Birds of the air and sea!
Seagulls, seagulls!
Have you a word for me?
Have you a word of my boy out there,
Who left my heart and my cottage bare,
Who left his mother and did his share;
Tell me birds of the sea and air,
Have you a word for me?
Seagulls, seagulls!
Birds of the wind and wave!
Seagulls, seagulls!
Back from the sailor’s grave.
Have you a word from my man who died,
Out in the track of the cruiser’s stride,
Where death’s the price of a nation’s pride;
Tell me birds of the wind and tide,
How did my man behave?
Mourners, mourners!
Mothers of men and boys!
Mourners, mourners!
Death never quite destroys.
Rather think of the deeds they wrought,
Out in the dark where the squadrons fought;
Think of their deaths as the price that bought
Freedom and honour, and hail the thought,
Sorrows are future joys.
‘FOR THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA’
This is a story of the early days of submarines, and the whole affair
happened a long while ago--some years before the War, in fact--beyond
which milestone the memory of modern man now rarely attempts to wander.
The first news I received on the subject was from the centre sheet of a
morning paper, an extract from which ran as follows:--
‘H.M. Submarine “02” was lost in the Channel whilst exercising
on Tuesday, 16th inst. There are only two survivors, Lieut.
Allison, R.N., the second in command, and Stoker 1st Class P. W.
Howell. All hope has been abandoned for the remainder of the
crew, as “02” has now been under water for more than 58 hours,
and the divers report that it will be impossible to lift her for
another two days. Lieut. Belton, R.N., the captain, was the son
of Admiral Belton, K.C.B., R.N., etc.’
Now I knew Allison. I knew him well, and I scented the chance of
gaining a little more information on the subject than could be gleaned
from the morning paper, but I deemed it wise to wait a little and not
rush things too much. His photograph, a rather blotchy affair, appeared
in more than one penny pictorial, and I felt sure of my man. However,
I went wisely about my business, and put the matter away in an upper
brain pigeon-hole, to be produced at the right moment.
I waited a good long while, six weeks, to be exact, until I felt sure
that Allison’s survivor’s leave would be a thing of the past, and
then I sallied out and bought the current Navy List. I’ve said it all
happened long before the War, when those who took an interest in the
movements of naval officers could satisfy their thirst in the leaves of
the Blue journal. Nowadays these things are altered, and the Navy List,
which grows and increases monthly, is kept locked up with the other
secret books in the confidential safe.
In its mystic pages I found what I wanted. John Hugh Allison (Lieut.)
was ‘for command of Submarine “90” (building).’ I knew what that meant.
He’d had his leave all right and been appointed to a new boat, as
yet uncompleted, and was standing by to superintend the work of the
dockyard, and to take her to sea as captain when she was finished.
I thought a while and concocted a piece of villainy. Then I sent
the following telegram: ‘Commanding Officer, H.M. Submarine “90.”
Congratulate you on your promotion. When may I come and marvel?’
He fell into the trap (did I say that the telegram was reply paid?),
and sent the cryptic answer: ‘Many thanks. Come Monday, and be damned.’
The telegram was handed in at Portsmouth, so I knew at once at what
yard the boat was being built, and Monday morning saw me hustling down
from London full of my fell intentions.
I knew I shouldn’t get into the yard even in peace time, so I hung
round outside till a villain in a working rig appeared carrying a coil
of wire. He bore on his cap-ribbon the legend ‘H.M. Submarines,’ and
I marked him from afar. It appeared that the ‘Captain’ was living at
the Royal Arms Hotel, and thither I hied me and demanded that he be
produced.
He wasn’t in. He was still down in the mystic dockyard and wouldn’t
be back till lunch, so I made myself comfortable in a corner of the
smoking-room and awaited what the gods might give.
In due course the gift appeared, in a ragged uniform, and wearing a
harassed expression. On seeing me he uttered a roar of appreciation
(he was quite twenty-five), and caused drinks to be produced with the
celerity of a conjuror.
Then we lunched and discussed many things, from cocoa to spots under
the sun, but never once did I refer to the subject that was in my mind;
but after the meal was over I asked him how he liked his new boat and
what he thought of her.
‘Oh, not so dusty for a first command; you wouldn’t like to see over
her, would you?’ He eyed me tentatively.
‘Rather a long way to the dockyard, isn’t it?’ I hazarded.
‘Oh, be a sport,’ he continued. ‘I’d like you to see her, you know.
You’re the first civilian to come and see me here.’
‘All right,’ I agreed, ‘I’ll come, but don’t be too long-winded over
it.’
Then I smiled the smile of the evil-doer, and followed him in silence
to the penny tram. Under his protecting wing I was borne into the yard,
and presently came on ‘90,’ where she was being whacked and riveted and
hammered into shape.
It was like all other visits to dockyards, and secretly I was rather
glad when it was over, but I had gained my host’s confidence in me and
felt well pleased with my afternoon’s work.
We had tea at Southsea, and talked over old times and many other
things, and then returned once more to the hotel and dinner. I refused
all invitations to the Hippodrome afterwards, having my purpose in
view, and when we reached the coffee and liqueur stage I felt that the
psychological moment had arrived. I didn’t rush things, however; I led
up to it gently, and let him have it in small doses till he swallowed
the bait.
Hard and uphill work, but it came off in the end.
He had been explaining some of the advantages his new command had over
the older boats he had served in, and I felt the time was ripe.
‘How does she compare,’ I hinted, and ended with a lowered voice, ‘with
poor old “02”?’
He coloured a bit and hesitated, and I thought that all was lost,
then,--
‘Taking her all round,’ he answered slowly, ‘“02” wasn’t in the same
street. She was a good old packet, though.’ He sighed.
I passed the port again and waited.
‘It might have happened to any type of boat, you know, really,’ he
continued. ‘It was a sheer bit of bad luck.’
It was coming, and I nodded in silence.
‘I’ve never been able to quite make out how it happened,’ he went on.
‘Whether poor old Belton made a mistake, or the Dutchman got scared and
put his helm over.’
‘The Dutchman?’ I queried.
‘Norwegian tramp bound out for the Atlantic. Off Portland we were. We’d
been told off with a T.B. for practice attacks, and were in shallow
water at the time, about ten fathoms. About ten o’clock in the morning
it was, and lovely weather too. The T.B. was away on ahead of us, and
just before we dived we noticed a steamer about six miles off coming
towards us down Channel. I remember pointing her out to Belton. Then we
went under, and I was busy for’ard with the “fish.” Belton had taken
careful bearings of the tramp, and I’m not sure whether he got so
interested in his attack that he didn’t pay enough attention to her,
or whether the tramp suddenly saw the T.B.’s flag and banged the helm
over. I think it was a bit of both.
‘We’d been diving about half an hour when the skipper ordered me to
“flood the tubes,” and about five minutes later I got the order “stand
by.” You know how those old boats were, the way the sluice door worked
and so on?’
I nodded and sipped my drink.
‘The T.I. and I brought her to the ready and reported, and then came
the stillness that immediately precedes a shot; you know, everybody
waiting for the order.
‘“Stand by” Belton called again, and then to the coxswains, “when I
fire, forty feet.”
‘It was just then that I thought I heard a sound, the rumbling noise of
a train in a tunnel or the screw of a steamer close to. I imagined it
was the T.B., and I remember thinking that Belton was taking her rather
close to the target. The noise got louder and louder, and the men began
to look at one another, and then I heard the skipper’s voice from the
control room.
‘“Flood the auxiliary,” he shouted, and I knew by his voice that
something was wrong. “Take her down,” he cried, “lively now.”
‘Then I heard an E.R.A. calling for a wheel-spanner, and I ran aft
to find that the Kingston had jammed and they couldn’t open it, and
all the time the noise was getting louder and louder. We flooded the
buoyancy and speeded up, and she was just going down (you know we
always carried a light trim in those old boats) when the rumbling grew
into a roar and there was a terrific clang for’ard and a rush of
water, and we knew that some one’s propeller had cut clean through the
skin. The lights went out and there was another bang and spout of water
in the after compartment, and down we went.
‘“Control room, men,” yelled Belton. “Close the engine-room bulkhead.”
‘Somebody brought it to, and as the engine-room wasn’t pierced we knew
we had that much buoyancy at any rate, and with the water pouring in in
sheets we hit the bottom and the men tumbled into the control room and
banged the doors. There was a good four feet of water there by then,
and we’d filled the bilge.
‘Luckily some one had brought an emergency lamp with him, and we
switched it on down there in the darkness. The depth-gauge was steady
at 48 feet, and the crew was packed in that small air-lock. We could
hear the water rising on both sides of us, and spurts of it came
through the watertight doors. Then by-and-by the sound ceased, and we
knew that save for the engine-room and the control room the boat was
full up to the hatches.’
‘My God,’ I grunted involuntarily, as Allison paused to drink.
‘We mustered the crew,’ he continued, ‘and found that two were missing:
a stoker named Howell who had been on watch doing some job or other
in the engine-room, and had been shut in when the bulkhead door was
closed, and the T.I., who had been with me at the tubes.
‘The stoker, of course, would be all right so far, and as it happened
he saved himself and is in hospital now recovering from shock. The
T.I., we knew, was dead. He must have tripped over something in the
darkness on his way aft, and the door had been closed before he could
get to it. Poor devil, there was a gash about two feet long in the
hull, and he must have watched the water rising till it jammed him up
against the arch of the roof and drowned him as it rose.
‘Poor old Belton looked anxious; he had the lives of all of us on his
hands, and the men just stood round and said nothing.
‘We blew what we could, but she hadn’t got a central control like
we have in the later boats, and of course nothing happened. The
depth-gauge stuck at 48 feet, and the air was getting bad already.
There were fourteen of us in the control room--a space about seven feet
by nine.
‘I was standing by one of the bulkhead doors, and was the first to
suspect it. I didn’t say anything till I was sure, and smelt and smelt
again till there was no doubt about it. The water had got to the
batteries, and chlorine gas was creeping through the doors.
‘There was only one way out of it, and that was the old conning-tower
dodge. We reckoned we had about half an hour to live, as the gas was
only coming in slowly, and we might be able to save the lot if the air
didn’t give out first.
‘You know the shaft of the conning-tower that leads down into the
control room has two hatches, one at the top, opening out on deck, and
the other at the bottom where the shaft breaks out into the skin of the
hull. The space between was just big enough for a man to stand, and
forms an air-lock.
‘I wanted Belton to go up first, but of course he wouldn’t have it. He
insisted that an officer must go first to test the working of it, and
if all went well to explain technically when he reached the top what
was the matter with us. As he was the captain I had to go.’
Allison broke off and shuddered at the remembrance, and it was some
time before he continued.
‘I pushed up the lower lid and climbed into the conning-tower, and as
I held the flap I looked down on the little crowd of upturned faces.
“Good luck, George,” said Belton, he always called me George, “and
good-bye.”
‘Then I closed the lid and stood there in the narrow space with only
the upper hatch between me and 40 feet of water. I don’t quite know how
I felt, but I felt afraid, and I waited a minute before I opened the
sea-inlet, and the water poured into the shaft. It was all dark, of
course, and I had the feeling that now at least I had burnt my boats.
The arrangement was that after I had gone up, and the upper lid had
been closed again from the control room, they were to pump the shaft
out and the next man up would open the lower lid and take my place, and
they were to give me four minutes to do it.
‘The water rose up to my thighs, and in that narrow space I could feel
the air compressing terribly on my ears and mouth, and I climbed up
till my head was touching the upper lid. Up came the water again, up to
my chest, and I waited with one hand on the releasing gear of the lid.
‘When it reached my chin I couldn’t stand it any longer and let
the hatch fly. I don’t know what happened then, but the bubble of
compressed air must have shot me clean up. I remember the feeling of
pressure and dark water and bursting lungs, and then I was up in the
glorious sunlight that I hadn’t expected to see again.
‘Somebody grabbed me by the collar (I was told afterwards it was the
T.B.’s boat I was hauled into), and I just managed to tell them how it
was with the poor devils below. Then I fainted and came to in hospital,
and that’s all about it.’
He drew a long breath.
‘The others?’ I hinted.
‘Oh, the tramp stood by, and her name and so on was taken, but she
wasn’t held to blame, as nothing could be proved. Belton was the only
man who could have spoken, but, as you know, they didn’t get the boat
up for days.’
‘But why was it some of the others couldn’t follow you up?’
‘Something must have gone wrong below. Either they couldn’t drain the
conning-tower or else the gas got through to them. When they raised her
they were all gassed, poor beggars, and I think the doors must have
leaked quicker than we’d thought, and I just got up in time.’
‘You said something about a stoker being saved, didn’t you?’
‘That was Howell, who was shut up in the engine-room. It’s an
interesting story how he got out. He’s in Haslar Hospital now, if you’d
like to go and see him.’
I said I should like to very much.
‘Then I’ll give you this,’ and Allison wrote something on the back of a
card, ‘otherwise he may suspect you and tell you nothing.’
‘I’ll go,’ I said, taking the card. ‘His story ought to be rather
illuminating.’
‘It will be, I expect. You mustn’t mind his language, though. He’s
rather a hard nut.’
‘Don’t think I shall. I’m used to that sort of thing after ten years
close acquaintanceship with the Navy.’
Allison laughed.
‘And are you,’ I suggested, ‘really going to stop in submarines after
an experience like that?’
‘Why not?’ he laughed again. ‘Because I’m unlucky once it doesn’t
follow that I will be again.’
‘And the stoker?’
‘He’s coming back with me as a leading hand. That is if he behaves
himself,’ and he glanced at the card in my hand.
‘But when it was all over and you were in the hospital, how did you
feel?’
‘I felt a bit bad at first, and then I thought of the rest of them down
there, and I felt as if I wanted a drink. The sister wouldn’t let me
have one, though, and we had a proper blarney,’ and he broke off into
some long story of the hospital.
I saw that it was no more use and that the golden hour was passed. It
was no good pressing it, and I was thankful to have gleaned so much.
By-and-by he began to talk about his new boat again.
‘In another month she ought to be ready for trials,’ he said
enthusiastically. ‘Hope you’ll come and see how she behaves.’
‘I’d like to, but how about you? How will you feel the first time you
go down again?’
My host grinned.
‘Can’t say, I’m sure, but if you come, and mind you’ve got to, I’ll
let you know at the time, that is if you remind me, and I’m not too
busy with contractors’ people and dockyard officials and so on, which
I expect I shall be. Some of those dockyard people are blighters, you
can’t get half you want out of them.’
‘I’ve noticed that,’ I answered. ‘Engineer-Commanders are hard drivers
of bargains sometimes.’
‘Hard drivers! Why I could tell you stories; but no, there isn’t time.
I’ve got a long day’s work to-morrow, so I’ll turn in early. See you
before you leave?’
He rose to go.
‘One moment,’ I said, ‘before bed, may I read what you’ve written on
this card?’
‘Good Heavens, yes,’ he laughed. ‘Good-night.’
On the card in my friend’s neat handwriting were the words: ‘Tell him
how you wrenched off the manhole door or you won’t come back in _my_
boat.’
Such is the personal equation of the Naval Officer.
* * * * *
‘He’s in Ward 6,’ the sister told me. ‘Yes, this is visitors’ hour,
you’re not breaking the rules,’ and we smiled at each other as she led
the way up the cool stone staircase.
I found him sitting in an arm-chair, a young man wrapped in a blanket
of some sort, but haggard, and, it may have been my imagination, rather
gray for his age.
He eyed me suspiciously, and I handed him the magic card.
‘That’s Mr Hellison,’ he said, grinning broadly; ‘’e always was one for
a joke like.’
I sat down and asked him how he was.
‘Not so ruddy,’ he answered, ‘but it give me a fair turn, it did.’
‘And you’re stopping in submarines?’
‘All right, mate, I’ll earn it; I’ll carry out ’is orders, and don’t
you fret. I’m goin’ back as a leadin’ ’and, I am.’
I said nothing.
‘It was a fair old show,’ he went on presently, ‘but I come through it
all right by a bit o’ luck.’
I congratulated him on his safety.
‘I was on watch in the engine-room, doin’ a job of cleanin’, when it
’appened,’ he continued, ‘and the E.R.A ’ad just gone for’ard for
suthing when the bump came. A proper old clang it was, and I ’eard the
water simply passing in, in a way o’ speakin’. Then the captain, ’e
sung out for the ’ands to muster in the control room, but the lights
went out just then, and afore I could get out of the engine-room some
one banged the watertight door to, and, as it ’appened, that’s wot
saved my life.’
I nodded my interest in his story.
‘We was ’oled in the after compartment as well as for’ard, you see, and
them bangin’ that door cut me off from the control room but kept out
the water that flooded in between the rest of the bunch and me in the
engine-room. I ’eard it risin’ after we ’it the bottom, and the boat
took on a bit of a cant.
‘Then I began to get in rather a sweat, as I knew that if I was goin’
to be saved I got to save myself. I come over all funny like at first
down there in the dark, and then I ’ad an idea and started right on to
work it.
‘First I got ’old of a shifting spanner and fell to work on the man’ole
of the No. 4 main ballast tank. That’s under the engine-room, you know,
and when I’d got it off the water flopped in a bit owin’ to the shape
of the tank.
‘After that I sat down and wondered whether it was worth it or if I
could wait a bit and see if they was goin’ to lift the boat, but the
waitin’ got on my nerves, and I thought I might as well see it through.
So I opened up the No. 4 Kingston, and in come the water through the
man’ole door what I’d took off. It rose mighty fast, too, and after
it got over the Kingston wheel I knew it was neck or nothin’, as they
say, ’cos I could never stop the water comin’ in again if I wanted to.
So I climbed up the ladder and ’ung on under the engine-room ’atch and
watched the water risin’.
‘Of course the air compressed somethin’ cruel, and when I thought it
was enough I shoved away the strong-back and tried to push the ’atch
up. It only lifted an inch or so and come down again with a bang,
lettin’ in a torrent of water that knocked me off o’ the ladder, and I
was swimmin’ about in the engine-room for a bit before I got ’old of it
again. The water was within two foot o’ the roof by then and bangin’
me up against it, so I thought ’ere goes, and I give the ’atch a push.
Lumme, I don’t rightly know _wot_ ’appened then, but I went up like a
cork out of a bubbly bottle, and never knew no more till I woke up one
day in this ’ere ’ospital. Mr Hellison, ’e come down and see me, and
I’m goin’ back with ’im, and that’s all there is to it.’
The narrator drew a long breath, and paused to watch the effect of his
story.
‘Thanks,’ I said simply. There seemed nothing else to say.
He grinned broadly. ‘Wot do you think of it?’ he queried. ‘Sons of the
sea and bloomin’ sky-blue ’eroes, wot?’
‘It must have been an awful experience,’ I ventured.
‘Don’t you believe it, mate; “a life on the ocean wave,” and honest
Jack the sailor, that’s wot you think,’ and he chuckled at some obscure
joke.
‘I tell you, though, I was scared, mind yer. Not at the time: I was too
busy savin’ myself then, but afterwards, lyin’ ’ere in bed; wot with me
bein’ weak and so on, I used to imagine I was down there in the dark
again, and I used to dream about it and wake up in a sweat.’
‘And yet you’re stopping in submarines?’
‘You betcher. Did you ever, when you was a little ’un, think you saw
somethin’ in the dark or feel that some one was be’ind you?’
I nodded.
‘Well, _I_ used to, and my mother she always told me, “Phil,” she used
to say, “whenever you feels like that, turn round and touch wot’s
scarin’ you, and when you feels nothin’ you’ll know it’s all right.”
It’s just the same as that. I’ll go back, and once I’m in a boat again
I’ll feel as right as a trivet, it’s the bein’ away and thinkin’ that
does the damage.’
‘I think I see. You mean it’s the shadow that hurts, not the substance.’
‘You’ve got it, guvnor; that’s wot it is. But ’ere’s the sister comin’,
so I guess you’ll ’ave to ’op it.’
‘Your time’s up,’ said the sister, smiling. ‘We can’t allow him to talk
too much, and he will keep on talking.’
‘All right, sister, I’ll be a good boy,’ and the patient lay back with
closed eyes and snored loudly.
‘Good-bye,’ I said, ‘and thanks so much for what you’ve told me.
Anything you’d like: cigarettes and so on?’
‘No, thanks, guvnor, I’m all right,’ said the sleeper, coming suddenly
to life; ‘but if you’re seein’ Mr Hellison, give ’im my respects and
say I’m ’opin’ to be with ’im before long.’
I promised that I would.
‘Good-bye,’ I said again, ‘and best of luck and a quick recovery.’
The sister was waiting for me at the door, and beckoned impatiently.
As I left the ward I glanced once more towards the patient. He was
apparently sound asleep and snoring his loudest, but as I turned away,
one eye suddenly opened and closed again in the most unmistakable wink
that was ever winked by man or sailor.
* * * * *
It wasn’t until some years afterwards that I heard the end of the story.
I only got wind of it by chance at a dinner party, after the women
folk had left us and the port had been round for the second time. It
was before the War, and not knowing that there were any Naval guests
present I was talking to my neighbour about the Navy, and telling him
what I knew of the ‘02’ fatality, when the gray-haired man opposite me
broke in.
‘I think I can finish your story for you,’ he said.
‘Finish the story!’ I replied in surprise. ‘Do you know any more
details then?’
‘I think I do,’ he said quietly. ‘You see, I was in the T.B. at the
time of the accident. I was a captain then, and it was before I retired
from the Service, and I went out to see what a periscope looked like,
and to prove some of my own pet theories as to the uselessness of these
new-fangled things called submarines.’
‘Do tell me,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll be very quiet if you will.’
‘It’s not a pleasant tale, though. I don’t know if----’
But the other guests, who had heard my account of the survivors’
experiences, clamoured for the story, and the gray-haired man gave way.
‘I went out in the T.B. as a sight-seer, and watched the submarine dive
through my glasses with the interest of a child with a new toy. It
was the first time I’d seen a boat go under, and I remember wondering
what it felt like to be down below. At the same time I noticed a tramp
steamer, a Norwegian she was, coming down Channel across our track, and
I recollected mentioning it to the captain of the Torpedo Boat.