Kitabı oku: «H.M.S. –», sayfa 12

The Clerk fidgeted. He had been kept waiting for a matter of seconds, and he did not like it. The Captain turned to face him, and, to the surprised eyes of the Clerk, seemed to have changed suddenly into a young man – alert, quick, and decisive. "No, Collins," said a strange voice; "the man did act in the face of the enemy, and I will endorse the recommendation." He turned his eyes again to the window, but saw only the yellow gravel, the houses, and the smoke; the fetters of Routine seemed to clank warningly in his ears. "Yes," he said, "I have no reason to suppose the U-boat had not followed the steamer, or that she was not present all the time."

A MOST UNTRUE STORY

The War was only in its first childhood and patrol work was still amusing, having not yet become a monotonous and unexciting business. The submarine was due to start back from patrol that night, and was just loafing along at twenty odd feet depth waiting for dark. The Captain was on watch at the periscope, swinging the instrument round from time to time to take a general survey of the horizon, but for the most part confining his scrutiny to the island to leeward. The island showed up clearly – the light of the setting sun flashing back from the windows of the buildings that looked out over the Bight. As the Captain took one of his all-round glances, he checked suddenly and concentrated his gaze to one point of the compass. A man who leaned against a pump six feet away – a man who had seemed to all appearance to be on the verge of sleep – opened his eyes, straightened up, and stood alertly watching the brown hands that held the periscope training handles. The signal seemed to be telepathically passed on, as in a few seconds there were six or eight pairs of eyes watching the observer, who still peered at the unknown sight which no one else in the boat could see. Then the Captain moved his head back from the eye-piece, smiled (and at the smile six of the watchers reverted to their oil-stained reading matter), and called to the First-Lieutenant, who was at the moment engaged with an Engine-room Artificer in a mumbled inquest over a broken air-valve spindle. As the First-Lieutenant approached, the Captain stepped to one side and indicated the eye-piece by a nod. His subordinate took his place, and for a full half-minute remained slowly swivelling the great instrument through four points and back again. When he raised his head he was scowling and sullen.

"Well?" said the Captain. "A good few there, eh?"

"Lord!" The First-Lieutenant's voice indicated the deepest disgust. "Thousands and thousands – and we can't get a shot at 'em!"

"Well, there's over a thousand, anyway. I've seen at least that lot of teal in the last couple of minutes."

"Teal! Why, sir, I can see mallard now for the next half mile, and I could swear there'll be geese among them too."

"Here, let me look. Yes, by gum, and not one's getting up either." They let the periscope get to a few feet off before they paddle away… He swivelled slowly round the circle, then looked up at the First-Lieutenant. "There's fog coming on. I can see the banks coming," he said. He looked again through the periscope and intently studied the windows on the island some three miles away. The First-Lieutenant watched his face, and saw it slowly break into the smile of a schoolboy meditating mischief. The First-Lieutenant began to smile slightly also. The Captain looked up.

"I can't help the island," he said. "War's hell, anyway. Give me a rifle and stand by for surface." There was a clatter and the sound of quick-passing orders; the boat's bow tilted up, and to the sound of roaring air she broke surface fairly in the middle of the great colony of swimming wildfowl. The hatch fell back with a clang, and a rush of cold air beat on the excited faces of the men below the conning-tower. Immediately there came the Crack-crack-'rack of magazine-fire from the bridge above, and the descendants of bowmen who had risked mutilation and death to steal the Conqueror's deer forgot their discipline and began to mount the ladder that led to the sunlight and a clear view.

The Captain turned to shout a helm order below and swore at the packed heads that filled the hatch-rim. "… and you come up, Number One, and lend a hand to pick up. I've got one – missed him on the water at a hundred and got him in the air as he rose! There he is – jump forr'd and grab him – dammit, he's off (crack-crack)… No, that's stopped him" (bang– the report came from the vicinity of the Captain's knee). "What the – confound you, man – what the deuce are you doing? Unload that pistol and take it away…"

Seven thousand yards away on the island a watcher lowered his glasses and reached for the button of the alarm bell. In two seconds the island was awake, and down in the lower battery men rushed to their stations. With clatter and turmoil the big guns were cleared away and the observing officer roared the order to "Stand by" into the telephone mouthpiece.

"What is it, Schultz? Can you see? Ach! she is going to bombard – the little swine of a boat. Give me the telescope. Ach, Gott! are they not reported ready, fool?" The Major was excited and bristling.

"Ready now – all but number six."

"At six thousand five hundred metres – all guns – Gott strafe der schmutzige … he has dived!.."

The First-Lieutenant sprang up the outer ladder of the conning-tower, the bleeding spoil clutched in his hand. The Captain turned to look astern and became aware of the fact that the gallery, as represented by the bridge and rails, was tenanted by an enthusiastic and interested selection of his crew. "What the devil – is this a cinema or my ship? Don't you know your orders yet? Every man-jack of you…" He herded them below to the tune of a voluble hymn of hate, and followed the last of the grinning culprits down. As the boat levelled off at her previous diving depth, he swung the periscope round to search the horizon again to seaward. A moment later "Diving stations," and to the hydroplane men, "Take her on down."

The First-Lieutenant left the luckless mallard on the table and elbowed his way aft again through the cluster of men closing up to their stations. Reaching the control position, he looked inquiringly at the Captain, who, having lowered the periscope, was leaning with folded arms against a group of valves abreast it.

"Thick fog coming down. Going to bottom till dark now. Have a look at the soundings, will you – or tell Henley to let me know."

The First-Lieutenant moved back to speak to another officer, who was already bending over the chart-table. The Captain turned his head to watch the gauge beside him, the needle of which was slowly creeping upwards and around the circle. As it moved the gentle rolling of the boat that had been noticeable before ceased, and she steadied until she gave the idea of being high and dry in some silent dock. The officer, generally known as "Pilot," or – to his intimates and contemporaries – as "Rasputin" (a name, it should be explained, which had no possible application to him, except for the fact that he wore a beard), appeared at the Captain's side with a folded chart in his hand.

"We should touch at ninety by the gauge, sir," he said. "We must be about four miles from the land now."

The Captain nodded. "Yes, it may be a little more, though. Have the crew got a sweep on this?"

"No, sir. This is an extra dive, and they haven't had time to get one up. D'you want to bet on under or over ninety, sir?"

"I do not. I won last night's sweep, and lost it to you in side-bets, and I'm not taking any more. Stop the motors!"

The gauge had reached the eighty-foot mark, and the boat under the influence of her headway was still driving the needle slowly round. At ninety feet the Captain looked at the Pilot, smiled, and started the motors again. Hardly had he given the order when the needle checked, rose a little, and then crept back to ninety-five. "Stop the motors! I've lost a chance there, Pilot – 'Wish I'd had a bet on that."

He stood watching the gauge a moment longer, and then turned to walk to the Wardroom.

"Pipe down – usual sentries only," he ordered. "Tell my servant to get me some washing water."

He threw the curtain aside, and joined the two officers who stood looking solemnly at the mallard, which lay on a gory newspaper in the centre of the table. For a moment there was silence.

"Well," said the Captain cheerfully, "it's not as smashed as it might be. It'll do for a pie to-morrow."

"'Mm," said the First-Lieutenant, "'Keeper at home used to call rabbits that looked like that 'ferrets' food.'"

"Not a bit of it," rejoined the Captain; "if we mash him in a pie he'll be all right."

There was another pause while the First-Lieutenant tucked an extra fold of newspaper beneath the corpse – then, after a quick glance and nudge for the Pilot's benefit, he spoke in a detached and dispassionate voice.

"Of course, it was poaching."

The Captain's brown face began to slowly take on the colour of the gore on the table – then he exploded —

"What d'you mean? … poaching– it's below high-water mark, isn't it?"

"Well, sir – we don't know the rules in this country, and we were pretty well in their waters."

"But it's offshore. Why shouldn't I shoot their duck? It's not preserved, either. Poaching! I never poached anything – not since I was at school anyway." He scowled at the duck and the officers impartially. The officers clutched each other by the arms, then the Pilot walked hastily to a low-set bunk and buried his head in the pillow. The Captain changed his frown for a smile as the situation dawned on him, then, snatching the parallel rulers from the chart-table he began to belabour the most accessible portion of his gurgling subordinate's anatomy.