to beautify ‘123’s’ internals with white enamel, what time the
carpenters were putting up those shelves (on which one would imagine
the captain wanted to place his boots) and shifting the wine locker
from above to below the chest of drawers.
However, the messes were clearing up and the time of turmoil nearly at
an end; most of the crew had had a few days’ leave and the re-fit had
been satisfactory.
At the end of five weeks the boat was finished and nothing remained
but to take in fuel, torpedoes, gun, and ammunition, and carry out the
final engine and diving tests before returning to the welcoming bosom
of the _Parentis_.
A copy of the programme to be carried out in the way of tests was
submitted to, and approved by, the Senior Naval Officer, and the boat
took in her fuel and war machines without further delay. On the morrow
the engine trials were to take place, and the ship’s company paused and
drew breath before the final struggle.
At an early hour the following morning Seagrave left the hotel _en
route_ for the dockyard, and by eight o’clock ‘123’ had been tied up to
the quay-wall as if she were never intended to leave the all-embracing
docks of Darlton. The Engineer Commander and Raymond put in an
appearance by the time all was ready, and the worthy Hoskins and his
staff were very much in evidence. A final inspection and polish up were
made, and then the motors were started and the engine clutches forced
home.
There was the usual fizz and bump as the exhausts coughed out the
initial clouds of white smoke and the explosions became quicker and
quicker. The port engine got well away, but after a manful effort
the chugging of the starboard Diesel wavered and dragged and stopped
altogether. ‘123’ had surged forward when the screws began to revolve,
and was tugging at her mooring ropes like a terrier on a lead, in spite
of the fact that only half her power was under weigh. But the ropes
held her, and presently Hoskins’s face appeared up the engine-room
hatch shouting an explanation through the din made by the well-behaved
port engine. After a couple of false starts, during which time the
Engineer Commander and the E.R.A. gravely combated over her behaviour
(blood brothers for the moment), the trouble was rectified, and the
defaulter made good her character. Full speed was slowly worked up
to, and the boat lay to the quay with her propellers turning at many
revolutions a minute.
Presently the Commander took himself off, and even Raymond was
satisfied when the worthy Hoskins, who held in great scorn all dockyard
work, pronounced that ‘though they ’aven’t done wot they ought to ’ave,
wot they ’ave done ain’t bad.’
The test took the greater part of the day, and it was arranged that the
diving trial should take place on the morrow. This would be the supreme
test, when all the work of the re-fit would be put to the proof, and
several of the dockyard officers and contractors’ people were to come
down in the boat to see it carried out. Raymond was rather pleased
about it, although he hated passengers, for, as he put it himself:
‘It brings it home to those beggars far more if they’re in the boat
when anything goes wrong than if we just come in and tell ’em about it
afterwards.’
And so the next day the diving trials took place. The passengers were
aboard ten minutes before the scheduled time for leaving, and as the
hour struck, ‘123’ pushed off from the quay and steered out of the
harbour, at the entrance to which she was met by a trawler flying a
large red flag, who was to warn all outside traffic of the presence of
a submarine.
As a large number of alterations and additions had been effected
which were liable to alter her trim, the tanks were all empty, with
the exception of the fuel tanks, and she was to do a standing trim
in shallow water. That is, she was to remain stopped, flood her main
ballast, and then very gingerly admit the necessary extra water to take
her down.
Three miles outside the harbour she brought up in the appointed spot
and came to a standstill, the passengers were hurried below, and the
order given for ‘diving stations.’ Then Boyd and the coxswain climbed
down the conning-tower hatch, followed by Raymond, who, after closing
the lid, opened one of the scuttle guards and remained up in the tower.
From here he could see through the thick glass the trim of the boat
and the manner in which she was taking the water. Boyd was at the
periscope, and Seagrave was wandering all over the boat, superintending
and seeing that all was in readiness. The dockyard people, most of whom
had not been down in a submarine before, ‘stood round,’ looking rather
foolish. They were beginning to realise that their lives were in the
hands of the Lieut.-Commander they had been wont to beard in their own
fastnesses, and a sense of proportion was slowly dawning within them.
The crew were at their ordinary diving stations, and Seagrave reported
‘All ready, sir.’
‘Flood 1 and 4,’ said Raymond, and over came the Kingston levers,
and as the vents were opened the water could be heard gurgling into
the tanks. 2 and 3 were flooded in the same manner, and the boat was
in main ballast trim. Then the trimming tanks were partially filled,
and as the buoyancy flooded the boat began to have a tender feeling
as if she were on the tremble, and the water began lapping into the
superstructure overhead as she settled down.
‘How is she?’ asked the captain.
‘Two degrees by the stern, sir,’ replied the coxswain.
‘Another 500 in the fore, then,’ and five hundred gallons more were
admitted, when the coxswain reported ‘Horizontal, sir.’
‘Right. Eleven thousand in the auxiliary.’
The auxiliary vent was opened while a stoker hauled back the Kingston,
and Seagrave watched the gauge as the level crept up in the glass
tube. Presently he gave an order, and the lever was snapped back into
position.
‘Eleven thousand, sir.’
‘All right,’ came Raymond’s voice from the conning-tower. ‘Is she
showing anything on the depth-gauge?’
‘Three feet, sir.’
‘Give her another five hundred.’
Meanwhile Boyd at the periscope was keeping a careful look out for
approaching craft. A collier in her way in came perilously close, but
the watchful trawler headed her off and led her out of harm’s way. As
the tanks flooded his sky view became less and less; as the instrument
was fully hoisted he could guess she was settling down before the gauge
began to register.
Finally, Raymond came down from the control room to see that all was as
it should be.
‘She’ll do now,’ he explained to the passengers. ‘She’s got all the
ballast she wants, and only needs a touch to take her down. We’re like
a bottle half-full of water--just on the bob, as it were.’ Another look
round and then: ‘Start the motors,’ he added ‘Full fields. Take her
down gently.’
The boat gave a slight shudder, and the sound of the water could be
heard lapping past her as she gathered weigh. The coxswains spun their
wheels, eyes on the gauge, and gradually she crept down to thirty feet.
‘Hold her at that,’ said Raymond, and then he and Seagrave and the
dockyard experts made a tour of the boat, while Boyd lowered the
periscope and kept an eye on the helmsman to see that he was on his
course. The inspection proved satisfactory (it was a lengthy business),
and the party returned to the control room, and Raymond ordered the
motors to be stopped and the boat was brought up to 18 feet.
‘All clear, Boyd?’ he asked.
‘All clear, sir. The trawler’s just astern.’
‘Right. Group up. Thirty feet.’
‘Grouped up, sir,’ from Furness, as the grouper-switch came over with a
bang and the motors got away in earnest.
The boat was doing a good eight knots now, and could be felt vibrating
through the water as the speed increased. All eyes were on the gauges,
the coxswains watching their depths and the L.T.O.s their ammeters
as Raymond increased to 800 amperes. Then once more the motors were
stopped and the batteries placed in parallel or ‘grouped down,’ and
then came the order,--
‘Eighty feet.’
As the hydroplane and diving rudder wheels went over, the visitors’
expressions became a little tense and anxious. One of them laughed and
cracked a stale joke, another fidgeted with a bunch of keys, but nobody
said anything.
That sense of proportion was developing.
The depth needle crept up to the requisite depth and steadied, and then
another tour of inspection took place, for leaks this time, and was
also pronounced satisfactory. The visitors breathed again, but thoughts
of the fresh air and sunlight up above _would_ obtrude themselves
nevertheless. It seemed so still and quiet, and the electric light
glared and winked on the brass work while up above....
‘A hundred feet.’
Somebody coughed nervously (it was _not_ one of the crew) and the boat
continued her descent. At the hundred foot level she steadied and the
final inspection was made, and to the great relief of certain members
of the passengers, who were thinking about that pressure of 45 lb. to
the square inch, the boat rose to thirty feet, the motors were stopped,
and Raymond gave the order,--
‘Blow 1, 2, and 3.’
The Kingstons were opened, and Hoskins on the air-manifold got the air
in group working, the depth needle hurried back to zero, and Raymond
clambered up the conning-tower and threw open the hatch.
‘One,’ he shouted, ‘two, three,’ as the tanks emptied, and then the
burly coxswain pushed his way up and took the helm, followed by Boyd
and the much-relieved dockyard potentates.
A bell rang below and the engines were started up. The protecting
trawler bore down on them, and they were off for the harbour at ten
good knots an hour. No fuss, no noise, but the visitors were thinking
and thinking hard. They had something to tell their wives about when
they got home that evening, and appeared a little thoughtful for a day
or two afterwards.
As they came in through the harbour gates a small crowd of workmen
watched them go by. They didn’t see many submarines in Darlton, and it
was quite an event for them. Her mast was hoisted and her White Ensign
stood out stiffly in the morning breeze as she stood across the dock
and tied up once more alongside the quay.
The passengers stepped ashore with a sigh of relief, and with profuse
thanks for ‘an interesting experience’ and well wishes for the future,
made off to mark the day with a red letter in their calendars. Raymond
smiled as he watched them go. As for Seagrave, he was consulting with
Hoskins over a stiff Kingston lever, and Boyd was closing down the gyro
compass.
* * * * *
The final stores were taken in in the afternoon, mostly tinned food
and brass polish and the hundred and one small items that crop up at
the last moment. The provisions presented quite a formidable array,
for the modern submarine is able to carry a large amount for cases of
necessity, which her electric cooking-range is able to cope with, and
prepare in any manner of which the cook is capable. In addition to
her preserved rations, she also carries sufficient fresh meat for her
wants, if on a short patrol, or at any rate enough for two or three
days if the outing is to be a lengthy one.
By evening the final touches had been added, and ‘123’ lay to the quay
a wiser and a better boat. She and her officers knew a great deal more
about her than they had known before she was hauled to pieces, and
smacked and riveted by the dockyard hordes.
The boat was locked up for the night, and the coxswain and his men
trooped off to supper in the barracks; Boyd and Seagrave returned to
the hotel, and Raymond went off to the S.N.O.’s office to report his
boat finished and ready to return to her base.
It was not till dinner, eaten in the dining-room of the hotel, a
chamber that reminded one of past glories and ancient pomp and
circumstance, that he put in an appearance. The room was fairly crowded
when he arrived, as he was rather late, and he had to thread his way
between the other guests’ chairs to reach the table the three occupied
on the window side of the room.
Anxious mamma glanced severely at him, slightly bored papa exchanged
a nod and a good-evening, and demure Miss So-and-So smiled into her
plate. A large portion of the remainder were military officers passing
through the town or staying for a short while on duty. Those of his
own seniority hailed him with aplomb; he had a knack of making himself
liked everywhere.
‘Well?’ queried Seagrave, as his captain sat down.
‘Curious news,’ began Raymond, attacking the soup. ‘From a Service
point of view I’m fed up about it, but from a purely personal
standpoint it’s jolly good business. We can’t go back to base for
another three days, as they can’t get an escort before then.’
‘What awful rot; you’d think they’d have plenty of Destroyers knocking
about doing nothing, or at the worst they might let us go up by
ourselves.’
‘And get sunk by our own patrols on the first night up. No thank you,
George, not for mine this journey. You as a young and able officer
ought to be jolly pleased to think you can have another whole three
days among this bevy of beauty. You don’t make the most of your
chances.’
‘This is such a dull hole, though,’ put in Boyd; ‘you can’t get much in
the way of amusements in the evening. What on earth can we do to shake
things?’
‘Now wait, I have an idea. I feel it maturing,’ said Raymond, holding
his hand to his brow. ‘Don’t speak for a moment, it’s coming. Ah-h-h,
I have it! We’ll give a dance, a Submarine dance here in the hotel;
the drawing-room will be just the place, and we’ll invite all the old
fogies who’re staying here, and a few choice spirits of our own for
leavening. It’ll be all right, the manager and I are old pals, and I’ve
done it before. I’ll try and fix it for to-morrow night. It begins with
men only, and we give them a practice attack with pillows for torpedoes
and Boyd for the periscope. That comes off in my room, by the way.
Then we adjourn to the drawing-room, and the damsels troop in, and we
get the show going. Little Miss Bored Stiff, or whatever her name is,
will be only too pleased to bang on the piano, I feel sure. What do you
think of it?’
‘Not so dusty. What about clothes, though?’
‘Just monkey jackets and bow ties and white kid gloves. Oh, and you
can’t disgrace me by appearing in those disreputable old pumps, so
you’ll have to trot out and buy new ones. What about you, Seagrave?’
‘I was just thinking. I don’t seem to remember having a decent suit to
my name, but I’ll do my best.’
After dinner the manager was approached and the subject gently
broached to him. It took an effort, but after a little while he proved
amenable, and agreed to provide decorations and refreshments in return
for the addition of certain items on the officers’ extra bills. Miss
Bored Stiff, after a deal of gushing, agreed to do her share, and the
invitations were sent out the next morning.
‘The officers of H.M. Submarine “123” request the pleasure of the
company of ---- at a Submarine dance to-night in the drawing-room at
9.0. p.m.’
And so the invitations were accepted--all, that is, except two, and
they were two very old people, and the preparations were duly made, and
8.30 p.m. saw a crowd of fifteen young gentlemen in Sam Browne belts
collected in Raymond’s room, drinking their liqueurs and smoking their
cigars with the air of war-worn warriors. There was a certain amount of
noise in the room as well, in fact it filled up most of the odd spaces
where the aforesaid young gentlemen were not sitting, but matters were
moving, and a ‘submarine attack’ was developing.
Boyd was dangling in mid-air from the end of a line thrown round
a stout hat-peg and made fast to the bed rail (he had to be the
periscope after all), and an arrangement of chairs and whatnots
represented the diving rudder wheels and other control-room etceteras.
A little way off Seagrave stood by an arm-chair, to whose back was
fixed an ingenious arrangement, whose principal ingredients were
pillows and a length of rubber tubing. The spectators sat where they
could, and prepared to learn the methods of attack as demonstrated by a
submarine expert.
At an order from Raymond, a young gentleman with a single star upon his
cuff went through the operation of starting the motors, mimicking the
gestures of the L.T.O. working the switches at the motor-board. The
captain then gazed fixedly between Boyd’s dangling boots and gave the
order, ‘take her down.’
Everybody groaned, hissed, and hooted, while a youth in shirt sleeves
splashed water in a basin to represent the wash of the sea over the
conning-tower. Two others manipulated the diving wheel chairs, and the
hands on the face of a broken clock were gravely moved on in imitation
of the depth-gauge.
‘A thousand feet,’ said Raymond. ‘Hold her at that, idiot. Oh, hell,
she’s leaking.’ This as the basin worker upset half his water. ‘Blow 40
and 50. Shake it up now. That’s better. Oh, down, periscope,’ and Boyd
was lowered to the floor gasping.
‘Right now, up to thirty feet. Work that depth-gauge, ass. Up
periscope. Heave him up, never mind if he kicks. Ha! Enemy bearing two
points on the starboard bow. Steady that helm, idiot. Steady, I say.
That’s right. Eighteen feet. Flood the tubes.’
‘Flood the tubes,’ cried Seagrave, getting busy with his arm-chair.
‘Come on now. Bear a hand there. Tubes flooded, sir, and firing-tanks
charged. Swing the bow-cap.’ (Another youth shot through air.) ‘That’s
the style. Now we’re doing something. All ready, sir.’
‘Steady the helm. Down periscope. Thirty feet,’ continued Raymond.
‘Easy now, eighteen feet again. Up periscope. Steady that helm now.
Carefully does it. Ahhhh. Don’t kick us, Boyd. Stand by.’
‘Stand by, sir.’
‘Easy now. Ready to take her down. Deflections 400. Look out there;
look out again and we bump her. Now once more and ... Fire!’ and a
pillow shot out of the catapult device like a feathery cannon ball
and bowled over a rather dignified if youthful captain amid howls of
delight.
‘Eighty feet,’ shouted Raymond; ‘take her down, men, quick now. Oh,
hell! we’re rammed,’ and the whole room rose and fell on itself in a
kicking and struggling mass.
‘Here, I say you fellows,’ cried the irate army captain. ‘This is a bit
thick. I’ve got decent clothes on. You are a lot of ... of Submarine
Toughs.’
He was dragged to his feet and dried and brushed (there had been a good
deal of water floating about, ‘to make it more realistic,’ as Seagrave
put it), and his ruffled feelings were restored with whisky. Then the
party disappeared to tidy itself for the dance, and ten minutes later
the seekers after submarine knowledge trickled down to the drawing-room
where the ‘Submarine Toughs’ were waiting to receive the ladies,
looking very angelic and innocent in spite of the recent _mêlée_.
The ladies arrived, and the dance opened with a waltz banged out of
the patient if wheezy old hotel piano by the gushing Miss Bored Stiff,
and ten couples took the floor with great gusto, while the manager
alternately held up his hands in horror and beamed benevolently on the
revels. The waltz was followed by a set of lancers, and the game got
really going. Supper was much in evidence, and Sam Browne belts and
dark blue and gold dashed about with ices and claret cup, and picked up
fans and wrote things on programmes and generally did the gallant.
And so, Miss Bored Stiff played, and the girls giggled, and the
mothers beamed, and even a few of the fathers, terrifying people, were
sufficiently melted to accept a drink, and the evening wore on and
everybody enjoyed themselves. The young gentleman in khaki, with the
thin gold stripe on his sleeve, danced with the girl in the red sash
four times, and the Army Captain acted as steward till he lost his
rosette, more by design than accident, and hurled himself into the
two-step like a three-year-old. Then the mothers gathered their bairns
about them, and ‘good-nights’ were exchanged, and the fathers remained
and gave expert opinions about the war, and listened with deference
to the expert opinions of others who two years before they would have
considered babes-in-arms, and every one went happily to bed.
But no one knew of the revels held in the Petty Officers’ Mess that
night to which the Sergeants of the local defence force and their ‘good
ladies’ had been invited, or of how the coxswain and the T.I. danced
attendance on the Master Gunner’s daughter, or how Hoskins so far
forgot his dignity as to perform a step dance much to the edification
of the guests and the admiration of the entire engine-room staff.
These things are secret, and the veil is never lifted ... in public,
for the next day work had to be carried out in the Service manner, and
every one was his usual staid and former self.
And that’s another of the unwritten rules that pertain to the Laws of
the Navy.
* * * * *
And then the final spasm when two days later the escort Destroyer
swung out of the harbour and ‘123’ followed her, laden with kit and
belongings and spare parts, and containers, and a host of minor matters
purchased for less fortunate comrades in the _Parentis_. Out through
the dock entrance and past the harbour heads, and Darlton and that
dockyard and the Royal Hotel were left behind, perhaps for good and
ever. And the Destroyer zig-zagged and the Submarine puffed behind and
was examined by trawlers and patrol-boats, and anchored for the night,
and the following day arrived off the base once more and the familiar
scenes of work and the old routine. As they stopped alongside the
_Parentis_ in the late afternoon they were met by the ward room _en
masse_ and hurried off to gin and bitters to celebrate their arrival.
The parcels were distributed and blessings given and curses hurled over
the contents, while Raymond and the skippers talked ‘shop’ over the
alterations and work of the re-fit. But there was something missing,
and it came out later after dinner when the juniors had cleared off and
the seniors sat round in solemn conclave.
‘Yes,’ said Carruthers, staring into the empty grate. ‘About two weeks
ago it was. Much the same show as Shelldon’s, I expect. Just went out
and didn’t come back. Hard luck, but he wasn’t married. A lot of his
men were, though. And old Blake was always so cheery, too.’...
The ward room nodded and lapsed into silence. Somebody coughed and
picked up a magazine. Then six bells struck and the _Parentis_ went to
bed.
ACTION
I saw a Line of Battleship a-followed by a prize,
’Oose capture wur a matter easy done;
The Gunners ’eld their fire till they saw each other’s eyes,
And raked her fore and aft with every gun.
Eh! it couldn’t ’ave been every gun as did it?
I’m speaking of a ’undred year ago;
An’ if we didn’t rake ’er, ’ow in ’Eavens _did_ we take ’er,
For we adn’t got torpedoes down below?
I saw a Fleet of ironclads a-shelling of a town,
Which let us ’ave it lively from a fort,
Till a little British ‘lay-me-true’ ran in and did ’em brown,
While most of us lay off and watched the sport.
Eh! it couldn’t ’ave been just one ship as did it?
I’m speaking now of forty year ago;
We’d iron on our uppers and steam and patent scuppers,
Though nowadays you might a’called it slow.
I ’ear there’s been an action, for the Germans come at last,
With submarines and aereyplanes an’ all;
But when our Battle Squadron come they run so ruddy fast
We ’adn’t time to open up the ball.
And yet I can’t make out the way they do it,
I’m speaking now o’ thirteen months ago,
They come out for to beat us, but when the beggars meet us,
They scuttle back before they’ve struck a blow.
But, Grandpa, don’t forget, you’ aven’t _seen_ the British Fleet,
Nor been aboard a Dreadnought in your life,
And a modern Battle Squadron is a nasty thing to meet,
And a Cruiser ’as a fore-foot like a knife.
So, can’t you even guess the way we did it?
It only ’appened ‘bout a year ago,
The Battle Cruisers caught ’em, and the Dread-ohs nearly taught ’em
When darkness fell and spoilt our little show.
THE REAL THING