THE DAY FOLLOWING
"SAY, Snatcher, you're warned for D.B. party, ain't you?" inquired
Stoker Jorkler. "D'ye mind if we change about?"
Stoker Flanaghan, commonly known as Snatcher, paused in the act of
conveying a knifeblade well laden with peas to his capacious mouth.
Such a request--for a man to voluntarily offer to undertake the
disagreeable duty of cleaning and painting double
bottoms--figuratively "took the wind out of his sails."
"Wot for?" he asked guardedly. "Wot's the bloomin' move?"
"Only there's leave for the starboard watch, and I'm some keen to nip
ashore," replied Jorkler. "And you can have my tot of rum for a week
if you do."
"Wants considerin', Rhino, old man," declared Snatcher. "Wot price
the lootenant of the watch an' the jaunty?"
"They won't twig," said Jorkler. "I guess the bloke don't know the
names of half the men in his watch-bill, and the master-at-arms won't
care a brass farthing whether it's Snatcher Flanaghan or Rhino
Jorkler who goes out of the ship so long as he comes back without
being three sheets in the wind. And trust me for that, Snatcher.
You've never seen me fresh?"
"True, that I ain't," replied the man reflectively, "or you wouldn't
be so keen on chuckin' away your tot o' rum. Orl right, mate."
"Thanks," said Jorkler briefly, and without further delay he hurried
off to change into his canvas suit for double bottom work.
Before he left the mess he had transferred a certain object from his
ditty-box to his spacious jumper. Then, satisfying himself that there
was no suspicious bulge to excite the curiosity of the officer of
divisions, he fell in with the rest of the party.
Ten minutes later Stoker Jorkler, armed with a tin of red lead, a
brush, some cotton waste, and a lighted candle, was surveying the
oval-shaped aperture leading to a confined space between the outer
and inner plating of the ship's hull. With him were a dozen others,
similarly equipped, under the orders of a leading stoker.
It was not a pleasant occupation that Rhino had taken upon himself.
In each of the cellular subdivisions of the hull a man had to crawl
in as best he might, having first ascertained by means of the lighted
candle that the air was sufficiently pure. Unless the candle burnt
clearly, the place was dangerous to life. Stringent regulations were
laid down to prevent accidents, fresh air being pumped into the
double bottoms, while men were always on the watch to see that the
workers were unaffected by the poisonous gases from the red lead.
"Right as ninepence," declared the leading stoker, referring to the
light that gleamed in the space to which Jorkler had been detailed.
"In you get, mate, and look slippy."
Jorkler obeyed. By dint of much writhing he succeeded in squeezing
through the manhole. He found himself in a slightly curving space
measuring about fifteen feet in length and twenty to twenty-four
inches in height, and twenty feet or more below the level of the sea.
"Now, if the ship's torpedoed I'm a fair goner," thought Jorkler, but
he knew that that possibility was very remote. The steps taken to
guard Auldhaig Firth from submarine attack were so elaborate and
efficient that no hostile craft could hope to get in. Moreover, the
"Pompey" was well up the longest arm of the harbour. Between her and
the entrance were at least half a dozen cruisers and twenty
destroyers.
He worked with desperate energy, "scaling" off the rust, removing
the metal flakes, and smothering the plating with liberal doses of
red-lead. Then he paused and listened intently. He could hear the
noise of the men at work in the adjoining compartments. It was now
close on eight bells (noon). By that time the work would have to be
completed.
"Guess I'm in luck," he soliloquised. "Unless I am much mistaken this
part of the double bottom is right bang underneath the for'ard
magazine. Pity it wasn't under the after one, but that can't be
helped."
Turning on his side he extracted the "thing" from his jumper. It was
a high-explosive charge, to which was attached a small but powerful
battery. The charge he placed in the furthermost end of the
compartment behind a tee-shaped flange. Here, unless deliberately
sought for, it was safe from detection.
His next step was to produce his watch. To all outward appearances it
was an ordinary silver timekeeper, but minute examination would
reveal the presence of two small holes drilled through the back. Into
these holes he inserted metal plugs attached to two insulated wires
from the battery. One of the plugs projected beyond the face
sufficiently to impede the progress of the hour hand, while the
minute hand could clear it by a fraction of an inch. At four o'clock
the hour hand would come in contact with the terminal, the circuit
would be completed, and then----
"Nearly finished there?" inquired the leading stoker, shouting
through the oval aperture. "Just about done," replied Jorkler. "How
goes it?"
"Close on eight bells," was the reply. "Buck up and don't keep me
hanging about all the blessed day."
With the perspiration pouring off him and his clothes daubed with red
lead and iron rust, Jorkler emerged from the compartment to find that
the rest of the D.B. party had already completed their respective
tasks.
Lowering an electric inspection lamp into the compartment, the
leading stoker made a perfunctory examination of Jorkler's legitimate
handiwork.
"You ain't half slapped it about," he remarked casually. "Guess you
knew it was his Majesty's stores you were using and not your own
gear."
After inspection by the ship's surgeon, who superintended the issue
of a glass of lime-juice (in which sulphuric acid was a component
part) to each man to ward off the injurious effect of the red lead,
the men washed and changed. After dinner they were at liberty to do
practically what they liked, it being Thursday, or "Make and Mend
Day."
Just before five bells the liberty men fell in on the quarter-deck
for critical inspection before going ashore. As Jorkler had expected,
he had no difficulty in passing under the borrowed name of Flanaghan,
for the M.A.A. took it without question.
Packed like sardines, the boat pushed off. Halfway to the staith they
passed the "Pompey's" steam pinnace with a couple of officers and a
small party of ladies and children in the stern-sheets.
"What's the game?" inquired the pseudo-Flanaghan, indicating with a
jerk of his head the passing craft.
"Bloomin' at-'ome, I'll allow," replied one of the men. "They take
jolly good care not to let our pals on board."
Jorkler nodded sympathetic assent.
"They're looking for trouble," he muttered to himself. "How was I to
know? Anyway, that's their look-out, not mine."
On arriving at the quay the stoker slipped away from the rest of his
shipmates. Out of sight he stepped out briskly, making in the
direction of the hills at the back of the town.
"Where's Eric?" inquired Mr. Greenwood of Ronald Tressidar, as he
gained the quarterdeck. The sub., engaged in animated conversation
with Doris Greenwood, did not hear the question until it was
repeated.
"Eric? Oh, I really don't know. I'll inquire."
Doris Greenwood was a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl possessed of a
wealth of natural vivacity and an even-tempered disposition. Slightly
above middle height, with a graceful bearing, she looked particularly
attractive in her nurse's uniform.
Already she was the centre of attraction of a group of young
officers, who, while envying Tressidar for his good luck, were
inwardly reviling their comrade for his dog-in-the-manger policy.
"Seen Greenwood?" asked Ronald of an engineer sub-lieutenant.
"How about an intro?" inquired the officer addressed, ignoring the
question.
"Go slow, old bird," rejoined Tressidar, laughing. "I'll introduce
you all in good time. If you want to be in her good books, find young
Greenwood. She's his sister."
"Brothers are generally in the way," retorted the engineer
sub-lieutenant. "Greenwood isn't: he's gone ashore. The fleet pay
sent him to the cashier's office."
Meanwhile, Doris had been unostentatiously taking stock of her
brother's messmates. Life afloat, she reflected, does make a man. She
compared Tressidar most favourably in his neat and serviceable
uniform to the Ronald of her early days. Then, when he wasn't
bashful, he was rude; now he was the personification of
self-possession and mental and physical alertness.
As for Mr. Greenwood, he remained in wondrous meditation of the
vastness of his surroundings. Apart from his nocturnal visit to the
"Pompey," he had never before set foot on the deck of a British
man-of-war. The tompioned muzzle of the after 9.2-in. gun, the
towering superstructure with its array of quick-firers and
searchlights, the lofty masts and enormous funnels--all in turn
demanded his attention.
The vastness of his surroundings almost overpowered him. He had no
idea that an armoured cruiser was so immense.
That afternoon there were nearly twenty adult visitors, mostly of the
feminine sex, and a dozen or more children on board. It was not a
usual procedure in wartime, but, giving due consideration to
circumstances, the captain of the cruiser had good reasons to believe
that there was no danger to be anticipated. In any case, the visitors
would be clear of the ship before sunset.
The amusement of the children fell to the lot of the junior officers,
and soon the gunroom resounded to the unusual sound of juvenile
voices. Two little boys, rigged out in fencing helmets and padded
coats, were mounted on the backs of a couple of midshipmen and were
engaged in a realistic encounter with single-sticks--most realistic
in the opinion of the human steeds, who had to bear the brunt of the
warriors' energetic and ill-directed blows.
Another pair of youngsters were belabouring each other with
boxing-gloves, amidst the plaudits of the junior sub. and the
assistant clerk; while a tug-of-war, boys versus girls, afforded vast
amusement for the rest of the small guests and their hosts.
In order to make sure that the engineer sub-lieutenant was not
"pulling his leg," Tressidar went below to the ship's office. Here he
found that the information concerning Eric was correct. He had been
sent ashore with a party of marines to bring back sacks of coin for
the ship's safe.
Upon returning to the quarter-deck the sub. found Mr. Greenwood in
animated conversation with the commander on the subject of the raid
upon the petrol-depôt. Now was Ronald's opportunity.
"Would you care to look over the ship, Doris?" he said. "I can spare
half an hour."
"Only half an hour?" asked the girl. "We can't see very much in the
time, can we?"
"I suppose not," admitted Tressidar. "But let's make the best of our
time. I have to go away in the duty steamboat at a quarter to four.
We have to fetch a lighter alongside from Inchbrail--that's three
miles up the firth."
"I wish I could go with you," declared Doris. "I simply love little
steamboats. They are much more exciting than big cruisers lying at
anchor. Couldn't I?"
"Must see what the commander says," replied the sub. "Of course I'd
be delighted. Only I'm afraid you'll miss your tea. They're making a
scrumptious spread in the wardroom."
"I don't mind," said the girl recklessly. "I generally have tea at
least once every day, but not the chance of having a trip in a
steamboat."
Doris was certainly a hustler, for in less than the stipulated
half-hour they had climbed the lofty navigation-bridge, peeped
inside the conning-tower, soiled her gloves in the for'ard turret,
and had explored the now deserted mess-decks. It took all the
resource at Tressidar's command to persuade her to decline the
engineer sub-lieutenant's invitation to descend to the engine-room.
Only by hinting that if she did so she would be too late for the
proposed run in the duty steamboat did Ronald succeed in "choking
off" his super-attentive messmate.
"Miss Greenwood wishes to have a run in the D.S.B., sir," announced
the sub., saluting the commander, who was still engaged in
conversation with Greenwood, Senior.
"Very good," replied the commander. "Only be as sharp as you can. We
want the lighter secured well before dark."
"I suppose, Mr. Greenwood, you wouldn't like a trip, too," asked
Tressidar in duty bound, although inwardly hoping that this part of
his invitation would be declined.
"No, thanks," was the reply. "To tell the truth, I'm feeling
considerably stiff. Bad enough climbing to last me for at least a
month. By the bye, do you know if Eric found my umbrella?"
Tressidar delighted his questioner by replying that Eric had
recovered the lost property, but he hadn't the courage to continue
the story. The A.P. had brought the thing on board. Examination
showed that the handle had been "sprung," the silk ripped in three
places, the wires bent, and, generally, damaged by salt water. So
Eric had handed it over to the carpenter's crew for repairs and
renovation. The men did the job not neatly, but too well. The silk
they had patched with waxed seaming twine, re-waterproofing it by a
liberal application of soft soap and linseed oil This was the outcome
of a consultation of the naval recipe book; but since there was no
mention of how to waterproof silk, they had adopted the process laid
down for waterproofing canvas. The handle they repaired by
"parcelling and serving" the fracture and concealing the tarred
marline under a long gunmetal tube. The remaining visible portion of
the handle they scraped and varnished.
The A.P. could not quite make out whether the "repairs" had been
effected as a joke or in real earnest. At all events he quickly
settled the matter by dropping the "game" out of a scuttle,
intending to lead his parent to believe that the prized umbrella had
been lost on that momentous night. And now Tressidar had unwittingly
let the cat out of the bag.
The duty boat was fretting alongside the accommodation-ladder.
Punctual to a minute Sub-lieutenant Tressidar boarded her and
assisted Doris into the stern-sheets. From a manhole in the flat
metal engine-room casing a leading-stoker's grimy head and shoulders
appeared, his curiosity excited at the appearance of the sub.'s
companion. He winked knowingly at the bowman and disappeared to his
cramped quarters below.
"Mr. Tressidar!" sang out the commander, leaning over the guard-rails
of the quarter-deck.
"Sir?"
"Stand by a minute. I want you to take a packet of correspondence to
the 'Velocity.'"
Some minutes elapsed before the article in question was handed down
to the boat. Bending and peering into the little cabin, Tressidar
noticed that it was already twelve minutes to four.
He nodded to the coxswain. The latter, ordering "Easy ahead," put
the helm over and the duty steamboat glided smoothly away from her
parent ship.
"You'll be jolly cold," remarked the sub. to the girl. "It's awfully
nippy, in spite of the protection afforded by the cabin top. Let me
help you into this oil-skin."
Doris accepted the offer, Ronald taking rather an unnecessary time in
assisting her into the voluminous yellow coat.
"That's all serene," he explained enthusiastically. "By Jove, Doris,
it suits you splendidly."
"It's certainly more useful than ornamental," said the girl, as a
shower of spray dashed up from the bows and drifted aft with a
hissing sound. "There was once----"
Her words were suddenly interrupted by a dull crash. Instinctively
the sub. and his companion glanced astern. A cloud of smoke partly
obscured the fore-part of the cruiser, as she reeled heavily to port
with the effect of a mortal blow.