differently about it, but in a submarine where no one but the captain
sees the enemy there is always rather an aftermath to cold-bloodedness,
a realisation of what the others have gone through. True, at the time,
one realises that if the enemy is not put under, one’s own boat and
her crew will be, but after the first excitement has worn off and the
torpedoes have been fired and found their mark, comes the feeling of
not having given the men a sporting chance, the feeling one had at
school after having ‘dotted the other fellow’ one on the nose or taken
the starch out of some one who was always ridiculing us. One wanted to
shake hands afterwards and be magnanimous (horrible word), and forget
the whole thing. But there was no shaking hands here, and there were
some who wouldn’t shake hands again ever ... up there ... heads bobbing
on the sea. Beastly.....
The whisperings grew fainter, and the talk in the after compartment
flagged and ceased. The men off watch were dropping off to sleep, and
Seagrave and Boyd had clambered into their bunks. Forward the four
empty racks showed the day’s work done, and behind the tube doors the
spare torpedoes were shipped and ready in case of necessity.
Raymond sat writing out his report, a short, concise narrative of the
events, for the benefit of Captain Charteris and ‘their Lordships,’
those vague beings of Whitehall whose opinions rule the Naval world.
There was no periscope watch just yet, as it was too dangerous to risk
being seen for a while, and ‘123’ jogged slowly homewards (she was due
in to-morrow morning) at the forty feet level, at the sedate speed of
slightly under two knots an hour.
At four o’clock tea appeared, and the boat came to life once more. Men
could be heard passing aft on their way to the meal, and an opening
of lockers and clattering of crockery announced the progress of the
meal. In the ward room the officers took theirs off the chart-table and
talked of mice and men.
‘Seems a bit queer to sit here and eat bread and jam,’ said Boyd,
breaking a momentary silence, ‘with all those beggars killed up there,
and the rest of them either in a blue funk or dashing about to Gott
strafe us. I wonder what they’re up to. Are you going to have another
look?’
‘After tea,’ said Raymond, ‘and then we’ll have to sit down at five
o’clock. About twelve fathoms, isn’t it?’
‘Twelve and a half, I make it,’ replied Boyd. ‘Anyway, quite shallow
enough, and only 140 miles from home. Shall we rise at ten o’clock?’
‘Depends how dark it is. We’ll have to put on a big charge on the way
home, and start it as soon as we rise; it won’t do the battery any good
to be left as it is now for too long.’
When the meal was cleared away, the boat was brought to eighteen feet
and the periscope hoisted once more.
‘All serene-oh,’ said Raymond. ‘They’re about four miles astern, I
reckon. Can’t see much but the smoke. Down periscope. Thirty feet.
We’ll start periscope watch again,’ he added, turning to Seagrave.
‘Keep a good look out at them.’
Boyd took over the watch, and the old order was re-established, the
boat rising to eighteen feet for the ‘look-see’ every ten minutes, and
then going down again to thirty feet.
Somehow the time dragged on, but it wasn’t very interesting, and every
one was looking forward to ten o’clock and fresh air after the day’s
turmoils.
Then five o’clock arrived, and the crew were once more ordered to
diving stations, and Raymond took the periscope and had a final look
round.
‘Nothing in sight,’ he announced. ‘Seventy-five feet of water,
coxswain, and sixteen feet below us. We ought to ground with about
fifty-nine feet on the gauge. Take her down.’
She went down slowly. At thirty feet Raymond stopped the motors and let
a little water into the auxiliary through the vent, as she lost weight.
‘How’s the bubble?’ he asked.
‘Midship, sir. She’s horizontal,’ answered the coxswain.
The depth-needle crept on. Fifty feet, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-two,
and then a light jar was felt and a faint upward pressure on the soles
of the feet like a passenger feels when a lift reaches the bottom of
the shaft in a Tube station.
The boat was on the bottom.
‘Six tons in the auxiliary,’ ordered Raymond. The boat took on a slight
list to port and then righted and lay still. The depth-meter was steady
at fifty-two feet.
‘Fall out diving stations,’ said the captain. ‘One hand keep watch in
the control room and call me if the depth-meter shifts or we take on a
list, coxswain.’
The crew dispersed and the officers returned to the ward room.
An even deader stillness than usual prevailed now that the boat was
stationary and had gone to sleep on the bottom. The talk of the men
in the after compartment drifted in and was the only sound that broke
the underwater silence. In the control room sat the watch-keeper with
his eyes on the gauges, sixty-two feet on the depth-gauge, and thirty
pounds pressure to the square inch. The long-suffering battery was
having a rest and the crew proceeded to follow its example.
Raymond and Boyd turned in and Seagrave picked up a book. Above,
somewhere astern, were two pannicky Destroyers and other things as
well; and somewhere else, at the bottom of the sea also, was the dead
Destroyer who would destroy no more.... Ah, well....
Dinner came at eight o’clock, rather a sumptuous affair in honour of
the occasion, and full justice was done to the cook’s culinary efforts
to live up to the event. Finally the bottle was opened after a teetotal
meal, and Boyd poured out the port.
‘As somebody or other once wisely observed,’ said Raymond, as he
prepared to drink, ‘a drop of whisky makes the whole world kin, but
give me a touch of the good old fruity as a really finishing end to a
perfect day. Whew! it’s getting stuffy.’
‘Always seems to after dinner,’ replied Boyd. ‘Must be the effort of
eating after sixteen hours’ diving, or else we eat so much that there
isn’t any room for fresh air.’
‘Or much air, either,’ said Seagrave, ‘not after twenty or so other
people have used it. This is the longest dive I’ve ever done, but as
regards the amount of grub eaten, that’s entirely a personal matter. Do
you mean to insinuate....’
‘That you ate a pound of cherries to-day? Of course I do. I admit I’ve
been asleep most of the day, but whenever I’ve woken up and cocked an
eye over the bunkboard I’ve seen you gobbling fruit like a schoolgirl
at a bun struggle.’
‘Well, I’ve had a system, and I haven’t been able to work it this
patrol, but the idea is to eat six cherries between looks through the
“perisher,” and suck the stones while I’m there.’
‘Beastly habit,’ said Raymond. ‘We’ll have to stop bringing out fruit
if it’s going to lead to these debauches.’
‘And deprive me of my sole pleasure in life. That’s a bit ’ard.’
‘It’s a bit ’ard on me that I can’t get any cherries at all on account
of your gormandising habits. That’s what’s a bit ’ard.’
‘Are you going to wait till ten before rising?’ asked Boyd, changing
the subject skilfully.
‘It’s getting a bit fuggy, so I think we’ll come up at nine-thirty.
What time is it now?’
‘Nine o’clock. I shan’t be sorry to get up, for one. That’ll be
seventeen hours and a half, and quite long enough for my small needs.
I’m not ambitious in that direction.’
‘No, I think we’ll make it half-past nine. You’d better warn them
in the engine-room, Seagrave, that we’ll want full speed as soon as
possible after rising. One can’t say that they’re not still on the
look-out for us, and we can’t afford to hang about.’
Boyd busied himself with his charts and laid the course for home. ‘A
hundred and thirty-five miles to go,’ he pronounced, ‘at twelve knots
gets us in at about nine to-morrow morning. Just a good time to come
in, _and_ a silk ensign and the skull and crossbones.’
‘Hardly a good enough bag for all that,’ said the captain; ‘we might
run to the silk ensign, I think, but we’ll hang on to the other till we
sink a Hun Dreadnought or a big Fritz or something of that sort. All
ready, Seagrave? Right. Diving stations.’
Then they rose, rose swiftly off the bottom, and steadied at twenty
feet, when Raymond hoisted the periscope.
‘Seems quite dark,’ he said. ‘Always looks darker through the periscope
than it really is, though. Good enough, blow 1, 2, and 3.’
When the hatch was opened it _was_ considerably lighter than expected,
and the engines were started off and worked up to full speed as soon
as possible. Raymond wouldn’t allow any one but himself, Boyd, and
the helmsman on the bridge, and all unnecessary gear was left below.
Even the bridge screen remained furled, and the captain kept a steady
look-out aft for possible pursuers.
Luckily the sea was still calm, and they got well away by midnight,
after which the crew were allowed on deck and things made comfortable
for the night. It had been a queer feeling, though, rising from the
bottom of the sea up into the dusk, the quick hustle and the scurry
for home, and the keen look-out aft through the gloom for signs of an
enemy who might have seen the boat push her way up out of her watery
funk-hole.
However, she was safe now, and the night slipped by with the usual
surface watches, and daylight found ‘123’ off the coast and heading for
the faint outline of home just visible on the horizon.
Then the sun rose higher and the land disappeared, to become visible
again later on about twenty miles distant.
The silk ensign, sign of conquest and good luck, was hoisted, and
‘123’ made her number and answered the challenge. The outside patrols
became active and the mine-sweepers on their outward way dragged past
them, their kites towing behind and bouncing over the water as they
went. Somebody on a trawler evidently saw what interested him, for a
telescope went up and then came the signal. ‘Hearty congratulations,’
semaphored across in slow and painful sections by a shock-haired boy in
a pair of baggy trousers.
‘Thanks very much,’ replied ‘123,’ as she hurried on to the harbour and
headed through the gate. Then up and through the Fleet, the silk ensign
fluttering in the breeze, and the boat came to rest once more alongside
the _Parentis_ and outside the trot of submarines. Then she made fast,
and the crew grinned at one another and broke away, carrying the debris
of the trip down to the mess-decks.
‘’Ullo, cocky,’ said a man who was hammering an iron plate, ‘’ad a good
trip?’
‘You bet we ’ave,’ replied the one addressed, who was carrying a bucket
full of potatoes and a loaf of bread. ‘You bet we ’ad. Saw Fritz, too.’
‘Reely. You ’it ’im?’
‘Course we did, do you think----’
Somewhere up on the quarter-deck a voice said,--
‘Hallo, Raymond’s back. Gee-whiz. Look what he’s flying. What is it,
Raymond?’
‘Only a wee one,’ came the answer.
‘You lucky beggar. Captain wants to see you, by the way.’
And there we will leave him, making his formal report in the Service
way to Captain Charteris, while the story ran round the mess-decks,
by Lower Deck wireless, where it was received with nods of approval
and caustic criticism by those who had been through it all before, and
knew the details, and could fill in the gaps for themselves. The Depot
blinked a bit over the issue of four new torpedoes, but albeit she was
satisfied and sat down again and said nothing.
* * * * *
That night after dinner the story was retold in the ward room,
embellished, and with detail, the listeners taking an immense
professional interest in the narrative, and agreeing and disagreeing
with one another on what they would have done under the circumstances.
‘When I saw my bloke last month,’ said Austin, ‘I left him severely
alone. It was a flat calm, and I thought Destroyer-dodging wasn’t good
enough.’
‘I don’t know,’ put in Johnson, ‘I think I’d have had a shot if I’d
been in your place. One can only miss after all.’
‘The point is, though,’ this from Carruthers, ‘is it worth while
risking the loss of one’s boat for the sake of one Destroyer?
Personally, I don’t think it is.’
‘I agree there,’ replied Austin; ‘a submarine, now, is a different
thing. If I thought I had the vaguest chance of straffing a U-boat I’d
go in for it whatever the cost. I think myself that it would be as much
loss to Germany from a purely military point of view as it would be if
I sank a Dreadnought.’
‘That may be,’ said Johnson, ‘but I do think that whatever you see
you ought to have a smack at, and I give Raymond full points for
his stunt of yesterday. It’s undoubtedly a nasty job messing about
with Destroyers or anything at all, for that matter, on a calm day,
but I think it’s worth it if there’s a reasonable chance of getting
something.’
‘I was in two minds about it myself,’ broke in Raymond, ‘but they were
so bally tempting I couldn’t resist it, and then when I’d missed I felt
I couldn’t come back without having another shot and getting something
for my money.’
‘Risky job, my boy, risky,’ cried the Torpedo Lieutenant from the depth
of his arm-chair. ‘Mustn’t be too bold and rash, you know.’
‘Oh, shut up, Torps, and don’t gass so much. The blessed “fish” ran
straight, and that’s all you need worry about. When I feel particularly
suicidal I’ll take you out with me and do the job in style. We’ll all
drown together and go down to posterity in the guise of saints then, a
_dis_guise by the way of a most efficient order in your case.’
‘Your pardon, Lord. I shall refuse to come.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Then I shall most certainly _insist_ on coming next trip. I shall----’
‘How far off were they when you first saw them?’ broke in a voice from
the other end of the ward room.
‘Oh, about four miles. I saw the smoke at first and hustled off in
their direction.’
‘You must have had a pretty long fug afterwards, didn’t you?’
‘It was a bit mouldy sitting on the bottom, but we managed to turn up
smiling.’
The talk drifted out and turned to other topics. ‘178’ was due in
to-morrow, and her patrol and herself and her officers were also
discussed with much freedom. Later the ward room was closed, and the
_Parentis_ went to sleep, but still with one eye open, and watchful to
guard the charges that lay alongside her.
Next day Carruthers and Johnson went out on patrol, and in the late
afternoon a new boat arrived, fresh and hot from the dockyard,
commanded by one Singleton, an officer well known to the boat captains
of the _Parentis_.
Raymond and Austin had a day off, rather an unexpected favour in the
case of the former, who had only just returned from re-fit, and decided
to spend it in the country. They left early and caught a train after
breakfast for the sleepy little town of Langton, some twenty miles
distant. After the noise and bustle of a shipbuilding and mining
centre, the pleasant peace of the English country came as a welcome
change, and they lay back in their carriage and drank in great gulps of
the fresh morning air as the local rattled sedately on. A fine summer
day and the hedges alongside the railway, and the fields all gold,
brown, and green, with little cottages nestling among them, and level
crossings with children who waved sitting on the gates, and horses
grazing, and reaping machines, and white high loads. Hayricks and
little villages, small woods and distant spires. Imagine all this under
the heel of an invader! The woman in the blue print apron standing
outside the cottage, the children playing with the farmer’s old dog
among the barley sheaves, imagine them with the Germans in possession
... butchery, rape, and at the best robbery and ill-treatment, and yet
Belgium....
It didn’t bear thinking of. There was no possibility of invasion or
wanton destruction. It hadn’t happened for hundreds of years, but then
... it must have been the same when the horsemen rode in and the old
muzzle-loaders blared out, and men died and women shrieked and children
clung to their mothers’ skirts, wide eyed and amazed.
It might happen, it might come to pass, and the very security of
England was the worst danger of all. A hundred thousand troops landed
overnight and the result ... fields laid waste, and killing and
disasters, the soul of the English country changed to its very core.
It might have happened two years ago, but not now. At a moment’s call
the sleeping country could spring to life, and armed men, as if born
of dragons’ teeth, would appear to repel the invader, armed not with
shields and stabbing spear, but with machine-guns and the deadly
howitzer. England had found herself. Not for a hundred years had she so
proved her soul to herself and to the world. The call came, and slowly
but surely the old spirit, latent for a century, revived and had its
being, openly once more and for all the world to see....
The train drew up with a jolt, and Austin broke the silence with a
casual remark.
‘Pretty little station. See those wild roses growing by the lamp-post
there. Reminds you of pre-war days, doesn’t it?’
Outside, the good old-fashioned station fly rumbled them over the
cobbles and into the High Street, where the women stared at the
uniforms, and a small boy shouted something and ran after them. Then
lunch at the one and only, called rather grandly the Imperial Hotel,
albeit an old place, relic of the coaching days, though with a new
master and up-to-date methods. Old prints on the walls of the ‘Fox
Hunt,’ old furniture, and beer in pewter tankards reminded one of the
ancient glories of the place, when the London mail would roll in with
a tootling of horns and shouting of postboys, and be off again amid
good-byes and handshakes, and ‘Write soon when you get to London,’ from
mother, and a ten shilling tip from father, while little Alfred sucked
his finger and stared.
The lunch consisted of the cold roast beef of England, and salad and
cheese and fruits, and afterwards they wandered out into the sunshine,
and up the High Street, tenanted now by only a few loafers, outside the
Red Lion, and a boy or two on bicycles by the local post office.
The market square offered but few attractions, and the friends wandered
through the town, which ended as abruptly as the bow of a ship, and out
into the country beyond.
After his recent experiences Raymond found the situation almost too
deep for words, and they trudged on, smoking their pipes, for the most
part in silence.
Presently they topped the summit of a little hill and looked back on
the town, a smudge of gray and brown buildings against the blue sky,
the church spire in the centre, and the smoke curling lazily up in the
afternoon haze. Away to the eastward was a thin strip of blue, where
lay the sea and ships and submarines and war.
They turned their backs to it. For one day at least they would forget
it, and Germany and War and sudden death.
Later on came tea taken in the garden of a little cottage which
modestly displayed the card ‘Teas’ in a window, where they were served
by the good lady’s daughter with home-made bread and cake and jam, and
then lay back and smoked and thought of things and men and the country
and England. Then they paid the bill, stroked the cat, gave the child
some pennies, and wandered on at peace with the world, themselves, and
everything.
They started back towards Langton, but the sound of bells drew them
from the main road to where a little ivy-covered church nestled lonely
and almost forgotten by the wayside. They took off their caps and went
in. After the glare outside they blinked and groped in the dusk of the
church until the light grew better and they saw where they had strayed.
‘I say,’ said Raymond, ‘this is a Catholic Church; hadn’t we better----’
‘That’s all right,’ said Austin. ‘We’ll sit here a minute.’
They found a pew and looked round them. Up by the altar a priest
was standing with his back towards them. Two boys in surplices
were standing near. Then an organ burst out somewhere, and the few
worshippers took up the refrain and sang the _Tantum Ergo_.
The two men knelt down.
Later a bell rang and the old priest bent down over the altar. He
raised something in his hands. Infinite quiet, the sound of heart
beats, and the lists of the parish killed in action stood out sharply
on either side of the sanctuary. The priest was moving away with the
boys before him.
The organ crashed out again, and Raymond caught the words:--
‘_Quoniam confirmata est super nos misericordia ejus: et veritas Domini
manet in aeternum._’
‘The truth of the Lord remaineth for ever.’
They stepped out into the sunlight and blinked in the glare of the high
road.
* * * * *
Later, the return to the base and the motor ride to the harbour, and
the steamboat off to the _Parentis_. A return to the world of men and
ships, where the war was the essence of life and the main topic of
conversation. The ward room was discussing the newly-arrived boat which
was to take the place of Blake’s.
Singleton was a man of merry moods, and kept them going with stories of
his struggles with the contractors and the trials he had been through
while his boat had been building.
‘A hell of a lot of work,’ he concluded, ‘and didn’t get any “command
money” for seven weeks either.’
‘_And_ had a fine fat time of it ashore, I bet,’ remarked the Staff
Paymaster lightly.
‘Not so bad, not so bad, but nothing to write home about. Not married,
you know. Found things pretty dull in the evening.’
‘Ah,’ said the Engineer Commander, ‘I married ten years ago, and
haven’t spent more than a fortnight at a time with my wife ever since.
Some people have all the luck.’
‘I agree with Mr Punch,’ chimed in the Torpedo Lieutenant. ‘As regards
to marriage I could say three words--The first is “don’t,” the second
is “don’t,” and the third is “don’t.” With my knowledge of the world my
opinion is worth considering.’
‘Had a good day?’ asked the First Lieutenant of Austin, disregarding
the Torpedo Lieutenant’s remark.
‘Very. Just wandered about in the country and smoked and thought and
took in the view. Later on we got into a small church where they were
having benediction or something. Made you feel all funny to hear it.’
‘I can’t imagine much shaking you,’ said the Fleet Surgeon. ‘You must
have been in a very thoughtful mood.’
‘I suppose I was. It was the quiet and the country and the rabbits and
things. Little things, you know, but things that count sometimes.’
‘----And when I got my periscope up,’ said a voice from the other side
of the ward room, ‘I saw Fritz had manned his guns and was letting the
tramp have it for all he was worth. Fairly potting him he was. So I
kept well to leeward of father tramp, and then dodged suddenly round
the bow and fired.’
‘Did you get him?’ asked Seagrave’s voice.
‘By good luck, yes. Right amidships. Then I went down, and came up for
a look ten minutes later. There wasn’t any submarine there, but the
tramp saw my periscope and thought I was Fritz, and gave me hell for
about thirty seconds until I got well down out of harm’s way. I bet the
skipper reported having sunk a U-boat.’
‘You got your shift shortly afterwards, didn’t you?’
‘Two months or so,’ replied Singleton. ‘Since then I’ve been one of
the idle poor and lived on the fat of the land, or such fat as I could
acquire owing to the Food Controller. Glad to be back at work, though.
It gets pretty mouldy sitting in a dockyard and hoping the war won’t be
over before you get to sea again.’
‘When are you doing a patrol?’
‘Day after to-morrow, I expect. Bit of a rush, isn’t it? Have to move
round in the meantime and see things in order, as I don’t know much of
her little ways yet, though she’s seemed all right so far.’
Boyd was comparing notes with the new navigator and discussing the
possible vagaries of magnetic compasses in submarines. Seagrave drifted
off with the new ‘Sub,’ and later on a bugle sounded overhead and six
bells struck. Somebody came to the door and reported eleven o’clock,
and the ward room emptied itself.
Raymond wandered up on to the quarter-deck and leant over the rail and
gazed at the anchored Fleet. Behind him the officer of the watch was
padding up and down, and by the gangway the quartermaster and corporal
of the watch were talking in low tones. The side boy looked at him
curiously.
‘Britain’s sure shield’ was keeping her silent watch. Beyond lay the
big ships, and beyond them again a host of merchant vessels, supply
ships, colliers, and hospitals. Outside, the Destroyers would be
keeping their never-ceasing patrol, and the trawlers and mine-sweepers
would be bobbing to the north-east swell. The wind caught him chillily,
and he shuddered and turned up his collar.
A voice sounded from for’ard, high up on the bridge, then one bell
struck, and he turned and went below.
THE SEAGULLS