CHAPTER VIII
"Accidents will Happen"
Grey dawn was breaking when submarine R19 approached the waters of the Skager-rack. Well on their port bow could be faintly discerned the rugged cliffs of Norway, but it was yet too hazy to sight the low-lying shores of Jutland. The strong wind had blown itself out, and although the waves still ran high they had lost their angry look. It was possible to stand on deck without having to hang on like grim death, as the water surged waist-high over the comparatively low-lying structure.
Scorning to take advantage of the doubtful security afforded by the "three-mile limit", R19 kept a mid-channel course, prepared to dive the instant a suspicious craft was sighted. She was to keep awash as far as practicable, in order to economize her electrical propulsive powers. As yet not a single craft had been sighted. The once-crowded waterway, from whence vessels laden with timber and iron-ore for Great Britain issued in the piping times of peace, was deserted. The hardy mariners of Norway still kept the sea, their fearful losses in shipping notwithstanding, but they took a different route; while the mercantile flag of Sweden had practically disappeared from the North Sea and its approaches.
Clad in oilskins, Donald Macquare and Noel Fordyce stood on the navigation-platform. At the Sub's feet crouched Flirt. The dog, having completely recovered her "sea-legs", was sniffing eagerly at the offshore breeze, as if sighing for the land that was denied her. From the electric stove in the galley wafted the appetizing odours of frying bacon, to mingle with the salt-laden air.
"It looks like a dirty sky to windward," observed the Lieutenant, as he lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. It was nearing the end of his "trick", and he was longing for his watch below. "It will be a jolly good thing for us, if it doesn't get too thick. Bless my soul, these neutrals may be quite all right as a whole, but goodness only knows when there isn't a pro-Hun ashore armed with a powerful telescope."
"In which case the news will be telegraphed to Kiel," added Fordyce. "Hang it all, I never could understand how these fellows get the hang of things!"
He was on the point of confiding to the Lieutenant the information of R19's date of departure and destination, as told by Councillor Mindiggle, when the look-out reported a sail dead ahead.
The craft was a tramp, deep in ballast. At a distance of four miles she stood out distinctly against the approaching cloud of misty rain, until the pall of vapour swept down and hid her from sight.
"It will be as thick as pea-soup directly," declared Macquare. "No need to call the skipper. I'll alter helm and give yonder vessel a chance to slip clear of us."
Accordingly R19's course was altered a few points to port, which, allowing for the relative speed of the two vessels, ought to allow ample margin for the submarine to pass at least two miles from the tramp.
Presently Flirt began to bark violently at some invisible object on the starboard hand. Macquare made a gesture of reproof, and the Sub, placing his hand on the dog's muzzle, lifted him into the conning-tower.
"It's that tramp's screw she heard," he remarked, as he rejoined the Lieutenant. "Sounds quite close."
"By Jove, yes!" exclaimed Macquare. "We'd best get under."
Even as he spoke, a rift in the mist revealed the tramp at less than a cable's length away. She had changed her course as a matter of precaution, zigzagging in order to baffle any U-boats that might be lurking in the vicinity. By so doing she was now passing through the wake of R19.
"British, by Jove!" exclaimed Fordyce, catching sight of a dirty smoke-begrimed red ensign floating proudly from the tramp's ensign staff, while, as she slid past, he could read the words Talisman—Goole on her stumpy stern.
Even as he spoke, the mist was stabbed by a lurid flash, and a shell, screeching through the air, passed so close to the Sub's head that he distinctly felt the windage.
It was not a time to offer protests and explanations. Before the tramp could let fly a second time, Fordyce had gained the conning-tower. The water-tight lid was promptly shut and secured, and, with more haste than grace, R19 dived for safety with the muffled reverberations of a second report to cheer her on her way.
Through the trap-door in the floor of the conning-tower appeared the Hon. Derek, just awakened out of sleep yet perfectly cool and collected.
"A pretty kettle of fish, sir," reported Mr. Macquare in answer to his superior officer's question. "A British tramp, the Talisman, did her level best to blow us to blazes. Let rip at point-blank range."
"And missed," added the Lieutenant-Commander cheerfully. "Bless her dear skipper's heart, although his gun-layer's a rotten bad shot he's a tough old British heart of oak. Accidents will happen, Macquare, in the best-regulated families."
"Rough luck if we'd been sent to Davy Jones by one of our own people, sir," said the Lieutenant doggedly.
"A miss is as good as a mile," rejoined the Hon. Derek soothingly. "I suppose the old man is dancing about on the bridge, wild with delight at having sent a strafed U-boat to the bottom. When we return, Macquare, we must look out for the name of the skipper of the Talisman on the Honours List of the Mercantile Marine, though not for worlds would I disillusion the gallant old boy. By smoke! He's pottering around to pick up the pieces."
The thud of the tramp's propeller clearly indicated that such was the intention of the Talisman's skipper. It was an audacious, almost foolhardy piece of work. The tramp, unescorted and of comparatively slow speed, had eased down and was circling over the spot where the supposed U-boat was last seen.
"I'll humour the old chap," resumed the Lieutenant-Commander. "Mr. Fordyce, pass the word for the oil in the sump to be pumped out. That'll please him when he finds the oil floating on the surface—but not a word, mind, to the men. It's our little joke."
It was not until the beating of the tramp's propellers had long faded into inaudibility that R19 poked her periscope above the surface. The fog had cleared considerably, although the air was still misty. As far as the field of vision showed all was quiet. Up came the submarine, the electric motors were switched off and the petrol engines clutched into the propeller shafts. Hatches were opened and steps taken to "con" the vessel from the navigation-platform.
A swirl in the water on the starboard hand attracted the Sub's notice as he gained the open air. Something was converging upon the vessel's side. Instinctively he glanced towards the bows. His supposition was correct. In rising, the submarine had fouled the wire span connecting a pair of drifting mines. On either hand a deadly metal cylinder was being swung in towards the vessel's hull.
There was no time for official decorum. With a bound Noel threw himself upon the engine-room telegraph indicator and signalled full speed astern.
Thank Heaven, the order was obeyed promptly, even at the risk of snapping the blades, wrecking the stuffing-box, or smashing the clutches. With the water hissing and foaming past her sides under the reverse action of her powerful propeller, the submarine quickly lost way and began to gather sternway.
"Stop! Easy astern!"
Both orders were as quickly carried out as before. By this time the two mines were bearing on the bows at a distance of less than fifty yards away, and were gradually being drawn towards each other. So exactly midway had R19 struck the span that, unless steps were taken to prevent them, the metal cylinders would collide with each other and explode within a few seconds of the fragile horns being snapped under the impact. And at fifty yards the detonation of that double quantity of T.N.T. would be sufficient to severely damage, if not destroy, the submarine.
Again Fordyce signalled "Stop", then called for volunteers to clear the fouled wire. There was no need to ask twice. From below poured hands armed with hack-saws, cold chisels, and axes.
The rope—a 2-inch flexible-steel-wire one—was badly rusted, nevertheless it took the bluejackets the best part of five minutes to sever it and disentangle the newly-cut ends.
"All clear, sir," sang out a petty officer.
With feelings of thankfulness Fordyce put the indicator to half speed astern. Gathering way, R19 slowly backed from the floating cylinders until she was safely out of that danger zone.
"Well done, Mr. Fordyce!"
The Sub turned, flushed with pleasure, and smartly saluted. It was the Hon. Derek who had spoken. Throughout the hazardous operation he had stood quietly behind his young subordinate, ready to take charge if necessity should arise. But there had been no need, and Stockdale was too shrewd a man to "barge in" and flabbergast his youthful Sub.
"Mine right astern, sir!" shouted a seaman.
"And to starboard, sir!" announced another.
R19, in backing from one danger, found herself beset by floating perils on all sides.