The dawn was struggling over the eastern sky and away to starboard the land was showing up through the shadows. With the sunrise came a cloud of trawlers, who hovered round until absolutely certain of the submarine’s bona fides, and then fell away and pursued their lawful business of Hun hunting. Farther south a patrol of three Destroyers came up over the horizon, swept them with a searching glance, and hurried on over the earth’s shoulder, following their patrol-track as a sentry does his beat. After breakfast they fell in with a supply-ship on her way to the Fleet, and later on passed a coastwise cargo-boat, who turned on heel and ran till convinced by the Master that ‘123’ was not a ‘U’ boat.
And so the day wore on, and the funny man cracked jokes and the signalman played a mandoline in the after-compartment, and towards three o’clock in the afternoon the smoke of Darlton was visible down the coast.
The Master slackened her speed and kept closer to her charge, her signal halliards bristling with replies to challenges and evidences of her innocent intentions, but the outer patrols who came out to meet them still treated them as unwelcome guests, until something the Destroyer said seemed to satisfy the senior ship, and the group of trawlers fell away and Master and her consort were allowed to pass on without further interruption.
The inside trawlers gave way to them, and the boom was lowered in answer to their request, and then the Destroyer at the gate woke up to the fact that strangers were entering, and sprang to life waving her semaphore and generally ‘doing things.’
‘Master to proceed to No. 4 and 5 buoys,’ she ordered. ‘“123” to proceed to inner harbour and make fast to quay opposite No. 2 Store.’
The escort swung away to her moorings, and ‘123’ held on to the inner harbour, where a crowd of dockyard labourers was gathered to see her pass. Raymond dropped her alongside and tied her up. Then he sent for Seagrave.
‘I’m going to report my arrival to the S.N.O.,[16]’ he told him. ‘You’d better make arrangements for the crew’s accommodation in the submarine barracks. There’s one in the dockyard somewhere. Boyd can get our luggage off the escort and take the lot up to the Royal Hotel. We’ll have to live there while we’re here. See everything squared up. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I don’t suppose we’ll dry dock till next week.’
A red-haired lad on the quay turned to a dock-side loafer as he pointed at the boat,—
‘Is yon what you ca’ a soobmarine?’ he inquired.
‘Ay, yon’s it.’