CHAPTER IV--Not Under Control
Quickly the news of the captured submarine's former activities wasflash-signalled to the _Calder_, and with the least possible delay theinformation was transmitted by wireless to Great Yarmouth and Harwich.
Until the minefield was located and destroyed it was unsafe for anyshipping to proceed to or from Yarmouth Roads.
Questions put to the U boat's crew elicited that the vessel was one ofseven operating in conjunction with the raiding cruisers. While theGerman fleet was bombarding Yarmouth, the submarines--having on accountof their slower speed set out on the previous day--proceeded to lay achain of mines from the Would through Haisborough Gat, and thence to apoint a few cables east of the Gorton lightship, thus completelyenclosing Yarmouth Roads from the sea. The UC6--that being thedesignation of the prize--had just completed her task when she sightedthe _Calder_ approaching. Miscalculating her position, she had run hernose hard upon the shoal, with the result that her low compartmentquickly flooded, thus rendering her incapable of keeping afloat.
It was not long before four mine-sweepers came lumbering northwards fromYarmouth, while others proceeded in different directions to "clear upthe mess", as their crews tersely described the dangerous operations ofdestroying the mines.
The _Calder_, still standing by, had missed the northern limit of theGerman minefield by a few yards. Had she held on her former course theprobability was that she would have bumped upon a couple of the infernalcontrivances--for the mines were dropped in twos, each pair connected bya span of cable to make more certain of a vessel's bows being caught inits bight--and been blown up with the loss of all her crew.
The destroyer had been sent on particular service. Other side issues haddemanded her attention, and, with the pluck and resourcefulness ofBritish seamen, her crew had risen to the occasion. To them it was allin the day's work, with one ulterior motive--to push on with the war.
Deftly, the result of months of experience, the mine-sweepers set towork. With little delay the first of the mines was located, dragged tothe surface, and sunk by means of rifle-fire. Others were destroyed inquick succession, two exploding as the bullets, made for the purpose ofpenetrating the buoyancy chambers, contrived to hit the projecting hornsof the detonating mechanism.
In two hours, the trawlers having swept the whole extent of the Would,the minefield was reported to be destroyed.
"What damage ashore?" enquired Crosthwaite, as the nearest trawlersidled under the destroyer's stern.
"Precious little, sir, considering," replied the master of themine-sweeper. "A few buildings knocked about and a score or so ofpeople killed or injured. Might ha' been worse," and he shook his fistin the direction in which the raiders had fled.
Sedately, as if conscious of having modestly performed a gallantservice, the mine-sweepers bore up for home, and once again the _Calder_was left to stand by her prize.
She was not long left alone. A number of motor patrol-boats camebuzzing round like flies round a honey-pot. The work of transferringthe German prisoners was quickly taken in hand. They were put on boardthe patrol-boats in batches of half a dozen. It saved the destroyer thetrouble of putting into port when she was supposed to hold nocommunication with the shore.
The last of the motor-boats had brought up alongside the _Calder_ whenSefton recognized the R.N.R. sub-lieutenant in charge as an old friendof pre-war days.
Algernon Stickleton was a man whose acquaintance with the sea wasstrictly limited to week-ends spent on board the Motor Yacht Club'sheadquarters--the ex-Admiralty yacht _Enchantress_--in SouthamptonWater. Given a craft with engines, he could steer her with a certainamount of confidence. Of navigation and the art of a mariner he knewlittle or nothing. Tides were a mystery to him, the mariner's compassan unknown quantity. In short, he was a marine motorist--the counterpartof the motor road-hog ashore.
Upon the outbreak of war, commissions in the R.N.R. motor-boat servicewere flung broadcast by the Admiralty at the members of the Motor YachtClub, and amongst those who donned the pilot-coat with the gold wavyband and curl was Algernon Stickleton. At first he was given a "softjob", doing a sort of postman's work in Cowes Roads, until theexperience, combined with his success in extricating himself, more bygood luck than good management, from a few tight corners, justified theexperiment of granting a commission to a comparatively callow marinemotorist.
Then he was put through a rapid course of signalling and elementarynavigation, and, having "stuck at it", the budding sub-lieutenant R.N.R.was sent to the East Coast on a motor-yacht with the prospect of beinggiven a fast patrol-boat when deemed proficient.
Gone were those halcyon August and September days in Cowes Roads. Hehad to take his craft out by day and night, blow high or low. Boardingsuspicious vessels in the open roadstead hardened his nerves and gave anunwonted zest to his work. At last he was doing somethingdefinite--taking an active part in the navy's work.
"My first trip in this hooker, old man," he announced to Sefton,indicating with a sweep of his hand the compact, grey-painted motorcraft that lay alongside the destroyer's black hull. "A clinker forspeed. She'd knock your craft into a cocked hat. It beats Brooklandshollow. Wants a bit of handlin', don't you know, but I think I broughther alongside very nicely, what?"
The last of the German prisoners having been received on board andpassed below to the forepeak, Sub-lieutenant Stickleton prepared to castoff. Touching the tarnished peak of his cap, for months of exposure toall weathers had dimmed the pristine lustre of the once resplendentheadgear, he gave the word for the motors to be started.
Then, with one hand on the steering-wheel, he let in the clutch.
Like an arrow from a bow the powerful box of machinery leapt forward.The result was disastrous as far as Stickleton was concerned.Unprepared to counteract the sudden momentum, he was literally "left",for, subsiding upon the short after-deck, he rolled backwards over thetransom and fell into the boiling wake of the rapidly-moving motor-boat.
Fortunately he could swim well, and was quickly hauled over thedestroyer's side, a dripping but still cheerful object.
Several of the _Calder's_ crew laughed outright. Even Crosthwaite andSefton had to smile. The sopping R.N.R. officer was quick to enter intothe joke against himself.
"Hope I won't get reprimanded for leaving my ship without permission,"he remarked facetiously.
"You haven't asked permission to board mine," Crosthwaite reminded him."It's the custom of the service, you know."
Meanwhile attention was being transferred from the dripping officer tothe craft of which he ought to be in command. Evidently her crew wereunaware of what had occurred. The bowman was coiling down a rope, twoof the deck hands were engaged in securing the fore-peak hatchway, whilethe rest were down below. The patrol-boat was tearing along at 38knots, and, owing to the "torque" of the propellers, was describing avast circle to port.
It was the cabin-boy who first made the discovery that the little craftwas without a guiding hand at the wheel. He was down below tidying upthe sub's cabin, when he found an automatic cigarette-lighter thatStickleton had mislaid. Anxious to get into his superior officer's goodbooks, for the youngster was the bane of Stickleton's existence onboard, the boy ascended the short ladder leading to the cockpit. To hissurprise he found no helmsman.
Guessing that something was amiss, he hailed the bowman. The latter,scrambling aft, steadied the vessel on her helm, at the same timeordering the motors to be eased down. He was convinced that Stickletonhad been jerked overboard and was swimming for dear life a couple ofmiles astern.
By this time the _Calder_ bore almost due west, at a distance of six seamiles, for the patrol-boat had described a complete semicircle. Forsome time the boat searched in vain for her missing skipper, until thecoxswain suggested returning to Yarmouth to report the casualty.
"Better get back to the destroyer, George," counselled another of thecrew. "Maybe they've got our skipper. Anyway, there'll be no harmdone."
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Somewhat diffidently, George up-helmed and ordered full speed ahead.He, like the rest of the crew, was, before the war, a paid hand in aracing yacht; keen, alert, and a thorough seaman, but unused to apowerfully-engined boat. Ask him to bring a sailing-boat alongside inhalf a gale of wind, he would have complied with the utmost skill,luffing at the exact moment and allowing the craft to lose way with hercanvas slatting in the breeze without the loss of a square inch ofpaint. Bringing a "match-box crammed chock-a-block with machinery"alongside was a totally different matter; but, as it had to be done,George clenched his teeth and gripped the spokes of the wheel,determined to die like a true Briton.
The patrol-boat had covered but half of the distance back to the_Calder_ when she almost leapt clear of the water. The two deck-handsfor'ard were thrown flat, and, sliding over the slippery planks, broughtup against the low stanchion rails. A slight shock, barely perceptibleabove the pulsations of the motors, and the little packet dipped hernose under to the water, shook herself clear, and resumed her mad pelt.
"What's up, George?" sang out the mate.
"Dunno," replied the coxswain. "Guess we've bumped agen' summat."
Then, the dread possibility that he had run dawn his own skipperentering his mind, he decided to return and investigate.
Having had but little experience in the use of the reversing-gear,George slammed the lever hard-to. With a sickening jerk, as if thelittle craft were parting amidships, the patrol-boat stopped andgathered sternway. A minute later she backed over a large andever-increasing pool of iridescent oil, through which air-bubbles wereforcing their way.
"By Jupiter!" exclaimed one of the crew; "blest if we haven't rammed astrafed U boat."
The man had spoken truly. A German submarine, acting independently ofthe raiding-squadron, had sighted the _Calder_, hove-to, at a distanceof three miles. Unaware of the presence of the patrol-boat--and thesight of a patrol-boat or a trawler usually gives the Germanunterseebooten a bad attack of the blues--her kapitan had taken apreliminary bearing prior to submerging in order to get within effectivetorpedo range. Having judged himself to have gained the requiredposition, the Hun ordered the boat to be again brought to the surface.
At the critical moment he heard the thud of the propellers of theswiftly-moving patrol-boat. He attempted to dive, but too late. Thesharp steel stem of the little craft, moving through the water at therate of a railway train, nicked the top of the U boat's conning-towersufficiently to penetrate the plating. Before steps could be taken tostop the inrush of water the U boat was doomed. Sinking slowly to thebottom, she filled, the heavy oil from her motors finding its way to thesurface in an aureole of iridescent colours to mark her lastresting-place.
George, seaman first, and fighting-man next, gave little thought to hisinvoluntary act. The safety of his temporary command came foremost.
"Nip down below and see if she's started a seam," he ordered.
The men, who had been ejected from their quarters by the concussion,hurried to the fore-peak. As they opened the cuddy-hatch the half-dozenterrified German prisoners made a wild scramble to gain the deck.
"Who told you blighters to come out?" shouted George, and, abandoningthe wheel, he rushed forward, seized the foremost Hun by the scruff ofthe neck and hurled him violently against the next man. The floor ofthe fore-peak was covered with a squirming heap of now thoroughly cowedHuns, to whom the apparition of the stalwart, angry Englishman was moreto be dreaded than being shaken like peas in a pod in the dark recessesof their temporary prison quarter.
"Is she making anything?" enquired George anxiously, as he returned totake charge of the helm.
"Hardly a trickle," was the reassuring reply. "Whack her up, mate."
The coxwain proceeded to order full speed ahead, and the little crafttore back to the _Calder_ in order that the news of her skipper'sdisappearance might be reported.
To the surprise of the patrol-boat's crew they discovered their sub,arrayed in borrowed garments, standing aft and motioning to the boat tocome alongside.
It was easier said than done. The coxwain's faith in his capabilitieswas weak, notwithstanding his resolution. At the first shot he carriedtoo much way, reversing engines when the little craft was fifty yardsahead of the destroyer. The second attempt found him a like distanceshort, with no way on the boat. At the third he dexterously caught acoil of rope hurled from the _Calder_, and succeeded in haulingalongside.
"We've just rammed a submarine, sir," reported the coxwain, saluting,delivering the information in a matter-of-fact manner, as if destroyingenemy craft in this fashion were an everyday occurrence.
Sub-lieutenant Stickleton having regained his command, the motor-boatpiloted the _Calder_ to the scene of her exploit. A diver descended innine fathoms, and quickly telephoned the confirmatory information that aU boat was lying with a list to starboard on the sand, with a rent inher conning-tower--the indirect result of the involuntary bathe ofSub-lieutenant Stickleton, R.N.R.