"Look here, old man; what do you say about having a shot for the Naval Reserve?" asked Ross. "In ordinary circs I would be prepared to go through Sandhurst, but this isn't ordinary circs. Before we pass out, the war will be over perhaps."
"I'd rather like to see something of the fun," agreed Vernon.
"As if we hadn't already," added his chum. "But I know what you mean. Instead of being cooped up in an unterseeboot and hunted by our fellows, we want to have a hand in rounding up the German submarines. I vote we write to our respective governors about it."
This conversation occurred two days after the lads' return to Killigwent Hall. They had been given up as lost, and their unexpected return had caused unbounded rejoicings. Pressmen thronged the Hall to gather "exclusive" information of the manner of their seemingly miraculous rescue, but both Ross and Vernon were determined not to satisfy outside curiosity. They even kept the story of how the white flag fluttered down from the signalling mast of U75 from their immediate friends.
"It will take a long time for us to get a reply," objected Vernon. "By the time the letters hang about at the G.P.O., before they are sent to the fleet, a week will elapse, and before we get a reply bang goes a whole fortnight. Let's get hold of a Navy List and see what the qualifications are."
A careful perusal of the regulations resulted in a setback. Midshipmen in the R.N.R., they found, had to be between 16 and 18 years of age, and must either have passed through a course of instruction for two years on board an "approved" training ship, or else one year on board a first-class British merchant ship.
"That's put the hat on it," declared Ross.
"One minute," interposed Vernon. "Why not write to Admiral Garboard? He's an old shipmate of my governor's, and I know he's a bit of a pot up at Whitehall, although he's on the Retired List."
"He was with my pater in the oldRhodaphlareon the China station," added Ross. "We'll try; the wheeze might work."
Accordingly Vernon wrote to the Admiral, who lived about twenty miles from Killigwent Hall. Promptly came Sir Peter Garboard's reply:
"TRELANGKERRICK,"CORNWALL.
"DEAR VERNON,
"In reply to your letter I am sorry that I cannot help you in the matter to which you refer, unless you and your friend can produce sufficient evidences of qualifications for the desired posts.
"On principle I object to influence in any shape or form. Entry into any branch of the Service should, like promotion, depend solely upon the aptitude and ability of a candidate. This has been my standpoint throughout the whole of my career, and I see no reason why I should now depart from it.
"If, however, you think you have strong reasons for pressing your claims, and you care to see me, we will go more fully into the matter.
"Believe me,"Yours faithfully,"PETER GARBOARD."
"Not so dusty," commented Ross. "He does leave us a loophole, although I'm afraid we'll have to blow our own trumpets. I vote we cycle over at once. We'll catch him in just before lunch."
"Better wait until after he's had his grub," said Vernon. "That's always the time to get a man in a good humour."
"We'll risk that," declared young Trefusis. "Come on."
It was a very hilly twenty miles run across the moors to Trelangkerrick. Starting at ten in the morning it took the lads two hours and a quarter, in the face of a strong south-westerly breeze, to cover the distance.
Half-way up the drive, they saw the Admiral and a companion emerging from a path leading from the kennels.
"Hulloa!" exclaimed Sir Peter cordially, as he recognized Vernon Haye. "So you haven't marked time in coming to see me. This is young Trefusis, I presume? Glad to meet you. Knew your father very well back in the 'eighties. Hope to renew the acquaintance soon, you know. If it hadn't been for the war——"
Admiral Garboard had taken Trelangkerrick only since the declaration of hostilities; consequently he had had no opportunity of meeting Admiral Trefusis, who, since July of the previous year, had been continuously "somewhere in the North Sea".
"Cecil, my boy," he continued, addressing his companion, a tall, sunburnt man, in shooting garb although his clean-shaven features and slightly rolling gait proclaimed him to be a sailor. "Let me introduce the sons of two of my old shipmates to you. Ross Trefusis and Vernon Haye—my nephew, Cecil Bourne. You'll stay to lunch, of course. Cecil's on three days' leave. He's not satisfied with hunting German submarines, but must needs go after my rabbits."
They walked towards the house, Ross and Bourne leading, and the Admiral and Vernon bringing up the rear.
"We'll discuss this little matter after lunch, my boy," remarked the Admiral.
The meal proceeded without a hitch, the Admiral in his breezy way relating anecdote after anecdote of the Service in the good old days.
"By the by," he remarked, "what's this yarn I hear about your neighbour, Dr. Ramblethorne? There's a report that a warrant has been issued for his arrest."
"For espionage, I believe," replied Vernon.
"Bless my soul! Is that a fact? One doesn't know whom to trust in these days. No details, I suppose. A decent fellow, too, from what I saw of him. No, I don't think you've met him, Cecil, at least not here. By the by, you might tell the boys about your little adventure up-Channel in theTremendous."
Ross and Vernon turned very red in the face, but as they sat with their backs to the window the change of colour passed unnoticed.
"Oh, that submarine business!" remarked Lieutenant Bourne modestly. "Just an ordinary occurrence, don't you know, except for one thing. I was officer of the watch at the time. We spotted a strafed unterseeboot flying a white flag. Have to be jolly careful, you see. Either give the thing a wide berth, and wireless the destroyers to take possession of the prize, or else cut the brute in two. Anyhow, something funny did happen. There were two fellows in mufti standing close to the skipper on the submarine's deck. Goodness only knows why they did it, but I saw one of them——"
"Cut the halliards and let the white flag down," interposed Vernon.
There was dead silence in the room. Only intense excitement was responsible for young Haye's lapse of manners. The words had slipped from him almost unconsciously. Ross barked his shin as a gentle reminder.
"By Jove! How did you know that?" demanded Bourne. "Shouldn't have thought that the yarn had had time to travel very far. Hope I haven't been boring you?"
Vernon took his courage in his hands.
"It was Ross who cut the halliards," he announced. "We were both on board, and jumped overboard just in time, and got hold of a lifebuoy dropped from theTremendousas she passed."
"By Jove!" ejaculated the Lieutenant. "I am surprised. I wondered whether you were picked up. It was a jolly plucky action. But how did you get on board the unterseeboot?"
"Aye, out with it!" added the Admiral. "I heard that you were missing, of course, and also of your return. Truth to tell, I thought when I got your letter that the pair of you had been acting the goat, and had run away to sea and had thought better of it."
"We didn't run, sir, we were carried," explained Ross. "And Dr. Ramblethorne was responsible for it."
Admiral Sir Peter Garboard was not satisfied until he had heard the complete story of his young friends' adventures. When they had finished he turned to his nephew.
"Young Haye and his chum came to see me on a private matter," he remarked, "but I don't think they will object to your hearing what we have to say."
"Are you quite sure you won't?" asked Bourne, addressing the lads.
"Both Trefusis and Haye are supposed to be going in for Sandhurst," continued Sir Peter. "Although, candidly speaking, I don't see why a naval man should want to put his son in the Army."
"In my case it is only following a family precedent," said Ross. "For generations back the eldest son has alternately been in the Navy and Army."
"And in my case it is the force of circumstances," added Vernon. "When I was of the age to be sent to Osborne I was a puny little chap. The doctor wouldn't pass me."
"You've altered a bit since then, I can see," remarked Bourne. "You look as strong as a young horse now."
"Yes, I've grown out of my early ailments, I think," said Vernon.
"Pity the doctor hadn't passed you," said Sir Peter bluntly. "Ten or eleven is too young an age for any medical man to express a final opinion upon. I remember a fellow in the Service who was nearly blind on one eye and almost as deaf as a post. He got through the medical—influence, I expect. Anyway the Navy was none the worse for it. You'll remember him by name, Cecil: he was my secretary on the China Station. Funny thing about him was that he couldn't see to read red figures unless he looked through a green glass. Do you know that when I received your letter I imagined that your temporary disappearance had something to do with your running away to sea?" reiterated the Admiral. "The idea, I believe, comes to most boys almost as a matter of course; something like measles, in fact."
"Well, now we've had a taste of submarine work, we feel that it is high time we had a hand at helping to collar the German unterseebooten," explained Ross.
"I think it could be arranged," remarked the Admiral. "You haven't had actual experience, of course——"
"Eh!" exclaimed Bourne. "By Jove, Uncle, I should say they had!"
"From a strictly professional standpoint, I ought to have said, only you didn't give me time," added Sir Peter. "I'll write off to the Admiralty to-night and see if I can get you both into the R.N.R. You are too young to receive commissions as Sub-lieutenants, but no doubt you can be taken on as midshipmen. Stringent regulations go by the board in war-time. Isn't that so, Cecil?"
"They would probably be appointed to an armed liner for patrol duty," observed Bourne. "There are, I believe, no midshipmen on the trawlers and motor-boats in submarine-hunting."
"We must take what we can get," said Vernon, "but we would rather——"
"Yes, yes," interrupted the Admiral. "I know. You leave that to me."
Accordingly Ross and Vernon "left it to" the genial Sir Peter, with the result that within a week they were specially appointed as temporary midshipmen to the motor-patrol shipCapella.
With the least possible delay the two chums joined theCapellaat Southampton. She was one of an entirely new class of vessel, built for the express purpose of ridding the high seas of the presence of the modern pirates. Looking at her as she lay in the Empress Dock, there was little about her to attract the eye. A raised fo'c'sle and poop, and a low superstructure abaft the funnel, two stumpy masts and grey-coloured "wall" sides, gave her the appearance of a trawler. It was only when one had an opportunity of seeing her in dry dock, where her graceful under-body, with its fine "entry" and clean run aft, was visible, that any idea of her speed could be arrived at. Further details would be undesirable. Sufficient to add, to quote a Yankee journalist who had been given an opportunity of paying a visit to the Grand Fleet and inspecting the component units of the greatest armada that the world has yet seen, the class to which she belonged were "some boats". The exigencies of the hitherto unprecedented method of carrying out the naval side of the Great War had demanded the creation of large flotillas of small motor-driven hornets. In the initial stages the want was temporarily supplied through the patriotism of owners of private motor-boats. These craft, good in their way, were handicapped by a lack of uniformity. Nevertheless they served as an excellent training-school until the Admiralty with remarkable celerity produced the novel type of craft to which theCapellabelonged.
TheCapellacarried a large crew in proportion to her size—four officers and twenty-four men. Her skipper was Stanley Syllenger, who held the rank of Lieutenant-Commander, R.N.R. He was a big, bluff man of about thirty-five, a strict disciplinarian, and a stickler for duty. He could be very outspoken when he wanted, which was fairly frequently, but withal he was of a thoroughly good-natured disposition.
There were two Sub-lieutenants, R.N.R. The senior was John Barry, a very mild type of young officer. He usually spoke in a very soft voice, except when occasion warranted, when he could bellow in a way that would take a stranger entirely by surprise. It seemed incredible that such a bull voice could belong to such a dapper little man as John Barry.
The other Sub was Noel Fox—a tall, deep-chested fellow of twenty, boisterous, and full of spirits. In five crowded years he had gained a good knowledge of three oceans, and a nodding acquaintance with the remaining two. Beginning his career on board a five-masted sailing ship, he had served in tramps, "intermediates", and mail steamers until the outbreak of the war, when he found himself appointed to an armed liner that abruptly terminated her existence by trying conclusions with a German mine.
Captain Syllenger and Sub-lieutenant Barry were pacing the diminutive quarter-deck of theCapellaas she lay alongside the quay. The skipper had heard officially that morning of the appointment of two temporary midshipmen to the craft under his command. "Hanged if I can understand it, Barry!" he exclaimed in his outspoken manner. "What's the idea of turning theCapellainto a nursery, I should like to know! These youngsters are somebody's pigeons, I suppose. The usual yarn. Influence up topsides does the trick, and we're saddled with two raw lubbers."
"There is no mention of their having had previous sea-service, sir?" remarked Barry. "But perhaps they'll turn out fairly smart."
"They will," added the Lieutenant-Commander grimly; "that is, if I have anything to do with them for any length of time. But, by Jove! here they are, unless I'm much mistaken."
Looking rather self-conscious in their brand-new uniforms, Ross and Vernon doubled down the steeply sloping gangway. As they came aboard, Syllenger noted with professional satisfaction that they both saluted the quarter-deck. The action showed, by one thing at least, they were not the greenhorns he expected to receive.
"You have had no previous experience, I believe?" he asked, after the midshipmen had introduced themselves.
"Very little, beyond knocking about in yachts and boats," replied Ross.
"That's something," decided the skipper. "A fellow who starts his career in a small boat has the makings of a good seaman. It is rare indeed that a man who goes straight to sea in a steamship makes a smart man in a boat. If ever you go on patrol duty you'll find your experience of value. By the by, I suppose you know our particular job?"
"Yes, sir," replied Ross. "Hunting submarines."
"Ever seen one?" asked Syllenger abruptly.
"Several of the D and E classes manoeuvring in Plymouth Sound."
"But a German one?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"We've both spent nearly a week on board an unterseeboot, sir."
The skipper sternly regarded the two midshipmen.
"Look here," he said. "If you think you've come on board to gammon me, the sooner you get that idea out of your heads the better. There's no room on theCapellafor a pair of modern Ananiases."
Ross said nothing. From the outside left breast-pocket of his "undress" coat he produced a white foolscap envelope, bearing in blue the "foul anchor" badge of the Admiralty.
The Lieutenant-Commander took the proffered envelope somewhat suspiciously. He more than half expected that it was a letter of introduction from a high official at Whitehall, on the strength of which the two midshipmen felt inclined to "put on side".
Instead, he found that it contained an autograph letter from the Admiralty, thanking the lads for their bravery and presence of mind, whereby they materially assisted in the preservation of H.M.S.Tremendousand in the destruction of two of the enemy submarines. The document finished by congratulating Ross and Vernon on their escape from U75, and trusted that their career as midshipmen of the R.N.R. would be marked with success.
Syllenger read it through carefully and slowly, deliberately returned it to the envelope, and handed it back to Ross. Then he held out his hand.
"I'm sorry for what I've said," he declared simply. "Forget it, if you can. Come and lunch with me at one bell."
"Thank you, sir," replied Ross in answer to the invitation; then, after a pause, he added: "we didn't want to brag about it, but you made us."
"So I understand," said the skipper. "I've misjudged the pair of you, but the least said about my part of it the better, I fancy."
He hailed a couple of men, instructing them to strike the midshipmen's luggage down the companion-ladder. Ross and Vernon followed, to be introduced to their new quarters.
Owing to theCapella'sshallow draught, the cabin space was rather limited. The Captain's quarters were a double cabin, comprising a state-room and sleeping-room, in a deck-house under the bridge. The two Subs had each a small "dog-box", as they termed it, aft on the starboard side. The engineer had a similar cabin on the port side. Adjoining his quarters was another cabin, which had hitherto been used as an overflow receptacle for officers' luggage. This had now been cleared out, and hooks provided for the two midshipmen to sling their hammocks. The slinging and unlashing of the hammocks was performed by a servant, to whom Ross and Vernon had each to pay ten shillings a month for the privilege. During the day the cabin made a fairly comfortable room, although the furniture was Spartan-like in its simplicity.
At six bells (11 a.m.) theCapella, having replenished her fuel and stores, and made good slight defects, was "tracked" out of the dock. An hour later she left Southampton, bound for a rendezvous off Beachy Head, near which a U-boat had been reported to have made an unsuccessful attack upon a swift merchant vessel.
The run down Southampton Water was necessarily performed at quarter-speed, for in spite of her light displacement theCapella'swash at full speed was almost equal to that of a liner. Even as it was, a long line of white foam lashed itself upon the mudflats several minutes after she had passed.
When Calshot Castle was abreast, speed was increased to 30 knots. There was an easterly breeze blowing against the ebb-tide, with the result that quite a choppy sea was met with outside Southampton Water. Like a knife, the sharp cutwater of theCapellacleft the waves, sending up showers of white spray; but such was her speed that, before the wind could carry the spindrift on deck, the swift vessel was beyond the cascade of foam. She hardly felt the motion of the waves; indeed, she was so steady that it was possible to place a pail of water on deck without any of the contents being spilt by the "lift" of the ship.
Under the guidance of Noel Fox, the midshipmen made the round of the vessel, the Sub explaining everything to them in detail. Already the lads had taken a great fancy to the Sub, and Fox reciprocated the sentiment. He had a way about him that enabled him to give particulars of the most intricate mechanism without having to resort to dry, parrot-like instruction.
By the time he had explained the ingenious devices used to entrap the German unterseebooten, Ross and Vernon felt inclined to marvel how it was they found themselves on board theCapella, since only sheer good luck had saved U75 from being doomed during every hour of their brief and involuntary detention.
"Yes, we can mop up the German submarines quicker than they can turn them out," said the Sub. "Of course I don't mean to say that a few of them won't get a smack at some of our ships for some time to come; but all the same we are giving them beans. From a strictly professional point of view we would be sorry if Old Turps abandoned his 'effectual' blockade. Our chances of having a high old game with the unterseebooten would be considerably reduced."
"There are still some in the English Channel," hazarded Vernon.
"Yes, a few; but have you noticed how those fellows fight shy of Dover? They shun it like the plague. It's horribly unhealthy for them. D'ye know why? Perhaps you wouldn't have paid much attention to it, but some months ago the Admiralty issued a 'Notice to Mariners', stating that the Straits of Dover were heavily mined, and that all shipping was to pass through the Downs within three miles of the Kentish coast.
"So it's fairly safe to assume that the few stray unterseebooten that are still lurking in the Channel have made the passage round the north coast of Scotland. It's only a matter of time before we bag the lot, I fancy."
"And our submarines?" enquired Ross.
"Have fewer opportunities since the Hun battleships and cruisers have such a decided inclination to remain in harbour," rejoined Fox. "When there's a chance, you can bet your bottom dollar that our fellows seize it. Quite recently one of our submarines found herself alone and disabled in the Bight of Heligoland. Undismayed, her lieutenant-commander signalled to a passing German trawler, covered her with his guns, and made the Hun tow the crippled submarine into British waters. Then he released his involuntary benefactor, but before so doing can you guess what he did?"
"No," replied both lads.
"Made the Huns line up on deck and sing the 'Hymn of Hate'. You can imagine the surprise of the trawler's men, who, judging by the treatment meted out to our fishermen by the German submarines, expected nothing less than imprisonment and the loss of their boat. But it's close on one bell," remarked Fox at length. "You're messing with the skipper to-day, I believe. He's quite a decent sort when you know him properly, but it takes a bit of doing."
A seaman strode up to the bell and gave it a sharp stroke. Just then a messenger hurried from the diminutive "wireless" room abaft the chart-house and, leaping down the ladder at a single bound, knocked at the door of the Captain's cabin.
"Stow those things away, Sparkes," exclaimed Captain Syllenger. "Lunch will have to wait."
He dashed out of his cabin. On the way to the bridge he passed Fox and the two midshipmen.
"You'll have to tighten your belts, my lads," he announced. "We've just had a message through. A strafed unterseeboot has been spotted trying to get into Spithead. If we don't nab her within half an hour, I'll eat my hat!"
It was a sea-plane, flying at fifteen hundred feet above the Warner and The Nab Lightships, that had detected an elongated shadow creeping stealthily over the shingly bottom close to the Dean Tail Buoy. The shadow was that of a German unterseeboot, since none of the British submarines were known to be in the eastern approaches to Spithead. Evidently she had gone out of her course, for instead of being in the main channel she was well to the north of it. More than likely the strong east-going tide, which hereabout surges at such a rate that it causes the shingle 30 or 40 feet beneath the surface to emit a deep rumble, had taken the unterseeboot in its grip.
Promptly the sea-plane wirelessed the news, and quickly a "general call" was sent to the patrol vessels in the vicinity. TheCapellawas one of the craft that picked up the welcome order.
She was now only seven sea miles distant from the Dean Tail Buoy. Within ten minutes of the receipt of the wireless she was on the spot—one of the very first of a regular hornet flotilla bent upon adding yet another of Von Tirpitz's pets to the "bag".
For the next quarter of an hour it looked as if a novel kind of marine waltz was in progress. Nearly a score of swift vessels were executing fantastic movements at full speed, circling and interchanging positions until it seemed as if collisions were impossible to avoid.
Their object was to thoroughly bewilder the already doomed U-boat, for, if possible, her capture in a practically intact condition was desired. In very deep water, salvage of a sunken submarine was out of the question; here, in a comparatively shallow depth, and close to an important naval base, to which the prize could be taken with little trouble, the opportunity for capture rather than instant destruction was too good to be missed.
Suddenly a cloud of white smoke shot up from the sea. Its appearance was greeted by hearty cheers from the patrol vessels. It was a signal that the U-boat, in her attempt to find deep water, had floundered blindly into the trap. Over and over again the hunters passed, towing non-explosive grapnels, until it was certain that the prey was helpless in their toils.
Then, in obedience to an order from the senior officer, the swift vessels withdrew for nearly three cables' length from the spot where the boat lay. Two slow but powerfully engined trawlers approached at a cable's length abreast, towing the bight of a massive steel hawser between. Doing little more than drift with the tide they crept past the submerged U-boat, one on either side of the mark-buoy that indicated her position.
Presently the strain on the hawser increased. It was only by making full use of the twin-screws that the trawlers were able to prevent themselves from swinging together. The steel rope stretched until it resembled two metal bars which bore silent testimony to the strain.
Just then the two vessels shot ahead. Although the hawser was still intact, it no longer took any strain. But its work was done. The bight, engaging the conning-tower of the unterseeboot, had turned the submarine on its side. In the space of a few seconds the deadly fumes from the capsized batteries had almost painlessly accounted for the crew of the U-boat, who themselves had neither pity nor consideration for the hapless victims, men, women, and children, massacred against all dictates of humanity and convention of civilized warfare.
"A bit of work for the dockyard lighters to-morrow," commented Sub-lieutenant Barry, as theCapellaparted company to resume her run up-Channel. "They'll raise the U-boat, and take her into dry dock, before the sulphuric acid has had time to do much damage to her mechanism."
"I shouldn't be surprised if there were another U-boat knocking around," remarked Vernon. "From our limited experience we know that they work either in pairs or threes."
"Then the worse for them," rejoined Barry. "It would be a great wheeze to bag two of them in one day. Desperate diseases need desperate remedies, you know."
Therein the Sub voiced the unanimous opinion of the British Navy. At the commencement of the war, the torpedoing of several battleships and cruisers by German submarines aroused no enmity within the hearts of the British tars. They realized that a warship is "fair sport" to the submarines of the opposing side. To run the risk of being blown up was one of the excitements to undergo in the course of duty. But when it came to torpedoing helpless merchantmen, and jeering at the death-struggles of the unfortunate crews, Jack Tar began to regard the unterseebooten in the light of pirates and murderers. The wanton destruction of theLusitania, accompanied by the appalling death-roll of non-combatants, women and children, literally sounded the death-knell of the crews of von Tirpitz's jolly-Roger-flying submarines. In their methods of "frightfulness" they had overreached themselves. They had sown a wind: they were now reaping a whirlwind with a vengeance.
And now the great silent Navy was paying back von Tirpitz in almost, but not quite, his own coin. While the much-advertised blockade of Great Britain was petering out, British submarines were playing havoc with German shipping in the Baltic—a sea which the Teutons regarded as being almost their very own. Yet what a difference marked the methods adopted by the humane commanders of our submarines when dealing with German mercantile shipping. A punctilious regard for the safety of the crews of overhauled merchantmen won admiration even from the seamen of the destroyed vessels. Humiliation and reproach seemed to haunt the white-bearded dotard, whose hands had sought in vain to wrest the trident from Britannia's virile grasp.
At about five in the afternoon theCapellaarrived at her station off Beachy Head, relieving her sister ship theMarkab, that, with three other motor-driven craft, had been engaged in a vigorous, but for the most part uneventful, patrol.
Day and night for a fortnight at a stretch, unless anything unforeseen took place, theCapellawas to cruise up and down, keeping a smart look-out for any sign of an object resembling a hostile periscope. In order to economize her fuel supply her speed was reduced to 10 knots. It was then that her bad qualities showed themselves. With her shallow draught and high freeboard she rolled like a barrel, since speed was essential to impart steadiness. The motion was certainly disconcerting, although it did not imply that theCapellawas unseaworthy.
"'Fraid our chances of bagging another U-boat to-day are off," remarked Barry to Ross.
It was within half an hour of sunset. The chums had been temporarily separated. It was Vernon's "watch below". The senior Sub and young Trefusis were on the bridge. In spite of the still-prevailing east wind it was a grand evening. Three miles away, broad on the starboard beam, the chalk cliffs known as the Seven Sisters were beginning to be tinted by the crimson hues of the western sky. To seaward, three large vessels were in sight. One, a liner bound down-Channel, was pelting along at such a pace with the wind that the smoke from her funnels was rising almost perpendicularly. Forging ahead in the opposite direction were two big tramps, the smoke from their funnels, beaten down by the strong breeze, trailing across the surface of the water for a couple of miles in their wake.
"An object lesson," remarked Barry. "The arteries of the Empire. Hang it all! The blockade reminds me of a pigmy treacherously stealing up behind a giant and trying to cut his jugular vein. Instead, he merely scratched a comparatively unimportant capillary, and feels mighty sorry for himself when the giant turns and scruffs him by the neck."
Leaning over the bridge-rails, the Sub startled his companion by bellowing in a voice loud enough to be heard a mile away:
"On look-outs! Stand by bow and stern lights!"
TheCapellawas making preparations for the night. Unlike the armed merchantmen that are compelled to scour the North Sea, summer and winter alike, without showing the faintest glimmer of a lamp, theCapellaobserved the rules and regulations for preventing collision at sea. Her port, starboard, and bow lamps were lighted by electricity, but, in order to guard against possible break-down of current, oil lamps had also to be trimmed and lighted, ready, should occasion serve, to take their places.
It was part of Ross's duty to report to the officer of the watch that these lamps were in order, and also, at regular intervals, that the navigation lights were burning brightly.
Presently the Sub prepared to take a cross-bearing. He was fairly certain that theCapellahad reached the westernmost limit of her patrol-ground. From that point she was to proceed due south for 10 sea miles, and then due east for 20 miles until she fell in with her "opposite number".
While Barry was thus engaged, Ross noticed a sail about 2 miles distant on the starboard quarter.
"By Jove!" he muttered as he brought his glass to bear upon the stranger. "That's a funny rig."
The craft was a "two-sticker". She was square-rigged on the foremast, carrying fore-topsail and fore-course. No jibs were set; neither, as far as he could see, was any sail set on the mainmast. The vessel's sides were painted green with a broad red band.
Even as he kept the craft under observation she starboarded her helm, shaping a course that would converge upon that of the rearmost of the two tramps. By so doing she exposed a considerable portion of her broadside.
Ross gave an exclamation of astonishment. Above the green sides appeared what was undoubtedly the conning-tower and housed periscope of a submarine. "Submarine on the starboard quarter, sir!" he reported.
"What!" exclaimed Barry, levelling his telescope. "By Jove, yes! What luck!"
The unterseeboot had, of course, noticed theCapella, and had mistaken her for a trawler. She realized that she ran a risk in case the latter might be armed, but, trusting to her disguise, she hoped to get within torpedo range of the tramp—a vessel of over 3000 tons—sink her, and make her escape in the confusion that was bound to ensue. On the other hand, her Kapitan had good reasons for thinking that the supposed trawler was not one of the armed patrol, since they usually worked in company. By rigging canvas bulwarks and setting sail upon dummy masts, he was able to approach with little fear of detection.
"Action!"
Quickly theCapella'screw were at their stations. The quick-firers were loaded, and their screens lowered so as not to impede their arc of fire. Until these preparations were complete the vessel still held on her course.
Then Captain Syllenger, who had come on deck, telegraphed for full speed ahead. Like a racehorse theCapellaleapt forward.
A double, converging line of white foam marked the track of a torpedo from the doomed U-boat. By a slight alteration of helm theCapellaavoided it. The action was hardly necessary: it was merely a matter of precaution, since theCapella'speculiarities of construction made her practically immune from torpedo attack.
Captain Syllenger had no intention of ramming his opponent. Ramming with a lightly built vessel, such as theCapella, would only be employed as a last resource.
At an almost point-blank range of 400 yards both bow guns were fired simultaneously. There was no need for another shot. One of the projectiles, hitting the U-boat at the base of the conning-tower, tore a jagged hole a couple of feet in diameter. The other shell hit her about 10 feet from the bows, and, with an erratic peculiarity that such missiles have after the first impact, was deflected downward, expending the full force of its explosive charge in the submarine's bow torpedo-room.
In a moment the luckless U-boat was done for. A huge column of smoke marked the spot where she had disappeared like a stone, while flying pieces of metal hurtled far and wide through the air. Several of the fragments clattered upon theCapella'sdeck as she swung round to avoid any possibility of fouling debris. Of the crew not a man was to be seen. Those who had not been killed by the shell-fire had been wiped out by the explosion of their own torpedoes.
"We've pulled off a double event to-day, after all," remarked Sub-lieutenant Fox as he disappeared down the companion-ladder to resume his interrupted "watch below". "Barry has got his wish."
For the next ten days nothing occurred beyond the ordinary routine. Even Ross and Vernon, to whom everything was at first a novelty, began to feel the irksomeness of the constant and vigilant patrol. No hostile submarines made their appearance; there were not even any reports, true or otherwise, that they had been sighted. It was the same all along the English Channel—"nothin' doing". It seemed as if the unterseebooten had finally given up these waters as a "bad egg".
Yet it would be most injudicious for the naval authorities to relax their watchfulness. Areas of strategic importance must still be closely guarded, since it was just possible that the wily Teuton would refrain from submarine warfare in the Channel until the patrol-boats' crews were lulled into a sense of false optimism.
The only break in the monotony was the occasional and welcome appearance of a motor-boat from Shoreham, bringing off fresh supplies, newspapers and letters for the patrol vessels.
Amongst Ross's correspondence was a letter from his father. Admiral Trefusis gave no indication of what he was doing, merely a brief statement that he was still "somewhere in the North Sea". He congratulated his son upon his escape, and mentioned that he had heard from the captain of H.M.S.Tremendouswith reference to his son's action in warning the battleship. But although the Admiral did not express himself very enthusiastically on paper, he was as pleased as only a proud father can be at his boy's display of gallantry and resource. "Under the circumstances," he wrote, "I think you did right in temporarily abandoning your preparation for Sandhurst. No doubt you will acquit yourself in your present position as a Trefusis should do. I was certainly surprised to hear about that fellow Ramblethorne. He always appeared to be a really decent man. It only shows how careful one has to be when dealing with a highly organized enemy."
Amongst Vernon's batch of correspondence was a letter from Detective-inspector Hawke. It was couched in semi-official language, a survival of days long ago when the Inspector was a budding constable and had to submit countless written reports to his superiors.
There was, he wrote, no definite news concerning Ramblethorne, otherwise von Hauptwald. The local police had taken up the case, and, assisted by the military, were still scouring the country. As usual, there were inaccurate and misleading reports from various parts of the country. It was generally accepted that the spy was being hidden by some of his compatriots who, by indulgence of the British Government, were still at large in the country, or else that he had succeeded in getting away on board a neutral ship.
The inquest on von Ruhle had taken place, with the anticipated result, a verdict offelo de sebeing returned by the jury. No evidence had been submitted as to the dead man's real occupation. Under the name of Cornelius Vanderhuit his body was handed over to the authorities for interment.
But the case did not end there. It remained for the competent Authorities to decide the steps to be taken with reference to the papers that had been found in von Ruhle's possession.
"I am keeping von Ruhle's 'malacca' as a memento," concluded Hawke. "It may help me to discriminate between it and a portable metal tripod, and save me from being placed under arrest by the military. Fortunately, upon the last occasion, I did not meet with my Waterloo."
"The old chap feels a bit sore about it, I can see," remarked Ross. "He's written a good deal more than he evidently intended. However, he looks like 'making good' this time."
"It's a pity Ramblethorne slipped through the detectives' fingers," said Vernon, as he prepared to go on deck. "That fellow's bound to cause trouble until he's laid by the heels."
It was Noel Fox's "trick". The Sub was standing on the bridge with his eye glued to his telescope. A mile or so inland, on the summit of the South Downs where they approach Beachy Head, three columns of smoke were rising in the still air. There was nothing extraordinary in that. It might be a farmer burning rubbish on his fields; but what attracted the Sub's attention was the remarkable and systematic changes in the density of the smoke. At one moment the two outside pillars were heavy, the centre one being little more than a thin haze; at another the conditions would be reversed.
Fox decided to take action. Rapidly theCapellaclosed with the shore, until she was within signalling distance of a coast-guard station.
The station in question was not manned by coast-guards. Not considered important, its complement was depleted at the outbreak of hostilities, most of the men joining the large armoured cruisers. A chief officer and a boatman alone remained. These were at a later period augmented by a party of Sea Scouts.
As soon as theCapellahad "made her number", a signaller took up his position on the roof of the chart-house.
"Fires burning one mile inland to north-west of coast-guard station," he semaphored. "Suspect smoke-signals. Investigate and report."
Keeping his telescope bearing on shore, Vernon watched the result of the signal. Promptly half a dozen Scouts, mounted on bicycles, set off to the position indicated. Their progress was hidden by an intervening clump of trees, but in less than a quarter of an hour they returned. By this time the smoke had disappeared. One of their number worked the semaphore attached to the station.
"Fires made with damp straw. Found old blankets apparently used to stifle smoke. Saw large car stationary; made towards Lewes on approach; number known; have informed police."
"Smart youngsters!" exclaimed Captain Syllenger. "They've helped to nip some little plan in the bud. We'll have to be jolly careful for the next few days, I expect. Did you make a note of the fog-signals, Mr. Fox?"
"I did, sir," replied the Sub, producing a leaf of a notebook covered with an unintelligible number of lines. "Each of these strokes represents a column of smoke according to its position."
"I can make nothing of it," remarked Syllenger. "At any rate I'll send your result to the Admiralty with the utmost dispatch. Take her in, Mr. Fox, and bring up where you find the two-fathom mark."
TheCapellaheaded nearer towards the shore, a leads-man sounding until the required depth was found. One of the boats was lowered, manned, and rowed to the coast-guard station, Sub-lieutenant Barry being in charge, with Ross as his immediate subordinate.
"I want this to be forwarded to the Admiralty with the least possible delay," he announced, addressing the chief officer. "How long do you think it will take to get through?"
"Too late for the eleven something train from Brighton, sir," was the reply. "There's a gentleman in the village who has a big car. He's a member of the Volunteer Training Corps. No doubt he'll take it as far as Lewes. Why, sir, here's the gent himself! Mr. Hyde's his name."
The newcomer was a sparely built man of below medium height. He looked about thirty years of age. In reality he was nearly fifty. Having vainly attempted to obtain a commission in the R.N.R. and the Army, he had joined the V.T.C. in the hope that, perhaps, some day his services might be utilized in a very practical form. Now his chance was at hand.
He had strolled down to the beach on noticing a boat putting off from the patrol vessel.
"Lewes? Certainly," he replied in answer to Barry's question. "I doubt whether you'll save much. Why not let me take the message right to the Admiralty? I'd like to do it, 'pon my word I would."
The Sub hesitated. Perhaps the stranger might be all right; but he might be all wrong. One had to be very careful in these times. Yet the offer was a tempting one. If possible, it was most desirable to be able to decipher the transcription of these mysterious columns of smoke.
"I say, Trefusis," he said, "you've had a fairly long time afloat; what do you say to a run up to town? I'm sure this gentleman would make no objection to giving you a seat in his car."
"With the greatest pleasure," declared Mr. Hyde.
"Thanks!" rejoined Barry. "Of course the honour of delivering the letter will be yours, sir. Mr. Trefusis accompanies you merely as a passenger. We'll stand by to pick you up, Trefusis. I'll make it all right with the skipper."
The Sub accompanied Mr. Hyde and the midshipman to the garage, which was about four minutes' walk from the coast-guard station. While the man was getting out the car (he was his own chauffeur), Barry seized the opportunity of telling Ross to be on his guard, in case anything suspicious occurred.
With a terrific bound the powerful car started on its sixty-mile journey. Between the sea and Lewes the needle of the speed-indicator never fell below 40 miles an hour, until at times the car was running at 60. Village after village was passed at almost break-neck speed. In vain, sleepy rural constables sought to hold up the reckless driver. Discretion was the better part of valour, so they stood aside and attempted to note the number on the identification plate of the car. Again in vain. All they could see and swallow was a cloud of white, chalky dust that hung thickly on the sultry air long after the car was out of sight and hearing.
The hills around East Grinstead it surmounted at 40 miles an hour, dashing down the inclines at the speed of an express train, and swerving time after time to avoid lumbering farm wagons.
At Croydon Mr. Hyde wisely slowed down. He had covered 49 miles in exactly fifty-five minutes, but twenty-eight minutes later the car drew up under the Admiralty Arch.
"Room 445 is the one I want," he explained to Ross. "I know my way about here, you know. I've several relations at the Admiralty. Come along: the car won't hurt where she is."
"Your pass, sir," demanded a Metropolitan policeman who, with a naval pensioned petty officer, was stationed at the door.
"Haven't one," replied Mr. Hyde. "Urgent business—see?" and he produced the envelope, bearing the words "On His Majesty's Service", in which was enclosed Captain Syllenger's communication.
The policeman was the essence of imperturbable dignity.
"No use, sir; you must have a pass. They are obtainable across the road there."
"It will mean at least twenty minutes' delay," muttered the motorist savagely, as he turned away. "Come on, Mr. Trefusis, let's try our luck across the way."
As Ross descended the short flight of stone steps leading from the lobby to the street, he nearly cannoned into a couple of naval officers who were about to enter the building. Suddenly remembering that he was in uniform, the midshipman brought his right hand smartly to the peak of his cap. As he did so, he recognized that one of the naval men was his father.
The recognition was mutual.
"Hullo, pater!"
"Hullo, Ross! What brings you here? Duty, eh? It's the same in my case. Sorry I can't have you to lunch, but must catch the first train north. This is the first time I've come up to town since the war started. In any case I'm not sorry that I am not stopping the night here. Judging by reports, it's a jolly sight too dangerous for me. Don't fancy being run over by a taxi in a dark main thoroughfare. Give me the North Sea any day. Well, I must be moving. Can't keep My Lords waiting, you know. Good-bye, Ross!"
It was Admiral Paul Trefusis' way. Whenever he had any business on hand that kept him from his ship, he invariably spoke in short, jerky sentences. Ross knew his parent's little mannerism.
"One moment, pater," he exclaimed. "We're in an awful hurry too——"
"Don't look like it," growled the Admiral good-naturedly. "You were ambling out like an old shellback. Always execute orders at the double: that's my advice to budding midshipmen. Well, what is it?"
As briefly as possible, Ross told his parent of the rebuff Mr. Hyde and he had received, and of the matter that brought them at 50 miles an hour from a remote Sussex coast-guard station.
Making a hurried excuse to his companion, the Admiral skipped up the steps into the lobby, Ross and his fellow-traveller following closely.
The policeman naturally asked for no pass from a Flag officer in uniform, but he was on the point of stopping his companions when the messenger recognized the Admiral as his former captain. His apologies surprised even the stolid policeman.
"Don't apologize for doing your duty, my man," remarked Admiral Trefusis. "Hope you're fit. Must have a yarn with you when I've more time. Come along, Ross."
Having seen Mr. Hyde and Ross safely to the outside of the door of Room 445, the Admiral abruptly took his departure.
In reply to a knock the door was opened by a very tired-looking clerk, who was bravely bearing up under the strain of having to work ninety hours a week, including Sundays. Having explained his business, Mr. Hyde was shown into the presence of an official whose talent was little short of miraculous.
A dozen precise and pointed questions put him in full possession of all the facts bearing upon the document that he required. He touched an electric bell. An assistant hurried to his desk.
"Bring me the papers on the von Ruhle case," he ordered in an undertone.
In less than half an hour the transcription was completed, although theCapella'sofficer of the watch had not taken down the actual commencement of the smoke-signal. Then, having "pressed" the paper in order to obtain a duplicate copy, the official placed it in an envelope, which he secured with an imposing wax seal.
"No mistake about it, the war has bucked the civilian staff at the Admiralty," observed Mr. Hyde to Ross as they gained the street. "I can remember a time when all you had to do was to mention someone's name, and you had practically a free entry. Your particular pal could always contrive to have an hour's yarn with you, and perhaps an interval for refreshment. They know what working at high pressure means now."
Hyde was more cautious on the return journey. He was well within the limit that he had set himself. An hour and forty minutes later, the car drew up outside the coast-guard station.
"Captain Syllenger presents his compliments, Mr. Hyde, and requests your company on board," said Sub-lieutenant Barry when theCapella'sboat arrived to take off the midshipman. "Ton my word, you haven't been long. We didn't expect you back before six o'clock."
Having received his guest, Captain Syllenger led the way to his cabin, Barry and Ross being included in the party. The skipper's face glowed with satisfaction when he had opened the envelope, for the signal as decoded was as follows:
"(words missing) closely patrolled. Unable to provide stores here. Will attempt removal of (word missing) from Station 123 on Friday night. Will signal from Station 125 at 1 a.m. on Saturday if possible. Transports leaving by Needles Channel at daybreak."
Following this was an explanatory note.
"Station 123 is stated to be in Keyhaven Marshes. Station 125 one mile west of white house at Milford-on-Sea."
"Humph!" ejaculated Captain Syllenger. "It looks as if there's trouble in store for some gentlemen of marked Teutonic sympathies. I only hope we'll have a chance of being off Station 125."