PERSONNEL
Thenext day was Sunday, and as the fine weather still held, the Captain of the depot announced to the First Lieutenant his intention of inspecting the boats. Thence was much heart-burning and striving and a prodigious amount of work, the net result being that the nine boats shone inside and out like the proverbial new pins, and the crews, with the exception of those who were to stand the rounds, clad in ‘Number Threes,’ fell in on their superstructures with vacant ‘attention’ expressions on their usually classic features.
But before this happy result could be arrived at there was much to be done ... and said, for it must be admitted that there were those among the boat captains who held the opinion that inspections were an unnecessary nuisance, carried out with the sole intention of harassing the inspected.
The First Lieutenant of theParentishad given out the cheery news after breakfast, and a rush had followed on the part of the ‘Subs,’ unusually tidy in their Sunday rigs, to see that their boats were in a fit condition to withstand the piercing gaze of the Captain’s eagle eye. The boat captains learnt the news not without unmixed feelings, andwith shrill cries of horror and reproach the unfortunate Number One was hurled from the ward room. Bitter were the reproaches of one, Blake, whose control room had been painted but the day before, while Austin and several others had work going on and improvements under weigh which they didn’t want disturbed. Raymond surveyed the matter with the stony calm of a fatalist, while the Torpedo Lieutenant alone maintained his unruffled serenity and dropped pearls of wisdom for the comfort and instruction of the discomforted captains.
‘What you fellows really lack,’ he proclaimed from the depths of an arm-chair and between puffs of an after-breakfast pipe, ‘is the power of organisation. The present crisis is an excellent example. At nine a.m. the ‘owner’ announces his intention of inspecting the boats after divisions and prayers, that is at about ten-thirty. Now, mark the result. Nine ‘Subs’ fly at the rate of knots out of the ward room, run round in circles with their hands to their heads, dive down into the boats and begin harassing unfortunate and peace-loving matlows. As regards you people, you’re all completely defeated. You sit here, do nothing, and growl like blazes, when as a matter of fact it doesn’t affect you in the least. The ‘Subs’ do all the work and report when the boats are ready. You then go down and inspect them yourselves, find fault with everything, have the whole place turned upside down, and wait till the dusthas settled. At the last minute you have it all put back again as it was before, and stand by for the Captain. Now what you want is organisation. No matter what’s going on you ought to be ready for an inspection at any moment of the day. Mark the ordered routine of my own blameless existence. I rise at eight-thirty each morning as fresh as a lark, and if I’m lucky manage to consume a little breakfast. From then till lunch or cocktail time I maintain a complete and unruffled calm, seated daily in the same arm-chair, unless the claims of the Goddess Work call me to her altars. From lunch until tea I meditate in my bunk, and from tea till dinner I give out hints on the home, and generally instructive and edifying remarks from my present seat of vantage. Bed follows dinner as the fruit follows the flower, and my ordered and well disciplined day is at an end. It will be hard for you, and I foresee many difficulties, but you really must make an effort to follow my example,’ and the Torpedo Lieutenant lay back gasping and mopped his fevered brow with a bandana of barbaric colouring.
‘The point is,’ grumbled Austin, not taking any notice of him, ‘that in war time one can’t keep the boat up to the peace standard. It’s not possible. There’s far too much work to be done, for one thing, and considering the amount of sea time we put in I think we do pretty well in keeping the boats as clean as they are.’
‘That’s the crux of the whole question,’ repliedRaymond; ‘in war time the ‘owner’ doesn’t expect to see the boats in the same state of spit and polish as he has been used to in happier times. What he looks for is general efficiency in boats, officers, and men. That’s the reason he and I get on so splendidly. No, don’t heave that book, Jimmy; I’ve got my number one monkey jacket on, and if I have to chastise you I shall get it creased. Hallo! there’s the bugle for divisions. See you later.’
‘I don’t believe in inspections at all in war time,’ said another of the party, as a general move was made for the door. ‘Unfair, I call it. Brings the war home too much.’
Overhead the scurrying of heavily-shod feet and the sound of sharp orders told that the ships’ company was mustering by divisions for the Captain’s inspection, and the boat skippers cleared out to their boats to see that all was in readiness.
Down in ‘123’ the last finishing touches were being applied when Raymond arrived. Everything that brass polish and elbow grease could cause to shine, shone with a satisfactory brilliance, and whatever couldn’t shine was discreetly stowed away and hidden from the vulgar gaze. When all was in readiness, Raymond and the ‘Sub’ made a tour of inspection in search of possible defects or anything that might meet with the disapproval of authority.
‘This hydroplane motor,’ said the latter, putting his hand on a large black object that looked ratherlike a small mine. ‘It’s been running hot lately. Have to look at it to-morrow. “Owner” won’t know that, though.’
‘Um, no. She doesn’t look too bad. Tell Hoskins to stand the rounds in the engine-room, T.I. in the fore-end, and second coxswain in the control-room.’
‘Very good, sir. Hallo! they’re at prayers,’ he added as the strains of a hymn accompanied by the Marine Band floated down the hatch. ‘Not much longer now. I think she’ll do, sir. Fall the hands in on the upper deck, coxswain.’
The last brass rag and lump of waste were stowed away and the men scrambled up on deck. ‘123’ was a pleasure to the eye and a credit to the makers of liquid metal polish. All down the long tunnel of her inside, from the engines to the torpedo-tube doors, her steel and brass and copper winked and twinkled in the electric light, her white enamel was spotless, and her deckcloths were a glory to behold.
Raymond took a final look round. ‘Good enough,’ he said, as he went up the conning-tower followed by the ‘Sub.’ ‘Now for the ordeal by fire.’
On deck the crew had fallen in in one long single line facing towards the parent ship. Ten men forward of the conning-tower and as many aft, all dressed in their best suits of ‘Number Three,’ and looking remarkably spick and span and on their metal. They were standing at ease now and sucking their teeth in anticipation, after the mannerof the A.B. who is in the rattle or otherwise undergoing some order or other. By the gang plank to the next boat, for ‘123’ was the outside vessel, and three of her sisters lay between her and theParentis, stood the coxswain with his boatswain’s pipe in hand, and Raymond took his stand beside him in readiness to receive the Post-Captain on board.
Seagrave stood by in charge of the crew and Boyd was on the bridge, which was the only remaining unoccupied space on the upper deck. Between them and theParentisthe crews of the other three boats were drawn up in the same manner, and on the other side of the depot-ship were five more boats in a similar state of cleanliness and innocent expressions. They all flew their newest and largest ensigns, and looked very smart and business-like in their Sunday dresses.
The music on theParentisquarter-deck drew to a close. Three hundred men came to attention and replaced their caps simultaneously, and the chaplain disappeared aft, his surplice waving in the breeze, as the Church pendant fluttered down to the bridge. Another order and the ship’s company faced forward and moved off the quarter-deck, the band, which had struck up a lively march, wheeled in behind the rear division, and the ceremony was at an end.
A dramatic pause followed, and then the figure of Captain Charteris appeared at the port-gangway. The boatswain’s mate of theParentisand thecoxswain of the inside boat, which happened to be Blake’s, twittered on their pipes as he descended, and then he was lost to view in the internals of the boat. He had come alone, unattended by First Lieutenants or other minions, which augered well for the results of the inspection.
Austin, whose boat was next inside Raymond’s, turned round with a laugh.
‘Hope the “old man” doesn’t run up against Blake’s white paint,’ he said. ‘Pretty small chance for us if he does.’
‘Trust Blake to watch that,’ came the answer. ‘He won’t want his precious paint disturbed even by the coat of a full-fledged Captain.’ Once more silence and expectancy, and then the Captain reappeared up the hatch followed by Blake, who looked moist and anxious but happy withal.
‘Seems to be in a good temper,’ whispered Raymond to Seagrave. ‘Look out, here he comes.’
With much saluting and piping Captain Charteris stepped across to the next boat and the ceremony was repeated. When he once more rose to view, however, some ten minutes later, his face appeared clouded and he boarded Austin’s boat with a briskness that evidenced that all had not been well with the vessel he had just inspected.
‘Wonder what’s up,’ murmured Seagrave. ‘He looks a bit sickish about something.’
‘Man in a dirty rig, I expect, or else he asked too many questions,’ replied Raymond. ‘Our turn next.’
At last, after a seemingly interminable interval, the Captain once more rose to view, and joy! the wily Austin had smoothed his ruffled temper. The great man said a few final words, laughed, and turned towards ‘123.’ Blake’s coxswain, pipe to lips, made a scarcely perceptible sign, and then, as the Captain set foot on the gang-plank, he and the coxswain of ‘123’ simultaneously burst into a duet of piping, shrilling, and twittering as each tried to out-do the other.
‘Ship’s company, ’shun!’ shouted Seagrave, as the men sprang to attention; the officers saluted, and Raymond stepped forward to do the honours.
Still the piping continued, rising and falling in regular cadence till the performers were red in the face and near to bursting. Then again that almost invisible sign, this time from Raymond’s coxswain, and the sound of the pipes ceased as if suddenly cut off and smothered with a blanket.
The Captain returned the salute and looked down the line of stolid faces. A student of physiognomy would have seen much food for reflection once he had penetrated the mask of stolid look-your-best that a man at attention always assumes.
In the first place there was Raymond, a tall upright figure, very much the Naval Officer, and just now very much the captain of the boat. Had he been asked why he had joined the Service he would hardly have been able to give a very clear reason. ‘Father wanted me to, you know. Thought I ought to,’ would probably have been his answer,accompanied by much hesitation and a deal of stammering. As a matter of fact he came of a family which boasted members of the Service for many generations back, one of whom had been a Vice-Admiral. As an only son it had seemed nothing less than duty that he should follow in his father’s footsteps and carry the name on in the Service. He was one of the older officers, with aBritanniatraining, who had entered the Submarine Service as a Lieutenant in the experimental days, and who, after six long years as a junior, had gained his well-earned command several years before the outbreak of war, and had gradually worked his way up to command one of the later classes of submarine, and was even now on turn for a bigger boat. In the ward room he was a witty and pleasant companion. As a submarine captain we are able to judge for ourselves.
Then there was Seagrave, looking at present rather nervous and wearing a strained expression on his youthful face. Perhaps he was thinking of the hydroplane-motor, or perhaps he was merely worried over the general result of the inspection. He had received his training under the more recent Osborne-Dartmouth scheme, and his presence in the Submarine Service was the outcome of the war and the new Navy methods. The large number of boats that had recently been built had necessitated an increase in the ranks of submarine officers, and as it had not been advisable to drain the general service of too many experienced watch-keepinglieutenants, the Admiralty had hit on the plan of entering Sub-Lieutenants as seconds in command of boats. They received a course of submarine work, and, thanks to their previous training, which included engineering among other things, and their own keenness and intelligence, the scheme had worked very well. Many of them would be in command of boats at a much younger age than their present captains had gained a command, but the responsibilities and cares of a submarine life had amply fitted them for their positions.
Boyd, the R.N.R. Lieutenant, was another offspring of the war, both as regards his being in the Navy at all and as regards his presence in the Submarine Service. Prior to the war the Royal Naval Reserve had contained comparatively few officers, and commissions had been hard to obtain, but after the first few months of hostilities the Admiralty had realised that they had not sufficient trained seamen for their needs, and had reopened the Reserve with a call for more officers. The result far exceeded expectation, for the officers of the Merchant Service flocked to the colours in thousands, and after a course of training were sent afloat as watch-keepers in any class of ship from Super-Dreadnoughts to trawlers. The growth in size and capabilities of submarines, and their more arduous duties, had necessitated that they should have an additional officer soon after war started, and the result was that each of the bigger boatswas supplied with a Lieutenant of the Royal Naval Reserve. His duties were entirely those of a seaman, as he was the navigator, took a large slice of the watches, and looked after the confidential books and gyro compass. Boyd himself had served his first four years at sea in a sailing ship or ‘wind jammer,’ and had, after becoming an officer, transferred into steam and done a voyage or two in tramp. At the outbreak of war he had left one of the great mail companies of the Western Ocean, to which he intended to return when all was over. The Navy life did not appeal to him very strongly, and he was looking forward to a return to his old work.
The next in order was the coxswain, a first-class Petty Officer who had joined submarines as an able seaman about the same time as Raymond had entered that Service. Perhaps he had wanted to get married, and had been attracted by the increased pay, or it may have been that a friend in a submarine had told him stories of the life and privileges pertaining to it that had fired his imagination. Like most men of his age he had joined the Navy as a boy and been trained in a sailing brig, whence he had eventually emerged and blossomed out, until he received his anchor and was rated leading seaman after two years in submarines. Raymond had, owing to a vacancy, tried him as a second coxswain, with the result that in course of time he was promoted to the rank of Petty Officer and coxswain, and had followed hiscaptain from boat to boat for several years in succession.
The second coxswain was a middle-aged leading seaman on turn for Petty Officer who had been through much the same training as his senior, and hoped for promotion as soon as he received his ‘crossed killicks.’11
Then there came the gun-layer, the cook, and six able seamen, all A.B.’s of much the same age, men about twenty-six who aspired to be coxswains or Torpedo Instructors in due course. They again were new Navy, and had received their early training in shore barracks and training cruisers. The Submarine Service is essentially a voluntary one, and it would be difficult to ascertain why they had ever joined. Probably if they were asked they would have replied ‘private reasons,’ and sucked their teeth noisily.
Then came the T.I., Torpedo Instructor or Torpedo Gunner’s Mate, a Petty Officer and electrical expert, who, after going through the same early trials as the two coxswains, had specialised in electricity after being rated A.B. He had received his first upward step when he became an S.T. or Seaman Torpedo man, and shortly after he was promoted to Leading Seaman the specialist rating of Leading Torpedo Man had been granted him. With maturity and experience had come the rank of Petty Officer and Torpedo Instructor, and nowhe was one of those who knew more about the internals of those highly mechanical engines of death than the rest of the crew put together. He lived in a whirl of balance chamber doors and hydrostatic valves, and gibbered in his sleep of reducers and ignition delay gear.
The L.T.O., who was a new Navy man and the T.I.’s second-in-command, was in charge under Seagrave of all the electrical appliances and motors in the boat. He was an expert at finding ‘earths’ and short circuits, and was notable among his kind in that he was nimble-fingered and could ‘make’12a switch without breaking it.
The engine-room staff was headed by Chief Engine Room Artificer Hoskins, a hoary-headed old sinner of the old school, who could coax a Diesel engine to run on air or coal-dust if necessary and was, moreover, in a permanent state of growl. Raymond swore by him, and had, like the coxswain, taken him from ship to ship in his upward career. He had joined the Navy as a fitter and turner at the age of twenty-two, having just completed his apprenticeship in one of the great shipbuilding yards on the Tyne, and had been entered as a Fourth Class Artificer. His keenness and wonderful ability with anything mechanical had urged him to join the Submarine Service, where he was practically in charge of his own engines. Give him an oil-can and a lump of waste, variedoccasionally by a foot-rule and Macmahon wrench, and he would be happy for hours.
The second, third, and fourth E.R.A.’s were all much younger men who had joined under the new scheme as Boy Artificers at the training college at Devonport, whence they had emerged, having received all their knowledge from the Service, and in due course been rated Artificers, 4th Class. They were now slowly working their way up, and had joined the Submarine Service since the war, when the necessity for capable men had inspired them with the wish for more authority than fell to their lots in the engine-rooms of a Battleship.
The Stoker Petty Officer was a bearded and efficient ruffian, and the oldest man in the boat. Unlike the seamen, the stokers do not join the Navy as boys, but at about the age of eighteen, and this particular old sinner had had rather a rough time of it in his early days. However, he had kept going, and as only men of good character are admitted to submarines, it speaks well of him that he had not fallen by the wayside. In a submarine he had seen freedom from dirt and eternal coal shovelling, raking, and slicing, as well as extra pay and other privileges, and the added dangers of the life did not seem to worry him in the least.
His right-hand man was the Leading Stoker, who had seen much the same side of life as his senior, to whose rating he was now aspiring. He was a man of good solid worth, a little fond of the bottle; and possessed of many relations whosesudden deaths necessitated his immediate presence in the home circle. But he was a good man and knew his work and the men under him, and the engines never ran so smoothly as when he was superintending the oiling and other equally necessary operations.
Finally, there were the six First Class Stokers, young men not long in submarines who were very anxious to get on and very much afraid lest they should be returned to general service, which is the punishment dealt out to all those whose conduct in submarines does not justify their remaining in them. They had all been through the same early training, and most of them had joined submarines since the war. Like the rest of the crew they were good, steady workers, for the Submarine Service can always have its picked men, and those who are tried and found wanting are summarily ejected to return to the rigours of ‘big-ship’ routine.
Occasionally an additional hand was carried in the shape of a wireless or W.T. Operator, but, as Raymond dabbled in wireless among other things, he was not a permanent member of the ship’s company, and spent most of his time in the depot.
Captain Charteris took one keen glance along the line of motionless figures, and turned to Raymond and smiled.
‘All very smart, Raymond,’ he said in an undertone.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the other, and Seagrave tingled with delight as the two disappeared down the engine-room hatch.
Arrived below, the Post Captain made a quick and searching examination of the boat from end to end. His eagle-eye seemed to be all-embracing. A question to Raymond, an inquiry of the Chief E.R.A., and a request that the main-line pump should be started followed one another in the first two minutes. It seemed that he made a very cursory visit to the engine-room, but had anything been seriously wrong Raymond felt sure that Captain Charteris would have spotted it, and thanked Heaven and the Chief E.R.A. that nothing was amiss. Then for’ard through the length of the boat, the Captain nodding his head as he listened to Raymond’s explanations of some alterations he had recently made, and occasionally asking a question and always putting his finger on the weak spot as if by instinct.
Presently they reached the tube-doors, and Raymond heaved a sigh of relief. So far everything had been satisfactory. The spare torpedoes were examined, and a door was opened exposing the long dark tunnel of the tube with its “fish” lying snugly within, and then the Captain turned to the firing-gear.
‘Where’s the cross connection on the firing line?’ he asked.
‘Done away with it, sir. It was all right if both torpedoes were fired together, but the firing-tanktook 40 seconds to re-charge, and if only one “fish” were fired with the cross connection fitted it was impossible to fire a second unless we waited for that interval, because all the air was used on the first one and there was nothing left to fire the other with.’
The Captain nodded. ‘And now?’ he queried.
‘Each firing-tank fires the torpedo on its own side of the boat, sir.’
‘Do you find it satisfactory?’
‘Very, sir.’
Captain Charteris turned away. ‘That’s all, I think, Raymond,’ he said, and led the way up the fore-hatch.
‘Ship’s company, ’shun!’ ordered Seagrave, as the two officers passed down the line on their way aft, the Captain quietly scanning the faces and pausing now and again to ask a question as to what boats a certain man had served in, when he had received his medal ribbon, or how long he had been in submarines.
At the gang-plank, where the coxswain was waiting with his pipe ready, he issued judgment. ‘Not at all bad, Raymond,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m coming aboard some day to see dummy shots fired without the cross connection.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said Raymond saluting, and Captain Charteris was piped over the side.
As he crossed from boat to boat the trilling of the pipes was taken up by each coxswain in turn as the crews came to attention and the officerssaluted, the boatswain’s mate at theParentis’sgangway bringing the performance to a triumphant conclusion.
The quartermaster, the corporal of the watch, messengers, and sideboys stiffened where they stood as he crossed the deck and went down the starboard gangway to inspect the remaining five submarines.
Three-quarters of an hour later ‘pipe down,’ sounded by the juvenile Marine bugler, informed all and sundry that the inspection was over. The boats’ crews fell out, and such as were not wanted for immediate duty trooped aboard the depot and down to the crowded mess-decks, while the officers remained comparing notes and discussing the results of the ordeal.
‘What made the “owner” so ratty, Johnson?’ asked Raymond, on his way across to theParentis.
The officer in question, who was captain of the boat lying between Austin’s and Blake’s, shook his head sadly, and then burst out laughing.
‘It’s all UP with Little Willy, I’m afraid, unless he gets over it, which I very much doubt. And everything was going so splendidly, too.’ He sighed heavily.
‘What was it, you blighter?’ cried Austin. ‘He came aboard my packet in a state of fury, and I had to do my dirty damndest to smooth things over.’
‘It wasn’t my fault, George. I couldn’t foresee it or I should have taken jolly good care to preventit. One of my stokers, whom I’m going to hang to-morrow, by the way, is the proud possessor of a monkey. I took particular care that the brute should be sent inboard before the inspection, but you know what those ruddy things are, and somehow or other it must have sneaked aboard again. It was hanging from a beam under the torpedo-hatch, with part of an old ensign wrapped round its head, and when the old man passed underneath on his way for’ard, it dropped on his shoulders.’
‘Well?’
‘That’s all.’
* * * * *
Monday morning dawned dull and dismal. A steady downpour of thin drizzling rain that wet through and chilled to the marrow did not tend to brighten matters or relieve the gloom that had settled on the coxswain as he surveyed the weather with the eye of a fatalist. The hour of seven a.m. does not tend to hilarity.
‘This ruddy weather,’ he remarked to the unemotional landscape, ‘near drives me to drink. Near drives me to drink, that’s wot it does.’
A cluster of sleepy-eyed figures clambering up from the mess-decks caught his eye and gave him the opportunity he had been waiting for.
‘Come along now. Step lively,’ he growled. ‘Six bells struck five minutes ago. Fall in ’ere and tow a line.’
The half-dozen seamen and stokers, clad inoveralls, put out their pipes and stumbled into some semblance of a line as the remainder of ‘123’s’ crew appeared from their various lairs and joined the unhappy company. The E.R.A.’s carried on down to the boat to commence the day’s labours, carefully picking their way between the demons wielding brooms and the hose brandishers who were performing the early morning task of ‘scrub decks.’
‘Show a little life now,’ snapped the coxswain to his shivering subordinates. ‘Form two deep. ’Shun. Right dress. Eyes front. Stan’-at-ease. Are ye all ’ere?’ he continued, checking off the number on his fingers. ‘No, we’re one short.’
‘Jevons ain’t ’ere,’ volunteered the second coxswain, inwardly cursing the able seamen who kept him shivering in the rain.
‘I’m ’ere,’ cried a dishevelled figure hastily taking its place at the end of the rear rank.
The coxswain surveyed him with a baleful glance.
‘A little more from you, my lad, and you’ll be spoke to. You turn out late once more an’ I takes you before the first lieutenant. I’ve ’ad me eye on you for some time.’
The seaman swallowed heavily. It was unwise to argue with the coxswain in the still hours of the morning. Also his roving eye caught sight of Seagrave, who was coming forward clad in oilskins and sea-boots and pulling on a long pair of engine-room gloves.
‘T.’s crew, ’shun!’ cried the coxswain. ‘All present, sir.’
Seagrave gravely returned the salute and began telling off the men for their various tasks, an extra pressure of work having necessitated an early ‘turn to.’
‘Stokers carry on with the chief E.R.A.; T.I. and an S.T. on topping up and wiping down. The water lighter’s alongside now and I’m coming down to test the water, so don’t begin till I let you know. We’ll charge afterwards. L.T.O. carry on with the volt-metre board. Remainder clean ship.’
The coxswain saluted.
‘T.’s crew. Carry on down to the boat. Jevons, you work with the T.I. Dismiss.’
The weary band broke away and trooped down the ladder and across the boats to where ‘123’ lay on the outside of the tier. The coxswain produced a key of large proportions, and, unlocking the padlock on the conning-tower hatch, disappeared below. Presently the other hatches were opened from inside the boat, over which canvas shelters were rigged to prevent the rain from ruining her internal complexion, and the day’s work commenced.
Overnight a long black lighter, filled with carboys of distilled water, had been towed alongside and made fast to the submarine, and now the tarpaulin cover was hauled back and a long, flexible rubber tube passed up out of the fore-hatch and its end dropped into one of the carboys.
Presently Seagrave appeared armed with a stick of nitrate of silver with which he tested in turn the contents of each of the water-holders. Two of them were found wanting, for they clouded under the operation, and were condemned as unfit for use in the sensitive internals of a battery, and when he had satisfied himself with the others he gave the order to ‘carry on.’
With much labour the T.I. and Jevons filled the tube with sterilised water and passed the free end across to the boat and down the conning-tower hatch, the S.T. firmly grasping its extremity for fear of wetting the sacred brasswork. The siphon thus formed was a labour-saver of a large order and did away with the necessity of passing the water below in buckets and perhaps rendering it dirty in the process. Down below a sound of rasping and hammering came from the engine-room where the E.R.A.s and stokers were effecting repairs, where there had been ‘a bit of a mess up aft, sir,’ and could be seen wielding spanners and lumps of waste in a masterly manner. The L.T.O. was gravely attending to the volt-metre board, whose vagaries had given trouble of late, and the second coxswain was oiling the bearings of the hydroplane and rudder shafts and generally making himself useful. The remaining seamen were cleaning brass as if their lives depended on it, a state of things that was liable to undergo a slight modification on Seagrave’s departure.
‘’Ere, Sam,’ called the T.I., ‘give us a ’and withthis deck-cloth,’ as that worthy paused on his round to wipe an oily brow.
Together they rolled back the canvas carpet, disclosing a solid rubber covering bolted to the deck with iron battens, which on being raised exposed a series of hatches beneath which was the for’ard battery. One of these was then lifted and the operation of ‘topping up’ began.
Every three weeks or so, owing to the constant charging and discharging and other reasons, the electrolyte in the cells, composed of sulphuric acid and water, became used up and its level sank in the cells, exposing the tops of the plates. These were no toy cells either. They stood over four feet high and were placed in the bottom of the boat, below the deck level, in two long lines strapped together with steel plates painted red and blue, indicating positive and negative. The process of topping up consisted of replenishing the water in the cells until the level covered the plates, and was usually accompanied by that of carefully wiping and cleaning the inter-cell connections, taking the densities, and generally seeing that all was in order. An unhappy seaman, clad in oilskin, was posted in the lighter to transfer his end of the rubber tube to a fresh carboy as the first was emptied and the work went merrily on. The T.I. was the mainspring of the business, while the S.T. worked under his orders, shifting the tube from cell to cell as necessary, and generally doing as he was told. He was there to learn and he knew it.When two or three cells were finished, the hatch was replaced and another lifted, and so on down one line and up the other, by which time the battery was completed, several carboys had been emptied, and eight bells had struck aboard theParentis. ‘123,’ owing to a busy day, was carrying out a special routine, and the crew trooped inboard to breakfast.
The rain had ceased but the prospect was still anything but cheery, and even the funny man could not brighten the settled gloom that had overcome the crew when work was restarted an hour later. The T.I. and his satellites resumed their labours by tackling the after-battery, and casting much criticism on the health of the cells and nature of the battery in general. The gun-layer, assisted by the cook, overhauled his gun, and the remainder continued their early morning tasks with more or less signs of energy. It was not a cheerful morning.
By-and-by Seagrave came down, having polished off an excellent breakfast and feeling at peace with the world, to examine the work in hand and listen to the T.I.’s comments on his beloved batteries.
Another hour saw the topping up completed, and a waiting tug pounced on the water-lighter and bore it away in triumph to its distant lair.
Boyd appeared just as the job was finished and began to overhaul the gyro compass. While he cleaned contractors and filed transmitters he burstinto ragtime, which brought Seagrave aft with a pained and virtuous expression on his face.
‘My God! Pilot,’ he said, ‘what a shine you’re kicking up. If you’d been up since seven, like I have, you wouldn’t feel so cheery. Who wouldn’t be a navigator?’
‘Work with a will and sing while you work,’ said Boyd. ‘Work never killed the cat and I’m going to put in quite half an hour at it to-day. Our hard-worked submarine officers at their daily toil.’
The Chief E.R.A., who was hovering in the offing, chose his opportunity and plunged in.
‘Are you going to charge now, sir?’ he asked Seagrave. ‘We’re all ready in the engine-room.’
‘Yes, yes,’ replied the ‘Sub.’ ‘We’ll have to do a gas-engine charge, though. “147” has got the berth at the charging pier. We’ll start with 500 in the series until the densities rise to twelve twenty-five and then give her two-fifty in parallel. Starboard Engine!’
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ and Hoskins disappeared into his engine-room.
The L.T.O. made the grouper switch and then started the starboard motor, and with the engine-clutch in the Diesel was heaved over until she fired and the engine got away by herself. The process was much the same as cranking up a motor-car, and as the revolutions increased the needle on the ammeter, which had shown discharging at first, worked slowly back, past zero and on tocharging, and, after a deal of flickering, finally steadied at five hundred amperes.
The L.T.O. was to look after the charge under Seagrave’s orders, and the T.I. and his minion decamped to attend to the internals of a torpedo that some one had been rude to.
Every hour Furness made the sounds of the pilot-cells with a squeeze bulb—an instrument rather like a fountain-pen filler—with which he sucked up a small portion of the electrolyte and was able to read the densities. Slowly they rose until by noon, with the temperatures at about 50 deg. fahrenheit, the batteries stood at twelve twenty-five and the charge was broken. The sound of the engines died away and the L.T.O. stopped the motor. Then over came the grouper-switch to put the batteries in parallel, the motor was re-started, and in less than a minute the charge was under weigh again. The whole operation was identical with that of starting the engines at sea, the only difference being that the tail clutches were out, so that the propeller was disconnected from the shaft; also when the engines are propelling the ship the motor-switches are broken when once the Diesel is under weigh.
About three in the afternoon, when the entries on the charging sheet began to look formidable, and the charge was nearing completion, Raymond came down to have a look-see, and satisfy himself that all was in order. He and Seagrave conferred for a few minutes on the ‘care and maintenance’of secondary batteries, and then the skipper turned to the voltmeter.
‘Voltage 2.5. Yes, that’s all right. Densities 1248 and 1250. Temperatures 80 deg. and 82 deg. Um, yes. I think we’ll break the charge.’
‘Break the charge, Hoskins,’ said Seagrave, waving towards the engine-room.
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ came the answer.
The engine stopped and the L.T.O. snipped the switches over. In the engine-room the stokers were bending over the silent Diesel, and Hoskins began to square up the tools of his trade. For’ard the T.I. and the redoubtable Jevons were replacing their long-suffering torpedo in its tube, and the coxswain, with puckered brow and the stump of a pencil, was breathing heavily while he wrote up the log. The brass rags were being packed up and stowed away, the oil-cans replaced, and the hatches closed. One by one the men foraged for their caps and went up on deck. The T.I. began turning the lights out. Work was over for the day. The two officers were the last to go on deck, and then the coxswain locked up the boat and followed in the wake of his men. There were kippers for tea in the Petty Officer’s mess, and he was late already. It had been a trying and depressing day, and he walked majestically abroad, feeling like the captain who has made port at last when land had been forgotten.
Raymond paused by the gun on his way to the gang-plank.
‘Rotten little thing this,’ he said, pulling down a lever and opening the breach. ‘Why the devil they can’t give us something decent, I’d like to know.’
‘We ought to have a twelve-pounder on an anti-aircraft mounting,’ responded the ambitious Seagrave. ‘A measley six-pound pea-shooter like that isn’t any earthly use. It’s ages since we’ve fired the thing, and it’ll probably jump the mounting if we do. I can’t understand what they’re thinking about, dumping that ruddy thing on us.’
Raymond smiled. The gun, quite handy and useful in its own way, was Seagrave’s sore point and afforded a never-failing bite.
‘We shall have to write and tell ’em so, but I’m afraid they won’t take any notice of us. Six-pounders you shall have, and six-pounders we get, and they stick to us.
‘What I should really like would be a four-inch and a few eggs,13and mine-dropping gear. Then we could do something. It’s sickening messing about like this, looking for Fritz, who never comes out, or runs as soon as he sees us. I’d like to see one of their Battle Cruisers come across our patrol one day. We’d show ’em.’
Raymond smiled again.
And so to tea.
* * * * *
The Officer of the Watch, one Meeks, Lieutenant R.N.R., slowly paced theParentis’squarter-deck,wrapped in the rig of the day, to wit, a heavy gloom. The rain had ceased, but the sky was lowering and overcast, and the wind had dropped some hours ago. The moon, struggling gamely through the clouds, was the only saving clause to the situation. An unpleasant day had given place to a damp and chilly night, and at 2.0 a.m. man is not at his brightest.
Turning over in his mind the events of the day, he recalled a long vista of disappointing circumstances. At the outbreak of war, when the Reserves had been called up, he had joined the colours flushed with the thrill of patriotism that many know so well. He had seen himself doing great things, at least doing well, and perhaps ultimately being turned over into the Active Service and fulfilling a long cherished wish. However, after concluding a gunnery course at Whale Island, and making a good show in the examination, he had been sent here as watch-keeper to a depot ship, a parent ship to submarines. At first he had liked the life, but the novelty of his surroundings soon wore off, and he had longed to be at sea again, where there was a chance of doing something. He realised that watch-keepers in harbour ships were necessary, but somehow had always imagined that it wouldn’t fall to his lot to fill one of the billets. Two years of war had found him in the same ship, and to-day he had applied for a transfer into one of the submarines as navigator. The results had not been encouraging. The Captain hadtold him quite kindly that he felt hardly justified in shifting him at present. He knew what that meant. He hadn’t made a success of his work, and was thought unfit for a boat. It was a bit hard, he considered. He knew he didn’t take much interest in his job, but found it difficult to do so when he saw so many others of his kind going to sea in boats and apparently doing well. If only he could get a chance he felt sure he would do well. But now....
He sighed heavily, and leant over the rail.
A side boy approached with a mug of steaming cocoa, his bare feet making scarcely any sound on the wooden deck.
‘Will you ’ave this now, sir?’ he queried.
‘Yes, please, put it on the table.’
He moved across the quarter-deck to the table where lay the log and signal pads, and gazed heavily at the dark blurs of the anchored Fleet. The Corporal and Quartermaster of the Watch were talking in undertones by the gangway. Then five bells struck, and the sound was echoed from the neighbouring ships and died away in the distance.
The ship swung to the turn of the tide, and he went up to the bridge and checked the position by shore-bearings, keeping a good eye on the other vessels to see that they would swing clear. Up here a sleepy-eyed signalman and two signal-boys were passing the time by restoring flags to the lockers, and the night seemed very still and quiet.
Then a visit forward to the anchor watch and back to the quarter-deck again, to continue the slow pacing up and down to keep the cold out. He glanced at his watch and yawned. Nearly three o’clock. Only another hour of it. Up and down the quarter-deck, up and down ... with the knowledge that at any rate aboard each of the darkened and silent vessels around him a comrade in distress was performing the same penance....
A pattering of bare feet from the direction of the bridge, and a signal-boy appeared, breathless.
‘Red light showing from the Flagship, sir,’ he reported.
Instantly the Lieutenant’s manner changed. The regrets of yesterday had vanished. No need for quiet now.
‘Quartermaster!’ he shouted. ‘Hands to aircraft stations! Stand by funk-holes!’
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ came the cheery answer, followed by the sound of a bugle and the shrill twittering of the pipes.
‘’Aaaaands to—aircraft—stations!’ roared the boatswains’ mates along the sleeping mess-decks. ‘Re—mai—ai—ai—nder stand byyy yer—funk-’oles!
The great ship turned over in her sleep, rubbed her eyes, shook herself, and was awake. The sound of sharp orders and scurrying feet told that men were tumbling up from the mess-decks in all states, dress and undress. Up on the lower bridgeMeeks was calling the Captain, who came out wearing a bridge-coat and sea-boots over his pyjamas, while a messenger was doing the same service for the First Lieutenant.
The guns’ crews manned the anti-aircraft guns; the fire-party fell in. Hoses were rigged and buckets and sand collected, while those who had no special duty to perform stood by their funk-holes in accordance with orders. The duty coxswain was shepherding the boats’ crews into their boats, the officers appeared and took their stations, and with much swearing, shouting, and bad language the nine submarines pushed off from their parent ship, to scatter and seek separate billets where they would not provide such an easy mark to an aerial intruder. The last boat was away with her full complement, and theParentis’screw was at stations. Ten minutes ago the ship had been peacefully sleeping and the officer of the watch ruminating over a wasted career.
A messenger climbed to the bridge and approached the Captain.
‘From the First Lieutenant, sir,’ he said, saluting; ‘all boats away, sir, and ship’s company at aircraft stations.’
‘Thank you,’ replied the Captain absently, scanning the heavens with his night-glass.
A pause—silence and expectancy, but the silence of a multitude holding its breath or of five hundred matlows trying to keep from cheering.
‘Lord,’ said the gun-layer of the six-pounderanti-aircraft, ‘where the ’ell is she anyhow? Any of you blokes see ’er?’
‘There she is, Bill,’ cried the loader, pointing with a grimy forefinger. ‘Between them clouds, right a’ead there.’
‘That ain’t haircraft,’ sneered a voice, ‘that’s a ruddy lump o’ smoke. That’s wot that is.’
‘Silence in the battery,’ snapped a voice out of the darkness.
‘I don’t think it’s going to be anything serious,’ remarked the Captain to the Gunnery Lieutenant. ‘They’ve probably been reported down the coast, but I doubt if they’ll approach us in here.’
‘Shouldn’t think so, sir. Hardly worth while with so much high explosive knocking about.’
Away in the distance Raymond was handling ‘123’ like a veteran. Nine boats all shoving off at the same time are apt to get in one another’s way, and when semi-darkness is added matters are not mended. Out of the tangle he made his way, hurling an insult at a passing boat who was talking about her tail in peevish tones, and steering for the open water beyond.
‘Will you mind my tail?’ howled a raucous voice. ‘Where the hell are you coming to. Put her astern. Oh, damn!’ ... and the voice broke off in incoherences as another dim shape appeared across the bow, warbling about her planes and calling curses on her telegraphs. ‘Go ahead, damn you!’ yelled a voice; ‘are those telegraphs ringing or are they not. Will you answer or——’ ‘Nevermind, Willie.’ This from a cheery tenor. ‘Mother likes the pattern. Shut up, you noisy blighter!’
‘123’ chuckled to herself as she freed from the jamb, and five minutes later dropped her anchor between two mammoth Battleships. All round them whisperings and subdued voices rose, another submarine passed astern, and the rattle of her cable told that she too had found a billet. Only a quarter of an hour ago and we were all asleep. Raymond shivered and yawned miserably. ‘Damn the war, anyway.’
‘Doesn’t seem to be anything,’ quoth Captain Charteris to the ‘Guns.’ ‘I don’t think we shall be worried to-night. Hallo!’
Boom! roared a gun from the shore battery. Overhead the land searchlights sprang into being, ten of them, from all parts of the horizon, centring on one spot, and flickering over the heavens in search of the invader.
‘Warning gun. Hands to funk-holes,’ said the First Lieutenant.
Again the bugle and the roaring of the boatswains’ mates. ‘’Aaaands to—funk—’oles.’
Down below the men who had no particular duty at aircraft stations, which is very different to general quarters, dived down into their various burrows, albeit much against their will.
A burly figure loomed out of the darkness.
‘Mess-decks cleared, sir. Hands in their funk-holes.’
‘All right,’ said the First Lieutenant. ‘Thank you.’
The searchlights swept overhead, wavered a little, and steadied over the land.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Boom! Bang! Phit from the land batteries down the coast. Still no sign of the intruder to be seen from the Fleet. A whirr and a rush of motors and a seaplane whizzed past, soaring up and over on the look-out for the enemy. Away to the south’ard others could be seen wheeling and crossing high up in the glare of the searchlights. Suddenly the roar of the shore batteries ceased. Phit-phit-phit-phit came faintly in the distance from the sea-planes, as the mitrailleuses were discharged at the invisible foe.
Then, through a break in the clouds, into the full glare of the searchlights, swung the majestic Zeppelin. Calmly and sedately she floated, apparently unmindful of the danger, though her crew were working like madmen to get her out of the perilous area. Away above her a tiny speck was visible, wheeling and circling like a gull in a gale of wind. A mighty flash and a roar showed where the German had dropped a bomb over the batteries, but still there was no order from the Flagship, and the Fleet watched and waited in silence. The shore guns had ceased firing now, and up above rode that great airship as if despising the puny craft who pitted themselves against her.
Then ... a tiny flicker of flame was seen at one end of the Zeppelin, licking and hissing round the gas-bag as it spread from end to end.
‘’It, by God!’ yelled a Petty Officer in a strident voice.
A sound of hoarse cheering broke from a ship at the end of the line, was caught up and carried down the harbour as ship after ship broke into one wild roar of jubilation. The airship was crashing down nose first, aflame from end to end. Like a streak of blinding light she lit up the harbour, the ships, and the upturned faces as she rushed to her destruction. Down over the land she fell, and the cheering swelled into a mighty roar as she disappeared over the shoulder of a hill. Only the sickly glare in the sky told where she was burning to death, she ... and all she had contained.
As the yells of applause subsided, an answering cheer was wafted from the batteries ashore, and once more the Fleet burst into a thunder of appreciation. Then from the Flagship high up a red light, slowly winking and blinking in an urgent order, and the sound wavered, died away, and finally ceased altogether.
‘Flag-General, return stores, sir,’ said the First Lieutenant to Captain Charteris.
The Captain nodded. ‘All right. Carry on,’ he said, and went back to his cabin as the vocalists broke out into a long-drawn chant of: ‘Retur-ur-ur-n Stor-or-or-es.’
Another rush of feet as boxes and branch-pipes were replaced, buckets stowed away, and sandboxes covered. The guns were secured and thecrews fell out, while the ammunition parties returned the shell and cartridges and closed the magazines.
The submarines had picked up the signal, too, and hove in their cables with prayers of gratitude that they might now continue their broken night’s rest. One by one they came back out of the darkness and dropped alongside theParentis. A shape would appear, dimly seen in the waning moonlight. Somewhere a raucous voice would hail, and back would come the answer, ‘123’ or ‘146,’ as the case might be.
‘Answer’s “146,” sir,’ a voice would say, and the hailing would continue until finally all boats had returned and made fast in their accustomed berths.
Overhead the purr of a high-power motor, followed by another and another, told that the seaplanes, their work completed, were returning to their distant aerodrome, and another burst of cheering greeted their appearance.
‘By God,’ said a bearded gun-layer, gazing after them wistfully. ‘Lucky dogs, them blokes. See all the scrappin’ like. And we didn’t ’ave a ruddy shot. Not one, we didn’t.’
‘All boats returned and made fast alongside, sir,’ reported the First Lieutenant, knocking at the Captain’s door.
‘Pipe down, please,’ called Captain Charteris. ‘And good-night, Martin.’
‘Good-night, sir.’
Then the voices broke out again as the men fell out, and the boats’ crews came up over the side. Down below they trooped in knots and bunches until only the officers remained. For’ard a gunner was encouraging a three-pounder whose breach-block had turned peevish; on the quarter-deck the boat captains were comparing notes of their manœuvres and laughing over the experiences of the night.
By-and-by they had all gone below and were sitting in cabins, on each other’s bunks and tables, talking at the top of their voices and laughing over their misadventures.
The noise subsided and the lights went out in cabins and mess-decks. Silence settled down once more, and the ship was again in the possession of the watch-keepers.
The moon had gone in and it was quite dark by now, save for that yellow glare, gradually fading and dying down, where the Zeppelin had met her ghastly death.
The officer of the watch continued his pacing up and down, and once more fell into a reflective mood.
‘Oh, well. Life wasn’t so awful after all. Might be worse. Those poor beggars in the airship must have had a rotten two or three minutes. Perhaps if I try again I may get a boat after all. The show went off all right to-night. Skipper couldn’t grumble, anyway. Think I’ll wait a month and then have another shot.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Five minutes to four. That’s one way of passing a middle watch at any rate. Can’t reckon on it every night, though.’
He yawned wearily and turned up the collar of his coat.
Over the crest of the hill the glare of the dying Zeppelin wavered a little, faded, flickered, and went out.