faithful
faithful
[Illustration: THE TOO-FAITHFUL FLIRT]
[Illustration: THE TOO-FAITHFUL FLIRT]
"So this is the animal that didn't bite Councillor What's-his-name?" remarked the Lieutenant-Commander, for the report of the police-court proceedings at the Otherport Town Hall was common knowledge.
"I'm afraid, sir," replied the Sub, "that Flirt was guilty of the offence."
"Eh, what's that?" asked the Hon. Derek sharply.
Briefly Noel outlined what had occurred, for the present confining himself to the case as decided by the magistrates. The story of the previous interview with Councillor Mindiggle could be deferred to a more convenient season.
"She doesn't look like a snappy cur," remarked the skipper.
"Nor is she, sir," Fordyce hastened to assert. "Something must have irritated her."
"So you smuggled her abroad?"
The Sub denied the impeachment.
"For the life of me I cannot imagine how she came aboard, sir," he declared. "It was a great surprise to me to find her below. I was quite under the impression that she was twenty miles from Otherport."
"She is—and more," remarked Stockdale, with a laugh. "Very well, Fordyce; such devotion ought to be appreciated. Look after her, and keep her out of mischief: the mascot of submarine R19."
The interview ended, the Sub took his pet for'ard to be "adopted" by the ship's company. Evidently safe in the knowledge that her master could not now desert her, Flirt went willingly with half a dozen bluejackets to be fed, groomed, and to make the acquaintance of her new messmates.
"She seems to take to you, Cassidy," remarked the Sub, addressing a bull-necked able-seaman.
"Yes, sir," replied the man, saluting. "We've met afore, ain't us, doggie?"
"In what circumstances?" asked Fordyce.
"Well, sir," replied the man, "seein' an 'ow Cap'n Stockdale don't object, I'll make a clean breast of it. It was yesterday mornin', when we were drawin' stores in the dockyard, that I spots the dog sniffin' round the steps. Comes up to me friendly-like, as if she knowed I belonged to this 'ere craft. Then I looks at 'er collar and sees your name. 'Bless me, Smiler,' I says to my raggie, 'if this ain't Mr. Fordyce's dog, same as took a chunk outer that cove's leg t'other day.' 'Mr. Fordyce, he's aboard,' said Smiler. ''Ow about it? Let's give the dog a passage.' She nips into the boat and under the stern-sheets in a brace o' shakes. When we got alongside, out she 'ops and goes straight below, while you an' Mr. Macquare was spinnin' a yarn."
"Then why didn't you report to me?" asked Fordyce.
"Seein' as 'ow the dog didn't want to report 'erself, we thought as 'ow we'd let you have a little surprise, sir," explained Cassidy. "You see, she might a' been sent ashore."
Steadily R19 forged ahead, her course regularly checked by frequent observations on the sextant, and "picked out" on the chart. A deviation of a few miles would bring the submarine into the British mine-fields. Provided she kept to the trackless path, as announced by the Admiralty, she had nothing to fear from these; it was the sinister drifting mines sown by the Huns with a reckless disregard of the rights of neutrals and the vaunted "Freedom of the Seas" wherein lay the danger. In addition, it was always possible that a lurking U-boat might be within striking distance, for the old theory that "dog will not eat dog", i.e. one submarine is unable to attack another, had long since exploded. Overhead, too, a hostile seaplane, soaring at an immense height, might swoop down and attempt to destroy the craft by means of powerful bombs; and the danger, although remote in this part of the North Sea, could not be lost sight of.
Nevertheless R19 still ran awash. Until she was within easy distance of hostile territorial waters it was policy to do so, since a British seaplane would find it difficult to distinguish friend from foe should she spot the ill-defined shape of a submerged craft creeping blindly through the water at a depth of from fifty to a hundred feet.
"Submarine on the port bow, sir," reported the look-out.
The order for "General Quarters" rang out. Telescopes and binoculars were brought to bear upon the triangular-shaped grey object, cleaving the waves at a distance of nearly three miles, while the four quick-firers were promptly raised from their places of concealment and manned to open fire at the first word of command.
The old couplet:
"Twice armed is he who has his quarrel just,Thrice armed is he who gets his blow home fust",
is essentially applicable in modern naval warfare when single-ship actions take place at comparatively short range. The days of courteous exchange of compliments between doughty antagonists before opening fire are past. The first shot may decide, and frequently has decided, the contest.
Therein, especially during night encounters between destroyers in the Straits of Dover and off the Belgian coast, the Huns held an important advantage. Every vessel afloat was to them an enemy craft, while the British had to withhold their fire until they made certain that they were not attacking a friendly or neutral ship.
"She's flying the White Ensign!" exclaimed Macquare. "By Jove, she's been at it!"
The approaching submarine turned out to be one of the E Class returning from observation patrol. She was showing a considerable amount of freeboard. Most of her water-ballast had been started. Just abaft her conning-tower, on the port side, a tarpaulin and a "thrum mat" had been lashed over a rent extending from just above her water-line to half-way across her curved deck. Pumps were steadily ejecting water—a circumstance that told of strained plates and shattered rivets. Of her twin periscopes, one had been shorn off close to the top of the conning-tower; the other, bent at an acute angle, trailed drunkenly over the side.
Dive she could not, unless once and for all time. Only by running on the surface and keeping the leaks under control could she hope to make port. With her ensign proudly displayed, and most of her officers and crew drawn up on her narrow deck, she held on her course, the passing submarines saluting each other according to the honourable and long-standing custom of the seas.
The Hon. Derek Stockdale raised a megaphone to his lips.
"Been strafed?" he enquired laconically.
"Aye, aye," was the reply, shouted in clear, decisive tones. "Scrapped with a Zepp., crocked her, and then took on a U-boat. She won't trouble you, but keep your weather eye lifting for Zepps. S'long and good luck!"
Ten minutes later the E Something was out of sight. Her cruise had been honourably accomplished. She was bound for home and a well-earned rest. R19's had just begun, and already the prospect of imminent excitement was in store. Dark, rugged clouds, scudding rapidly in the upper air, betokened a gale as surely as did the steadily-falling mercury of the barometer. With luck R19 ought to overhaul the crippled Zepp. as she strove to battle her way against the rising storm.
Before long the wind rose, blowing strongly from the nor'west. In less than an hour it had increased to half a gale and had veered due east. Vicious white-crested waves were slapping against R19's snub bows and surging in green cascades as far as the base of the conning-tower.
With the exception of the quick-firers everything on deck was battened down. The for'ard gun's crew was ordered aft until their services would be required; even then, duffel suits and oilskins notwithstanding, they stood, hanging on to the stanchion rails, shivering in the icy, salt-laden blast.
The sky, too, was now overcast, while the horizon was frequently obscured by patches of mirk as the rain-clouds scudded rapidly with the wind.
"There she is, sir," shouted one of the seamen.
Although his words were unintelligible in the roar of the elements, his outstretched hand gave an indication that the quarry was in sight. At an altitude of 3000 feet, and battling ineffectually with the gale, was a large Zeppelin—one of the "L" type. She was considerably down by the stern and manoeuvring badly. Two of her five propellers were motionless, while the action of her twin vertical rudders failed to keep her steady against the side-thrust of the remaining propellers. Steadily and surely she was being blown farther and farther away from her base.
Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale had already laid his plans. In calm weather diving would be almost useless as a means of concealment; but in the choppy seas now running the submarine could with advantage submerge until the crucial moment.
No alteration of the vessel's course was necessary. The Zeppelin was drifting almost straight towards her. Any slight deviation could be easily corrected by means of observation through the periscopes, for unless the air-ship turned and fled "down-wind"—an unlikely contingency—she could not help passing within effective range of the submarine's guns.
"Trim for diving."
The order was carried out with the utmost dispatch. With hardly a tremor the four guns, with their bulky mountings, sank into their "houses", the water-tight lids sliding automatically over the lowered weapons. The stanchions and rails fell as flat as did the walls of Jericho, but with far less noise and certainly no dust, although there was plenty of spray to atone for the deficiency. Ankle-deep in water, the men on deck waited until the submarine's platform was clear of the swirling foam, then they too bolted below. Clang went the water-tight hatches and R19 was little more than a hermetically-sealed cylinder packed with machinery, eighty odd human beings, and Flirt.
Alone in the conning-tower, the manhole of which, communicating with the interior of the hull, was left open, the Hon. Derek stood, his eyes fixed to the object-bowl of the periscope, on which the surrounding surface of the water was reproduced with absolute fidelity, marred only by a vertical and a horizontal line marked in degrees. In the middle part of the image, corresponding with the centre of the field of vision, a specially-constructed lens enlarged the view, enabling the observer to gauge the distance and the direction of the target with the greatest exactitude. Although there were voice-tubes and indicators at hand, the Lieutenant-Commander's attention was directed mainly upon the object-bowl. Consequently he shouted his orders to a petty officer, whose head, as he stood on the short steel ladder, was level with the floor of the conning-tower.
"Down to eighteen feet."
With an almost imperceptible movement, as the horizontal diving-planes were actuated, R19 slid beneath the waves, the while "pumping" or rising and falling vertically under the constant alteration of the pressure of the water above her. Momentarily the vision in the object-bowl dimmed and again recovered its normal clearness, as clouds of spray enveloped the tips of the exposed periscopes, almost immediately to vanish from the surface of the anti-moisture-treated glass.
In the confined space the noise of the well-running electric motors was deafening. The torpedo-men were in the present instance able to "stand easy", but the engine-room artificers and stokers, their moist faces glistening in the glare of the electric lights, were far from idle. The gun-crews, clustered round the hatchway ladders, ready to rush to their posts, were grimly silent, awaiting the order that would give them the chance to "strafe" a Hun gas-bag. Opportunities for "strafing" were few and far between in the British submarine service, not from inclination but from the absence of a suitable target; when a chance did occur the eager men were "all over it".
Standing immediately behind the petty officer stationed at the sound-receiving apparatus in a glass-encased compartment Sub-Lieutenant Fordyce noticed the man was listening intently, first at the right-hand disk then at the left. Then, turning his head, he regarded his officer with a puzzled air.
Opening the door, Fordyce entered the sound-proof cabinet.
"What's wrong now, Chalmers?" he asked.
"Something fishy, sir," replied the man, stepping aside. "Will you stand here a minute, sir?"
The Sub took up a position between the two concave disks. He could distinctly hear the bass hum of the Zeppelin's aerial propellers, while faintly through the right-hand disk came the thud of a marine "screw".
That meant that on the starboard hand, abeam if anything, a vessel was under way.
"Very good; carry on, Chalmers," said the Sub as he relinquished the apparatus to the man's charge. "I'll report to the Captain."
"What's that?" enquired the Hon. Derek, without turning his face from the vision of his expected victim. "Vessel to starboard? Nothing in sight up-topsides, by Jove. All right, carry on. We'll tackle our Zeppelin friend first of all, and then see what it is that's worrying you."
Fordyce could not but admire his skipper's coolness. Somewhere within audible distance of R19 was another under-water craft, hostile, no doubt, and intent upon the British submarine's destruction, unless—jealous thought!—it were another of the E Class stalking the crippled airship. Whichever it might be, the Hon. Derek was resolved to leave her severely alone, risking a torpedo or being rammed until he had had a smack at the huge gas-bag.
"Up with her!" ordered the Lieutenant-Commander.
There was no necessity to blow the ballast-tanks. R19 had been kept to 19 feet solely by the action of the deflected horizontal diving rudders. Like an ungainly porpoise the submarine "broke surface", and the guns' crews raced up the ladders and through the now open hatchways.
At an angle of 30 degrees from the perpendicular, and at a bare 2000-feet altitude, was the Zeppelin, presenting a splendid target. Proceeding in the same direction as the submarine, she was evidently unaware of the latter's presence, for not a shot came from the quick-firers mounted in her nacelles, nor did an aerial torpedo hurtle downwards towards the British craft.
No. 3 quick-firer—the one immediately in the wake of the conning-tower—was the first to open fire. Ere the haze of the burning cordite had drifted aft, the smoke from the bursting shell mushroomed close to the huge envelope. It seemed impossible that the fragile fabric could hope to escape the terrific impact. Another and another shell sped from the submarine's guns. Still the Zeppelin held on.
Then a cloud of black smoke hid the target from the gun-layers' eyes. The men raised a rousing cheer.
"Got her, by the bosun's cat!" shouted a bluejacket, unmindful of everything in his excitement and delirious joy.
But the cat of the afore-mentioned warrant officer must have been a bad mouser, for when the smoke drifted away the Zeppelin was 12,000 or 14,000 feet in the air. Under cover of the camouflage—for it was smoke purposely emitted in order to screen her movements—the air-ship had thrown out a large quantity of ballast, and had shot vertically upwards out of effective range.
Even as they watched, the bluejackets were aware that R19 was porting helm. Circling eight points to starboard, she headed straight for a pole-like object forging ahead through the crested waves—the periscope of a U-boat that was either about to "break surface" or else to let fly a torpedo at the British submarine.
A double, converging streak of foam marked the path of an approaching torpedo. For a few seconds the men on deck watched and waited with bated breath, knowing that 50 yards ahead of the tell-tale track was a powerful weapon capable of shattering R19's massively-built hull and sending her to the bottom like a stone.
It was the gun-layer of No. 2 quick-firer who saved the situation. Thrusting a projectile into the breech of the weapon he slammed the complicated breech-block, bent over the sights, and pulled the trigger of the firing-pistol.
Heavily depressed, the gun barked, sending the shell obliquely towards the surface of the water. Fifty feet in the air flew a column of spray, while the torpedo, deflected by the impact of the missile, tore harmlessly past R19's hull.
The U-boat, having shot her bolt, was preparing to dive once more, although her conning-tower had not appeared above the surface.
With a dull crash and a scarcely-perceptible shudder R19's snub-nosed stem grated against the rounded side of her foe. So great was her momentum that her bows were lifted clear of the waves.
"Got her, by smoke!" ejaculated the Hon. Derek, who, having emerged from the conning-tower, was standing by the side of Fordyce on the navigation-platform.
Both officers turned and faced aft. They were just in time to see the bows of the U-boat fling themselves clear of the agitated waves—sufficiently to enable them to note the number, U129—then, with a sobbing, gurgling sound, the doomed craft slithered beneath the surface, to the accompaniment of a volume of iridescent oil and a crowd of huge air-bubbles.
"Have a look down below, Mr. Fordyce," continued the Lieutenant-Commander. "Let's hope we haven't started a plate or two. It would be rough luck at this stage to have to put back for repairs."
The Sub hastened to carry out his instructions. Eager faces mutely questioned him as he entered the electrically-lighted compartment where the "hands" not told off for duty on deck were still in ignorance of what had occurred, although the unexpected shock had been sufficient to capsize several of the crew.
"It's all right, men!" exclaimed the Sub cheerily. "We've strafed another U-boat. The Zepp., I'm sorry to say, has sheered off."
In answer to his enquiries, Fordyce learnt that immediately after the impact steps had been taken to ascertain if any damage had been done to the hull. Not a leak was to be found. The for'ard diving-planes or horizontal rudders were intact and in perfect working order; while, on testing the twin bow torpedo-tubes, both were found to be undamaged. Evidently R19 had not struck her opponent an end-on blow, otherwise the covers of the tubes would have been buckled or burst from their hinges. At the moment of impact U129 had submerged sufficiently to allow her opponent to strike a glancing blow with her forefoot—enough to crack the deck-plates of the ill-starred unterseeboot.
Eager to convey this gratifying report to his skipper, Fordyce went on deck. As he emerged through the circular man-hole a burst of cheering greeted his ears. He was just in time to see a long trailing cloud of fire-tipped smoke plunging towards the water at a distance of less than a couple of miles to leeward.
It was the Zeppelin. Whether by the submarine's gun-fire or by an accident it would never be known—but in any case the result was the same—the air-ship had caught fire in mid-air. For some seconds she blazed furiously—the whole of the after part of the envelope being hidden in fire and smoke—without showing any appreciable signs of falling. Then, with appalling suddenness, she buckled in two, and commenced her headlong flight to destruction.
Too far off to hear the loud hiss of the burning fabric as it came in contact with the water, R19 nevertheless turned and proceeded to the spot where the wreckage had disappeared. It was a fruitless quest. Beyond a few charred fragments of wood, there were no traces of what was, a few minutes previously, one of the vaunted mammoths of the Kaiser's air fleet.
Joyfully the Hon. Derek repaired to his cabin to draft his report for dispatch by wireless. Brevity and modesty were some of his characteristics. He was not one to take credit for the acts of others:
"I have the honour to report that the hostile air-ship L67, previously crippled by H.M. Submarine E Something, has been destroyed. During the operations U129 was rammed by R19, and also destroyed. Derek U. E. Stockdale, Lieutenant-Commander R19."
This dispatch sent off in code, the Hon. Derek "turned in", acting on the principle that it is well to sleep when one can. The most strenuous part of the outward voyage was yet to come, the passage through the mine-infested Sound at the entrance to the Baltic.
From a strictly personal point of view, R19's mission was not an enviable one. For two months—longer if the exigencies of the service so required—she was to be tacitly lent to the Russian Government. During that period the crew would be lucky if they had as much as one mail-bag from home. Ravages by hostile underwater craft, operating off the North Cape, and the uncertain state of internal communication between Archangel and Petrograd, made it a difficult matter for letters and parcels to be sent to the crews of British submarines operating in Russian waters. They would soon be short of food, too; when their own stores were exhausted they would have to rely upon what provisions the Russian authorities could spare out of their already depleted stocks. Both going and returning from her station, R19 would have to thread the narrow, dangerous waters of the Sound, and run the gauntlet of the numerous motor patrol boats which the Huns maintained almost without let or hindrance in the landlocked waters of the southern and western Baltic.
Yet with the same cheerfulness that the British bluejacket will voluntarily choose a two years' exile in the desolate Arctic, or risk the perils of the miasmic, mosquito-infested swamps of tropical Africa, did R19's officers and men set forth on their hazardous adventure. In the common cause of the Allies it mattered little whither they went, so long as they could strike a blow for king and country.
Grey dawn was breaking when submarine R19 approached the waters of the Skager-rack. Well on their port bow could be faintly discerned the rugged cliffs of Norway, but it was yet too hazy to sight the low-lying shores of Jutland. The strong wind had blown itself out, and although the waves still ran high they had lost their angry look. It was possible to stand on deck without having to hang on like grim death, as the water surged waist-high over the comparatively low-lying structure.
Scorning to take advantage of the doubtful security afforded by the "three-mile limit", R19 kept a mid-channel course, prepared to dive the instant a suspicious craft was sighted. She was to keep awash as far as practicable, in order to economize her electrical propulsive powers. As yet not a single craft had been sighted. The once-crowded waterway, from whence vessels laden with timber and iron-ore for Great Britain issued in the piping times of peace, was deserted. The hardy mariners of Norway still kept the sea, their fearful losses in shipping notwithstanding, but they took a different route; while the mercantile flag of Sweden had practically disappeared from the North Sea and its approaches.
Clad in oilskins, Donald Macquare and Noel Fordyce stood on the navigation-platform. At the Sub's feet crouched Flirt. The dog, having completely recovered her "sea-legs", was sniffing eagerly at the offshore breeze, as if sighing for the land that was denied her. From the electric stove in the galley wafted the appetizing odours of frying bacon, to mingle with the salt-laden air.
"It looks like a dirty sky to windward," observed the Lieutenant, as he lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. It was nearing the end of his "trick", and he was longing for his watch below. "It will be a jolly good thing for us, if it doesn't get too thick. Bless my soul, these neutrals may be quite all right as a whole, but goodness only knows when there isn't a pro-Hun ashore armed with a powerful telescope."
"In which case the news will be telegraphed to Kiel," added Fordyce. "Hang it all, I never could understand how these fellows get the hang of things!"
He was on the point of confiding to the Lieutenant the information of R19's date of departure and destination, as told by Councillor Mindiggle, when the look-out reported a sail dead ahead.
The craft was a tramp, deep in ballast. At a distance of four miles she stood out distinctly against the approaching cloud of misty rain, until the pall of vapour swept down and hid her from sight.
"It will be as thick as pea-soup directly," declared Macquare. "No need to call the skipper. I'll alter helm and give yonder vessel a chance to slip clear of us."
Accordingly R19's course was altered a few points to port, which, allowing for the relative speed of the two vessels, ought to allow ample margin for the submarine to pass at least two miles from the tramp.
Presently Flirt began to bark violently at some invisible object on the starboard hand. Macquare made a gesture of reproof, and the Sub, placing his hand on the dog's muzzle, lifted him into the conning-tower.
"It's that tramp's screw she heard," he remarked, as he rejoined the Lieutenant. "Sounds quite close."
"By Jove, yes!" exclaimed Macquare. "We'd best get under."
Even as he spoke, a rift in the mist revealed the tramp at less than a cable's length away. She had changed her course as a matter of precaution, zigzagging in order to baffle any U-boats that might be lurking in the vicinity. By so doing she was now passing through the wake of R19.
"British, by Jove!" exclaimed Fordyce, catching sight of a dirty smoke-begrimed red ensign floating proudly from the tramp's ensign staff, while, as she slid past, he could read the wordsTalisman—Gooleon her stumpy stern.
Even as he spoke, the mist was stabbed by a lurid flash, and a shell, screeching through the air, passed so close to the Sub's head that he distinctly felt the windage.
It was not a time to offer protests and explanations. Before the tramp could let fly a second time, Fordyce had gained the conning-tower. The water-tight lid was promptly shut and secured, and, with more haste than grace, R19 dived for safety with the muffled reverberations of a second report to cheer her on her way.
Through the trap-door in the floor of the conning-tower appeared the Hon. Derek, just awakened out of sleep yet perfectly cool and collected.
"A pretty kettle of fish, sir," reported Mr. Macquare in answer to his superior officer's question. "A British tramp, theTalisman, did her level best to blow us to blazes. Let rip at point-blank range."
"And missed," added the Lieutenant-Commander cheerfully. "Bless her dear skipper's heart, although his gun-layer's a rotten bad shot he's a tough old British heart of oak. Accidents will happen, Macquare, in the best-regulated families."
"Rough luck if we'd been sent to Davy Jones by one of our own people, sir," said the Lieutenant doggedly.
"A miss is as good as a mile," rejoined the Hon. Derek soothingly. "I suppose the old man is dancing about on the bridge, wild with delight at having sent a strafed U-boat to the bottom. When we return, Macquare, we must look out for the name of the skipper of theTalismanon the Honours List of the Mercantile Marine, though not for worlds would I disillusion the gallant old boy. By smoke! He's pottering around to pick up the pieces."
The thud of the tramp's propeller clearly indicated that such was the intention of theTalisman'sskipper. It was an audacious, almost foolhardy piece of work. The tramp, unescorted and of comparatively slow speed, had eased down and was circling over the spot where the supposed U-boat was last seen.
"I'll humour the old chap," resumed the Lieutenant-Commander. "Mr. Fordyce, pass the word for the oil in the sump to be pumped out. That'll please him when he finds the oil floating on the surface—but not a word, mind, to the men. It's our little joke."
It was not until the beating of the tramp's propellers had long faded into inaudibility that R19 poked her periscope above the surface. The fog had cleared considerably, although the air was still misty. As far as the field of vision showed all was quiet. Up came the submarine, the electric motors were switched off and the petrol engines clutched into the propeller shafts. Hatches were opened and steps taken to "con" the vessel from the navigation-platform.
A swirl in the water on the starboard hand attracted the Sub's notice as he gained the open air. Something was converging upon the vessel's side. Instinctively he glanced towards the bows. His supposition was correct. In rising, the submarine had fouled the wire span connecting a pair of drifting mines. On either hand a deadly metal cylinder was being swung in towards the vessel's hull.
There was no time for official decorum. With a bound Noel threw himself upon the engine-room telegraph indicator and signalled full speed astern.
Thank Heaven, the order was obeyed promptly, even at the risk of snapping the blades, wrecking the stuffing-box, or smashing the clutches. With the water hissing and foaming past her sides under the reverse action of her powerful propeller, the submarine quickly lost way and began to gather sternway.
"Stop! Easy astern!"
Both orders were as quickly carried out as before. By this time the two mines were bearing on the bows at a distance of less than fifty yards away, and were gradually being drawn towards each other. So exactly midway had R19 struck the span that, unless steps were taken to prevent them, the metal cylinders would collide with each other and explode within a few seconds of the fragile horns being snapped under the impact. And at fifty yards the detonation of that double quantity of T.N.T. would be sufficient to severely damage, if not destroy, the submarine.
Again Fordyce signalled "Stop", then called for volunteers to clear the fouled wire. There was no need to ask twice. From below poured hands armed with hack-saws, cold chisels, and axes.
The rope—a 2-inch flexible-steel-wire one—was badly rusted, nevertheless it took the bluejackets the best part of five minutes to sever it and disentangle the newly-cut ends.
"All clear, sir," sang out a petty officer.
With feelings of thankfulness Fordyce put the indicator to half speed astern. Gathering way, R19 slowly backed from the floating cylinders until she was safely out of that danger zone.
"Well done, Mr. Fordyce!"
The Sub turned, flushed with pleasure, and smartly saluted. It was the Hon. Derek who had spoken. Throughout the hazardous operation he had stood quietly behind his young subordinate, ready to take charge if necessity should arise. But there had been no need, and Stockdale was too shrewd a man to "barge in" and flabbergast his youthful Sub.
"Mine right astern, sir!" shouted a seaman.
"And to starboard, sir!" announced another.
R19, in backing from one danger, found herself beset by floating perils on all sides.
It was a situation in which skilful handling and consummate coolness alone would extricate R19 from the perils that encircled her. To attempt to back astern or forge ahead in the hope of escaping the floating mines would be courting disaster. Fortunately there was little to fear from partly-submerged anchored mines, for the depth of the Skager-rack was here not far short of four hundred fathoms. On the other hand, the drifting mines were either in pairs or in multiples of two, connected by lengths of wire of sufficient length to cause the explosive cylinders to hit amidships the hull of any vessel unfortunate enough to pick up the middle part of the bight of rope.
Promptly the whaler and one of the Berthons were brought on deck. The former was launched over the side and a couple of coils of rope tossed into her. The canvas boat was unfolded, the stretchers put in position, and also put afloat.
The Berthon, in which were three bluejackets acted as scout, rowing on ahead, while one of the hands kept a sharp look-out for any obstructions. The whaler followed, towing a buoy to which was attached a grapnel by means of a 30-foot length of rope.
Provided the grapnel fouled none of the spans connecting the mines it was reasonable to conclude that the submarine could likewise follow without risk, since the depth at which the grapnel was suspended was greater than the draft of R19 when awash.
A cable's length astern of the whaler the submarine cautiously crept through the water, ready at the first alarm to back from the danger.
"Heavens! What is that lubber doing?" exclaimed the Hon. Derek, as the bowman of the Berthon laid aside his oar, seized a boat-hook, and prepared to fend off a circular mine.
"Avast there!" roared the Lieutenant-Commander through his megaphone; but he was too late. Already the foolhardy man was thrusting the metal head of the boat-hook hard against the slippery surface of the mine. Even in calm water the act would have been that of a madman. As it was, the choppy waves rendered the result of the attempt a foregone conclusion. Metal grated on metal, and the next instant one of the fragile horns of the mine snapped off close to its base.
Through his binoculars Fordyce could see the horrified looks on the faces of the men in the Berthon as they attempted to back from the scene of the bowman's ill-judged activity. In four or five seconds the chemical action of the salt water upon the contents of the fractured tube would cause the charge to explode, with annihilating results to the three bluejackets.
Four seconds passed in long-drawn suspense. Five, six, seven—but the expected disaster did not take place.
Not until the Berthon was beyond the danger zone did the Hon. Derek give vent to his feelings.
"Thank Heaven, it's a dud!" he exclaimed fervently.
Then, ordering the Berthon alongside, he addressed the bowman with a few very forcible remarks upon his lubberly action, and, as a precaution, made the men leave their boat-hooks on the submarine's deck.
For nearly an hour the nerve-racking ordeal continued as R19 slowly threaded her way through the mine-field. By a skilful use of the helm the submarine, under the guidance of the whaler, contrived to avoid most of the dangers. Those mines that lay athwart her course, and could not be otherwise avoided, were tackled by the whaler, their spans grappled for and secured, and thus towed out of the way.
"By Jove, if we had time I'd like to explode the whole crowd of them!" remarked the Lieutenant-Commander, referring to the mines, now happily astern. The whaler, now a mile ahead, was returning, after having made sure, as far as human agency could provide, that the limit of the field had been passed, and R19, having hoisted the recall, was only waiting for the boats to be safely stowed before proceeding.
"Destroyer on the starboard bow."
The disconcerting announcement could hardly have been made at a worse time. The chances were that the approaching craft was a Hun, since both Heligoland and Kiel were within easy steaming distance of the Skaw, and German light cruisers and torpedo-boats could manoeuvre with slight risk of being brought into action. If surprised by a British flotilla, it was a simple matter to make for Danish territorial waters. On the other hand, should no hostile craft put in an appearance, the presence of Hun warships off the shores of Jutland served to impress the Danes with the fact that Germany held supreme command of the North Sea.
By the fact that the destroyer had altered helm and was bearing down upon the submarine, it was certain that she had spotted the latter. R19 was at a decided disadvantage. Without abandoning her boats she could not dive and attack by means of torpedoes. If she remained awash, her comparatively low speed and inferior gun-power would be no match for the swift and well-armed destroyer.
The master-mind of the Lieutenant-Commander instantly gripped the solution to the problem.
"Action stations! Prepare for diving!" he ordered. "I'll fight her, and the victors can pick up the boats' crews."
Down to fifteen fathoms R19 plunged under the influence of her diving-rudders and water-ballast admitted to her buoyancy-tanks. Then, turning eight points to starboard, she shaped a course that would bring her on a diverging track to that of the destroyer.
Already torpedoes had been "launched in" in both bow and broadside tubes, ready for instant liberation the moment R19 picked up her target. Overhead could be distinctly heard the thresh of the vessel's propellers.
"The silly josser!" muttered the Hon. Derek. "She's slowing down. To capture the boats most likely. Well, that's her funeral, so here goes."
Having deemed that the submarine was within striking distance, her Lieutenant-Commander brought her carefully towards the surface, slowly, lest a perceptible disturbance of the water should betray her presence.
Suddenly the object-bowl of the conning-tower periscope was flooded with light. Right in the centre of the field of vision appeared the destroyer at a distance of 800 yards. Without having to "con" the submarine either to port or starboard, Stockdale was in a position to let loose a couple of 21-inch torpedoes with almost certain chance of success.
With their senses keenly on the alert, the L.T.O.'s awaited the order that would send the deadly missiles on their way—but the order did not come.
Close alongside the destroyer lay R19's whaler. A short distance from the latter was the Berthon, making her way towards her. Both were in the direct line of fire. It was one of those perplexing problems that the naval officer has frequently to solve. Ought he, in the certain chance of sending an important unit of the enemy's fleet to the bottom, to sacrifice deliberately the lives of a dozen of his own men? In an above-water engagement between two destroyers a skipper would, perhaps, have to accept the risk of having half his ship's company put out of action before he could claim the fruits of victory. From a purely professional point of view it would be a sacrifice well made, although deplorable; but in the present instance it looked like a cold-blooded butchery of his compatriots.
Even as he looked, Stockdale noticed that the destroyer's quick-firers, instead of being trained abeam, were fore and aft, and not manned for action. Most of the crew were clustered along the side watching the submarine's boats, but making no hostile demonstrations. Just then a waft of air bore down. The stranger's ensign fluttered in the faint breeze.
It was a white cross on a red, swallow-tailed field: the naval ensign of Denmark.
Even then the Hon. Derek had his doubts. The new-comer might be a Hun under false colours, and might open fire without troubling to substitute the dishonoured Black Cross Ensign of Germany for the flag she was displaying. The fact that the guns were not manned rather knocked that theory on the head. Nevertheless R19, with the tips of her periscopes showing, forged ahead until her Lieutenant-Commander was able to read the name on the destroyer's stern—Havornen.
Giving the order to the torpedo-men to "stand fast", Stockdale brought the submarine awash at a distance of 200 yards dead astern of theHavornen. Then, emerging from the conning-tower, and followed by Macquare and the Sub, he punctiliously exchanged salutes with the officer commanding the destroyer.
None of the submarine's officers could speak Danish. Fordyce knew a few words, picked up during his service with the Royal Seal Line, but not sufficient to carry on a conversation. Still in a quandary, they were agreeably surprised when the Danish officer addressed them in English.
"I am glad to see you!" he exclaimed, when the two craft drew within hailing distance. "I thought, until I spoke to your men in the boats, that you were Germans."
By his tone the Dane clearly indicated that his pleasure would not have been anything so cordial if the submarine flew the Black Cross Ensign.
"Thanks!" replied the Hon. Derek; "and we reciprocate your expressions of greeting." He did not think it advisable to congratulate the Danes upon their narrow escape of being blown out of the water. "Might I call your attention to the fact that you are within a couple of miles of a German mine-field?"
"Is that so?" asked the Danish officer. "It must have been the work of a submarine mine-layer—the one that is now hard and fast aground off Laeso. We will proceed, and set to work to destroy the Germans' vile handiwork. Thank you for the information. In return, let me warn you: the Germans have recently laid a new mine-field at the south entrance of the Sound; so if your Government has given you instructions, the information will most likely be misleading. More than that I dare not say, but you have our best wishes."
With another exchange of courtesies the British and Danish vessels separated, theHavornenmaking towards the region of the floating mines, where, presently, musketry reports and, anon, the heavy roars of a powerful explosive being liberated were evidences that the work of clearing the deadly menace to neutral shipping was in active process.
R19, having picked up her boats, gathered way and an hour later was rounding the Skaw. Here a course S. 3/4 E. was set through the Kattegat. Beyond lay the Sound, where one of the greatest ordeals in modern naval warfare was awaiting the dauntless submarine—the threading of the intricate, uncharted mine-field guarding the principal entrance to the Baltic Sea.
"Jolly decent of that Dane," remarked Fordyce as he stood with Lieutenant Macquare upon the navigation-platform. "There's not much doubt as to which way his sympathies incline."
"It was," agreed Macquare. "I feel sorry for Denmark, one of the most decent neutral countries, looking on at the great stunt. She'd come in like a shot—she still remembers being robbed of Schleswig-Holstein—but it would be the case of Roumania all over again. With the German fleet having pretty nearly its own way in the Baltic it would be suicidal policy for Denmark to chip in. Well, I suppose another twenty-four hours will either see us in the Baltic or else at the bottom of it."
"This new mine-field has upset our calculations," said the Sub. "Yet I suppose we'll manage it somehow—we usually do," he added optimistically.
In defiance of all international treaties the Huns had mined the territorial waters of the Sound, a strait averaging five miles in width between Sweden and the Danish island of Zeeland. The mines were "contact" ones, anchored by means of sinkers and so arranged that the cylinders containing the explosive charges were at varying depths. A submarine stood an equally poor chance whether she kept just below the surface or crept along the bottom of the channel. The original "field" consisted of three parallel rows, the first 12 feet from the surface, the second about the same distance from the bed of the sea, the third midway betwixt the bottom and the surface. Through the danger zone was a narrow channel, guarded by patrol boats and destroyers. The British Admiralty had obtained information of this opening and had used the knowledge to good advantage, when, early in the war, British submarines had paralysed Germany's trade with Sweden and the harbours of Stralsund, Danzig, and Memel were chock-a-block with merchantmen afraid to venture across the comparatively narrow stretch of water to obtain badly-wanted cargoes of Swedish iron-ore and foodstuffs.
Now, more than likely, the mine-field was increased in width. There were also reports that the Huns were employing steel nets as an additional safeguard, and had augmented the number of patrol boats. Zeppelins and sea-planes, too, had been constantly sighted south of the Danish islands, so that R19 was "up against" a particularly tough proposition.
"Yes; it's easier for a mosquito to find its way through the curtains of an old West Coaster's bed than for a submarine to nose herself into the Baltic," declared Macquare. "But we'll do it, laddie, you mark my words."
Whenever the Lieutenant's grim determination showed itself he involuntarily rolled his "R's". He did so on this occasion, and Fordyce knew that Macquare was revelling in the prospect.
It was night. Although land was within ten miles on the port hand not a light was visible. The island of Anholt had been left astern. Another hour's run ought to bring the submarine within sight of Elsinore at the starboard side of the Sound.
At the Lieutenant-Commander's request Flirt had been sent below, much to her disgust, as she appreciated the night watches crouching on deck at her master's feet. But now absolute silence was imperative. By the sense of hearing as much as that of sight were the crew to guard against the dangers of the unlighted channel.
Just before midnight two topsail schooners were observed, bearing northwards. Without attempting to submerge, R19 held on, knowing that her low-lying shape would be indistinguishable except from a distance of a few yards. Then came a tug, displaying navigation lights and three masthead lamps, showing that she was towing a vessel over six hundred feet in length. These were indications that the submarine was approaching Denmark's principal seaport, and, although the vessels were neutrals, there was the possibility of their skippers reporting the presence of a submarine if the latter were spotted. And, then, where the information would eventually be sent was a matter of speculation, with the odds that it would reach the ears of the German patrol commanders.
Proceeding at a bare five knots, R19 was within a few miles of the mine-field when dawn broke. It was a case of "hasten slowly". To attempt the forcing of the blockade during the hours of daylight would be courting failure and disaster, so she promptly "sounded", resting on the bottom in twelve fathoms.
Never did a day pass more slowly. In spite of various attempts to provide the men with amusement the enforced watch below for all hands was a long-drawn period of suspense and irritation. The period of inaction before undertaking a task of infinite danger is always such, whether in the case of infantry waiting to "go over the top" or the ship's company awaiting the order to "open fire". Once in the thick of things danger is forgotten in the enthusiasm of the encounter, but until then the minds of even the bravest are filled with morbid forebodings.
It was not until an hour after sunset that the welcome order came to blow auxiliary tanks. Without making use of her propelling machinery the submarine rose steadily towards the surface. Everything seemed quiet. The periscopes, useless except for the purpose of picking up a solitary light, revealed nothing, for the night was already as black as pitch.
With their night-glasses the officers swept the waste of waters. Ahead a faint "loom" indicated the position of Copenhagen. On the Swedish side a faint light flickered for a few seconds and then disappeared.
A quarter of an hour passed, but Stockdale gave no orders to proceed. Not that he hesitated to face the danger; he was merely waiting an opportunity.
Suddenly the horizon away to the south'ard was swept by the rays of a search-light. Another and yet another beam followed suit, until the sky in that direction was a blaze of light. Then the rays vanished and a mast-head signalling-lamp began its flickering tale.
"'QKG—TOXZ—PJ'—code, thought so," muttered the Lieutenant-Commander, as he read the unintelligible message.
"Mast-head signal astern, sir," reported Fordyce.
The Hon. Derek swung round in an instant and levelled his binoculars at a pin-prick of yellow light.
"Good!" he ejaculated. "That's what I was waiting for."
Presently the powerful night-glasses revealed the misty outlines of a large two-funnelled craft slowly making her way in a southerly direction, the while signalling steadily, pausing only to receive an answering message from one of the German patrols.
Then, with all lights screened, came a pair of lean destroyers, zigzagging their way through the mine-field. After a while they steadied on their respective helms. Unless they altered course, they would pass at a distance not less than five cable-lengths from the lurking submarine.
"One of their strafed raiders coming here to roost for a dead cert," quoth the Hon. Derek. "Hands to action-stations, Mr. Macquare. I mean to let that chap pilot me through the mine-field, and, with luck, I'll return evil for good by putting a torpedo into him."
The two destroyers passed without sighting the British submarine. They were emitting dense columns of smoke that wafted over R19's deck as they steamed by. Two deductions were to be drawn from that circumstance. The boats were short of steam coal, which was a most cheerful bit of information. Also, from the fact that they were burning coal and not oil fuel, they were not by any means of the latest type of German torpedo craft.
Presently the nearmost destroyer put her helm hard over and circled away from the submarine. Not until she was pointing in exactly the opposite direction to the one she had been following did she steady and slow down. Her consort still carried on until she had passed the approaching armed merchantman. Then she, too, flung about.
Preceded and followed by her escort, the returning raider (for Stockdale's surmise was correct) steamed past at a rate of about five knots. It would have been a spendid opportunity for R19 to get home three torpedoes with mathematical precision, but reluctantly the Lieutenant-Commander stayed his hand. It was tantalizing but the greater issue was not to be lost sight of.
Under electrical motive power, for it was too risky to make use of even the well-muffled internal-combustion engines, R19 fell in at the tail of the procession, keeping at a distance of four cable-lengths astern of the rearmost destroyer.
Luck was in her favour, for not only was the night very dark, but the eddying clouds of smoke from the German vessels' funnels were frequently sweeping over the submarine, thus making a most effectual screen to her movements, while with her slow speed R19 did not show the "bone in her mouth"—the phosphorescent bow wave that at any high rate of speed would inevitably betray her position.
Both periscopes were "housed", and the boat prepared to dive at an instant's notice.
For a full quarter of a mile the course was due south, until, at a flashing-signal from the leading torpedo-boat, the big German starboarded her helm, and steered almost at right angles to her former direction. R19's officers noticed that the rearmost destroyer made no attempt to alter helm until she gained the position where the armed merchantman had turned. Evidently the "gateway" through the mine-field was narrow, and permitted no liberties.
As the following destroyer turned she flashed out a signal, to which a distant vessel replied. The next instant the concentrated rays of a dozen search-lights swept the surface of the water.
Down dropped R19 to 20 feet. Her periscopes were raised until they projected but 18 inches above the surface. Until the crucial moment, Stockdale chose to keep the escort under observation.
Again the Hun vessels turned, this time to port, and were heading straight for the centre of the far-flung line of patrol boats and destroyers.
"We're through, I fancy!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. Then: "Down to forty feet."
At that depth the submarine was immune from the danger of being stove in, even by the keel of the heaviest battleship afloat. For the rest of the distance, until the last of the patrolling craft was left astern, the submarine had to depend upon direction by listening to the thresh of the Hun torpedo-boats' propellers.
The raider and her escorts were now increasing speed, another indication that the danger of the mine-field was a thing of the past. Before long R19, in her efforts to keep up with her hostile guides, was pushing ahead at fourteen knots—a rate sufficient to raise an ominous swirl upon the placid surface.
The while Macquare and the Sub were working out the course for future reference, noting the varying compass bearings and the distance run between alterations of helm. Knowing the exact spot where the second channel began, it would be a relatively simple matter to "plot out" the secret channel on the chart for use on the return run—if R19 were fortunate enough to leave the Baltic. In order to check each other's calculations the Lieutenant made his readings on a magnetic compass, while the Sub used the gyro-compass, which, unaffected by deviation and variation, enabled the navigator to obtain his knowledge of direction without having to take into consideration half a dozen intricate but important influences to which the magnetic instrument is subjected.
Presently, finding the pace too hot, the Hon. Derek gave orders for speed to be reduced to five knots. The returning raider had played her part as far as R19 was concerned, and, as a reward—although Stockdale would have willed it otherwise—she was rapidly drawing out of torpedo range. Even if the submarine dared to risk letting fly a couple of torpedoes, the possibility of hitting a vessel stern-on was rather remote, while the presence of a hostile craft inside their mine-field would at once be revealed to the German patrol-boats.
A faint rasping metallic sound caused both officers to look up from their respective tasks. It was the unmistakable noise of meshed wire grating along the submarine's side. Then, with a decided jerk, the vessel's way was checked. Under the impulse of her propellers she tilted nose downwards, the while the disconcerting sound of the flexible wire grinding against her was growing more and more in volume.
The artificer in charge of the motors acted promptly on the order to declutch and then reverse. Before her propellers had made a dozen revolutions the port-hand one, entangled in a remorselessly-tightening obstacle, slowed down, and then stopped dead.
R19 was firmly held in the meshes of an anti-submarine net.
Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale descended the ladder from the conning-tower and gained the 'midship compartment of the submarine. Outwardly he appeared cool and collected. If the intense gravity of the situation assailed him, he kept his emotions to himself.
"A nice old jamboree, Macquare!" he exclaimed. "It's the port propeller getting fouled that's the trouble."
"It is, sir," agreed the Lieutenant.
"The consequences of halloing before we're out of the wood," added Stockdale. "I'm going to blow the ballast-tanks. We must risk it, although it's pretty well a dead cert that the Huns have calcium-light alarms in connection with this infernal net. We'll be in a fine old mess if we do break surface in the full glare of a dozen search-lights and hampered with a ton of wire netting over everything."
R19 had been too premature. When the raider and her attendants had increased speed they were clear of the mine-field, but not of the maze of steel netting, which, supported so that the upper edge was at a sufficient depth below the surface to enable them to pass without hindrance, was a dangerous trap to submarine craft.
"Why not fill all ballast-tanks, and see if we can sink clear?" suggested Macquare.
The Lieutenant-Commander shook his head.
"We would only get in a worse mess," he objected, "and as likely as not foul the starboard propeller into the bargain."
"It's not much use standing by and waiting for the Huns to strafe us with distance charges," remarked Macquare doggedly. He was beginning to roll his R's again. "If you have no objection, sir, I'll call for volunteers, and see what it's like outside."
"That's my job, I think," said Fordyce quietly.
The Lieutenant demurred at the assertion, while the Sub was equally emphatic.
"Don't argue about it!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "The best way you can settle the matter is to toss for it."
A florin glittered as it spun in the rays of the electric light.
"Heads!" declared Macquare. "It's your go, laddie, and good luck!"
In common with other submarines of the "R" Class, Stockdale's command was provided with a means of enabling divers to leave the interior of the vessel while submerged. One of the sub-compartments was fitted with two water-tight doors, one of which communicated with the interior; the other, in the vessel's side, gave access to the outside.
Without loss of time the Sub called for two volunteers. Of the submarine's complement twelve men had "proficiency pay" as seamen-divers, and every one of the twelve volunteered for the hazardous task.
"I'll take Cassidy and Payne," decided Fordyce. "They are most reliable men, and both unmarried. If we are not back in an hour, sir, don't wait if you have a chance. We'll do our best."
"And good luck!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Commander. It was the naval way of bidding farewell to a comrade about to undertake a risky enterprise—a pithy expression conveying a wealth of possibilities of thought.
Assisted by willing helpers, the Sub and the two seamen donned their diving-dresses. These were of the "self-contained" type, in which the cumbersome life-line and air-tube are dispensed with. The dresses were of "armoured" rubber and canvas, specially contrived to withstand high pressures. The copper helmet was fitted with three large scuttles, so that the wearer could see what was going on on either side by merely turning his head, and thus doing away with the necessity of having to keep the desired object in view directly in front. At the back of the helmet was a flexible metal tube supplying chemically-treated air from a reservoir to the wearer. The reservoir was strapped to the small of the back, if such an expression can be applied to an inflated diving-dress. Immediately above the breathing-apparatus container was another contrivance of strong elastic material, capable of being expanded to double the size of a football. Normally it lay flat and compact against the diver's shoulders. Strapped across the chest, immediately below the leaden weight attached to the collar of the helmet, was a strong copper receptacle connected with the deflated bag on the diver's back, and fitted with a stopcock and a small but powerful suction-pump. This contrivance took the place of the life-line in the older type of dress; for, should a man wish to rise from the bottom of the sea, all he had to do was to release the compressed air from the copper container into the expanding bag, until the buoyancy of the latter overcame the weight of the diver's equipment.
Each of the three men was equipped with a knife, hack-saw, crowbar, a small slate and pencil for communication purposes, and an electric lamp. Their bare hands were protected from the numbing cold by a thick coating of tallow.
Their helmets having been placed over their heads, and secured by "butterfly nuts" to their rubber-lined metal collars, Fordyce and his assistants entered the diving-chamber, the inner door of which was secured by clamp locks capable of being operated either from within or without.
The Sub's next task, after securing the door, was to flood the diving-chamber. This was done by means of a stopcock communicating with the water outside, while the weight of the inrushing fluid was compensated by expelling a similar quantity from one of the auxiliary ballast-tanks, in order not to disturb the trim of the submarine.
The diving-compartment filled, Fordyce threw open the door in the submarine's side; then, groping until he found the lowermost of a series of rungs, he made his way to the deck, where he awaited his companions.
Thence the three went towards the bows, flashing their lamps in order to discover the nature of the entanglement. Although each light was of 500 candle-power, the rays were effective only for a distance of five or six yards, but they were sufficient to enable Fordyce to see that a huge large-meshed steel net enclosed R19 on both sides, while towards the bows it contracted, thus preventing further progress in that direction.
Cautiously the Sub lowered himself upon the bow diving-rudder on the starboard side. Examination showed that no part of the net was holding it; but the one to port was stubbornly enmeshed.
By dint of careful tackling by means of crowbars, the three men succeeded in freeing the projecting plate from the net. As far as could be seen, there was now nothing for'ard to prevent the submarine gathering sternway. Obviously the principal difficulty lay in the fact that one of the propellers had fouled.
"By Jove, what's that?" mentally enquired the Sub, as the light of his electric lamp fell upon a huge, ill-defined object less than six feet from R19's bows. It was a part of the upper works of a large tramp vessel, lying slightly on one bilge, and almost hidden by a lavish growth of barnacles and seaweed.
It was the wreck of a tramp steamer, possibly a German one sent to the bottom by a British submarine during the early stages of the war. Providentially the steel net had done R19 a good turn, for, had it not stopped her progress, the chances were that the submarine would have collided with the wreck, with disastrous results to herself.
Clearly there was no escape for R19 in that direction. The only possible way seemed to lie in the ability of the submarine to back out of the toils, and until the propeller was cleared this could not be attempted.
Signing to the two seamen, the Sub led the way aft. Here, by means of a length of signal halyard, Fordyce lowered himself upon the exterior shaft of the seized-up propeller. It was a risky job, for should he relax his hold he would sink to the bottom of the sea, a distance of 90 or 100 feet; and, more than likely, if he made use of his self-raising apparatus he would find his upward progress intercepted by the intricate meshes of the net.
Examination showed that the blades of the propeller had cut through a part of the flexible steel entanglement and the stranded ends of the wire had wound themselves firmly round the boss. The only thing to be done was to sever the wire still attached to the rest of the net and unwind it.
Fordyce pointed to the work to be attacked. The two men instinctively knew what was required and set to work with their hacksaws while the Sub kept the light fixed upon the object of their labours.
Presently he listened intently. Above the faint hiss of the air escaping through the release-valve of his helmet he could detect the rapid threshing of a vessel's propellers. Louder and louder grew the sound. Submarine undulations almost swept the three men from their precarious perch as a swiftly-moving craft passed 60 feet overhead. The suspended net swayed to and fro like a flimsy curtain in a strong draught, while into and beyond the faint halo of light swept the bight of a metallic rope.
The Sub's first inclination—that of self-preservation—was to release his stock of compressed air and rise blindly to the surface. It took all his presence of mind to subdue the temptation. He knew the danger. At the end of that trailing cable was a powerful charge of high-explosive. A hostile destroyer was doing her level best to blow the trapped submarine to smithereens.
"There are worse tasks than this," mentally observed Kapitan-Leutnant Ludwig von Hoppner of H.I.M. torpedo-boat V201, as he went below to his cabin. "Himmel! There is but little chance of destruction in these waters, unless we have our orders to attack the Russians, but it is infinitely to be preferred to service in our unterseebooten. Thanks to our elaborate defences against those accursed Englanders one can enjoy a good night's rest afloat. It was indeed thoughtful of my friend, von Rutter, to get me transferred from the Cuxhaven division to the Baltic."
Unfortunately for von Hoppner's good intentions his idea of having an undisturbed slumber was rudely shattered by the appearance of a messenger.
"What is it, numskull?" thundered the Kapitan-Leutnant.
"A signal from the flag ship, Herr Kapitan," replied the man. "The armed linerKomoranhas arrived from the South Atlantic with numerous prisoners. We are to pass her through without delay."
Grumblingly von Hoppner resumed his recently-discarded greatcoat and muffler, thrust his cap over his eyes, and made his way on deck and thence to the bridge.
"Well?" he enquired laconically, addressing a tall, cadaverous-featured unter-leutnant.
"TheKomoranis sighted, sir," replied the junior officer. "S19 has just signalled that she is escorting her direct to Stettin. This time, I trust, there will be no mistake."
Unter-Leutnant Schwam was referring to the case of a German commerce-destroyer that, having successfully evaded the British patrols in the North Sea, was fired upon and sunk by Hun cruisers in the Baltic under the misapprehension that she was an enemy vessel attempting to run the gauntlet. Since then elaborate precautions had been taken to prevent a similar occurrence, one of which was that commanding officers of patrolling craft were to be on the bridge whenever a German war vessel was passing through the cordon.
Having carried out his duties as far as the returning raider was concerned, von Hoppner was about to seek his bunk once more when a vivid light flared from the surface of the water at a distance of less than two miles from the patrolling torpedo-boat.
"Donnerwetter!" ejaculated the now furious Kapitan-Leutnant. "Am I to get no sleep to-night? How does that light bear, Herr Schwam?"
The Unter-Leutnant took a compass bearing and reported the result of his investigations to his superior.
"Then that is at Position 24," declared von Hoppner. "Our section of the defence, confound it!"
He rang for half speed ahead, giving instructions to the Quarter-Master to steer towards the burning calcium light that indicated a violent disturbance of the steel net 40 or 50 feet beneath the waves.
The "tell-tale" was an ingenious device consisting of a calcium-light buoy made of glass, so as to be practically invisible during daylight. On the under side of the buoy was a "friction-tube" of sufficient strength to resist the power of the winds and currents, but at the impact of a submerged vessel with the net the buoy-rope connecting the latter with the buoy would put a strain on the friction-tube enough to ignite the dazzling light.
As V201 proceeded towards the object of her investigations the watch on deck prepared the deadly "distance-charge" grapnel. Over the stern was tossed a length of flexible wire rope, terminating in a cylinder of high-explosive and a barbed contrivance to engage in the net adhering to the trapped vessel. At first only 100 metres were paid out; the rest of the circuit, roughly twice that length, was wound round a drum.
"All ready aft?" shouted the Kapitan-Leutnant.
Receiving an affirmative reply, von Hoppner ordered speed to be reduced to that corresponding to five knots, and, since the more slowly the grapnel was moving through the water the deeper it sank, the explosive charge was now in a position to engage the obstruction.
Suddenly there was a jerk on the wire rope. The petty officer operating the hand-brake of the winding-drum allowed another hundred metres to reel off before checking the revolving cylinder. Not until the third hundred metres was on the point of being reached did he jam the brake hard on.
"Now!" he exclaimed tersely.
At the word a seaman pressed the key of the firing-battery. With a deafening roar a column of water leapt high in the air, accompanied by a dense cloud of smoke. Then came the hiss of falling foam and the heavy plash of solid objects striking the surface as they dropped from great and varying heights. Then all was silent.
"Farewell, Englander!" exclaimed von Hoppner gleefully.
"Not much doubt about that, Herr Kapitan-Leutnant," added Schwam obsequiously.
"Let us hope we did the trick properly," rejoined von Hoppner; then, leaning over the guard-rail, he gave orders for the search-light to be unscreened.