‘Seems to be in a good temper,’ whispered Raymond to Seagrave. ‘Look out, here he comes.’
With much saluting and piping Captain Charteris stepped across to the next boat and the ceremony was repeated. When he once more rose to view, however, some ten minutes later, his face appeared clouded and he boarded Austin’s boat with a briskness that evidenced that all had not been well with the vessel he had just inspected.
‘Wonder what’s up,’ murmured Seagrave. ‘He looks a bit sickish about something.’
‘Man in a dirty rig, I expect, or else he asked too many questions,’ replied Raymond. ‘Our turn next.’
At last, after a seemingly interminable interval, the Captain once more rose to view, and joy! the wily Austin had smoothed his ruffled temper. The great man said a few final words, laughed, and turned towards ‘123.’ Blake’s coxswain, pipe to lips, made a scarcely perceptible sign, and then, as the Captain set foot on the gang-plank, he and the coxswain of ‘123’ simultaneously burst into a duet of piping, shrilling, and twittering as each tried to out-do the other.
‘Ship’s company, ’shun!’ shouted Seagrave, as the men sprang to attention; the officers saluted, and Raymond stepped forward to do the honours.
Still the piping continued, rising and falling in regular cadence till the performers were red in the face and near to bursting. Then again that almost invisible sign, this time from Raymond’s coxswain, and the sound of the pipes ceased as if suddenly cut off and smothered with a blanket.
The Captain returned the salute and looked down the line of stolid faces. A student of physiognomy would have seen much food for reflection once he had penetrated the mask of stolid look-your-best that a man at attention always assumes.
In the first place there was Raymond, a tall upright figure, very much the Naval Officer, and just now very much the captain of the boat. Had he been asked why he had joined the Service he would hardly have been able to give a very clear reason. ‘Father wanted me to, you know. Thought I ought to,’ would probably have been his answer, accompanied by much hesitation and a deal of stammering. As a matter of fact he came of a family which boasted members of the Service for many generations back, one of whom had been a Vice-Admiral. As an only son it had seemed nothing less than duty that he should follow in his father’s footsteps and carry the name on in the Service. He was one of the older officers, with a Britannia training, who had entered the Submarine Service as a Lieutenant in the experimental days, and who, after six long years as a junior, had gained his well-earned command several years before the outbreak of war, and had gradually worked his way up to command one of the later classes of submarine, and was even now on turn for a bigger boat. In the ward room he was a witty and pleasant companion. As a submarine captain we are able to judge for ourselves.
Then there was Seagrave, looking at present rather nervous and wearing a strained expression on his youthful face. Perhaps he was thinking of the hydroplane-motor, or perhaps he was merely worried over the general result of the inspection. He had received his training under the more recent Osborne-Dartmouth scheme, and his presence in the Submarine Service was the outcome of the war and the new Navy methods. The large number of boats that had recently been built had necessitated an increase in the ranks of submarine officers, and as it had not been advisable to drain the general service of too many experienced watch-keeping lieutenants, the Admiralty had hit on the plan of entering Sub-Lieutenants as seconds in command of boats. They received a course of submarine work, and, thanks to their previous training, which included engineering among other things, and their own keenness and intelligence, the scheme had worked very well. Many of them would be in command of boats at a much younger age than their present captains had gained a command, but the responsibilities and cares of a submarine life had amply fitted them for their positions.