It was almost on this very spot twelve months previously that Branscombe had ordered the gun's crew to open fire at what he took to be a periscope, but what, on closer examination, proved to be a derelict boat-hook; while on another occasion the Sub, inexperienced in those days, saw a large dark object slither under the water. To his excited imagination it could be nothing less than a U-boat, hurriedly diving to escape detection. Ordering full-speed ahead, Branscombe steered straight for the rippling swell, and detonated a depth charge on the spot where the submarine had vanished. A badly mutilated porpoise came up in the cascade of foam.
The Sub was badly chipped for some considerable time over the affair, but it was excusable. The M.-L.'s motto is to hit and hit hard at anything of a suspicious nature. Explanations, if necessary, can follow later, but one has to take no chances with Fritz and all his dirty tricks.
It speaks well for the courageous temperament of the British sailor that he has stuck it for more than four years, living in momentary danger of being blown sky-high by an unseen mine or by a torpedo from a lurking foe, and yet is able to laugh and joke unrestrainedly with his comrades, and to take the keenest interest in sport. During the whole period of the war, the British navy faced dangers and thrived; while the Huns, having no traditions to hold up, and running little risk, as they rarely put to sea beyond the shelter of their own minefields, were slowly but surely drifting to moral suicide that culminated in mutiny and the disgraceful surrender of Germany's fleet.
In spite of the unrestricted U-boat campaign, there was a constant stream of merchantmen passing round the Forelands to and from London River. Those outward bound were making for the Downs, there to await escort to the convoy. All these ships, fantastically camouflaged and steaming without lights, made navigation doubly difficult, and it was not until North Foreland was several miles astern and the M.-L. out of the recognized sailing routes that Branscombe began to feel more at ease.
"Eight bells, sir," reported Anderson, wireless man, and ex-bank clerk.
Being in the war zone, and at night, the actual striking on the ship's bell was dispensed with.
"Very good," replied the Sub, and turning to another man he asked him to inform the Captain.
In five minutes the man returned.
"I've been trying to get the skipper on deck, sir," he reported, "but I'm afraid it's no use. It's not only his ankle that's causing trouble but his back is rather badly bruised. Moving about after lying down has made matters worse."
Guy picked up a signal pad and wrote a message, telling Farnborough not to worry but to take things quietly; meanwhile, he (Branscombe) would carry on, reporting anything unusual.