Part 5

He picked his way along the deck, past the two torpedo tubes, and the twelve-pounder guns, and up the ladder to the bridge. Here was no ‘big ship’ routine, for the _Zero_ only carried two officers and just sufficient hands for the efficiency of the ship, and the helmsman and a signal boy were in sole charge of the bridge. It was not an extensive structure, and consisted of a wheelhouse and chart-room amidships, fronted with glass and affording some protection against wind and rain, and two wings thrown out to the vessel’s sides.

Just below the fore-part amidship was a twelve-pounder gun, and beyond the whole back stretched to the razor bow. She was not much to look at, but she could still do her twenty-two knots and a bit over if called upon, without unduly straining herself or her twin engines.

Jenkins gave an order and the lines were thrown off fore and aft. Then the engines began to move and the _Zero_ slid quietly astern. Aboard the submarine alongside heads appeared from the hatches, and a parting insult was cast in an undertone at an able seaman who was coiling down a line.

Slowly she cleared the sterns of the _Parentis_ and her satellites, swung round, came ahead, and steadied on her course out of the harbour.

The fine weather still held and it was a lovely morning. The Fleet looked majestic and awe-inspiring, and as the Torpedo Boat slipped past a mammoth Dreadnought, an outsider comparing the two might have been struck with the versatility of the Navy’s work. Big ships or little, all were marined by the same class of seamen, who never knew from one day to another in what class or size of ship they might be required to carry out their duties.

The _Zero_ picked her way between the vessels, Jenkins training his glass on each as she went by. Here the ship’s company were running round the decks to the strains of a lively tune played by the Marine Band, there detachments were parading and squads under gunnery instruction. The Church pendant flown by a third ship indicated that the crew were at prayers, and divisions were mustering to the strains of a bugle call on a fourth. Signals were being hoisted, semaphores were busily waving their arms, and picket boats and trawlers dotted the open spaces between the vessels. It was ‘The Fleet,’ and accustomed to it as he was, the sight sent a thrill through him as he took in the scene.

As they cleared the gate and headed for the open sea Burton came up to the bridge.

‘Fine weather for us, sir,’ he remarked, picking up a pair of binoculars. ‘Light breeze and very nearly a flat calm.’

‘It is. Raymond will have to be pretty cunning if he’s going to get his attacks in unseen to-day. The best weather for him is when there is just a slight lop on the water. In a calm like this we ought to see the “feather” of his old “look-stick”[10] without much difficulty.’

‘Personally, I haven’t had much practice at picking up periscopes, and it never seems to me to be as easy as it sounds.’

‘Does take a bit of practice certainly, but with a little---- Hallo, what’s that over there?’

‘“147” returning,’ he continued, lowering his glasses. ‘Not more than six or seven miles off either. That shows you how hard it is to see ’em even when they’re on the surface. What’s the time?’

‘Ten to nine, sir,’ said Burton, glancing at his watch.

‘We’d better whack her up to twenty knots then, and we’ll start a zig-zag at once to exercise the helmsman. Raymond will be out any minute now. We’re going to manœuvre anywhere in this area,’ he added, with his finger on the chart, ‘so we ought to be able to see him dive.’

The Torpedo Boat slid through the water with an easy motion. The weather was clear, and here outside the harbour the sea was nearly smooth, and the razor fore-foot cut a great sheaf of water away on either bow as her engines worked up to top speed. Her gun-screws were closed up and her look-outs posted. A large red flag was hoisted at the yard-arm and every eye was kept glued on the harbour mouth, watching for the first sight of ‘123’ on her way out.

Every five minutes Jenkins altered the course, edging her gradually out to sea until the harbour was left about ten miles astern. Arrived there, the _Zero_ ran up and down parallel to the land, waiting for her foe to appear.

Presently the signal boy lowered his glass sharply and reported, ‘“123” coming out, sir.’

Away over the entrance a small smudge showed up, which the glasses revealed as Raymond’s submarine doing her best on her gas engines. Her bridge-screen was down and all appeared to be ready for diving.

‘All right,’ said Jenkins, after carefully inspecting her. ‘Keep an eye on her and let me know when she dives.’

Up went the telescope again, while the _Zero_ continued her hurried beat. Then down came the glass, and ‘Diving, sir,’ the boy announced.

Away over on the starboard hand ‘147,’ who had seen the red flag and knew its meaning, hauled up to the Northward to approach the harbour by a roundabout route and leave the Channel clear for her submerged sister. Not a sign of Raymond’s boat could now be seen, and the game of ‘touch’ began in earnest.

The _Zero_ had to get back into harbour, while ‘123’ would exert every effort to torpedo her. It was like looking for a poisoned needle in a bundle of hay, and one realised what it is like when hostile submarines with real live torpedoes are in one’s vicinity. Then, it occurred to Jenkins, there was always the chance of something going seriously wrong with Raymond’s boat, and he might run her down unknowingly. Well, that was up to her captain, and he must look out for himself. Although he had given practice-attacks to many submarines, the Torpedo Boat captain could never overcome an uneasy feeling when his ‘enemy’ had dived. He couldn’t see them, they were away under water, and if the attack were not made as soon as he expected it, doubts would come over him as to whether all were well below. Was anything the matter, and ought he to stop, buoy the spot, and return to harbour and report it? Then when he was getting really anxious the submarine would rise or fire at him, and he would have to call himself a fool for his doubts and fears. He was getting over it now, but he still felt the anxiety if, for any reason, an attack were unusually prolonged. Standing now in a wing of the bridge with his binoculars glued to his eyes, he scanned every inch of the water within a two miles’ radius. On the other side Burton was similarly employed, and look-outs in all parts of the ship were doing their best with their naked eyes.

The helm was put over, and, always edging towards the distant harbour, the _Zero_ dodged and turned and retraced her tracks to the skipper’s orders. She pirouetted like a debutante, and it seemed as if she fully appreciated the fact that, all the while, somewhere beneath her, ‘123’ an enemy for the moment, was watching and waiting the opportunity to fire her torpedoes at her. The sun shone brightly and danced on the wavelets as they advanced to meet her. Occasionally a light spray kissed her in passing, and the harbour and ‘home’ drew nearer and more acceptable. Away ahead a gull circled and flew down to the wave tops, hovered an instant, wheeled up, and finally fluttered slowly down as if seeking something.

Jenkins brought his glass down with a bang.

‘Hard-a-port!’ he cried. ‘There she is! Quarter of a mile off, four points on the port bow.’

The _Zero_ swung round in her own length, but even as she turned two glittering objects showed up in the water, leaving white streaks behind them and approaching her at a prodigious speed.

‘Steady!’ shouted Jenkins. ‘Watch the torpedoes! Stop her!’

One ‘fish’ passed well astern while the other barely grazed under her counter. Five hundred yards farther on they broke surface, and the red-painted collision heads bobbed up and down in silent mockery.

‘Away gig!’ piped the quartermaster, as Burton came tumbling down the ladder. Two seamen jumped into the boat while the others lowered her to the water, where on the tables being unhooked she towed alongside by her painter, which was made fast from the _Zero’s_ fo’c’sle. The man in the stern-sheets grasped the tiller and sheered her out, for the Torpedo Boat had not lost way yet and was still going through the water at a good five knots. Then quietly he eased in again, and the remainder of the crew dropped into the boat followed by the T.I. and Burton.

‘Ready!’ cried the latter, as he took his seat. ‘Let go, for’ard. Way together!’

As she sheered out, the Torpedo Boat slid swiftly past her. When all was clear, her engines churned astern and she gradually lost her weigh and came to a standstill.

All this time Jenkins could see no sign of the submarine, which had evidently retired to a discreet depth after firing the ‘mouldies.’ Nothing was to be seen of her as he looked all round in the proximity of his vessel. Then suddenly he realised with a shock that she was there, had risen just behind him within a biscuit’s throw, bobbed up like a Jack-in-the-Box, in fact. True, she was deep in the water but her whole superstructure was above surface, and as she lay there apparently deserted she put him in mind of some monster of the deep thrown up by an underwater explosion. Presently the conning-tower hatch opened and Raymond and the helmsman appeared. A moment or two passed, an order was given, and she slid quietly alongside, within hailing distance.

‘Saw you!’ shouted Jenkins triumphantly. ‘I spotted the periscope on my port bow and put the helm hard-a-port just in time!’

‘Saw me, eh!’ Raymond bellowed back. ‘For how long?’

‘Only about a half a minute. Just when you had the “look-stick” up the last time. When you fired, it must have been. You bore about sou’-west as near as I could get it. I was afraid it was too late and you were going to get your shot in.’

‘I rather thought I should get you that time. How did the “fish” run?’

‘Very well. A good straight run, but they seemed to me to be a bit deep. What depth did you have them set at?’

‘Sixteen feet. Best to be on the safe side. That makes sure of them going well underneath you if I get a good shot in, and leaves a margin in case they rise a bit. I don’t want to damage ’em if I can help it.’

‘No, of course not. Do you want another run?’

‘Yes, please. I’d like to get rid of the other two fish now we’re on the job. Same speed zig-zag will do me nicely.’

‘Right-oh. I’m picking up your torpedoes now. If you sheer off at once, by the time I get ’em aboard you’ll be far enough away to dive. I’ll get out to sea again to the limit of the area.’

‘All right. Thanks very much. But I shall be some time, so don’t shake things too much. I’m pumping out the tubes so as to go through the whole show again for the benefit of the crew. I haven’t had any attacks for some time and there are some new hands in the boat.’

‘Never mind!’ bawled Jenkins, waving the megaphone in adieux. ‘I’ll steam out slowly and give you plenty of time. Cheer-oh.’

Meanwhile the gig had pulled quickly to the nearer of the two torpedoes. The war-heads, with their great charges of T.N.T., had been removed the night before and the harmless collision or peace-heads substituted. Other slight adjustments had also been made in order to make them sufficiently buoyant, to control their speed and the depth and distance they should run, and now they bobbed on the surface in a perpendicular position, spouting water and pointing their noses to the skies.

As they drew alongside the first of them the T.I. grabbed at the wire grummet fixed to the head, and passed the end of a line through it. The torpedo was then pulled gently forward by the boat’s crew until the expert could reach and force back the starting lever, rendering harmless her knife-edge propellers. Then off they pulled for the other, the ‘mouldy’ touring astern and bobbing after them.

Presently they had them both fast, and rowed gently back to the _Zero_, Burton and the T.I. holding the towing lines well apart to prevent them banging against one another and injuring themselves.

Arrived alongside under the out-swung torpedo davit, the boat was made fast and a line passed over the propellers of the inboard ‘fish.’ Its other end was thrown aboard, and the _Zero’s_ men clapped on to the nose and tail ropes and lifted her bodily out of the water. Then the T.I. passed a thin steel band round the body of the torpedo at its point of balance, screwed in a shackle, hooked on the davit runner, and all was ready.

‘Hoist away!’ cried Burton from the stern sheets.

The torpedo crept quietly up the _Zero’s_ side, the men guiding her as she rose. When she cleared the deck level, the davit was swung round and she was gently lowered on to the wooden chocks prepared to receive her. The second torpedo followed, and all but two of the boat’s crew came aboard, the coxswain and the bow oar remaining to get her inboard. She was pulled under the davits, hooked on, and as her dripping keel rose out of the water, Jenkins put the telegraphs ahead and the _Zero_ was under weigh again.

Before the gig was up the T.I. was fussing round the recovered torpedo like a hen round a long-lost chicken, putting on tail clamps, draining the engines, and generally seeing to their needs.

As Burton went up to the bridge, after seeing the boat in, ‘123,’ who was now about a mile away, slowly disappeared from sight.

First of all she settled down bodily in the water until her superstructure was awash. Slowly her decks submerged, leaving only her gun and conning-tower visible. Then as she sank deeper, her periscope’s standard sticking out of the water was the only evidence of her existence. The standard vanished, and through binoculars the periscope alone could be seen, leaving a thin wake behind it. Then that, too, disappeared, and there was no longer anything to tell the watchers that ‘123’ had ever existed.

Down in her internals the crew was at diving-stations ready for the next attack. In the fore-end, where Seagrave was in charge of the torpedo tubes, the electric light winked and shimmered on the round copper doors. The T.I. and two seamen were busy with valves and levers, and the sound of a pump rose above the hissing of escaping air. Raymond was in the control room, by the periscope, and Boyd stood by, ready to record every course and bearing on the chart and carry out any special orders the captain might give.

She had dived to thirty feet as a preliminary canter in order to get well clear of the Torpedo Boat, before showing her periscope, and now, at an order from Raymond, the two coxswains slowly brought her up. Very gingerly the captain raised the instrument, took a quick glance round, and lowered it again.

‘Thirty feet,’ he ordered. ‘Course 20 deg., Boyd. _Zero_ bearing 120 deg. We’ll let her get well out to sea again and have another smack at her on her way back.’

‘All ready for’ard, sir,’ said Seagrave, coming aft. ‘We haven’t had a great deal of practice in the fore-end lately, but that new man seems to understand his job. I’ve drained the tubes, so that we can go through the whole routine again.’

‘Very good. I’ll let you know in plenty of time. We’ve got to get old Jinks this journey, remember. He mustn’t be allowed to crow twice. Up periscope,’ he added to the able seaman who was controlling the movements of the ‘look-stick’ so that the captain might be free to make his observations.

‘All right,’ he continued, finishing his brief survey. ‘Carry on for’ard. Jinks has turned back now. Keep her at eighteen feet, coxswain.’

Another rapid glance a few minutes later showed him what he was waiting for, and as the periscope came down he prepared for the attack.

‘Alter course to 175 deg., bearing 160 deg.,’ he called out. ‘Speed up 500. Flood the tubes.’

‘Flood the tubes,’ repeated Boyd along the tunnel of the boat, and ‘flood the tubes’ came back from Seagrave in the fore-end.

Round the tube doors a buzz of preparation took place. Before opening the bow-cap and exposing the outboard doors at the farther end, through which the torpedoes would presently be launched by compressed air, the tubes had to be filled with water. It was necessary to flood them from the water already in the fore-trimming tank, because if outside water were allowed to enter the boat the extra weight would put her down by the head and seriously upset her trim, probably even rendering an attack impossible. Then, when the tubes were flooded, the bow-cap could be swung, and on the order to fire compressed air would hurl the torpedoes from their cages, the trippers would engage and force back the starting levers as they slid out, and they would be away from the mark at forty knots.

‘Open the drains and vents!’ cried Seagrave. ‘Air on the fore trim line!’

Away aft in the control room Hoskins worked at a spindle on the air manifold, and a rumbling and gurgling indicated that water was being blown from the tank up into the tubes.

Seagrave and the T.I. were watching the gauges as the level slowly rose. Up, up it came, and as the thin bubble line reached the top, a spurt of water shot out from the vents.

‘Shut off drains and blows,’ cried the ‘Sub.’ ‘Close the vents!’

The tubes were now full, and with a few turns of a wheel he forced the great bow-cap for’ard off its seating. Then with his foot on a shining brass pedal, with a single heave of a lever, he swung the whole mass round till the indicator showed that the open doors were in line with the tubes. Something fell into place with a click, the cap was worked back on to its seating, and the torpedoes were free for their mission.

‘Charge firing tanks’ was the next order, and as the air sighed and soughed through the pipes, ‘All ready for’ard, sir!’ he shouted.

‘Ay, ay,’ answered Raymond, with his eye at the periscope. ‘Bearing of _Zero_ 165 deg. What’s her depth?’

‘Eighteen feet, sir.’

‘Right. Down periscope.’

Boyd was working furiously at his chart, laying off the bearings and courses and making notes of the orders given for future reference. All this would be gone through afterwards in ward room and cabin, and it was best to be well prepared.

Up went the periscope again. The men in the control room guessed they were nearing the moment of attack and steadied themselves in readiness.

‘Bearing 170 deg. What’s her depth?’

‘Sixteen feet, sir.’

‘Keep her down, man. Don’t let her break surface. Down with her,’ said Raymond sharply.

The coxswains worked frantically and took her down to twenty feet. Then up once more and the periscope raised a mere few inches.

‘Bearing 175 deg. Full fields. Stand by!’ shouted Raymond, and down came the periscope again.

The motors eased down as the fields were increased by the torpedo ratings working at the motor-boards in the after compartment. Boyd dropped his notebook and stood by the firing gear.

‘Deflection’s twenty, sir,’ he said.

‘Open “stand by” valves,’ cried Seagrave. ‘Open the cocks on the firing line.’ A minute’s quick glance round, then ‘ready, sir.’

The periscope went up a few inches. Raymond was bending down almost on his back now in his efforts to show above water as little of his ‘look-stick’ as possible.

‘Port ten,’ he ordered. ‘Keep her at her depth. Steady the helm. Starboard five. Steady again.... Fire!’

Boyd wrenched down the firing levers, and the boat shuddered through all her frames as the torpedoes were hauled forward. There was a great soughing of air as the firing tanks recharged, the coxswains spun their wheels to counteract the loss of weight, and down came the periscope.

‘Eighty feet,’ said Raymond, rubbing his eyes.

* * * * *

The _Zero_ had turned her head out to sea for the second attack. Jenkins had carefully marked the spot where the submarine had dived and felt fairly confident of picking up the periscope a second time. Burton also was beginning to alter his opinion about the difficulty of spotting a periscope. Perhaps it was easier than he had thought it. True, he hadn’t seen it last time, but then he was looking out on the other side of the ship and couldn’t be expected to have picked it up.

He crossed over to where the captain was standing.

‘How far are we going out, sir?’ he asked.

‘About the same distance, but we’ll keep her at this speed till we turn round for the run. Raymond wants to do some fancy work or other to train his crew.’

‘Very good, sir. I expect he was pretty sick at missing us last time. He thinks he’s rather a knut at attacks, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t mind,’ laughed the other. ‘It won’t worry him, he’s one of the best. And don’t run away with the idea that he won’t get us, because his blood’s up now, and it would be hard to find a better submarine officer when he really means business. How does the lighthouse bear?’

‘About another three miles to go,’ replied Burton, peering along the azimuth ring.

‘We’ll carry on like this for another quarter of an hour then before we turn round. Warn the look-outs when we start the run.’

The Torpedo Boat steamed on at about twelve knots to the limit of the area. Her red flag warned all intruders of the nature of her errand, and any passing craft gave a wide berth to the region in which she was working.

Presently Burton looked into the compass again and announced that she had reached the turning-point. The _Zero_ swung round on the course for home, and Jenkins bent over the chart.

‘Here we are,’ he said, marking the spot with a pencil, ‘and Raymond dived there. I expect he’ll attack us about four miles this side of the harbour. Our course is 270 deg. Whack her up to full speed and start a zig-zag.’

The telegraph clanged, and the helmsman put his wheel over at an order from Burton. The _Zero_ jumped ahead and began on her erratic run for home. Scarcely a ripple moved the surface of the water now that the light wind had dropped, and the odds were strongly in favour of their spotting the periscope long before Raymond could get into a position favourable enough to fire his torpedoes.

With her slender bow slicing up a narrow trench of water the Torpedo Boat raced on, turning and zig-zagging to the slightest touch of the helm. Once Jenkins thought he saw the submarine and gave a sharp order, but it proved to be nothing, and he countermanded it immediately. Then Burton thought he saw her, and after that he saw periscopes everywhere where there were none to be seen. A haunted feeling came over him, and he thanked his stars it was not an enemy boat that was after them. It seemed rather hopeless trying to find her after all.

But Jenkins, the veteran, thought otherwise. He had done this job on many occasions, and rather fancied himself at bowling out his submarine friends, and as they approached the suspected area he lowered his glasses and took a final glance at the chart.

‘Keep a good look-out now,’ he shouted to the watching men. ‘Starboard bow probably.’

It seemed impossible that a submarine could approach the little craft and remain undetected. A dozen men were on the alert scanning every inch of the surface in the vicinity of the vessel, and those on the bridge kept their glasses sweeping in all directions. Now that the moment had arrived, an expectant hush fell on the watchers, and each strained his eyes for the first sight of the slightest ‘feather’ or other indication of the enemy’s presence. Even the unnatural behaviour of a gull called for attention, for the wily birds can see and give warning of a periscope long before the human eye can detect it. It was like a game of hide-and-seek, and the look-outs experienced the feelings of a stranger stumbling along in the dark, knowing that somewhere round the corner his enemy is waiting to stick a knife in his back.

The expected danger-spot was reached, every eye on the alert. Over went the helm, they were through it; it was passed and the tension relaxed.