The Dummy Periscope
CAPTAIN STAGGLES interviewed the two delinquents separately. The
skipper was one of those men who are apt to bluster and browbeat
whenever occasion offered. It was his idea of imparting discipline.
Popularity he scoffed at. He was, in short, one of a fortunately rare
type of officer of the old school, who at the outbreak of the war had
been once more employed on the active list. To his disappointment
Captain Staggles had not received a shore appointment, owing to a
lack of sufficient influence; and after filling various stopgap
billets he had been given the armed merchant-cruiser _Portchester
Castle_, whose complement consisted entirely of Royal Naval Reserve
and Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve officers and men.
Unfortunately Captain Staggles did not possess sufficient sagacity to
realize that there must be a difference between a crew, trained for
years in proper Navy fashion, and a body of men drawn from the
merchant service. In both cases good material was present, but one
had been developed to meet certain requirements, the other had not.
"The point is," thundered Captain Staggles to Jack Osborne; "the
point is, sir, you had to be on duty on board. You were not. You,
instead, try to bamboozle me with some cock-and-bull yarn about a
spy. Now, what have you got to say?"
"I take it, sir, that you insinuate I'm not speaking the truth," said
Osborne quietly, controlling his indignation with a strong effort.
"And that without giving me an opportunity of proving my statement."
"I take it, sir," mimicked the skipper, "that you don't realize that
you've overstayed your leave?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir," replied Osborne. "It was my fault entirely
that Mr. Webb was in the same predicament."
"Very well," exclaimed Captain Staggles, raising his voice to a
regular roar. "Now, don't do it again. Clear out, sir."
"But concerning the spy, sir?" began the Lieutenant.
"Don't want to hear any more about it," bellowed the skipper. "Thank
your lucky stars you've got off so lightly. Leave my cabin, sir."
Osborne saluted and withdrew. On the half-deck he encountered Webb,
who was awaiting his turn "on the carpet".
"Reprimanded," announced Osborne laconically. "The captain won't
listen to my explanation. Better luck, old man."
But Sub-lieutenant Webb fared no better. His attempt to throw a light
upon the night's work met with an equally curt reception.
"I believe the skipper's been drinking," said Webb to his chum after
his interview.
"Since you mention it, I agree," said Osborne gravely. "I've known it
for some time, but I didn't like to give my chief away. We've struck
hard lines in the matter of a skipper, Tom. You see, our temporal
future lies entirely in his hands. If he sends in an unfavourable
report upon our conduct and abilities, we're done as far as the
Service is concerned. There is no appeal. However, we must carry on
and do our duty."
Osborne had previously said that Captain Staggles was a keen officer.
He had been; but retirement had blunted his zest and rusted his
abilities. Still rankling under the mistaken idea of injustice at
having been refused a shore appointment, the skipper had lost
interest in his work. He was content to rely mainly upon the
stereotyped order "Carry on", and a non-committal "Very good" when
addressing his subordinate officers. His formerly active brain,
fuddled by intemperance, was no longer capable of controlling the
destinies of a ship's company. Had he been permitted to remain in
command the result might have been fatal to the efficiency of the
ship. Fortunately it was otherwise.
By some means the story of the adventure of Osborne and his chum
reached the ears of the Senior Naval Officer on the Station. He
immediately applied for a report from Captain Staggles, and the
latter had to admit that he knew nothing of the details of the
occurrence. The result was that Osborne and Webb were sent for, and,
under severe cross-examination, had to reveal the facts of their
interview with their commanding officer, and how the latter had
refused to hear the report concerning the spy.
Two hours later Captain Staggles was ordered to undergo a medical
examination and, found unfit for duty, was sent to hospital; the
Lieutenant-commander of the _Portchester Castle_ was given temporary
command pending a fresh appointment from the Admiralty.
Jimmy M'Bride, Captain Staggles's successor, was a man of totally
different character and disposition. There was a humorous side to his
nature that the former skipper lacked. He knew his job thoroughly,
regarding the men under him as something different from mere
machines. He expected a high standard--and got it; not by aggressive
methods, but by example. He was always ready to consider a grievance,
but woe betide the incautious man who attempted to impose upon him.
Already precious time had been lost, but M'Bride delayed no longer in
acting upon the information that Osborne and Webb had gained from the
Greek spy. Since the _Portchester Castle_ had not figured in the list
of ships supplied to the kapitan of the German submarine, the armed
merchant-cruiser was detailed to take the place of a large tramp, the
s.s. _Two-Step_, which was under orders for Marseilles.
Just before sundown the _Portchester Castle_ was, roughly, twenty
miles east of Gibraltar. It was a calm, glorious evening. Not a
ripple disturbed the placid surface of the Mediterranean, save the
long, ever-diverging swell in the wake of the slowly moving vessel,
for in the rôle of merchant-man the _Portchester Castle_ was
steaming at a bare fifteen knots. Three miles away and broad on the
starboard beam was the tramp, flying the red ensign. Already by means
of the International Code she had "made her number". Her course was
approximately parallel to that of the _Portchester Castle_, although
her speed was less by a good five knots.
"Spot anything?" enquired Osborne of his chum, as Webb kept his
binoculars focused at something almost midway and ahead of the two
vessels.
"Yes," replied the Sub. "A periscope, or I'm a greenhorn. Here you
are, Osborne, right in line with the foremast shrouds."
"By Jove, you're right!" assented the Lieutenant. "I can see it
distinctly. Now who is she going for--the _Two-Step_ or us?"
"The _Two-Step_, I fancy," replied Webb. "It looks to me as if the
U-boat's periscope is trained in that direction."
Quickly the guns were manned. A warning signal, "'Ware submarine on
your port bow", was sent to the tramp. The suppressed excitement grew
as the _Portchester Castle_ drew nearer to her as yet unsuspecting
foe.
M'Bride was on the bridge at the time. Deliberately he delayed the
order to open fire. The gun-layer could, he knew, easily knock away
that pole-like object, but that was not enough. The U-boat, even when
deprived of her "eyes", could dive and seek shelter until the danger
had passed. Not until the submarine showed herself above the surface
could a "knock-out" blow be delivered, unless the _Portchester
Castle_ could approach and ram her antagonist before the latter had
time to submerge to a sufficient depth.
"Look!" exclaimed Osborne. "She's actually going to attempt to ram.
Well, of all the cool cheek!"
The Lieutenant was correct in his assertion, for the plucky tramp,
starboarding helm, was bearing down upon the vertical spar that
denoted the presence of the otherwise hidden danger.
This manoeuvre interested Webb hardly at all. His attention was
centred upon the periscope. For some time he had been keeping it
under observation through his marine glasses. There was something
fishy about it. He had seen partly submerged periscopes before, and
they had never behaved in that erratic fashion.
This one was stationary as regards direction. No feather-like spray
denoted its passage through the water. It certainly was not forging
ahead. It was, however, rolling erratically, its centre of
semi-rotation being but a few inches beneath the surface. The
periscope of a submarine, if it were inclining in a vertical plane at
all, would have a very different movement, protruding as it was from
the comparatively huge hull of the vessel.
"It's a dummy periscope," he announced.
"Sure of it, Mr. Webb?" asked Captain M'Bride.
"Positive, sir."
The skipper of the _Portchester Castle_ did not hesitate. A warning
blast from the armed merchant-cruiser's syren was followed by the
peremptory signal, "Go astern instantly", while the white ensign
hoisted aft imparted the necessary authority to the _Two-Step_.
An exchange of signals followed, with the result that the tramp
forged ahead once more, and, altering her course slightly, passed
quite a couple of cables' lengths from the sinister spar that bobbed
lazily above the sea.
"And there are half a dozen destroyers leaving Gib. to-day," remarked
Captain M'Bride. "If they had sighted this decoy one of them would
have gone at it like a bull at a gate. We must risk it, I suppose.
Away first cutter's and whaler's crews!"
The _Portchester Castle_ had to slow down to enable the boats to be
lowered. This in itself was a risky operation, since it was quite
possible that a real hostile submarine might be lurking in the
vicinity, awaiting the opportunity to discharge a torpedo at the
almost stationary target afforded by the armed merchantman.
Nevertheless the risk had to be undertaken. It fell within the scope
of the duties of the Royal Navy in its gigantic task of rendering the
maritime highways as safe as possible for the sea-borne commerce of
Britain, her Allies, and of neutral nations.
Tom Webb was in charge of the cutter, his brother Sub-lieutenant,
Dicky Haynes, having command of the whaler. The moment the two boats
cast off, the _Portchester Castle_ pelted off at full speed,
maintaining an erratic course to minimize possible danger until the
two Sub-lieutenants had carried out their hazardous investigations.
Each boat had two hundred yards of grass rope trailing astern, the
other ends being made fast to the bight of a flexible steel wire,
which, by means of a couple of buoys, was permitted to sink to a
depth of one fathom beneath the surface. Steadily the boats
approached the dummy periscope, the cutter passing it to port and the
whaler to starboard at a distance of twenty yards.
Presently Webb glanced astern. The towed buoys were now quite close
to the upright spar.
"Give way for all you're worth, lads!" he ordered, while Haynes
shouted a similar encouragement to the whaler's crew.
The strain on the grass rope increased. Then with a terrific roar a
column of water shot two hundred feet into the air from the spot
where the dummy periscope had been.
"We're much too knowing birds to be caught by that sort of chaff,"
remarked a member of the cutter's crew. The man was right. Had any
passing vessel rammed the tempting-looking periscope she would have
found herself bumping over a couple of mines that, with fiendish
ingenuity, the Huns had lashed to the decoy in the hope that an
inquisitive foe would be sent to the bottom. The trick was an old
one, but it added to the complication of perils which the British
seamen have to face hourly in the frequently underrated task of
preserving the millions of inhabitants of the United Kingdom from the
horrors of famine.