Produced by Al Haines.
Cover art]
"'CAN YOU SPARE US ANY TORPEDOES?' SHOUTED SEFTON"]
With Beatty off Jutland
A Romance of the Great Sea Fight
by
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "The Submarine Hunters" "A Sub and a Submarine" "The Dispatch Riders" &c. &c.
_Illustrated by Frank Gillett, R.I._
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED LONDON AND GLASGOW 1920
By Percy F. Westerman
Rivals of the Reef.A Shanghai Adventure.Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn".The Junior Cadet.Captain Starlight.The Sea-Girt Fortress.On the Wings of the Wind.Captured at Tripoli.Captain Blundell's Treasure.The Third Officer.Unconquered Wings.The Buccaneers of Boya.The Riddle of the Air.Chums of the "Golden Vanity".The Luck of the "Golden Dawn".Clipped Wings.The Salving of the "Fusi Yama".Winning his Wings.A Lively Bit of the Front.A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine.The Good Ship "Golden Effort".East in the "Golden Gain".The Quest of the "Golden Hope".Sea Scouts Abroad.Sea Scouts Up-Channel.The Wireless Officer.A Lad of Grit.The Submarine Hunters.Sea Scouts All.The Thick of the Fray,A Sub and a Submarine.Under the White Ensign.The Fight for Constantinople.With Beatty off Jutland.
_Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--The Ward-room of H.M.S. "Calder" CHAPTER II--The Recovered Cable CHAPTER III--The Stranded Submarine CHAPTER IV--Not Under Control CHAPTER V--Sefton to the Rescue CHAPTER VI--Action at the Double CHAPTER VII--In the Thick of the Fight CHAPTER VIII--The "Calder's" Second Scoop CHAPTER IX--The "Warrior's" Gallant Stand CHAPTER X--Battered but Unconquered CHAPTER XI--The Wrecked Sea-plane CHAPTER XII--The Night Attack CHAPTER XIII--Sefton in Command CHAPTER XIV--Out of the Fight CHAPTER XV--A Day of Suspense CHAPTER XVI--The Struggle in the Mountain Pass CHAPTER XVII--Safe in Port CHAPTER XVIII--Too Late! CHAPTER XIX--The Smack "Fidelity" CHAPTER XX--Captured CHAPTER XXI--U99 CHAPTER XXII--The British Submarines at Work CHAPTER XXIII--And Last
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Illustrations
"'Can you spare us any torpedoes?' shouted Sefton" . . . _Frontispiece_"'We surrender make.... We haf a leak sprung'""Without hesitation Sefton made a flying leap over the guard rails""Poising himself for an instant, Sefton leapt on the 'Calder's' deck""She sent a huge shell at point-blank range crashing into thelight-built hull""The 'Calder' had played her part, and it seemed base ingratitude toleave her to founder"
WITH BEATTY OFF JUTLAND
CHAPTER I--The Ward-room of H.M.S. "Calder"
A cold grey morning in April somewhere in the North Sea; to be moreexact, 18 miles N. 75 deg. W. of the Haisborough Lightship.
Viewed from the fore-bridge of H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer _Calder_,there was little in the outlook to suggest that a state of war hadexisted for twenty months. The same short steep seas, the same loweringsky, the almost unbroken horizon towards which many anxious glances werehourly directed in the hope that "they" had at last come out.
Two cables' distance from the _Calder_, a typical trawler, with densecolumns of smoke issuing from her funnel, was forging slowly ahead.Another vessel of a similar type was steaming in almost the oppositedirection, and on a course that would bring her close under the stern ofthe almost motionless destroyer. From the galley funnel of each trawlera trail of bluish smoke was issuing, the reek as it drifted across the_Calder's_ deck indicating pretty plainly the nature of the "hands'"breakfast. Of the crew of either craft no one was visible, the helmsmanin each case sheltering in the ugly squat wheel-house on the bridge.
Acting Sub-lieutenant Sefton brought his binoculars to bear upon thenearmost trawler. The action was merely a perfunctory one. He knewboth trawlers almost about as much as their own crews did, and certainlymore than their respective owners in pre-war times. For close on fiftyhours, watch in and watch out, the _Calder_ had been dancing attendanceon these two almost insignificant specimens of the North Seafishing-fleet--the _Carse o' Gowrie_ and the _Dimpled Lassie_, bothregistered at the port of Aberdeen.
Carrying bare steerage-way, the destroyer glided slowly past the_Dimpled Lassie's_ port quarter. From the trawler's stern a flexiblewire hawser led beneath the foaming wake of the propeller, dipping witha sag that did not gladden the heart of the young officer of the watch.
"Any luck yet?" shouted Sefton through an enormous megaphone.
At the hail two men's heads appeared above the bulwarks aft, while agreatcoated figure came in view from behind the storm-dodgers of thetrawler's bridge.
"Not the least, sir," replied the master of the _Dimpled Lassie_, PeterM'Kie, skipper R.N.R. "Are we right, sir?"
The acting-sub had a few minutes previously taken an observation. Thedestroyer was playing the part of nursemaid to the two trawlers, foralthough both skippers could find their way, even in thick weather,almost anywhere in the North Sea, solely by the aid of lead-line andcompass, neither had the faintest experience in the use of the sextant.
"Ought to be right over it," replied Sefton. "Carry on, and trust toluck."
The trawlers were "creeping" with grapnels. Not for mines, althoughthere was always a possibility of hooking one of those fiendishcontrivances. That was a risk that the tough fisherman faced with anequanimity bordering on fatalism. Mine-sweeping they had engaged uponalmost continuously since the notable month of August, 1914. Now theywere on particular service--a service of such importance and where somuch secrecy was imperative that these two Scottish trawlers had beensent expressly from a northern base to scour the bed of the North Sea inthe neighbourhood of Great Yarmouth, where there were Government craftfor disposal in abundance.
Sefton replaced his binoculars, and, turning, found that his superiorofficer had just come on deck and was standing at his elbow.
Lieutenant Richard Crosthwaite, D.S.O., the "owner" of the destroyer,was one of those young officers who had made good use of the chancesthat the war had thrown in his way. Specially promoted for good work inthe Dardanelles, he found himself at a comparatively early age incommand of a destroyer that had already made a name for herself in thegallant but ill-starred operations against the Turks.
"Well, Mr. Sefton?" he asked.
"Nothing much to report, sir," replied the acting-sub. "But we'll get ityet," he added confidently.
Evidently "it"--hardly ever referred to by any other designation--wasmore elusive than Crosthwaite had imagined. A shade of disappointmentflitted across his tanned features. The task upon which the trawlerswere engaged was a matter of extreme urgency. At Whitehall anxiousadmirals awaited the news that "it" had been fished up; but "it",reposing serenely on the bed of the North Sea, had resolutely declinedto receive the embraces of a couple of heavy grapnels.
Crosthwaite, after giving a searching glance to windward, stepped to thehead of the ladder. An alert bos'n's mate, awaiting the signal, pipedthe starboard watch. Saluting, Sefton gained the deck and went aft, hismind dwelling on the prospects of breakfast and a much-needed sleep.
The ward-room, a scantily-furnished apartment extending the whole widthof the ship, was showing signs of activity. From one of the adjoiningdog-boxes, terme
d by courtesy a cabin, a short, full-faced,jovial-featured man had just emerged, clad in regulation trousers and asweater. His curly light-brown hair was still wet, as the result of hisablutions, a slight gash upon the point of his chin betokened the factthat he had tempted fate by shaving in a stiff seaway, and by the aid ofan ordinary razor dulled by the penetrating salt air.
"Oh, it's quiet down here----" he began singing in a ringing baritone.
"No need to rub that in, Pills," exclaimed a drawling voice. "The factis patent to all. Can't you give us 'They don't run Corridor Cars onour Branch Line' by way of a change?"
Thereon hung a tale: something that took place when Jimmy Stirling firstjoined the mess at the Portsmouth Naval Barracks as a ProbationarySurgeon, R.N.V.R.
"I called attention to the fact that it was quiet down here withdeliberate intent, my festive Box-spanner," retorted the surgeon. "Atlast, after weeks of expostulation, your minions have succeeded inquelling that demon of unrest, the steam steering-gear. For the firsttime for a fortnight I have slept serenely, and, thanks to that blessedbalm, I feel like a giant refreshed. Now, how about it?"
He made a dive into the adjoining cabin, where the engineer-lieutenantwas in the act of struggling with a refractory collar. The next instantthe two men lurched into the ward-room engaged in what looked to be amortal struggle.
Cannoning off the stove, sweeping a sheaf of books from the wall,glissading from the cushioned lockers, the high-spirited officerstackled each other with mock-serious desperation until, with a violentheave, the athletic doctor deposited his engineering confrere fairlyupon the table. With a series of crashes, cups, saucers, tureens,teapot, coffee-pot, eggs and bacon sidled in an indescribable state ofchaos upon the floor.
"Time!" exclaimed Sefton authoritatively. "Look here, you fellows. Ihaven't had my breakfast, and I suppose you haven't had yours? Not thatit matters to me. And, Pills, has your supply of bromide run out?"
The combatants separated and began taking stock of the damage.
"You logged a gale of wind last night, I hope, Sefton?" asked theengineer-lieutenant in tones of mock anxiety. "Must account for thissmash-up, you know---- Any luck? Have they got it?"
The acting-sub, now that conversation had reverted to the inevitable"it", was bound to admit that the preceding night's labours had beenfruitless. The possibilities of the recovery of the much-desired "it"monopolized the attention of the occupants of the ward-room until thesteward, outwardly stolidly indifferent to the unsympathetic treatmentof his labours, provided another repast.
They were boyish and high-spirited officers on H.M.T.B.D. _Calder_.Their pranks were but an antidote to the ceaseless strain of days andnights of watch and ward.
"To get back to things mundane," persisted the engineer-lieutenant asthe trio sat down to their belated meal, "will they find it?"
"It is my firm belief that they will," replied Sefton decisively. "Evenif we have to mark time about here for another month."
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated the surgeon piously, "I pine for freshwater. Your vile condenser-brewed fluid is simply appalling, my festiveBox-spanner. And I yearn for newspapers less than a week old."
The engineer-lieutenant glared defiance at his medical confrere. Heknew perfectly well that the water on board was brackish and insipid,but it was condensed under his personal supervision. Any disparagingremarks upon his _metier_--even if uttered in jest--touched him to thequick.
A resumption of the "scrap" seemed imminent, when a bluejacket, tappingat the ward-room door, announced: "Captain's compliments, sir; they'vejust hooked it."