downfall of Jenkins’s attempt to score off the wily ‘hate-boat.’
The signal boy turned his back sharply and busied himself with his
flags, while he hid a smile behind a grimy hand. He was used to this
sort of chaff among the gods, but experience had taught him that it was
not well to display too keen a sense of humour on these occasions.
Three minutes later, with her engines at a reduced speed, the _Zero_
took the gate and sped on up the harbour. As she passed the big ships
the boy pounced on an answering pendant, ran it up to the yard-arm, and
glued his eye to the telescope.
‘_Parentis_ to _Zero_,’ he spelt out. ‘Moorings alongside _Parentis_
occupied. Anchor in No. 4 berth.’
‘Down answer,’ he added, and the pendant fluttered to the deck.
‘All right, carry on for’ard, Burton,’ said the captain. ‘She’ll have
to come alongside us in the afternoon and take the torpedoes in.
Starboard anchor. Forty-five on the windlass.’
Burton departed to superintend the mooring operations, and the Torpedo
Boat picked up her berth and let go her anchor without unnecessary fuss.
Meanwhile ‘123’ had followed her into the harbour at a more leisurely
gait, observing a discreet decorum now that she was under the paternal
eye of the big ships. As she approached the _Parentis_ her gas engines
were shut down, and she dropped alongside on her motors and made fast
to the trot. Raymond sent for the T.I., and arrangements were made for
the parting and overhauling of the torpedoes that had been fired, and
also held communion with the coxswain with regard to shifting alongside
the _Zero_ for them, after lunch. Boyd shut down the Sperry compass,
and by the time Seagrave had seen everything in order the three
officers decamped to clean themselves for the meal.
‘A most profitable morning’s work,’ announced Raymond, as they entered
the crowded ward room. ‘My congratulations to you, Seagrave, on the way
the “fish” ran, and to you, Boyd, for the masterly manner in which you
recorded our doings. Who’s having a gin?’
* * * * *
After dinner that evening the captain of the depot came down to the
ward room and was hailed with the respectful welcome of a great man and
a comrade. Drinks were passed on him, and he was led to an arm-chair
near the fire where the boat-captains were discussing their usual
topics, ‘shop’ and motor-bicycles. The Torpedo Lieutenant was in good
form and regaled his superiors with a lengthy account of his unrewarded
struggles to benefit a misguided humanity, and of his abject failure.
Austin and Blake brought a discussion on the merits of American Diesel
engines to him for a casting decision, and the Staff Paymaster bemoaned
the removal of a certain cherished underling to another sphere of
utility.
By-and-by, in a lull in the general conversation, the Captain spoke of
what was in his mind.
‘How did the attacks go to-day, Raymond?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t told
me anything beyond the bare report.’
‘Nothing to tell you, sir. They went pretty well. One came off and the
other didn’t.’
‘That’s all rubbish, sir,’ put in Jenkins, who was one of the guests of
the evening. ‘I only just saw him the first time, and the second attack
defeated me completely. I was absolutely Hunned and never saw a thing.’
The Captain’s eyes twinkled.
‘Not so bad, Raymond,’ he said. ‘Not so bad. A little more practice and
you’ll become one of the wonders of the deep.’
‘I don’t know about that, sir,’ laughed Raymond. ‘I ought to have got
both attacks in, really, and I only just got him the last time by a
fluke.’
The Captain smiled and changed the subject. At the other end of the
ward room somebody was playing the piano and the strains of ‘The
Admiral’s Broom’ rose in a deep baritone. When the chorus was reached
the party round the fire joined in:--
‘I’ve a whip at the mast said he,
For a whip is the sign for me,
That the World may know, where ever I go,
I ride and rule the Sea....’
The good old words filled the room and floated up through the skylight
to the silent quarter-deck, where the officer of the watch paced up
and down, and the anchored ships showed up as deeper blotches in the
darkness. Overhead the wireless buzzed and crackled, and the lapping of
the water between the boats alongside sounded like mermaids’ kisses.
A quartermaster on his way forward paused by the open skylight
listening to the tinkle of the piano.
‘Strewth,’ he muttered. ‘Orficers ’avin’ a good time,’ and relapsed
into silence as a signalman pattered by to relieve his mate on the
bridge.
As the song came to an end a boy operator knocked at the ward-room door
and handed a message to the Captain, who read it and put it in his
pocket. Another song was beginning, and the singers were clustering
round the piano. Duty called him, and as the song reached the noisy
stage, he left with a quiet ‘good-night,’ and returned to his lonely
quarters.
He was no mean judge of character.
NEPTUNE AND BRITANNIA
I
Neptune asked of Britannia,
‘Whence do your Seamen come?
Are they born in the fields or forests,
Or born in the city slum?
Are they born in the lofty palace,
Or born in the marsh or fen?
In the name of the Golden Trident,
Where do you get your men?’
II
Britannia rose in her armour,
Her brazen buckler rang,
And the waves of the world were silent,
As her seamen’s creed she sang.
‘In the name of the Golden Trident,
Which both of us dare to wield,
In the name of the Isles of Britain,
In the name of the Brazen Shield;
In the name of the wives and mothers--
Brave beyond mortal ken,
You shall learn how in pride and honour,
Britannia rears her men.
III
‘Back in the mists of fable,
A ship once put to sea,
And she sailed to the dim horizon,
For the wind was fair and free.
She sailed to the Mighty Pillars
Where the floods of the Great Sea ran;
Born of the fame that girt her name,
The seamen race began.
IV
‘Born of that brave adventure,
The latent spark took fire;
And down to the sea there followed
The sons of the seaman sire.
It spread o’er the Isles of Britain,
And grew with the birth of guns;
Let them beware who challenge there
Britannia’s sailor sons.’
V
Neptune laughed as he listened,
Laughed till the ocean rolled.
‘Woe to the men of the sea,’ he cried,
‘And woe to the over-bold.
Though they may think to have conquered,
Still will I have my share;
Grant they be shrived.’ With that he dived
Down to his ocean lair.
* * * * *
The waves of the deep rolled onward,
Swelled in a mighty soar,
Tottered and broke in a thunder stroke
Upon Britannia’s shore.
PERSONNEL
The next day was Sunday, and as the fine weather still held, the
Captain of the depot announced to the First Lieutenant his intention of
inspecting the boats. Thence was much heart-burning and striving and
a prodigious amount of work, the net result being that the nine boats
shone inside and out like the proverbial new pins, and the crews, with
the exception of those who were to stand the rounds, clad in ‘Number
Threes,’ fell in on their superstructures with vacant ‘attention’
expressions on their usually classic features.
But before this happy result could be arrived at there was much to
be done ... and said, for it must be admitted that there were those
among the boat captains who held the opinion that inspections were an
unnecessary nuisance, carried out with the sole intention of harassing
the inspected.
The First Lieutenant of the _Parentis_ had given out the cheery news
after breakfast, and a rush had followed on the part of the ‘Subs,’
unusually tidy in their Sunday rigs, to see that their boats were in
a fit condition to withstand the piercing gaze of the Captain’s eagle
eye. The boat captains learnt the news not without unmixed feelings,
and with shrill cries of horror and reproach the unfortunate Number
One was hurled from the ward room. Bitter were the reproaches of one,
Blake, whose control room had been painted but the day before, while
Austin and several others had work going on and improvements under
weigh which they didn’t want disturbed. Raymond surveyed the matter
with the stony calm of a fatalist, while the Torpedo Lieutenant alone
maintained his unruffled serenity and dropped pearls of wisdom for the
comfort and instruction of the discomforted captains.
‘What you fellows really lack,’ he proclaimed from the depths of an
arm-chair and between puffs of an after-breakfast pipe, ‘is the power
of organisation. The present crisis is an excellent example. At nine
a.m. the ‘owner’ announces his intention of inspecting the boats after
divisions and prayers, that is at about ten-thirty. Now, mark the
result. Nine ‘Subs’ fly at the rate of knots out of the ward room, run
round in circles with their hands to their heads, dive down into the
boats and begin harassing unfortunate and peace-loving matlows. As
regards you people, you’re all completely defeated. You sit here, do
nothing, and growl like blazes, when as a matter of fact it doesn’t
affect you in the least. The ‘Subs’ do all the work and report when
the boats are ready. You then go down and inspect them yourselves,
find fault with everything, have the whole place turned upside down,
and wait till the dust has settled. At the last minute you have it
all put back again as it was before, and stand by for the Captain. Now
what you want is organisation. No matter what’s going on you ought to
be ready for an inspection at any moment of the day. Mark the ordered
routine of my own blameless existence. I rise at eight-thirty each
morning as fresh as a lark, and if I’m lucky manage to consume a little
breakfast. From then till lunch or cocktail time I maintain a complete
and unruffled calm, seated daily in the same arm-chair, unless the
claims of the Goddess Work call me to her altars. From lunch until
tea I meditate in my bunk, and from tea till dinner I give out hints
on the home, and generally instructive and edifying remarks from my
present seat of vantage. Bed follows dinner as the fruit follows the
flower, and my ordered and well disciplined day is at an end. It will
be hard for you, and I foresee many difficulties, but you really must
make an effort to follow my example,’ and the Torpedo Lieutenant lay
back gasping and mopped his fevered brow with a bandana of barbaric
colouring.
‘The point is,’ grumbled Austin, not taking any notice of him, ‘that
in war time one can’t keep the boat up to the peace standard. It’s not
possible. There’s far too much work to be done, for one thing, and
considering the amount of sea time we put in I think we do pretty well
in keeping the boats as clean as they are.’
‘That’s the crux of the whole question,’ replied Raymond; ‘in war time
the ‘owner’ doesn’t expect to see the boats in the same state of spit
and polish as he has been used to in happier times. What he looks for
is general efficiency in boats, officers, and men. That’s the reason he
and I get on so splendidly. No, don’t heave that book, Jimmy; I’ve got
my number one monkey jacket on, and if I have to chastise you I shall
get it creased. Hallo! there’s the bugle for divisions. See you later.’
‘I don’t believe in inspections at all in war time,’ said another of
the party, as a general move was made for the door. ‘Unfair, I call it.
Brings the war home too much.’
Overhead the scurrying of heavily-shod feet and the sound of sharp
orders told that the ships’ company was mustering by divisions for the
Captain’s inspection, and the boat skippers cleared out to their boats
to see that all was in readiness.
Down in ‘123’ the last finishing touches were being applied when
Raymond arrived. Everything that brass polish and elbow grease could
cause to shine, shone with a satisfactory brilliance, and whatever
couldn’t shine was discreetly stowed away and hidden from the vulgar
gaze. When all was in readiness, Raymond and the ‘Sub’ made a tour of
inspection in search of possible defects or anything that might meet
with the disapproval of authority.
‘This hydroplane motor,’ said the latter, putting his hand on a large
black object that looked rather like a small mine. ‘It’s been running
hot lately. Have to look at it to-morrow. “Owner” won’t know that,
though.’
‘Um, no. She doesn’t look too bad. Tell Hoskins to stand the rounds
in the engine-room, T.I. in the fore-end, and second coxswain in the
control-room.’
‘Very good, sir. Hallo! they’re at prayers,’ he added as the strains
of a hymn accompanied by the Marine Band floated down the hatch. ‘Not
much longer now. I think she’ll do, sir. Fall the hands in on the upper
deck, coxswain.’
The last brass rag and lump of waste were stowed away and the men
scrambled up on deck. ‘123’ was a pleasure to the eye and a credit to
the makers of liquid metal polish. All down the long tunnel of her
inside, from the engines to the torpedo-tube doors, her steel and brass
and copper winked and twinkled in the electric light, her white enamel
was spotless, and her deckcloths were a glory to behold.
Raymond took a final look round. ‘Good enough,’ he said, as he went up
the conning-tower followed by the ‘Sub.’ ‘Now for the ordeal by fire.’
On deck the crew had fallen in in one long single line facing towards
the parent ship. Ten men forward of the conning-tower and as many
aft, all dressed in their best suits of ‘Number Three,’ and looking
remarkably spick and span and on their metal. They were standing at
ease now and sucking their teeth in anticipation, after the manner of
the A.B. who is in the rattle or otherwise undergoing some order or
other. By the gang plank to the next boat, for ‘123’ was the outside
vessel, and three of her sisters lay between her and the _Parentis_,
stood the coxswain with his boatswain’s pipe in hand, and Raymond took
his stand beside him in readiness to receive the Post-Captain on board.
Seagrave stood by in charge of the crew and Boyd was on the bridge,
which was the only remaining unoccupied space on the upper deck.
Between them and the _Parentis_ the crews of the other three boats were
drawn up in the same manner, and on the other side of the depot-ship
were five more boats in a similar state of cleanliness and innocent
expressions. They all flew their newest and largest ensigns, and looked
very smart and business-like in their Sunday dresses.
The music on the _Parentis_ quarter-deck drew to a close. Three hundred
men came to attention and replaced their caps simultaneously, and
the chaplain disappeared aft, his surplice waving in the breeze, as
the Church pendant fluttered down to the bridge. Another order and
the ship’s company faced forward and moved off the quarter-deck, the
band, which had struck up a lively march, wheeled in behind the rear
division, and the ceremony was at an end.
A dramatic pause followed, and then the figure of Captain Charteris
appeared at the port-gangway. The boatswain’s mate of the _Parentis_
and the coxswain of the inside boat, which happened to be Blake’s,
twittered on their pipes as he descended, and then he was lost to view
in the internals of the boat. He had come alone, unattended by First
Lieutenants or other minions, which augered well for the results of the
inspection.
Austin, whose boat was next inside Raymond’s, turned round with a laugh.
‘Hope the “old man” doesn’t run up against Blake’s white paint,’ he
said. ‘Pretty small chance for us if he does.’
‘Trust Blake to watch that,’ came the answer. ‘He won’t want his
precious paint disturbed even by the coat of a full-fledged Captain.’
Once more silence and expectancy, and then the Captain reappeared up
the hatch followed by Blake, who looked moist and anxious but happy
withal.
‘Seems to be in a good temper,’ whispered Raymond to Seagrave. ‘Look
out, here he comes.’
With much saluting and piping Captain Charteris stepped across to the
next boat and the ceremony was repeated. When he once more rose to
view, however, some ten minutes later, his face appeared clouded and he
boarded Austin’s boat with a briskness that evidenced that all had not
been well with the vessel he had just inspected.
‘Wonder what’s up,’ murmured Seagrave. ‘He looks a bit sickish about
something.’
‘Man in a dirty rig, I expect, or else he asked too many questions,’
replied Raymond. ‘Our turn next.’
At last, after a seemingly interminable interval, the Captain once more
rose to view, and joy! the wily Austin had smoothed his ruffled temper.
The great man said a few final words, laughed, and turned towards
‘123.’ Blake’s coxswain, pipe to lips, made a scarcely perceptible
sign, and then, as the Captain set foot on the gang-plank, he and
the coxswain of ‘123’ simultaneously burst into a duet of piping,
shrilling, and twittering as each tried to out-do the other.
‘Ship’s company, ’shun!’ shouted Seagrave, as the men sprang to
attention; the officers saluted, and Raymond stepped forward to do the
honours.
Still the piping continued, rising and falling in regular cadence till
the performers were red in the face and near to bursting. Then again
that almost invisible sign, this time from Raymond’s coxswain, and the
sound of the pipes ceased as if suddenly cut off and smothered with a
blanket.
The Captain returned the salute and looked down the line of stolid
faces. A student of physiognomy would have seen much food for
reflection once he had penetrated the mask of stolid look-your-best
that a man at attention always assumes.
In the first place there was Raymond, a tall upright figure, very
much the Naval Officer, and just now very much the captain of the
boat. Had he been asked why he had joined the Service he would hardly
have been able to give a very clear reason. ‘Father wanted me to,
you know. Thought I ought to,’ would probably have been his answer,
accompanied by much hesitation and a deal of stammering. As a matter
of fact he came of a family which boasted members of the Service for
many generations back, one of whom had been a Vice-Admiral. As an only
son it had seemed nothing less than duty that he should follow in his
father’s footsteps and carry the name on in the Service. He was one of
the older officers, with a _Britannia_ training, who had entered the
Submarine Service as a Lieutenant in the experimental days, and who,
after six long years as a junior, had gained his well-earned command
several years before the outbreak of war, and had gradually worked his
way up to command one of the later classes of submarine, and was even
now on turn for a bigger boat. In the ward room he was a witty and
pleasant companion. As a submarine captain we are able to judge for
ourselves.
Then there was Seagrave, looking at present rather nervous and wearing
a strained expression on his youthful face. Perhaps he was thinking
of the hydroplane-motor, or perhaps he was merely worried over the
general result of the inspection. He had received his training under
the more recent Osborne-Dartmouth scheme, and his presence in the
Submarine Service was the outcome of the war and the new Navy methods.
The large number of boats that had recently been built had necessitated
an increase in the ranks of submarine officers, and as it had not
been advisable to drain the general service of too many experienced
watch-keeping lieutenants, the Admiralty had hit on the plan of
entering Sub-Lieutenants as seconds in command of boats. They received
a course of submarine work, and, thanks to their previous training,
which included engineering among other things, and their own keenness
and intelligence, the scheme had worked very well. Many of them would
be in command of boats at a much younger age than their present
captains had gained a command, but the responsibilities and cares of a
submarine life had amply fitted them for their positions.
Boyd, the R.N.R. Lieutenant, was another offspring of the war, both as
regards his being in the Navy at all and as regards his presence in
the Submarine Service. Prior to the war the Royal Naval Reserve had
contained comparatively few officers, and commissions had been hard to
obtain, but after the first few months of hostilities the Admiralty
had realised that they had not sufficient trained seamen for their
needs, and had reopened the Reserve with a call for more officers.
The result far exceeded expectation, for the officers of the Merchant
Service flocked to the colours in thousands, and after a course of
training were sent afloat as watch-keepers in any class of ship from
Super-Dreadnoughts to trawlers. The growth in size and capabilities
of submarines, and their more arduous duties, had necessitated that
they should have an additional officer soon after war started, and
the result was that each of the bigger boats was supplied with a
Lieutenant of the Royal Naval Reserve. His duties were entirely those
of a seaman, as he was the navigator, took a large slice of the
watches, and looked after the confidential books and gyro compass.
Boyd himself had served his first four years at sea in a sailing ship
or ‘wind jammer,’ and had, after becoming an officer, transferred into
steam and done a voyage or two in tramp. At the outbreak of war he had
left one of the great mail companies of the Western Ocean, to which he
intended to return when all was over. The Navy life did not appeal to
him very strongly, and he was looking forward to a return to his old
work.
The next in order was the coxswain, a first-class Petty Officer who
had joined submarines as an able seaman about the same time as Raymond
had entered that Service. Perhaps he had wanted to get married, and
had been attracted by the increased pay, or it may have been that a
friend in a submarine had told him stories of the life and privileges
pertaining to it that had fired his imagination. Like most men of his
age he had joined the Navy as a boy and been trained in a sailing brig,
whence he had eventually emerged and blossomed out, until he received
his anchor and was rated leading seaman after two years in submarines.
Raymond had, owing to a vacancy, tried him as a second coxswain, with
the result that in course of time he was promoted to the rank of Petty
Officer and coxswain, and had followed his captain from boat to boat
for several years in succession.
The second coxswain was a middle-aged leading seaman on turn for Petty
Officer who had been through much the same training as his senior, and
hoped for promotion as soon as he received his ‘crossed killicks.’[11]
Then there came the gun-layer, the cook, and six able seamen, all
A.B.’s of much the same age, men about twenty-six who aspired to be
coxswains or Torpedo Instructors in due course. They again were new
Navy, and had received their early training in shore barracks and
training cruisers. The Submarine Service is essentially a voluntary
one, and it would be difficult to ascertain why they had ever joined.
Probably if they were asked they would have replied ‘private reasons,’
and sucked their teeth noisily.
Then came the T.I., Torpedo Instructor or Torpedo Gunner’s Mate, a
Petty Officer and electrical expert, who, after going through the same
early trials as the two coxswains, had specialised in electricity after
being rated A.B. He had received his first upward step when he became
an S.T. or Seaman Torpedo man, and shortly after he was promoted to
Leading Seaman the specialist rating of Leading Torpedo Man had been
granted him. With maturity and experience had come the rank of Petty
Officer and Torpedo Instructor, and now he was one of those who knew
more about the internals of those highly mechanical engines of death
than the rest of the crew put together. He lived in a whirl of balance
chamber doors and hydrostatic valves, and gibbered in his sleep of
reducers and ignition delay gear.
The L.T.O., who was a new Navy man and the T.I.’s second-in-command,
was in charge under Seagrave of all the electrical appliances and
motors in the boat. He was an expert at finding ‘earths’ and short
circuits, and was notable among his kind in that he was nimble-fingered
and could ‘make’[12] a switch without breaking it.