CHAPTER XIX.
THE SUBMARINE SCORES.
The seaman was right. It was a British submarine, one of the E class. Terence could hardly believe his eyes to see the craft emerge from beneath the waves almost within sight of the German coast and certainly within the limits of the hostile mine-field. He had yet a lot to learn concerning the bravery and resource of the commanders and crews of these marvellous craft, operating, without support from the destroyer flotillas, at the very gates of Germany's naval strongholds.
The watertight hatch in the conning-tower opened and the head and shoulders of a young officer appeared. He bent to give an order, then leapt out and gained the navigating platform, where he was joined by three of the crew, clad in "fearnought" suits and seaboots.
"Come alongside as sharp as you can!" he shouted.
"Can't sir," replied Stairs. "We've no oars, and we're pretty well done up."
The officer gave the order for "easy astern"; then judging that there was sufficient room for the intended manoeuvre he ordered "easy ahead," at the same time steering the submarine to pass about ten feet to windward of the remains of the boat.
Meanwhile, those of the crew on deck had detached two boathooks from the handrail to which they had been secured by "beckets," and standing by, awaited for their craft to pass within reach of the object of their attentions.
Simultaneously the two boathooks engaged, and the boat was drawn alongside. While thus firmly held, one of the crew leapt into her, and raising Terence, passed him on to the willing arms of his companions. Without loss of time Stairs was likewise rescued, and both men, practically "done up," were taken below. Then, the officer and his men having returned to the shelter of the hermetically-sealed steel hull, the submarine prepared to dive.
While kindly helpers were assisting to strip the clothing from the almost unconscious sub., massaging his body and limbs with more energy than skill, and were pouring hot drinks down his throat, Terence could hear as in a dream the order given by the captain of the submarine.
"Diving stations. Flood main ballast.... Flood auxiliary ballast tanks!"
Dimly Aubyn began to realize that he was actually in a steel prison, several feet beneath the surface of a sea sown with deadly mines.
"Easy ahead. Elevate horizontal rudders!"
The submarine, now weighing nearly the same as the amount of water she displaced, was ready for diving. That part of the operation was performed by means of the horizontal planes or rudders, trimming them to give the required angle of descent.
"Down to seventy feet, sir!" reported a voice, sounding hollow in the ribbed, vaulted space.
"Stand by—let go!"
With a subdued rattle the anchor, hitherto bedded underneath the fore-part of the hull, dropped to the bed of the North Sea, additional water ballast being admitted into the tanks of the vessel to compensate the loss of weight of the ground-tackle. Save for a faint pendulum-like motion as the submarine swayed to the tension on the bight of her cable, the craft lay calmly in twelve fathoms, for the time being safe from the perils of naval warfare.
Warm both externally and internally, Terence dropped to sleep in a comfortable bunk in the officers' part of the vessel. Three hours later he awoke, feeling much his former self, for the beneficial effects of the oxygen-charged atmosphere were as invigorating as the air on the summit of a lofty mountain.
The instant he awoke the circumstances which led to his being on board the submarine flashed across Aubyn's mind with vivid clearness. He contrasted his experiences with his regaining consciousness in Shotley Sick Quarters. There his brain worked slowly—it took considerable time for him to recall the events subsequent to the torpedoing of the ill-fated "Terrier." Here, owing possibly to the chemically charged atmosphere, his mind was as fresh as if he had awakened from a normal sleep.
The submarine was still at anchor. Beyond the purring of the dynamos for supplying the electric light there was no noise of machinery. Men were laughing and talking freely: he could hear Stairs' voice, holding forth with a vivacity that betokened no ill-effects from his voluntary immersion.
Terence sprang out of his bunk and began to dress. His own clothing, dried in the motor-room, was ready for him to put on. Just as he had completed his toilet a man of about thirty, dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant-commander, entered and introduced himself as Paul Maynebrace, captain of Submarine "E Something."
"Sorry we can't land you for a day or two," he remarked, after inquiring after Aubyn's state of health. "We're on observation duty, and are not due back at Harwich until noon on Thursday. However, we'll do our level best to make you comfortable. Of course, I suppose I am right in assuming that you haven't been on a submarine before? It will be something of a novelty to you, but we are getting used to it. Rather boring, in fact."
"Boring?" repeated Terence.
"Well, rather. We are stationed to observe the approach through the mine-field to Wilhelmshaven. It means that every few hours we have to pop to the surface and have a look round; and except for the departure of some of the raiding German cruisers late on Saturday night (which we duly reported to the Admiralty, by the by) it's usually a case of a lot of work for nothing—for the beggars won't come out."
"Supposing a German warship did make a dash while you are down below?" asked Terence.
"We could tell by the noise of the propellors," replied the lieutenant-commander. "She is bound to keep almost immediately above us, owing to the narrowness of the passage through the mine-field."
"Then what would happen?" queried Aubyn, keenly interested in the information.
"If she were unsupported we would try the effect of a torpedo," replied Maynebrace, with a smile. "Ten to one the disaster to one of von Tirpitz's pets would be put down to the accidental displacement of one of the mines. In the case of the 'Derfflinger' and her consorts we let the whole crowd go. It would be impossible to torpedo the lot, and even if we hit one the remainder might scoot back to Wilhelmshaven. On the other hand, by not giving them a scare we help to keep their spirits up, so to speak, and let our battle-cruisers do the smashing-up part of the business. By the by, the seaman who was with you on the derelict boat told us of the result of the dust-up: how the 'Bluecher' went under."
"It was a pity we didn't get the rest," remarked Terence.
"Fortune of war," declared the lieutenant-commander. "And, as luck would have it, the three German battle-cruisers did not return to Wilhelmshaven by the same channel, otherwise I might have had a try for one or two of them. No, they made for Heligoland, I fancy, and thence either to Kiel or Wilhelmshaven by a passage inside the mine-field. Well, I must leave you for a while. I'll send young Warborough—he's my sub.—to have a yarn with you. And as soon as I get the chance I'll get off a wireless announcing that you are safe and sound on board."
It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Warborough arrived upon the scene. He was a young, easy-going officer, wholeheartedly devoted to his career; yet, when on leave he was a worry to the police in the vicinity of each of the great naval ports. His brother-officers in the submarine flotilla were apt to remark that Dick Warborough was a "bit of a scorcher" in more ways than one. On one occasion a lively scene in a Portsmouth theatre, in which Warborough played a leading though unrehearsed part, almost ended in a police-court. Perhaps it was lucky for the sub. that his father was a man of position and influence. Warborough freely confessed to half a dozen endorsements on his motor-driver's licence. The fines he had been ordered to pay in his twelve-month amounted to almost as much as his pay and allowance as a sub-lieutenant in the submarine service, so once again he thanked his lucky stars that his parent was rich and, what was more, generous. Yet, with all his foolish pranks ashore, he was keen and a capable officer from the moment he passed through the dockyard gates to return to duty till the time when he was again able to proceed on leave.
"Skipper says I'm to hold a pow-wow with you, Aubyn," began Warborough, not with any suspicion of condescension but in a frank, easy-going manner. "Glad to have someone to spin a yarn with. Do you motor?"
Terence had to confess that, except for trips in hired cars during his brief visits to his home, his experiences in that direction were few and far between; then, by way of altering the topic of conversation, he asked what the young officer thought of the submarine service.
"Top-hole—absolutely ripping!" declared Warborough. "This lying in wait is apt to be a bit tedious, but there are moments when you feel downright happy at being in the submarine service."
"Pretty dangerous?" hazarded Aubyn, who had not entirely got over the feeling that he was imprisoned at the bottom, or nearly at the bottom of the sea.
"That's what gives a spice to the business," said Warborough. "If we do bump a mine there's precious little chance for us. The worst part of the job is when we are getting fairly close to Harwich, and running awash. The helmsman of one of your destroyers might get a trifle jumpy, you know—mistakes have been made in that direction, especially at night."
"That I can quite understand," rejoined Terence, recalling the many anxious hours he had passed on the "Strongbow" as officer of the watch, and straining his eyes in the darkness till he fancied he saw the periscope and conning-tower of more than one submarine.
"And the rotten part of the business is, the man in the street grumbles," continued Warborough. "It's all very fine saying that the Silent Navy is above public opinion and all that—it isn't, and it's a bit rough. Our men come back from leave with the yarn that they are continually being asked, 'What is the Navy doing?' And if people find out that they belong to the submarine service they ask still more pointed questions. Civilians forget that the German ships rarely put to sea, except when they think they can do a sneaking bit of damage. And after this recent scrap they'll be still more chary about coming out. Now, if there's nothing or hardly anything afloat for us to go for, it's not much use running a great risk of being rammed by our own destroyers. Submarines can't fight submarines, and the fact that a few German 'unterseeboots' have started playing the fool with our merchant craft complicates the situation. However, there are four of our submarines keeping an eye on the approach to the German North Sea ports, so perhaps, after the war is over and people are let into the know, we may be vindicated in the minds of the Great British Public. Why, man, what's wrong now? Your nose has started to bleed."
Terence brought out his handkerchief and applied it to his nasal organ. It was a very rare thing for it to bleed, and he wondered whether it was the result of the concussion when he was blown from the deck of the "Livingstone."
"I don't fancy so," remarked Warborough. "It's the excess of oxygen. We are frequently affected that way. Shove your head in that basin and let me pour cold water on your neck: that will stop it pretty quickly."
Aubyn's companion was quite right. In less than two minutes the flow had entirely ceased.
"How about the water?" asked Terence. "I suppose this is the pump?"
"Yes. You'll have to exert a fair amount of strength to get rid of the water, you know."
Aubyn seized the pump lever, but in spite of his efforts he could not force the water out of the basin. "Back pressure too much," commented Warborough. "We're more than fifty feet below the surface. We'll have to get rid of this water pretty quickly, so I'll ask the skipper to bring the boat twenty feet or so nearer the surface."
"Sorry to give you so much trouble," said Terence apologetically.
"Not at all, my dear fellow. It will give the men something to do to relieve the monotony. Come with me, if you're fit to move, and you can see the operation."
Terence followed the junior officer to the base of the conning-tower, and upon Warborough explaining matters to the lieutenant-commander, the latter concurred in the desirability of ascending.
"While we are about it we may as well go up and look round," he added.
Word was then passed for the crew to stand at their stations. Inside a water-filled compartment, separated from the rest of the vessel by strong watertight bulkheads, the electrically-worked winch could be dimly heard as it hauled in the cable, till the stockless anchor was safely housed flush with the outer plating of the submarine.
The reserve tanks were "blown," the electric motors for propelling purposes were set in motion, and the horizontal fins trimmed for the ascent. Steadily the pointer of the depth indicator began to fall till it registered ten feet. At that distance below the surface it is quite possible to make use of the periscope.
The lieutenant-commander watched the seemingly monotonous changing panorama depicted upon the bowl at the base of the periscope, as the eyepiece swept the horizon.
Suddenly he checked the training handle. A small and rather indistinct object had appeared in view.
"What do you make of that, Warborough?" asked the skipper calmly.
"Light-cruiser, sir!" replied that officer, after a brief glance at the reflected picture. "And a German, by all the powers!"
"May as well have a look, Mr. Aubyn," said the lieutenant-commander considerately. "She seems in no hurry, and unless she takes it into her head to change her course, she'll pass within eight hundred yards of us."
Terence inspected the periscope representation of the German vessel. Although she flew no ensign, her characteristic masts, funnel, and derricks, as well as her protruding bows—a combination of both clipper and ram—proclaimed her as one of the "Freya" class cruisers, averaging 5600 tons. Her guns were trained abeam, but from their direction it was evident that the Germans had no idea of the peril that menaced them.
The sub. felt his blood tingling. It was the "Terrier" incident over again, only the boot was on the other foot this time.
"Down to thirty feet—charge firing-tank—flood both torpedo-tubes—stand by!" ordered the lieutenant-commander.
He would not run the risk of allowing the tip of the periscope to remain on the surface while the crew were thrusting the two steel cylinders into their respective tubes.
"All correct, sir!" reported the leading torpedo-hand.
"To fifteen feet, then," was the order.
Once again daylight filtered through the periscope. On the bowl stood the image of the doomed cruiser, now showing with remarkable vividness. A slight touch on the steering gear and "E Something" swung a point or so to starboard to enable her tubes to be trained a few feet in advance of the cruiser's bows—a sufficient allowance for the vessel to be fairly in the path of the deadly weapon by the time the torpedo travelled the intervening distance.
A faint detonation, caused by the release of the propelling charge of compressed air was followed by the rush of the water admitted into the now empty tube to compensate the loss of weight of the torpedo. The missile was on its way.
A few seconds of tense silence followed, then came the muffled sound of a terrific detonation, as the warhead exploded fifteen feet below the surface and fairly amidships of the doomed cruiser. No need to let loose a second missile.
"Got her!" exclaimed the skipper laconically, as the submarine dived to fifty feet to avoid detection and its natural sequence—a hail of quick-firer projectiles from the already sinking vessel.
A quarter of an hour later the "E Something" again showed her periscope. The lieutenant-commander's surmise was correct. The German cruiser had plunged to the bottom, while half a dozen boats, crammed to their utmost capacity, were laboriously rowing towards the invisible island of Borkum.
"Thank you, Mr. Aubyn!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, extending his hand towards the sub.
"What for, sir, might I ask?"
"For letting your nose bleed at a most opportune moment," was the cool rejoinder.