"This new mine-field has upset our calculations," said the Sub. "Yet I suppose we'll manage it somehow—we usually do," he added optimistically.
In defiance of all international treaties the Huns had mined the territorial waters of the Sound, a strait averaging five miles in width between Sweden and the Danish island of Zeeland. The mines were "contact" ones, anchored by means of sinkers and so arranged that the cylinders containing the explosive charges were at varying depths. A submarine stood an equally poor chance whether she kept just below the surface or crept along the bottom of the channel. The original "field" consisted of three parallel rows, the first 12 feet from the surface, the second about the same distance from the bed of the sea, the third midway betwixt the bottom and the surface. Through the danger zone was a narrow channel, guarded by patrol boats and destroyers. The British Admiralty had obtained information of this opening and had used the knowledge to good advantage, when, early in the war, British submarines had paralysed Germany's trade with Sweden and the harbours of Stralsund, Danzig, and Memel were chock-a-block with merchantmen afraid to venture across the comparatively narrow stretch of water to obtain badly-wanted cargoes of Swedish iron-ore and foodstuffs.
Now, more than likely, the mine-field was increased in width. There were also reports that the Huns were employing steel nets as an additional safeguard, and had augmented the number of patrol boats. Zeppelins and sea-planes, too, had been constantly sighted south of the Danish islands, so that R19 was "up against" a particularly tough proposition.
"Yes; it's easier for a mosquito to find its way through the curtains of an old West Coaster's bed than for a submarine to nose herself into the Baltic," declared Macquare. "But we'll do it, laddie, you mark my words."
Whenever the Lieutenant's grim determination showed itself he involuntarily rolled his "R's". He did so on this occasion, and Fordyce knew that Macquare was revelling in the prospect.
It was night. Although land was within ten miles on the port hand not a light was visible. The island of Anholt had been left astern. Another hour's run ought to bring the submarine within sight of Elsinore at the starboard side of the Sound.
At the Lieutenant-Commander's request Flirt had been sent below, much to her disgust, as she appreciated the night watches crouching on deck at her master's feet. But now absolute silence was imperative. By the sense of hearing as much as that of sight were the crew to guard against the dangers of the unlighted channel.
Just before midnight two topsail schooners were observed, bearing northwards. Without attempting to submerge, R19 held on, knowing that her low-lying shape would be indistinguishable except from a distance of a few yards. Then came a tug, displaying navigation lights and three masthead lamps, showing that she was towing a vessel over six hundred feet in length. These were indications that the submarine was approaching Denmark's principal seaport, and, although the vessels were neutrals, there was the possibility of their skippers reporting the presence of a submarine if the latter were spotted. And, then, where the information would eventually be sent was a matter of speculation, with the odds that it would reach the ears of the German patrol commanders.
Proceeding at a bare five knots, R19 was within a few miles of the mine-field when dawn broke. It was a case of "hasten slowly". To attempt the forcing of the blockade during the hours of daylight would be courting failure and disaster, so she promptly "sounded", resting on the bottom in twelve fathoms.
Never did a day pass more slowly. In spite of various attempts to provide the men with amusement the enforced watch below for all hands was a long-drawn period of suspense and irritation. The period of inaction before undertaking a task of infinite danger is always such, whether in the case of infantry waiting to "go over the top" or the ship's company awaiting the order to "open fire". Once in the thick of things danger is forgotten in the enthusiasm of the encounter, but until then the minds of even the bravest are filled with morbid forebodings.