CHAPTER X
The "Havornen's" Warning
Down to fifteen fathoms R19 plunged under the influence of her diving-rudders and water-ballast admitted to her buoyancy-tanks. Then, turning eight points to starboard, she shaped a course that would bring her on a diverging track to that of the destroyer.
Already torpedoes had been "launched in" in both bow and broadside tubes, ready for instant liberation the moment R19 picked up her target. Overhead could be distinctly heard the thresh of the vessel's propellers.
"The silly josser!" muttered the Hon. Derek. "She's slowing down. To capture the boats most likely. Well, that's her funeral, so here goes."
Having deemed that the submarine was within striking distance, her Lieutenant-Commander brought her carefully towards the surface, slowly, lest a perceptible disturbance of the water should betray her presence.
Suddenly the object-bowl of the conning-tower periscope was flooded with light. Right in the centre of the field of vision appeared the destroyer at a distance of 800 yards. Without having to "con" the submarine either to port or starboard, Stockdale was in a position to let loose a couple of 21-inch torpedoes with almost certain chance of success.
With their senses keenly on the alert, the L.T.O.'s awaited the order that would send the deadly missiles on their way—but the order did not come.
Close alongside the destroyer lay R19's whaler. A short distance from the latter was the Berthon, making her way towards her. Both were in the direct line of fire. It was one of those perplexing problems that the naval officer has frequently to solve. Ought he, in the certain chance of sending an important unit of the enemy's fleet to the bottom, to sacrifice deliberately the lives of a dozen of his own men? In an above-water engagement between two destroyers a skipper would, perhaps, have to accept the risk of having half his ship's company put out of action before he could claim the fruits of victory. From a purely professional point of view it would be a sacrifice well made, although deplorable; but in the present instance it looked like a cold-blooded butchery of his compatriots.
Even as he looked, Stockdale noticed that the destroyer's quick-firers, instead of being trained abeam, were fore and aft, and not manned for action. Most of the crew were clustered along the side watching the submarine's boats, but making no hostile demonstrations. Just then a waft of air bore down. The stranger's ensign fluttered in the faint breeze.
It was a white cross on a red, swallow-tailed field: the naval ensign of Denmark.
Even then the Hon. Derek had his doubts. The new-comer might be a Hun under false colours, and might open fire without troubling to substitute the dishonoured Black Cross Ensign of Germany for the flag she was displaying. The fact that the guns were not manned rather knocked that theory on the head. Nevertheless R19, with the tips of her periscopes showing, forged ahead until her Lieutenant-Commander was able to read the name on the destroyer's stern—Havornen.
Giving the order to the torpedo-men to "stand fast", Stockdale brought the submarine awash at a distance of 200 yards dead astern of the Havornen. Then, emerging from the conning-tower, and followed by Macquare and the Sub, he punctiliously exchanged salutes with the officer commanding the destroyer.
None of the submarine's officers could speak Danish. Fordyce knew a few words, picked up during his service with the Royal Seal Line, but not sufficient to carry on a conversation. Still in a quandary, they were agreeably surprised when the Danish officer addressed them in English.
"I am glad to see you!" he exclaimed, when the two craft drew within hailing distance. "I thought, until I spoke to your men in the boats, that you were Germans."
By his tone the Dane clearly indicated that his pleasure would not have been anything so cordial if the submarine flew the Black Cross Ensign.
"Thanks!" replied the Hon. Derek; "and we reciprocate your expressions of greeting." He did not think it advisable to congratulate the Danes upon their narrow escape of being blown out of the water. "Might I call your attention to the fact that you are within a couple of miles of a German mine-field?"
"Is that so?" asked the Danish officer. "It must have been the work of a submarine mine-layer—the one that is now hard and fast aground off Laeso. We will proceed, and set to work to destroy the Germans' vile handiwork. Thank you for the information. In return, let me warn you: the Germans have recently laid a new mine-field at the south entrance of the Sound; so if your Government has given you instructions, the information will most likely be misleading. More than that I dare not say, but you have our best wishes."
With another exchange of courtesies the British and Danish vessels separated, the Havornen making towards the region of the floating mines, where, presently, musketry reports and, anon, the heavy roars of a powerful explosive being liberated were evidences that the work of clearing the deadly menace to neutral shipping was in active process.
R19, having picked up her boats, gathered way and an hour later was rounding the Skaw. Here a course S. 3/4 E. was set through the Kattegat. Beyond lay the Sound, where one of the greatest ordeals in modern naval warfare was awaiting the dauntless submarine—the threading of the intricate, uncharted mine-field guarding the principal entrance to the Baltic Sea.
"Jolly decent of that Dane," remarked Fordyce as he stood with Lieutenant Macquare upon the navigation-platform. "There's not much doubt as to which way his sympathies incline."
"It was," agreed Macquare. "I feel sorry for Denmark, one of the most decent neutral countries, looking on at the great stunt. She'd come in like a shot—she still remembers being robbed of Schleswig-Holstein—but it would be the case of Roumania all over again. With the German fleet having pretty nearly its own way in the Baltic it would be suicidal policy for Denmark to chip in. Well, I suppose another twenty-four hours will either see us in the Baltic or else at the bottom of it."
"This new mine-field has upset our calculations," said the Sub. "Yet I suppose we'll manage it somehow—we usually do," he added optimistically.
In defiance of all international treaties the Huns had mined the territorial waters of the Sound, a strait averaging five miles in width between Sweden and the Danish island of Zeeland. The mines were "contact" ones, anchored by means of sinkers and so arranged that the cylinders containing the explosive charges were at varying depths. A submarine stood an equally poor chance whether she kept just below the surface or crept along the bottom of the channel. The original "field" consisted of three parallel rows, the first 12 feet from the surface, the second about the same distance from the bed of the sea, the third midway betwixt the bottom and the surface. Through the danger zone was a narrow channel, guarded by patrol boats and destroyers. The British Admiralty had obtained information of this opening and had used the knowledge to good advantage, when, early in the war, British submarines had paralysed Germany's trade with Sweden and the harbours of Stralsund, Danzig, and Memel were chock-a-block with merchantmen afraid to venture across the comparatively narrow stretch of water to obtain badly-wanted cargoes of Swedish iron-ore and foodstuffs.
Now, more than likely, the mine-field was increased in width. There were also reports that the Huns were employing steel nets as an additional safeguard, and had augmented the number of patrol boats. Zeppelins and sea-planes, too, had been constantly sighted south of the Danish islands, so that R19 was "up against" a particularly tough proposition.
"Yes; it's easier for a mosquito to find its way through the curtains of an old West Coaster's bed than for a submarine to nose herself into the Baltic," declared Macquare. "But we'll do it, laddie, you mark my words."
Whenever the Lieutenant's grim determination showed itself he involuntarily rolled his "R's". He did so on this occasion, and Fordyce knew that Macquare was revelling in the prospect.
It was night. Although land was within ten miles on the port hand not a light was visible. The island of Anholt had been left astern. Another hour's run ought to bring the submarine within sight of Elsinore at the starboard side of the Sound.
At the Lieutenant-Commander's request Flirt had been sent below, much to her disgust, as she appreciated the night watches crouching on deck at her master's feet. But now absolute silence was imperative. By the sense of hearing as much as that of sight were the crew to guard against the dangers of the unlighted channel.
Just before midnight two topsail schooners were observed, bearing northwards. Without attempting to submerge, R19 held on, knowing that her low-lying shape would be indistinguishable except from a distance of a few yards. Then came a tug, displaying navigation lights and three masthead lamps, showing that she was towing a vessel over six hundred feet in length. These were indications that the submarine was approaching Denmark's principal seaport, and, although the vessels were neutrals, there was the possibility of their skippers reporting the presence of a submarine if the latter were spotted. And, then, where the information would eventually be sent was a matter of speculation, with the odds that it would reach the ears of the German patrol commanders.
Proceeding at a bare five knots, R19 was within a few miles of the mine-field when dawn broke. It was a case of "hasten slowly". To attempt the forcing of the blockade during the hours of daylight would be courting failure and disaster, so she promptly "sounded", resting on the bottom in twelve fathoms.
Never did a day pass more slowly. In spite of various attempts to provide the men with amusement the enforced watch below for all hands was a long-drawn period of suspense and irritation. The period of inaction before undertaking a task of infinite danger is always such, whether in the case of infantry waiting to "go over the top" or the ship's company awaiting the order to "open fire". Once in the thick of things danger is forgotten in the enthusiasm of the encounter, but until then the minds of even the bravest are filled with morbid forebodings.
It was not until an hour after sunset that the welcome order came to blow auxiliary tanks. Without making use of her propelling machinery the submarine rose steadily towards the surface. Everything seemed quiet. The periscopes, useless except for the purpose of picking up a solitary light, revealed nothing, for the night was already as black as pitch.
With their night-glasses the officers swept the waste of waters. Ahead a faint "loom" indicated the position of Copenhagen. On the Swedish side a faint light flickered for a few seconds and then disappeared.
A quarter of an hour passed, but Stockdale gave no orders to proceed. Not that he hesitated to face the danger; he was merely waiting an opportunity.
Suddenly the horizon away to the south'ard was swept by the rays of a search-light. Another and yet another beam followed suit, until the sky in that direction was a blaze of light. Then the rays vanished and a mast-head signalling-lamp began its flickering tale.
"'QKG—TOXZ—PJ'—code, thought so," muttered the Lieutenant-Commander, as he read the unintelligible message.
"Mast-head signal astern, sir," reported Fordyce.
The Hon. Derek swung round in an instant and levelled his binoculars at a pin-prick of yellow light.