Part 8

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,[13] and 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 the _Parentis’s_ quarter-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 had told 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 bridge Meeks 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 the _Parentis’s_ crew 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-pounder anti-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----’ ‘Never mind, 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 the crews 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 the _Parentis_. 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.

THE DOCKYARD

A CHANTY

I

A ship once came to Plymouth Hoe. (_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies. A ship once came to Plymouth Hoe, And they furled her sails in a harbour stow, ’Ere they sent them down and the yards also. (_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.

II

They lashed her gear and hove her keel. (_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies. They lashed her gear and hove her keel, And scraped and painted her as taut as steel. (_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.

III

They eased her up when she was done. (_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies. They eased her up when she was done, And they polished her white from truck to gun, Till she shone like glass in the morning sun. (_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth.

IV

Their paint came from the Dockyard Store. (_Chorus_) Heave away, my bullies. Their paint came from the Dockyard Store, And they got their whack and they got no more, For that’s the essence of the Navy Law, Your due’s a gallon and you won’t get four, A thing that they can’t understand ashore. (_Chorus_) Heave away from Plymouth.

V

And more ships came and did the same. (_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth. And more ships came and did the same, And earned their money at the re-fit game, ‘Survey and Demand’ is its modern name, To which the Navy owes a deal of fame, For the Dock gives life to the ship that’s lame, And fire to the guns which appear so tame, But which belch out Death with a blasting flame, And the Huns may curse but THEY’RE to blame, So (_Chorus_) Heave away for Plymouth; Heave away, Heave away Heave away for Plymouth.

‘SURVEY AND DEMAND’

‘When the ship that is tired returneth With the signs of the sea showing plain, Men place her in Dock for a season, And her speed she reneweth again.’

_Laws of the Navy._

Carruthers, the Senior Submarine Officer and Captain of ‘146’ entered the Mess with the stealthy air of an assassin.

‘Show me that varlet, Raymond,’ he declaimed. ‘Produce him that I may mete out to him the full measure of his punishments.’

‘What’s the row, James?’ asked a voice from the depths of an arm-chair.

‘Ha, knave, thou dost flout me. Twelve long years have I sought thee, and now ... aha! The Captain desires speech with thee, even in his own cabin.’

‘Good Heavens! Whatever’s up? Surely to goodness he hasn’t got to know about my bumping into Blake last night. I only scratched the paint, and a bally wonder, too, considering the mess up of boats there was.’

‘I’ll tell you what it is, my boy, at a price.’

‘No. I’m darned if you do. I’ll know all about it soon enough,’ replied Raymond, as he made for the door.

‘Think twice, laddie, think twice,’ called Carruthers after his retreating figure. ‘A time will come when you will repent your harshness.’

As he knocked at the Captain’s door, Raymond wondered what it was all about. He couldn’t remember whether....

‘Come in,’ called a voice. ‘Oh, that you, Raymond? Sit down. A telegram has just come from the Senior Naval Officer at Darlton. He says that the dry-dock will be vacant in a week’s time for the space of a month, but if I don’t make use of this opportunity he can’t guarantee it again until September. It’s earlier than I intended, but as I can’t afford to lose this chance I shall send you down to get your re-fit over and done with, as you’re next on turn. You’ll leave here at three p.m. on Friday and arrive Saturday morning.’

‘Re-fit!’ Raymond showed his surprise in spite of himself. A vista of living in hotels swam before his eyes. A week’s leave during the summer, a break in the monotony. Lots of work about a re-fit, of course, but....

The Captain was still speaking.

‘I’m sorry I can’t give you longer notice, Raymond, but I mustn’t let this opportunity slip. You’ve got your defect list made out up to date, of course.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m all ready as far as that goes. How long do they expect to take over it.’

‘Well, as it’s your twelve-monthly re-fit, I expect about five or six weeks. It all depends on whether labour is to be had, of course. Nowadays one never knows. That’s settled, then. Your escort will be arranged for, and you’ll leave at three p.m. on Friday unless I get any further orders.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Raymond, rising, ‘and thank you, sir.’

‘Don’t thank me, Raymond. I wouldn’t let you go if I could help it. Far too valuable these hard times.’

The captain of ‘123’ closed the door quietly, and two minutes later was back in the ward room.

‘Carruthers, you worm,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you knew it all the time. Now I’ve got to pay you your price in any case, you usurious Jew.’

‘What is it?’ chipped in Austin. ‘Are you to be keelhauled at dawn?’

‘No fear; re-fit.’

‘What!’

‘Re-fit. R-E-F-I-T. Re-fit.’

Austin sank back in his chair and mopped a fevered brow.

‘He talks of re-fits,’ he babbled incoherently. ‘Here are we working our fingers to the bone and running risks of hideous deaths daily, and the stripling talks of re-fits.’

‘Well, I suppose he’s doing the decent anyway,’ said the practical Johnson, getting up and ringing the bell.

‘I imagine I’ll have to,’ laughed Raymond, ‘hard as it is on the missus and the kids. See, how many is it? Five, six, eight cocktails, please, waiter.’

Carruthers raised his glass with elaborate dignity.

‘I drink more in pity than in friendship to the knave who refused his just recompense to the bearer of glad tidings. In other words, here’s how.’

‘Cheer-oh, my little ray of sunshine,’ cried the Torpedo Lieutenant. ‘What my most backward pupil in the noble art of work will do when he is torn from my tender care I tremble to contemplate, but be of good heart. Bertie will await your return to the fold and amply make up for the lost time, Naughty, now,’ he added, ducking swiftly as a chit-block sizzed over his head. ‘Remember me to all the Hieland lasses and gae canny wi’ the whuskey.’

‘You lucky bounder,’ said Austin. ‘Just imagine it. I did my re-fit in the depths of winter and had a positively loathsome leave. You’ll just come in for the best time in the year.’

‘You might do a little commission for me on your way down,’ put in the Staff Paymaster. ‘I’ve got a parcel I want taken home. Too big for the post, and I live in Darlton.’

‘Me, too,’ said the Fleet Surgeon plaintively. ‘And it’s only such a little one.’

‘And get me some decent soft collars while you’re down there,’ cried the Engineer Commander. ‘My wretched things are worn to shreds.’

‘Here, steady on now, you chaps,’ laughed Raymond. ‘I’m not going till Friday. I’ll make a list of all your wants and do my best.’

‘Well, if you will go back to civilisation in this positively disgusting manner,’ said Carruthers, ‘you must expect the inevitable result. Hallo, here’s Seagrave.’