Part 13

‘Oh, shut up, Torps, and don’t gass so much. The blessed “fish” ran straight, and that’s all you need worry about. When I feel particularly suicidal I’ll take you out with me and do the job in style. We’ll all drown together and go down to posterity in the guise of saints then, a _dis_guise by the way of a most efficient order in your case.’

‘Your pardon, Lord. I shall refuse to come.’

‘Thank God for that.’

‘Then I shall most certainly _insist_ on coming next trip. I shall----’

‘How far off were they when you first saw them?’ broke in a voice from the other end of the ward room.

‘Oh, about four miles. I saw the smoke at first and hustled off in their direction.’

‘You must have had a pretty long fug afterwards, didn’t you?’

‘It was a bit mouldy sitting on the bottom, but we managed to turn up smiling.’

The talk drifted out and turned to other topics. ‘178’ was due in to-morrow, and her patrol and herself and her officers were also discussed with much freedom. Later the ward room was closed, and the _Parentis_ went to sleep, but still with one eye open, and watchful to guard the charges that lay alongside her.

Next day Carruthers and Johnson went out on patrol, and in the late afternoon a new boat arrived, fresh and hot from the dockyard, commanded by one Singleton, an officer well known to the boat captains of the _Parentis_.

Raymond and Austin had a day off, rather an unexpected favour in the case of the former, who had only just returned from re-fit, and decided to spend it in the country. They left early and caught a train after breakfast for the sleepy little town of Langton, some twenty miles distant. After the noise and bustle of a shipbuilding and mining centre, the pleasant peace of the English country came as a welcome change, and they lay back in their carriage and drank in great gulps of the fresh morning air as the local rattled sedately on. A fine summer day and the hedges alongside the railway, and the fields all gold, brown, and green, with little cottages nestling among them, and level crossings with children who waved sitting on the gates, and horses grazing, and reaping machines, and white high loads. Hayricks and little villages, small woods and distant spires. Imagine all this under the heel of an invader! The woman in the blue print apron standing outside the cottage, the children playing with the farmer’s old dog among the barley sheaves, imagine them with the Germans in possession ... butchery, rape, and at the best robbery and ill-treatment, and yet Belgium....

It didn’t bear thinking of. There was no possibility of invasion or wanton destruction. It hadn’t happened for hundreds of years, but then ... it must have been the same when the horsemen rode in and the old muzzle-loaders blared out, and men died and women shrieked and children clung to their mothers’ skirts, wide eyed and amazed.

It might happen, it might come to pass, and the very security of England was the worst danger of all. A hundred thousand troops landed overnight and the result ... fields laid waste, and killing and disasters, the soul of the English country changed to its very core. It might have happened two years ago, but not now. At a moment’s call the sleeping country could spring to life, and armed men, as if born of dragons’ teeth, would appear to repel the invader, armed not with shields and stabbing spear, but with machine-guns and the deadly howitzer. England had found herself. Not for a hundred years had she so proved her soul to herself and to the world. The call came, and slowly but surely the old spirit, latent for a century, revived and had its being, openly once more and for all the world to see....

The train drew up with a jolt, and Austin broke the silence with a casual remark.

‘Pretty little station. See those wild roses growing by the lamp-post there. Reminds you of pre-war days, doesn’t it?’

Outside, the good old-fashioned station fly rumbled them over the cobbles and into the High Street, where the women stared at the uniforms, and a small boy shouted something and ran after them. Then lunch at the one and only, called rather grandly the Imperial Hotel, albeit an old place, relic of the coaching days, though with a new master and up-to-date methods. Old prints on the walls of the ‘Fox Hunt,’ old furniture, and beer in pewter tankards reminded one of the ancient glories of the place, when the London mail would roll in with a tootling of horns and shouting of postboys, and be off again amid good-byes and handshakes, and ‘Write soon when you get to London,’ from mother, and a ten shilling tip from father, while little Alfred sucked his finger and stared.

The lunch consisted of the cold roast beef of England, and salad and cheese and fruits, and afterwards they wandered out into the sunshine, and up the High Street, tenanted now by only a few loafers, outside the Red Lion, and a boy or two on bicycles by the local post office.

The market square offered but few attractions, and the friends wandered through the town, which ended as abruptly as the bow of a ship, and out into the country beyond.

After his recent experiences Raymond found the situation almost too deep for words, and they trudged on, smoking their pipes, for the most part in silence.

Presently they topped the summit of a little hill and looked back on the town, a smudge of gray and brown buildings against the blue sky, the church spire in the centre, and the smoke curling lazily up in the afternoon haze. Away to the eastward was a thin strip of blue, where lay the sea and ships and submarines and war.

They turned their backs to it. For one day at least they would forget it, and Germany and War and sudden death.

Later on came tea taken in the garden of a little cottage which modestly displayed the card ‘Teas’ in a window, where they were served by the good lady’s daughter with home-made bread and cake and jam, and then lay back and smoked and thought of things and men and the country and England. Then they paid the bill, stroked the cat, gave the child some pennies, and wandered on at peace with the world, themselves, and everything.

They started back towards Langton, but the sound of bells drew them from the main road to where a little ivy-covered church nestled lonely and almost forgotten by the wayside. They took off their caps and went in. After the glare outside they blinked and groped in the dusk of the church until the light grew better and they saw where they had strayed.

‘I say,’ said Raymond, ‘this is a Catholic Church; hadn’t we better----’

‘That’s all right,’ said Austin. ‘We’ll sit here a minute.’

They found a pew and looked round them. Up by the altar a priest was standing with his back towards them. Two boys in surplices were standing near. Then an organ burst out somewhere, and the few worshippers took up the refrain and sang the _Tantum Ergo_.

The two men knelt down.

Later a bell rang and the old priest bent down over the altar. He raised something in his hands. Infinite quiet, the sound of heart beats, and the lists of the parish killed in action stood out sharply on either side of the sanctuary. The priest was moving away with the boys before him.

The organ crashed out again, and Raymond caught the words:--

‘_Quoniam confirmata est super nos misericordia ejus: et veritas Domini manet in aeternum._’

‘The truth of the Lord remaineth for ever.’

They stepped out into the sunlight and blinked in the glare of the high road.

* * * * *

Later, the return to the base and the motor ride to the harbour, and the steamboat off to the _Parentis_. A return to the world of men and ships, where the war was the essence of life and the main topic of conversation. The ward room was discussing the newly-arrived boat which was to take the place of Blake’s.

Singleton was a man of merry moods, and kept them going with stories of his struggles with the contractors and the trials he had been through while his boat had been building.

‘A hell of a lot of work,’ he concluded, ‘and didn’t get any “command money” for seven weeks either.’

‘_And_ had a fine fat time of it ashore, I bet,’ remarked the Staff Paymaster lightly.

‘Not so bad, not so bad, but nothing to write home about. Not married, you know. Found things pretty dull in the evening.’

‘Ah,’ said the Engineer Commander, ‘I married ten years ago, and haven’t spent more than a fortnight at a time with my wife ever since. Some people have all the luck.’

‘I agree with Mr Punch,’ chimed in the Torpedo Lieutenant. ‘As regards to marriage I could say three words--The first is “don’t,” the second is “don’t,” and the third is “don’t.” With my knowledge of the world my opinion is worth considering.’

‘Had a good day?’ asked the First Lieutenant of Austin, disregarding the Torpedo Lieutenant’s remark.

‘Very. Just wandered about in the country and smoked and thought and took in the view. Later on we got into a small church where they were having benediction or something. Made you feel all funny to hear it.’

‘I can’t imagine much shaking you,’ said the Fleet Surgeon. ‘You must have been in a very thoughtful mood.’

‘I suppose I was. It was the quiet and the country and the rabbits and things. Little things, you know, but things that count sometimes.’

‘----And when I got my periscope up,’ said a voice from the other side of the ward room, ‘I saw Fritz had manned his guns and was letting the tramp have it for all he was worth. Fairly potting him he was. So I kept well to leeward of father tramp, and then dodged suddenly round the bow and fired.’

‘Did you get him?’ asked Seagrave’s voice.

‘By good luck, yes. Right amidships. Then I went down, and came up for a look ten minutes later. There wasn’t any submarine there, but the tramp saw my periscope and thought I was Fritz, and gave me hell for about thirty seconds until I got well down out of harm’s way. I bet the skipper reported having sunk a U-boat.’

‘You got your shift shortly afterwards, didn’t you?’

‘Two months or so,’ replied Singleton. ‘Since then I’ve been one of the idle poor and lived on the fat of the land, or such fat as I could acquire owing to the Food Controller. Glad to be back at work, though. It gets pretty mouldy sitting in a dockyard and hoping the war won’t be over before you get to sea again.’

‘When are you doing a patrol?’

‘Day after to-morrow, I expect. Bit of a rush, isn’t it? Have to move round in the meantime and see things in order, as I don’t know much of her little ways yet, though she’s seemed all right so far.’

Boyd was comparing notes with the new navigator and discussing the possible vagaries of magnetic compasses in submarines. Seagrave drifted off with the new ‘Sub,’ and later on a bugle sounded overhead and six bells struck. Somebody came to the door and reported eleven o’clock, and the ward room emptied itself.

Raymond wandered up on to the quarter-deck and leant over the rail and gazed at the anchored Fleet. Behind him the officer of the watch was padding up and down, and by the gangway the quartermaster and corporal of the watch were talking in low tones. The side boy looked at him curiously.

‘Britain’s sure shield’ was keeping her silent watch. Beyond lay the big ships, and beyond them again a host of merchant vessels, supply ships, colliers, and hospitals. Outside, the Destroyers would be keeping their never-ceasing patrol, and the trawlers and mine-sweepers would be bobbing to the north-east swell. The wind caught him chillily, and he shuddered and turned up his collar.

A voice sounded from for’ard, high up on the bridge, then one bell struck, and he turned and went below.

THE SEAGULLS

Seagulls, seagulls! Birds of the air and sea! Seagulls, seagulls! Have you a word for me? Have you a word of my boy out there, Who left my heart and my cottage bare, Who left his mother and did his share; Tell me birds of the sea and air, Have you a word for me?

Seagulls, seagulls! Birds of the wind and wave! Seagulls, seagulls! Back from the sailor’s grave. Have you a word from my man who died, Out in the track of the cruiser’s stride, Where death’s the price of a nation’s pride; Tell me birds of the wind and tide, How did my man behave?

Mourners, mourners! Mothers of men and boys! Mourners, mourners! Death never quite destroys. Rather think of the deeds they wrought, Out in the dark where the squadrons fought; Think of their deaths as the price that bought Freedom and honour, and hail the thought, Sorrows are future joys.

‘FOR THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA’

This is a story of the early days of submarines, and the whole affair happened a long while ago--some years before the War, in fact--beyond which milestone the memory of modern man now rarely attempts to wander. The first news I received on the subject was from the centre sheet of a morning paper, an extract from which ran as follows:--

‘H.M. Submarine “02” was lost in the Channel whilst exercising on Tuesday, 16th inst. There are only two survivors, Lieut. Allison, R.N., the second in command, and Stoker 1st Class P. W. Howell. All hope has been abandoned for the remainder of the crew, as “02” has now been under water for more than 58 hours, and the divers report that it will be impossible to lift her for another two days. Lieut. Belton, R.N., the captain, was the son of Admiral Belton, K.C.B., R.N., etc.’

Now I knew Allison. I knew him well, and I scented the chance of gaining a little more information on the subject than could be gleaned from the morning paper, but I deemed it wise to wait a little and not rush things too much. His photograph, a rather blotchy affair, appeared in more than one penny pictorial, and I felt sure of my man. However, I went wisely about my business, and put the matter away in an upper brain pigeon-hole, to be produced at the right moment.

I waited a good long while, six weeks, to be exact, until I felt sure that Allison’s survivor’s leave would be a thing of the past, and then I sallied out and bought the current Navy List. I’ve said it all happened long before the War, when those who took an interest in the movements of naval officers could satisfy their thirst in the leaves of the Blue journal. Nowadays these things are altered, and the Navy List, which grows and increases monthly, is kept locked up with the other secret books in the confidential safe.

In its mystic pages I found what I wanted. John Hugh Allison (Lieut.) was ‘for command of Submarine “90” (building).’ I knew what that meant. He’d had his leave all right and been appointed to a new boat, as yet uncompleted, and was standing by to superintend the work of the dockyard, and to take her to sea as captain when she was finished.

I thought a while and concocted a piece of villainy. Then I sent the following telegram: ‘Commanding Officer, H.M. Submarine “90.” Congratulate you on your promotion. When may I come and marvel?’

He fell into the trap (did I say that the telegram was reply paid?), and sent the cryptic answer: ‘Many thanks. Come Monday, and be damned.’

The telegram was handed in at Portsmouth, so I knew at once at what yard the boat was being built, and Monday morning saw me hustling down from London full of my fell intentions.

I knew I shouldn’t get into the yard even in peace time, so I hung round outside till a villain in a working rig appeared carrying a coil of wire. He bore on his cap-ribbon the legend ‘H.M. Submarines,’ and I marked him from afar. It appeared that the ‘Captain’ was living at the Royal Arms Hotel, and thither I hied me and demanded that he be produced.

He wasn’t in. He was still down in the mystic dockyard and wouldn’t be back till lunch, so I made myself comfortable in a corner of the smoking-room and awaited what the gods might give.

In due course the gift appeared, in a ragged uniform, and wearing a harassed expression. On seeing me he uttered a roar of appreciation (he was quite twenty-five), and caused drinks to be produced with the celerity of a conjuror.

Then we lunched and discussed many things, from cocoa to spots under the sun, but never once did I refer to the subject that was in my mind; but after the meal was over I asked him how he liked his new boat and what he thought of her.

‘Oh, not so dusty for a first command; you wouldn’t like to see over her, would you?’ He eyed me tentatively.

‘Rather a long way to the dockyard, isn’t it?’ I hazarded.

‘Oh, be a sport,’ he continued. ‘I’d like you to see her, you know. You’re the first civilian to come and see me here.’

‘All right,’ I agreed, ‘I’ll come, but don’t be too long-winded over it.’

Then I smiled the smile of the evil-doer, and followed him in silence to the penny tram. Under his protecting wing I was borne into the yard, and presently came on ‘90,’ where she was being whacked and riveted and hammered into shape.

It was like all other visits to dockyards, and secretly I was rather glad when it was over, but I had gained my host’s confidence in me and felt well pleased with my afternoon’s work.

We had tea at Southsea, and talked over old times and many other things, and then returned once more to the hotel and dinner. I refused all invitations to the Hippodrome afterwards, having my purpose in view, and when we reached the coffee and liqueur stage I felt that the psychological moment had arrived. I didn’t rush things, however; I led up to it gently, and let him have it in small doses till he swallowed the bait.

Hard and uphill work, but it came off in the end.

He had been explaining some of the advantages his new command had over the older boats he had served in, and I felt the time was ripe.

‘How does she compare,’ I hinted, and ended with a lowered voice, ‘with poor old “02”?’

He coloured a bit and hesitated, and I thought that all was lost, then,--

‘Taking her all round,’ he answered slowly, ‘“02” wasn’t in the same street. She was a good old packet, though.’ He sighed.

I passed the port again and waited.

‘It might have happened to any type of boat, you know, really,’ he continued. ‘It was a sheer bit of bad luck.’

It was coming, and I nodded in silence.

‘I’ve never been able to quite make out how it happened,’ he went on. ‘Whether poor old Belton made a mistake, or the Dutchman got scared and put his helm over.’

‘The Dutchman?’ I queried.

‘Norwegian tramp bound out for the Atlantic. Off Portland we were. We’d been told off with a T.B. for practice attacks, and were in shallow water at the time, about ten fathoms. About ten o’clock in the morning it was, and lovely weather too. The T.B. was away on ahead of us, and just before we dived we noticed a steamer about six miles off coming towards us down Channel. I remember pointing her out to Belton. Then we went under, and I was busy for’ard with the “fish.” Belton had taken careful bearings of the tramp, and I’m not sure whether he got so interested in his attack that he didn’t pay enough attention to her, or whether the tramp suddenly saw the T.B.’s flag and banged the helm over. I think it was a bit of both.

‘We’d been diving about half an hour when the skipper ordered me to “flood the tubes,” and about five minutes later I got the order “stand by.” You know how those old boats were, the way the sluice door worked and so on?’

I nodded and sipped my drink.

‘The T.I. and I brought her to the ready and reported, and then came the stillness that immediately precedes a shot; you know, everybody waiting for the order.

‘“Stand by” Belton called again, and then to the coxswains, “when I fire, forty feet.”

‘It was just then that I thought I heard a sound, the rumbling noise of a train in a tunnel or the screw of a steamer close to. I imagined it was the T.B., and I remember thinking that Belton was taking her rather close to the target. The noise got louder and louder, and the men began to look at one another, and then I heard the skipper’s voice from the control room.

‘“Flood the auxiliary,” he shouted, and I knew by his voice that something was wrong. “Take her down,” he cried, “lively now.”

‘Then I heard an E.R.A. calling for a wheel-spanner, and I ran aft to find that the Kingston had jammed and they couldn’t open it, and all the time the noise was getting louder and louder. We flooded the buoyancy and speeded up, and she was just going down (you know we always carried a light trim in those old boats) when the rumbling grew into a roar and there was a terrific clang for’ard and a rush of water, and we knew that some one’s propeller had cut clean through the skin. The lights went out and there was another bang and spout of water in the after compartment, and down we went.

‘“Control room, men,” yelled Belton. “Close the engine-room bulkhead.”

‘Somebody brought it to, and as the engine-room wasn’t pierced we knew we had that much buoyancy at any rate, and with the water pouring in in sheets we hit the bottom and the men tumbled into the control room and banged the doors. There was a good four feet of water there by then, and we’d filled the bilge.

‘Luckily some one had brought an emergency lamp with him, and we switched it on down there in the darkness. The depth-gauge was steady at 48 feet, and the crew was packed in that small air-lock. We could hear the water rising on both sides of us, and spurts of it came through the watertight doors. Then by-and-by the sound ceased, and we knew that save for the engine-room and the control room the boat was full up to the hatches.’

‘My God,’ I grunted involuntarily, as Allison paused to drink.

‘We mustered the crew,’ he continued, ‘and found that two were missing: a stoker named Howell who had been on watch doing some job or other in the engine-room, and had been shut in when the bulkhead door was closed, and the T.I., who had been with me at the tubes.

‘The stoker, of course, would be all right so far, and as it happened he saved himself and is in hospital now recovering from shock. The T.I., we knew, was dead. He must have tripped over something in the darkness on his way aft, and the door had been closed before he could get to it. Poor devil, there was a gash about two feet long in the hull, and he must have watched the water rising till it jammed him up against the arch of the roof and drowned him as it rose.

‘Poor old Belton looked anxious; he had the lives of all of us on his hands, and the men just stood round and said nothing.

‘We blew what we could, but she hadn’t got a central control like we have in the later boats, and of course nothing happened. The depth-gauge stuck at 48 feet, and the air was getting bad already. There were fourteen of us in the control room--a space about seven feet by nine.

‘I was standing by one of the bulkhead doors, and was the first to suspect it. I didn’t say anything till I was sure, and smelt and smelt again till there was no doubt about it. The water had got to the batteries, and chlorine gas was creeping through the doors.

‘There was only one way out of it, and that was the old conning-tower dodge. We reckoned we had about half an hour to live, as the gas was only coming in slowly, and we might be able to save the lot if the air didn’t give out first.

‘You know the shaft of the conning-tower that leads down into the control room has two hatches, one at the top, opening out on deck, and the other at the bottom where the shaft breaks out into the skin of the hull. The space between was just big enough for a man to stand, and forms an air-lock.

‘I wanted Belton to go up first, but of course he wouldn’t have it. He insisted that an officer must go first to test the working of it, and if all went well to explain technically when he reached the top what was the matter with us. As he was the captain I had to go.’

Allison broke off and shuddered at the remembrance, and it was some time before he continued.