CHAPTER VII
THE DAY FOLLOWING
"Say, Snatcher, you're warned for D.B. party, ain't you?" inquired Stoker Jorkler. "D'ye mind if we change about?"
Stoker Flanaghan, commonly known as Snatcher, paused in the act of conveying a knifeblade well laden with peas to his capacious mouth. Such a request—for a man to voluntarily offer to undertake the disagreeable duty of cleaning and painting double bottoms—figuratively "took the wind out of his sails."
"Wot for?" he asked guardedly. "Wot's the bloomin' move?"
"Only there's leave for the starboard watch, and I'm some keen to nip ashore," replied Jorkler. "And you can have my tot of rum for a week if you do."
"Wants considerin', Rhino, old man," declared Snatcher. "Wot price the lootenant of the watch an' the jaunty?"
"They won't twig," said Jorkler. "I guess the bloke don't know the names of half the men in his watch-bill, and the master-at-arms won't care a brass farthing whether it's Snatcher Flanaghan or Rhino Jorkler who goes out of the ship so long as he comes back without being three sheets in the wind. And trust me for that, Snatcher. You've never seen me fresh?"
"True, that I ain't," replied the man reflectively, "or you wouldn't be so keen on chuckin' away your tot o' rum. Orl right, mate."
"Thanks," said Jorkler briefly, and without further delay he hurried off to change into his canvas suit for double bottom work.
Before he left the mess he had transferred a certain object from his ditty-box to his spacious jumper. Then, satisfying himself that there was no suspicious bulge to excite the curiosity of the officer of divisions, he fell in with the rest of the party.
Ten minutes later Stoker Jorkler, armed with a tin of red lead, a brush, some cotton waste, and a lighted candle, was surveying the oval-shaped aperture leading to a confined space between the outer and inner plating of the ship's hull. With him were a dozen others, similarly equipped, under the orders of a leading stoker.
It was not a pleasant occupation that Rhino had taken upon himself. In each of the cellular subdivisions of the hull a man had to crawl in as best he might, having first ascertained by means of the lighted candle that the air was sufficiently pure. Unless the candle burnt clearly, the place was dangerous to life. Stringent regulations were laid down to prevent accidents, fresh air being pumped into the double bottoms, while men were always on the watch to see that the workers were unaffected by the poisonous gases from the red lead.
"Right as ninepence," declared the leading stoker, referring to the light that gleamed in the space to which Jorkler had been detailed. "In you get, mate, and look slippy."
Jorkler obeyed. By dint of much writhing he succeeded in squeezing through the manhole. He found himself in a slightly curving space measuring about fifteen feet in length and twenty to twenty-four inches in height, and twenty feet or more below the level of the sea.
"Now, if the ship's torpedoed I'm a fair goner," thought Jorkler, but he knew that that possibility was very remote. The steps taken to guard Auldhaig Firth from submarine attack were so elaborate and efficient that no hostile craft could hope to get in. Moreover, the "Pompey" was well up the longest arm of the harbour. Between her and the entrance were at least half a dozen cruisers and twenty destroyers.
He worked with desperate energy, "scaling" off the rust, removing the metal flakes, and smothering the plating with liberal doses of red-lead. Then he paused and listened intently. He could hear the noise of the men at work in the adjoining compartments. It was now close on eight bells (noon). By that time the work would have to be completed.
"Guess I'm in luck," he soliloquised. "Unless I am much mistaken this part of the double bottom is right bang underneath the for'ard magazine. Pity it wasn't under the after one, but that can't be helped."
Turning on his side he extracted the "thing" from his jumper. It was a high-explosive charge, to which was attached a small but powerful battery. The charge he placed in the furthermost end of the compartment behind a tee-shaped flange. Here, unless deliberately sought for, it was safe from detection.
His next step was to produce his watch. To all outward appearances it was an ordinary silver timekeeper, but minute examination would reveal the presence of two small holes drilled through the back. Into these holes he inserted metal plugs attached to two insulated wires from the battery. One of the plugs projected beyond the face sufficiently to impede the progress of the hour hand, while the minute hand could clear it by a fraction of an inch. At four o'clock the hour hand would come in contact with the terminal, the circuit would be completed, and then——
"Nearly finished there?" inquired the leading stoker, shouting through the oval aperture. "Just about done," replied Jorkler. "How goes it?"
"Close on eight bells," was the reply. "Buck up and don't keep me hanging about all the blessed day."
With the perspiration pouring off him and his clothes daubed with red lead and iron rust, Jorkler emerged from the compartment to find that the rest of the D.B. party had already completed their respective tasks.
Lowering an electric inspection lamp into the compartment, the leading stoker made a perfunctory examination of Jorkler's legitimate handiwork.
"You ain't half slapped it about," he remarked casually. "Guess you knew it was his Majesty's stores you were using and not your own gear."
After inspection by the ship's surgeon, who superintended the issue of a glass of lime-juice (in which sulphuric acid was a component part) to each man to ward off the injurious effect of the red lead, the men washed and changed. After dinner they were at liberty to do practically what they liked, it being Thursday, or "Make and Mend Day."
Just before five bells the liberty men fell in on the quarter-deck for critical inspection before going ashore. As Jorkler had expected, he had no difficulty in passing under the borrowed name of Flanaghan, for the M.A.A. took it without question.
Packed like sardines, the boat pushed off. Halfway to the staith they passed the "Pompey's" steam pinnace with a couple of officers and a small party of ladies and children in the stern-sheets.
"What's the game?" inquired the pseudo-Flanaghan, indicating with a jerk of his head the passing craft.
"Bloomin' at-'ome, I'll allow," replied one of the men. "They take jolly good care not to let our pals on board."
Jorkler nodded sympathetic assent.
"They're looking for trouble," he muttered to himself. "How was I to know? Anyway, that's their look-out, not mine."
On arriving at the quay the stoker slipped away from the rest of his shipmates. Out of sight he stepped out briskly, making in the direction of the hills at the back of the town.
"Where's Eric?" inquired Mr. Greenwood of Ronald Tressidar, as he gained the quarterdeck. The sub., engaged in animated conversation with Doris Greenwood, did not hear the question until it was repeated.
"Eric? Oh, I really don't know. I'll inquire."
Doris Greenwood was a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl possessed of a wealth of natural vivacity and an even-tempered disposition. Slightly above middle height, with a graceful bearing, she looked particularly attractive in her nurse's uniform.
Already she was the centre of attraction of a group of young officers, who, while envying Tressidar for his good luck, were inwardly reviling their comrade for his dog-in-the-manger policy.
"Seen Greenwood?" asked Ronald of an engineer sub-lieutenant.
"How about an intro?" inquired the officer addressed, ignoring the question.
"Go slow, old bird," rejoined Tressidar, laughing. "I'll introduce you all in good time. If you want to be in her good books, find young Greenwood. She's his sister."
"Brothers are generally in the way," retorted the engineer sub-lieutenant. "Greenwood isn't: he's gone ashore. The fleet pay sent him to the cashier's office."
Meanwhile, Doris had been unostentatiously taking stock of her brother's messmates. Life afloat, she reflected, does make a man. She compared Tressidar most favourably in his neat and serviceable uniform to the Ronald of her early days. Then, when he wasn't bashful, he was rude; now he was the personification of self-possession and mental and physical alertness.
As for Mr. Greenwood, he remained in wondrous meditation of the vastness of his surroundings. Apart from his nocturnal visit to the "Pompey," he had never before set foot on the deck of a British man-of-war. The tompioned muzzle of the after 9.2-in. gun, the towering superstructure with its array of quick-firers and searchlights, the lofty masts and enormous funnels—all in turn demanded his attention.
The vastness of his surroundings almost overpowered him. He had no idea that an armoured cruiser was so immense.
That afternoon there were nearly twenty adult visitors, mostly of the feminine sex, and a dozen or more children on board. It was not a usual procedure in wartime, but, giving due consideration to circumstances, the captain of the cruiser had good reasons to believe that there was no danger to be anticipated. In any case, the visitors would be clear of the ship before sunset.
The amusement of the children fell to the lot of the junior officers, and soon the gunroom resounded to the unusual sound of juvenile voices. Two little boys, rigged out in fencing helmets and padded coats, were mounted on the backs of a couple of midshipmen and were engaged in a realistic encounter with single-sticks—most realistic in the opinion of the human steeds, who had to bear the brunt of the warriors' energetic and ill-directed blows.
Another pair of youngsters were belabouring each other with boxing-gloves, amidst the plaudits of the junior sub. and the assistant clerk; while a tug-of-war, boys versus girls, afforded vast amusement for the rest of the small guests and their hosts.
In order to make sure that the engineer sub-lieutenant was not "pulling his leg," Tressidar went below to the ship's office. Here he found that the information concerning Eric was correct. He had been sent ashore with a party of marines to bring back sacks of coin for the ship's safe.
Upon returning to the quarter-deck the sub. found Mr. Greenwood in animated conversation with the commander on the subject of the raid upon the petrol-depôt. Now was Ronald's opportunity.
"Would you care to look over the ship, Doris?" he said. "I can spare half an hour."
"Only half an hour?" asked the girl. "We can't see very much in the time, can we?"
"I suppose not," admitted Tressidar. "But let's make the best of our time. I have to go away in the duty steamboat at a quarter to four. We have to fetch a lighter alongside from Inchbrail—that's three miles up the firth."
"I wish I could go with you," declared Doris. "I simply love little steamboats. They are much more exciting than big cruisers lying at anchor. Couldn't I?"
"Must see what the commander says," replied the sub. "Of course I'd be delighted. Only I'm afraid you'll miss your tea. They're making a scrumptious spread in the wardroom."
"I don't mind," said the girl recklessly. "I generally have tea at least once every day, but not the chance of having a trip in a steamboat."
Doris was certainly a hustler, for in less than the stipulated half-hour they had climbed the lofty navigation-bridge, peeped inside the conning-tower, soiled her gloves in the for'ard turret, and had explored the now deserted mess-decks. It took all the resource at Tressidar's command to persuade her to decline the engineer sub-lieutenant's invitation to descend to the engine-room. Only by hinting that if she did so she would be too late for the proposed run in the duty steamboat did Ronald succeed in "choking off" his super-attentive messmate.
"Miss Greenwood wishes to have a run in the D.S.B., sir," announced the sub., saluting the commander, who was still engaged in conversation with Greenwood, Senior.
"Very good," replied the commander. "Only be as sharp as you can. We want the lighter secured well before dark."
"I suppose, Mr. Greenwood, you wouldn't like a trip, too," asked Tressidar in duty bound, although inwardly hoping that this part of his invitation would be declined.
"No, thanks," was the reply. "To tell the truth, I'm feeling considerably stiff. Bad enough climbing to last me for at least a month. By the bye, do you know if Eric found my umbrella?"
Tressidar delighted his questioner by replying that Eric had recovered the lost property, but he hadn't the courage to continue the story. The A.P. had brought the thing on board. Examination showed that the handle had been "sprung," the silk ripped in three places, the wires bent, and, generally, damaged by salt water. So Eric had handed it over to the carpenter's crew for repairs and renovation. The men did the job not neatly, but too well. The silk they had patched with waxed seaming twine, re-waterproofing it by a liberal application of soft soap and linseed oil This was the outcome of a consultation of the naval recipe book; but since there was no mention of how to waterproof silk, they had adopted the process laid down for waterproofing canvas. The handle they repaired by "parcelling and serving" the fracture and concealing the tarred marline under a long gunmetal tube. The remaining visible portion of the handle they scraped and varnished.
The A.P. could not quite make out whether the "repairs" had been effected as a joke or in real earnest. At all events he quickly settled the matter by dropping the "game" out of a scuttle, intending to lead his parent to believe that the prized umbrella had been lost on that momentous night. And now Tressidar had unwittingly let the cat out of the bag.
The duty boat was fretting alongside the accommodation-ladder. Punctual to a minute Sub-lieutenant Tressidar boarded her and assisted Doris into the stern-sheets. From a manhole in the flat metal engine-room casing a leading-stoker's grimy head and shoulders appeared, his curiosity excited at the appearance of the sub.'s companion. He winked knowingly at the bowman and disappeared to his cramped quarters below.
"Mr. Tressidar!" sang out the commander, leaning over the guard-rails of the quarter-deck.
"Sir?"
"Stand by a minute. I want you to take a packet of correspondence to the 'Velocity.'"
Some minutes elapsed before the article in question was handed down to the boat. Bending and peering into the little cabin, Tressidar noticed that it was already twelve minutes to four.
He nodded to the coxswain. The latter, ordering "Easy ahead," put the helm over and the duty steamboat glided smoothly away from her parent ship.
"You'll be jolly cold," remarked the sub. to the girl. "It's awfully nippy, in spite of the protection afforded by the cabin top. Let me help you into this oil-skin."
Doris accepted the offer, Ronald taking rather an unnecessary time in assisting her into the voluminous yellow coat.
"That's all serene," he explained enthusiastically. "By Jove, Doris, it suits you splendidly."
"It's certainly more useful than ornamental," said the girl, as a shower of spray dashed up from the bows and drifted aft with a hissing sound. "There was once——"
Her words were suddenly interrupted by a dull crash. Instinctively the sub. and his companion glanced astern. A cloud of smoke partly obscured the fore-part of the cruiser, as she reeled heavily to port with the effect of a mortal blow.