The reason for this order was obvious to the officers of the "Livingstone." The "Lion" had been disabled: whether by torpedo (for several of the enemy submarines had been sighted) or by shell-fire they knew not. But she was sufficiently mauled for it to be necessary for Admiral Beatty to shift his Flag, first to the torpedo-boat-destroyer "Attack" and afterwards to the "Tiger" as she was returning from the sinking of the "Bluecher."
With her engines out of order, and very much down by the head the crippled "Lion" shaped a course to the north-west, making for the Firth of Forth. Finding that the damage to the machinery grew worse, the badly hit battle-cruiser had to appeal for assistance, and was taken in tow by the "Indomitable." Speed was now out of the question, while there was great risk of both battle-cruisers falling victims to the lurking German submarines. Accordingly one flotilla of destroyers was detailed to escort the "Indomitable" and her tow, another was ordered to reconnoitre to the north-east and check any attempt on the part of hostile light-cruisers and torpedo-boats from menacing the crippled "Lion."
The "Livingstone" was one of the flotilla told off for the latter service. Hers was a hazardous undertaking, for ahead lay the almost impregnable island of Heligoland, on her starboard hand was the German torpedo-boat station of Borkum, while it was known that an ill-defined mine-field was somewhere in this part of the North Sea. Presumably the "Derfflinger" and her consorts, when they made a somewhat abrupt change of course while screened by the smoke of the destroyers, had put the mine-field between them and the British. The supposition was mainly responsible for the breaking off of the action and for the escape of the German battle-cruisers.
In line abreast the various units of the British destroyer flotilla pursued their course, an interval of nearly a mile separating each boat. At two p.m. they were within sight of the rocky plateau of Heligoland, yet no hostile craft hove in sight. The Zeppelin which had frustrated the humane intentions of the British tars when the "Bluecher" sank, was just visible as it made for its lair. Away to the eastward, where a mist was lying over the Frisian Islands, the thick clouds of smoke from the fugitive battle-cruisers was rapidly merging into the bank of fog.
"May as well get something to eat, Aubyn," remarked Lieutenant Gilroy. "Nothing like taking advantage of a lull in the performance."
Terence willingly acquiesced. Now that the excitement of the engagement was past he was beginning to feel peckish so the two officers went below.
"Not a bad day's work," remarked the sub., as he attacked a tin of biscuits and a cup of chocolate.
"H'm, no," replied Gilroy. "We ought to have bagged the lot, and we should had it not been for the 'Lion' being crocked."
"I expect the Press will make a song about our not having done so," remarked Aubyn. "It's easy for the arm-chair critics to expound theories of what ought to be done."
"Let 'em," declared Gilroy grimly. "If I had my will I'd ship a few of these professional advisers—people who are ever ready to tell their mother's mother how to extract the contents of a bird in embryo—and let them see what's going on. I'll bet they'd change their tune and not ask what the Navy is doing. It's impossible to ram into their thick heads that sometimes it pays to sacrifice a small craft in order to enable a battle-cruiser to get a sniff in. That's what we are doing now."
Aubyn looked at his companion in surprise.
"Fact," continued Gilroy. "We have information that a German flotilla of light-cruisers and destroyers is out: independently of the crowd we sent home as fast as their engines could take them. What we have to do is to get in touch with them, lure them on, and let our light-cruisers come up and bag the lot. If the German boats won't come out—and they are vastly superior in number to our lot—there are two conclusions. Either they fear a trap, or else they cannot negotiate their own mine-field. If they do pluck up courage and come for us, we've got to make a running fight for it, and at the same time watch these fellows' course."
"So, apart from screening the 'Lion' we have to discover the passage through the enemy's mine-field?"
"Exactly," answered Gilroy. "The information is most necessary, although I cannot at present say to what use it will be put. Hullo! there's the 'Action.'"
Both officers tore up the narrow companion to find that the periscope of a submarine had been sighted on the port-bow. Evidently the skipper of the "unterseeboot" had a great respect for the ramming powers of British destroyers; for, without attempting to discharge a torpedo, he promptly dived to such a depth that on the "Livingstone" passing just ahead of the swirl that marked the submarine's disappearance no tell-tale oil rose to the surface.
By this time the mist had increased; the nearmost British destroyer was just visible. The rest were swallowed up in the bank of haze. The flotilla had changed course and was now running S.S.W. or practically parallel with the chain of islands extending from the mouth of the Weser to the Dollart.
Suddenly out of the mist loomed the outlines of four grey torpedo-boats: the forerunners of the Borkum flotilla. On they came at a good twenty-six knots, the smoke pouring from their funnels and obscuring any hostile craft that might be following in their wake.
Boat for boat the "Livingstone" and her consorts were vastly superior to the German craft. An action would result in annihilation of the enemy unless the element of luck favoured the weaker side. But it was not a time for fight. The first mission of the British destroyers was to lure their foes, especially the supporting light-cruisers, well away from the sand-banks and shallow mined channels protected by the heavy guns of Borkum.
Round swung the "Livingstone," heeling outwards till her rail was almost awash: then steadying herself on her course, steamed due west. Although the after 4-in. gun was trained on the leading German boat, no order was given to fire. Shells began to hurtle past, as the foremost enemy vessel attempted to wing her foe. It was tantalizing for the "Livingstone" to be under fire with the knowledge that her armament could dominate that of her enemy, but forbearance was desirable: it was a part of the grim game.
Suddenly a terrific glare flashed before Terence's eyes, followed by an ear-splitting report. He was dimly conscious of clapping his left hand over his eyes and feeling blindly with his right for some support that was not forthcoming. His feet gave way under him, and he fell—not upon the slippery deck of the destroyer but into the sea.
It was in a sense fortunate that he fell in a huddled posture; had his body been rigid the shock on striking the surface from a craft travelling at close on thirty knots might have broken his back. Winded by the blow and the sudden immersion he sank, swallowing mouthfuls of salt water as he vainly gasped for breath.
After a seemingly interminable time he knew by the light filtering through the water that he was rising to the surface. Up he came, spluttering and gasping. His thick clothing still retained air and afforded a certain amount of buoyancy, enough to counteract the weight of his sea-boots.
He looked in the direction of the "Livingstone." She was by this time several hundred yards off and still running at a high speed. Even had his fall been noticed he knew that it would have been impossible for the destroyer to stop and pick him up. It was one of the grim realities of warfare. In the piping times of peace there would be a cry of "Man overboard," a rapid working of the engine-room telegraph, and a prompt backing and going easy astern of the engines, while the boat was being hastily lowered to effect a rescue. But now, although the loss of a man overboard was to be deplored it was the fortune of war. Under the circumstances no captain would hazard his ship in the presence of the enemy to save life.
Terence also knew that there was no chance of rescue by the German boats. For one thing it was an established fact that the disciples of "kultur" had never been credited since the declaration of hostilities with having saved a single British sailor, be he officer or man. Again, it was not to be expected that the German destroyers would cease in their efforts to overhaul a supposedly fugitive craft to pull one of the hated English out of the sea.
At a distance of about ten yards from the swimmer the leading German torpedo-boat passed. The "wash" wellnigh overwhelmed him, for by this time his clothes were becoming saturated and his limbs numbed by the cold. He was seen by several of the crew, most of whom regarded him with stolid indifference, while one or two openly jeered at him.
The desire for life was strong within the young sub. He realized that his case was hazardous in the extreme. More than likely cramp—the dreaded foe of the swimmer—would seize him; if not there would be a struggle for life until, numbed by the cold, he would sink through sheer inability to move his limbs. Yet he meant to fight strongly for his life.
"I must first get rid of my boots," he thought, at the same time ruefully reflecting that they were practically new, and had cost him a couple of guineas only a few days ago.
Turning on his back Terence began to fumble with his footgear. His fingers had little or no sense of feeling.
"All right, sir; hold up—I'm coming. You're saved," shouted a voice.
Swimming towards him and pushing a lifebuoy was Stairs, the bluejacket whose gratitude he had gained by letting him off with a caution instead of putting him in the captain's defaulter's book. The devoted man, seeing Terence blown over the side by the explosion of a hostile shell, had without hesitation seized a lifebuoy and had plunged into the sea with the laudable intention of either saving his officer or sharing his fate. Swift though he was in making up his mind, the "Livingstone" had put a hundred yards or so between her and Terence ere the man took the fateful leap.
Swimming strongly, and pushing the buoy before him he took nearly five minutes in getting within easy hailing distance of his superior officer. Even in that moment of peril, when he realized that the chances of the pair of them were most remote, Stairs was governed by the regulations.
"'... approach the drowning person, assure him with a loud and firm voice that he is safe,'" he repeated to himself. "It's a blessed lie, but regulations is regulations, so 'ere goes. All right, sir; I'm coming. You're saved."
Had Stairs continued to act strictly in the spirit of the before-mentioned regulations, he would have proceeded to "take fast hold of the hair of his head, turn him, as quickly as possible on his back, give him a sudden pull and this will cause him to float." But fortunately the seaman, having committed one absurdity, wisely refrained from doing another. Seeing that Terence was afloat, he contented himself with pushing the lifebuoy into his grasp.
"What on earth possessed you to jump overboard?" asked Aubyn.
"Never you mind, sir, beggin' your pardon," replied Stairs. "Keep your precious breath, sir you'll be wanting it afore long."
The advice was sound, for by this time two more destroyers had passed, one on either side of the submerged men, and the turmoil of the water as they tore past had the effect of stopping any attempt at conversation. Well it was that Aubyn had hold of the lifebuoy, otherwise the buffeting of the waves would have sent him under—perhaps for the last time.
Just then a large object shot up from under the water about fifty feet from the two men. It was part of a British whaler, possibly abandoned previous to going into action, or it may have floated from one of the torpedo-cruisers during the earlier stages of the war.
The third German destroyer had cut through and had passed completely over it. The greater part of the stern sheets had been torn off, but there was a considerable amount of buoyancy by reason of the copper air-tanks, some of which were yet intact.
"Good business, sir!" exclaimed Stairs. "See yon wreckage? Strike out, sir; I'll give you a hand. We'll fetch it yet."
Before Terence had covered half the distance "striking out" was beyond him. All he could do was to support himself by allowing his arms to hang inertly on the curve of the buoy. For propulsion he had to rely upon the powerful and seemingly tireless efforts of his brawny companion.
Awaiting his opportunity Stairs scrambled through the jagged gap in the wrecked boat, then, bringing himself against the after thwart he hauled Terence into a position of comparative safety.
Even with the weight of the two men the buoyancy of the airtight tanks was sufficient to keep the gunwale a foot above water. Within the wrecked boat the water was about up to the thwarts, while the sea dashed continuously over the frail planking and surged violently up and down the bottom boards.
Holding Terence by the arm, for the sub. was now incapable of stirring a finger to save himself, Stairs cautiously raised himself and looked around. The destroyers, both British and German, were now lost in the mists. Everywhere was an unbroken stretch of water. The waves, although not violent, were short and steep.
He realized that there were two great perils. The waterlogged craft might be capsized in the trough of the waves, in which case the two men would either be stunned by the heavy woodwork or else have to choose between drowning or suffocation under the upturned boat. Nor was the danger of perishing from cold and exposure to be lost sight of. Drenched to the skin, without food and water, and drifting about in a waterlogged craft on the North Sea in mid-winter, their condition was an unenviable one.
"Sit up, sir, and swing your arms," said Stairs, with pardonable sternness.
Terence tried to obey, but the nerveless condition of his arms, additionally handicapped by his wet clothing, resulted in a feeble effort; but that was by no means satisfactory to his devoted companion.
Grasping the sub. by the elbows Stairs began to work his arms in an energetic manner. Before long Aubyn began to feel the blood circulating, while the exercise also served to warm the chilled body of his rescuer.
"Avast there!" exclaimed the seaman, after five minutes' steady performance. "I'll take a spell a bit and then carry on. It's our one chance."
Terence agreed. He, too, realized that only by exercise could they hope to retain warmth in their bodies. Dimly he found himself wondering was it worth while to prolong their acute physical distress, with no apparent chance of rescue.
For nearly an hour Stairs repeated his operations at frequent intervals, but it was evident that, robust and strongly built as he was, even his bodily strength could not hold out much longer.
Neither man spoke during that fearful hour. More than once Terence wanted to ask the seaman why he had deliberately risked almost certain death on his behalf. He was not conversant with the circumstances under which Stairs had leapt from the "Livingstone's" deck, but from the fact that he arrived on the scene with a lifebuoy, the sub. concluded that it was not by accident but by design. Yet, in spite of his desire to question the man and to thank him for his gallantry and devotion, Terence was unable to frame a sentence, so utterly acute was his distress.
From time to time Stairs would stand upright, at the imminent risk of losing his balance and being thrown out of the water-logged boat, and scan the horizon—or rather the ill-defined blending of sea and sky. In the vain hope that the British destroyers had vanquished their foes and would put back to look for the missing officer, the seaman kept a sharp lookout at regular intervals, but nothing save an unbroken waste of water met his gaze.
He knew also that in a water-logged craft and without means of propulsion, the rate of drift would be extremely slight. Hours, perhaps days, would elapse ere the wrecked boat grounded on the sand-banks fringing the German and Dutch chain of islands on the east coast of the North Sea.
So intent was Stairs in looking for a distant sail that he failed to notice a pole-like object appearing above the surface at less than eighty yards from the boat. Terence noticed it; more, he remarked a slight "wash," showing that the object had a forward as well as a vertical movement.
"A periscope! he exclaimed, finding his voice in the excitement of the discovery.
"Where, sir?" asked Stairs, with incredulity in his tones, for he imagined that the sub. had become lightheaded in his distress. Then following the direction indicated by Aubyn's limp fingers, he added, "You're right, sir; it's a blessed submarine. I'll bet my last tanner the brutes will poke charley at us, and sheer off. If I'd my rifle, by smoke! I'd pepper that blessed periscope."
In his indignation the seaman began to search the bottom of the boat for a likely missile with which to vent his rage upon the modern pirates; but finding none he folded his arms and awaited events.
Like the wary water-rat that cautiously reconnoitres before it leaves its hole, the submarine surveyed the seascope. For a brief instant the eyepiece of the periscope was turned in the direction of the waterlogged boat, then, having slowly and deliberately swept it all round the compass, it again scrutinized the two unfortunate men.
The submarine was in no great hurry to rise to the surface. Her commander had heard of decoys being employed to lure an inquisitive craft within range of a distant quick-firer, so he used discretion. Finally, having come to the conclusion that it was safe to ascend, the submarine resumed her diagonally upward motion, and with the green water pouring from off the fore side of her conning-tower and surging from her narrow deck she emerged to the light of day.
"She's one of ours!" exclaimed Stairs. "Hurrah! sir, We're saved."
The seaman was right. It was a British submarine, one of the E class. Terence could hardly believe his eyes to see the craft emerge from beneath the waves almost within sight of the German coast and certainly within the limits of the hostile mine-field. He had yet a lot to learn concerning the bravery and resource of the commanders and crews of these marvellous craft, operating, without support from the destroyer flotillas, at the very gates of Germany's naval strongholds.
The watertight hatch in the conning-tower opened and the head and shoulders of a young officer appeared. He bent to give an order, then leapt out and gained the navigating platform, where he was joined by three of the crew, clad in "fearnought" suits and seaboots.
"Come alongside as sharp as you can!" he shouted.
"Can't sir," replied Stairs. "We've no oars, and we're pretty well done up."
The officer gave the order for "easy astern"; then judging that there was sufficient room for the intended manoeuvre he ordered "easy ahead," at the same time steering the submarine to pass about ten feet to windward of the remains of the boat.
Meanwhile, those of the crew on deck had detached two boathooks from the handrail to which they had been secured by "beckets," and standing by, awaited for their craft to pass within reach of the object of their attentions.
Simultaneously the two boathooks engaged, and the boat was drawn alongside. While thus firmly held, one of the crew leapt into her, and raising Terence, passed him on to the willing arms of his companions. Without loss of time Stairs was likewise rescued, and both men, practically "done up," were taken below. Then, the officer and his men having returned to the shelter of the hermetically-sealed steel hull, the submarine prepared to dive.
While kindly helpers were assisting to strip the clothing from the almost unconscious sub., massaging his body and limbs with more energy than skill, and were pouring hot drinks down his throat, Terence could hear as in a dream the order given by the captain of the submarine.
"Diving stations. Flood main ballast.... Flood auxiliary ballast tanks!"
Dimly Aubyn began to realize that he was actually in a steel prison, several feet beneath the surface of a sea sown with deadly mines.
"Easy ahead. Elevate horizontal rudders!"
The submarine, now weighing nearly the same as the amount of water she displaced, was ready for diving. That part of the operation was performed by means of the horizontal planes or rudders, trimming them to give the required angle of descent.
"Down to seventy feet, sir!" reported a voice, sounding hollow in the ribbed, vaulted space.
"Stand by—let go!"
With a subdued rattle the anchor, hitherto bedded underneath the fore-part of the hull, dropped to the bed of the North Sea, additional water ballast being admitted into the tanks of the vessel to compensate the loss of weight of the ground-tackle. Save for a faint pendulum-like motion as the submarine swayed to the tension on the bight of her cable, the craft lay calmly in twelve fathoms, for the time being safe from the perils of naval warfare.
Warm both externally and internally, Terence dropped to sleep in a comfortable bunk in the officers' part of the vessel. Three hours later he awoke, feeling much his former self, for the beneficial effects of the oxygen-charged atmosphere were as invigorating as the air on the summit of a lofty mountain.
The instant he awoke the circumstances which led to his being on board the submarine flashed across Aubyn's mind with vivid clearness. He contrasted his experiences with his regaining consciousness in Shotley Sick Quarters. There his brain worked slowly—it took considerable time for him to recall the events subsequent to the torpedoing of the ill-fated "Terrier." Here, owing possibly to the chemically charged atmosphere, his mind was as fresh as if he had awakened from a normal sleep.
The submarine was still at anchor. Beyond the purring of the dynamos for supplying the electric light there was no noise of machinery. Men were laughing and talking freely: he could hear Stairs' voice, holding forth with a vivacity that betokened no ill-effects from his voluntary immersion.
Terence sprang out of his bunk and began to dress. His own clothing, dried in the motor-room, was ready for him to put on. Just as he had completed his toilet a man of about thirty, dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant-commander, entered and introduced himself as Paul Maynebrace, captain of Submarine "E Something."
"Sorry we can't land you for a day or two," he remarked, after inquiring after Aubyn's state of health. "We're on observation duty, and are not due back at Harwich until noon on Thursday. However, we'll do our level best to make you comfortable. Of course, I suppose I am right in assuming that you haven't been on a submarine before? It will be something of a novelty to you, but we are getting used to it. Rather boring, in fact."
"Boring?" repeated Terence.
"Well, rather. We are stationed to observe the approach through the mine-field to Wilhelmshaven. It means that every few hours we have to pop to the surface and have a look round; and except for the departure of some of the raiding German cruisers late on Saturday night (which we duly reported to the Admiralty, by the by) it's usually a case of a lot of work for nothing—for the beggars won't come out."
"Supposing a German warship did make a dash while you are down below?" asked Terence.
"We could tell by the noise of the propellors," replied the lieutenant-commander. "She is bound to keep almost immediately above us, owing to the narrowness of the passage through the mine-field."
"Then what would happen?" queried Aubyn, keenly interested in the information.
"If she were unsupported we would try the effect of a torpedo," replied Maynebrace, with a smile. "Ten to one the disaster to one of von Tirpitz's pets would be put down to the accidental displacement of one of the mines. In the case of the 'Derfflinger' and her consorts we let the whole crowd go. It would be impossible to torpedo the lot, and even if we hit one the remainder might scoot back to Wilhelmshaven. On the other hand, by not giving them a scare we help to keep their spirits up, so to speak, and let our battle-cruisers do the smashing-up part of the business. By the by, the seaman who was with you on the derelict boat told us of the result of the dust-up: how the 'Bluecher' went under."
"It was a pity we didn't get the rest," remarked Terence.
"Fortune of war," declared the lieutenant-commander. "And, as luck would have it, the three German battle-cruisers did not return to Wilhelmshaven by the same channel, otherwise I might have had a try for one or two of them. No, they made for Heligoland, I fancy, and thence either to Kiel or Wilhelmshaven by a passage inside the mine-field. Well, I must leave you for a while. I'll send young Warborough—he's my sub.—to have a yarn with you. And as soon as I get the chance I'll get off a wireless announcing that you are safe and sound on board."
It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Warborough arrived upon the scene. He was a young, easy-going officer, wholeheartedly devoted to his career; yet, when on leave he was a worry to the police in the vicinity of each of the great naval ports. His brother-officers in the submarine flotilla were apt to remark that Dick Warborough was a "bit of a scorcher" in more ways than one. On one occasion a lively scene in a Portsmouth theatre, in which Warborough played a leading though unrehearsed part, almost ended in a police-court. Perhaps it was lucky for the sub. that his father was a man of position and influence. Warborough freely confessed to half a dozen endorsements on his motor-driver's licence. The fines he had been ordered to pay in his twelve-month amounted to almost as much as his pay and allowance as a sub-lieutenant in the submarine service, so once again he thanked his lucky stars that his parent was rich and, what was more, generous. Yet, with all his foolish pranks ashore, he was keen and a capable officer from the moment he passed through the dockyard gates to return to duty till the time when he was again able to proceed on leave.
"Skipper says I'm to hold a pow-wow with you, Aubyn," began Warborough, not with any suspicion of condescension but in a frank, easy-going manner. "Glad to have someone to spin a yarn with. Do you motor?"
Terence had to confess that, except for trips in hired cars during his brief visits to his home, his experiences in that direction were few and far between; then, by way of altering the topic of conversation, he asked what the young officer thought of the submarine service.
"Top-hole—absolutely ripping!" declared Warborough. "This lying in wait is apt to be a bit tedious, but there are moments when you feel downright happy at being in the submarine service."
"Pretty dangerous?" hazarded Aubyn, who had not entirely got over the feeling that he was imprisoned at the bottom, or nearly at the bottom of the sea.
"That's what gives a spice to the business," said Warborough. "If we do bump a mine there's precious little chance for us. The worst part of the job is when we are getting fairly close to Harwich, and running awash. The helmsman of one of your destroyers might get a trifle jumpy, you know—mistakes have been made in that direction, especially at night."
"That I can quite understand," rejoined Terence, recalling the many anxious hours he had passed on the "Strongbow" as officer of the watch, and straining his eyes in the darkness till he fancied he saw the periscope and conning-tower of more than one submarine.
"And the rotten part of the business is, the man in the street grumbles," continued Warborough. "It's all very fine saying that the Silent Navy is above public opinion and all that—it isn't, and it's a bit rough. Our men come back from leave with the yarn that they are continually being asked, 'What is the Navy doing?' And if people find out that they belong to the submarine service they ask still more pointed questions. Civilians forget that the German ships rarely put to sea, except when they think they can do a sneaking bit of damage. And after this recent scrap they'll be still more chary about coming out. Now, if there's nothing or hardly anything afloat for us to go for, it's not much use running a great risk of being rammed by our own destroyers. Submarines can't fight submarines, and the fact that a few German 'unterseeboots' have started playing the fool with our merchant craft complicates the situation. However, there are four of our submarines keeping an eye on the approach to the German North Sea ports, so perhaps, after the war is over and people are let into the know, we may be vindicated in the minds of the Great British Public. Why, man, what's wrong now? Your nose has started to bleed."
Terence brought out his handkerchief and applied it to his nasal organ. It was a very rare thing for it to bleed, and he wondered whether it was the result of the concussion when he was blown from the deck of the "Livingstone."
"I don't fancy so," remarked Warborough. "It's the excess of oxygen. We are frequently affected that way. Shove your head in that basin and let me pour cold water on your neck: that will stop it pretty quickly."
Aubyn's companion was quite right. In less than two minutes the flow had entirely ceased.
"How about the water?" asked Terence. "I suppose this is the pump?"
"Yes. You'll have to exert a fair amount of strength to get rid of the water, you know."
Aubyn seized the pump lever, but in spite of his efforts he could not force the water out of the basin. "Back pressure too much," commented Warborough. "We're more than fifty feet below the surface. We'll have to get rid of this water pretty quickly, so I'll ask the skipper to bring the boat twenty feet or so nearer the surface."
"Sorry to give you so much trouble," said Terence apologetically.
"Not at all, my dear fellow. It will give the men something to do to relieve the monotony. Come with me, if you're fit to move, and you can see the operation."
Terence followed the junior officer to the base of the conning-tower, and upon Warborough explaining matters to the lieutenant-commander, the latter concurred in the desirability of ascending.
"While we are about it we may as well go up and look round," he added.
Word was then passed for the crew to stand at their stations. Inside a water-filled compartment, separated from the rest of the vessel by strong watertight bulkheads, the electrically-worked winch could be dimly heard as it hauled in the cable, till the stockless anchor was safely housed flush with the outer plating of the submarine.
The reserve tanks were "blown," the electric motors for propelling purposes were set in motion, and the horizontal fins trimmed for the ascent. Steadily the pointer of the depth indicator began to fall till it registered ten feet. At that distance below the surface it is quite possible to make use of the periscope.
The lieutenant-commander watched the seemingly monotonous changing panorama depicted upon the bowl at the base of the periscope, as the eyepiece swept the horizon.
Suddenly he checked the training handle. A small and rather indistinct object had appeared in view.
"What do you make of that, Warborough?" asked the skipper calmly.
"Light-cruiser, sir!" replied that officer, after a brief glance at the reflected picture. "And a German, by all the powers!"
"May as well have a look, Mr. Aubyn," said the lieutenant-commander considerately. "She seems in no hurry, and unless she takes it into her head to change her course, she'll pass within eight hundred yards of us."
Terence inspected the periscope representation of the German vessel. Although she flew no ensign, her characteristic masts, funnel, and derricks, as well as her protruding bows—a combination of both clipper and ram—proclaimed her as one of the "Freya" class cruisers, averaging 5600 tons. Her guns were trained abeam, but from their direction it was evident that the Germans had no idea of the peril that menaced them.
The sub. felt his blood tingling. It was the "Terrier" incident over again, only the boot was on the other foot this time.
"Down to thirty feet—charge firing-tank—flood both torpedo-tubes—stand by!" ordered the lieutenant-commander.
He would not run the risk of allowing the tip of the periscope to remain on the surface while the crew were thrusting the two steel cylinders into their respective tubes.
"All correct, sir!" reported the leading torpedo-hand.
"To fifteen feet, then," was the order.
Once again daylight filtered through the periscope. On the bowl stood the image of the doomed cruiser, now showing with remarkable vividness. A slight touch on the steering gear and "E Something" swung a point or so to starboard to enable her tubes to be trained a few feet in advance of the cruiser's bows—a sufficient allowance for the vessel to be fairly in the path of the deadly weapon by the time the torpedo travelled the intervening distance.
A faint detonation, caused by the release of the propelling charge of compressed air was followed by the rush of the water admitted into the now empty tube to compensate the loss of weight of the torpedo. The missile was on its way.
A few seconds of tense silence followed, then came the muffled sound of a terrific detonation, as the warhead exploded fifteen feet below the surface and fairly amidships of the doomed cruiser. No need to let loose a second missile.
"Got her!" exclaimed the skipper laconically, as the submarine dived to fifty feet to avoid detection and its natural sequence—a hail of quick-firer projectiles from the already sinking vessel.
A quarter of an hour later the "E Something" again showed her periscope. The lieutenant-commander's surmise was correct. The German cruiser had plunged to the bottom, while half a dozen boats, crammed to their utmost capacity, were laboriously rowing towards the invisible island of Borkum.
"Thank you, Mr. Aubyn!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, extending his hand towards the sub.
"What for, sir, might I ask?"
"For letting your nose bleed at a most opportune moment," was the cool rejoinder.
An hour after sunset "E Something" rose to the surface. Her hatches were opened and the crew allowed on deck, five men at a time, to enjoy the cold, fresh air. Owing to the possibility of the sudden approach of a swift hostile cruiser or destroyer it was not advisable to let more men out at once, in order that there would be no delay in battening down and diving.
It was a clear starlit night. Away to the east the sky was illuminated by the steely rays of the searchlights on the German batteries, where the garrisons, kept on thorns by the dread of a visit from the British Fleet, maintained ceaseless watch.
"I shouldn't wonder if we weren't honoured by the attentions of a few German torpedo-boats," remarked Warborough to Aubyn, as the two officers, sheltering from the wind under the lee of the conning-tower, were enjoying their cigarettes. "By this time the boats of the torpedoed cruiser ought to have reached land, and the report of the disaster—cooked by the authorities for serving up to the gullible Teutonic public—will have been issued."
"It will probably be reported that she struck a drifting mine," said Terence.
"More than likely," agreed Warborough. "Drifting mines are a godsend to the harassed German press agencies. But, all the same, those fellows on the cruiser must have seen the wake of our torpedo, and that's what makes me think that they'll be sending some of their small craft to give us a shaking up—if they can."
Meanwhile, the wireless mast, which during the period of submergence had been housed on deck, had been set up, and a report of the torpedoing of an unknown German cruiser of the "Freya" class had been sent off to the Admiralty. A second message, reporting the rescue of Sub-Lieutenant Terence Aubyn, R.N.R., and Seaman Stairs, was also despatched.
Twenty minutes later came the reply:—
"Admiralty express great satisfaction at prowess of submarine 'E Something,'" while the news concerning the rescued officer and man was acknowledged in stereotyped form.
"Another 'buck-up' for the British Public," remarked Terence, "although our little piece of work—excuse me saying 'our,' but it sounds natural—will pale into comparative insignificance after the 'Bluecher' business."
"Perhaps My Lords will not make the news public—at least, not for a long while," rejoined Warborough. "They'll keep it in reserve until there is a lull in the papers. Of course not a quarter of the work, that would gladden the nation like anything, gets into the Press. It isn't well to let the enemy know too much of their losses. By the by, did you hear anything about a hostile submarine attempting to slip past the Needles and into the Solent?"
"No," replied Terence. "Is it a fact?"
"Can't say, old man. Accounts differ. All I know is, that I was staying at a house close to Lymington just before Christmas. It was the first leave I had had since the outbreak of the war. Anyway, the gunners on the Isle of Wight forts spotted something suspicious, and promptly let rip for about twenty minutes."
"Did they hit anything?"
"They did," answered Warborough, with a grin. "They nearly plugged me with a ricochet. Several shells fell inland, one of them demolishing the chimney of a country pub. Next day I heard on good authority——"
"Something moving up aloft, sir!" reported one of the submarine's crew. "Listen, sir. There's a distinct purr."
"A Zeppelin, by Jove!" exclaimed Warborough. "Pass the word to the captain."
The lieutenant-commander, termed by courtesy the captain, was resting in his bunk. He was quickly on deck, for he had "turned in all standing," with the exception of his boots.
He looked aloft. Like a lead-pencil the Zeppelin could now be distinguished as she rapidly advanced at an altitude of about a thousand feet. Judging by her position she would, unless she changed her direction, pass half a mile to windward of the submarine.
"Mr. Warborough," exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, "I don't propose to dive."
"Very good, sir," replied the sub. of "E Something," as coolly as if the Zeppelin were anything but a war-machine.
With very little noise the guns'-crews mustered on deck. The two anti-aerial guns were raised on their disappearing mountings, ammunition was served out, and the submarine was prepared to risk an encounter with the vaunted terror of the air.
Although the petrol engines, used for running on the surface, were in motion, the clutches of both shafts were disconnected and the exhaust completely muffled. Thus the submarine was ready to forge ahead at a moment's notice; but, until she was discovered by the giant gas-bag, her captain preferred to lie low until the Zeppelin somewhat incautiously would descend to investigate the scene of the catastrophe to the torpedoed cruiser.
At each of the 3-pounder quick-firers the gun-layers "stood easy." To keep bending over the sights of the high angle firing-gun would be putting an unnecessary strain upon the men. They waited alertly for report of the range-finding officer and the order to open fire.
"The brute is in no hurry to descend," grumbled Warborough. "She's a good two thousand feet up now, and a pretty bad target, especially at night. One thing, she doesn't stand much chance of dropping a bomb within a couple of hundred yards of us, unless it's by a pure fluke."
"She's descending," exclaimed Terence, as the long, aluminium cylinder, under the influence of the compensating weights, began to dip her nose.
As he spoke a searchlight flashed from the foremost nacelle. The rays, almost perpendicular in direction to the surface of the water, played upon the sea at some three hundred yards from the quiescent submarine. The Zeppelin had its suspicions, but as yet had not located its intended prey.
"Don't look up, men," cautioned the lieutenant-commander, knowing that should the searchlight play upon the faces of the crew detection would be certain. He, as well as Warborough, had taken the precaution of wrapping a dark muffler over the lower part of his face, while his forehead was shaded by his peaked cap.
It was a hard thing to obey the order, but the men, subduing their natural desire to see what menaced them from above, kept their faces averted.
"A thousand feet up," announced Warborough at length, speaking softly, lest the sound, borne upwards with remarkable clearness, should give the Zeppelin the alarm. "Actual distance, one thousand five hundred yards."
As he spoke the deck of "E Something" was bathed in a flood of brilliant light. A sweep of the searchlight had caused the beam to "pick up" the submarine. So dazzling were the rays that it would have been impossible to sight either of the guns in the direction of the airship.
With admirable presence of mind the lieutenant-commander forbore to open fire. Rigidly the men stood at attention, not one of them risking the temporary blindness that would ensue if he raised his eyes to the powerful glare.
"Thank heavens," ejaculated the captain fervently, as the sweeping rays swung round, "they haven't spotted us!"
"Eight hundred feet—twelve hundred yards," reported Warborough.
The Zeppelin was still descending; more, she had slowed down considerably, since during the last four minutes she had travelled three hundred yards. Heading dead into the eye of the wind her rate over the sea was now roughly two and a half miles an hour.
The Zeppelin now presented an easy target, as, moving slowly, she stood out clearly against the starry sky.
The lieutenant-commander raised his hand, the gun-layer of the for'ard weapon sprang to the night-sights; in another second the missile would have been hurtling on its way towards the bulky target, when round swept the blinding searchlight, full on the submarine.
This time there was no swaying round the rays were kept focussed on the "E Something." The Zeppelin had spotted her foe.
"Confound that light!" muttered the skipper, as he telegraphed for full speed ahead.
Quickly the vessel gained steerage way, the helmsman thrusting his helm hard over, alternately to port and starboard at frequent intervals in order to pursue a zig-zag course and thus baffle the aim of the bomb-trainers.
The first bomb was not long in making its presence known. From the invisible and now noisy airship, for her engines were making a terrific din, a powerful missile dropped fifty yards abeam of the submarine, and burst with a loud report.
Fragments of the shell flew in all directions, some glancing harmless from the rounded side of the submarine, and others flying overhead. Not a man was touched.
The second bomb fell much further off and dead ahead. The Zeppelin had overrun her quarry.
With a sharp turn of the steering gear the helmsman brought "E Something" smartly round in a semicircle till her bows pointed in the opposite direction to which they had been heading a few seconds before. So quickly was the manoeuvre executed that the submarine swept out of the irritating rays of the searchlight.
Both quick-firers barked simultaneously. One shell burst well beyond the frail gas-bag; the other appeared to explode almost under the foremost suspended car. Whether by accident or design the searchlight was immediately switched off, while the Zeppelin, elevating her horizontal rudders and frantically throwing out ballast, began to rise in order to be out of range of the British shells.
"Crash!" went the after anti-aircraft gun. This time the range was obtained to a nicety, and the projectile, bursting almost in front of the bows of the Zeppelin, gave her a mortal blow.
To the watchers on the submarine the whole fabric of the airship appeared to jump, then, with the slightest perceptible interval following the explosion of the missile, a second detonation occurred in the fore-part of the Zeppelin. There was a blinding triple flash, followed by a deafening report. The aluminium envelope seemed to disperse amidst a cloud of fire-tinged smoke, while the heavier portions of the airship fell with ever-increasing rapidity.
Amidst a series of heavy splashes, the wreckage plunged into the sea at less than half a mile from the submarine. A quantity of heavy oil, taking fire as it streamed downwards, remained burning upon the surface of the water for quite a considerable time, then with a number of spasmodic flashes the flames died out, leaving only a slowly drifting cloud of smoke to mark the spot where the wreckage fell.
During the final catastrophe the men of the British submarine remained almost spellbound. They had gained the victory, but all thoughts of elation were subdued by the awfulness of the fate of the vaunted terror of the air.
The "E Something" was then run to the spot where the ill-starred Zeppelin had disappeared, in the vain hope of rescuing any survivors. For a radius of several hundred yards the sea was covered with oil which had escaped combustion, but of actual relics of the airship nothing was visible. Her twisted and bent aluminium framework lay a hundred and twenty feet down at the bottom of the North Sea.
Just before dawn the submarine descended and lay hidden, save for a brief interval of reconnaissance, during the whole of the day. At night she came up in order to give the crew a "breather." Nothing of incident occurred, neither on the two following days, so Terence had a good idea of the monotony of life in a British submarine on observation duty.
At daybreak on the following Thursday the "E Something" prepared for her homeward run. She travelled awash, without sighting any enemy cruiser or destroyer. At a rendezvous she fell in with her relief, and having exchanged greetings the two submarines parted, one to enjoy a welcome rest in Harwich harbour, the other to play her part in sweeping the North Sea of the enemy's flag.
"We're giving that fellow a rare funk, Aubyn," remarked Warborough, as the two officers were standing on the navigation platform.
"An example of the far-reaching effect of Teutonic kultur, I suppose," replied Terence. "By Jove, I reckon her old man is shaking a bit!"
The subject of their conversation was a Dutch tramp steamer of about 1500 tons. Anticipating the execution of von Tirpitz's cowardly threat to sink British merchantmen, she had lost no time in stating her nationality in an unmistakable manner. Her wall sides were painted in horizontal bands in the national colours, in addition to her name and country in letters a yard or more in length. From her ensign staff she flew a Dutch ensign far out of proportion to those usually sported by vessels of that size, while, to make additionally certain that no mistake on the part of a German submarine was possible, she flew another Dutch ensign at her main-masthead.
Directly they spotted the "E Something" running awash and with the White Ensign prominently displayed, the tramp altered her course. Dense columns of black smoke poured from her funnel; every available man of her engine-room staff gave a hand in shovelling the "black diamonds" into the furnaces.
At the very best she could make only eleven knots; had the "E Something" been a German vessel the Dutchman would have stood no chance of escape.
Even as the two officers were watching the panic-stricken tramp, a column of spray shot up fifty feet in the air, about half a cable's length astern of the submarine.
To the accompaniment of a peculiar screeching sound another and yet another column of foam leapt skywards. Both men knew at once from experience what was the meaning of those pillars of spray; they were caused by the series of ricochets of a "common shell."
"Hard a-starboard!" ordered Warborough. The submarine awash presented too big a target broadside on. End-on the area exposed to the distant gun-layer was comparatively small.
"Diving quarters!" shouted the junior officer of the submarine.
In fifteen seconds the hatches were closed and the boat trimmed for diving. At an unusually steep angle she disappeared beneath the surface.
"Just our confounded luck," declared the lieutenant-commander. "One of our own cruisers trying her level best to smash us. That tramp altering her course gave her the tip. But the fellow who laid that quick-firer ought to have his cross-guns taken away for a bad miss," he added grimly, referring to the "gun-layer's badge" worn on the right arm.
A careful survey by means of the periscope revealed no sign of the cruiser or destroyer that had been so inconsiderate as to fire upon one of her submarines; but the modern "Flying Dutchman" was well within view, and about a couple of miles on the submarine's port bow.
The lieutenant-commander knitted his brows in perplexity. His craft was in an awkward predicament. She had been fired on at sight, owing possibly to the tramp signalling to the British warship that she was being chased by a German submarine. If "E Something" had remained awash a second or third shot would in all probability have sent her to the bottom for good and all, since it was impossible to convince the cruiser or destroyer of her error in time to stop the over-zealous guns'-crews.
By diving, the submarine was safe from the effect of gun-fire so long as she kept submerged; but directly she reappeared she might be instantly fired upon or else rammed by the now alert cruiser, which would certainly follow the supposed course of the unseen craft.
Suddenly an idea flashed through the brain of the skipper of "E Something." The Dutch tramp had been the cause of the somewhat disconcerting incident: he would make her the means of getting out of an awkward, not to say hazardous, position.
Terence held his breath when he heard the order to ascend to the surface. The operation savoured of suicide, for it seemed evident to him that the mere showing of the top of the conning-tower would result in a salvo from the guns of the cruiser, which must by this time have greatly decreased the distance between the position from which she fired the first shot and the spot where the submarine had vanished.
Up rose the "E Something," but no shell burst with devastating effect within her vitals. Almost before she regained her normal position the order was given to open hatches.
"Now, Aubyn, up with you!" exclaimed Warborough.
Terence needed no second invitation. Nimbly he ascended the iron rings of the vertical ladder and gained the deck. To his surprise he found that the submarine was close alongside the Dutchman's starboard quarter and moving at practically the same speed and in the same direction as she was.
The submarine's White Ensign, which, owing to the hasty descent had not been lowered and untoggled from the halliards, was hanging limply from the staff, resembling an umbrella. For the purposes of recognition it was useless. Even had it been otherwise, the minds of the crew of the tramp were so completely obsessed with the idea that the craft was a German submarine that they would have regarded the ensign as false colours.
Imagining that the game was up, the stolid Dutch skipper leant over the bridge rail, while a dozen of the crew peered anxiously over the side.
"This is a Dutch ship," announced the skipper vehemently in German. "Why are you stopping me?"
"We are not stopping you, my friend," replied Warborough, in English. "Can you understand?"
"Yes, ver' well," was the reply; then pointing to the distant British cruiser, which was now recognisable as one of the "Astraea" class, he continued: "If you English, why dat sheep fire?"
"Just what we don't want her to do," replied Warborough. "So we've taken the liberty of ranging up alongside you. They can't very well fire at us now, and they'll soon discover their mistake."
Meanwhile, the signalman had hoisted the submarine's code number, but owing to the confusing background afforded by the tramp's tricoloured sides, the hoist was not readily "picked up" by the cruiser, which was now approaching to ascertain the mystery of a supposedly hostile craft that had the audacity to hold up a merchantman under the very guns of a British man-of-war.
"There's the answering pendant, sir—at the dip," announced the signalman, pointing to a red and white strip of bunting hoisted half-way up the cruiser's yard-arm. "Now it's hoisted close up, sir!" he added after a brief pause.
The cruiser had seen and had read the submarine's signal. Closing, she ramped up at a cable's length from the little craft that she had done her level best to sink.
A facetious exchange of compliments by means of hand-flags was indulged in, and with a mutual farewell the British vessels parted, while the skipper of the Dutch tramp, devoutly grateful that things were not so bad as he had imagined, resumed his course towards Ymuiden.