EYES THAT LOOKED DOWN FROM THE AIR
DAWN found the two destroyers cruising slowly northward, a little more
than a mile apart.
Within sight of the bridges of the two craft were eight small, snub-nosed
mine-sweepers. Frequently changing their course, these little craft were
doing their utmost to pick up any mine that may have been planted just
far enough under water to be struck below the water line by passing
vessels.
"I suppose we're of the few who have ever seen the flash of an exploding
floating mine," Dave remarked to Lieutenant Fernald. "The sea was so
rough and choppy, last night, that the mine, at the instant of impact,
happened to be in the trough of the sea and partly above water."
"Yes," nodded Fernald. "Had the waves been longer, the mine would have
sunk to its usual depth. Had it not cost lives and a good ship, it would
have been a sight worth seeing. As it was, since the lives and the ship
had to be lost, I am glad that I was there to see it."
It was broad daylight now. Red streaks off in the east indicated that the
sun would soon appear. But from the southwest something of at least equal
interest appeared in the sky.
At the lookout's call Fernald turned to study the object in the sky
through his glass.
"It's an airship, a dirigible," announced the executive officer.
"If an English dirigible, then it's all right," Dave nodded. "But, if it
happens to be a German Zeppelin returning from a raid over England, then
it will become our solemn duty to get the anti-aircraft gun in position
and pray for a chance to take a fair shot."
"It's a craft of the smaller English dirigible pattern," Fernald
announced, still studying the distant speck in the sky, which, of course,
looked much larger in the field of his glass. "Yes, it's an unmistakable
'blimp'."
This latter is the slang name given to the British dirigibles.
"Better have the air-craft gun men at their station," advised Dave, and
this was done.
Ten minutes later, however, the "blimp" was so close at hand that there
could be no mistaking its identity. It belonged, beyond a question, to
one of the squadrons of the Royal Naval Air Service.
"Radio message from the 'blimp,' sir," called a messenger, darting from
the doorway of the wireless room. "Do you wish a written copy, sir?"
Lieutenant Fernald glanced at Dave, who shook his head.
"Let's have the message orally," Fernald called down to the deck.
"'Blimp' wants to know, sir, if these two craft are the 'Grigsby' and
'Reed.'"
"Tell the operator to admit the fact," Fernald ordered.
"Officer in charge of the 'blimp,' sir, says that he was to report and
help you yesterday, but that the weather was too foggy."
"Tell the operator to send back: 'Good morning. Glad to have you with us.
Signature, Darrin,'" Dave directed.
The seamen and petty officer at the anti-aircraft gun left their station.
Straight onward came the "blimp," dropping much lower just as it passed
over. From the car beneath the big gas-bag several men leaned over to
wave friendly hands, a greeting that was instantly responded to by Dave's
and Dan's jackies, for the dirigible, after sailing over the "Grigsby,"
turned and floated over the "Reed."
"Message from the 'blimp,' sir," again iterated the messenger on the
deck. "Message says: 'We're to keep near you and try to spot submarines
for you.'"
"More power to your vision," was the message sent back by Dave.
"You're working northward, toward the shoals?" asked "Blimp."
"Yes," Darrin acknowledged.
"That's a likely place to find one or two of the Hun pirates resting,"
"Blimp" continued.
"Always a good hunting ground," Dave assented, in a radio message.
This took place while the dirigible was flying back and forth, ahead and
astern, between the destroyers and to either side of their course.
"It's a fine thing to be able to move at aircraft speed," said Lieutenant
Fernald, rather enviously. "If we could only make such speed, sir!"
"If we could build ships that would steam sixty to a hundred miles an
hour, then the enemy could build them also," Dave returned. "There would
be little, if any, net gain for us. But if we could find the secret of
doubling the speed of aircraft, and keep said secret from the boches,
that would be an achievement that would soon end the war."
For ten miles the sweepers proceeded, with a total "catch" of only three
mines, which must have been left-overs from other cruises. By this time
the little fleet was approaching the nearest of the shoals, some three
miles from shore.
"Blimp" was now well ahead, presently signalling back.
"Found a sea-hornet for you, resting in the mud."
"Good enough! We'll draw his sting," the "Grigsby's" radio reply
promised.
Darrin caused a signal to be made to two of the mine-sweepers to come in
close to him. The "Reed" still continued on her way further out.
Aircraft are of the greatest help in discovering submerged submarines.
Depending on the altitude at which they fly, air observers are able to
see, in reasonably smooth water, submarines that are moving at from
eighty to a hundred feet beneath the surface. A submarine that is
"resting" with her nose in the mud close to shore has more to fear from
aircraft than from all other possible foes.
The aircraft men, though they can drop bombs upon such lurking craft,
cannot do so with anything like the accuracy that is possible to the
crews of vessels on the surface. Hence when aircraft and destroyers hunt
together it is almost always left to the surface craft to give the "grace
blow" to the resting submarine, as also to a submarine in motion beneath
the waves.
As the "blimp" moved over the shoal in question a smoke bomb left the car
and hovered almost motionless in the air, though briefly. This indicated
that the submarine lay on the bottom directly underneath the smoke bomb.
"And the commander of that Hun craft knows that we are approaching,"
Darrin commented, as the "Grigsby" raced roaringly forward. "He can hear
the noise of our propellers. If his engines are ready, he'll likely back
off into deeper water."
Thrice more the "blimp" passed over the submarine that was invisible to
surface eyes, and each time let loose a smoke bomb.
"Now, you're directly in line," came the radio message from above. "Move
dead ahead. Will tell you when you are passing over. We'll signal the
word 'drop'."
The meaning of "drop" would be clear enough. It would mean that the
"Grigsby" was instantly to release, over the stern, a depth bomb.
As the "Grigsby" neared the spot speed was considerably reduced. Overhead
hovered the "blimp," ready for instant signalling of one word. The
command had already been passed to the men stationed by the depth bomb to
let go as soon as the messenger gave the word from the operator.
As Darrin glanced upward he saw the "blimp" nearly overhead.
Suddenly the messenger's startled voice roared out the message passed by
the radio operator:
"_Full speed astern!_"
In the same instant Lieutenant Fernald repeated the order over the
engine-room telegraph. There was a jolting jar as the "Grigsby"
shivered, then glided back in her own wake.
"Jove! That was a narrow squeak!" came down from the sky. "That hornet
laid an egg in your path. It came within an ace of bumping your keel."
"Never did speed pay a prompter profit, then," uttered Darrin, his cheeks
paling slightly.
For the Englishman's laconic message meant that the submarine had just
proved herself to be of the mine-laying variety. Further, the Hun craft,
hearing the destroyer's propellers almost overhead, had judged the moment
at which to let loose a mine, which, rising to its proper level under
water, would have struck the hull of the advancing destroyer.
Had that happened, the career of the "Grigsby" would have been over, and
several officers' and seamen's names would have been added to the war's
list of dead.
"Going to try again, sir?" asked Lieutenant Fernald, quietly, as Dave
himself changed the full-speed-astern order.
"It's out of our line, I guess," Darrin confessed, with a smile. "Signal
yonder mine-sweeper to close in on the job."
As a result of the message, and aided by the "blimp" overhead, the
snub-nosed mine-sweeper steamed into position. First, her wire sweeper
picked up the mine that had been sprung for the "Grigsby's" undoing, and
backed away.
Then, under Dave's further order, after the mine had been hoisted on
board, the snub-nosed craft moved in with a different type of sweeper. To
different wires of this implement were attached small but powerful
contact bombs. Jauntily the snub-nosed craft moved over the lurking place
of the submarine, and passed on ahead.
From the depths came muffled sounds, followed by a big and growing spread
of oil on the water.
"Enemy done for!" signalled the "blimp."
"Thank you, sir. We know it," the "Grigsby" wirelessed back.
The mine-sweeper, having passed on ahead, now circled back, her crew
grinning at sight of the mass of floating oil.
The contact bombs dangling from the sweep wires had struck against the
submarine's hull and exploded, letting in the water at several points.
The Hun seamen were even now drowning, caught without a show for their
lives, just as they had probably sent many souls to graves in the ocean.
For some minutes more the dirigible moved back and forth through the air,
her observers watching for the presence of hidden enemy craft. Then,
without warning, came the message:
"Sorry, but engine trouble threatens and will compel our return to land,
and to our base if possible."
"The best of luck to you," Dave ordered wirelessed back to these British
comrades. "We'll stand by until we're as close to shore as we can go."
For he knew that, near shore, the shoals became dangerous shallows at
this point on the coast.
Away limped the "blimp," the "Grigsby" following, and standing ready to
do rescue work should the dirigible need assistance.
But the "blimp" not only made her way over to shore, but vanished slowly
in the distance.
All of the mine-sweepers that had come up were ordered by signal to
continue sweeping over the shoals.
"I want to see more of this work personally," Dave told his executive
officer, who was now to be left in command. "Clear away one of the power
launches. I'll take Mr. Ormsby with me."
So Dave was taken over to one of the mine-sweeping, snub-nosed craft that
had formerly been a steam trawler on the Dogger Banks. The commanding
officer, Hartley, proved most glad to welcome them.
"We'll make you as comfortable as we can," promised Hartley.
"Now, please don't do anything of the sort," Darry protested. "Let us be
mere spectators, or pupils, and have no fuss made over us. Instruct your
men, if you'll be good enough, to omit salutes and to chat with us, if
they have a chance, like comrades or pals. We want to see your real
working ways, not a demonstration."
"All right, then," sighed Mr. Hartley, and passed the orders.
"When do you men sleep?" Dave inquired of a sailor who paused to light a
pipe as he stood well up in the bow.
"When the blooming ship is hin dry-dock, sir," answered the British tar.
"Don't you have regular watches?"
"Yes, sir."
"How long are the watches?"
"Usually twenty-four hours in each day, sir."
Darry laughed, for he knew no living man could stand working twenty-four
hours a day for any length of time.
"You were a trawler before you came into this branch of the service?"
Ormsby asked.
"No, sir. Hi was a chimney sweep; that's wot made me good for this bally
old business, sir."
"You like this work?" Ormsby next asked.
"Yes, sir, hit's the next best thing to being killed, sir," was the
solemn response.
"Have you seen any mine-sweepers destroyed while at work?"
Instantly the sailor dropped his bantering tone, his face becoming solemn
in his expression.
"You may well say that, sir," he answered. "More mine-sweepers are lost
than any other kind of naval craft."
"Why is that?"
"Principally, sir, because we 'ave only a trawler's speed, and everything
else that floats, including the National Debt, can overtake us."
"Is there any scarcity of men for this sort of work?" Ormsby queried.
"No, sir, it's the 'eight hof a British sailorman's ambition, sir, to die
early and be buried, sir, in water a mile deep. We fairly long for hit,
sir."
"Hedgeby!" came, indignantly, from Mr. Hartley, who had approached
unnoticed. "What do you mean by chaffing these American officers so
outrageously."
"Must 'ave mistook my horders, sir," returned Hedgeby, saluting his
commander. "Some blooming bloke told as 'ow these gentlemen wanted to be
treated like pals."
"The fault is mine, I guess," admitted Mr. Hartley, turning to Darrin and
Ormsby. "These men are always chaffing each other, and they thought you
wanted some of the same thing."
"We don't object," Dave smiled. "If hot air is the motive power that
drives these men, then we want to sample it."
Hedgeby regarded this last speaker with a puzzled expression.
"If you're talking about fuel, sir," he went on, as Mr. Hartley moved
away, "Hi'll say that 'ot air engines wouldn't be no good wotever on
these 'ere craft. Gasoline is what we use, mostly, for our engines, sir,
though some of the biggest use petroleum."
"Hot air is furnished by the men themselves," Dave explained. "It's a
favorite fuel at sea."
"Maybe, sir, maybe," admitted Hedgeby, slowly, looking as solemn as an
owl. "Of course you know, sir, wot's used on the Yankee boats, anyway,
sir, and if your Admiralty recommends 'ot air then no doubt hit's because
you Yankees know 'ow to use it better than other fuel."
"And the joke of it is," muttered Ormsby, as Hedgeby sprang to obey an
order, "one can't tell whether a chap like that is laughing at us, or
trying to sympathize with our ignorance."
Dave laughed, then soon forgot the chaffing, for he was greatly
interested in what he saw of the work that was being carried on.
Certainly, for such a comparatively slow craft, a large area of sea
surface could be covered in a forenoon.
Presently Hedgeby came back to them, and Ormsby tried once more to
extract some real information.
"With the amount of speed you can command," he resumed, "what does a
craft like this do, Hedgeby, if a German destroyer comes racing along
after you?"
"We just shut off speed, sir, and the blooming destroyer goes by so fast
that nine times hout of ten she doesn't see us at all."
"But if the destroyer sees you and stops to engage, what then?"
Once more the quizzical expression faded from the British sailorman's
eyes. He stepped back, resting one hand on a light gun mounted on a
swivel pedestal.
"We do hour best with this piece, sir."
"An unequal combat, Hedgeby!"
"You may well say it, sir, but hat least we come hout of the fracas as
well as does the submarine that our sweep locates on the bottom."
"Have you known of any case in which a mine-sweeper had any show at all
against a German destroyer?"
"Yes, sir; this very craft was the boat, sir. The destroyer 'eld 'er fire
and come hup close, sir, to 'ave fun teasing us. Only one shot we fired,
sir, from our after gun, at the houtset, sir, but that one shot carried
away the destroyer's rudder just below the water line. It was hall a
piece of luck, sir."
"And then?" pressed Ormsby, for at last Hedgeby seemed to be imparting
real information.
"Well, of course, sir, the 'Uns started hin at once to rig a jury rudder
with timbers and canvas."
"Yes?"
"Naturally, sir, we didn't give 'em any time or chance we could 'elp,
sir. We sailed round and round 'er, taking position so that we could play
both guns on 'er at the same time. She couldn't steer, sir, to back 'er
aim, that 'ere 'Un, so we banged away at 'er stacks and her water line
until she was worse than 'elpless."
"Did you sink her?"
"No, sir. She was captured."
"By whom?"
"By two of 'is majesty's destroyers, sir, that came up. And maybe you
think Hi'm joking, sir, w'en Hi tell you that the destroyers were
credited with the capture because they made the 'Un strike 'is colors and
take a prize crew."
Subsequently Dave and Ormsby learned from Mr. Hartley that this account
was a true one.
"But we got a bit of credit in the public press," Hartley added,
modestly.
Right after that it was reported that one of the wire sweeps had located
a bomb. Instantly several men were rushed to aid in landing the prize.
Dave and Ormsby hurried to join the group and watch a mine being taken
aboard.
On account of its weight the deadly thing was handled by tackle.
Carefully the men proceeded to hoist the mine aboard.
"You'll note the little horns standing out from the top of the mine,"
explained Mr. Hartley, pointing to the circular mine. "These horns are
usually called studs. Hit one of these studs even a light blow with a
tack hammer, gentlemen, and the mine would explode. A mine like this is
more deadly than the biggest shell carried by a super-dreadnaught. Let
this mine explode, for instance, under our hull forward, and it would
tear us to pieces in a way that would leave us afloat for hardly sixty
seconds. Moreover, it would kill any man standing at or near the rail
over the point of contact."
He had no more than finished speaking, while the mine was being hoisted
aboard, than a terrified gasp escaped the workers.
For the mine slipped from its tackle, and slipped back toward the water,
striking the side hull in its downward course!
Dave Darrin did not move. He knew there would not be time to escape!