Part 9

‘Come in, my little man,’ cooed the Torpedo Lieutenant gaily. ‘And Boyd, too; this is a pleasure to be sure. Ring the bell nicely and ask the pretty gentlemen what they’ll have.’

The new-comers blinked in astonishment.

‘What is it, sir?’ asked Seagrave. ‘It’s not my birthday nor Boyd’s either, as far as I know.’

‘No, no, my boy; but you’re going down for a re-fit. Just think of it and all it means.’

‘What! a re-fit. When?’

‘Friday next,’ said Raymond.

‘Good Heavens! what luck,’ cried Boyd. ‘My brother home on leave, too. Good bally business.’

‘Talking about leave, my friend,’ persisted Torps, ‘what are we all going to have?’

Seagrave rang the bell.

* * * * *

Aft, on the port side of the _Parentis_, was a cabin, and in the cabin was a table. On the table was a large pile of books, sheets of foolscap, and mysterious forms labelled, S ‘134d,’ S ‘0196,’ etc. Close to the table was a chair, and on the chair sat an officer, with puckered brow and a fed-up expression on his face. The face was Raymond’s.

Enter Seagrave with a harassed look and a further bundle of papers.

‘Well, what is it now?’ queried the seated one wearily. ‘Oh, it’s you again, is it? Go ahead.’

‘Additions to the defect list. Only a few. And I’ve brought the list of alterations at the same time.’

‘Oh, have you; that’s cheery news. Great Scott! Is this what you call a few? The list’s a fathom long as it is. Here, let’s have a look. Hydroplane gear to be overhauled; steering gear overhauled and adjusted; new ventilator fans. Any one would imagine the boat was dropping to pieces. This is going to be “some” defect note, let me tell you. The alteration list isn’t very huge, however. Bridge enlarged, stanchions fitted, hum. All tanks are down to be tested, of course, and air bottles as well. Engines stripped. Hum. Give me that pink sheet. And ahead we go on the defect note. The alteration list I’ll let you copy out if you’re good. Now, as to demand notes?’

‘The coxswain’s got all his made out, and Hoskins is doing his lot now. Then there’ll be a good deal of stuff on survey and demand. Flags, shackles, looking-glass, clock, wire, and other things like that. Then Boyd wants some “Sperry” spares, and I think that’s the lot.’

‘And that’s a bit o’ luck,’ the Lieut.-Commander said grimly, as Seagrave took himself off. ‘Thank God for small mercies!’

As he himself put it, it was ‘some’ task. When a submarine goes through her annual re-fit every item in the boat from the ballast tanks and engines to the knives and forks is taken out, if possible, overhauled, tested, and replaced. Long lists have to be prepared and signed or nothing can be done, and woe betide he who gets on the wrong side of the Naval Store Officer in the process.

Such things as awnings, flags, brooms, and other permanent stores that are desired to be renewed, must be entered on a mystic form printed in red and known as a ‘survey’ note, and are filled in also on a second form printed in funereal black, which is called a ‘demand’ note or hope-you-may-get-it chit. Should the state of the decayed articles be sufficiently decrepit to satisfy the N.S.O.[14] the demand note is produced in triumph, and new articles are issued and borne away as captives to the boat by hoary-headed and deceiving matlows.

Such requisites as paint, rope, yarn, etc., which are known as ‘consumable stores,’ need only be filled in on the ‘demand’ note. But here again the demander must be wary. A printed form is issued to him stating clearly exactly to how much of each commodity his class of vessel is entitled, and an avenging fate overtakes the luckless wight who demands, by accident or design, more than his prescribed allowance. Should he escape these pitfalls, another horror still rises to baulk him. Articles under sub-head ‘A’ must not be named on the same sheet as those under sub-heads ‘B,’ ‘C,’ ‘D,’ ‘E,’ or ‘F,’ and every form must be countersigned by the commanding officer to the effect that he is not attempting to get more than his due from rapacious Dockyard. Also the ‘reason for demand’ must be given, either ‘to complete’ (Establishment) or ‘in lieu’ (of old worn out).

The coxswain needs paint, rope, oil, tar, flags, bunting, awnings, yarn, spikes, and a host of other things. The needs of the engine-room are enormous, the electrical staff clamours for insulating tape, lamp globes, fuses by dozens, and wire by the hundred feet. The torpedo accessories raise up their heads and gibber, and the batteries, the life and soul of the boat, shriek to be cleaned and washed and fed. But cold and incisive as the voice of doom, ‘Articles under sub-head “A” must not be named on the same sheet as these under sub-head “B.”’ And, ‘Establishment list for submarines “O” class.’

The defect note is finished at last and assumes huge proportions. Pink and blushing as it well may be, it begins with the lifting of the batteries and the overhauling of the cells, wanders through the stripping of the engines, the testing of the tanks, and the dry-docking of the boat, and comes to rest at last with the painting of the internal economy and the re-fitting of certain shelves (they were never there before) on which the captain wishes to place his boots presumably, on his return to sea.

The alteration list is a quick breath of hope from a fervent heart yet sick with longing. But here again Admiralty steps in and allows or not, as the case may be, the placing of the wine locker above or under the chest of drawers, as the case may or may not be again. Won’t she want painting by the time it’s all finished.

The ‘Demand’ notes are made out in triplicate and signed to the bitter end. The ‘Survey and Demand Notes’ are made out in quadruplicate, but mercy of mercies, only one need be signed by the long-suffering captain of the boat. The stacks of paper rise, and rise, and blow away, and are picked up and blow away again. But at last they are finished, and thanks to them and the brains that conceived them, when the submarine gets to work, her re-fit will run like clockwork and no hitch will occur despite the multiplicity and diversity of the trades and workmen who will be employed upon her. Youth scoffs in its ignorance at the filling in of forms, but age and wisdom walk hand in hand and bow to the minds that ordained these things, having seen the results and gone away ... marvelling. For the results are good, and good is good all the world over, and no man but a sniveller can expect any better praise. But Admiralty expects no praise at all, for she is very old and very very wise, and knowing, winks one eye and smiles.

So the maze of papers straightens itself out, gives a shake, nears completion, and lo, the preparations _are_ completed. Three days gone, and on the fourth ‘123’ can hurry down to Darlton, with the assurance that whatever else happens _her_ re-fit will go smoothly enough. Nothing can interfere with that, for her paper-work is complete and all in order, and things will move.

No rush, no hurry, but a steady marching to an appointed end. Small things, but the outcome of hundreds of years of experience and waiting, and the results have been, and are being, felt all the world over.

As Raymond signed the last chit and sealed the final envelope he heaved a sigh of relief. The last form was filled and despatched and all was ready for the morrow. The ward room made merry over the event and several guests were invited to dinner, among whom was Clinton, the captain of H.M. Destroyer _Master_, who was to escort ‘123’ down to Darlton.

After dinner the Destroyer man wandered down to Raymond’s cabin and the two sat over their charts discussing plans for the morrow.

‘Here we are,’ said Raymond, referring to his orders. ‘We leave at 3.0 p.m. It’ll be dark by then and we’ve got to anchor for the night. God knows why. Get under weigh again at four in the morning on Saturday, and arrive about four in the afternoon.’

‘Yes, that looks all right. What speed are you going to do?’

‘Ten knots steady.’

‘Then I’ll do about twenty-two zig-zag and keep ahead of you. You’ll have to steer a straight course, I suppose.’

‘Yes, and if we see anything I shall dive at once. Don’t you worry about me. You probably won’t be able to see me, but I shall look out for myself and help you all I can if you have to put up a scrap.’

‘All right. You’ve got a copy of the secret signals for entering Darlton?’

‘Yes, and they know we’re coming at every signal station down the coast.’

‘No anchor lights, by the way.’

‘Rotten job this escorting business when it’s a submarine. Every one suspects ’em, friend and foe alike. I expect there are patrols about there at night, and that’s why we’ve got to anchor.’

‘Expect so. Anyway it’s not very far, only about 180 miles. How long are you stopping in Darlton?’

‘I’m not. Got to return on Sunday. Rotten job escorting anyway. Had quite a lot of it lately. Hate it.’

‘Well, that’s all arranged for, and now--yes, I think so,’ and together they returned to the ward-room and rejoined the revellers.

The Engineering Commander was making a speech.

‘----most auspicious occasion,’ he was saying as they opened the door. ‘We are all heartily glad that our young friends are leaving us.’ (Hear, hear.) ‘In fact, I dare venture to say that there is not a single dissentient voice.’ (Cries of ‘No, no.’) ‘But a time will come when they will be seen once more in our midst.’ (Question.) ‘Will be seen once more in our midst, to the sorrow of the Hun and delight of the Deputy Naval Store Officer down at Darlton.’ (‘Yes, yes.’) ‘Do not despair; it is not a British custom. We must hope for the best. I trust you will all join me in speeding the departing nuisance and drink damnation to “123,”’ and the orator subsided amidst thunders of applause.

The Torpedo Lieutenant rose, calm and dignified, and eyed the members of the ward room with a dissatisfied air.

‘Mr President, gentleman, and officers of “123.”’ (Roars of appreciation.) ‘It is with heartfelt satisfaction that I rise on the occasion, or rather to the occasion, of my young pupil’s departure. We all know Raymond; he has been long amongst us.’ (Loud and prolonged groans.) ‘We know him well; we know his shortcomings.’ (‘We do, we do.’) ‘It is my painful duty to inform you that he is one my most backward pupils in the art of work.’ (‘He is, he is.’) ‘Nevertheless he is improving.’ (‘No, no.’) ‘Now, all my efforts are like to be set at naught.’ (‘Yes, yes.’) ‘But we must not give in.’ (‘Never.’) ‘We must back one another up. We must coalesce; we must unite; and on his return we must make a determined and extended effort to save him from himself.’ (‘We will, we will.’) ‘We must stand back to back. We must keep on hitting. In the words of the immortal Captain Smith of _Titanic_ fame, we must “Be British.”’

Raymond rose to reply.

‘Mr President, Gentlemen, I hope and trust that during my temporary absence you will conduct yourselves as little like officers and as much like gentlemen as you can, without causing yourselves any great personal inconvenience. Glad as I am to leave you, my heart bleeds when I try to imagine your dilemma when bereft of my restraining influence. You are a lot of rotters.’ (‘No, no.’) ‘You are a lot of rotters, to whom I wish bad weather and flat beer, and don’t forget that if you increase with your motors in series, you increase on the one you haven’t increased on before you increase on the one that you have. Think it out well and dream about it. I will endeavour to execute your commissions.’ (‘Hear, hear, hear.’) ‘Little as I wish to.’ (‘Oh, oh.’) ‘With the greatest pleasure in the world we part brass rags at 3.0 p.m. to-morrow.’ (Cheers.)

Then the ward room broke loose, and an obstacle race was organised, much to the detriment of the furniture, and after Blake had given a juggling turn the visitors were called on for a side-show.

After much whispering and preparation, during which time the whisky was circulated, it materialised in the form of a charade in which a Jew, organ-grinder, a beauteous damsel, and a gentleman with a green nose were the leading lights.

Then Hackensmidt and Madrali (Carruthers and Johnson) wrestled for the world’s championship of ‘caught-as-caught-couldn’t’ wrestling, the result of which was that a gasping Johnson lay on the flat of his back, knocking feebly on the deck, what time an empurpled Carruthers kneaded him in the chest. Visitors and hosts alike arose and fell on them.

The rugger scrum which ensued was a huge success, though the ball (somebody’s Nautical Tables) suffered rather in the process. Then the piano got going, and as eleven o’clock struck came the chorus of:--

‘A German officer crossed the Rhine, Skibye, Skiboo!’

hammered out by the lungs of the united ward room.

Then the party broke up and the visitors departed. Farewells and ‘good lucks’ were exchanged, and the ward room servants locked up the darkened quarters. ‘123’ was off to-morrow, and her captain was rather popular.

* * * * *

At three p.m. the following afternoon H.M.S. _Master_ hoisted the signal ‘M.K.,’ requesting from the Flag permission to proceed in execution of previous orders. Hardly had the flags reached the yard-arm when an answering splash of colour (red with a white cross) rewarded the efforts of the hawk-eyed signalman.

‘Signal affirmed, sir,’ he reported, and as the _Master’s_ anchor came up into the pipe the Church Pennant fluttered to the deck, and, turning on her heel with a white threshing of water, she came ahead and made for the harbour entrance.

Behind her was ‘123,’ who had left the _Parentis’s_ side some ten minutes before. Her Diesels had just started, and the oily smoke of the exhaust was thinning away astern as she fell into line behind her escort. She was on passage now, and her routine was rather different from that of the regular patrol work. On the bridge were Raymond, Boyd, the coxswain, and the look-out. By-and-by when clear of the land the officers could take regular watches and drop into the order of ordinary surface ships.

Nevertheless, she was in diving trim, and only needed to flood main ballast to take her under in case of necessity. Down below she looked like a veritable warehouse. Most of the officers’ luggage was going down in the escort, but bags and portmanteaux that were likely to be needed _en route_, or immediately on arrival, were stowed below, and the crew’s bags and hammocks were piled up in the fore-end, a mighty heap of belongings which had had to be compensated for when trimming the boat for diving.

As they steamed out of the harbour, the submarine and her greatest enemy, there were many envious glances cast at the boat that was going down for her re-fit. ‘Lucky dogs,’ quoth a watch-keeper in a battleship, as they cleared her counter.[15] ‘Re-fit and leave. I haven’t had any for years.’

Outside the harbour and clear of the defences Boyd put her on her southerly course, and the log was streamed. Not a log that tows astern like that of a surface ship, but a long cylindrical tube carrying vanes at its lower end, which is lowered through a hole in the bottom of the boat and packed to prevent leakage. The Destroyer shot ahead at her twenty knots (it was nothing to her, as she was one of the latest class, and capable of a good deal more) and began her zig-zag.

‘123’ had perforce to keep a straight course, while the _Master_ steamed about a mile ahead of her and dashed across the bows in her efforts to reduce her twenty knots to ten.

She was doing a twelve points zig-zag now, six points to starboard of the course and then six points to port, while ‘123’ ambled along behind at her steady ten straight. It was a good illustration of the hare and the tortoise, though if you had told Raymond so he would have brained you on the spot.

At four o’clock the captain went below, and he and Seagrave had tea behind the green curtains and discussed the coming prospects of re-fit. So far the weather was beautiful and the sea like a mill-pond, and after the meal Seagrave got a deck-chair up the fore-hatch and sat on the superstructure with a magazine. Raymond was dozing down below, in spite of the strains of a wheezy accordion that came from the region of the engine-room, and Boyd, the helmsman, and the look-out were in charge of the bridge. Most of the crew who were off were sleeping too. This was a passage, not a business patrol, and though they were prepared if anything should arise they were not looking for trouble this time. The Destroyer continued her erratic dashings across the bow, men came up for a smoke or to point out landmarks on the coast to one another, and dinner-time came and went. About half-past eight a distant smudge of smoke took shape and hardened in the form of an armed trawler who bore down upon them, fussily belligerent. _Master_ stopped her gyrations and took steady station ahead, her yardarms eloquent of her consort’s right to exist. But the trawler was persistent, and closed them with her 6 pounder manned and every beam in her creaking with suspicion. She challenged, was answered, still held on, and then sullenly turned on her heel, a disappointed and disgusted trawler. Then _Master_ drew ahead again, and as ‘123’ went by a boy in the trawler waved his cap and shouted something. The sun set and twilight gave way to darkness. The point of land ahead gathered itself out of the mist, and a small light showed from the Destroyer’s stern. Then she steadied ahead on a straight course again until just before ten o’clock, when she put her helm a-starboard.

Raymond put his telegraph over and the ‘Klaxons’ hooted below.

‘Stop both,’ he said. ‘Not bad; just about reached Hunter’s Point by ten o’clock. Stand by the weight. Group down.’

‘Both engine-clutches out, sir,’ came the messenger’s voice up the hatch.

‘Ay, ay. Astern both.’

A rattle from ahead told that the Destroyer had picked up her moorings, and a moment later Raymond gave the order: ‘Stop both. Let go.’

A whirring of wire followed as the weight was released, and then the messenger’s voice rose again.

‘Took bottom in 12 fathoms, sir.’

‘All right. Veer out to 36 fathoms.’

‘Thirty-six fathoms, sir. Brought up.’

Seagrave reappeared from the depths, and took on the anchor watch. He and the look-out were to remain on till midnight, when Boyd and another seaman would relieve them.

‘Have you started a charge yet?’ asked Raymond, as he prepared to go below.

‘Yes, sir. 600 in parallel.’

‘That’ll do. Tell Boyd we’re getting under weigh at four o’clock, and if you see anything, she’s all ready for diving. Let me know at once, but if anything starts firing or stunting about dive at once on the weight, and we’ll cut the wire when we get down.’

‘Very good, sir. Good-night,’ and Seagrave was left to his own devices.

A dark night and a dead calm sea. Half a mile to the southward a black smudge showed where the Destroyer was anchored and the western horizon was filled with the low coast-line about three miles distant. Then the moon rose and a vigilant look-out was necessary in case any enemy raiders were on the prowl. Very still and silent, save for the lapping of the water round the pressure hull and the sound of the engines and the battery-fans that told that the charge was under weigh. Otherwise the boat was ready for diving. Her hatches were closed save for the conning-tower, and the compass-lid screwed down. The gyro repeater had been sent below and all unnecessary gear stowed away.

The two vessels swung to their anchors, and the moon climbed higher and higher, changing from red to orange and orange to silver as it cleared the mists of the horizon. Midnight came at last, and with it came Boyd who was to keep the middle watch.

‘Here we are, pilot,’ said Seagrave. ‘Pleased to see you. The lead’s over aft. The _Master’s_ half a mile or so off bearing about 185 deg., and we’re ready for diving except for the charge. Skipper wants to be called to get under weigh at four o’clock. Let him know if you see anything, and dive on the weight if necessary. Got the challenge and reply? Right then, that’s the lot. Cheer-oh.’

And he disappeared below to hot cocoa and Morpheus.

The look-out was relieved, and the vigil continued. The little bridge was a weary place when ‘123’ was not under weigh, and time passed very slowly. Boyd yawned miserably and climbed down on to the superstructure, as it was calm enough to walk there without running the risk of falling overboard.

But even here it wasn’t all it might be. One hit one’s head on the jumping wires and stumbled over the closed after-hatch, and after a while he returned to the bridge and the cold comfort of the little stool screwed into the deck. The look-out was on the other side, leaning up against the standard. He also was wishing the night would pass and they could get on down to Darlton. Three o’clock; not so very much longer....

And then suddenly they were both on the alert, staring out to starboard where something was showing on the northern horizon.

‘Call the Captain,’ shouted Boyd down the hatch. ‘Break the charge and shut off for diving. In tail-clutch and close battery ventilators. Diving stations.’

In a moment the crew were awake and Raymond on the bridge rubbing his eyes and peering out at the intruder. The Destroyer had seen her also, and her cable was coming in hand over fist. The sound of the engines died away, and a voice came up the hatch reporting that they were ‘shut off for diving and tail-clutch in, sir.’

‘Flood 1,’ replied Raymond. ‘Stand by 2 and 3. Heave in the weight.’

‘Open No. 1 Kingston and No. 1 main vent,’ came Seagrave’s voice. Then, ‘1 full, sir.’

‘All right. Stand by to dive.’

‘Don’t think it’s much after all, sir,’ said Boyd. ‘Looks rather like a tramp.’

It _was_ a tramp. An Admiralty collier on her way south for a fresh cargo of black diamonds, and Raymond cursed his unlucky star that had brought him out in the middle of the night for nothing.

‘’Vast heaving the weight,’ he cried. ‘Blow 1. Fall out diving stations.’

The tramp waddled by without seeing them (they were a very small mark even in the moonlight), and never knew the excitement she had caused, but her ears must have burned nevertheless.

‘I don’t think we need start the charge again,’ Raymond told the ‘Sub’ when he got below once more. ‘We’ll be getting under weigh in another hour.’

And so the remainder of the watch passed peacefully, and at four o’clock Raymond was up once more and the weight anchor was hove in.

The Destroyer was awake also, and her cable brought up the dripping anchor as ‘123’ was getting her engines ready. The compass was brought up and everything prepared, and then the _Master’s_ screw began to revolve and she swung round to her course.

Raymond leant down the hatch.

‘Engines 300 revs.,’ he shouted.

‘Three ’undrest, sir,’ floated up from below, and then away came the Diesels and a cloud of petrol-filled exhaust swept over the bridge. ‘123’ gathered speed, and the vapour thinned away as Boyd steadied her on her course. Then _Master_ drew ahead and began her zig-zag. A break of a few hours and they were off again on their way to Darlton, the present goal of the ‘ship’s company’s’ desires.