CHAPTER X.
H.M.S. "STRONGBOW" SAILS.
ALREADY the vessel indicated--H.M.T.B.D. "Lawley"--was within threemiles of the captured trawler, and at a good twenty-five knots wasmomentarily decreasing the distance. Her lynx-eyedlieutenant-commander had spotted the so-called "Vanhuit," and thetell-tale wireless mast, and the presence of one of the patrollingmotor-boats alongside gave him a right impression that the trawlerhad been engaged in illegal work.
The "Lawley" made a fine picture as she pelted through theleaden-hued water on that grey autumnal morning. She was cleared foraction. Men were standing by the three 4-inch guns ready to let flyat the first sign of a hostile periscope, for German submarines hadbeen reported in the vicinity of Yarmouth Roads, and each of hermast-heads had the White Ensign floating proudly in the breezecreated by her speed. The bunting was the only dash of colour abouther; all the rest of the destroyer was a sombre hue, from the blackhull and funnels to the great-coated forms of the crew.
The skipper of the "Pixie," balancing himself on the cabin-top of hislively craft, was semaphoring the warning. Almost as soon as hismessage ended a triangular strip of bunting--the answeringpennant--was hoisted to the "Lawley's" signal yard-arm. Then, bymeans of a megaphone, the lieutenant-commander shouted to the crew ofthe "Pixie." The words were unintelligible to the watchers on thecaptured trawler, but the skipper of the "Pixie" understood. With awave of his arm he descended from his precarious perch just in timeto prevent himself being capsized by the swell of the passingdestroyer, which, instead of making for the trawler, sharply portedhelm and made off in the opposite direction.
"We're to take the prize into Yarmouth under our own steam,"announced the sub. in charge of the "Pixie," as he came withinhailing distance.
"Right-o," assented Waynsford cheerfully. "Come aboard and we'll towboth our boats. Now then, below there," he added, addressing theGerman skipper and his crestfallen men.
Waynsford literally hustled them into the forepeak and shut thehatch. The German engineer and the fireman required no compulsion toremain at their posts. In one sense they were glad at being captured;it meant the end of the nerve-racking ordeal within sight of theEnglish coast and miles of mine-strewn waters--the work of theirfellow-countrymen--between them and their Friesian home.
The crew of the motor-boats quickly buoyed and severed the nets thatthe pseudo-trawler had out to cloak her true rôle, and havingdrifted clear of these entanglements, the captured craft forged aheadat a modest seven knots with the "Lonette" and "Pixie" towingsedately astern.
Terence Aubyn, feeling somewhat heavy-eyed by reason of his voluntarynight's work, was pacing the deck, his gaze directed towards the townof Yarmouth and the low-lying Norfolk coast, now momentarily becomingclearer in the rays of the early morning sun.
Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a hurried shout from one ofthe deck-hands, followed by a heavy list of the trawler as Waynsfordput the helm hard over.
Fifty yards on the starboard bow was a black object resembling ashort spar floating vertically, yet the object had movement, for astreak of foam marked the resistance of the water to its progress.
It was Aubyn's first impression of the periscope of a submarine, anda German one at that.
With admirable presence of mind Waynsford had decided to ram thelurking peril. Evidently the commander of the submarine had realizedhis danger, for the periscope was sinking.
Aubyn held his breath as the heavy hull of the trawler passedimmediately over the spot where the periscope had disappeared. Hewaited for the dull grinding sound as the vessel's keel rippedthrough the comparatively thin steel hull of the submergedvessel--but he waited in vain. True, there was a slighttremor--nothing more.
"I believe we hit her," exclaimed Waynsford. "Did your hearanything?"
Aubyn was obliged to confess that he had not. The prize crew crowdingto the side looked for signs of a successful issue to their effort.
"Oil and bubbles," declared the sub. in charge of the "Pixie." "She'sdone for."
Waynsford, far from being convinced, ordered one of his men to heavea mark-buoy overboard and mark the spot where the periscope had beenlast seen, at the same time a code signal was hoisted indicating thefact that a hostile submarine had been rammed.
Quickly the destroyer arrived within hailing distance, and Aubyn wasable to see what steps the Navy took to combat the unseen foe. Slowlythe "Lawley" circled round the mark-buoy, paying out over her sternwhat appeared to be an exaggerated string of sausages--in reality a"necklace" of guncotton ready to be fired by means of electricity.
"Prize ahoy! you're much too close," sang out the bronzedlieutenant-commander impatiently.
Before the trawler was a cable's length from the mark-buoy a seriesof columns of water rose two hundred feet in the air, accompanied bya muffled crash and a haze of smoke. When the water had subsided andthe vapour had drifted on the light breeze the mark-buoy was nolonger to be seen. All around were the bodies of fish killed by thesubmarine explosion.
"That's settled her hash," declared Waynsford. "If she survived thehit we gave her she didn't get over that little attention. See, the'Lawley' is sending a diver down to report."
"More copy for the Press," remarked his chum, the sub. from the"Pixie."
Waynsford shook his head.
"Not much," he replied. "It's part of the game to keep this sort ofthing quiet. We don't want to frighten our friends the Germansubmarines, we want to lure them out and make an end of 'em."
Terence made no remark. He was thinking, striving to picture theshattered hull with its crew of corpses, lying fifteen fathoms belowon the sandy bed of the North Sea.
Half an hour later the prize was moored alongside one of the Yarmouthquays, while the German crew were marched off under an armed guard.
Declining an invitation to breakfast with the naval officers of theport, Aubyn hurried ashore. It was now six o'clock. Already awireless report had been received from the "Lawley" stating that herdivers had discovered the wreck of the hostile submarine, which was amatter for congratulation. But there were no tidings of the spy vonEckenhardt. In spite of a rigorous search he had contrived to getclear away, and von Eckenhardt at liberty in in England was a moreserious menace than a dozen German submarines operating in Britishwaters.
"I say, mater," remarked Terence, while Mrs. Aubyn and her son wereat breakfast, "I think you ought to evacuate 'Aubyn's Battery '--atleast while the war lasts."
Mrs. Aubyn looked at her son in utter astonishment.
"What, leave my home? For why? Surely you don't mean to suggest thatGerman troops are likely to land in England?"
Terence shook his head. He scouted the idea of invasion, yet he knewthere was a possibility--that a raiding squadron might visit theNorfolk coast.
"No, I was thinking of the winter coming on," he said equivocally."You see, it's rather bleak and lonely for you here. Why not shut thehouse up for the next six months and go and live with Aunt Margaret?"
Mrs. Aubyn wavered. Her sister had a large house at Purbrook, a fewmiles from Portsmouth. It certainly would be a pleasant change tospend the winter in the south of England with her nearest relativerather than exist in solitary state in her home on the bleak EastCoast.
"Besides," continued her son, taking advantage of his parent'sobvious wavering, "the 'Strongbow'--that's the new name for the old'Saraband'--is fitting out of Portsmouth, and more than likely she'llmake that place here home port. In that case, whenever we put in forsupplies or refit, I ought to be able to see you pretty frequently."
The explanation was a lame one. Terence knew perfectly well that onbeing commissioned the "Strongbow" would proceed to the North Sea forpatrol-work. Her connexion with Portsmouth would then be severed. Butto his satisfaction Mrs. Aubyn figuratively hauled down her colours.
A telegram was despatched to her sister, accepting a long-standinginvitation, and at the expiration of his week-end leave,Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn was accompanied by his mother on his journey toPor
tsmouth to rejoin his ship.
Three days later the "Strongbow," looking most business-like in hergarb of neutral grey, slipped unostentatiously between the oldfortifications at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, negotiated thenarrow gateway of the boom-defence, and in the pale dawn of a mistyOctober day shaped her course for the North Sea.
She was one of perhaps a hundred vessels of whose very existence notdecimal one per cent of the population of Great Britain is aware.Unless a striking success or a lamentable disaster brings them intothe limelight the great British public never hear their names. Yetevery one of that vast fleet of armed merchantmen was doing its dutyas a unit of the greatest Navy the world has ever yet seen, noblyperforming a service whereby the United Kingdom is spared the horrorof the yoke-mate of war--the scourge of famine.
The "Strongbow" carried the same officers as in the days when shesailed under the Red Ensign, while in command was a full-fledgednaval officer, Captain Hugh Ripponden.
Captain Ripponden was one of those men who welcomed the outbreak ofhostilities as a godsend. July found him in a hopeless position asregards seniority on the list of commanders. The prospect ofcompulsory retirement at the age of fifty stared him in the face. Bysheer merit and perseverance he had attained his present position,but unfortunately he lacked the necessary influence "up topsides"to gain an additional advance in rank.
The absorption into the Service of a fleet of armed merchantmenproved to be his salvation from a distasteful retirement, and thus hefound himself in command of H.M.S. "Strongbow."
Like many another talented naval officer Captain Ripponden had notthe gift of eloquence. He was a man of few words. A speech was beyondhis powers.
While the crew of H.M.S. "Strongbow" first mustered for Divisionsafter commissioning the captain's address was short and to thepoint:--
"My lads, you look a smart crew. If you are as smart as you look,I'll be quite satisfied. Now dismiss."
He was quite right in saying the ship's company were a smart body ofmen. In spite of the fact that they were made up of Royal NavalReserve men, Royal Fleet Reservists, and a sprinkling of Royal NavalVolunteers, they presented an appearance that would defy criticismeven from the oldest martinet in the days when a smart lower-yard manwas considered as a greater asset to a ship's company than a goodgun-layer.
The officers of the "Strongbow," from Captain Ramshaw (who nowassumed the rank of Commander, R.N.R.) downwards, quickly voted thenew skipper "a right good sort," while it did not take the crew longto form the current opinion that "the owner" was a man who, notshirking work himself, expected others to do their utmost. On boardH.M.S. "Strongbow" there was no room for shirkers or grousers.
Before the vessel passed the Nab Lightship practically the whole ofthe Naval Volunteers--men of good position in civil life, whoseprevious acquaintance with King Neptune's domains was a view from thedeck of the "President" lying off Temple Pier--were prostrate withsea-sickness.
Captain Ripponden received the report that ten of his crew weretemporarily hors de combat with equanimity.
"Let the men lie in their hammocks," he replied considerately."They'll be all the better for it when they recover their sea-legs."
Therein he was right, and before the "Strongbow" arrived at hercruising-station the Volunteers were as fit and as eager as the restof their comrades for the arduous work on hand.