eighteen feet,
coxswain.’
Another rapid glance a few minutes later showed him what he was waiting
for, and as the periscope came down he prepared for the attack.
‘Alter course to 175 deg., bearing 160 deg.,’ he called out. ‘Speed up
500. Flood the tubes.’
‘Flood the tubes,’ repeated Boyd along the tunnel of the boat, and
‘flood the tubes’ came back from Seagrave in the fore-end.
Round the tube doors a buzz of preparation took place. Before opening
the bow-cap and exposing the outboard doors at the farther end, through
which the torpedoes would presently be launched by compressed air,
the tubes had to be filled with water. It was necessary to flood them
from the water already in the fore-trimming tank, because if outside
water were allowed to enter the boat the extra weight would put her
down by the head and seriously upset her trim, probably even rendering
an attack impossible. Then, when the tubes were flooded, the bow-cap
could be swung, and on the order to fire compressed air would hurl the
torpedoes from their cages, the trippers would engage and force back
the starting levers as they slid out, and they would be away from the
mark at forty knots.
‘Open the drains and vents!’ cried Seagrave. ‘Air on the fore trim
line!’
Away aft in the control room Hoskins worked at a spindle on the air
manifold, and a rumbling and gurgling indicated that water was being
blown from the tank up into the tubes.
Seagrave and the T.I. were watching the gauges as the level slowly
rose. Up, up it came, and as the thin bubble line reached the top, a
spurt of water shot out from the vents.
‘Shut off drains and blows,’ cried the ‘Sub.’ ‘Close the vents!’
The tubes were now full, and with a few turns of a wheel he forced the
great bow-cap for’ard off its seating. Then with his foot on a shining
brass pedal, with a single heave of a lever, he swung the whole mass
round till the indicator showed that the open doors were in line with
the tubes. Something fell into place with a click, the cap was worked
back on to its seating, and the torpedoes were free for their mission.
‘Charge firing tanks’ was the next order, and as the air sighed and
soughed through the pipes, ‘All ready for’ard, sir!’ he shouted.
‘Ay, ay,’ answered Raymond, with his eye at the periscope. ‘Bearing of
_Zero_ 165 deg. What’s her depth?’
‘Eighteen feet, sir.’
‘Right. Down periscope.’
Boyd was working furiously at his chart, laying off the bearings and
courses and making notes of the orders given for future reference. All
this would be gone through afterwards in ward room and cabin, and it
was best to be well prepared.
Up went the periscope again. The men in the control room guessed they
were nearing the moment of attack and steadied themselves in readiness.
‘Bearing 170 deg. What’s her depth?’
‘Sixteen feet, sir.’
‘Keep her down, man. Don’t let her break surface. Down with her,’ said
Raymond sharply.
The coxswains worked frantically and took her down to twenty feet. Then
up once more and the periscope raised a mere few inches.
‘Bearing 175 deg. Full fields. Stand by!’ shouted Raymond, and down
came the periscope again.
The motors eased down as the fields were increased by the torpedo
ratings working at the motor-boards in the after compartment. Boyd
dropped his notebook and stood by the firing gear.
‘Deflection’s twenty, sir,’ he said.
‘Open “stand by” valves,’ cried Seagrave. ‘Open the cocks on the firing
line.’ A minute’s quick glance round, then ‘ready, sir.’
The periscope went up a few inches. Raymond was bending down almost
on his back now in his efforts to show above water as little of his
‘look-stick’ as possible.
‘Port ten,’ he ordered. ‘Keep her at her depth. Steady the helm.
Starboard five. Steady again.... Fire!’
Boyd wrenched down the firing levers, and the boat shuddered through
all her frames as the torpedoes were hauled forward. There was a great
soughing of air as the firing tanks recharged, the coxswains spun their
wheels to counteract the loss of weight, and down came the periscope.
‘Eighty feet,’ said Raymond, rubbing his eyes.
* * * * *
The _Zero_ had turned her head out to sea for the second attack.
Jenkins had carefully marked the spot where the submarine had dived
and felt fairly confident of picking up the periscope a second time.
Burton also was beginning to alter his opinion about the difficulty of
spotting a periscope. Perhaps it was easier than he had thought it.
True, he hadn’t seen it last time, but then he was looking out on the
other side of the ship and couldn’t be expected to have picked it up.
He crossed over to where the captain was standing.
‘How far are we going out, sir?’ he asked.
‘About the same distance, but we’ll keep her at this speed till we turn
round for the run. Raymond wants to do some fancy work or other to
train his crew.’
‘Very good, sir. I expect he was pretty sick at missing us last time.
He thinks he’s rather a knut at attacks, doesn’t he?’
‘Oh, he doesn’t mind,’ laughed the other. ‘It won’t worry him, he’s
one of the best. And don’t run away with the idea that he won’t
get us, because his blood’s up now, and it would be hard to find a
better submarine officer when he really means business. How does the
lighthouse bear?’
‘About another three miles to go,’ replied Burton, peering along the
azimuth ring.
‘We’ll carry on like this for another quarter of an hour then before we
turn round. Warn the look-outs when we start the run.’
The Torpedo Boat steamed on at about twelve knots to the limit of the
area. Her red flag warned all intruders of the nature of her errand,
and any passing craft gave a wide berth to the region in which she was
working.
Presently Burton looked into the compass again and announced that she
had reached the turning-point. The _Zero_ swung round on the course for
home, and Jenkins bent over the chart.
‘Here we are,’ he said, marking the spot with a pencil, ‘and Raymond
dived there. I expect he’ll attack us about four miles this side of the
harbour. Our course is 270 deg. Whack her up to full speed and start a
zig-zag.’
The telegraph clanged, and the helmsman put his wheel over at an order
from Burton. The _Zero_ jumped ahead and began on her erratic run for
home. Scarcely a ripple moved the surface of the water now that the
light wind had dropped, and the odds were strongly in favour of their
spotting the periscope long before Raymond could get into a position
favourable enough to fire his torpedoes.
With her slender bow slicing up a narrow trench of water the Torpedo
Boat raced on, turning and zig-zagging to the slightest touch of the
helm. Once Jenkins thought he saw the submarine and gave a sharp order,
but it proved to be nothing, and he countermanded it immediately. Then
Burton thought he saw her, and after that he saw periscopes everywhere
where there were none to be seen. A haunted feeling came over him, and
he thanked his stars it was not an enemy boat that was after them. It
seemed rather hopeless trying to find her after all.
But Jenkins, the veteran, thought otherwise. He had done this job on
many occasions, and rather fancied himself at bowling out his submarine
friends, and as they approached the suspected area he lowered his
glasses and took a final glance at the chart.
‘Keep a good look-out now,’ he shouted to the watching men. ‘Starboard
bow probably.’
It seemed impossible that a submarine could approach the little craft
and remain undetected. A dozen men were on the alert scanning every
inch of the surface in the vicinity of the vessel, and those on the
bridge kept their glasses sweeping in all directions. Now that the
moment had arrived, an expectant hush fell on the watchers, and each
strained his eyes for the first sight of the slightest ‘feather’ or
other indication of the enemy’s presence. Even the unnatural behaviour
of a gull called for attention, for the wily birds can see and give
warning of a periscope long before the human eye can detect it. It
was like a game of hide-and-seek, and the look-outs experienced the
feelings of a stranger stumbling along in the dark, knowing that
somewhere round the corner his enemy is waiting to stick a knife in his
back.
The expected danger-spot was reached, every eye on the alert. Over went
the helm, they were through it; it was passed and the tension relaxed.
Still there was no sign from the depths, and Jenkins slowly lowered his
glass again.
‘He’s missed us, I think,’ he said. ‘We must have given him the slip.’
‘A bit too quick for him,’ remarked Burton complacently.
Save for themselves the ocean seemed untenanted, and there lay the
harbour a bare two miles ahead.
‘Don’t crow till you’re out of the wood, though,’ went on the skipper.
‘He may have us yet.’
Then suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, his eye caught a glint in the
water.
‘Hard-a-starboard!’ he snapped. ‘Over with it!’
Too late! A flash of white and creamy bubbles told where one torpedo
had rushed across the bow. The other shot clean under the Torpedo
Boat, was lost for an instant, and reappeared on the other side like
an arrow from a bow. Two cables away they broke surface, and the red
peace-heads bobbed up and down as witnesses of the attack.
‘Got us, by Jove!’ roared Jenkins. ‘A beautiful shot! Steady the helm!
Stop her!’
Still there was no sign of ‘123,’ and with her engines going astern the
_Zero_ gradually lost her weigh and came to a standstill.
The boat was called away and Burton despatched to retrieve the spent
torpedoes, and presently a dark wedge-shaped object pushed up above the
surface and revealed itself as the submarine’s periscope standard. The
bridge, the gun, and finally the superstructure appeared, and she was
up from the eighty foot dive which she had undertaken to increase the
realism of the attack. An enemy who had seen the torpedoes on their
mission would have taken the warning and cast about for his assailant,
if he had not been blown to a better world.
She lay on the surface about half a mile off, menacing and silent.
The figures were seen moving on her bridge, and she slowly dropped
alongside, while her telescopic mast went up in sections and the White
Ensign was hoisted to the peak.
‘Beautiful shot!’ shouted Jenkins, as she came within hailing distance.
‘A real ripper! One went just ahead and the other right underneath me.
That depth you set them at was about right and they ran straight. If
I’d been a Hun you’d have blown me to smithereens.’
‘Did you see me?’ howled Raymond.
‘No fear. Never saw a vestige of periscope. In fact, I thought you’d
missed me.’
‘That’s good. I nearly broke surface once, and I was afraid it would be
no use carrying on. Will you bring the “fish” in and I’ll take ’em from
you when we get alongside the _Parentis_?’
‘Yes, all right. I’m picking them up now. See you later.’
Raymond started the motors and ‘123’ drew ahead. Presently Burton
returned with the torpedoes, which were carefully hoisted, and as the
boat was swung to the davit-heads the _Zero_ got under weigh. Ahead in
a cloud from her exhaust was the submarine, on her gas engines now, and
putting her best screw forward for the harbour. Permission to enter was
sought and granted from the Flagship in hoists of coloured bunting and
the exercise was over.
As the _Zero_ gathered speed the captain looked up from the chart table.
‘This is where we come in, I think,’ he said with a grin; ‘shove her on
to full.’
Down below the telegraph clanged and the small craft shook herself like
an expectant terrier. Then she began to feel the added impetus and
rapidly overhauled her slower rival. The Heads of the harbour entrance
opened out as they approached, and the trawler at the gate hoisted the
clearance signal. Beyond, the masts and funnels of the Fleet could be
seen, and away to the southward an Admiralty collier was punching along
with her cargo of diamonds for the ever hungry bunkers.
As they buzzed past their recent enemy, Jenkins gave an order to the
signal boy, and that ingenuous youth began waving the semaphore arms
with evident enjoyment.
‘Will report your return,’ he spelt out.
A pause followed. Then a figure was seen to clamber to a position of
vantage on the submarine’s standard and there was a flash of red and
yellow bunting.
‘What does he say?’ asked Raymond, when the message came to an end.
The boy saluted. ‘“123” to _Zero_, sir, “Your signal not understood.
Will report sinking of _Zero_ by torpedo on my arrival at base.” Eleven
twenty-five, code time, sir.’
‘What did I tell you, Burton?’ laughed the captain. ‘It’s no good
trying to get to windward of Raymond. He’s always undefeated to the
end.’