CHAPTER II
Strafed
"Mornin', Seton," was Lieutenant-Commander Dick Trevannion's greetingas Alec reported himself on board H.M.T.B.D. _Bolero_. "Had a longjourney, eh? Sorry, old bird; but there's one consolation: We'rebound south. Evidently the Admiral thinks we are in need ofrecuperation in a warmer climate. No, don't look so infernallyjoyful. We're not off up the Straits, if that's what you think. It'sa convoying job."
Seton looked glum. He couldn't help it. Of all the tasks that fall tothe lot of the ubiquitous navy convoying is one of the worst. Thespeed of the escorting destroyer or destroyers must perforce belimited to that of the slowest old tramp in the convoy, and in thedays of shortage of shipping there were plenty of old hookers that inother circumstances would be being broken up in a shipbreaker'syards. Mule-headed skippers, ignoring peremptory signals, would haulout of line; superannuated engines would break down at particularlyinopportune moments--when night was falling and a heavy sea running.Then the faces of the officers commanding H.M. ships comprising theescort would turn an apoplectic purple, and white anger would surgeunder their great-coats; but to little purpose. Acting on theprecepts embodied in the song, "Sailors Don't Care". the horny-handedmercantile marine would just carry on in its own sweet way,contemptuously indifferent to naval orders, mines, U-boats, and otherdisquieting incidents on the High Seas in the Year of Grace 1918.
"What sort of a circus have we, sir?" asked Seton.
"Usual lot," replied Trevannion as he offered his subordinate acigarette. "Coastwise tramps an' a couple of hookers for the 'BeefTrip'. We're to escort the latter to the North Hinder, and then putinto Harwich to await instructions."
The suggestion of the Beef Trip made the outlook a little morepromising. The term is applied to boats running between Great Britainand Holland and carrying live cattle for the ultimate sustenance of ahungry population. Many and many a time the Huns tried to interceptthe Anglo-Dutch traffic. Raids from Borkum and Zeebrugge by swiftGerman torpedo-boats made the trip a fairly exciting one, and thechances of out-escorting destroyers bringing the Huns to close actionwere always both possible and probable. It was a change from spendingmonths of comparative inactivity at Scapa Flow, where in the piercingcold of the Northern climes the mammoth fleet of Britain lay waitingin vain for another opportunity of Der Tag. Only once before had thechance offered, and then night and mist had robbed theCommander-in-Chief of the Grand Fleet of his opportunity ofannihilating von Scheer's Command.
At eight bells the _Bolero_ cast off from the buoy and proceeded downthe Forth, her ensign floating proudly from her diminutive mizzenmast. Past the giant hush-ships lying off Rosyth she glided,threading her way through a multitudinous assortment of craft thatthe Royal Navy has taken as its own: brand-new light cruisers,monitors with huge 17-inch guns, hogged-backed P-boats, mine-layers,coastal M.-B's, X-barges, and other weird types of navalarchitecture. Under the northern span of the Forth Bridge the_Bolero_ passed, exchanging signals with the little station on therock that supports the central pier; then, settling down to a modesttwenty-five knots, she shaped a course towards the cluster of vesselsawaiting her off Leith and Portobello Roads.
The convoy was, as the Lieutenant-Commander anticipated, a motleycrowd. There were rusty-sided tramps, tramps fantastically decoratedwith dazzle; tramps large and small, wall-sided and with high and lowfreeboards. Nevertheless, with all their shortcomings, they formedpart of the arteries of Empire, manned as they were by Britishseamen, whom the piratical Huns failed utterly to intimidate bythreats of ruthless murder and sinking without a trace.
The short spring day was drawing to a close before the convoy weighedand shaped a course towards the frowning Bass Rock. Ahead steamed adestroyer, two more were on each flank of the long-drawn-out line,while astern, as a sort of whipper-in, came the _Bolero_, her turbineengines running at quarter speed.
As Officer of the Watch for the first watch Alec Seton had his workcut out. Almost every quarter of an hour the engine-room had to betelegraphed to, either to increase or decrease speed slightly, whilethe Morse flashing-lamp was practically in constant use, calling uponthis vessel to close station or that to increase distance by so manycables.
And so the weary watch went on. The wind, hitherto off-shore, hadsuddenly veered to the south-east and blew with considerable violenceright in the teeth of the convoy. Even at reduced speed the _Bolero_was "shipping it green" right over her raised fo'c'sle, whilestinging showers of icy spray lashed viciously against the canvasdodgers and rattled like hail against the plate-glass windows of thechart-house.
There was a marked change in the Sub's appearance, as he crouchedunder the lee of the dodger. His hitherto slim figure looked podgy,and for a good reason.
Underneath his great-coat he wore his monkey-jacket, three sweaters,and a muffler. Oilskin trousers tucked into and turned over the topsof his sea-boots, and a weather-beaten cap rammed well down over hiseyes completed his watch-keeping kit. With him stood the signalmanand quartermaster, both enveloped in duffel suits.
On deck everything was battened down, for the glass was fallingrapidly and giving every indication of a sharp, if short, blow beforevery long. Already the wind was moaning dismally through the wirelessaerials, and causing the bridge canvas to bag in a double series ofalmost inflexible bulges.
At six bells (10 p.m.) the signal was given to the convoy to altercourse eight points to port. Then ensued an anxious time, some of thevessels obeying with alacrity, others dallying in the carrying out oftheir instructions. With the wind now abeam, the lumbering craftrolled horribly, while the long, lean destroyers, which largely relyupon steadiness by reason of their speed, were constantly rollingrail under. Torn clouds of reeking smoke from the vessels towindward, mingled with icy spray, swept over the _Bolero_, whoseposition on that account was the most undesirable of the escortingcraft.
"It's Fritz's chance, absolutely," thought Alec. "A U-boat could belying awash a cable's length away and we shouldn't spot her. And it'sa dirty night to have to stand by a sinking tramp."
"There's something on our port bow, sir," reported the look-out,stretching a glistening oilskin-enshrouded arm in the directionindicated.
"Yes, by Jove," ejaculated Seton. "It's a dirty Fritz. Starboard two,quartermaster, and let her have it."
It was for one thing fortunate that the _Bolero_ was running atgreatly reduced speed, otherwise the lurking U-boat might have beenpassed unnoticed.
The submarine had evidently been compelled to rise to rechargebatteries, the heavy sea notwithstanding. Her hydrophones had givenindication of the presence of the convoy, and the latter's recentchange of course had set the vessels slightly abeam and at graduallyreducing distance. The kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat, quick to graspthe situation, had waited until the escorting destroyers on theconvoy's port hand had passed, and was now manoeuvring to fire atorpedo at the rearmost tramp--which also happened to be the largest.Owing to the darkness it was almost impracticable to make use of theperiscope, so the German submarine remained awash in order to take adirect bearing on her intended victim.
In the shortest possible time the gun's crew of the for'ard 3-inchquick-firer were ready. At a bare two hundred yards the target wasone that could not be easily missed and the gun-layer knew his jobthoroughly.
Too late the astounded and terrified Huns sought to submerge. Beforethe last Teuton gained the quick-action watertight hatchway the_Bolero's_ gun barked viciously. Fairly through the conning-tower ata height of a couple of feet above the tapering armoured deck thehigh-velocity shell passed. Exploding, it blew the top of theconning-tower to pieces, killing the kapitan-leutnant, thequartermaster, and two of the crew.
The doomed U-boat began to sink, clouds of oil-laden vapour issuingfrom the jagged base of the conning-tower; but even that was notenough. It is the practice of the U-boat hunters to make doubly sure.
At increased speed, and with slight port helm, the _Bolero_ scrapedpast the up-tilted stern of her victim. Resisting the tempta
tion toram her with the destroyer's knife-like bows, Seton held on hiscourse, while right aft a couple of petty officers were busilyengaged in allowing a wire to run out. Attached to the wire was apowerful depth-charge--one of two ready for instant use.
Fifty--sixty--seventy--eighty fathoms, the P.O. brought his hoveringfinger down smartly upon the firing-key of the battery.
He performed the act without emotion, although it meant sealing thedeath-warrant of a score or more of human beings. To him it wasmerely the performance of duty: frequency of opportunity had made itmatter of routine.
With a stupendous roar a column of water, showing greyish-whitethrough the darkness, was hurled a couple of hundred feet into theair. The _Bolero_, as the tremendous wash created by the explosionmet and overrode the crested waves, shook violently from stern tostem, while fragments of metal, hurled upwards to an immense height,fell all around her.
For some minutes it seemed as if the fury of the wind was subdued bythe blast of displaced air, while astern the waves subsided in arapidly-increasing circle under the influence of tons of heavy oilliberated from the shattered wreck of the modern pirate.
"Hard a-starboard, quartermaster!"
Alec's voice quivered with excitement. It was the first Hun that hehad bagged, although the _Bolero_ had claimed more than one beforeSeton had been appointed to the destroyer.
Telegraphing first for "half-speed", then "stop", and "half-speedastern", Seton brought her to a standstill almost in the centre ofthe vast patch of oil. As he did so he became aware of the fact thatLieutenant-Commander Trevannion, picturesquely rigged out ingaily-striped pyjamas, service cap, great-coat, and sea-boots, wasstanding beside him on the bridge.
"Good bag that," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander in dispassionatetones, as if Fritz-strafing was a less exciting occupation thanhunting rats. "You've ordered the buoy to be let go, I see. Right-o,carry on!"
The nun-buoy, to which was attached a line terminating in a sinker,was dropped over the side to mark the position of the ill-fated Hunsubmarine, in order that divers could make subsequent examination, ofthe shattered hull, and fix her identity.
Meanwhile the _Bolero_ had switched on her search-lights, and wassweeping the surface of the oily sea on the off-chance of sightingsurvivors. It was practically a matter of form, since previousexperience told that rarely does a single member of adepth-charge-shattered U-boat live to tell the tale.
"Something on the starboard bow, sir," reported one of thelookout-men. "Looks like a corpse, sir."
Leaning over the bridge guard-rails Alec followed the directionindicated by the man's outstretched arm. Something black was floatingon the sullen, oil-covered water. It was the body of a man clad inblack oilskins, and wearing an inflated life-belt. Even as the Sub.looked, the man feebly waved his arm.
"Away duty boat!" shouted Seton.
There was an orderly rush to man the boat. Although the man was anenemy and a despicable one at that, the British seamen gave little orno heed to that. There was a chance to save life, and the bluejacketsmeant to do it.
With a resounding splash the boat dropped into the water. The patentdisengaging-gear was slipped, and the men gave way with a will.Within fifty seconds of the time the order was given to lower away,the sole survivor of the U-boat was hauled into the destroyer's boat.
With the greatest celerity the boat returned alongside. The fallswere hooked in and the order given to "haul away roundly". Almostbefore the boat's keel was clear of the water the _Bolero's_ triplepropellers began to thresh, and the destroyer, gathering way, resumedher station astern of the convoy.