Although the calcium light had vanished in the terrific upheaval, there was no mistaking the locality of the explosion. Already within a radius of a hundred yards the surface of the water was covered with oil that gave a weird kaleidoscopic effect under the slanting beams of the search-lights.
"Himmel, she carried an enormous quantity of oil!" remarked Unter-Leutnant Schwam, as V201 steamed slowly round the steadily-increasing circle of iridescent liquid. "It will be interesting, when we send down the divers, to find out what type of craft she was."
Satisfied with the result of the preliminary investigations, V201 switched off her search-lights. Before returning to his cabin von Hoppner drafted a dispatch for transmission by wireless to the officer commanding the patrol flotilla. Then, his mind occupied with contented visions of honours that were to be bestowed upon him for his signal services, the Kapitan-Leutnant went below.
Soon after daybreak, lighters with diving-parties and spare nets proceeded to the spot. The divers reported the wreckage of a large vessel, evidently one of a new class of submersible cruisers of at least 4000 tons displacement. Had the Hun authorities employed experts for the examination, instead of taking the word of a seaman-diver, they would have modified their extravagant claim. As it was, Berlin claimed the destruction of an enormous British submarine-cruiser, while von Hoppner had the Ordre pour le Mérite bestowed upon him by his wildly delighted Emperor, who also liberally showered Iron Crosses upon the torpedo-boat's crew.
Sub-Lieutenant Fordyce and his two companions clung desperately to the motionless blades of the crippled propeller as they awaited what they were firmly convinced was the end.
Although it seemed an interminable period before the expected explosion took place, only a few seconds actually elapsed before the detonation occurred.
Through the lens of his helmet the Sub saw nothing of the nature of a flash. He heard the roar; it smote upon his temples like the blow of a club, as a rush of violently agitated water all but swept him from his precarious position. His head-dress came in contact with a hard substance. It seemed as if the metal helmet was collapsing under the shock.
Still he held on, wondering dully why he had not been pulverized by the explosion, or at least his diving-dress torn asunder. Nothing of this nature happening, he sought his companions. Cassidy was still there, literally hugging the outboard part of the propeller shafting, but of Payne there was no sign. All the tools had vanished, with the exception of one hack-saw. The rest were lying on the bottom of the sea, ninety feet or more below, doubtless with the unfortunate Payne. The Sub still retained his electric lamp. Cassidy also had his, but the light had failed.
The hull of the submarine was still oscillating gently under the influence of the disturbed water. It was a good sign. Had the plating been shattered by the explosion, the vessel would have sunk like a stone. As it was, she still retained a reserve of buoyancy, but was prevented from rising only by the retaining influence of portions of the steel net. Subsequent events proved that this was a blessing in disguise, for R19 would have risen to the surface in the full glare of the German torpedo-boat's search-lights.
Signing to Cassidy, the Sub indicated that the task of freeing the propeller should proceed. It was a slow job with only one hack-saw at their disposal, but one by one the tough strands were severed.
Fordyce was on the point of giving his companion a spell, when a scratching, rasping noise against his helmet rudely attracted his attention. He was just in time to avoid a kick on the plate-glass front of his head-dress from a leaden-soled boot, as Payne, making his way down the tapering stern of the submarine, was gamely returning to his interrupted task. The explosion, the effect of which was greatly mitigated by the buffer of water, had wrenched him from his perch, and had lifted him 20 or 30 feet vertically upwards, depositing him upon the rounded afterpart of the submarine.
The churning sounds of the Hun torpedo-boat's propellers had now ceased. It was indeed fortunate, Fordyce decided, that the vessel made no further attempt to use explosive charges. The Sub had no idea of what time had elapsed since he and his companions left the submarine. It was certainly not far short of an hour. To let the rest of the crew know that they were still alive and, what was almost as important, active, they hammered upon the steel plating.
The task was nearing completion. With the blood running from a dozen cuts in their benumbed hands, as the strands of the tough wire rasped the flesh, they deftly unwound the severed layers from the boss of the propeller, until the gun-metal, polished with the friction of the wire, was revealed, free from anything that was likely to impede the propulsive action of the blades.
Unexpectedly, R19 gave a jerk as the remaining strands of the retaining net parted. Almost before they were aware of it, the Sub and his companions found themselves a few feet beneath the surface, still clinging to the propeller blades.
"If they start up the motors it's all U P with us," thought Fordyce, until he remembered that close at hand there had been a trailing length of signal halyard.
Thank Heaven, it was still there! Signing to the two men, the Sub pointed to the rope. Up they swarmed—easily until their helmets cleared the surface of the water. Beyond that they could not rise another foot without assistance. Held down by their leaden weights, the effect of which was almost negligible when submerged, they were helpless to gain the submarine's deck.
A seaman can almost invariably be relied upon to extricate himself from a tight corner. Drawing his sheath-knife, Cassidy quickly severed the cords that attached the leaden weights to the Sub's chest, and, with a reckless disregard of His Majesty's stores, cut away his metal-shod boots.
Assisted by the petty officer, Fordyce hauled himself to the deck, while Cassidy set about to perform a similar office for the A.B. But help was forthcoming from another direction. Through the conning-tower hatchway came Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale and a dozen of the crew. The various members of the diving-party were relieved of their head-gear and dresses with the utmost dispatch.
"Propeller cleared? Excellent!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "We thought that you were all knocked out. I cannot account for the fact that the old boat's hull withstood the explosion."
"There was a wreck lying almost athwart our bows, sir," replied Fordyce. "The grapnel must have engaged in her topsides, and, when the charge was detonated, the hull and the water between must have borne the brunt."
"Fortunately for us," rejoined the Lieutenant-Commander. "We'll have to be making a move before another Hun barges in to attempt to strafe us. What's that, Wilkins?"
"We're still hung up, sir," reported the petty officer addressed. "A few strands of wire across the deck just abaft No. 2 quick-firer. I've told off some hands to hack it through."
"Very good; carry on," said the Hon. Derek. "Report when the job's done. Pass that gear below, men."
The diving-dresses were returned to their proper place. The Lieutenant-Commander made his way for'ard to superintend the last of the task of freeing the submarine from the toils of the net, while Fordyce and the two divers went below to change into dry clothing and partake of food and hot drinks.
For the present all was quiet. The patrol vessels were out of sight and hearing. Their search-lights had been switched off, and there were no indications that signals were being exchanged. It was safe to conclude that, under the impression that the intruding submarine had been effectively accounted for, the Huns did not anticipate further trouble in that direction.
At length the welcome order came for half-speed ahead. Rhythmically both propellers began to churn the water. It spoke volumes for the thoroughness of the shipwrights who had built the vessel that, notwithstanding the severe strain when the propeller "seized up", there were no defects from strained shafting, stripped gears, or leaky stuffing-boxes.
"We've had enough of submarine nets for the present," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander to Lieutenant Macquare. "I won't risk submerging until we are well clear of this area, unless, of course, a Hun destroyer butts in. By Jove! Young Fordyce is a brick! I didn't envy him his job, but he carried it out splendidly."
"Now it's all over," confided Macquare. "I'm jolly glad I didn't have to tackle the business. The thought of it gave me cold feet."
"Tut, tut, Macquare!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "You suggested and volunteered for the task."
"Aye," agreed the Lieutenant. "And I would have done my best to see it through; but all the same I didn't relish it, and it's no use saying I did. Yes, Fordyce deserves special recommendation. Cassidy and Payne too—splendid fellows both."
"And they'll get it," added the Hon. Derek. "That is if we are alive to tell the tale."
Just before dawn R19 was fairly in the Baltic. The peril of the mine-field was a thing of the past. Nevertheless, owing to the possible presence of enemy air-craft and to the fact that several vessels were sighted, Stockdale decided to submerge and lie on the bed of the sea until dusk. While the submarine was in the western Baltic it was a case of hasten slowly, hiding by day and travelling awash during the hours of darkness.
As the Hon. Derek passed through the ward-room on his way to his cabin he found Noel Fordyce sitting on a settee and fondling the faithful Flirt. Chalmers had told the Sub how the dog knew that her master was out of the vessel. Instinctively the animal had realized that he was in danger, and her efforts to break loose to find the Sub were only stopped when the petty officer, at the risk of forfeiting all future affection from the submarine's mascot, locked Flirt in one of the store compartments.
"Come and have a snack with me, Fordyce," said the Lieutenant-Commander. "Bring Flirt too."
It was a pleasant meal. The Hon. Derek was a genial host. He possessed a strong vein of humour and had the happy knack of putting a guest entirely at his ease. Not once did he touch upon the subject of the Sub's heroic act. He purposely avoided talking "shop", and quite naturally kept the conversation confined to matters of general interest.
Presently the subject of Flirt's indiscretion and Fordyce's appearance at the Otherport Police Court came up, and the Hon. Derek, hearing the story at full length—Noel had but briefly outlined the account when Flirt smuggled herself on board—laughed heartily at Nell's impersonation of her daughter.
"There is another yarn in connection with the affair," continued Fordyce, encouraged by his superior officer's interest. "This Mindiggle blighter is a queer fish. I went to see him before he took out the summons and tried to put him off. He seemed to know all about my being on R19, when she was leaving Otherport, and also her destination. Then he tried to, well, not exactly blackmail me, but something preciously close to the wind. The rotter offered to overlook Flirt's lapse of manners if I consented to do a bit of smuggling—to take a small parcel of diamonds to some pal of his in Petrograd."
The Hon. Derek had listened in silence to the Sub's narrative. At this point he sat bolt upright.
"Fordyce," he exclaimed, "why on earth didn't you spin this yarn to me before? Diamonds to Petrograd! I suppose you didn't bring any of the infernal stuff on board?"
"Sorry, sir," said Fordyce. "I didn't attach any particular importance to the fellow's request at the time. I boomed him off, absolutely. Refused point-blank to touch his blessed diamonds."
"I am glad to hear that," said the Hon. Derek. "At the same time, it is a regrettable matter that you did not report the affair to a competent naval or military authority. I'll briefly outline the facts concerning these so-called diamonds. The stuff is actually a super-powerful explosive, a secret compound of which one ingredient is known to be obtainable only in a few isolated districts in Cornwall. Our Munitions Department has been attending to the matter for months past. The analysts have discovered that the stuff—they call it nitro-talcite—is capable of being detonated only at a temperature below -5° C. And the strange part of it is that nobody in the department has yet been able to compound the explosive. All the data has been based upon the examination of a small quantity that was seized on a vessel bound for Archangel—so Sir Josiah Sticklewood, the Admiralty explosive expert, tells me. Who the makers of the stuff are and how they get it out of the country has been a mystery."
"It's fortunate that in England the temperature rarely falls to much below freezing-point," remarked Fordyce.
"Yes, and that accounts principally for the fact that the explosive has not been used against us at home," continued the Lieutenant-Commander. "Russia, on the other hand, offers plenty of opportunities in that direction. The disaster at Archangel and the terrific explosion at Petrograd can be well attributed to the work of Extremists or German Secret Service agents—practically the same thing. What does surprise me is that Mindiggle went so far as to attempt to coerce you; only, of course, he hadn't the faintest idea that we know as much concerning nitro-talcite as we do."
"Is it too late to lay him by the heels?" asked the Sub.
"I am doubtful whether it would be advisable until we make sure of our ground," replied the Hon. Derek. "Do you happen to remember the address on the packet?"
"Rather!" said Fordyce emphatically. "And I jotted it down in my pocket-book."
"Good man! Now this is what I propose doing: to make up a dummy packet of broken glass—from all accounts broken glass is a common object in Petrograd just at present—and deliver it at Vladimir Klostivitch's house in the Bobbinsky Prospekt. We'll have to do the business entirely off our own bat. It's not the faintest use taking the Russian Government officials into our confidence at the present juncture, for the simple reason that they don't know where they are and we don't either. If Klostivitch is merely an agent, we don't get much forrarder, unless he is injudiciously communicative. If he is a principal, then we'll do our level best to lay him by the heels. It's not the first time I've done police duty ashore."
And the Hon. Derek smiled reminiscently as he recalled a certain incident in his naval career, when, with a mere handful of bluejackets, he had nipped in the bud a revolution in an obscure little republic.
Then he rose from his chair and patted the Sub on the back.
"Fordyce," he exclaimed, "I have it! You'll have to assume the character of a red-hot revolutionist, and to introduce me to this rascal Klostivitch as Comrade So-and-so, a sympathetic Englishman, who, although unable to speak a word of Russian, has made his way to Petrograd for the express purpose of congratulating Klostivitch and his friends upon their arduous work in the interests of liberty and equality."
"Isn't it a bit risky, sir?" asked Fordyce.
The Lieutenant-Commander raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.
"From a diplomatic point of view," continued the Sub.
"Not if we go to work in the right way," replied the Hon. Derek. "After we've settled with Comrade Klostivitch, I'll report the circumstances to the British Embassy—but not before. For the present we'll let the matter drop. It is yet too early to go into details."
In due course R19 arrived off the Gulf of Riga. During the run across the Baltic she had studiously avoided craft of every description, although she had several chances of successfully attacking small German vessels. Stockdale let them "carry on", not from choice but of necessity. A tremendous lot depended upon the secret arrival of a British submarine to help the Russian navy against that of the Huns. He acted upon the principle that a hunter stalking a lion will not waste a shot upon a jackal, and thus prematurely alarm the main object of his efforts.
Just before midnight R19 rose to the surface and lay motionless upon the tranquil water. She was now within sight and sound of the guns, for the German land force had thrown the Russians out of the important town of Riga, while their auxiliary vessels were busily engaged in sweeping the mine-field across the mouth of the gulf, to enable the High Seas Fleet to find a secure anchorage before attempting to discover and overwhelm the New Republic's Baltic Fleet.
Away to the south-eastward, and faintly discernible against the continuous flashes of the guns, could be seen the German mine-sweepers and their covering vessels—light cruisers and torpedo-boats. As yet the battleships and armoured cruisers had not left Kiel.
For an hour R19 remained motionless; then the order was given to dive and rest on the sea bed. The reason no one on board knew except the Hon. Derek and Lieutenant Macquare. The men could not form any satisfactory opinion of the submarine's apparent inactivity. They could not understand why they did not go for everything afloat that was German, instead of "sounding" time after time.
For three successive nights R19 popped up for the space of sixty minutes. Each time the officers carefully fixed the submarine's position by means of cross bearings and the use of position-finders.
At midnight on the fourth consecutive night of inaction Fordyce and the Lieutenant-Commander were on deck when they heard the subdued hum of an aerial propeller. It lacked the well-known sound of a British machine, nor did it make a noise like a Gotha. The two men exchanged glances.
"That's it!" exclaimed the Hon. Derek. "Pass the word for the Very's light."
It seemed a risky thing to do—to send up a couple of rockets from a British craft that was lying four or five miles only from the line of German patrol-boats—but there was no option.
A red and a green rocket blazed overhead. From the hovering sea-plane came an answering flash. Her motors were then switched off, and, with a swift volplane, she alighted upon the surface at less than fifty yards from the submarine.
Then "taxi-ing" cautiously, the sea-plane approached the lee'ard side of R19, until one of the occupants dexterously caught a rope hurled from the submarine's deck.
A greatcoated, muffled figure made its way along one of the projecting floats of the sea-plane and clambered up the bulging side of R19.
"Welcome, gentlemen!" he exclaimed in Russian.
The officer deputed by the Russian Government to pilot the British submarine through the mine-fields guarding the approaches to Cronstadt had arrived at a most opportune moment.
With the least possible delay the Hon. Derek escorted the Russian below. As the sea-plane again rose in the air the submarine dived; not a moment too soon, for already half a dozen German patrol-boats were making towards the spot in an attempt to solve the mystery of the nocturnal signals.
Deputing Lieutenant Macquare to con the submerged vessel, the Lieutenant-Commander, accompanied by Fordyce, entertained the pilot in the little ward-room. Although the Sub could speak Russian, the conversation was maintained in French, since the Hon. Derek and the pilot could exchange ideas without the somewhat cumbrous medium of an interpreter.
The Russian was Naval Lieutenant Rodsky, a tall, full-faced man with pronounced Tartar features. He was obviously ill at ease when Stockdale asked him concerning affairs in the Russian navy. He was in rather a difficult position, as were most of the officers who had sworn allegiance to the Tsar of all the Russias. Under the new regime of equality and ultra-democracy the Russian seamen were seething with unrest. Discipline was lax; the men, partly held by the traditions of the Imperial navy and partly dominated by the highly-unstable Revolutionary Government, were literally "at sixes and sevens". Torn by internal dissensions and threatened from the outside by an onslaught of the German High Seas Fleet, the Russian navy was little better than a collection of disorganized ships awaiting destruction—unless the men responded to the trumpet-call of true patriotism.
It was ill news that Lieutenant Rodsky brought. On land the Huns were sweeping nearer towards Petrograd, meeting with little opposition from the disorganized Russians. At sea the Russian fleet was in danger of being cornered and annihilated in the intricate channel known as Moon Sound.
Internally things were in a deplorable condition. The Revolutionists were divided amongst themselves. There was street fighting and rioting in Petrograd and other large cities and towns. Deserters from the front were arriving in thousands to swell the ranks of the Extremists; others, under the impression that there was to be a general partitioning of land, were hurrying back to their villages to share in the promised distribution. Munition factories were idle; the stock of shells had fallen almost to nothing. Labour demanded and obtained fabulous rates of payment that availed the men but little, since there was little or no food to be bought.
"By Jove, I feel sorry for that fellow, sir!" remarked Fordyce, after Rodsky had been shown to the cabin temporarily given up to him. "He's like a toad under a harrow. You noticed how guarded he was in everything he said; yet I believe he's simply longing to speak his mind."
"And I feel sorry for Russia," replied the Hon. Derek. "There's not the faintest possible shadow of doubt that she's out of it. She'll have to stew in her own hash, and by the time the Huns have finished with her she'll heartily wish for the old order of things. But the fact remains that an additional burden is thrown upon our shoulders—the Allies', I mean. There's one thing I hope for, and that is, that we'll be able to get a smack at the Huns before we clear out. Unless I'm much mistaken, we'll find ourselves in a pretty kettle of fish if this threatened armistice does come off."
At eight bells (midday) Fordyce turned out to "take his trick". Throughout the night R19 had been under way, running awash when she had put a reasonable distance between herself and the Riga patrol vessels.
Going on deck, the Sub found that there was a considerable "chop"—short, steep-crested waves slapping the submarine's hull, and occasionally breaking over the entire forepart of the vessel. Overhead the sky was heavy with rain-clouds moving slowly, yet betokening plenty of wind before many hours had passed.
"Can you hear gun-fire?" asked Macquare, after he had given his relief the course.
Fordyce listened. Above the plash of the waves he could hear a faint, continual rumble.
"Yes," he replied. "Too hot for ordinary practice."
"Rather!" agreed the Lieutenant. "We're in luck, Fordyce. The Huns are hammering the Russians, and we've got their battleships between us and our allies. Keep her as she is, and report to the skipper the moment you see anything."
An hour later the main body of the hostile fleet was sighted away to the nor'east. The battleships in two divisions were engaged in long-range firing, although from the submarine's deck nothing could be seen of the nature of their objective. On either flank of the double line were light cruisers and torpedo-boats; overhead a couple of Zeppelins and a swarm of sea-planes were engaged in scouting and observation-work.
Just as Lieutenant-Commander Stockdale was about to give the order to submerge, the enemy formation underwent a change. One division headed towards the comparatively narrow entrance to Moon Sound, firing heavily as it went; the other bore up in a north-westerly direction, with the evident plan of steaming half-way round the islands of Ossel and Dago, and taking the retreating Russians in the rear.
Stockdale acted with praiseworthy caution. The presence of a numerous torpedo-boat flotilla in the rear of the battleship division, and the scouting planes overheard, made it a matter of extreme risk for R19 to draw within effective torpedo range. In the comparatively shallow and clear water her submerged hull would be clearly visible from a height. Directly the long-drawn northern twilight set in, the submarine's opportunity would arrive.
The Russian ships were resisting fiercely. Occasionally a German battleship would fall out of line, more or less damaged. The destroyers of the Republic, too, were far from inactive. On four separate occasions groups of them made desperate "hussar strokes" upon their powerful foes. In each case the plucky boats were sent to the bottom under a heavy concentrated fire, but not before their torpedoes had "got home" against the enormous hulls of their opponents.
Suddenly a rain-squall swept the sea, blotting out the light-grey hulls of the German ships. It was Stockdale's chance, and he took it.
"Action stations! Launch home all tubes!"
Under the hail-swept waves R19 plunged, submerged to 18 feet, and headed straight for the centre of the enemy division.
With the tips of her periscopes just showing above the surface, R19 stealthily approached her prey. Every water-tight door was closed, even the hatch between the conning-tower and the centre compartment. Within the confined space of the conning-tower stood the Hon. Derek, Fordyce, and Petty Officer Chalmers, whose duty it was to transmit the Lieutenant-Commander's orders by means of voice-tubes, and telegraph to the torpedo-hands, engine-room artificers, and men stationed at the auxiliary ballast-tanks.
The hail and spray beating upon the glass lenses of the periscopes blurred and distorted the images in the object-bowls. There was no time for the globules of moisture to fall clear of the prepared glass before others took their place. Fumes of so-called smokeless powder, too, were drifting sluggishly to leeward, beaten down by the heavy fall of rain. In the circumstances, it made the chances of the slender periscopes being seen very remote, while, on the other hand, although not to the same extent, the submarine's intended victims were obscured by the misty conditions.
Twice R19 dived deeply as groups of torpedo-boats tore athwart her track, ignorant of the presence of the formidable British submarine.
Then, cautiously and deliberately rising towards the surface, R19 again exposed her periscopes.
"Thanks be!" ejaculated the Hon. Derek, as, a couple of points on the starboard bow, loomed up the towering outlines of one of Germany's most recent battleships.
A slight touch of the helm and the submarine turned until her bow-tubes pointed dead on the stem of her prey. At the rate the battleship was moving she would be struck amidships by the time the two torpedoes covered the intervening space.
"Fire!"
Down in the bow compartment the alert L.T.O.'s depressed the firing-levers of the two 21-inch tubes. A faint hiss as the compressed-air propulsive charges expelled the steel cylinders, and the gurgling sound of inrushing water, to compensate the weight of the missiles, alone announced to the cool and determined men that their part of the immediate business was completed. Whether it was to be "hit or miss" they were not to know at present. It depended upon the skill of their daring skipper.
Stockdale took his chance with fate. The moment he made certain, by the air-bubbles in the wake of the locomotive weapons, that the torpedoes were speeding towards their mark he dived. So far so good; but sheer curiosity prompted him to bring the submarine towards the surface until her periscopes were exposed. True, he ran several hundred yards under water before he did so.
In the midst of a terrific cannonade the roar of the double explosion was indistinguishable to the crew of R19. All they could hear was a constant rumble. They were attacking under novel conditions as far as they were concerned. It was not a case of lying in wait for a passing hostile craft. Shells were flying in all directions, torpedo-boats, on the look-out for submarines, were in attendance upon the larger vessels. Whether some of the shells were being fired with the intention of "doing in" the daring British craft none of her crew would know until the submarine received a hit.
As the light grew brighter on the object-bowl of the conning-tower periscope, both officers gave vent to a satisfied grunt. Eight hundred yards away the German battleship was settling by the stern with a terrific list to starboard. Smoke and steam were pouring from her three funnels, her decks were thick with humanity, while already many of the crew were scrambling down the sloping sides of the listing hull. Destroyers were making for the sinking ship to pick up the survivors, while others were maintaining a hot fire upon a totally imaginary periscope a full half mile from those of R19.
Realizing that it was decidedly "unhealthy" to prolong the satisfactory observation, the Hon. Derek gave orders to dive to 90 feet. In the turmoil of agitated water the submarine would be safe from the inquisitive attentions of Zeppelins and other German air-craft.
Before the raised periscopes could dip beneath the waves a dull crash sounded almost immediately above the head of the Lieutenant-Commander and the Duty Sub in the conning-tower. Simultaneously the vision in the object-bowl vanished and the electric lamps were shattered into framents.
"They've bagged us this time," thought Fordyce, but, restraining an inclination to shout a cry of alarm, he compressed his lips firmly and awaited the end. In the pitch-dark blackness, momentarily expecting to be overwhelmed by the inrush of water, he stood rigidly prepared to face the Unknown like a true British seaman.
"Ask them how the manometer stands, Chalmers," ordered the Hon. Derek. There was not the faintest tremor in his clear, modulated words.
"Ninety feet and still descending, sir," reported the petty officer.
"Good enough; keep her at that, Mr. Fordyce, if you can."
It was easier said than done. To control the diving-planes solely by the sense of touch was a difficult task to carry out in the Cimmerian darkness of the conning-tower.
"The sooner we get a light on the scene the better," continued the Lieutenant-Commander. "Get each compartment to report, Chalmers. Ask if any damage has been sustained."
Again the reply was satisfactory. Beyond a slight leak in the 'midship compartment—it was right over Fordyce's bunk he afterwards discovered—the hull of the submarine was as tight as the proverbial bottle.
Stockdale hesitated no longer. The cover-plate in the floor of the conning-tower was thrown open, and once more the confined space was flooded with light as the upcast rays from the centre compartment were thrown through the circular opening.
"Keep her as she is, Mr. Fordyce," he ordered. "We can carry on a bit without barging into anything other than a foundering Hun. Wonder where they strafed us?"
Quickly an electrician fitted new lamps to the holders in the conning-tower. The leads were intact. It was merely the sudden concussion that had shattered the glass bulbs. A steady trickle through the glands of the revolving periscope-shaft at the spot where it passes through the dome of the conning-tower gave definite evidence that R19 was no longer capable of vision. The hostile shell that had all but cracked the massive steel plating had knocked both periscopes out of action.
For twenty minutes the submarine ran at an average depth of 90 feet, until, for fear of getting into shoal water, her Lieutenant-Commander allowed her to rest upon the bottom. Judging by the manner in which she grounded, the submarine was resting on soft mud, and, since there was a fairly strong current setting past, the sediment made an efficient camouflage against the prying eyes of the Huns' aerial scouts.
The water-tight doors were opened and the Hon. Derek made a tour of his ship. Already the news of the destruction of one of the German battleships had spread. Steel bulkheads were not proof against the transmission of the glad tidings.
In the torpedo-room the men were singing. The Lieutenant-Commander paused and listened to the refrain. A smile played over his face as he caught the words, sung to an old music-hall favourite air:
"I don't care what becomes of me,S' long as a Hun's at the bottom of the sea".
The interior of Fordyce's cabin presented a scene of desolation. Overhead, the leak had been plugged by means of a steel disk faced with india-rubber. Until it could be secured by means of bolts and washers—a job only capable of being undertaken when the submarine was running on the surface—the plug was shored up by a couple of stout spars, held by an elaborate contraption of wedges and wire "racking". While the submarine was deep down, and before the temporary repairs had been effected, the water had gushed through with considerable force notwithstanding the smallness of the jet. It had made a clean sweep of the Sub's
lares
and
penates
—those little nicknacks and photographs with which his otherwise Spartan cabin was adorned. Bedding, spare clothing, and nautical instruments were lying in sodden confusion upon the floor; for, although the water had been expelled by means of force-pumps, the damage had been done before any steps could be taken to prevent it.
"Looks like Christmas Eve ashore, and the water-pipes burst, sir," remarked Fordyce, as his skipper offered his condolences. "It might be worse, and I can sleep on the ward-room settee."
"And don't hesitate to use any of my gear," added the practically sympathetic Lieutenant-Commander. "Hallo! What's the latest racket?"
He might well ask, for with a dull thud something landed heavily upon the submarine's deck with a force sufficient to make the vessel roll sluggishly in her muddy berth.
"Something heavy athwart us, sir," remarked Lieutenant Macquare, stating what was an obvious fact to all on board. "But she's standing it all right."
"I wonder what it can be?" asked the Lieutenant-Commander.
"Just as likely as not a sinking torpedo-boat has inconsiderately dropped on top of us," surmised the Lieutenant. "If so, the question is how are we to come to the surface? It will take a lot of our reserve of buoyancy to overcome the suction of the mud, and with that lump of metal pinning us down——! Must look facts fairly in the face, sir."
The Lieutenant-Commander was on the horns of a dilemma. In order to prevent R19 sinking deeper and deeper into the ooze under the abnormal pressure of the unknown mass athwart her deck the submarine ought to be either brought to the surface or, failing that, kept "lively".
Any attempt in either direction would have the result of stirring up the already muddy water, and to such an extent that the presence of the lurking submarine would be made known to the hostile patrol-boats.
"We'll stand fast for a few hours," decided the Hon. Derek. "If the worst comes to the worst we'll have to shed our ballast keel, although, goodness only knows, then we'll be properly in the soup."
Amongst other mechanical devices R19 was provided with a heavy metal keel that in case of emergency could be released from within. Deprived of this anti-buoyant contrivance she would rise rapidly to the surface. It was a step to be taken only as a desperate resort, for before the compensating water-ballast tanks could be filled several precious minutes must necessarily elapse, during which time the submarine would be a target for every quick-firer within range.
"Very good, sir," replied Macquare.
He was quite content to accept his chief's decision without question. Not having been asked his opinion on the matter, he offered none. He was one of those men who knew how to give orders and receive them. Even if he were convinced in his own mind of an error of judgment on the part of his skipper, his strict adherence to the principles of discipline would have kept him silent.
For another six long-drawn hours the blinded submarine lay motionless. Fortunately there were no signs of the hull plating collapsing under the weight of the obstruction. Apart from the slight, almost imperceptible, leak in the roof of Fordyce's cabin —for the artificers had tackled the job promptly and effectually—the hull of R19 was as tight as a bottle.
"We'll risk it now, I think," declared the Hon. Derek as he consulted his wristlet watch. "Start the auxiliary ballast-tanks first and see how she likes it."
The powerful, double-action pumps quickly ejected the water-ballast. In ordinary circumstances the submarine should have risen to the surface. She showed no tendency in that direction. Without any exhibition of liveliness she lay obstinately on the bed of the sea.
"Nothin' doin'!" commented the Hon. Derek. "Give her half speed ahead."
The dynamos purred. The hull trembled under the action of the twin propellers. Whether the submarine was forging ahead was a matter for speculation. Certain it was that she was failing to respond to the deflection of the horizontal diving-rudders.
"Stop! Half speed astern."
Beyond an increased reverberation of the hull nothing resulted. Even when the Lieutenant-Commander took the somewhat desperate step of ordering full speed astern R19 failed to respond.
"Blow main ballast-tanks," was the next order.
The submarine now showed a certain liveliness, although in her present trim she ought to be floating with nearly six feet of freeboard.
"She's trying to lift herself aft, sir," reported Fordyce.
"Is she, by Jove!" exclaimed the Lieutenant-Commander. "Send all available hands for'ard, and see if that makes any difference."
Quickly the men made their way to the first and second compartments, and, taking their time from the Lieutenant, ran from side to side as far as the congested state of the vessel permitted. At the same time the motors were running full speed astern.
For full five minutes the manoeuvre was mantained without tangible result; then, with dramatic suddenness, R19 shot obliquely towards the open air.
The first intimation that the submarine had "broken surface" was the terrific and disconcerting racing of the engines as the twin propellers revolved at high speed in the air.
Promptly the artificers switched off the current, and R19, well down by the bows, floated motionless.
Momentarily expecting a fusillade from one, if not more, German destroyers, the Hon. Derek rushed up the ladder to the conning-tower and strove to open the hatch. The locking-bolts refused to budge. The blow that the submarine had received before her latest dive had jammed the closely-fitting metal plate.
The after hatch gave better results. Followed by Fordyce, the Hon. Derek gained the open air.
With feelings of relief, both officers realized that all immediate danger was past. Not an enemy vessel was in sight. A couple of miles to the south-east'ard lay the stranded and partly-submerged hull of a large Russian battleship.
Her upper-works were rent and shattered by gun-fire. Military masts and funnels had gone by the board. From the sole remaining turret a pair of 12-inch guns projected at a grotesque angle to each other. Dense clouds of smoke were pouring from the battery.
Fordyce glanced at the lowering bank of clouds overhead and listened intently. He could faintly discern the bass hum of an aerial propeller. Somewhere in that great vault of vapour a sea-plane was cleaving the air, invisible from the submarine's deck, but liable at any moment to swoop within view.
The risk of being bombed had to be taken. The first important task was to discover what it was that was pinning down the submarine's bows, and to take steps to rectify matters.
R19's stern was almost clear of the water. As she dipped to the long sullen swell, the tips of her propellers just touched the waves. Amidships, the base of the conning-tower was just awash, but the rise of the navigation-platform prevented further investigation from the spot where the Lieutenant-Commander and the Sub stood.
"Pass the word for all hands on deck," ordered Stockdale. "Fall in aft."
Silently the men trooped from below. Their combined weight had the effect of restoring the vessel to a slightly better trim, and it was now possible for an investigation to be made of the for'ard part of the deck.
Examination showed that a shell had exploded close to the conning-tower, for the massive steel-work bore visible signs of the impact of the flying slivers of metal. One of the principal tubes had vanished, being shorn off close to the top of the conning-tower; the other, buckled by a fragment of shell, trailed drunkenly over the side, rasping and grinding with every roll of the vessel.
Springing upon the raised platform, Fordyce made his way for'ard and past the rise of the conning-tower until further progress was stopped by a huge cylindro-conical mass of metal lying athwart the deck. It was an unexploded 15-inch shell, weighing more than a ton. Missing its objective, the ponderous missile had sunk until it had alighted fairly upon R19's deck.
Before the Sub could return and make his report, the roar of the aerial motors grew deafening, and out of the clouds swept a large, double-fuselaged biplane, bearing the distinctive Black Cross of Germany.
There were no signs of confusion on the deck of R19. Only the two after quick-firers were available, and these were promptly manned. Those of the crew who, in normal circumstances, were stationed below, threw themselves flat on the deck.
The submarine could not dive without great risk of again courting the peril from which she had so recently emerged. It was even a hazardous business to keep under way, as the forward motion, combined by the fact that she was down by the head, made it a difficult matter to forge either ahead or astern. To all intents and purposes she was a motionless target for the huge battle-seaplane that manoeuvred overhead, seeking an opportunity to strafe her opponent by means of her powerful bombs.
"Hoist the ensign! Let her have it, lads!"
Both quick-firers were speedily in action. So rapidly were they fired that there was a constant clatter as the ejected metal cases were thrown from the breech.
With his head thrown back, and a pair of binoculars to his eyes, Fordyce watched the effect of the bursting shells. Viewed from below, the sea-plane seemed in the very midst of a hollow globe of mushroom-like clouds of smoke from bursting projectiles. Ahead, astern, above and below, the shells burst. It seemed as if the hostile air-craft could not escape the inferno of flying fragments; yet, seemingly possessing a charmed existence, she swooped onwards to take up a favourable position for releasing her bombs.
A heavy object, hurtling with ever-increasing velocity through the air, struck the surface of the water at less than half a cable's length on R19's port side. With a terrible din the bomb burst, churning up cascades of spray and hurling minute particles of metal in all directions. A second later another "egg" fell, fortunately without exploding, although several of the submarine's crew were well doused by the volume of foam that was flung all around.
Back swept the biplane, manoeuvring for the position she had lost by her momentum.