For the freedom of the seas

by Ralph Henry Barbour

They paused inside the door and looked through into the next compartment. There were nine persons there, the captain and first officer and seven men. It was quite a spacious chamber, as it needed to be in order to accommodate all those necessary to navigate the boat under water. A ladder led upward to the conning tower above and a bench ran along one side, but for the rest the furnishings of the central station were all mechanical. Dials, valves, gyroscope compass, manifolds, steering and diving wheels, depth gauges, levers, clinometer for determining the boat’s inclination, motor controllers, engine room telegraph, navigating lights, voice pipes and other things were indicated by Martin. Here was the brain of the craft. Every activity was controlled from this white-walled, light-flooded chamber and from it wires and pipes led forward and aft like nerves. Two gunner’s mates were at the big brass wheels controlling the diving rudders, while in front of them a gauge indicated the boat’s depth. Their duty, explained Martin, was to keep the submarine on an even keel, and at the depth ordered by the navigating officer, by means of the forward and aft diving rudders. Near them a mechanic presided over the air and water manifolds of the ballast and trimming tanks. A fourth man was in charge of the Kingston valves which flooded the main ballast tanks during submergence. A steersman was at the wheel to the left of the forward door and two electricians stood by the Number Two periscope ready for duty. The place was a white vault of shining machinery that made no noise in which the quiet conversation of the two officers was strangely distinct.

Martin led the way through to the forward battery compartment where some half-dozen of the crew were at rest in their bunks or seated about the table. The cook was busy at the electric range, for the hour, as Nelson had seen by the clock in the central station, was close on ten. Martin exchanged remarks with the fellows around the table and led the way aft to another watertight door. Passing through this, Nelson found himself in the wireless room, a small compartment at present holding one man, who, with a telephone receiver strapped to his head, was listening at the Fessenden Oscillator, or submarine signal apparatus. The compartment was a maze of wires, meters, switches, coils and other electrical contrivances. Beyond the wireless room were small staterooms occupied by the officers. They were tiny bare white-walled cells containing little more than a bunk, a chest of drawers, a small writing desk and a lavatory each. Beyond the open door of one Nelson glimpsed the gruff-voiced first lieutenant who had dubbed him Neptune.

“Here’s where I live when I’m on duty,” said Martin as they passed through still another door into the bow torpedo compartment. They were now close to the submarine’s nose and the moisture-studded roof above was perceptibly nearer their heads. Facing them were the butts of the four twenty-one-inch torpedo tubes, each a round white-enameled bulls-eye at first glance. A second look, however, showed the bulls-eyes to be dish-shaped covers on long, curved hinges which, as Martin explained, were opened by hand to expose the breeches for loading. On chocks at each side of the compartment rested eight torpedoes, which, with those already in the tubes, made twelve in all. Besides the torpedo tubes the compartment also held the anchor winches, and Martin showed how the anchor chains could be slipped by a simple device in case of fouling.

There were two men in there, busy with oiled rags when the visitors entered. Martin introduced them to Nelson and he received a hearty if somewhat greasy handshake from each. He found the torpedo compartment more interesting than any of the others and asked a dozen questions in as many minutes. Martin was very willing to explain everything, his mates throwing in helpful interpolations. (It was evident to Nelson from the way in which these latter viewed him that he was looked on by the crew of the Q-4 as rather a remarkable individual.)

“Here’s the way it’s done,” began Martin. “This tube”—laying a hand affectionately on one of the breeches—“has a watertight cap at the outer end of it. It can be opened or closed by turning this little wheel. When we want to load a tube we close the outer cap first of all. Then we open this inner cover, like this.” He suited action to word and Nelson, stooping, peered into the tube which already held a torpedo. “We roll one of those torpedoes up and slide it in. This cover is closed again; you see it has a rubber joint here which makes it watertight. Then——”

“Prepare for firing, Mart,” suggested one of the others.

“Yes, that’s so. I forgot to say that we remove the safety pin before we load the torpedo, but you probably know about that. And, of course, we set the depth gear. That done, we close this inner cover, so. Next we open this valve which lets in water from the filling tank. There’s one of these tanks for each tube, and each holds just enough water to fill in around the torpedo.”

“But why not draw the water from the outside?” asked Nelson.

“Because you’d add about seven hundred pounds of weight to the boat and start her sinking. You see, you’ve got to maintain the same stability. When you fill around the torpedo with water from the tank you’re not taking on any more weight, you’re only shifting it from one place to another, and without changing its longitudinal position. Get that?” Nelson nodded.

“Then we open the outer cap and we’re ready for firing. We report Number One or Two, or whichever it may be, ready over the tube, and the Old Man just presses a button. Air compressed to a hundred pounds to the square inch butts in through here behind the torpedo and out she goes at thirty knots. Simple, what?”