* * * * *
The final stores were taken in in the afternoon, mostly tinned food and brass polish and the hundred and one small items that crop up at the last moment. The provisions presented quite a formidable array, for the modern submarine is able to carry a large amount for cases of necessity, which her electric cooking-range is able to cope with, and prepare in any manner of which the cook is capable. In addition to her preserved rations, she also carries sufficient fresh meat for her wants, if on a short patrol, or at any rate enough for two or three days if the outing is to be a lengthy one.
By evening the final touches had been added, and ‘123’ lay to the quay a wiser and a better boat. She and her officers knew a great deal more about her than they had known before she was hauled to pieces, and smacked and riveted by the dockyard hordes.
The boat was locked up for the night, and the coxswain and his men trooped off to supper in thebarracks; Boyd and Seagrave returned to the hotel, and Raymond went off to the S.N.O.’s office to report his boat finished and ready to return to her base.
It was not till dinner, eaten in the dining-room of the hotel, a chamber that reminded one of past glories and ancient pomp and circumstance, that he put in an appearance. The room was fairly crowded when he arrived, as he was rather late, and he had to thread his way between the other guests’ chairs to reach the table the three occupied on the window side of the room.
Anxious mamma glanced severely at him, slightly bored papa exchanged a nod and a good-evening, and demure Miss So-and-So smiled into her plate. A large portion of the remainder were military officers passing through the town or staying for a short while on duty. Those of his own seniority hailed him with aplomb; he had a knack of making himself liked everywhere.
‘Well?’ queried Seagrave, as his captain sat down.
‘Curious news,’ began Raymond, attacking the soup. ‘From a Service point of view I’m fed up about it, but from a purely personal standpoint it’s jolly good business. We can’t go back to base for another three days, as they can’t get an escort before then.’
‘What awful rot; you’d think they’d have plenty of Destroyers knocking about doing nothing, or at the worst they might let us go up by ourselves.’
‘And get sunk by our own patrols on the first night up. No thank you, George, not for mine this journey. You as a young and able officer ought to be jolly pleased to think you can have another whole three days among this bevy of beauty. You don’t make the most of your chances.’
‘This is such a dull hole, though,’ put in Boyd; ‘you can’t get much in the way of amusements in the evening. What on earth can we do to shake things?’
‘Now wait, I have an idea. I feel it maturing,’ said Raymond, holding his hand to his brow. ‘Don’t speak for a moment, it’s coming. Ah-h-h, I have it! We’ll give a dance, a Submarine dance here in the hotel; the drawing-room will be just the place, and we’ll invite all the old fogies who’re staying here, and a few choice spirits of our own for leavening. It’ll be all right, the manager and I are old pals, and I’ve done it before. I’ll try and fix it for to-morrow night. It begins with men only, and we give them a practice attack with pillows for torpedoes and Boyd for the periscope. That comes off in my room, by the way. Then we adjourn to the drawing-room, and the damsels troop in, and we get the show going. Little Miss Bored Stiff, or whatever her name is, will be only too pleased to bang on the piano, I feel sure. What do you think of it?’
‘Not so dusty. What about clothes, though?’
‘Just monkey jackets and bow ties and white kid gloves. Oh, and you can’t disgrace me byappearing in those disreputable old pumps, so you’ll have to trot out and buy new ones. What about you, Seagrave?’
‘I was just thinking. I don’t seem to remember having a decent suit to my name, but I’ll do my best.’
After dinner the manager was approached and the subject gently broached to him. It took an effort, but after a little while he proved amenable, and agreed to provide decorations and refreshments in return for the addition of certain items on the officers’ extra bills. Miss Bored Stiff, after a deal of gushing, agreed to do her share, and the invitations were sent out the next morning.
‘The officers of H.M. Submarine “123” request the pleasure of the company of —— at a Submarine dance to-night in the drawing-room at 9.0. p.m.’
And so the invitations were accepted—all, that is, except two, and they were two very old people, and the preparations were duly made, and 8.30 p.m. saw a crowd of fifteen young gentlemen in Sam Browne belts collected in Raymond’s room, drinking their liqueurs and smoking their cigars with the air of war-worn warriors. There was a certain amount of noise in the room as well, in fact it filled up most of the odd spaces where the aforesaid young gentlemen were not sitting, but matters were moving, and a ‘submarine attack’ was developing.
Boyd was dangling in mid-air from the end of a line thrown round a stout hat-peg and madefast to the bed rail (he had to be the periscope after all), and an arrangement of chairs and whatnots represented the diving rudder wheels and other control-room etceteras. A little way off Seagrave stood by an arm-chair, to whose back was fixed an ingenious arrangement, whose principal ingredients were pillows and a length of rubber tubing. The spectators sat where they could, and prepared to learn the methods of attack as demonstrated by a submarine expert.
At an order from Raymond, a young gentleman with a single star upon his cuff went through the operation of starting the motors, mimicking the gestures of the L.T.O. working the switches at the motor-board. The captain then gazed fixedly between Boyd’s dangling boots and gave the order, ‘take her down.’
Everybody groaned, hissed, and hooted, while a youth in shirt sleeves splashed water in a basin to represent the wash of the sea over the conning-tower. Two others manipulated the diving wheel chairs, and the hands on the face of a broken clock were gravely moved on in imitation of the depth-gauge.
‘A thousand feet,’ said Raymond. ‘Hold her at that, idiot. Oh, hell, she’s leaking.’ This as the basin worker upset half his water. ‘Blow 40 and 50. Shake it up now. That’s better. Oh, down, periscope,’ and Boyd was lowered to the floor gasping.
‘Right now, up to thirty feet. Work that depth-gauge,ass. Up periscope. Heave him up, never mind if he kicks. Ha! Enemy bearing two points on the starboard bow. Steady that helm, idiot. Steady, I say. That’s right. Eighteen feet. Flood the tubes.’
‘Flood the tubes,’ cried Seagrave, getting busy with his arm-chair. ‘Come on now. Bear a hand there. Tubes flooded, sir, and firing-tanks charged. Swing the bow-cap.’ (Another youth shot through air.) ‘That’s the style. Now we’re doing something. All ready, sir.’
‘Steady the helm. Down periscope. Thirty feet,’ continued Raymond. ‘Easy now, eighteen feet again. Up periscope. Steady that helm now. Carefully does it. Ahhhh. Don’t kick us, Boyd. Stand by.’
‘Stand by, sir.’
‘Easy now. Ready to take her down. Deflections 400. Look out there; look out again and we bump her. Now once more and ... Fire!’ and a pillow shot out of the catapult device like a feathery cannon ball and bowled over a rather dignified if youthful captain amid howls of delight.
‘Eighty feet,’ shouted Raymond; ‘take her down, men, quick now. Oh, hell! we’re rammed,’ and the whole room rose and fell on itself in a kicking and struggling mass.
‘Here, I say you fellows,’ cried the irate army captain. ‘This is a bit thick. I’ve got decent clothes on. You are a lot of ... of Submarine Toughs.’
He was dragged to his feet and dried and brushed (there had been a good deal of water floating about, ‘to make it more realistic,’ as Seagrave put it), and his ruffled feelings were restored with whisky. Then the party disappeared to tidy itself for the dance, and ten minutes later the seekers after submarine knowledge trickled down to the drawing-room where the ‘Submarine Toughs’ were waiting to receive the ladies, looking very angelic and innocent in spite of the recentmêlée.
The ladies arrived, and the dance opened with a waltz banged out of the patient if wheezy old hotel piano by the gushing Miss Bored Stiff, and ten couples took the floor with great gusto, while the manager alternately held up his hands in horror and beamed benevolently on the revels. The waltz was followed by a set of lancers, and the game got really going. Supper was much in evidence, and Sam Browne belts and dark blue and gold dashed about with ices and claret cup, and picked up fans and wrote things on programmes and generally did the gallant.
And so, Miss Bored Stiff played, and the girls giggled, and the mothers beamed, and even a few of the fathers, terrifying people, were sufficiently melted to accept a drink, and the evening wore on and everybody enjoyed themselves. The young gentleman in khaki, with the thin gold stripe on his sleeve, danced with the girl in the red sash four times, and the Army Captain acted as steward till he lost his rosette, more by design than accident,and hurled himself into the two-step like a three-year-old. Then the mothers gathered their bairns about them, and ‘good-nights’ were exchanged, and the fathers remained and gave expert opinions about the war, and listened with deference to the expert opinions of others who two years before they would have considered babes-in-arms, and every one went happily to bed.
But no one knew of the revels held in the Petty Officers’ Mess that night to which the Sergeants of the local defence force and their ‘good ladies’ had been invited, or of how the coxswain and the T.I. danced attendance on the Master Gunner’s daughter, or how Hoskins so far forgot his dignity as to perform a step dance much to the edification of the guests and the admiration of the entire engine-room staff.
These things are secret, and the veil is never lifted ... in public, for the next day work had to be carried out in the Service manner, and every one was his usual staid and former self.
And that’s another of the unwritten rules that pertain to the Laws of the Navy.
* * * * *
And then the final spasm when two days later the escort Destroyer swung out of the harbour and ‘123’ followed her, laden with kit and belongings and spare parts, and containers, and a host of minor matters purchased for less fortunate comrades in theParentis. Out through the dock entrance and past the harbour heads, and Darltonand that dockyard and the Royal Hotel were left behind, perhaps for good and ever. And the Destroyer zig-zagged and the Submarine puffed behind and was examined by trawlers and patrol-boats, and anchored for the night, and the following day arrived off the base once more and the familiar scenes of work and the old routine. As they stopped alongside theParentisin the late afternoon they were met by the ward roomen masseand hurried off to gin and bitters to celebrate their arrival. The parcels were distributed and blessings given and curses hurled over the contents, while Raymond and the skippers talked ‘shop’ over the alterations and work of the re-fit. But there was something missing, and it came out later after dinner when the juniors had cleared off and the seniors sat round in solemn conclave.
‘Yes,’ said Carruthers, staring into the empty grate. ‘About two weeks ago it was. Much the same show as Shelldon’s, I expect. Just went out and didn’t come back. Hard luck, but he wasn’t married. A lot of his men were, though. And old Blake was always so cheery, too.’...
The ward room nodded and lapsed into silence. Somebody coughed and picked up a magazine. Then six bells struck and theParentiswent to bed.