CHAPTER VI
The Dummy Periscope
Captain Staggles interviewed the two delinquents separately. The skipper was one of those men who are apt to bluster and browbeat whenever occasion offered. It was his idea of imparting discipline. Popularity he scoffed at. He was, in short, one of a fortunately rare type of officer of the old school, who at the outbreak of the war had been once more employed on the active list. To his disappointment Captain Staggles had not received a shore appointment, owing to a lack of sufficient influence; and after filling various stopgap billets he had been given the armed merchant-cruiser Portchester Castle, whose complement consisted entirely of Royal Naval Reserve and Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve officers and men.
Unfortunately Captain Staggles did not possess sufficient sagacity to realize that there must be a difference between a crew, trained for years in proper Navy fashion, and a body of men drawn from the merchant service. In both cases good material was present, but one had been developed to meet certain requirements, the other had not.
"The point is," thundered Captain Staggles to Jack Osborne; "the point is, sir, you had to be on duty on board. You were not. You, instead, try to bamboozle me with some cock-and-bull yarn about a spy. Now, what have you got to say?"
"I take it, sir, that you insinuate I'm not speaking the truth," said Osborne quietly, controlling his indignation with a strong effort. "And that without giving me an opportunity of proving my statement."
"I take it, sir," mimicked the skipper, "that you don't realize that you've overstayed your leave?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir," replied Osborne. "It was my fault entirely that Mr. Webb was in the same predicament."
"Very well," exclaimed Captain Staggles, raising his voice to a regular roar. "Now, don't do it again. Clear out, sir."
"But concerning the spy, sir?" began the Lieutenant.
"Don't want to hear any more about it," bellowed the skipper. "Thank your lucky stars you've got off so lightly. Leave my cabin, sir."
Osborne saluted and withdrew. On the half-deck he encountered Webb, who was awaiting his turn "on the carpet".
"Reprimanded," announced Osborne laconically. "The captain won't listen to my explanation. Better luck, old man."
But Sub-lieutenant Webb fared no better. His attempt to throw a light upon the night's work met with an equally curt reception.
"I believe the skipper's been drinking," said Webb to his chum after his interview.
"Since you mention it, I agree," said Osborne gravely. "I've known it for some time, but I didn't like to give my chief away. We've struck hard lines in the matter of a skipper, Tom. You see, our temporal future lies entirely in his hands. If he sends in an unfavourable report upon our conduct and abilities, we're done as far as the Service is concerned. There is no appeal. However, we must carry on and do our duty."
Osborne had previously said that Captain Staggles was a keen officer. He had been; but retirement had blunted his zest and rusted his abilities. Still rankling under the mistaken idea of injustice at having been refused a shore appointment, the skipper had lost interest in his work. He was content to rely mainly upon the stereotyped order "Carry on", and a non-committal "Very good" when addressing his subordinate officers. His formerly active brain, fuddled by intemperance, was no longer capable of controlling the destinies of a ship's company. Had he been permitted to remain in command the result might have been fatal to the efficiency of the ship. Fortunately it was otherwise.
By some means the story of the adventure of Osborne and his chum reached the ears of the Senior Naval Officer on the Station. He immediately applied for a report from Captain Staggles, and the latter had to admit that he knew nothing of the details of the occurrence. The result was that Osborne and Webb were sent for, and, under severe cross-examination, had to reveal the facts of their interview with their commanding officer, and how the latter had refused to hear the report concerning the spy.
Two hours later Captain Staggles was ordered to undergo a medical examination and, found unfit for duty, was sent to hospital; the Lieutenant-commander of the Portchester Castle was given temporary command pending a fresh appointment from the Admiralty.
Jimmy M'Bride, Captain Staggles's successor, was a man of totally different character and disposition. There was a humorous side to his nature that the former skipper lacked. He knew his job thoroughly, regarding the men under him as something different from mere machines. He expected a high standard—and got it; not by aggressive methods, but by example. He was always ready to consider a grievance, but woe betide the incautious man who attempted to impose upon him.
Already precious time had been lost, but M'Bride delayed no longer in acting upon the information that Osborne and Webb had gained from the Greek spy. Since the Portchester Castle had not figured in the list of ships supplied to the kapitan of the German submarine, the armed merchant-cruiser was detailed to take the place of a large tramp, the s.s. Two-Step, which was under orders for Marseilles.
Just before sundown the Portchester Castle was, roughly, twenty miles east of Gibraltar. It was a calm, glorious evening. Not a ripple disturbed the placid surface of the Mediterranean, save the long, ever-diverging swell in the wake of the slowly moving vessel, for in the rôle of merchant-man the Portchester Castle was steaming at a bare fifteen knots. Three miles away and broad on the starboard beam was the tramp, flying the red ensign. Already by means of the International Code she had "made her number". Her course was approximately parallel to that of the Portchester Castle, although her speed was less by a good five knots.
"Spot anything?" enquired Osborne of his chum, as Webb kept his binoculars focused at something almost midway and ahead of the two vessels.
"Yes," replied the Sub. "A periscope, or I'm a greenhorn. Here you are, Osborne, right in line with the foremast shrouds."
"By Jove, you're right!" assented the Lieutenant. "I can see it distinctly. Now who is she going for—the Two-Step or us?"
"The Two-Step, I fancy," replied Webb. "It looks to me as if the U-boat's periscope is trained in that direction."
Quickly the guns were manned. A warning signal, "'Ware submarine on your port bow", was sent to the tramp. The suppressed excitement grew as the Portchester Castle drew nearer to her as yet unsuspecting foe.
M'Bride was on the bridge at the time. Deliberately he delayed the order to open fire. The gun-layer could, he knew, easily knock away that pole-like object, but that was not enough. The U-boat, even when deprived of her "eyes", could dive and seek shelter until the danger had passed. Not until the submarine showed herself above the surface could a "knock-out" blow be delivered, unless the Portchester Castle could approach and ram her antagonist before the latter had time to submerge to a sufficient depth.
"Look!" exclaimed Osborne. "She's actually going to attempt to ram. Well, of all the cool cheek!"
The Lieutenant was correct in his assertion, for the plucky tramp, starboarding helm, was bearing down upon the vertical spar that denoted the presence of the otherwise hidden danger.
This manoeuvre interested Webb hardly at all. His attention was centred upon the periscope. For some time he had been keeping it under observation through his marine glasses. There was something fishy about it. He had seen partly submerged periscopes before, and they had never behaved in that erratic fashion.
This one was stationary as regards direction. No feather-like spray denoted its passage through the water. It certainly was not forging ahead. It was, however, rolling erratically, its centre of semi-rotation being but a few inches beneath the surface. The periscope of a submarine, if it were inclining in a vertical plane at all, would have a very different movement, protruding as it was from the comparatively huge hull of the vessel.
"It's a dummy periscope," he announced.
"Sure of it, Mr. Webb?" asked Captain M'Bride.
"Positive, sir."
The skipper of the Portchester Castle did not hesitate. A warning blast from the armed merchant-cruiser's syren was followed by the peremptory signal, "Go astern instantly", while the white ensign hoisted aft imparted the necessary authority to the Two-Step.
An exchange of signals followed, with the result that the tramp forged ahead once more, and, altering her course slightly, passed quite a couple of cables' lengths from the sinister spar that bobbed lazily above the sea.
"And there are half a dozen destroyers leaving Gib. to-day," remarked Captain M'Bride. "If they had sighted this decoy one of them would have gone at it like a bull at a gate. We must risk it, I suppose. Away first cutter's and whaler's crews!"
The Portchester Castle had to slow down to enable the boats to be lowered. This in itself was a risky operation, since it was quite possible that a real hostile submarine might be lurking in the vicinity, awaiting the opportunity to discharge a torpedo at the almost stationary target afforded by the armed merchantman. Nevertheless the risk had to be undertaken. It fell within the scope of the duties of the Royal Navy in its gigantic task of rendering the maritime highways as safe as possible for the sea-borne commerce of Britain, her Allies, and of neutral nations.
Tom Webb was in charge of the cutter, his brother Sub-lieutenant, Dicky Haynes, having command of the whaler. The moment the two boats cast off, the Portchester Castle pelted off at full speed, maintaining an erratic course to minimize possible danger until the two Sub-lieutenants had carried out their hazardous investigations.
Each boat had two hundred yards of grass rope trailing astern, the other ends being made fast to the bight of a flexible steel wire, which, by means of a couple of buoys, was permitted to sink to a depth of one fathom beneath the surface. Steadily the boats approached the dummy periscope, the cutter passing it to port and the whaler to starboard at a distance of twenty yards.
Presently Webb glanced astern. The towed buoys were now quite close to the upright spar.
"Give way for all you're worth, lads!" he ordered, while Haynes shouted a similar encouragement to the whaler's crew.
The strain on the grass rope increased. Then with a terrific roar a column of water shot two hundred feet into the air from the spot where the dummy periscope had been.
"We're much too knowing birds to be caught by that sort of chaff," remarked a member of the cutter's crew. The man was right. Had any passing vessel rammed the tempting-looking periscope she would have found herself bumping over a couple of mines that, with fiendish ingenuity, the Huns had lashed to the decoy in the hope that an inquisitive foe would be sent to the bottom. The trick was an old one, but it added to the complication of perils which the British seamen have to face hourly in the frequently underrated task of preserving the millions of inhabitants of the United Kingdom from the horrors of famine.