Pincher Martin, O.D.: A Story of the Inner Life of the Royal Navy

It was Dogo's turn to get angry. 'Look 'ere, Billin's!' he said angrily; 'I'll 'ave yer know' —

'You men had better be gettin' on with cleanin' that gun!' came the wrathful voice of Mr Menotti, who had come forward unseen. 'It's not half done, red rust everywhere, an' you're all standin' round spinnin' yarns. Get a move on, or I'll have you up here cleanin' it in your spare time!'

The argument ceased, and the gun's crew, stifling their amusement, busied themselves with their emery-paper, bath-brick, and polishing-rags.

'You wait till I gits yer on th' mess-deck, me boy-o!' growled Joshua sotto voce when the gunner's back was turned.

'Orl right, chum,' Dogo grinned unconcernedly; 'don't go gittin' rattled.'

Billings was really a great friend of his.

All things come to an end in time, even sea fogs, and that same evening the Mariner steamed jauntily into her first port of call and dropped her anchor.

'I'm glad you've arrived all right,' said the senior naval officer when Wooten went over to report himself. 'To tell the truth, we were a bit anxious about you.'

'Anxious, sir! Why?'

'We've had to close the Channel to all traffic until it's been swept,' said the S.N.O. 'A steamer went up on a mine bang in the middle of the fairway about an hour after you must have passed the place.'

'Good Lord!' the lieutenant-commander ejaculated with a sigh of relief.

The S.N.O., who was used to such things, smiled blandly. 'Have a cigarette,' he said, pushing the box across. 'What about a glass of brown sherry? I've just got a new lot in, and it's rather good stuff.' He reached up and fingered a hanging bell-push.

'Thank you, sir. I think I will.'

The S.N.O. rang the bell for his steward.

CHAPTER XIII
FRITZ THE FRIGHTFUL

I

Pincher soon discovered that life on board a battleship and life in a destroyer were two totally different existences.

In the Belligerent a cast-iron routine had always been adhered to, at sea or in harbour, fair weather or foul. Nothing was suffered to disturb that routine, unless it were occasional excursions to sea in the small hours of the morning and frequent coalings. Times were laid down for everything. Day after day bugles blew or pipes twittered at exactly the same hours; and to the ship's company, the actual workers, things seemed to run as smoothly as clockwork with a minimum of effort on the part of every one. They all knew what to do, and when to do it; and the men themselves never realised the forethought, the energy, and the capacity for organisation on the part of the commander and other responsible officers which were necessary to produce such a result. They took it for granted. Their groove was made for them, so to speak, and they suffered themselves to slide along its well-oiled length without troubling their heads as to what supplied the motive-power. Moreover, men were told off for their jobs collectively, not individually. Their bodies seemed to be regarded as machines capable of so many units of work, and there were such numbers of them in the ship, and the vessel herself was so huge, that the labours of any single person, provided always he was not a very important person, did not seem to have any effect on the community as a whole. Indeed, a seaman could even go on the sick-list, or leave the ship altogether, without his absence being noticed or felt except by his own messmates and friends.

But in the Mariner things were very different, for here the labours of every single individual counted. If a man neglected his work or idled his time away, his shortcomings had their effect on some one else. They were soon noticed, and the laggard speedily found himself chased and goaded into a proper state of activity by Petty Officer Casey; and Casey, a glutton for work himself, always had a persuasive way with him, and a horny fist to back up his arguments.

There was a routine, of course, and very nice it looked on paper; but the life was so full of sudden surprises that as often as not any preconceived time-table went by the board. It was not surprising, for the Mariner and the other destroyers of her flotilla had always to be ready for service at the shortest notice, and her men frequently found themselves bundled unceremoniously out of their hammocks in the middle of the night to get the ship to sea. It did not matter whether it was blowing a gale, raining, or snowing; go to sea they must, and did.

Sometimes they chivied Fritz; and he – a wise man, but no gentleman – waited for no one. It was not the fault of the destroyers that he had usually vanished into space by the time they arrived to strafe him. Fritz was the ubiquitous Hun submarine, any 'untersee-boot' which happened to come into their domain, and a merry little dance he sometimes led them. Occasionally, to vary the monotony, they called him Hans, Adolf, Karl, or some other Teutonic appellation; but more often than not he was just Fritz, and Fritz he will remain until the end of the war. Sometimes, though reported as such, he was not really Fritz at all.

'The skipper of the trawler Adam and Eve reports having sighted a periscope flying a large flag in latitude xy^° z^′ N., longitude a^° bc^′ E., at six-thirty this morning,' was the sort of thing they were sometimes told. 'Proceed to the vicinity with all despatch, and search.'

Proceed they did, hot-foot and full of warlike energy, only to find that the skipper of the Adam and Eve had been mistaken, and that his periscope with its large flag was nothing but some other fisherman's dan buoy broken adrift from its nets. Dan buoys, seen in the half-light of the early morning or evening, are apt to be deceptive, particularly when the imagination is stirred at the thought of the substantial honorarium to be earned for authentic information of the enemy.

But even battleships and cruisers make mistakes sometimes. The newspapers have never mentioned one fierce engagement which took place in a certain northern harbour, in the chill gray light of an early dawn, when a long black submarine was suddenly seen approaching the outer cruiser of a line of men-of-war lying peacefully at their anchors. He came in on the flood-tide, grim and menacing, causing a great commotion in the water, and with his periscope raising its flutter of spray. Now and then he disappeared altogether.

It was Fritz, they thought, come to pay them an early morning visit, and with all the joy in the world the officer of the watch in the cruiser opened fire. It was easy shooting. The guns barked angrily, and four-inch shell spouted, foamed, and burst round the invader until he was a submarine no longer. The fleet was flung into a state of considerable excitement; but the submarine sank gracefully to the bottom, while the officer of the watch, metaphorically patting himself on the back, told his agitated pyjama-clad commanding officer of what had occurred.

'Are you quite certain you got him?' the latter inquired anxiously.

'Absolutely certain, sir,' the lieutenant replied. 'We all saw him hit several times. He sank by the bows.'

'Have sunk hostile submarine,' was the signal made to the flagship a few minutes later. 'Request permission to send down divers to investigate.'

'Approved!' came back the answer. 'Report results.'

'Divers have been down, but report they can find no traces of the alleged submarine,' another semaphore message went across three hours afterwards.

The flagship did not deign to answer, but her signalmen tittered; the 'alleged' tickled them.

'I'm absolutely certain he was hit, sir,' the officer who had opened fire reiterated for the thousandth time. 'I'm positive I saw him sink – absolutely positive!'

'Well, where the deuce has he got to, then?' the captain wanted to know, shrugging his shoulders unbelievingly. 'The damned thing surely can't sink and not leave a trace of anything behind him!' He seemed rather irritable.

Three days later a light cruiser anchored towards the entrance of the harbour, and started talking. 'There is a large black object stranded on the beach abreast the ship,' she said by semaphore. 'Am sending boat to investigate.'

'Object previously reported is a whale,' came a supplementary message in less than half-an-hour. 'It has been dead some days, and appears to have been killed by shell-fire.'

The defunct monster advertised his presence far and wide when the tide fell. People approached him wearing gas-masks and with ammonia-soaked handkerchiefs held to their noses. How the authorities got rid of him history does not relate. One cannot very well bury a thing the size of a house. Perhaps they sold him for fertiliser.

There were no C.B.'s or D.S.O.'s conferred for that battle, though the shooting certainly had been good.

But all this has carried us rather far from the Mariner and her men. They always found Fritz, Hans, Adolf, Karl, or whatever they chose to call him, as cunning as a hatful of monkeys; but the destroyers and other craft which sought to compass his destruction admired him for his efficiency, for efficient he certainly was. He combined boldness with seaman-like caution, and would suddenly appear in an area crowded with traffic, sink a merchant ship or two, and then disappear into space. Occasionally he behaved as a sportsman, and towed the boats containing the crews of the ships he had just sunk in towards the shore. Sometimes, when it came to sinking liners and passenger-ships with women and children on board, his reputation was unsavoury; but even the righteous wrath and indignation of his pursuers, who always played the game themselves, were not levelled so much at Fritz himself as at those who had given him orders to go out and do his dirty work.

The Mariner was once working in an area in which Fritz was very active indeed, when Hills the telegraphist clambered on to the bridge in a state of purple excitement, flourishing a sheet of paper.

'Well, what is it?' Wooten demanded. 'What's the matter?'

'There's a steamer down to the south-east'ard makin' the S.O.S. call, sir!' the man ejaculated agitatedly. 'Says she's bein' overhauled by a submarine, who's firin' on her. I've got her position, course, and speed!'

'The devil you have!' said Wooten, putting the telegraphs to 'Full speed,' and giving the helmsman a new course. 'Let's have her position.' He took the paper from the telegraphist, and laid the latitude and longitude off on the chart. 'Lord!' he remarked, rather perturbed, 'we're a good forty miles off. It'll take us over an hour to reach her. They'll be strafed by then, poor devils!'

The Mariner, meanwhile, with smoke pouring from her funnels and a great bow-wave creaming aft from her sharp stem, was dashing off at something over thirty knots.

Wooten scratched his head. 'Hills,' he said at last, as an inspiration seized him, 'call her up by wireless, and make her in plain English – not in code, mind – "Hang on. Destroyer will be with you in twenty minutes." Got that?'

'Yessir,' said the man, writing it down.

'Very well. Don't make our name, but use all the juice you can, so that they'll think we're very close. Understand?'

'Yessir,' nodded Hills, leaving the bridge rather mystified.

'You see, sub,' the skipper went on, 'we can't possibly get to this chap in time to save him from being sunk. All we can do is to try to frighten Fritz and to make him abandon the chase. D'you see?'

Hargreaves nodded vaguely.

'I don't believe you understand in the least what I'm driving at,' Wooten continued, smiling. 'Fritz has got wireless, and is on the surface. If he's the wily bird I imagine him to be, he'll have a fellow in his box-office listening to what's going on. He'll hear my signal, will take it in, translate it – they all know English – and there's just a chance it'll scare the life out of him, and make him shove off out of it. Savvy?'

Hargreaves nodded.

The scheme actually did work successfully, and Fritz was badly had, for in less than twenty minutes the unknown steamer was talking again. 'Submarine has abandoned chase, and has dived,' she said abruptly. 'Who are you?'

'Mind your own perishing business!' went back the reply in rather politer language.

Fritz seemed to work in spasms, for a fortnight would go by without a sign of him; and then, quite suddenly, there would come another recrudescence of his activity in another and quite unexpected locality. But the small craft were always hot on the scent the moment he bobbed up. They made his life a misery and a burden; and, though it is true he succeeded in sinking many a merchant ship, many of his species did not return to Wilhelmshaven. There were various effective ways of dealing with him, though exactly what those methods were must perforce be left a secret.

II

But Fritz was not the only thing they hunted; for once, in the English Channel, the Mariner was sent to sea to look for Fritz's mother, a suspicious sailing-vessel supposed to be supplying him with petrol and other commodities.

It was midnight when the orders came, pitch-dark, snowing hard, and blowing half a gale of wind, and there was considerable risk in taking the ship to sea at all. First they had an altercation with the side of the jetty, the brunt of which was taken by the whaler at her davits, and caused that boat to open her seams and crack her ribs in resentful indignation. Then, since there was no room to turn, Wooten had to perform the rather ticklish manœuvre, in the midst of a snow-flurry, of steering stern first through a line of closely anchored ships with no lights. Any naval officer will agree that handling a destroyer in such circumstances, with a strong wind broad on the beam, the night so dark that it is impossible to see more than a hundred yards, and clouds of black, oil-fuel smoke making it darker still, is apt to be hair-raising and startling. Wooten found it so at any rate, and congratulated himself that he succeeded in getting to sea with no further damage than a badly squeezed whaler.

Shortly before daylight they arrived at the spot where the suspicious sailing-vessel had been sighted from the shore. They were all in a state of suppressed excitement, for they fully believed they were in for something at last; while the guns' crews, fidgeting with impatience, were standing by their weapons ready to open fire.

Wooten himself was very hopeful. 'If this report is true,' he said to the first lieutenant, 'I shouldn't at all wonder if we found a submarine taking in petrol alongside her.'

MacDonald, inclined to be sceptical, shook his head and smiled. 'I have my doubts, sir,' he said with true Scottish caution. 'It's my opinion that the whole yarn is pure bunkum.'

When the dawn broke in a blaze of scarlet and orange there was a sailing-craft in sight, and she was barely a mile away from the place where the submarine supply-ship had been reported. She seemed rather an ordinary-looking vessel, ketch rigged, with a sturdy, broad-beamed hull, and was hove-to under the lee of the land. Her sails were patched and dingy, and, like Joseph's coat, were of many colours. But really and truly there was nothing at all remarkable about her, though most of the officers and fully half the men were firmly convinced that she was a Hun of most immoral character.

The Mariner approached her warily, with guns trained, and the men's fingers itching on their triggers. They longed to fire. The Jessie and Eva, however, evinced no particular interest in the proceedings; and when the destroyer steamed up close alongside, and went astern to check her way, only a small, sleepy-eyed boy was visible on deck.

'Where d'you come from?' Wooten bellowed through a megaphone.

'Brixham, surr!' answered the youth with a broad west-country burr, as a tousled head appeared up the after-companion and stared at the destroyer in amazement.

'Where's your skipper?' the lieutenant-commander asked.

'Here Oi be, surr!' said the owner of the head, scrambling out of his cubby-hole, and appearing on deck in jersey and sea-boots. 'What'll you be waantin', surr?'

'Where d'you come from?'

'Brixham, surr.'

'How long have you been out?'

'Nigh on three-fourr days, surr.'

'What's your name?'

'Jarge, surr – Jarge Willyum Cobley,' answered the man, in unmistakable Devonshire accents.

Wooten turned to the first lieutenant. 'Lower the dinghy, and go on board and have a look at her,' he said rather disappointedly. 'Seems to me she's as innocent as a new-born babe; but ask 'em if they've seen any men-of-war or submarines about, and find out how long they've been here. Get back as soon as you can.'

'Ay, ay, sir.'

The boat was lowered, and the Jessie and Eva, for the first time in her career, found herself boarded by an officer and two men armed to the teeth.

'Whaat du th' li'l man-o'-warr waant, surr?' queried the skipper, eyeing MacDonald's holstered weapon with some apprehension. 'Us is from Brixham, surr.'

'Yes, that's all right. I merely want to have a look round.'

He examined the smack fore and aft; but there was not the least vestige of anything incriminating about her. Her papers were in order, her two men and the boy were obvious west-countrymen, and she herself was full of fish. She had been in her present position or thereabouts for the last three days, the skipper said, and he intended returning to Brixham with her catch that afternoon.

'Well, there's nothing the matter with you,' said the first lieutenant with a laugh, as he prepared to get back to his boat. 'Care for a bit of navy plug?' He knew well enough how to get the right side of fishermen, and never dreamt of boarding a trawler without a couple of inches of strong navy plug tobacco in his pocket.

Old Cobley beamed. 'Ay, surr,' he said, accepting the gift. 'Us doan't of'en get navy 'bacca. Would 'e care fur some fish, surr? 'Tis fine fresh caught.'

'Thanks very much,' answered the lieutenant, who had taken the precaution of bringing two buckets across in the boat with him; 'I should.'

'Peterr!' the old fisherman bellowed to the boy, 'put some fish inter th' orficer's boat, an' luk lively naow.'

Peter obeyed his orders, and the dinghy eventually returned to the ship with the buckets full and her bottom covered with a slippery, sliding mass of newly caught herrings, a turbot or two, and dozens of other varieties which nobody could put a name to. They had sufficient to provide the ship's company of the Mariner with two excellent meals, and the total value of the haul, if brought ashore, could not have been far short of thirty shillings. Tobacco to the approximate value of four-pence sometimes does work wonders, and well MacDonald knew it. He was a Scotsman.

But Wooten was anxious to find out how the report had originated. His orders to search for a suspicious vessel had mentioned 'a black-hulled, ketch-rigged craft, with several white patches in her mainsail,' and this description suited old Jarge Cobley's smack to a T. Moreover, she had been found close to the position mentioned in the report.

'Any silly juggins could have seen that she was innocent!' the lieutenant-commander declared wrathfully. He forgot that it was easy to be wise after the event, and that, barely half-an-hour before, he and most of his men had been quite firm in their conviction that the Jessie and Eva was a Hun in disguise.

The Mariner first signalled to a coastguard station ashore, but the coastguardmen declined all responsibility, and merely stated that they had heard a rumour that, the previous afternoon, some agitation had been caused amongst the military authorities in the neighbouring coast town of Baymouth by a report that a strange vessel had been seen hovering in a most suspicious manner off the coast. The coastguardmen, having satisfied themselves that there was no such craft in the neighbourhood, had taken no further interest in the matter. That was all they professed to know about it.

Wooten himself did not know until afterwards that the garrison of Baymouth consisted of a small detachment of the 8th (Service) battalion of the Midshire Rangers. It was commanded by a major who, having contracted a chill, was absent on sick-leave. Next came a captain, and he, the day being Sunday, had gone off on his motor-bicycle to see his wife, leaving Second Lieutenant Tarry-Diddle, a newly caught subaltern, in charge of the gallant troops. Tarry-Diddle, a most promising and zealous youth, was the 'military authority' referred to.

The Mariner steamed three miles along the coast to Baymouth, and here the first lieutenant was landed in the dinghy to make inquiries. There was some surf on the beach, and he was very wet before he got ashore; but, escorted by a local constable and a tribe of urchins, who were firmly convinced that he was a prisoner from a German submarine just sunk in the bay by the destroyer, he was eventually ushered into the presence of the senior military officer in the town. This time it was Captain Bumble-Dyke, and he was having his breakfast.

An hour later MacDonald returned to the ship and described the scene to Wooten. 'I got ashore,' he said, 'and asked for the boss military man in the place. He was having his breakfast when I arrived, and was quite affable; asked me if I'd care for some of his bacon and eggs, in fact. I was wet through and beastly cold, so said I'd have a cup of coffee. Then I asked him about the suspicious sailing-vessel of his. He evidently thought at first that I'd come to pay an official call, though why he should imagine I'd come at that hour in the morning, wet through, and wearing a dirty muffler and sea-boots, I'm sure I don't know. He seemed rather surprised, and stared at me for a bit, and then asked what suspicious sailing-vessel I meant. He said he hadn't heard of one, and went off into a yarn about his having been away all the day before, his motor-bike having punctured, and his only having got back at two o'clock that morning.' No. 1 smiled at the recollection.

'Go on with the yarn,' said Wooten, beginning to laugh.

'Well, sir, I told him that the military people at Baymouth had reported a suspicious craft off the coast yesterday evening. "It's the first I've heard of it," he said. "Well, your people reported her, anyhow," I told him. "It must have been Tarry-Diddle!" he answered. "He was in charge here all yesterday. He's not said anything to me about it, though it's true I haven't seen him since I returned." "Who's Tarry-Diddle?" I asked. "He's my subaltern," he said. "We'd better send along for him." We did, and he fetched up in about ten minutes. Seemed a decent little chap, but a bit nervous. "What's this about a suspicious vessel off the coast?" asked the captain. "Yes, sir. We sighted one yesterday, and reported it," says Tarry-Diddle, looking at me rather anxiously. "Most suspicious-looking craft. Ketch rigged, black hull, and several white patches in her mainsail. She's been hovering round the bay for three days, sir." I laughed; couldn't very well help it, for he'd described the Jessie and Eva exactly. "What's the matter?" the captain asked me. "Matter!" I said. "Why, your suspicious craft is nothing but an ordinary Brixham trawler. We've just examined her." "The deuce she is! – Whom did you report her to, Tarry-Diddle?" "I sent a wire straight to the Admiralty, sir," the poor little chap said. The captain got rather purple in the face. "Good God!" he shouted, jumping up, "d'you mean to say that you wired to the Admiralty to tell 'em that – Oh Lord! you'll get me hanged! What the deuce d'you mean by it?" "I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Tarry-Diddle, rather frightened and very white about the gills. "I thought I'd done the right thing." "Done the right thing, you blithering young jackass!" roared the captain. "Why the devil didn't you get the naval people to have a look at her? How on earth can you tell whether a ship's suspicious or whether she isn't? I go away for twelve hours, and leave you in charge, and this sort of thing happens! I tell you, Tarry-Diddle, it won't do. It won't do at all! I shall have to report the matter to the colonel!" He started stamping up and down the room in a fearful state of excitement. I couldn't help laughing.'

Wooten was laughing himself. 'What happened then?' he spluttered.

'Tarry-Diddle got in a bit of a funk, sir. "It happened like this, sir," he explained. "The sergeant-major was walking along the front yesterday afternoon" – "To hell with the sergeant-major!" shouted Bumble-Dyke; "where the deuce does he come in?" "That's just what I'm trying to explain, sir," said Tarry-Diddle; and I do believe the young devil was laughing. "Oh, go on, and let's hear what you have to say!" spluttered the captain. "Well, sir, the sergeant-major was walking along the front yesterday afternoon behind two retired naval officers – at least, he said they were retired naval officers. They were talking, and one of them drew the attention of the other to the sailing-craft, and said he thought she looked rather suspicious. The other chap agreed, and said the Admiralty ought to be asked to send a ship to have a look at her." "I've never met any retired naval officers here," grumbled Bumble-Dyke. "I've seen most of the residents in the club, too." "I'm only telling you what the sergeant-major said, sir," Tarry-Diddle went on. "He came back to me at once, and told me what he'd heard, so I sent the wire off to the Admiralty on one of those yellow forms." "That accounts for our little excursion, then," I chipped in.'

'Oh Lord!' gasped Wooten, 'this is the limit. Go on. What happened then?'

'Well, sir,' MacDonald continued, laughing, 'the captain called the poor little chap all the names he could think of; told him he ought to be court-martialled, and shot at dawn, and all the rest of it. They were still at it hammer and tongs when I came away.'

Wooten smiled. 'I feel rather sorry for Tarry-Diddle,' he said. 'But I'm not certain he didn't deserve it, draggin' us out of harbour in the middle of the night all for a ruddy craft which any darned son of a gun could have seen was only a Brixham trawler.' It did not occur to him that he had been badly taken in himself. 'By the way,' he added, 'who were the two retired naval officers?'

'They were invented by the sergeant-major,' MacDonald chuckled. 'One of them was the steward at the yacht club, who goes about in a yachting-cap and a gold badge, and t' other was the man who's in charge of the bathing-machines in the summer. That's what I was told, at any rate.'

'Lord!' said the skipper, laughing, 'it reminds me of that parson, at the other place, who said he had seen the periscope of a submarine at seventeen miles. Seventeen perishin' miles, mark you! He sent a wire to the Admiralty, too, and they called out every destroyer within a hundred miles. But it wasn't Fritz at all, merely the mast of a ship hull down on the horizon. It was rather a clearer day than usual, that's all!'

No. 1 laughed. 'They're all so jolly keen on reporting things, sir; but I must say this sort of thing is the limit.'

'I agree,' said Wooten, chuckling. 'However, we mustn't let Tarry What's-his-name get into trouble. I'll send in a report sayin' we couldn't find any rakish-lookin' craft in the neighbourhood, and that I expect the military people were mistaken. You know,' he added, 'these fellows who've joined the new army are devilish good chaps and devilish keen, and one doesn't want to have 'em strafed unless one can't help it – what?'

'I quite agree, sir.'

'And when we get in I'll write a letter to Bumble-Dyke, asking him not to be too hard on him.'

He was as good as his word, and never regretted it, for less than a year later the name of Temporary Lieutenant Richard Tarry-Diddle, as he was then, appeared in the Honours List. He had won his Victoria Cross at Ypres.