and the shrill twittering of the pipes.
‘’Aaaaands to--aircraft--stations!’ roared the boatswains’ mates
along the sleeping mess-decks. ‘Re--mai--ai--ai--nder stand byyy
yer--funk-’oles!
The great ship turned over in her sleep, rubbed her eyes, shook
herself, and was awake. The sound of sharp orders and scurrying feet
told that men were tumbling up from the mess-decks in all states, dress
and undress. Up on the lower bridge Meeks was calling the Captain, who
came out wearing a bridge-coat and sea-boots over his pyjamas, while a
messenger was doing the same service for the First Lieutenant.
The guns’ crews manned the anti-aircraft guns; the fire-party fell in.
Hoses were rigged and buckets and sand collected, while those who had
no special duty to perform stood by their funk-holes in accordance with
orders. The duty coxswain was shepherding the boats’ crews into their
boats, the officers appeared and took their stations, and with much
swearing, shouting, and bad language the nine submarines pushed off
from their parent ship, to scatter and seek separate billets where they
would not provide such an easy mark to an aerial intruder. The last
boat was away with her full complement, and the _Parentis’s_ crew was
at stations. Ten minutes ago the ship had been peacefully sleeping and
the officer of the watch ruminating over a wasted career.
A messenger climbed to the bridge and approached the Captain.
‘From the First Lieutenant, sir,’ he said, saluting; ‘all boats away,
sir, and ship’s company at aircraft stations.’
‘Thank you,’ replied the Captain absently, scanning the heavens with
his night-glass.
A pause--silence and expectancy, but the silence of a multitude holding
its breath or of five hundred matlows trying to keep from cheering.
‘Lord,’ said the gun-layer of the six-pounder anti-aircraft, ‘where
the ’ell is she anyhow? Any of you blokes see ’er?’
‘There she is, Bill,’ cried the loader, pointing with a grimy
forefinger. ‘Between them clouds, right a’ead there.’
‘That ain’t haircraft,’ sneered a voice, ‘that’s a ruddy lump o’ smoke.
That’s wot that is.’
‘Silence in the battery,’ snapped a voice out of the darkness.
‘I don’t think it’s going to be anything serious,’ remarked the Captain
to the Gunnery Lieutenant. ‘They’ve probably been reported down the
coast, but I doubt if they’ll approach us in here.’
‘Shouldn’t think so, sir. Hardly worth while with so much high
explosive knocking about.’
Away in the distance Raymond was handling ‘123’ like a veteran. Nine
boats all shoving off at the same time are apt to get in one another’s
way, and when semi-darkness is added matters are not mended. Out of
the tangle he made his way, hurling an insult at a passing boat who
was talking about her tail in peevish tones, and steering for the open
water beyond.
‘Will you mind my tail?’ howled a raucous voice. ‘Where the hell are
you coming to. Put her astern. Oh, damn!’ ... and the voice broke off
in incoherences as another dim shape appeared across the bow, warbling
about her planes and calling curses on her telegraphs. ‘Go ahead, damn
you!’ yelled a voice; ‘are those telegraphs ringing or are they not.
Will you answer or----’ ‘Never mind, Willie.’ This from a cheery
tenor. ‘Mother likes the pattern. Shut up, you noisy blighter!’
‘123’ chuckled to herself as she freed from the jamb, and five minutes
later dropped her anchor between two mammoth Battleships. All round
them whisperings and subdued voices rose, another submarine passed
astern, and the rattle of her cable told that she too had found a
billet. Only a quarter of an hour ago and we were all asleep. Raymond
shivered and yawned miserably. ‘Damn the war, anyway.’
‘Doesn’t seem to be anything,’ quoth Captain Charteris to the ‘Guns.’
‘I don’t think we shall be worried to-night. Hallo!’
Boom! roared a gun from the shore battery. Overhead the land
searchlights sprang into being, ten of them, from all parts of the
horizon, centring on one spot, and flickering over the heavens in
search of the invader.
‘Warning gun. Hands to funk-holes,’ said the First Lieutenant.
Again the bugle and the roaring of the boatswains’ mates. ‘’Aaaands
to--funk--’oles.’
Down below the men who had no particular duty at aircraft stations,
which is very different to general quarters, dived down into their
various burrows, albeit much against their will.
A burly figure loomed out of the darkness.
‘Mess-decks cleared, sir. Hands in their funk-holes.’
‘All right,’ said the First Lieutenant. ‘Thank you.’
The searchlights swept overhead, wavered a little, and steadied over
the land.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Boom! Bang! Phit from the land batteries down the
coast. Still no sign of the intruder to be seen from the Fleet. A whirr
and a rush of motors and a seaplane whizzed past, soaring up and over
on the look-out for the enemy. Away to the south’ard others could be
seen wheeling and crossing high up in the glare of the searchlights.
Suddenly the roar of the shore batteries ceased. Phit-phit-phit-phit
came faintly in the distance from the sea-planes, as the mitrailleuses
were discharged at the invisible foe.
Then, through a break in the clouds, into the full glare of the
searchlights, swung the majestic Zeppelin. Calmly and sedately she
floated, apparently unmindful of the danger, though her crew were
working like madmen to get her out of the perilous area. Away above
her a tiny speck was visible, wheeling and circling like a gull in a
gale of wind. A mighty flash and a roar showed where the German had
dropped a bomb over the batteries, but still there was no order from
the Flagship, and the Fleet watched and waited in silence. The shore
guns had ceased firing now, and up above rode that great airship as if
despising the puny craft who pitted themselves against her.
Then ... a tiny flicker of flame was seen at one end of the Zeppelin,
licking and hissing round the gas-bag as it spread from end to end.
‘’It, by God!’ yelled a Petty Officer in a strident voice.
A sound of hoarse cheering broke from a ship at the end of the line,
was caught up and carried down the harbour as ship after ship broke
into one wild roar of jubilation. The airship was crashing down nose
first, aflame from end to end. Like a streak of blinding light she lit
up the harbour, the ships, and the upturned faces as she rushed to her
destruction. Down over the land she fell, and the cheering swelled into
a mighty roar as she disappeared over the shoulder of a hill. Only the
sickly glare in the sky told where she was burning to death, she ...
and all she had contained.
As the yells of applause subsided, an answering cheer was wafted from
the batteries ashore, and once more the Fleet burst into a thunder
of appreciation. Then from the Flagship high up a red light, slowly
winking and blinking in an urgent order, and the sound wavered, died
away, and finally ceased altogether.
‘Flag-General, return stores, sir,’ said the First Lieutenant to
Captain Charteris.
The Captain nodded. ‘All right. Carry on,’ he said, and went back
to his cabin as the vocalists broke out into a long-drawn chant of:
‘Retur-ur-ur-n Stor-or-or-es.’
Another rush of feet as boxes and branch-pipes were replaced, buckets
stowed away, and sandboxes covered. The guns were secured and the
crews fell out, while the ammunition parties returned the shell and
cartridges and closed the magazines.
The submarines had picked up the signal, too, and hove in their cables
with prayers of gratitude that they might now continue their broken
night’s rest. One by one they came back out of the darkness and dropped
alongside the _Parentis_. A shape would appear, dimly seen in the
waning moonlight. Somewhere a raucous voice would hail, and back would
come the answer, ‘123’ or ‘146,’ as the case might be.
‘Answer’s “146,” sir,’ a voice would say, and the hailing would
continue until finally all boats had returned and made fast in their
accustomed berths.
Overhead the purr of a high-power motor, followed by another and
another, told that the seaplanes, their work completed, were returning
to their distant aerodrome, and another burst of cheering greeted their
appearance.
‘By God,’ said a bearded gun-layer, gazing after them wistfully. ‘Lucky
dogs, them blokes. See all the scrappin’ like. And we didn’t ’ave a
ruddy shot. Not one, we didn’t.’
‘All boats returned and made fast alongside, sir,’ reported the First
Lieutenant, knocking at the Captain’s door.
‘Pipe down, please,’ called Captain Charteris. ‘And good-night, Martin.’
‘Good-night, sir.’
Then the voices broke out again as the men fell out, and the boats’
crews came up over the side. Down below they trooped in knots and
bunches until only the officers remained. For’ard a gunner was
encouraging a three-pounder whose breach-block had turned peevish;
on the quarter-deck the boat captains were comparing notes of their
manœuvres and laughing over the experiences of the night.
By-and-by they had all gone below and were sitting in cabins, on each
other’s bunks and tables, talking at the top of their voices and
laughing over their misadventures.
The noise subsided and the lights went out in cabins and mess-decks.
Silence settled down once more, and the ship was again in the
possession of the watch-keepers.
The moon had gone in and it was quite dark by now, save for that yellow
glare, gradually fading and dying down, where the Zeppelin had met her
ghastly death.
The officer of the watch continued his pacing up and down, and once
more fell into a reflective mood.
‘Oh, well. Life wasn’t so awful after all. Might be worse. Those poor
beggars in the airship must have had a rotten two or three minutes.
Perhaps if I try again I may get a boat after all. The show went off
all right to-night. Skipper couldn’t grumble, anyway. Think I’ll wait a
month and then have another shot.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Five minutes to four. That’s one way of passing a middle watch at any
rate. Can’t reckon on it every night, though.’
He yawned wearily and turned up the collar of his coat.
Over the crest of the hill the glare of the dying Zeppelin wavered a
little, faded, flickered, and went out.
THE DOCKYARD
A CHANTY
I
A ship once came to Plymouth Hoe.
(_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies.
A ship once came to Plymouth Hoe,
And they furled her sails in a harbour stow,
’Ere they sent them down and the yards also.
(_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.
II
They lashed her gear and hove her keel.
(_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies.
They lashed her gear and hove her keel,
And scraped and painted her as taut as steel.
(_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.
III
They eased her up when she was done.
(_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies.
They eased her up when she was done,
And they polished her white from truck to gun,
Till she shone like glass in the morning sun.
(_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.
IV
Their paint came from the Dockyard Store.
(_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies.
Their paint came from the Dockyard Store,
And they got their whack and they got no more,
For that’s the essence of the Navy Law,
Your due’s a gallon and you won’t get four,
A thing that they can’t understand ashore.
(_Chorus_) Heave away from Plymouth.
V
And more ships came and did the same.
(_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.
And more ships came and did the same,
And earned their money at the re-fit game,
‘Survey and Demand’ is its modern name,
To which the Navy owes a deal of fame,
For the Dock gives life to the ship that’s lame,
And fire to the guns which appear so tame,
But which belch out Death with a blasting flame,
And the Huns may curse but THEY’RE to blame,
So
(_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth;
Heave away, Heave away
Heave away for Plymouth.
‘SURVEY AND DEMAND’
‘When the ship that is tired returneth
With the signs of the sea showing plain,
Men place her in Dock for a season,
And her speed she reneweth again.’
_Laws of the Navy._
Carruthers, the Senior Submarine Officer and Captain of ‘146’ entered
the Mess with the stealthy air of an assassin.
‘Show me that varlet, Raymond,’ he declaimed. ‘Produce him that I may
mete out to him the full measure of his punishments.’
‘What’s the row, James?’ asked a voice from the depths of an arm-chair.
‘Ha, knave, thou dost flout me. Twelve long years have I sought thee,
and now ... aha! The Captain desires speech with thee, even in his own
cabin.’
‘Good Heavens! Whatever’s up? Surely to goodness he hasn’t got to know
about my bumping into Blake last night. I only scratched the paint, and
a bally wonder, too, considering the mess up of boats there was.’
‘I’ll tell you what it is, my boy, at a price.’
‘No. I’m darned if you do. I’ll know all about it soon enough,’
replied Raymond, as he made for the door.
‘Think twice, laddie, think twice,’ called Carruthers after his
retreating figure. ‘A time will come when you will repent your
harshness.’
As he knocked at the Captain’s door, Raymond wondered what it was all
about. He couldn’t remember whether....
‘Come in,’ called a voice. ‘Oh, that you, Raymond? Sit down. A telegram
has just come from the Senior Naval Officer at Darlton. He says that
the dry-dock will be vacant in a week’s time for the space of a month,
but if I don’t make use of this opportunity he can’t guarantee it again
until September. It’s earlier than I intended, but as I can’t afford to
lose this chance I shall send you down to get your re-fit over and done
with, as you’re next on turn. You’ll leave here at three p.m. on Friday
and arrive Saturday morning.’
‘Re-fit!’ Raymond showed his surprise in spite of himself. A vista
of living in hotels swam before his eyes. A week’s leave during the
summer, a break in the monotony. Lots of work about a re-fit, of
course, but....
The Captain was still speaking.
‘I’m sorry I can’t give you longer notice, Raymond, but I mustn’t let
this opportunity slip. You’ve got your defect list made out up to date,
of course.’
‘Yes, sir. I’m all ready as far as that goes. How long do they expect
to take over it.’
‘Well, as it’s your twelve-monthly re-fit, I expect about five or
six weeks. It all depends on whether labour is to be had, of course.
Nowadays one never knows. That’s settled, then. Your escort will be
arranged for, and you’ll leave at three p.m. on Friday unless I get any
further orders.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Raymond, rising, ‘and thank you, sir.’
‘Don’t thank me, Raymond. I wouldn’t let you go if I could help it. Far
too valuable these hard times.’
The captain of ‘123’ closed the door quietly, and two minutes later was
back in the ward room.
‘Carruthers, you worm,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you knew it all the
time. Now I’ve got to pay you your price in any case, you usurious Jew.’
‘What is it?’ chipped in Austin. ‘Are you to be keelhauled at dawn?’
‘No fear; re-fit.’
‘What!’
‘Re-fit. R-E-F-I-T. Re-fit.’
Austin sank back in his chair and mopped a fevered brow.
‘He talks of re-fits,’ he babbled incoherently. ‘Here are we working
our fingers to the bone and running risks of hideous deaths daily, and
the stripling talks of re-fits.’
‘Well, I suppose he’s doing the decent anyway,’ said the practical
Johnson, getting up and ringing the bell.
‘I imagine I’ll have to,’ laughed Raymond, ‘hard as it is on the
missus and the kids. See, how many is it? Five, six, eight cocktails,
please, waiter.’
Carruthers raised his glass with elaborate dignity.
‘I drink more in pity than in friendship to the knave who refused his
just recompense to the bearer of glad tidings. In other words, here’s
how.’
‘Cheer-oh, my little ray of sunshine,’ cried the Torpedo Lieutenant.
‘What my most backward pupil in the noble art of work will do when he
is torn from my tender care I tremble to contemplate, but be of good
heart. Bertie will await your return to the fold and amply make up for
the lost time, Naughty, now,’ he added, ducking swiftly as a chit-block
sizzed over his head. ‘Remember me to all the Hieland lasses and gae
canny wi’ the whuskey.’
‘You lucky bounder,’ said Austin. ‘Just imagine it. I did my re-fit in
the depths of winter and had a positively loathsome leave. You’ll just
come in for the best time in the year.’
‘You might do a little commission for me on your way down,’ put in the
Staff Paymaster. ‘I’ve got a parcel I want taken home. Too big for the
post, and I live in Darlton.’
‘Me, too,’ said the Fleet Surgeon plaintively. ‘And it’s only such a
little one.’
‘And get me some decent soft collars while you’re down there,’ cried
the Engineer Commander. ‘My wretched things are worn to shreds.’
‘Here, steady on now, you chaps,’ laughed Raymond. ‘I’m not going till
Friday. I’ll make a list of all your wants and do my best.’
‘Well, if you will go back to civilisation in this positively
disgusting manner,’ said Carruthers, ‘you must expect the inevitable
result. Hallo, here’s Seagrave.’
‘Come in, my little man,’ cooed the Torpedo Lieutenant gaily. ‘And
Boyd, too; this is a pleasure to be sure. Ring the bell nicely and ask
the pretty gentlemen what they’ll have.’
The new-comers blinked in astonishment.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Seagrave. ‘It’s not my birthday nor Boyd’s
either, as far as I know.’
‘No, no, my boy; but you’re going down for a re-fit. Just think of it
and all it means.’
‘What! a re-fit. When?’
‘Friday next,’ said Raymond.
‘Good Heavens! what luck,’ cried Boyd. ‘My brother home on leave, too.
Good bally business.’
‘Talking about leave, my friend,’ persisted Torps, ‘what are we all
going to have?’
Seagrave rang the bell.
* * * * *
Aft, on the port side of the _Parentis_, was a cabin, and in the
cabin was a table. On the table was a large pile of books, sheets of
foolscap, and mysterious forms labelled, S ‘134d,’ S ‘0196,’ etc.
Close to the table was a chair, and on the chair sat an officer,
with puckered brow and a fed-up expression on his face. The face was
Raymond’s.
Enter Seagrave with a harassed look and a further bundle of papers.
‘Well, what is it now?’ queried the seated one wearily. ‘Oh, it’s you
again, is it? Go ahead.’
‘Additions to the defect list. Only a few. And I’ve brought the list of
alterations at the same time.’
‘Oh, have you; that’s cheery news. Great Scott! Is this what you
call a few? The list’s a fathom long as it is. Here, let’s have a
look. Hydroplane gear to be overhauled; steering gear overhauled and
adjusted; new ventilator fans. Any one would imagine the boat was
dropping to pieces. This is going to be “some” defect note, let me tell
you. The alteration list isn’t very huge, however. Bridge enlarged,
stanchions fitted, hum. All tanks are down to be tested, of course, and
air bottles as well. Engines stripped. Hum. Give me that pink sheet.
And ahead we go on the defect note. The alteration list I’ll let you
copy out if you’re good. Now, as to demand notes?’
‘The coxswain’s got all his made out, and Hoskins is doing his lot now.
Then there’ll be a good deal of stuff on survey and demand. Flags,
shackles, looking-glass, clock, wire, and other things like that. Then
Boyd wants some “Sperry” spares, and I think that’s the lot.’
‘And that’s a bit o’ luck,’ the Lieut.-Commander said grimly, as
Seagrave took himself off. ‘Thank God for small mercies!’
As he himself put it, it was ‘some’ task. When a submarine goes
through her annual re-fit every item in the boat from the ballast
tanks and engines to the knives and forks is taken out, if possible,
overhauled, tested, and replaced. Long lists have to be prepared and
signed or nothing can be done, and woe betide he who gets on the wrong
side of the Naval Store Officer in the process.
Such things as awnings, flags, brooms, and other permanent stores that
are desired to be renewed, must be entered on a mystic form printed in
red and known as a ‘survey’ note, and are filled in also on a second
form printed in funereal black, which is called a ‘demand’ note or
hope-you-may-get-it chit. Should the state of the decayed articles be
sufficiently decrepit to satisfy the N.S.O.[14] the demand note is
produced in triumph, and new articles are issued and borne away as
captives to the boat by hoary-headed and deceiving matlows.
Such requisites as paint, rope, yarn, etc., which are known as
‘consumable stores,’ need only be filled in on the ‘demand’ note. But
here again the demander must be wary. A printed form is issued to him
stating clearly exactly to how much of each commodity his class of
vessel is entitled, and an avenging fate overtakes the luckless wight
who demands, by accident or design, more than his prescribed allowance.
Should he escape these pitfalls, another horror still rises to baulk
him. Articles under sub-head ‘A’ must not be named on the same sheet as
those under sub-heads ‘B,’ ‘C,’ ‘D,’ ‘E,’ or ‘F,’ and every form must
be countersigned by the commanding officer to the effect that he is not
attempting to get more than his due from rapacious Dockyard. Also the
‘reason for demand’ must be given, either ‘to complete’ (Establishment)
or ‘in lieu’ (of old worn out).
The coxswain needs paint, rope, oil, tar, flags, bunting, awnings,
yarn, spikes, and a host of other things. The needs of the engine-room
are enormous, the electrical staff clamours for insulating tape, lamp
globes, fuses by dozens, and wire by the hundred feet. The torpedo
accessories raise up their heads and gibber, and the batteries, the
life and soul of the boat, shriek to be cleaned and washed and fed. But
cold and incisive as the voice of doom, ‘Articles under sub-head “A”
must not be named on the same sheet as these under sub-head “B.”’ And,
‘Establishment list for submarines “O” class.’
The defect note is finished at last and assumes huge proportions.
Pink and blushing as it well may be, it begins with the lifting of
the batteries and the overhauling of the cells, wanders through the
stripping of the engines, the testing of the tanks, and the dry-docking
of the boat, and comes to rest at last with the painting of the
internal economy and the re-fitting of certain shelves (they were
never there before) on which the captain wishes to place his boots
presumably, on his return to sea.
The alteration list is a quick breath of hope from a fervent heart yet
sick with longing. But here again Admiralty steps in and allows or not,
as the case may be, the placing of the wine locker above or under the
chest of drawers, as the case may or may not be again. Won’t she want
painting by the time it’s all finished.
The ‘Demand’ notes are made out in triplicate and signed to the bitter
end. The ‘Survey and Demand Notes’ are made out in quadruplicate, but
mercy of mercies, only one need be signed by the long-suffering captain
of the boat. The stacks of paper rise, and rise, and blow away, and
are picked up and blow away again. But at last they are finished, and
thanks to them and the brains that conceived them, when the submarine
gets to work, her re-fit will run like clockwork and no hitch will
occur despite the multiplicity and diversity of the trades and workmen
who will be employed upon her. Youth scoffs in its ignorance at the
filling in of forms, but age and wisdom walk hand in hand and bow to
the minds that ordained these things, having seen the results and gone
away ... marvelling. For the results are good, and good is good all the
world over, and no man but a sniveller can expect any better praise.
But Admiralty expects no praise at all, for she is very old and very
very wise, and knowing, winks one eye and smiles.
So the maze of papers straightens itself out, gives a shake, nears
completion, and lo, the preparations _are_ completed. Three days gone,
and on the fourth ‘123’ can hurry down to Darlton, with the assurance
that whatever else happens _her_ re-fit will go smoothly enough.
Nothing can interfere with that, for her paper-work is complete and all
in order, and things will move.
No rush, no hurry, but a steady marching to an appointed end. Small
things, but the outcome of hundreds of years of experience and waiting,
and the results have been, and are being, felt all the world over.
As Raymond signed the last chit and sealed the final envelope he
heaved a sigh of relief. The last form was filled and despatched and
all was ready for the morrow. The ward room made merry over the event
and several guests were invited to dinner, among whom was Clinton, the
captain of H.M. Destroyer _Master_, who was to escort ‘123’ down to
Darlton.