‘Rotten little thing this,’ he said, pulling down a lever and opening the breach. ‘Why the devil they can’t give us something decent, I’d like to know.’
‘We ought to have a twelve-pounder on an anti-aircraft mounting,’ responded the ambitious Seagrave. ‘A measley six-pound pea-shooter like that isn’t any earthly use. It’s ages since we’ve fired the thing, and it’ll probably jump the mounting if we do. I can’t understand what they’re thinking about, dumping that ruddy thing on us.’
Raymond smiled. The gun, quite handy and useful in its own way, was Seagrave’s sore point and afforded a never-failing bite.
‘We shall have to write and tell ’em so, but I’m afraid they won’t take any notice of us. Six-pounders you shall have, and six-pounders we get, and they stick to us.
‘What I should really like would be a four-inch and a few eggs,[13] and mine-dropping gear. Then we could do something. It’s sickening messing about like this, looking for Fritz, who never comes out, or runs as soon as he sees us. I’d like to see one of their Battle Cruisers come across our patrol one day. We’d show ’em.’
Raymond smiled again.
And so to tea.
* * * * *
The Officer of the Watch, one Meeks, Lieutenant R.N.R., slowly paced the Parentis’s quarter-deck, wrapped in the rig of the day, to wit, a heavy gloom. The rain had ceased, but the sky was lowering and overcast, and the wind had dropped some hours ago. The moon, struggling gamely through the clouds, was the only saving clause to the situation. An unpleasant day had given place to a damp and chilly night, and at 2.0 a.m. man is not at his brightest.
Turning over in his mind the events of the day, he recalled a long vista of disappointing circumstances. At the outbreak of war, when the Reserves had been called up, he had joined the colours flushed with the thrill of patriotism that many know so well. He had seen himself doing great things, at least doing well, and perhaps ultimately being turned over into the Active Service and fulfilling a long cherished wish. However, after concluding a gunnery course at Whale Island, and making a good show in the examination, he had been sent here as watch-keeper to a depot ship, a parent ship to submarines. At first he had liked the life, but the novelty of his surroundings soon wore off, and he had longed to be at sea again, where there was a chance of doing something. He realised that watch-keepers in harbour ships were necessary, but somehow had always imagined that it wouldn’t fall to his lot to fill one of the billets. Two years of war had found him in the same ship, and to-day he had applied for a transfer into one of the submarines as navigator. The results had not been encouraging. The Captain had told him quite kindly that he felt hardly justified in shifting him at present. He knew what that meant. He hadn’t made a success of his work, and was thought unfit for a boat. It was a bit hard, he considered. He knew he didn’t take much interest in his job, but found it difficult to do so when he saw so many others of his kind going to sea in boats and apparently doing well. If only he could get a chance he felt sure he would do well. But now....