For s.s.CorncrixParty per pale, a pale; first, gules, a fesse dancette, sable; second, vert, bendy, lozengy, purpure cottised with nodules of the first; third, sable, three billets bendwise in fesse, or: sur tout de tout, a barber's pole cockbilled on a sinking gasometer, all proper.For motto: "Doing them in the eye."
For s.s.Corncrix
Party per pale, a pale; first, gules, a fesse dancette, sable; second, vert, bendy, lozengy, purpure cottised with nodules of the first; third, sable, three billets bendwise in fesse, or: sur tout de tout, a barber's pole cockbilled on a sinking gasometer, all proper.For motto: "Doing them in the eye."
One wonders if our old conservatism, our clinging to the past, shall persist long after the time of strife has gone; if, in the years when war is a memory and the time comes to deck our ships in pre-war symmetry and grace of black hulls and white-painted deck-work and red funnels and all the gallant show of it, some old masters among us may object to the change.
"Well, have it as you like," they may say. "I was brought up in the good old-fashioned cubist system o' ship painting—fine patterns o' reds an' greens an' Ricketts' blue, an' brandy-ball stripes an' that! None o' your damned newfangled ideas of one-colour sections for me!. . .Huh!. . . And black hulls, too!. . . Black! A funeral outfit!. . . No, sir! I may be wrong, but anyway, I'm too old now to chop and change about!"
If we have become reconciled to the weird patterns of our war-paint, every instinct of seafaring that is in us rebels against the new naming of our ships.Is it but another form of camouflage—like the loving Indian mother abusing her dear children for deception of a malicious listening Djinn?War Cowslip,War Dance,War Dreamer!War Hell! Are our new standard ships being thus badly named, that the enemy may look upon them as pariahs, unworthy of shell or torpedo? Perhaps, as a thoughtful war measure, it may be chargeful of pregnant meaning; our new war names for the ships may be germane to some distant world movement, the first tender shoot of which we cannot yet recognize! More than likely, it is the result of the fine war-time frolic of fitting the cubest of square pegs in the roundest of holes. How is it done? Is there, in the hutments of St. James's Park, an otherwise estimable and blameless greengrocer, officially charged with the task of finding names for vessels, 015537-68 inclusive, presently on the Controller's lists and due to be launched?
We sailors are jealous for our vessels. Abuse us if you will, but have a care for what you may say of our ships. We alone are entitled to call them bitches, wet brutes, stubborn craft, but we will stand for no such liberties from the beach; strikes have occurred on very much less sufficient ground. Ridicule in the naming of our ships is intolerable. IfWaris to be the prefix, why cannot our greengrocer find suitable words in the chronicles of strife? Can there be anything less martial than theWar Rambler,War Linnet,War Titmouse,War Gossamer?Why not theWar Teashop, theWar Picture House, the—the—theWar Lollipop?Are we rationed in ships' names? Is there a Controller of Marine Nomenclature? The thing is absurd!
If our controllers had sense they would see the danger in thus flouting our sentiment; they would value the recruiting agency of a good name; they would recognize that the naming of a ship should be done with as great care as that of an heir to an earldom. Is the torpedoed bos'n of theEumaeusgoing to boast of a new post on theWar Bandbox?What are the feelings of the captain of aRuritaniawhen he goes to the yards to take over aWar Whistler?WhyWar?If sober, businesslike argument be needed, it is confusing; it introduces a repetition of initial syllable that makes for dangerous tangles in the scheme of direction and control.
It is all quite unnecessary. There are names and enough. Fine names! Seamanlike names! Good names! Names that any sailor would be proud to have on his worsted jersey! Names that he would shout out in the market-place! Names that the enemy would read as monuments to his infamy! Names of ships that we knew and loved and stood by to the bitter end.
UNLIKE the marches of the land, with guard and counterguard, we had no frontiers on the sea. There were no bounds to the nations and their continents outside of seven or ten fathoms of blue water. We all travelled on the one highway that had few by-paths on which trespassers might be prosecuted. And our highway was no primrose path, swept and garnished and safeguarded; it had perils enough in gale and tempest, fog, ice, blinding snow, dark moonless nights, rock and shoal and sandbar. Remote from ordered assistance in our necessity, we relied on favour of a chance passer-by, on a fallible sea-wanderer like ourselves. So, for our needs, we formed a sea-bond, an International Alliance against our common hazards of wind and sea and fire, an assurance of succour and support in emergency and distress. Out of our hunger for sea-companionship grew a union that had few rules or written compacts, and no bounds to action other than the simply humane traditions and customs of the sea. There were no statutory penalties for infringement of the rules unwritten; we could not, as true seamen, conceive so black a case. We had no Articles of our Association, no charters, no covenants; our only documents were the International Code of Signals and the Rule of the Road at Sea. With these we were content; we understood faith and a blood-bond as brother seamen, and we put out on our adventures, stoutly warranted against what might come.
In the Code of Signals we had a language of our own, more immediate and attractive than Volapük or Esperanto. The dire fate of the builders of the Tower held no terror for us, for our intercourse was that of sight and recognition, not of speech. Our code was one of bright colours and bold striking design—flags and pendants fluttering pleasantly in the wind or, in calmer weather, drooping at the halyards with a lift for closer recognition. The symbol of our masonry was a bold red pendant with two vertical bars of white upon it. We had fine hoists for hail and farewell; tragic turn of the colours for a serious emergency, hurried two-flag sets for urgent calls, leisurely symbols of three for finished periods.
'Can you' required three flags to itself;meorIoritcame all within our range. We told our names and those of our ports by a long charge of four; we could cross ourt'sand dot ouri'sby beckon of a single square. We lowered slowly and rehoisted ('knuckles to the staff, you young fool!') our National Ensign, as we would raise our hat ashore. It was all an easy, courteous and graceful mode of converse, linguistically and grammatically correct, for we had no concern with accent or composition, taking our polished phrases from the book. It suited well the great family of the sea, for, were we a Turk of Galatz and you an Iceland brigantine, we could pass the time of day or tell one another, simply and intelligibly, the details of our ports and ladings. Distance, within broad limits, was small hindrance to our gossip; there were few eyes on the round of the sea, to read into our confidences. We could put a hail ashore, too. Passing within sight of San Miguel, we could have a message on the home doorsteps on the morrow, by hoisting our 'numbers'; the naked lightkeeper on the Dædalus could tell us of the northern winds by a string of colours thrown out from the upper gallery.
Good news, bad news, reports, ice, weather, our food-supply, the wages of our seamen, the whereabouts of pirates and cannibals, the bank rate, high politics (we had S.L.R. for Nuncio)—we had them all grouped and classed and ready for instant reference. Medicine, stocks, the law (G.F.H., King's Bench; these sharps who never will take a plain seaman's clear word on salvage or the weather, or the way the fog-whistle was duly and properly sounded!) Figures! We could measure and weigh and divide and subtract; we could turn your GreekDaktylasinto a JapaneseChoorTcho, or TurkishParmaksinto theDraasof Tripoli! Some few world measures had to be appendixed; aDoppelzentnerwas Z.N.L. What is aDoppelzentner?
AN APPRENTICE IN THE MERCHANTS' SERVICEAN APPRENTICE IN THE MERCHANTS' SERVICE
As evidence of our brotherly regard, our peaceful intent, we had few warlike phrases. True, we had hoists to warn of pirates, and we could beg a loan, by signal, of powder and cannon-balls—to supplement our four rusty Snyders, with which we could defend our property, but there was no group in our international vocabulary that could read, "I am torpedoing you without warning!" Seamanlike and simple, we saw only one form of warfare at sea, and based our signals on that. "Keep courage! I am coming to your assistance at utmost speed!" . . . "I shall stand by during the night!" . . . "Water is gaining on me! I am sinking!" . . . "Boat is approaching your quarter!" These, and others alike, were our war signals, framed to meet our ideas of the greatest peril we might encounter in our conflict with the elements.
Of all this we write in a sad past tense. Our sea-bond is shattered. Thereis no longer a brotherhood on the sea. The latest of our recruits has betrayed us. The old book is useless, for it contains no reading of the German's avowal, "Come on the deck of my submarine. I am about to submerge!" . . . "Stand by, you helpless swine in the boats, while I shell you and scatter your silly blood and brains!"
No longer will the receipt of a call of distress be the instant signal (whatever the weather or your own plight) for putting the helm over. We have shut the book! We are grown hardened and distrustful. S.O.S. may be the fiend who has just torpedoed a crowded Red Cross, and endeavours by his lying wireless to lure a Samaritan to the net. A heaving boat, or a lone raft with a staff and a scrap, may only be closed with fearful caution; they may be magnets for a minefield.
". . . still he called aloud, for he was in the track of steamers. And presently he saw a steamer. She carried no lights, but he described her form, a darker shape upon the sea and sky, and saw the sparks volley from her funnel."He shrieked till his voice broke, but the steamer went on and vanished. The Irishman was furiously enraged, but it was of no use to be angry. He went on calling. So did the other four castaways, but their cries were growing fainter and less frequent."Then there loomed another steamer, and she, too, went on. By this time, perhaps, an hour had gone by, and the Arab firemen had fallen silent. The Irishman could see them no longer. He never saw them again. A third steamer hove in sight, and she, too, went on. The Irishman cursed her with the passionate intensity peculiar to the seaman, and went on calling. It was a desperate business. . . ."
". . . still he called aloud, for he was in the track of steamers. And presently he saw a steamer. She carried no lights, but he described her form, a darker shape upon the sea and sky, and saw the sparks volley from her funnel.
"He shrieked till his voice broke, but the steamer went on and vanished. The Irishman was furiously enraged, but it was of no use to be angry. He went on calling. So did the other four castaways, but their cries were growing fainter and less frequent.
"Then there loomed another steamer, and she, too, went on. By this time, perhaps, an hour had gone by, and the Arab firemen had fallen silent. The Irishman could see them no longer. He never saw them again. A third steamer hove in sight, and she, too, went on. The Irishman cursed her with the passionate intensity peculiar to the seaman, and went on calling. It was a desperate business. . . ."
The shame of it!
Lusitania,Coquet,Serapis,Thracia,Mariston,The Belgian Prince,Umaria. . .
". . . The commanding officer of the submarine, leaning on the rail of the conning-tower, looked down upon his victims."Crouched upon the thwarts in the sunlight, up to their knees in water, which, stained crimson, was flowing through the shell-holes in the planking, soaked with blood, holding their wounds, staring with hunted eyes, was the heap of stricken men."The German ordered the boat away. The shore was fifteen miles distant. . . ."
". . . The commanding officer of the submarine, leaning on the rail of the conning-tower, looked down upon his victims.
"Crouched upon the thwarts in the sunlight, up to their knees in water, which, stained crimson, was flowing through the shell-holes in the planking, soaked with blood, holding their wounds, staring with hunted eyes, was the heap of stricken men.
"The German ordered the boat away. The shore was fifteen miles distant. . . ."
He ordered the boat away! The shame of it! The abasing, dishonouring shame of it!
Bitterly, tarnished—we realize our portion in the guilt, our share in this black infamy—that seamen should do this thing!
What of the future? What will be the position of the German on the sea when peace returns, let the settlement by catholic conclave be what it may?
Sailorfolk have long memories! Living a life apart from their land-fellows, they have but scant regard for the round of events that, on the shore, would be canvassed and discussed, consented—and forgotten. There is no busy competing commercial intrigue, no fickle market, no grudging dalliance on the sea. We stand fast to our own old sea-justice; we have no shades of mercy or condonation, no degrees of tolerance for this bastard betrayer of our unwritten sea-laws. No brotherhood of the sea can be conceived to which he may be re-admitted. Not even the dethronement of the Hohenzollern can purge the deeds of his marine Satraps, for their crimes are individual and personal and professional.
In the League of Nations a purged and democratic Germany may have a station, but there is no redemption for a Judas on the sea. There, by every nation, every seafarer, he will remain a shunned and abhorred Ishmael for all time.
A STANDARD SHIP AT SEAA STANDARD SHIP AT SEA
EARLY in 1917 the losses of the merchants' ships and men had assumed a proportion that called for a radical revision of the systems of naval protection. Concentrating their energies on but one specific form of sea offence, the enemy had developed their submarine arm to a high point of efficiency. Speed and power and lengthy sea-keeping qualities were attained. To all intents and purposes the U-boats had become surface destroyers with the added conveniency of being able to disappear at sight. They conducted their operations at long distance from the land and from their bases. The immense areas of the high seas offered a peculiar facility for 'cut-and-run' tactics: the system of independent sailings of the merchantmen provided them with a succession of victims, timed in a progression that allowed of solitary disposal. Notwithstanding the matured experience of submarine methods gained by masters, the rapid evolution of counter-measures by the Royal Navy, the courage and determination of all classes of seafarers, our shipping and that of our Allies and the neutral nations was being destroyed at a rate that foreshadowed disaster.
Schemes of rapid ship construction were advanced, lavish expenditure incurred, plans and occupation designed—all to ensure a replacement of tonnage at a future date. More material in point of prompt effect were theefforts of the newly formed Ministry of Shipping to conserve existing tonnage by judicious and closely controlled employment. All but sternly necessary sea-traffic was eliminated: harbour work in loading and unloading was expedited: the virtues of a single control enhanced the active agency of the merchants' ships—now devoted wholly to State service. Joined to the provisional and economic measures of the bureaux, Admiralty reorganized their methods of patrol and sea-supervision of the ships. The entry of the United States into the world war provided a considerable increase of naval strength to the Allied fleets. Convoy measures, that before had been deemed impracticable, were now possible. Destroyers and sloops could be released from fleet duties and were available as escorts. American flotillas crossed the Atlantic to protect the sea-routes: Japanese war craft assisted us in the Mediterranean.
In the adoption of the convoy system the Royal Navy was embarking on no new venture. Modern ships and weapons may have brought a novel complication to this old form of sea-guardianship, but there is little in seafaring for which the traditions of the Naval Service cannot offer text and precedent. The constant of protection by convoy has remained unaltered by the advance of armament and the evolution of strangewar craft: the high spirit of self-sacrifice is unchanged. When, in October 1917, the destroyersStrongbowandMary Roseaccepted action and faced three German cruisers, their commanders—undismayed by the tremendous odds—reacted the parts of the common sea-dramas of the Napoleonic wars. The same obstinate courage and unconquerable sea-pride forbade them to desert their convoy of merchantmen and seek the safety that their speed could offer. H.M.S.Calgarian, torpedoed and sinking, had yet thought for the convoy she escorted. Her last official signal directed the ships to turn away from the danger.
BUILDING A STANDARD SHIPBUILDING A STANDARD SHIP
The convoy system did not spring fully served and equipped from the earlier and less exacting control. Tentative measures had to be devised and approved, a large staff to be recruited and trained. The clerical work of administration was not confined to the home ports; similar adjustment and preparation had to be conducted in friendly ports abroad. As naval services were adapted to the new control, the system was extended. The comparatively simple procedure of sending destroyer escorts to meet homeward-bound convoys became involved with the timing and dispatch of a mercantile fleet sailing from a home port. The escorts were ordered out on a time-table that admitted of little derangement. Sailing from a British port with a convoy of outward-bound vessels, the destroyers accompanied that fleet to a point in the Atlantic. There the convoy was dispersed, and the destroyers swung off to rendezvous with a similar convoy of inward-bound vessels. While the outgoing merchantmen were allowed to proceedindependently after passing through the most dangerous area, the homeward-bound vessels were grouped to sail in company from their port abroad. An ocean escort was provided—usually a cruiser of the older class—and there was opportunity in the longer voyage for the senior officer to drill the convoy to some unity and precision in manœuvre.
The commander of the ocean escort had no easy task in keeping his charges together. The age-old difficulty of grouping the ships in the order of their sailing (now steaming) powers has not diminished since Lord Cochrane, in command of H.M.S.Speedy, complained of the 'fourteen sail of merchantmen' he convoyed from Cagliari to Leghorn. In the first enthusiasm of a new routine, masters were over-sanguine in estimation of the speed of their ships. The average of former passages offered a misleading guide. While it was possible to average ten and a half knots on a voyage from Cardiff to the Plate, proceeding at a speed that varied with the weather (and the coal), station could not easily be kept in a ten-knot convoy when—at the cleaning of the fires—the steam went 'back.' Swinging to the other extreme (after experience of the guide-ship's angry signals), we erred in reserving a margin that retarded the full efficiency of a convoy. Our commodores had no small difficulty in conforming to the date of their convoy's arrival at a rendezvous. The 'cruising speed' of ten knots, that we had so blithely taken up when sailing from an oversea port, frequently toned down to an average of eight—with all the consequent derangement of the destroyers' programme at the home end; a declared nine-knot convoy would romp home at ten, to find no escort at the rendezvous.
In time, we adjusted our estimate to meet the new demands. Efforts of the Ministry of Shipping to evolve an order in our voyaging that would reduce irregularities had good results. The skilfully thought-out appointment of the ships to suitable routes and trades had effect in producing a homogeneity that furthered the employment of our resources to the full. The whole conduct of our seafaring speedily came within the range of governmental control, as affecting the timely dispatch and arrival of the convoys. The quality of our fuel, the state of the hull, competence of seamen, formed subject for close investigation. The rate of loading or discharge, the urgency of repairs and refitment, were no longer judged on the note of our single needs; like the states of the weather and the tide, they were weighed and assessed in the formula that governed our new fleet movements.
The system of convoy protection had instant effect in curbing the activities of the U-boats. They could no longer work at sea on the lines that had proved so safe for them and disastrous for us. To get at the ships they had now to come within range of the destroyers' armament. Hydrophones and depth-chargesreduced their vantage of submersion. The risks of sudden rupture of their plating by the swiftly moving keel of an escorting vessel did not tend to facilitate the working of their torpedo problem. In the coastal areas aircraft patrolled overhead the convoys, to add their hawk-sight to the ready swerve of the destroyers. The chances of successful attack diminished as the hazard of discovery and destruction increased. Still, they were no fainthearts. The German submarine commanders, brutal and hell-nurtured, are no cowards. The temptation of a massed target attracted them, and they sought, in the confusion of the startled ships, a means of escape from the destroyers when their shot into the 'brown' had run true.
Convoy has added many new duties to the sum of our activities when at sea. Signals have assumed an importance in the navigation. The flutter of a single flag may set us off on a new course at any minute of the day. Failure to read a hoist correctly may result in instant collision with a sister ship. We have need of all eyes on the bridge to keep apace with the orders of the commodore. In station-keeping we are brought to the practice of a branch of seamanship with which not many of us were familiar. Steaming independently, we had only one order for the engineer when we had dropped the pilot. 'Full speed ahead,' we said, and rang a triple jangle of the telegraph to let the engineer on watch know that there would be no more 'backing and filling'—and that he could now nip into the stokehold to see to the state of the fires. Gone—our easy ways! We have now to keep close watch on the guide-ship and fret the engineer to adjustments of the speed that keep him permanently at the levers. The fires may clag and grey down through unskilful stoking—the steam go 'back' without warning: ever and on, he has to jump to the gaping mouth of the voice-tube: "Whit? Two revolutions? Ach! Ah cannae gi' her ony mair!"—but he does. Slowly perhaps, but surely, as he coaxes steam from the errant stokers, we draw ahead and regain our place in the line. No small measure of the success of convoy is built up in the engine-rooms of our mercantile fleets.
Steaming in formation at night without lights adds to our 'grey heires.' The menace of collision is ever present. Frequently, in the darkness, we have no guide-ship in plain sight to regulate our progress. The adjustments of speed, that in the daytime kept us moderately well in station, cannot be made. It is best to turn steadily to the average revolutions of a former period, and keep a good look-out for the broken water of a sister ship. On occasion there is the exciting medley of encountering a convoy bound the opposite way. In the confusion of wide dispersal and independent alterations of course to avert collision, there is latitude for the most extraordinary situations. An incident in the Mediterranean deserves imperishable record: "We left Malta, going east,and that night it was inky dark and we ran clean through a west-bound convoy. How there wasn't an accident, God only knows. We had to go full astern to clear one ship. She afterwards sidled up alongside of us and steamed east for an hour and a half. Then she hailed us through a megaphone: 'Steamer ahoy! Hallo! Where are you bound to?' 'Salonika,' we said. 'God Almighty,' he says. 'I'm bound to Gibraltar. Where the hell'smyconvoy?'"
THE THAMES ESTUARY IN WAR-TIMETHE THAMES ESTUARY IN WAR-TIME
CUSTOMS clerks--may their name be blessed--are worth much more than their mere weight in gold. We do not mean the civil servants at the Custom House, who listen somewhat boredly to our solemn Oath and Compearance. Doubtless they, too, are of value, but our concern is with the owner's shipping clerk who attends our hesitating footsteps in the walk of ships' business when we come on shore. He greets us on arrival from overseas, bearing our precious letters and the news of the firm: he has the devious paths of our entry-day's course mapped out, down to the train we may catch for home. As an oracle of the port, there is nothing he does not know: the trains, the week's bill at the 'Olympeambra,' the quickest and cheapest way to send packages to Backanford, suitable lodging in an outport, the standing of the ship laundries, the merits of the hotels--he has information about them all. During our stay in port he attends to our legal business. He speeds us off to the sea again, with all our many folios in order.
In peace, we had a settled round that embraced the Custom House for entry, the Board of Trade for crew affairs, the Notary for 'Protest.' (". . . and experienced the usual heavy weather!") War has added to our visiting-list. We must make acquaintance with the many naval authorities who control our movements; the Consuls of the countries we propose to visit must see us in person; it would be discourteous to set sail without a p.p.c. on the Dam-ship and Otter officers. Ever and on, a new bureau is licensed to put a finger in our pie: we spend the hours of sailing-day in a round of call and counter-call. The Consul wishes toviséour Articles—the Articles may not be handed over till we produce a slip from the Consul, the Consul will grant no slip till we have seen the S.I.O. "Have we identity papers for every member of the crew, with photograph duly authenticated?"—"We are instructed not to grant passports!" Back and forward we trudge while the customs clerk at our side tells cheerfully of the very much more trying time that fell to Captain Blank.
By wile and industry and pertinacity he unwinds the tangle of our longshore connections. He reconciles the enmity of the bureaux, pleads for us, apologizes for us, fights for us, engages for us. All we have to do is to sign, and look as though the commercial world stood still, awaiting the grant of that particular certificate. Undoubtedly the customs clerk is worth his weight in red, red gold!
On a bright summer afternoon we emerge from the Custom House. We have completed the round. In the case which the clerk carries we have authority to proceed on our lawful occasions. Customs have granted clearance; our manifests are stamped and ordered; the Articles of Agreement and the ship's Register are in our hands. The health of our port of departure is guaranteed by an imposing document. Undocking permit, vouchers for pilotage and light dues, discharge books, sea-brief, passports, and store-sheets, are all there for lawful scrutiny. In personal safe-keeping, we have our sea-route ordered and planned. The hard work is done. There is no morebusiness—nothing to do but to go on board and await the rise of tide that shall float us through the river channels to sea.
Cargo is stowed and completed; the stevedores are unrigging their gear when we reach the ship. Our coming is noted, and the hatch foremen (in anticipation of a 'blessing') rouse the dockside echoes with carefully phrased orders to their gangs: "T' hell wit' yes, now! Didn't Oi tell ye, Danny Kilgallen, thatth' Cyaptinwants thim tarpolyan sames turned fore an' aff!" (A shilling or two for him!)—"Beggin' yer pardon, sir—I don't see th' mate about—will we put them fenders belowfor yebefore we close th' hatch?" (Anotherpourboire!)—Number three has finished his hatchway, but his smilingregard calls for suitable acknowledgment. (After all, we shall have no use for British small coinage out West!) The head foreman, dear old John, is less ambitious. All he wants is our understanding that he has stowed her tight—and a shake of the hand for good luck. Firmly we believe in the good luck that lies in the hand of an old friend. "'Bye, John!"
In groups, as their work is finished, the dockers go on shore, and leave to the crew the nowise easy task of clearing up the raffle, lashing down, and getting the lumbered decks in something approaching sea-trim. Fortunately, there is time for preparation. Usually, we are dragged to the dock gates with the hatches uncovered, the derricks aloft, and the stowers still busy blocking off the last slings of the cargo. This time there will be no hurried (and improper) finish—the stevedores hurling their gear ashore at the last minute, slipping down the fender lanyards, scurrying to a 'pier-head jump,' with the ship moving through the lock! Some happy chance has brought completion within an hour or two of tide-time. The mate has opportunity to clear ship effectively, and we have leisure to plot and plan our sea-route (in anticipation of hasty chart glances when we get outside) before the pier-master hails us—"Coom along wi' t'Massilia!"
DROPPING THE PILOTDROPPING THE PILOT
Tugs drag us through the inner gates, pinch and angle our heavy hull in the basin, and enter us into the locks. The massive gates are swung across, the sluices at the river-end eased to an outflow and, slowly, the great lock drains to the river level. The wires of our quay-fasts tauten and ring out to the tension of the outdraft, as we surge in the pent water-space and drop with the falling level. Our high bridge view over the docks and the river is pared in inches by our gradual descent; the deck falls away under cope of the rough masonry; our outlook is turned upwards to where the dockmaster signals his orders. The ship seems suddenly to assume the proportions of a canal-boat in her contrast with the sea-scarred granite walls and the bulk of the towering gates.
At level with the flood, the piermen heave the outer lock-gates open for our passage. We back out into the river, bring up, then come ahead, canting to a rudder pressure that sheers us into the fairway. The river is thronged by vessels at anchor or under way, docking and undocking on the top of the tide, and their manœuvres make work for our pilot. At easy speed we work a traverse through the press at the dock entrances and head out to seaward.
Evening is drawing on as we enter the sea-channels—a quiet close to a fine summer day. Out on the estuary it is hard to think of war at sea. Shrimpers are drifting up on the tide, the vivid glow of their tanned canvas standing over a mirrored reflection in the flood. The deep of the fairway is scored by passage of coasting steamers, an unending procession that joins lightship to lightshipin a chain of transport. The sea-reaches look in no way different from the peaceful channels we have known so long, the buoys and the beacons we pass in our courses seem absurdly tranquil, as though lacking any knowledge that they are signposts to a newly treacherous sea. Only from the land may one draw a note of warning—on shore there are visible signs of warfare. The searchlights of the forts, wheeling over the surface of the channels, turn on us and steady for a time in inspection. Farther inland, ghostly shafts and lances are sweeping overhead, in ceaseless scrutiny of the quiet sky.
At a bend in the fairway we close and speak the channel patrol steamer and draw no disquieting impression from her answer to our hail. The port is still open and we may proceed on our passage to join convoy at ——. An escort will meet us in 1235 and conduct us to 5678. 'Carry on!'
It is quite dark when we round the outer buoy and reduce speed to drop our pilot. The night is windless and a calm sea gives promise of a good passage. We bring up close to the cutter, and, shortly, with a stout 'Good-bye,' the pilot swings overside and clambers down the long side-ladder to his boat. We shut off all lights and steer into the protecting gloom of the night.
EXAMINATION SERVICE PATROL BOARDING AN INCOMING STEAMEREXAMINATION SERVICE PATROL BOARDING AN INCOMING STEAMER
ALMOST hourly they round the Point, turning in from seaward with a fine swing and thrash of propellors to steer a careful course through the boom defences. Screaming gulls wheel and poise and dive around them, exulting to welcome the new-comers in, and the musical clank and rattle of anchor cables, as the ships bring up in the Roads, mark emphatic periods to this--the short coasting section of the voyage.
"Safe here!" sing the chains, as they link out over the open hawse. "Thus far, anyway, in spite of fog and coast danger, of mine and submarine," and the brown hill-side joins echo to the clamour of the wheeling gulls, letting all know the ships have come in to join the convoy.
The bay, that but a day ago lay broad and silent and empty, now seems to narrow its proportions as each high-sided merchantman comes in; the hills draw nearer with every broad hull that anchors, wind-rode, in the blue of the bay. As if in key with the illusion, the broad expanse of shallow, inshore water,that before gave distance to the hills, now sheds its power, cut and furrowed as it becomes by thrash and wake of tugs and launches all making out to serve the larger vessels.
On the high mound of the harbour-master's look-out, keen eyes note all movements in the bay. The signal-mast and yard bear a gay setting of flags and symbols, and rapid changes and successions show the yeoman of signals and his mates at work, recording and replying, taking mark and tally of the ships as they arrive. Up and down goes the red-and-white-barred answering pendant to say that it is duly noted—"War Trident,Marmion, andPearl Shellreport arrival"—or the semaphore arms, swinging smartly, tell H.M.S.03xyzthat permission to enter harbour (she having safely escorted the trio to port) is approved.
Out near the entrance to the bay, where the 'gateships' of the boom defences show clear water, the patrol steamer of the Examination Service lays-to, challenging each incoming vessel to state her name and particulars. These, in turn, are signalled to the shore and the yeoman writes: "Begins war trident for norfolk va. speed nine knots is ready for sea stop marmion for Bahia reports steering engine broken down will require ten hours complete repairs stop pearl shell nine and half short-handed one fireman two trimmers report agents stop ends."
If room is scanty, the convoy office has at least an atmosphere in keeping with its mission. Nestling close under the steep brow of the harbour-master's look-out, it was, in happier days, the life-boat coxswain's dwelling, and a constant reminder of sea-menace and emergency almost blocks the door—the long boat-house and launch-ways of the life-boat. Four square and solid, the little house only has windows overlooking the bay, as if attending strictly to affairs at sea and having no eyes for landward doings; the peering eaves face straight out towards the 'gateships' as though even the stone and lime were intent on the sailing of the convoys, whose order and formation are arranged within their walls. The upper room has a desk or two, a telephone, a chart table, and a typewriter, and here the port convoy officer and his assistants trim and index and arrange the ships in order of their sailing. At the window a seaman-writer is typing out 'pictures' for the next sailing—signal tables, formation and dispersal diagrams, call signs, zigzags, constantly impressing that Greenwich Mean Time is the thing (no Summer Time at sea), and that courses are True,notMagnetic. The clack and release of his machine seem quite a part of conversation between the convoy officer and his lieutenant; the whole is so apparently disjointed in references to this ship and that, to repairs and tides, and shortage of 'hands' and water-supply and turns in the hawse, and even Spanishinfluenza! To one accustomed to single-ship work the whole is mildly bewildering, and one readily understands that sailing a merchant convoy calls for more than the simple word of command.
"War Trident, nine knots," reads the junior, from a signal slip. "Marmion, a doubtful starter—steering-gear disabled.Pearl Shell, three stokehold hands short."
"Tridentonly nine! That be damned for a yarn!" says his senior, reaching for the slip. "Nine will reduce the speed of the whole convoy a knot. She must be good for more—new ship, isn't she?"
"Yes. One of these new standards—built for eleven knots and chocked up afterwards with fancy gear and 'gadjets' to rob the boilers."
"Lemme see—nine knots"—turning to the pages of a tide-book, the convoy officer makes a rough sum of it. "High water at Oysterpool—so—arrived here—distance—and seventy-one. Why, he's come on from Oysterpool at ten, no less, and that's not allowing for the zigzag either!"
The lieutenant looks round for his cap. Clearly there is a definite 'drill' for captains who come on from Oysterpool at ten and declare their speed as nine, and he is ready when the P.C.O. passes orders. "All right. You go off and see the captain. Try to get him to spring at least half a knot. I expect he's allowing a bit for 'coming up,' and going easy till he knows his new ship. . . . I'll 'phonePearl Shell'sagents and warn 'em to hustle round for firemen.Marmion?Yes. BoardMarmionon your way back. Wants ten hours—she should be able to keep her sailing." A year agone there would have been but moderate and passive interest in the varying troubles of the ships and their crews, but much water has flowed over the Red Ensign since then, and we are learning.
The convoy lieutenant goes down a winding path to the boat-slip and boards his launch to set off for the Roads. The morning, that broke fair and unclouded, has turned grey; a damp sea-mist is wandering over the bay in thin wraiths and feathers, but sunlight on the brown of the distant hills promises a clearing as the day draws on. Fishing-smacks, delayed by want of wind, are creeping in to the market steps under sweep of their long oars, and their lazy canvas rustles, and the booms and sheet-blocks creak as the wash of the picket-launch sets them swaying. In from the sea channels, with their sweeps still wet and glistening, come theAgnes Whitwell,Fortuna, theDieudonné, andBrother Fred, each with a White Ensign aloft and a naked grey gun on their high bows. They are late in their return, and one can guess at deadly iron spheres stirred from the depths of the fairways, thrown buoyant in the wash astern, and destroyed by crack of gunfire. The commodore of the sisterly pairs, a young lieutenant of Reserve, waves a cheery greeting as we pass.
DAWN: CONVOY PREPARING TO PUT TO SEADAWN: CONVOY PREPARING TO PUT TO SEA
And now the Roads, windless and misty, the anchored merchantmen swung at different angles, in their gay fantasy of dazzle-paint, borrowing further motley from the mist, and leering grotesquely through the thin vapours. But for her lines, undeniably fine and graceful,War Tridentis the standardest of standards. Dazzle-painters have slapped their spite at her in lurid swathes and, not content, have draped her sheer in harlequin crenellations. Her low pipe-funnel upstands in rigid perpendicular. ("Chief! Pit yer haun' up an' feel if th' kettle's bilin'!") No masts break the long length of her, saving only a midship signal-pole that serves her wireless aerials and affords a hod-like perch for the look-out aloft. She is stark new, smooth of plating, and showing even the hammer-strokes on her rivets. Through the thin paint on her sides, marks and symbols of construction appear, the letters of her strakes painted in firm white, with here and there an unofficial shipyard embellishment—"Good old Jeemy Quin," or "Tae hell wi' the Kiser!" She is ready for sea, and life-boats and davits, swung outboard, tower overhead as the picket-launch draws up at her gaunt side. She is in ballast trim, and it is evident that her standard carpenters hold strictly to a rule that ignores a varying freeboard—the side ladder is short by eight feet, and only by middling the rungs (a leap at the bottom, a long swaying climb, and a drag at the top) are we able to clamber on board.
A special 'drill' for conducting affairs with masters of brand-new ships should be devised immediately by Admiralty, and the mildest of Low-Church curates (trimmed by previous dire tortures to the utter limit of exasperation) be provided, on whom officials may be well practised. Usually the master has been hurried out of port by the last rivet driven home, with strange officers and the very weakest of new crews, in a ship jam-full of the newest 'gadjets,' and the least possible reserve of gear to work them. Quickly and bitterly the fourth sentence of Confession at Morning Prayer is recalled to him—the things undone crowd round, and there is nothing in the bare hull to serve as a makeshift. The engines andauxiliaries(that, with a builder's man at every bearing, worked well on trials) now develop tricks and turns to keep the chief engineer and his fledgling juniors on the run; the mate cries "Kamerad" to all suggestions, pointing to his hopeless watch of one. (Eight deck: four in a watch, less one helmsman and two look-outs, equals one.) Add to the sum of difficulties that the captain has probably been ashore since he lost his last ship, and finds the new tactics and signals and zigzags unfamiliar; through it all the want of familiar little trifles and fixings (that go so far to help a ready action), sustains a feeling of irritation.
It is little wonder that the convoy lieutenant goes warily, and, indeed, but for the brilliant inspiration of using the 'last ship,' it seems probable that theconvoy will have to proceed atTrident'smodest nine knots. Bluntly, the captain is in undisguised ill-humour. He has been on deck practically since leaving the builder's yard, and his weary eyes suggest a need for prompt sleep. His room, still reeking of new paint and varnish, is in some disorder, and shows traces of an anxious passage along the coast. 'Notices to Mariners' lie open at the minefield sketches, with a half-smoked pipe atop to keep the pages open; chart upon chart is piled (for want of a rack) on bed and couch; oilskins, crumpled as when drawn off, hang over the edge of a door—not a peg to hang them on; an open sextant case, jammed secure by pillows, lies on the washstand lid; books of sailing directions, a taffrail log, some red socket-flares, are heaped awry in a corner of the room; the whole an evidence that lockers and minor ship conveniences are not yet standardized. Pray goodness he may have a stout honest thief of a chief mate, able and willing to find a baulk or two of timber, and a few nails and brass screws and copper tacks and a curtain-rod or two and a bolt of canvas!
The convoy lieutenant, unheeding a somewhat surly return of his greeting, produces Convoy Form No. AX, and starts in cheerfully to fill the vacant columns. "Tonnage, captain?—register will do. Crew? Guns? Coal?—consumpt. at speeds. Revolutions per half-knot?" The form completed, he hands it over for signature, thus tactfully drawing the captain's attention to the secretarial work he has done for him. "What's the speed? Nine and a half?" "Speed!" answers the Old Man. "Hell! This bunch of hair-springs can't keep out of her own way! Speed? The damned funnel's so low we can't get draught to burn a cigarette-paper; and these new pumps they've given her!. . . Well, we might do nine, but only in fine weather, mind you. Nine knots!"
"You'll have to do better for this convoy, captain. There's not a ship under nine and a half; but there may be a bunch of eight-knottersgoing out in five days."
"Nothing under nine and a half! What? Why, there'sPearl Shellcame in with us. She hasn't a kick above nine. When I was in the oldCollonia, we. . . ."
"TheCollonia?A fine ship, Gad! Were you in her, captain, when she was strafed? Let's see—Mediterranean, wasn't it?" The captain nods pleasantly, as if accepting a compliment.
"Umm!Mediterranean—troops—a hell of a job to get them off. Lost some, though"—regretfully.
The convoy lieutenant turns a good card. "Must be a change to come down to ten knots, captain, after a crack ship likeCollonia. What could she do? Sixteen?"
"Oh no. We could get an eighteen-knot clip out of her—more, if we wanted!" (IfWar Trident'sspeed be low and doubtful, the Old Man can safely pile the knots on his stricken favourite.) "Shewas a ship, not a damned parish-rigged barge like this—a poverty-stricken hulk that. . . ."
"Yes. I heard about her from Benson, ofWar Trumpet. He sailed in last convoy. Said he was glad he wasn't appointed here."
"Wasn't appointed here, be damned! Didn't have the chance. Why, that ship of his isn't in the same class at all. TheTridentcan steer, anyway, and when we get things fixed up. . . . She has the hull of a fine ship. If only we could get a decent funnel on her. . . . Here, I'll try her at your nine and a half knots! I'll betWar Trumpetcan't do a kick above nine!"
Be it noted that the convoy officers have the wavy gold lace of the R.N.R. for their rank stripes; plain half-inch ones of the Royal Navy might have had to let the convoy sail at nine, after all—not knowing the 'grip' of the 'last ship.'