*XIX.*
*THE PARRICIDE.*
"'Ark!" said the hedger, his can of cold tea arrested half-way to hislips. But Sal, the lurcher bitch curled up under the hedge, had heardsome seconds before. With twitching nose and ears alert, she jumped outof the ditch and trotted up the road. A far-off sound was coming overthe downs--a faint drone as of a clustering swarm of bees.
"One of them motor-bikes----" murmured the man and paused. Away in thewest, approaching the coast-line and flying high, was a dark object likethe framework of a box suspended in mid-air. It drew near, rising andfalling on the unseen swell of the ocean of ether, and the droning soundgrew louder. "Aeri-o-plane," continued the hedger, again speakingaloud, after the manner of those who live much alone in the open.
As a matter of fact it was a Hydro-Aeroplane, and after it had passedoverhead the watchers saw it wheel and swoop towards the harbour hiddenfrom them by the shoulder of the downs.
The man stood looking after it, his shadow sprawling across the dustyroad before him. "Lawks!" he ejaculated, "'ere's goin's-on!" A ripplefrom the Naval Manoeuvre Area had passed across the placid surface ofhis life. He resumed his interrupted tea.
A stone breakwater stretched a half-encircling arm round the littleharbour. Within its shelter a huddle of coasting craft and trawlers layat anchor, with the red roofs of the town banked up as a background fortheir tangled spars. Behind them again the tall chimney of an electricpower station lifted a slender head.
In the open water of the harbour a flotilla of Submarines were mooredalongside one another: figures moved about the tiny railed platforms,and in the stillness of the summer afternoon the harbour held only thesound of their voices, the muffled clink of a hammer, and, from anunseen siding ashore, the noise of shunting railway trucks made musicalby distance.
The seaplane drew near and circled gracefully overhead; then itvolplaned down and settled lightly on the water at the harbour mouth: aSubmarine moved from her moorings to meet it. The pilot of the seaplanepulled off his gauntlets, pushed his goggles up on to his forehead, andlit a cigarette. The Submarine ranged alongside and her Captain leanedover the rail with a smile of greeting.
"Any news?"
The Flying Corps Officer raised his hands to his mouth: "Enemy'sBattleship and eight Destroyers, eighteen miles to the Sou'-East," heshouted. "Steering about Nor'-Nor'-West at 12 knots. Battleship's gottroops or Marines on board in marching order.... No, nothing,thanks--I'm going north to warn them. So-long..."
Five minutes later he was a black speck in the sky above the headlandwhere the tall masts of a Wireless Station and a cluster of whitewashedcottages showed up white against the turf.
The Submarine slid back into the harbour and approached the SeniorOfficer's boat. The Senior Officer, in flannels, was swinging Indianclubs on the miniature deck of his craft. The Lieutenant who hadcommunicated with the Seaplane made his report; his Senior Officernodded and put down his clubs.
"Guessed as much. They're coming to raid this place. Come inboard fora minute, and tell Forbes and Lawrence and Peters to come too. We'llhave a Council of War--Wow, wow!"
* * * * *
The sun set in a great glory of light; then a faint haze, blue-grey,like a pigeon's wing, veiled the indeterminate meeting of sea and sky.It crept nearer, stealing along the horizon, stretching leaden fingersacross the smooth sea.
A fishing smack, becalmed a league from the harbour mouth, fadedsuddenly like a wraith into nothingness.
Six Destroyers came out of the mist, heading towards the breakwater.They were about a mile away when the leading boat altered courseabruptly towards the North, and the others followed close in her wake,leaving a smear of smoke in the still air. Before their wake had ceasedto trouble the surface--before, almost, the rearmost boat had vanishedinto the fog--the periscope of a Submarine slid round the corner of thebreakwater, paused a moment as if in uncertainty, and then headed, likea swimming snake, in swift pursuit. Another followed; another, andanother.
* * * * *
A Battleship came slowly out of the haze. She moved with a certaindeliberate sureness, a grey, majestic citadel afloat. A jet of steamfrom an escape and the Ensign at her peak showed up with startlingwhiteness against the sombre sea. An attendant Destroyer hovered oneach quarter, but as they neared the land these darted ahead, obedientto the tangle of flags at the masthead of the Battleship. Off the mouthof the harbour they swung round: the semaphore of one signalled that theharbour was clear, and they separated, to commence a slow patrol Northand South on the fringe of the mist. A moment later the Battleshipanchored with a thunder and rattle of cable. Pipes twittered shrilly,and boats began to sink from her davits into the water. Ladders werelowered, and armed men streamed down the ship's side. They weredisembarking troops for a raid.
There was a sudden swirl in the water at the harbour entrance. Unseen,a slender, upright stick, surmounted by a little oblong disc, creptalong in the shadow of the breakwater, indistinguishable in the floatingdebris awash there on the flood tide. It turned seaward and sank.
A minute passed; a cutter full of men was pulling under the stern tojoin the other boats waiting alongside. The steel derrick, raised likea huge warning finger, swung slowly round, lifting a steamboat out intothe water! From the boats afloat came the plash of oars, an occasionalcurt order, and the rattle of sidearms as the men took their places.
Then a signalman, high up on the forebridge, rushed to the rail, bawlinghoarsely.
A couple of hundred yards away the dark stick had reappeared. Almostsimultaneously two trails of bubbles sped side by side towards the flankof the Battleship. There was a sudden tense silence. The Destroyer tothe Northward sighted the menace and opened fire with blank on theperiscope from her 12-pounders.
"Bang! ... Bang! Bang!"
The men in the boats alongside craned their necks to watch the path ofthe approaching torpedoes. The Commander standing at the gangwayshrugged his shoulders and turned with a grim smile to the Captain.
"They've bagged us, sir."
A dull concussion shook the after part of the ship, and the pungentsmell of calcium drifted up off the water on to the quarterdeck.
"Yes," said the Captain. He stepped to the rail, and stood looking downat the spluttering torpedoes with the noses of their copper collisionheads telescoped flat, as they rolled drunkenly under the stern.
The Submarine thrust her conning-tower above the surface, and from thehatchway appeared a figure in the uniform of a Lieutenant. He climbedon to the platform with a pair of handflags, and commenced to signal.
The Post-Captain on the quarter-deck of the Battleship raised his glass,made an inaudible observation, and lowered it again.
"Claim-to-have-put-you-out-of-action," spelt the handflags. The Captainsmiled dryly and lifted his cap by the peak with a little gesture ofgreeting; there was answering gleam of teeth in the sunburnt face of theLieutenant across the water. The Captain turned to his Commander. "Buthe needn't have torpedoed his own father," he said, as if incontinuation of his last remark. "The penalty for marrying young, Isuppose."
The Submarine recovered her torpedoes and returned to harbour. HerCommanding Officer summoned his Sub-Lieutenant, and together they delvedin a cupboard; followed the explosion of a champagne cork. Glassesclinked, and there was a gurgling silence.
"Not bad work," said the Sub-Lieutenant, "bagging your Old Man's ship."
"Not so dusty," replied the Lieutenant in command of the Submarine,modestly.
She was a brand-new Battleship, and had cost a million andthree-quarters. It was his twenty-fourth birthday.