two sat over their charts discussing plans for the morrow.
‘Here we are,’ said Raymond, referring to his orders. ‘We leave at 3.0
p.m. It’ll be dark by then and we’ve got to anchor for the night. God
knows why. Get under weigh again at four in the morning on Saturday,
and arrive about four in the afternoon.’
‘Yes, that looks all right. What speed are you going to do?’
‘Ten knots steady.’
‘Then I’ll do about twenty-two zig-zag and keep ahead of you. You’ll
have to steer a straight course, I suppose.’
‘Yes, and if we see anything I shall dive at once. Don’t you worry
about me. You probably won’t be able to see me, but I shall look out
for myself and help you all I can if you have to put up a scrap.’
‘All right. You’ve got a copy of the secret signals for entering
Darlton?’
‘Yes, and they know we’re coming at every signal station down the
coast.’
‘No anchor lights, by the way.’
‘Rotten job this escorting business when it’s a submarine. Every one
suspects ’em, friend and foe alike. I expect there are patrols about
there at night, and that’s why we’ve got to anchor.’
‘Expect so. Anyway it’s not very far, only about 180 miles. How long
are you stopping in Darlton?’
‘I’m not. Got to return on Sunday. Rotten job escorting anyway. Had
quite a lot of it lately. Hate it.’
‘Well, that’s all arranged for, and now--yes, I think so,’ and together
they returned to the ward-room and rejoined the revellers.
The Engineering Commander was making a speech.
‘----most auspicious occasion,’ he was saying as they opened the door.
‘We are all heartily glad that our young friends are leaving us.’
(Hear, hear.) ‘In fact, I dare venture to say that there is not a
single dissentient voice.’ (Cries of ‘No, no.’) ‘But a time will come
when they will be seen once more in our midst.’ (Question.) ‘Will be
seen once more in our midst, to the sorrow of the Hun and delight of
the Deputy Naval Store Officer down at Darlton.’ (‘Yes, yes.’) ‘Do
not despair; it is not a British custom. We must hope for the best.
I trust you will all join me in speeding the departing nuisance and
drink damnation to “123,”’ and the orator subsided amidst thunders of
applause.
The Torpedo Lieutenant rose, calm and dignified, and eyed the members
of the ward room with a dissatisfied air.
‘Mr President, gentleman, and officers of “123.”’ (Roars of
appreciation.) ‘It is with heartfelt satisfaction that I rise on the
occasion, or rather to the occasion, of my young pupil’s departure. We
all know Raymond; he has been long amongst us.’ (Loud and prolonged
groans.) ‘We know him well; we know his shortcomings.’ (‘We do, we
do.’) ‘It is my painful duty to inform you that he is one my most
backward pupils in the art of work.’ (‘He is, he is.’) ‘Nevertheless
he is improving.’ (‘No, no.’) ‘Now, all my efforts are like to be set
at naught.’ (‘Yes, yes.’) ‘But we must not give in.’ (‘Never.’) ‘We
must back one another up. We must coalesce; we must unite; and on
his return we must make a determined and extended effort to save him
from himself.’ (‘We will, we will.’) ‘We must stand back to back. We
must keep on hitting. In the words of the immortal Captain Smith of
_Titanic_ fame, we must “Be British.”’
Raymond rose to reply.
‘Mr President, Gentlemen, I hope and trust that during my temporary
absence you will conduct yourselves as little like officers and as
much like gentlemen as you can, without causing yourselves any great
personal inconvenience. Glad as I am to leave you, my heart bleeds when
I try to imagine your dilemma when bereft of my restraining influence.
You are a lot of rotters.’ (‘No, no.’) ‘You are a lot of rotters,
to whom I wish bad weather and flat beer, and don’t forget that if
you increase with your motors in series, you increase on the one you
haven’t increased on before you increase on the one that you have.
Think it out well and dream about it. I will endeavour to execute your
commissions.’ (‘Hear, hear, hear.’) ‘Little as I wish to.’ (‘Oh, oh.’)
‘With the greatest pleasure in the world we part brass rags at 3.0 p.m.
to-morrow.’ (Cheers.)
Then the ward room broke loose, and an obstacle race was organised,
much to the detriment of the furniture, and after Blake had given a
juggling turn the visitors were called on for a side-show.
After much whispering and preparation, during which time the whisky was
circulated, it materialised in the form of a charade in which a Jew,
organ-grinder, a beauteous damsel, and a gentleman with a green nose
were the leading lights.
Then Hackensmidt and Madrali (Carruthers and Johnson) wrestled for the
world’s championship of ‘caught-as-caught-couldn’t’ wrestling, the
result of which was that a gasping Johnson lay on the flat of his back,
knocking feebly on the deck, what time an empurpled Carruthers kneaded
him in the chest. Visitors and hosts alike arose and fell on them.
The rugger scrum which ensued was a huge success, though the ball
(somebody’s Nautical Tables) suffered rather in the process. Then the
piano got going, and as eleven o’clock struck came the chorus of:--
‘A German officer crossed the Rhine,
Skibye, Skiboo!’
hammered out by the lungs of the united ward room.
Then the party broke up and the visitors departed. Farewells and
‘good lucks’ were exchanged, and the ward room servants locked up the
darkened quarters. ‘123’ was off to-morrow, and her captain was rather
popular.
* * * * *
At three p.m. the following afternoon H.M.S. _Master_ hoisted the
signal ‘M.K.,’ requesting from the Flag permission to proceed in
execution of previous orders. Hardly had the flags reached the yard-arm
when an answering splash of colour (red with a white cross) rewarded
the efforts of the hawk-eyed signalman.
‘Signal affirmed, sir,’ he reported, and as the _Master’s_ anchor came
up into the pipe the Church Pennant fluttered to the deck, and, turning
on her heel with a white threshing of water, she came ahead and made
for the harbour entrance.
Behind her was ‘123,’ who had left the _Parentis’s_ side some ten
minutes before. Her Diesels had just started, and the oily smoke of
the exhaust was thinning away astern as she fell into line behind her
escort. She was on passage now, and her routine was rather different
from that of the regular patrol work. On the bridge were Raymond, Boyd,
the coxswain, and the look-out. By-and-by when clear of the land the
officers could take regular watches and drop into the order of ordinary
surface ships.
Nevertheless, she was in diving trim, and only needed to flood main
ballast to take her under in case of necessity. Down below she looked
like a veritable warehouse. Most of the officers’ luggage was going
down in the escort, but bags and portmanteaux that were likely to be
needed _en route_, or immediately on arrival, were stowed below, and
the crew’s bags and hammocks were piled up in the fore-end, a mighty
heap of belongings which had had to be compensated for when trimming
the boat for diving.
As they steamed out of the harbour, the submarine and her greatest
enemy, there were many envious glances cast at the boat that was
going down for her re-fit. ‘Lucky dogs,’ quoth a watch-keeper in a
battleship, as they cleared her counter.[15] ‘Re-fit and leave. I
haven’t had any for years.’
Outside the harbour and clear of the defences Boyd put her on her
southerly course, and the log was streamed. Not a log that tows astern
like that of a surface ship, but a long cylindrical tube carrying vanes
at its lower end, which is lowered through a hole in the bottom of
the boat and packed to prevent leakage. The Destroyer shot ahead at
her twenty knots (it was nothing to her, as she was one of the latest
class, and capable of a good deal more) and began her zig-zag.
‘123’ had perforce to keep a straight course, while the _Master_
steamed about a mile ahead of her and dashed across the bows in her
efforts to reduce her twenty knots to ten.
She was doing a twelve points zig-zag now, six points to starboard of
the course and then six points to port, while ‘123’ ambled along behind
at her steady ten straight. It was a good illustration of the hare and
the tortoise, though if you had told Raymond so he would have brained
you on the spot.
At four o’clock the captain went below, and he and Seagrave had tea
behind the green curtains and discussed the coming prospects of re-fit.
So far the weather was beautiful and the sea like a mill-pond, and
after the meal Seagrave got a deck-chair up the fore-hatch and sat on
the superstructure with a magazine. Raymond was dozing down below, in
spite of the strains of a wheezy accordion that came from the region
of the engine-room, and Boyd, the helmsman, and the look-out were in
charge of the bridge. Most of the crew who were off were sleeping
too. This was a passage, not a business patrol, and though they were
prepared if anything should arise they were not looking for trouble
this time. The Destroyer continued her erratic dashings across the
bow, men came up for a smoke or to point out landmarks on the coast to
one another, and dinner-time came and went. About half-past eight a
distant smudge of smoke took shape and hardened in the form of an armed
trawler who bore down upon them, fussily belligerent. _Master_ stopped
her gyrations and took steady station ahead, her yardarms eloquent
of her consort’s right to exist. But the trawler was persistent, and
closed them with her 6 pounder manned and every beam in her creaking
with suspicion. She challenged, was answered, still held on, and then
sullenly turned on her heel, a disappointed and disgusted trawler. Then
_Master_ drew ahead again, and as ‘123’ went by a boy in the trawler
waved his cap and shouted something. The sun set and twilight gave way
to darkness. The point of land ahead gathered itself out of the mist,
and a small light showed from the Destroyer’s stern. Then she steadied
ahead on a straight course again until just before ten o’clock, when
she put her helm a-starboard.
Raymond put his telegraph over and the ‘Klaxons’ hooted below.
‘Stop both,’ he said. ‘Not bad; just about reached Hunter’s Point by
ten o’clock. Stand by the weight. Group down.’
‘Both engine-clutches out, sir,’ came the messenger’s voice up the
hatch.
‘Ay, ay. Astern both.’
A rattle from ahead told that the Destroyer had picked up her moorings,
and a moment later Raymond gave the order: ‘Stop both. Let go.’
A whirring of wire followed as the weight was released, and then the
messenger’s voice rose again.
‘Took bottom in 12 fathoms, sir.’
‘All right. Veer out to 36 fathoms.’
‘Thirty-six fathoms, sir. Brought up.’
Seagrave reappeared from the depths, and took on the anchor watch. He
and the look-out were to remain on till midnight, when Boyd and another
seaman would relieve them.
‘Have you started a charge yet?’ asked Raymond, as he prepared to go
below.
‘Yes, sir. 600 in parallel.’
‘That’ll do. Tell Boyd we’re getting under weigh at four o’clock, and
if you see anything, she’s all ready for diving. Let me know at once,
but if anything starts firing or stunting about dive at once on the
weight, and we’ll cut the wire when we get down.’
‘Very good, sir. Good-night,’ and Seagrave was left to his own devices.
A dark night and a dead calm sea. Half a mile to the southward a black
smudge showed where the Destroyer was anchored and the western horizon
was filled with the low coast-line about three miles distant. Then
the moon rose and a vigilant look-out was necessary in case any enemy
raiders were on the prowl. Very still and silent, save for the lapping
of the water round the pressure hull and the sound of the engines and
the battery-fans that told that the charge was under weigh. Otherwise
the boat was ready for diving. Her hatches were closed save for the
conning-tower, and the compass-lid screwed down. The gyro repeater had
been sent below and all unnecessary gear stowed away.
The two vessels swung to their anchors, and the moon climbed higher and
higher, changing from red to orange and orange to silver as it cleared
the mists of the horizon. Midnight came at last, and with it came Boyd
who was to keep the middle watch.
‘Here we are, pilot,’ said Seagrave. ‘Pleased to see you. The lead’s
over aft. The _Master’s_ half a mile or so off bearing about 185 deg.,
and we’re ready for diving except for the charge. Skipper wants to be
called to get under weigh at four o’clock. Let him know if you see
anything, and dive on the weight if necessary. Got the challenge and
reply? Right then, that’s the lot. Cheer-oh.’
And he disappeared below to hot cocoa and Morpheus.
The look-out was relieved, and the vigil continued. The little
bridge was a weary place when ‘123’ was not under weigh, and time
passed very slowly. Boyd yawned miserably and climbed down on to the
superstructure, as it was calm enough to walk there without running the
risk of falling overboard.
But even here it wasn’t all it might be. One hit one’s head on the
jumping wires and stumbled over the closed after-hatch, and after a
while he returned to the bridge and the cold comfort of the little
stool screwed into the deck. The look-out was on the other side,
leaning up against the standard. He also was wishing the night would
pass and they could get on down to Darlton. Three o’clock; not so very
much longer....
And then suddenly they were both on the alert, staring out to starboard
where something was showing on the northern horizon.
‘Call the Captain,’ shouted Boyd down the hatch. ‘Break the charge and
shut off for diving. In tail-clutch and close battery ventilators.
Diving stations.’
In a moment the crew were awake and Raymond on the bridge rubbing his
eyes and peering out at the intruder. The Destroyer had seen her also,
and her cable was coming in hand over fist. The sound of the engines
died away, and a voice came up the hatch reporting that they were ‘shut
off for diving and tail-clutch in, sir.’
‘Flood 1,’ replied Raymond. ‘Stand by 2 and 3. Heave in the weight.’
‘Open No. 1 Kingston and No. 1 main vent,’ came Seagrave’s voice. Then,
‘1 full, sir.’
‘All right. Stand by to dive.’
‘Don’t think it’s much after all, sir,’ said Boyd. ‘Looks rather like a
tramp.’
It _was_ a tramp. An Admiralty collier on her way south for a fresh
cargo of black diamonds, and Raymond cursed his unlucky star that had
brought him out in the middle of the night for nothing.
‘’Vast heaving the weight,’ he cried. ‘Blow 1. Fall out diving
stations.’
The tramp waddled by without seeing them (they were a very small mark
even in the moonlight), and never knew the excitement she had caused,
but her ears must have burned nevertheless.
‘I don’t think we need start the charge again,’ Raymond told the ‘Sub’
when he got below once more. ‘We’ll be getting under weigh in another
hour.’
And so the remainder of the watch passed peacefully, and at four
o’clock Raymond was up once more and the weight anchor was hove in.
The Destroyer was awake also, and her cable brought up the dripping
anchor as ‘123’ was getting her engines ready. The compass was brought
up and everything prepared, and then the _Master’s_ screw began to
revolve and she swung round to her course.
Raymond leant down the hatch.
‘Engines 300 revs.,’ he shouted.
‘Three ’undrest, sir,’ floated up from below, and then away came the
Diesels and a cloud of petrol-filled exhaust swept over the bridge.
‘123’ gathered speed, and the vapour thinned away as Boyd steadied her
on her course. Then _Master_ drew ahead and began her zig-zag. A break
of a few hours and they were off again on their way to Darlton, the
present goal of the ‘ship’s company’s’ desires.
The dawn was struggling over the eastern sky and away to starboard
the land was showing up through the shadows. With the sunrise came a
cloud of trawlers, who hovered round until absolutely certain of the
submarine’s bona fides, and then fell away and pursued their lawful
business of Hun hunting. Farther south a patrol of three Destroyers
came up over the horizon, swept them with a searching glance, and
hurried on over the earth’s shoulder, following their patrol-track as a
sentry does his beat. After breakfast they fell in with a supply-ship
on her way to the Fleet, and later on passed a coastwise cargo-boat,
who turned on heel and ran till convinced by the _Master_ that ‘123’
was not a ‘U’ boat.
And so the day wore on, and the funny man cracked jokes and the
signalman played a mandoline in the after-compartment, and towards
three o’clock in the afternoon the smoke of Darlton was visible down
the coast.
The _Master_ slackened her speed and kept closer to her charge, her
signal halliards bristling with replies to challenges and evidences
of her innocent intentions, but the outer patrols who came out to
meet them still treated them as unwelcome guests, until something the
Destroyer said seemed to satisfy the senior ship, and the group of
trawlers fell away and _Master_ and her consort were allowed to pass on
without further interruption.
The inside trawlers gave way to them, and the boom was lowered in
answer to their request, and then the Destroyer at the gate woke up to
the fact that strangers were entering, and sprang to life waving her
semaphore and generally ‘doing things.’
‘_Master_ to proceed to No. 4 and 5 buoys,’ she ordered. ‘“123” to
proceed to inner harbour and make fast to quay opposite No. 2 Store.’
The escort swung away to her moorings, and ‘123’ held on to the inner
harbour, where a crowd of dockyard labourers was gathered to see her
pass. Raymond dropped her alongside and tied her up. Then he sent for
Seagrave.
‘I’m going to report my arrival to the S.N.O.,[16]’ he told him. ‘You’d
better make arrangements for the crew’s accommodation in the submarine
barracks. There’s one in the dockyard somewhere. Boyd can get our
luggage off the escort and take the lot up to the Royal Hotel. We’ll
have to live there while we’re here. See everything squared up. I’ll
be back as soon as I can, but I don’t suppose we’ll dry dock till next
week.’
A red-haired lad on the quay turned to a dock-side loafer as he pointed
at the boat,--
‘Is yon what you ca’ a soobmarine?’ he inquired.
‘Ay, yon’s it.’
* * * * *
Sunday, the day of rest, was by no means restful for ‘123.’ A deluge
of visitors poured into the boat, starting with the Chief Constructor
and Engineer Commander of the Dockyard, and ending with foremen fitters
and boilermakers and electricians. All these gentlemen appeared with
lengthy lists and copies of the defect notes, and most of them, most
certainly the Commander and the Constructor, seemed to be under the
fixed impression that the boat was captained by a demon in disguise
who was doing his dirty damnedest to get more done to her than was her
just allowance. Visits to the S.N.O. and Naval Store Officer took place
early in the day, and by noon the battery boards had been lifted by a
host of workmen, and the great cells were coming out, dangling on the
ends of tackles, to be gently lowered on to trucks and wheeled away to
the battery sheds. Later in the afternoon a small army attacked the
engine-room and began stripping the engines, while Hoskins and his
merry men danced attendance and shed salt tears of sorrow.
The first few days were bound to be strenuous. The torpedoes, gun, and
ammunition were all taken away and stowed in sheds and magazines, and
another group of workmen got to work on the superstructure, lifting the
condemned plates and generally making havoc and noise in the process.
Meanwhile, the crew were accommodated in the Naval Barracks, whence
they were shepherded to work each morning by the coxswain, and the
officers lived in hotels in the town. There was no thought of leave
just yet, as there was too much work to do, and on Monday morning the
boat was placed in dry dock.
As the water descended in the dock her underwater lines became visible,
and one was struck with their resemblance to the shape of a fish. The
tail, the fins, the head, all were there, and the holes in the bow-cap
looked like the two great goggle eyes of an underwater monster.
The re-fit was now in full swing. Both batteries were out in the sheds,
and Seagrave spent every spare minute he had in hovering over the cells
and expostulating with the electrical experts who were to overhaul
them. Meanwhile Raymond would be in the boat or visiting the powers
that be, and Boyd was usually to be found in the vicinity of the office
of that mighty man, the Naval Store Officer, for the greater part
of the day. There was not much for the crew to do. The engine-room
staff were helping the workmen in their department, and the electrical
experts were busy also, but the ordinary rank and file were employed
mostly in chipping paint and rust and cleaning up messes made by the
busier members of the staff.
At the end of the first week the engines were practically ashore,
the after superstructure had also been lifted, and the exhaust pipes
removed. Both batteries were out and all the air bottles had gone
ashore to be tested. Stages had been rigged round the boat, and men
were working on the bow-cap, which was to be lowered and overhauled,
and also on the rudders and hydroplanes which were being stripped down,
rebushed, and generally attended to.
The boat was in a state of ordered chaos by now, and it was almost
impossible to move in her below. Men seemed to be everywhere, all round
her and underneath her even, for the Kingston valves in the bottom of
the boat were being seen to and tested among other things. She lay in
the dry dock like a landed salmon, hammered at and struck by merciless
and persisting workmen who seemed to delight in tearing things to
pieces. The main motors were already receiving their due modicum of
attention, much to the distraction of the T.I., who spent most of his
day in the torpedo shed.
Finally, after about ten days of it, when the ballast tanks had been
cleaned out and painted (you had to crawl in through a tiny manhole to
get to them), the time for testing arrived, and Seagrave was allowed
to depart on his well-earned leave. The tanks were tested separately
by a water pressure, water being pumped in and left at the required
pressure for a stated interval. Then the tank was drained and opened
up, and Raymond and Hoskins, who was a man in great demand just now,
would crawl in clad in overalls and see that all was in order. The
main ballast tank, the trimming tanks, auxiliary and buoyancy tanks,
were all tested in this way, and even the fuel tanks had to go through
the same ordeal, though of a much less severe character. By the time
these tests were all satisfactorily finished, the re-fit was in its
third week, and matters were at their height. The battery tanks had
been cleaned out and were now being ‘rosmanited,’ or covered with a
preparation that resists the action of the acid, if any should be spilt
out of the cells. The bow-cap had been down and replaced, and the
rudders and hydroplanes were once more in position by the time Seagrave
returned from his ten days’ leave and Boyd was able to go away for his
spell. Raymond, poor wight, would be lucky if he could snatch a couple
of days just at the end of the performance.
The air bottles underwent their ordeal and were replaced singly, a
matter of much labour, and the engines began to return in pieces and
take shape and resemble their accustomed appearance. The bigger jobs
were over, and the boat was painted inside and out, and left the dry
dock after being a month out of the water. Then the battery began to
come back, and the cells were strapped together and the boards laid
down, and the internal appearance of the boat looked a little more
ship-shape. But there was still a host of minor things to be done.
Motors and rheostats were ashore, and had to be replaced and wired,
alterations were being made to the bridge, and the superstructure was
not yet in place. Presently Boyd returned from leave, and Raymond made
a dash to London only to be recalled three days later over a matter of
an alteration to the H.P. air line. The stores began to drift aboard
and the boat to look a little more like her old self, for they were
speeding things up now owing to urgent telegrams of recall to the
_Parentis_, and every one was working at fever heat.