Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XXIII

  ON THE ROCKS

  "So I haven't been able to chuck you fellows yet," remarkedLieutenant-commander Tressidar. "And what is more I see nolikelihood at present of so doing. We've just had a wireless toproceed east to a position somewhere off the mouth of the Humber."

  "We are not at all fed up with your hospitality, Tress," repliedFuller, "only we ought to have been on board the old 'Hippo' longago. I think, if there's a chance, we ought to get ashore, report tothe Commander-in-Chief and await orders."

  The "Antipas" was steaming at a good twenty knots. It was late inthe afternoon; the sea calm, the sky slightly overcast. With asteadily-rising glass the weather showed indication of continuingfine, notwithstanding the presence of patches of sea-fog.

  Towards sunset the fog increased until it was no longer safe for thedestroyer to maintain her speed. Fishing boats, dauntlessly riskingthe submarine menace, were frequently in these waters. To tearblindfold through the dense mist would be courting disaster.

  The slowing down of the engines brought the three airmen on deck.

  "Fog!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "Rough luck. I thought that we wereentering port when the skipper rang down for easy ahead."

  "Pretty thick, too," added Barcroft. "It's as much as I can do tosee the bridge. Beastly calm, too; what do you say to returning toour little rubber of dummy?"

  "Now I'm here I'll stop," decided Fuller, drawing his coat acrosshis chest. "Hullo! they're taking soundings. That looks as if wewere nearing shore."

  For nearly an hour the "Antipas" literally "smelt her way." Darknesshad fallen, and with it the fog bank increased in density anddimensions. No longer was it possible to discern anything beyond acouple of yards. No discordant hoot blared from the syren, nonavigation lights were shown. Beyond slowing down nothing more couldbe done, owing to war conditions, to safeguard the destroyer fromrisks of collision.

  "Hullo, you fellows!" exclaimed the lieutenant of the destroyer as,clad in oilskins, sou'wester and sea boots, he groped his wayfor'ard. "Have we made it too comfortable for you down below?"

  "Didn't know that it was your 'trick,'" remarked Barcroft.

  "Neither is it. That's one of the penalties of serving on adestroyer. You never know when you're off duty. The skipper's justspoken through: we're on the track of a strafed U-boat. Picked herup by microphone."

  "Here's to the bridge, then," decided Fuller. "Come on, you would-becard-players. Let's see the fun."

  "One of the advantages of going dead slow, I suppose," commentedTressidar as his guests rejoined him. "We've cut across the trail ofa submarine, that's certain. Come in, and see how things areprogressing."

  The lieutenant-commander opened the door of the chart-room. Againstone bulkhead stood the receiver of the submarine-signallingapparatus. Standing in front of it was a bluejacket with bothear-pieces clipped to his ears. With his left hand he wasalternately actuating the switch that connects both receivers.

  "Right dead on, sir," he reported. "Less than a couple of cables'lengths ahead, I'll allow."

  Behind him stood the helmsman at the steam-steering gear, his eyesfixed upon the cryptic movements of the operator's hands, as thelatter transmitted the course to the quartermaster.

  The principle of the microphone signalling apparatus is simpleenough. In the vessel's hold and as far beneath the waterline aspossible, are two metal tanks each filled with water and containingtwo sensitive instruments that readily pick up sounds transmittedthrough the medium afforded by the sea. One tank is placed on thestarboard the other on the port side, and both are connected bywires with the receiver in the chart-room.

  Supposing the operator hears the thud of a distant propeller, andthe sound is more distinct from the port side he knows that thesubmerged vessel is somewhere in that direction. Conversely, thesound being greater in the right-hand receiver he is able to locatethe object emitting the sound as being on the starboard side of theship. When the volume of sound passing through both receivers isequal the operator knows that the vessel's bows are pointingpractically "dead on" to the unseen but audible peril.

  "That's all very fine," remarked Kirkwood. "But supposing that manhas a cold in one ear. How is he to guard against being misled bythe inequalities of hearing? I've heard of a fellow being deaf inone ear and not knowing it for months."

  "The inventors have taken that into consideration," repliedTressidar. "That's why both ears are connected with the receiver onone side only of the vessel at a time. As he turns that switch fromside to side both ears are listening to the sounds from the port andstarboard tanks alternately. What's that?" he added, addressing theoperator. "Three cables ahead? This won't do; she's gaining on us."

  The skipper quitted the chart-room, followed by the three airmen.Coming from the lighted compartment; they were momentarily dazzledby the transition from artificial illumination to murky, pitch-blacknight.

  "Increase speed to fifteen knots," ordered Tressidar. "Where there'swater for that strafed U-boat there's enough for us.... Overhaulingher? All right; twelve knots, then."

  "Those fellows have plenty of nerve," remarked Barcroft, "or elsethey've no nerves at all. Suppose fog doesn't make the slightestdifference to them when they are submerged, but to us it appearsotherwise. What is that U-boat doing, I should like to know,plugging along at twelve knots and in the direction of the Britishcoast?"

  "Keeping a pressing appointment, perhaps," said the A.P. with alaugh.

  "Many a true word spoken in jest, old bird," rejoined theflight-sub. "It is----"

  "A little less talking there, if you please," interrupted Tressidarcurtly.

  The three airmen took the hint. It was only on very rare occasionsthat the genial lieutenant-commander "choked any one off." It was anindication of the mental strain upon the skipper of the "Antipas."

  "By Jove! if she does come up," thought Barcroft. "It will be ThirdSingle to Perdition for a set of skulking pirates. The fog islifting, too. I can distinguish the wave-crests nearly a cable'slength ahead. We'll be into another patch in another minute, though,worse luck."

  Suddenly the watchers on the destroyer's bridge caught sight of ashort series of flashes slightly on the port bow, and perhaps at adistance of a mile.

  In a trice Tressidar brought his binoculars to bear upon the glimmerof light, thanking Heaven as he did so that a rift in the fogenabled him to spot the presence of the hunted Hun. The powerfulnight-glasses revealed the outlines of a conning-tower and twinperiscopes just emerging from the waves. Then as quickly as itappeared the light vanished. It was enough. The lieutenant-commandercould still discern the patch of phosphorescence that encircled thepartly submerged U-boat.

  "Starboard ten!" ordered Tressidar, at the same time telegraphingfor full speed ahead both engines.

  Before the destroyer could work up to her maximum speed herknife-like bows rasped and bit deeply into the hull of the doomedunterseeboot. An almost imperceptible jar as the quivering vesselglided over her prey, a smother of agitated water on either hand,and the deed was done. Another of the modern pirate craft had beendispatched to its last home.

  "Voices ahead, sir," shouted the look-out man. "Land ahead! Bysmoke! We've done it."

  The engine-room telegraph bell clanged shrilly. As the propellerblades bit the water with reversed action the "Antipas" began tolose way. It was too late.

  With a shock that threw almost every officer and man to the deck thedestroyer charged bows on to a ledge of rocks. Her forefoot liftedalmost clear of the water, while to the accompaniment of the hiss ofescaping vapour from a fractured main steam-pipe, the "Antipas"buckled amidships.

  "Clear lower deck! All hands fall in facing outboard!" ordered theskipper.

  From the mess-deck the "watch below," already roused by the impactof the destroyer with the ill-starred U-boat, came tumbling out,forming up in orderly silence to await further commands. Out of thesteam-laden stokehold and engine-room staggered black-faced,partly-clad men, many suffering from the effects of terrib
le scalds,while others, too badly injured to help themselves, were assisted bytheir heroic comrades. Risking a hideous death in the partly-floodedengine-room the devoted "ratings" performed acts of valour that,although unseen and unheard of, represent the acme of courage. Freshfrom the overheated stokehold and engine-room the survivors of the"Black Squad" found themselves faced with the immediate prospect ofinvoluntary immersion in the chill waters of the North Sea.

  "Ahoy!" shouted a seaman at the skipper's instigation. "Where arewe?"

  "'Ard aground," replied a voice through the darkness.

  In spite of their hazardous position several of the crew laughed,and tried to switch on a husky cough to hide their levity from theirofficers. The unknown's reply was certainly brief and to the point,but hardly the sort of answer that Tressidar required.

  "Silence there!" he ordered.

  Then a boyish voice penetrated the night air.

  "You're on Black Ghyll reef," it announced. "Do you require anyassistance?"

  "Not at present," replied the lieutenant-commander. "You might standby, though, in case we do."

  The after part of the "Antipas" was now a couple of feet beneath thewater, and had settled on the sandy bottom of the bay. With thefalling tide--it was just after high-water springs when thedestroyer grounded--there was no immediate necessity to abandonship. Nevertheless it was imperative that the injured men should betaken ashore, and assistance obtained as quickly as possible ifthere should be any possible chance of salving the wreck.

  "Clear away the whaler!" was the next order.

  The boat was manned and rowed cautiously towards the shore. Althoughthe sea was calm the men were in total ignorance of the nature ofthe coast. Lacking local knowledge they were not even at all certainwhether a landing might be effected. On either side rose the jaggedpoints of vicious-looking rocks, while looming against the mistystarlight could be discerned a range of frowning cliffs with noapparent break in the line of continuity.

  "Thank God that there ain't a stiffish onshore breeze," muttered thecoxswain of the whaler. "'Tain't 'arf a rotten crib."

  "Boat ahoy!" came the same boyish hail from the invisible strand."Starboard a bit.... You're close on the Double Fang. I'll tell youwhen to turn.... Now, straight in. It's all sand here."

  The whaler's forefoot grounded on the soft shore. The coxswain,producing a small handlantern from the stern sheets flashed it uponthe group of figures gathered at the water's edge four Boy Scouts.

  "Crikey!" ejaculated the coxswain admiringly. "You're game'uns. Wotare you doing here at this time o' night?"

  "We're coast-watching," replied the patrol leader. "We had justcollared a spy when your vessel ran ashore. There's a chief pettyofficer of coastguard up the top of the cliff."

  The lad did not think it necessary to explain that the petty officerhad rather wisely declined to risk his neck by clambering down theprecipitous face of the rugged wall of rock. At his age he lackedthe steady head and sureness of foot that were essential for suchfeats of agility.

  "Landing's easy enough when you knows 'ow," remarked the coxswain."I've been sent ashore to find out. Look 'ere, we've a dozen or morebadly injured hands aboard, an' we wants to get 'em off. Any chanceof carrying 'em up those cliffs?"

  The lad shook his head.

  "Not up the cliffs," he explained. "There's a path up the valley. Itleads to Scarby."

  "Any doctors there?"

  "None nearer than Tongby. We'll send a couple of Scouts there, ifyou like."

  "P'raps you'd better," agreed the man. "It's a tidy 'andful for ourPills--our doctor, that is. All right, chummy, you might stand byand give us a hail when we come ashore again. 'Tis a rum crib, swelpme, if it ain't--but it might be worse."

  The whaler backed from the shore, to return presently with a heavyload of wounded men and other members of the destroyer's crew toldoff to carry the injured to the nearest house.

  Guided by the patrol leader the grim procession set out on itsjourney of pain. The fearfully scalded men, temporarily bandaged bythe R.N.R. Surgeon Probationer borne on the destroyer's books asdoctor, groaned and uttered involuntary cries of agony as, in spiteof the care of the bearers, they were jolted along the narrow,uneven path.

  Presently the scout came to a sudden halt. "There's a man lying atthe foot of the Cliffs," he exclaimed. "Why, it's Pattercough, theman we were looking for when we captured the second spy."

  A seaman bent over the body.

  "Dead as a bloomin' doornail," he announced. "He's broke 'isbloomin' neck an' saved the 'angman a job, I'll allow that is, ifhe's the spy you says he was. Lead on, matey. The dead must lookafter themselves while this affair's under way."

  At the meeting of the path with the by-road the patrol-leaderstopped.

  "It's straight on to Scarby," he explained. "Bennet," he added,addressing his companion. "You go with these sailors and show themthe coastguard station. Then come back; bring the other fellowsalong with you if they've returned. I'll go to the beach again incase there are more to be shown the path up the valley."

  Meanwhile Lieutenant-commander Ronald Tressidar was "standing by"his wrecked vessel. He had done everything he could in the interestsof the crew. Until day broke it was impossible to form an accurateidea of the extent of the disaster. It was galling to lose hiscommand; there would be a court of inquiry. Of the issue of thatTressidar had no misgivings. The "Antipas" had run ashore in thecourse of an action with an enemy submarine. The mishap was to bedeplored, but it was unavoidable. The destruction of the hostilesubmarine had been accomplished. That was the object of thedestroyer's _raison d'etre_.

  "Can we be of any use?" asked Fuller.

  "Not in the slightest, thanks," replied the youthful skipper. "Thebest you fellows can do is to go ashore. Goodness only knows ifthere's a railway anywhere in the neighbourhood. At any rate, youcan make your way back to Rosyth, and better luck next time. If byany possible chance I can keep you clear of the court of inquiry Iwill do so. I know perfectly well that you want to be hard at itagain, and the 'Hippodrome' seems likely to be particularly busyvery shortly, according to all accounts."

  "Good luck, old man!" said Fuller earnestly, The three airmen shookhands with the skipper, and dropping into the whaler were rowedshorewards.

  "Hard lines on old Tress," declared Fuller. "He'll come out withflying colours, of course; but just fancy the poor fellow coolinghis heels ashore waiting for another command when out there----"

  And with a comprehensive sweep of his hand he indicated theseemingly limitless expanse of the North Sea--the arena where thequestion of naval supremacy will be settled, let us hope once andfor all time in favour of the glorious White Ensign.