It would be difficult for anybody to speak too highly of Wing-Commander Frank A. Brock. He was a rare personality. An inventive genius, than whom the country had no better, it was his brain that differentiated this blocking enterprise from all previous attempts in history in one most important particular. The difficulty of reaching the destination in the face of a strenuous opposition had hitherto brought failure, but he provided an antidote in the form of a satisfactory artificial fog designed to protect the blockships from the enemy's guns during the critical period of approach. That in itself was a wonderful achievement, but his inventive mind was not satisfied therewith. To him we owed the special flares intended for turning darkness into light.
A special buoy was wanted—one that would automatically provide its own light on being thrown into the water. Brock made so little of the problem that he produced such a buoy, designed, constructed, and ready for use in less than twenty-four hours. Special signal lights were required. Brock produced them. Flame projectors, far exceeding anything hitherto known, were mooted. Brock produced them also. No matter what our requirements were Brock was undefeated. With a highly scientific brain he possessed extraordinary knowledge of almost any subject. He had travelled much and could tell you all that was worth knowing of any country from Patagonia to Spitzbergen. He was no mean authority on old prints and books, was also a keen philatelist, and was blessed with a remarkable memory. Wherever he went he carried with him a pocket edition of the New Testament, which was his favourite possession; his knowledge of the contents was quite unique. And with it all he was a great shot and an all-round sportsman. His fine physique was well remembered by many a Rugby footballer from the days when he played in the pack of one of the leading club fifteens. His geniality and humour were hard to beat. But of all his qualities, optimism perhaps held first place. At times we, who were far from being pessimistic, thought his optimism excessive, but it was justified absolutely with regard to the success of the enterprise.
Sad to relate, the only occasion on which I can remember his optimism failing to carry him through was connected with his own personal safety. He had telephoned up to Halahan in our office and mentioned having broken a looking-glass. "That means seven years bad luck," said Halahan, in a jocular spirit. "Never mind," came the instant reply, "it shows that I'm going to live for another seven years, anyway."
Both Brock and Halahan had done so much to ensure our success, it was indeed sad that they did not survive long enough to see the results.
My readers will excuse me, I feel sure, for bringing such personalities to their notice. It is very difficult to continue the story without writing of many others to whom we owed so much in the preparatory work. But there will be a chance of mentioning some of them later on, when we come to the actual description of the fight.
CHAPTER IX
THE WAITING PERIOD. THE VOLUNTEERING SPIRIT.
At last all constructive preparations were completed; the various ships and small craft were commissioned and concentrated at their respective starting-points. The blockships and Vindictive steamed out to the loneliest of anchorages in the Swin Deep, situated about eight miles south of Clacton, Essex. It was a curious looking squadron that steamed down the Medway that day, the blockships with their funnels looming extra large in the absence of masts and the Vindictive with her gangways protruding into mid-air like almonds in the side of a tipsy cake. The Hindustan looked respectable enough. She was mother to us all and her captain was a very tolerant and helpful father.