Under the periscope

by Mark Herbert Joseph Bennett

‘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.’

‘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.

The dawn was struggling over the eastern sky and away to starboard the land was showing up through the shadows. With the sunrise came a cloud of trawlers, who hovered round until absolutely certain of the submarine’s bona fides, and then fell away and pursued their lawful business of Hun hunting. Farther south a patrol of three Destroyers came up over the horizon, swept them with a searching glance, and hurried on over the earth’s shoulder, following their patrol-track as a sentry does his beat. After breakfast they fell in with a supply-ship on her way to the Fleet, and later on passed a coastwise cargo-boat, who turned on heel and ran till convinced by the Master that ‘123’ was not a ‘U’ boat.

And so the day wore on, and the funny man cracked jokes and the signalman played a mandoline in the after-compartment, and towards three o’clock in the afternoon the smoke of Darlton was visible down the coast.

The Master slackened her speed and kept closer to her charge, her signal halliards bristling with replies to challenges and evidences of her innocent intentions, but the outer patrols who came out to meet them still treated them as unwelcome guests, until something the Destroyer said seemed to satisfy the senior ship, and the group of trawlers fell away and Master and her consort were allowed to pass on without further interruption.

The inside trawlers gave way to them, and the boom was lowered in answer to their request, and then the Destroyer at the gate woke up to the fact that strangers were entering, and sprang to life waving her semaphore and generally ‘doing things.’

‘Master to proceed to No. 4 and 5 buoys,’ she ordered. ‘“123” to proceed to inner harbour and make fast to quay opposite No. 2 Store.’

The escort swung away to her moorings, and ‘123’ held on to the inner harbour, where a crowd of dockyard labourers was gathered to see her pass. Raymond dropped her alongside and tied her up. Then he sent for Seagrave.

‘I’m going to report my arrival to the S.N.O.,[16]’ he told him. ‘You’d better make arrangements for the crew’s accommodation in the submarine barracks. There’s one in the dockyard somewhere. Boyd can get our luggage off the escort and take the lot up to the Royal Hotel. We’ll have to live there while we’re here. See everything squared up. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I don’t suppose we’ll dry dock till next week.’

A red-haired lad on the quay turned to a dock-side loafer as he pointed at the boat,—

‘Is yon what you ca’ a soobmarine?’ he inquired.

‘Ay, yon’s it.’

* * * * *

Sunday, the day of rest, was by no means restful for ‘123.’ A deluge of visitors poured into the boat, starting with the Chief Constructor and Engineer Commander of the Dockyard, and ending with foremen fitters and boilermakers and electricians. All these gentlemen appeared with lengthy lists and copies of the defect notes, and most of them, most certainly the Commander and the Constructor, seemed to be under the fixed impression that the boat was captained by a demon in disguise who was doing his dirty damnedest to get more done to her than was her just allowance. Visits to the S.N.O. and Naval Store Officer took place early in the day, and by noon the battery boards had been lifted by a host of workmen, and the great cells were coming out, dangling on the ends of tackles, to be gently lowered on to trucks and wheeled away to the battery sheds. Later in the afternoon a small army attacked the engine-room and began stripping the engines, while Hoskins and his merry men danced attendance and shed salt tears of sorrow.

The first few days were bound to be strenuous. The torpedoes, gun, and ammunition were all taken away and stowed in sheds and magazines, and another group of workmen got to work on the superstructure, lifting the condemned plates and generally making havoc and noise in the process.

Meanwhile, the crew were accommodated in the Naval Barracks, whence they were shepherded to work each morning by the coxswain, and the officers lived in hotels in the town. There was no thought of leave just yet, as there was too much work to do, and on Monday morning the boat was placed in dry dock.

As the water descended in the dock her underwater lines became visible, and one was struck with their resemblance to the shape of a fish. The tail, the fins, the head, all were there, and the holes in the bow-cap looked like the two great goggle eyes of an underwater monster.

The re-fit was now in full swing. Both batteries were out in the sheds, and Seagrave spent every spare minute he had in hovering over the cells and expostulating with the electrical experts who were to overhaul them. Meanwhile Raymond would be in the boat or visiting the powers that be, and Boyd was usually to be found in the vicinity of the office of that mighty man, the Naval Store Officer, for the greater part of the day. There was not much for the crew to do. The engine-room staff were helping the workmen in their department, and the electrical experts were busy also, but the ordinary rank and file were employed mostly in chipping paint and rust and cleaning up messes made by the busier members of the staff.

At the end of the first week the engines were practically ashore, the after superstructure had also been lifted, and the exhaust pipes removed. Both batteries were out and all the air bottles had gone ashore to be tested. Stages had been rigged round the boat, and men were working on the bow-cap, which was to be lowered and overhauled, and also on the rudders and hydroplanes which were being stripped down, rebushed, and generally attended to.

The boat was in a state of ordered chaos by now, and it was almost impossible to move in her below. Men seemed to be everywhere, all round her and underneath her even, for the Kingston valves in the bottom of the boat were being seen to and tested among other things. She lay in the dry dock like a landed salmon, hammered at and struck by merciless and persisting workmen who seemed to delight in tearing things to pieces. The main motors were already receiving their due modicum of attention, much to the distraction of the T.I., who spent most of his day in the torpedo shed.

Finally, after about ten days of it, when the ballast tanks had been cleaned out and painted (you had to crawl in through a tiny manhole to get to them), the time for testing arrived, and Seagrave was allowed to depart on his well-earned leave. The tanks were tested separately by a water pressure, water being pumped in and left at the required pressure for a stated interval. Then the tank was drained and opened up, and Raymond and Hoskins, who was a man in great demand just now, would crawl in clad in overalls and see that all was in order. The main ballast tank, the trimming tanks, auxiliary and buoyancy tanks, were all tested in this way, and even the fuel tanks had to go through the same ordeal, though of a much less severe character. By the time these tests were all satisfactorily finished, the re-fit was in its third week, and matters were at their height. The battery tanks had been cleaned out and were now being ‘rosmanited,’ or covered with a preparation that resists the action of the acid, if any should be spilt out of the cells. The bow-cap had been down and replaced, and the rudders and hydroplanes were once more in position by the time Seagrave returned from his ten days’ leave and Boyd was able to go away for his spell. Raymond, poor wight, would be lucky if he could snatch a couple of days just at the end of the performance.

The air bottles underwent their ordeal and were replaced singly, a matter of much labour, and the engines began to return in pieces and take shape and resemble their accustomed appearance. The bigger jobs were over, and the boat was painted inside and out, and left the dry dock after being a month out of the water. Then the battery began to come back, and the cells were strapped together and the boards laid down, and the internal appearance of the boat looked a little more ship-shape. But there was still a host of minor things to be done. Motors and rheostats were ashore, and had to be replaced and wired, alterations were being made to the bridge, and the superstructure was not yet in place. Presently Boyd returned from leave, and Raymond made a dash to London only to be recalled three days later over a matter of an alteration to the H.P. air line. The stores began to drift aboard and the boat to look a little more like her old self, for they were speeding things up now owing to urgent telegrams of recall to the Parentis, and every one was working at fever heat.

The last stages were reached, however, when the painting party arrived to beautify ‘123’s’ internals with white enamel, what time the carpenters were putting up those shelves (on which one would imagine the captain wanted to place his boots) and shifting the wine locker from above to below the chest of drawers.

However, the messes were clearing up and the time of turmoil nearly at an end; most of the crew had had a few days’ leave and the re-fit had been satisfactory.

At the end of five weeks the boat was finished and nothing remained but to take in fuel, torpedoes, gun, and ammunition, and carry out the final engine and diving tests before returning to the welcoming bosom of the Parentis.

A copy of the programme to be carried out in the way of tests was submitted to, and approved by, the Senior Naval Officer, and the boat took in her fuel and war machines without further delay. On the morrow the engine trials were to take place, and the ship’s company paused and drew breath before the final struggle.

At an early hour the following morning Seagrave left the hotel en route for the dockyard, and by eight o’clock ‘123’ had been tied up to the quay-wall as if she were never intended to leave the all-embracing docks of Darlton. The Engineer Commander and Raymond put in an appearance by the time all was ready, and the worthy Hoskins and his staff were very much in evidence. A final inspection and polish up were made, and then the motors were started and the engine clutches forced home.

There was the usual fizz and bump as the exhausts coughed out the initial clouds of white smoke and the explosions became quicker and quicker. The port engine got well away, but after a manful effort the chugging of the starboard Diesel wavered and dragged and stopped altogether. ‘123’ had surged forward when the screws began to revolve, and was tugging at her mooring ropes like a terrier on a lead, in spite of the fact that only half her power was under weigh. But the ropes held her, and presently Hoskins’s face appeared up the engine-room hatch shouting an explanation through the din made by the well-behaved port engine. After a couple of false starts, during which time the Engineer Commander and the E.R.A. gravely combated over her behaviour (blood brothers for the moment), the trouble was rectified, and the defaulter made good her character. Full speed was slowly worked up to, and the boat lay to the quay with her propellers turning at many revolutions a minute.

Presently the Commander took himself off, and even Raymond was satisfied when the worthy Hoskins, who held in great scorn all dockyard work, pronounced that ‘though they ’aven’t done wot they ought to ’ave, wot they ’ave done ain’t bad.’

The test took the greater part of the day, and it was arranged that the diving trial should take place on the morrow. This would be the supreme test, when all the work of the re-fit would be put to the proof, and several of the dockyard officers and contractors’ people were to come down in the boat to see it carried out. Raymond was rather pleased about it, although he hated passengers, for, as he put it himself: ‘It brings it home to those beggars far more if they’re in the boat when anything goes wrong than if we just come in and tell ’em about it afterwards.’

And so the next day the diving trials took place. The passengers were aboard ten minutes before the scheduled time for leaving, and as the hour struck, ‘123’ pushed off from the quay and steered out of the harbour, at the entrance to which she was met by a trawler flying a large red flag, who was to warn all outside traffic of the presence of a submarine.

As a large number of alterations and additions had been effected which were liable to alter her trim, the tanks were all empty, with the exception of the fuel tanks, and she was to do a standing trim in shallow water. That is, she was to remain stopped, flood her main ballast, and then very gingerly admit the necessary extra water to take her down.

Three miles outside the harbour she brought up in the appointed spot and came to a standstill, the passengers were hurried below, and the order given for ‘diving stations.’ Then Boyd and the coxswain climbed down the conning-tower hatch, followed by Raymond, who, after closing the lid, opened one of the scuttle guards and remained up in the tower. From here he could see through the thick glass the trim of the boat and the manner in which she was taking the water. Boyd was at the periscope, and Seagrave was wandering all over the boat, superintending and seeing that all was in readiness. The dockyard people, most of whom had not been down in a submarine before, ‘stood round,’ looking rather foolish. They were beginning to realise that their lives were in the hands of the Lieut.-Commander they had been wont to beard in their own fastnesses, and a sense of proportion was slowly dawning within them. The crew were at their ordinary diving stations, and Seagrave reported ‘All ready, sir.’

‘Flood 1 and 4,’ said Raymond, and over came the Kingston levers, and as the vents were opened the water could be heard gurgling into the tanks. 2 and 3 were flooded in the same manner, and the boat was in main ballast trim. Then the trimming tanks were partially filled, and as the buoyancy flooded the boat began to have a tender feeling as if she were on the tremble, and the water began lapping into the superstructure overhead as she settled down.

‘How is she?’ asked the captain.

‘Two degrees by the stern, sir,’ replied the coxswain.

‘Another 500 in the fore, then,’ and five hundred gallons more were admitted, when the coxswain reported ‘Horizontal, sir.’

‘Right. Eleven thousand in the auxiliary.’

The auxiliary vent was opened while a stoker hauled back the Kingston, and Seagrave watched the gauge as the level crept up in the glass tube. Presently he gave an order, and the lever was snapped back into position.

‘Eleven thousand, sir.’

‘All right,’ came Raymond’s voice from the conning-tower. ‘Is she showing anything on the depth-gauge?’

‘Three feet, sir.’

‘Give her another five hundred.’

Meanwhile Boyd at the periscope was keeping a careful look out for approaching craft. A collier in her way in came perilously close, but the watchful trawler headed her off and led her out of harm’s way. As the tanks flooded his sky view became less and less; as the instrument was fully hoisted he could guess she was settling down before the gauge began to register.

Finally, Raymond came down from the control room to see that all was as it should be.

‘She’ll do now,’ he explained to the passengers. ‘She’s got all the ballast she wants, and only needs a touch to take her down. We’re like a bottle half-full of water—just on the bob, as it were.’ Another look round and then: ‘Start the motors,’ he added ‘Full fields. Take her down gently.’

The boat gave a slight shudder, and the sound of the water could be heard lapping past her as she gathered weigh. The coxswains spun their wheels, eyes on the gauge, and gradually she crept down to thirty feet.

‘Hold her at that,’ said Raymond, and then he and Seagrave and the dockyard experts made a tour of the boat, while Boyd lowered the periscope and kept an eye on the helmsman to see that he was on his course. The inspection proved satisfactory (it was a lengthy business), and the party returned to the control room, and Raymond ordered the motors to be stopped and the boat was brought up to 18 feet.

‘All clear, Boyd?’ he asked.

‘All clear, sir. The trawler’s just astern.’

‘Right. Group up. Thirty feet.’

‘Grouped up, sir,’ from Furness, as the grouper-switch came over with a bang and the motors got away in earnest.

The boat was doing a good eight knots now, and could be felt vibrating through the water as the speed increased. All eyes were on the gauges, the coxswains watching their depths and the L.T.O.s their ammeters as Raymond increased to 800 amperes. Then once more the motors were stopped and the batteries placed in parallel or ‘grouped down,’ and then came the order,—

‘Eighty feet.’

As the hydroplane and diving rudder wheels went over, the visitors’ expressions became a little tense and anxious. One of them laughed and cracked a stale joke, another fidgeted with a bunch of keys, but nobody said anything.

That sense of proportion was developing.

The depth needle crept up to the requisite depth and steadied, and then another tour of inspection took place, for leaks this time, and was also pronounced satisfactory. The visitors breathed again, but thoughts of the fresh air and sunlight up above would obtrude themselves nevertheless. It seemed so still and quiet, and the electric light glared and winked on the brass work while up above....

‘A hundred feet.’

Somebody coughed nervously (it was not one of the crew) and the boat continued her descent. At the hundred foot level she steadied and the final inspection was made, and to the great relief of certain members of the passengers, who were thinking about that pressure of 45 lb. to the square inch, the boat rose to thirty feet, the motors were stopped, and Raymond gave the order,—

‘Blow 1, 2, and 3.’

The Kingstons were opened, and Hoskins on the air-manifold got the air in group working, the depth needle hurried back to zero, and Raymond clambered up the conning-tower and threw open the hatch.

‘One,’ he shouted, ‘two, three,’ as the tanks emptied, and then the burly coxswain pushed his way up and took the helm, followed by Boyd and the much-relieved dockyard potentates.

A bell rang below and the engines were started up. The protecting trawler bore down on them, and they were off for the harbour at ten good knots an hour. No fuss, no noise, but the visitors were thinking and thinking hard. They had something to tell their wives about when they got home that evening, and appeared a little thoughtful for a day or two afterwards.

As they came in through the harbour gates a small crowd of workmen watched them go by. They didn’t see many submarines in Darlton, and it was quite an event for them. Her mast was hoisted and her White Ensign stood out stiffly in the morning breeze as she stood across the dock and tied up once more alongside the quay.

The passengers stepped ashore with a sigh of relief, and with profuse thanks for ‘an interesting experience’ and well wishes for the future, made off to mark the day with a red letter in their calendars. Raymond smiled as he watched them go. As for Seagrave, he was consulting with Hoskins over a stiff Kingston lever, and Boyd was closing down the gyro compass.

* * * * *

The final stores were taken in in the afternoon, mostly tinned food and brass polish and the hundred and one small items that crop up at the last moment. The provisions presented quite a formidable array, for the modern submarine is able to carry a large amount for cases of necessity, which her electric cooking-range is able to cope with, and prepare in any manner of which the cook is capable. In addition to her preserved rations, she also carries sufficient fresh meat for her wants, if on a short patrol, or at any rate enough for two or three days if the outing is to be a lengthy one.

By evening the final touches had been added, and ‘123’ lay to the quay a wiser and a better boat. She and her officers knew a great deal more about her than they had known before she was hauled to pieces, and smacked and riveted by the dockyard hordes.

The boat was locked up for the night, and the coxswain and his men trooped off to supper in the barracks; Boyd and Seagrave returned to the hotel, and Raymond went off to the S.N.O.’s office to report his boat finished and ready to return to her base.

It was not till dinner, eaten in the dining-room of the hotel, a chamber that reminded one of past glories and ancient pomp and circumstance, that he put in an appearance. The room was fairly crowded when he arrived, as he was rather late, and he had to thread his way between the other guests’ chairs to reach the table the three occupied on the window side of the room.

Anxious mamma glanced severely at him, slightly bored papa exchanged a nod and a good-evening, and demure Miss So-and-So smiled into her plate. A large portion of the remainder were military officers passing through the town or staying for a short while on duty. Those of his own seniority hailed him with aplomb; he had a knack of making himself liked everywhere.

‘Well?’ queried Seagrave, as his captain sat down.

‘Curious news,’ began Raymond, attacking the soup. ‘From a Service point of view I’m fed up about it, but from a purely personal standpoint it’s jolly good business. We can’t go back to base for another three days, as they can’t get an escort before then.’

‘What awful rot; you’d think they’d have plenty of Destroyers knocking about doing nothing, or at the worst they might let us go up by ourselves.’

‘And get sunk by our own patrols on the first night up. No thank you, George, not for mine this journey. You as a young and able officer ought to be jolly pleased to think you can have another whole three days among this bevy of beauty. You don’t make the most of your chances.’

‘This is such a dull hole, though,’ put in Boyd; ‘you can’t get much in the way of amusements in the evening. What on earth can we do to shake things?’

‘Now wait, I have an idea. I feel it maturing,’ said Raymond, holding his hand to his brow. ‘Don’t speak for a moment, it’s coming. Ah-h-h, I have it! We’ll give a dance, a Submarine dance here in the hotel; the drawing-room will be just the place, and we’ll invite all the old fogies who’re staying here, and a few choice spirits of our own for leavening. It’ll be all right, the manager and I are old pals, and I’ve done it before. I’ll try and fix it for to-morrow night. It begins with men only, and we give them a practice attack with pillows for torpedoes and Boyd for the periscope. That comes off in my room, by the way. Then we adjourn to the drawing-room, and the damsels troop in, and we get the show going. Little Miss Bored Stiff, or whatever her name is, will be only too pleased to bang on the piano, I feel sure. What do you think of it?’

‘Not so dusty. What about clothes, though?’

‘Just monkey jackets and bow ties and white kid gloves. Oh, and you can’t disgrace me by appearing in those disreputable old pumps, so you’ll have to trot out and buy new ones. What about you, Seagrave?’

‘I was just thinking. I don’t seem to remember having a decent suit to my name, but I’ll do my best.’

After dinner the manager was approached and the subject gently broached to him. It took an effort, but after a little while he proved amenable, and agreed to provide decorations and refreshments in return for the addition of certain items on the officers’ extra bills. Miss Bored Stiff, after a deal of gushing, agreed to do her share, and the invitations were sent out the next morning.

‘The officers of H.M. Submarine “123” request the pleasure of the company of —— at a Submarine dance to-night in the drawing-room at 9.0. p.m.’

And so the invitations were accepted—all, that is, except two, and they were two very old people, and the preparations were duly made, and 8.30 p.m. saw a crowd of fifteen young gentlemen in Sam Browne belts collected in Raymond’s room, drinking their liqueurs and smoking their cigars with the air of war-worn warriors. There was a certain amount of noise in the room as well, in fact it filled up most of the odd spaces where the aforesaid young gentlemen were not sitting, but matters were moving, and a ‘submarine attack’ was developing.

Boyd was dangling in mid-air from the end of a line thrown round a stout hat-peg and made fast to the bed rail (he had to be the periscope after all), and an arrangement of chairs and whatnots represented the diving rudder wheels and other control-room etceteras. A little way off Seagrave stood by an arm-chair, to whose back was fixed an ingenious arrangement, whose principal ingredients were pillows and a length of rubber tubing. The spectators sat where they could, and prepared to learn the methods of attack as demonstrated by a submarine expert.

At an order from Raymond, a young gentleman with a single star upon his cuff went through the operation of starting the motors, mimicking the gestures of the L.T.O. working the switches at the motor-board. The captain then gazed fixedly between Boyd’s dangling boots and gave the order, ‘take her down.’

Everybody groaned, hissed, and hooted, while a youth in shirt sleeves splashed water in a basin to represent the wash of the sea over the conning-tower. Two others manipulated the diving wheel chairs, and the hands on the face of a broken clock were gravely moved on in imitation of the depth-gauge.

‘A thousand feet,’ said Raymond. ‘Hold her at that, idiot. Oh, hell, she’s leaking.’ This as the basin worker upset half his water. ‘Blow 40 and 50. Shake it up now. That’s better. Oh, down, periscope,’ and Boyd was lowered to the floor gasping.

‘Right now, up to thirty feet. Work that depth-gauge, ass. Up periscope. Heave him up, never mind if he kicks. Ha! Enemy bearing two points on the starboard bow. Steady that helm, idiot. Steady, I say. That’s right. Eighteen feet. Flood the tubes.’

‘Flood the tubes,’ cried Seagrave, getting busy with his arm-chair. ‘Come on now. Bear a hand there. Tubes flooded, sir, and firing-tanks charged. Swing the bow-cap.’ (Another youth shot through air.) ‘That’s the style. Now we’re doing something. All ready, sir.’

‘Steady the helm. Down periscope. Thirty feet,’ continued Raymond. ‘Easy now, eighteen feet again. Up periscope. Steady that helm now. Carefully does it. Ahhhh. Don’t kick us, Boyd. Stand by.’

‘Stand by, sir.’

‘Easy now. Ready to take her down. Deflections 400. Look out there; look out again and we bump her. Now once more and ... Fire!’ and a pillow shot out of the catapult device like a feathery cannon ball and bowled over a rather dignified if youthful captain amid howls of delight.

‘Eighty feet,’ shouted Raymond; ‘take her down, men, quick now. Oh, hell! we’re rammed,’ and the whole room rose and fell on itself in a kicking and struggling mass.

‘Here, I say you fellows,’ cried the irate army captain. ‘This is a bit thick. I’ve got decent clothes on. You are a lot of ... of Submarine Toughs.’

He was dragged to his feet and dried and brushed (there had been a good deal of water floating about, ‘to make it more realistic,’ as Seagrave put it), and his ruffled feelings were restored with whisky. Then the party disappeared to tidy itself for the dance, and ten minutes later the seekers after submarine knowledge trickled down to the drawing-room where the ‘Submarine Toughs’ were waiting to receive the ladies, looking very angelic and innocent in spite of the recent mêlée.

The ladies arrived, and the dance opened with a waltz banged out of the patient if wheezy old hotel piano by the gushing Miss Bored Stiff, and ten couples took the floor with great gusto, while the manager alternately held up his hands in horror and beamed benevolently on the revels. The waltz was followed by a set of lancers, and the game got really going. Supper was much in evidence, and Sam Browne belts and dark blue and gold dashed about with ices and claret cup, and picked up fans and wrote things on programmes and generally did the gallant.

And so, Miss Bored Stiff played, and the girls giggled, and the mothers beamed, and even a few of the fathers, terrifying people, were sufficiently melted to accept a drink, and the evening wore on and everybody enjoyed themselves. The young gentleman in khaki, with the thin gold stripe on his sleeve, danced with the girl in the red sash four times, and the Army Captain acted as steward till he lost his rosette, more by design than accident, and hurled himself into the two-step like a three-year-old. Then the mothers gathered their bairns about them, and ‘good-nights’ were exchanged, and the fathers remained and gave expert opinions about the war, and listened with deference to the expert opinions of others who two years before they would have considered babes-in-arms, and every one went happily to bed.

But no one knew of the revels held in the Petty Officers’ Mess that night to which the Sergeants of the local defence force and their ‘good ladies’ had been invited, or of how the coxswain and the T.I. danced attendance on the Master Gunner’s daughter, or how Hoskins so far forgot his dignity as to perform a step dance much to the edification of the guests and the admiration of the entire engine-room staff.

These things are secret, and the veil is never lifted ... in public, for the next day work had to be carried out in the Service manner, and every one was his usual staid and former self.

And that’s another of the unwritten rules that pertain to the Laws of the Navy.

* * * * *

And then the final spasm when two days later the escort Destroyer swung out of the harbour and ‘123’ followed her, laden with kit and belongings and spare parts, and containers, and a host of minor matters purchased for less fortunate comrades in the Parentis. Out through the dock entrance and past the harbour heads, and Darlton and that dockyard and the Royal Hotel were left behind, perhaps for good and ever. And the Destroyer zig-zagged and the Submarine puffed behind and was examined by trawlers and patrol-boats, and anchored for the night, and the following day arrived off the base once more and the familiar scenes of work and the old routine. As they stopped alongside the Parentis in the late afternoon they were met by the ward room en masse and hurried off to gin and bitters to celebrate their arrival. The parcels were distributed and blessings given and curses hurled over the contents, while Raymond and the skippers talked ‘shop’ over the alterations and work of the re-fit. But there was something missing, and it came out later after dinner when the juniors had cleared off and the seniors sat round in solemn conclave.

‘Yes,’ said Carruthers, staring into the empty grate. ‘About two weeks ago it was. Much the same show as Shelldon’s, I expect. Just went out and didn’t come back. Hard luck, but he wasn’t married. A lot of his men were, though. And old Blake was always so cheery, too.’...

The ward room nodded and lapsed into silence. Somebody coughed and picked up a magazine. Then six bells struck and the Parentis went to bed.