battleships that had just passed. If so, she had certainly missed her
chance of doing them any damage. One of her officers climbed out to the
conning-tower platform, looked searchingly around the sea, but quickly
disappeared again, and the submarine dived, having paid no attention to
the trawlers.
Mark, taking counsel with the skipper, went into the wireless
operating-room and sent out a message, reporting what he had seen and
giving the position. He did not expect his message to be picked up; but
within an hour a British light cruiser came racing down from the north
at twenty-five knot speed. The skipper and Mark watched her through
their binoculars as she drew nearer, and identified her as H.M.S.
_Carlisle_. They saw her suddenly alter her course, as though to avoid
the mine-sweepers and possible floating mines.
"Her needn't be afeared," said Snowling. "Thar aren't no mines here
now. Suppose you signals her, bor, and tells her it's all right!"
"Hold hard!" cried Mark. "Look! Look what she's after!"
In direct advance of the cruiser, he distinguished for a moment the two
periscopes of the enemy submarine making a ripple as they moved through
the calm water. In that same moment there was a gush of fire and smoke
from one of the warship's 6-inch guns. A fountain of spray rose high
into the sunlit air from where the shell had fallen. One of the
periscopes seemed to have been struck. The submarine, evidently
crippled, was emptying her ballast tanks to rise to the surface when a
second shell struck her half-submerged conning-tower, smashing it like
an egg.
"That's what I calls good marksmanship," declared old Harry Snowling.
And going to the flag-halyard, he dipped his white ensign in salute.
The nearest of the trawlers hastened to the spot where the shattered
submarine had gone down, hoping to save some lives; but nothing was
found but a slimy patch of floating oil.
The _Carlisle_ came within speaking distance of the trawlers, standing
by for about an hour, and gave information of a new mine-field sown
between the Dogger Bank and the Bight of Heligoland. Ten British
trawlers, it was stated, had been captured by a German cruiser--the
_Schwalbe_--which had taken them in to Emden. Their crews had been kept
prisoners, and the boats had been fitted out as mine-layers to scatter
mines indiscriminately wherever ships could sail.
The mine-sweepers were supposed to work in stretches of ten days at sea
and six in port; but the _Dainty_ and her companions continued at their
task a longer time, for the danger was greater than ever the Royal Navy
had counted upon.
Many neutral ships and fishing craft had been blown up, a British
gunboat had been sunk, another badly damaged, and it was imperative that
the seas should be kept clear. But at length a relief squadron from
Grimsby came out to take over the work, and the Haddisport boats were
dismissed for home.
Early on the next morning, Mark Redisham started up in his bunk, hearing
the engines coming to a dead stop. He dressed himself in his oilskins
and went out upon the rain-splashed deck. To his surprise he saw that a
submarine had come close alongside. It was the H29, of which, as he
remembered, his friend, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, was the commanding
officer. One of her crew had been taken ill, and Lieutenant Ingoldsby
wished the _Dainty_ to take the man on board and nurse him until he
could be put ashore in Haddisport.
The sick man had been carried over a gangway thrown across between the
two vessels when Mark, happening to glance over the _Dainty's_ farther
bulwark, in search of the rest of the squadron which had gone on in
advance, saw instead the dim shape of a three-funnelled cruiser looming
ghostlike through the rain mist. She was flying no ensign, but by the
look of her he was almost sure she was not British.
Not asking himself why he did so, he strode across the gangway to where
Lieutenant Ingoldsby knelt, doing something with a spanner, on the
narrow deck abaft the conning-tower.
"Good-morning, sir," he began. "I think the cruiser over there is
signalling."
"Cruiser?" repeated Lieutenant Ingoldsby, springing to his feet. He
climbed a few rungs up the ladder of the conning-tower, and looked out
over the wheel-house of the _Dainty_, behind which the submarine was
well hidden.
"Just slip below and ask Jardine for my glasses, Redisham," he ordered.
"I believe it's the _Schwalbe_--the ship we've been stalking! In fact,
I'm sure!"
Mark had never before been on board a submarine, and when he got to the
foot of the perpendicular ladder of the hatchway, he became confused by
the strange complexity of tanks and machinery. An electric light shone
in the far end of a narrow passage. He was making his difficult way
towards it when the great boom of a naval gun startled him. The
_Schwalbe_ was opening fire on the mine-sweepers.
He stood still. The silence following the gun shot was broken by the
banging of an iron door above his head, and the sharply-spoken command
rang out in Lieutenant Ingoldsby's voice:
"Prepare to dive!"
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*HOW MARK MADE HIMSELF SMALL.*
On hearing the gun shot, followed so quickly by the command, "Prepare to
dive!" Mark Redisham knew that the strange cruiser he had seen was
unquestionably an enemy, firing upon the mine-sweepers.
An electric bell buzzed insistently; some one sang out: "Diving
stations!" and there was a scurrying of bare feet along the narrow deck.
It was useless now for him to go in search of Lieutenant Ingoldsby's
binoculars. His impulse was to get off the submarine and aboard his own
ship as quickly as possible. Yet for an instant he hesitated, lost in
the confusion of dark passages and intricate machinery.
A second shot sounded. He turned and scrambled blindly back to the
companion-hatch. But here he was stopped. The steep iron ladder was
occupied by an officer who was even then screwing down the fastening of
the watertight hatch-cover above his head.
"Can't I get off, sir?" Mark cried desperately. He had no fear, even
though already he heard the gurgling of the water in the ballast tanks
and knew that the submarine was on the point of being submerged. He
clutched at the officer's naked ankles and repeated his question:
"Can't I get off, sir--on to my own ship--the _Dainty_?"
The officer, a sub-lieutenant in working kit, descended to the iron
grating at the foot of the ladder.
"Not now," he answered quietly, as he pressed an electric switch,
flooding the whole ship with light. "You must stop where you are. Sit
down in that corner. Make yourself small. Don't touch anything, or you
may get a nasty shock."
He bent down and disappeared through what looked like an oven door in
the bulkhead. Mark could see the men hurrying to their posts. Two went
forward to the torpedo-tubes, one to each main ballast-tank kingston,
one to the hydroplane wheel, another to the motor switches. An engineer
took charge of the air-escape vents.
Each kingston being opened and the water rushing in, the boat began to
sink. Mark felt an uncomfortable, heaving motion beneath him. He heard
the hum of machinery--the whirr of well-oiled wheels, the chunking of
pistons and cranks. The Diesel engine was working whilst the
conning-tower remained above the surface for the ship to get clear of
the trawler alongside. Electric bells trilled their messages from the
commander to the men at their various stations.
"Close everything!" he called aloud.
The petrol engine stopped. The ballast tanks were full, and the
electric motors now took up the work of sending her along. To Mark
Redisham it seemed that she was going round and round in a dizzy circle,
already many fathoms deep under the sea. The smell of hot oil and the
heaviness of the compressed air stifled him. Yet in his eager interest
in all that was happening he would not have exchanged the discomfort for
ease, or the possible danger for assured safety.
Suddenly, in answer to a turn of the horizontal rudder, she began to
rise. Mark saw the sub-lieutenant crawl swiftly past him to the forward
torpedo-chambers. Bending over, and lying on his elbows, he managed to
get a sidelong glimpse into the conning-tower with its complicated
network of wires, its confusion of switches, handles, levers, and
brightly-polished instruments. The commander was there, he knew,
although it was only now and again that Mark caught sight of the gold
braid on his sleeve as he stretched out his hand to touch some switch or
lever.
"Charge firing-tanks; flood torpedo-tubes; stand by to fire!" commanded
Lieutenant Ingoldsby.
The periscope was now above the surface and his eyes were upon the image
of his target reflected in the mirror. He was taking aim, manoeuvring
the submarine into position as if she herself were a gun. For some tense
moments all was quiet but for the purr of the motor and the working of
the air-compressors for charging the torpedo-tubes. Then there came a
thumping sound as of a heavy door being shut. This was repeated. Two
torpedoes with their mechanism adjusted had been thrust into the breach
of their tubes. Mark would have given much to see how it was done. But
he did not dare to move. Obeying the recommendation to make himself
small, he waited breathlessly.
"Number one--fire!" came the sharp command.
There was a violent gush as a torpedo was discharged on its errand of
destruction. The whole vessel shuddered and was alarmingly unsteady
until the compensating-tanks were filled and the true balance was
regained. Then a second torpedo was fired. Mark listened, wondering,
as the submarine dived with her nose down, if either of her weapons
would strike the target at which it had been aimed. They had been fired
at long range, but their rush through the water was quickly over. A
low, rumbling explosion told that one of them had struck and burst
against the German cruiser's bilge.
The H29 remained deeply submerged, her electric motor driving her
forward at ten knots speed for something like a quarter of an hour, when
once more the water was blown from the tanks and she rose to bring her
periscope above the surface.
The sub-lieutenant was now in the conning-tower with the commander.
"We got her under the forward magazine," Mark heard Lieutenant Ingoldsby
announce. "She's sinking by the bows. The German collier that we saw
yesterday is standing by, picking up survivors. She's fitted with
wireless, so we may as well keep out of sight. Carry on just as we are
for another half-hour, Desmond, and shape a course for Haddisport
Roads."
"Yes, sir," returned Mr. Desmond. "And what about our mine-sweepers?"
"Oh, they are all right!" the commander signified. "I've just counted
them. I don't believe any of them was hit. Lucky for them that we
turned up. She'd have sunk the lot."
"We've got one of the crew of the _Dainty_ aboard of us, sir," the
sub-lieutenant told him.
"Yes, I know," nodded the commander; "it's young Redisham. I sent him
below for my binoculars. If you sight his ship, we'll put him back."
Mark stood up and saluted him as he came out into the hatchway.
"I hope I'm not very much in your way, sir," he faltered.
"Not at all," smiled Mr. Ingoldsby; "although we haven't much room to
spare on a ship like this, as you can see. But don't stay here in the
gangway. Come along with me. Mind you don't knock your head, and don't
touch any of the switches."
He led the way through an intricate passage into the engine-room: an
open space that could hardly be called a cabin, where men were at work
with the electric motors. Here he paused to glance at a gauge.
"You've done very well, shipmates," he said, nodding his approval.
"You've sent a German cruiser to the bottom--an old ship, it is true;
but she'll do no more mine-laying mischief, and I'm just as pleased with
you all as if she had been a Dreadnought. Jardine," he added, pushing
open the door that gave entrance to his cabin. "Shaving water, and then
breakfast."
*CHAPTER IX.*
*AN EXPERT IN MINE-SWEEPING.*
Mark took up his stand in the only corner he could see where there was
no machinery, and feasted his curious eyes on everything within their
range--the hammocks slung from the steel cross-beams, the safety-helmets
hanging near, the controls of a multitude of electrical devices, the
wheels governing the rudders, and the great array of enclosed cylinders
and accumulators.
At the far end was an electric cooking apparatus at which the cook had
already resumed his interrupted work of preparing the officers'
breakfast. From a small boiler, Jardine filled a silver jug with hot
water, which he carried into the commander's cabin.
On his return, Jardine went up to Mark and said: "The commander wants
you."
Mark was shown into the state-room and was surprised to find it so large
and comfortable. Lieutenant Ingoldsby stood before a tiny
dressing-table, lathering his face.
"Have you seen my aunt lately, Mark?" he questioned. "Is she nervous,
living alone there on the cliff?"
"I saw her the night before we sailed," Mark answered. "She came in to
bid good-bye to father. Yes, sir, I believe she is a bit nervous. She
thinks there's sure to be an invasion, and that a whole army of Germans
will come over in Zeppelins and flat-bottomed boats, guarded by
submarines and Dreadnoughts. She said something about going inland to
Bath or Buxton."
"Not very complimentary to the British Navy, eh?" laughed Mr. Ingoldsby,
stropping his razor. "I hope Major Redisham reassured her. Tell me
something about this mine-sweeping business, will you? The Admiralty
don't seem to be altogether satisfied with the process. Too many
precious lives are being sacrificed."
Mark described his work and told of the difficulties and dangers of
dealing with contact-mines.
"The worst part of it is when we come bow-on to one of them," he said.
"I've been thinking a lot about it. I don't know if there's anything in
my idea, but it seems to me that the sweepers ought to be fitted with
some sort of protective net in front, to ward off the mines, or even to
pick them up--something like the cow-catcher on an American locomotive,
you know."
Lieutenant Ingoldsby turned round sharply in the middle of shaving his
left cheek.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Very good. You've certainly hit upon the right
notion, if you think it can be worked--and at once."
"It ought to be quite easy," Mark averred. "Just a steel-wire net in the
shape of a fan, hinged from the trawler's cutwater and supported from
pulleys at the end of beams shoved out like catheads over the bows. It
would be lowered in front of her, below her water-line, to scoop up the
mines, or drive them aside. There'd be scores of lives saved, sir."
"So I should think," assented the commander, proceeding with his
shaving. "You ought to make a working model of the contrivance and
submit it to the authorities. They're almost sure to adopt it,
recognising you as a kind of expert on mine-sweeping. And now, there's
something else I want to ask you. What has become of Heinrich Hilliger
and his son, do you know? I have heard of your raid on the pigeon-loft
at Sunnydene, and of the maps and charts that you found, and failed to
bring away with you.'
"Max was drowned when the _Atreus_ was mined," Mark explained. "And his
father is believed to have gone back to Germany."
"Then whom do you suspect of having taken off the charts and things?"
pursued Lieutenant Ingoldsby.
Mark could not explain this mystery. It had puzzled him ever since the
night of its occurrence.
"You will be doing a service to your country," said the officer, "if you
make a point of finding out exactly where those two are, and what they
are doing. For my own part, I don't believe for a moment that Max
Hilliger was drowned, or that his father has gone home to Germany. They
are alien enemies, you know, and it is not to be wondered at if they are
still in England--still even in Haddisport--working their level best to
bring about the downfall of Great Britain."
Mark pondered over this recommendation while he was at breakfast in the
engine-room, and resolved to make some investigations during his time of
leave on shore. He also gave some thought to his invention for picking
up explosive mines.
While he was drawing a plan of it, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, again at his
post in the conning-tower, called out the command:
"Diving stations!"
The H29 was once more submerged. There was a cloud of smoke on the
horizon which might be from the funnels of an enemy cruiser. Seen
afterwards in the periscope mirror, however, the stranger turned out to
be a British liner. The ballast tanks were blown out, and the submarine
rose awash. The electric motor had stopped and the petrol engine had
not yet been set in motion. Instead of the telegraph signifying "go
ahead!" there came an ominous rasping sound from the neighbourhood of
the forward torpedo-chamber. Something was wrong!
"Sounds as if we'd fouled some wreckage," conjectured the chief
engineer, standing by his cranks and levers with his eye on the dial.
Mark Redisham was astonished to hear his name called from the
conning-tower. He followed three of the men who also had been summoned.
When he came out into the open air he discovered Mr. Ingoldsby and Mr.
Desmond standing together looking forward along the narrow strip of deck
to where a great round shape lay jammed between the hydroplane and its
guard.
"It's a German mine!" cried Mark. "Don't let it be moved, sir. Wait!
Keep the engines stopped! You've fouled its mooring; but it won't go
off--it won't explode--unless one of the horns gets broken or bent."
"That's what I judged," nodded Lieutenant Ingoldsby, looking very grim.
"But how is the thing to be cleared away if we don't move it? You know
the tricks of these things. What do you advise?"
"Wait a bit, sir," urged Mark. He stooped and quickly took off his
boots and stockings. "Let me go along and have a close look at it."
"No, I can't let you," objected the commander. "It's too dangerous."
"Then let one of the men come with me, sir," Mark suggested, not at all
alarmed.
Before he could be stopped, he had slipped past the men and was making
his way along the wet and slippery platform. Mr. Desmond, also in bare
feet, went after him. They reached the place where the mine was lodged.
The horns of the deadly machine were fortunately all pointed outward.
The mooring line of flexible wire rope had been caught as the submarine
rose to the surface and was securely fixed in the hydroplane bearings,
held by its own weight and the weight of the sinker.
Mark went down on his hands and knees and examined the thing most
carefully, seeing exactly how it was held, calculating how it would fall
when released, estimating how it would be kept in position while the
mooring-line was being severed. All his scout-craft was exercised. He
looked round at the sub-lieutenant.
"We shall manage all right, sir," he declared calmly. "We want a couple
of hammocks to pack round the base of the mine for a fender, a strong
man with a crowbar to hold it from slipping, while another with a sharp
file and a pair of pliers cuts through the mooring warp. When it's cut,
you submerge the ship a couple of feet, let go, and the mine will float
off. Then the gunner can fire at it and explode it. Do you understand,
sir? Excuse my making these suggestions; but I've had a lot to do with
handling explosive contact-mines during the last week."
His directions were followed in every detail. In half an hour the work
was done without mishap, and the submarine and her crew were saved. The
mine, released from its sinker, floated with its rounded top and horns
above the surface. The ship stood off, her fourteen-pounder
quick-firing gun was raised from its chamber, and the gunner's skill
brought about the explosion.
Late in the afternoon of that same day the H29 appeared abreast of
Alderwick Knoll. Darby Catchpole saw her from the cliff. Watching her
through his telescope, he made out that the flag flying from her mast
bore the sign of the skull and crossbones, and by this he knew that she
had been in action and had come out victorious.
*CHAPTER X.*
*DARBY CATCHPOLE'S DISCOVERY.*
"I expect she has been putting a torpedo into some German mine-layer,"
said Darby, speaking to Constable Challis, who stood beside him. "It's
the H29."
"Ah!" nodded Constable Challis, "that's the submarine that Lieutenant
Ingoldsby's in command of, isn't it? I wish I'd known when I saw his
aunt, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, along the parade just now."
Turning to see if that lady were still in sight, he saluted an elderly
gentleman who was hobbling past with the aid of two sticks and with a
folded newspaper under one arm.
"Good-evenin', Mr. Croucher," he said. "Any news in the evenin'
newspaper, sir?"
"Worse and worse," responded Mr. Croucher, coming to a stop. "Liege has
fallen. It will be Namur next, and then Paris. France hasn't a chance.
Neither has Russia." He gazed searchingly across the sea. "And then,
if the enemy's ships slip out from the Kiel Canal, we're doomed."
"You think so, sir?" questioned Challis, easing the collar of his tunic
as if it choked him.
"Think so?" cried Mr. Croucher almost resentfully. "I know! There is
nothing more certain. Don't you make any mistake, constable. We've
lived long enough in a fool's paradise. I tell you, the Germans have
been preparing for this for years and years, only awaiting their chance.
And they've got it, now. Nothing can stop them--nothing! Look how
they're sweeping through Belgium! Those siege guns of theirs are simply
awful. No fortress can resist them, and their naval guns are even
greater. What our people have been thinking of over here I don't know.
They don't seem to realise our danger. Why, we've no home army worth
speaking of, now that the only soldiers we had have gone over to France,
leaving us defenceless. We're at the enemy's mercy, Challis."
Constable Challis glanced aside at Darby Catchpole, who was closing his
telescope, the submarine having passed beyond sight.
"And how could we hope to prevent their landing on an open coast like
this?" pursued Mr. Croucher, bending forward on the support of his two
sticks. "I tell you, if their ships break through the cordon of our
fleet, we're doomed."
"Indeed, sir?" said Challis with composure. "I wasn't reckonin' on the
Germans comin' over here to Haddisport, sir. How will they land their
cavalry and artillery through shoal water? They can't bring transport
liners across Alderwick Sands."
"Liners?" repeated Mr. Croucher. "Who spoke of liners? They've got
hundreds and thousands of flat-bottomed barges lying in the shallows
behind the Frisian Islands, ready to be filled with troops and towed
over here and beached. They don't need any liners."
Darby Catchpole here ventured to intervene. "And are our Dreadnoughts
and cruisers going to hang back while the enemy troops are crossing,
sir?" he inquired. "Won't our submarines have a chance?"
"Strictly between ourselves," observed Constable Challis, "I don't
believe that a single German soldier will ever set foot in England,
except as a prisoner of war."
"Nonsense, Challis, nonsense!" retorted Mr. Croucher. "I've no patience
with such childish hopefulness. We're at war against the greatest army
the world has ever known, and we're not prepared for it. The Germans
will treat us just as they are now treating the Belgians. We've got no
army capable of facing them. Even our navy is weaker than it ought to
be. The Germans have their Dreadnoughts as well as we, and quite as
powerful. They've got crowds of them, and----"
"Not like the _Iron Duke_," Challis interrupted. "Not like the _Queen
Elizabeth_ or the _Lion_. What about our 13.5 and 15-inch guns, sir?"