Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
cover art]
A WATCH-DOG OF THENORTH SEA
"SHE REELED HEAVILY WITH THE EFFECT OF A MORTAL BLOW"]
A WATCH-DOG OFTHE NORTH SEA
A NAVAL STORY OFTHE GREAT WAR
BYPERCY F. WESTERMAN
AUTHOR OF "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.""THE DREADNOUGHT OF THE AIR"ETC.
S.W. PARTRIDGE & CO.4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1
MADE IN GREAT BRITAINFirst published December 1916
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. H.M.S. "POMPEY" II. THE RESULT OF THE LEADING STOKER'S CURIOSITY III. GREENWOOD SENIOR'S DISCOVERY IV. THE SECRET PETROL-DEP?T V. EXPLANATIONS VI. AN EXCELLENT NIGHT'S WORK VII. THE DAY FOLLOWING VIII. SPY AND SUPER-SPY IX. AN ADVENTURE ON THE HILLS X. THE FOILED RAID XI. ONE ZEPPELIN THE LESS XII. AN OCEAN DUEL XIII. ADRIFT XIV. A BREACH OF NEUTRALITY XV. A PRISONER OF WAR XVI. THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY XVII. A DASH FOR LIBERTY XVIII. THE DERELICT OBSERVATION BALLOON XIX. THE DESERTED HOUSE XX. TRESSIDAR SOLVES A MYSTERY XXI. CHECKMATE XXII. THE SHELL-BATTERED HOSPITAL XXIII. AT AULDHAIG ONCE MORE XXIV. A FIGHT TO A FINISH XXV. IN THE MOMENT OF TRIUMPH XXVI. THE HOME-COMING OF THE S.S. "MEROPE" XXVII. A DAY ON DARTMOOR XXVIII. --AND A NIGHT XXIX. WHEN THE TRAWLERS SHOWED FIGHT XXX. A NOVEL DUCK HUNT XXXI. MONITORS IN ACTION XXXII. THE "ANZAC'S" DAY XXXIII. A SPLINTER OF SHELL XXXIV. EXIT OBERFURST XXXV. TRESSIDAR'S REWARD
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
Frontispiece "SHE REELED HEAVILY WITH THE EFFECT OF A MORTAL BLOW"
"A MAELSTROM OF FOAM HID THE SPOT WHERE THE PERISCOPE HAD BEEN VISIBLE".
"THEY THREW UP THEIR ARMS AND YELLED FOR QUARTER"
WITH THE QUICK-FIRERS TRAINED UPON THE BULKY TARGET, NO. 445 APPROACHED WITHIN HAILING DISTANCE
AN OCEAN DUEL
"'IN WITH YOU, OLD MAN!' HE EXCLAIMED"
A BATTLE-CRUISER SQUADRON
"ON THE DECK WAS A GERMAN UNTER-LEUTNANT, BOUND HAND AND FOOT"
A WATCH-DOG OF THENORTH SEA
CHAPTER I
H.M.S. "POMPEY"
A BUGLE-CALL rang out shrill and clear in the wintry air.
"Thank goodness--at last," murmured Eric Greenwood. "That's an end to'Action Stations' for the time being. Let me see. Tomorrow coal ship,next day make up the money. Payment on Friday, and ten to onethere'll be half a gale of wind--and paper money is a strafednuisance."
Thus musing, Assistant Paymaster Greenwood, R.N.R., completed hispreparations for vacating the fore-top of H.M.S. "Pompey," where hehad been acting as assistant to the lieutenant in charge of thefire-control arrangements.
The fore-top, a caged-in structure measuring roughly eight feet byeight, was situated ninety feet above the upper deck. In long-rangeactions it took the place of the conning-tower as "the brains of theship," for in that limited aerial perch seven officers and men, allworking with a common set purpose, were able to direct salvoes ofdeath-dealing missiles with uncanny accuracy to a target invisible tothe guns' crews at their stations behind six inches of Krupp steel.
"Carry on, old man," said Vickers, the lieutenant, indicating a smalltrap-hatch in the floor of the top. "Be careful; there's ice about."
Greenwood had already made up his mind to be careful. A man who, upto within fifteen months ago, had led an eminently sedate existenceas a bank clerk does not take to work aloft with the same agility andconfidence inspired by years of training at Osborne and Dartmouth.
At the outbreak of war Eric Greenwood was a ledger clerk at a bank ina quiet Devonshire country town. The notion of serving under theWhite Ensign had never occurred to him, even in his wildest dreams,until the Admiralty called for additional accountant officers for theRoyal Naval Reserve. Eric promptly sent in his application. It wascurtly acknowledged; and then followed weeks of tedious, sickeningsuspense, until, when hope seemed dead, the bank clerk received anenvelope marked "O.H.M.S.," the contents of which transformed himinto an acting assistant paymaster, R.N.R.
After a short term at the Naval Barracks at Devonport, Greenwood wassent to a small base on the east coast of Scotland. It seemed as ifhe were fated to remain ashore until the termination of the war,when, to his unbounded satisfaction, he was appointed to H.M.S."Pompey."
The "Pompey" was an armoured cruiser of 14,000 tons, armed with two9.2-in. and fourteen 6-in. guns, in addition to several weapons oflighter calibre. Although by no means a modern vessel, she wasgenerally considered to be a "tough nut" and able to give a goodaccount of herself on The Day--that long-expected and long-deferredevent--when the Germans finally made up their minds to decide byordeal of battle whether they could attempt to wrench the trident ofsea-power from Britannia's grasp.
Lieutenant Vickers's caution was necessary, for as the A.P. loweredhimself through the narrow opening, his feet came in contact with theratlines of the wire-shrouds. They were slippery with ice, for it hadbeen drizzling, as it almost always did in the North Sea when it wasnot blowing a gale, and the moisture settling on the rigging hadfrozen hard.
The ship was rolling considerably. At one moment the starboardshrouds were almost perpendicular, at another they inclined at suchan angle that Greenwood was almost lying on his face at full lengthupon a gigantic wire net. Clouds of eddying, pungent smoke envelopedhim, for the vessel had a following wind. The keen blast seemed tocut him like a knife in spite of his bulky, additional clothing.
The young officer descended rapidly. He was anxious to gain the deckfor two reasons. He wanted to warm himself by the wardroom fire; hewas also aware that a destroyer had a few hours previously sent onboard a batch of mails--the first for nearly a fortnight. Afterthirteen days of patrol work without being in touch with land, theprospect of receiving letters from home was one that outweighed allothers, unless, perhaps--harrowing thought!--the mail-bag was a blankso far as Eric was concerned.
"Hello, old bird! A trifle nippy up in your little perch!" exclaimeda voice as Greenwood stepped over the threshold of the wardroom door.
The speaker was a tall, broad-shouldered sub-lieutenant, RonaldTressidar by name. Between these two there existed a friendship thatwas almost of lifelong duration, for their respective homes were inthe same Devonshire town. Of recent years they had seen little ofeach other. Their careers were set upon totally different lines tillby a pure coincidence they found themselves appointed to H.M.S."Pompey."
"Beastly cold," agreed Greenwood as he made his way to theletter-rack. Thanks be! There was a goodly sheaf of envelopes bearinghis name. Eagerly the A.P. possessed himself of his correspondenceand sought a chair in the sadly depleted wardroom, for upon theoutbreak of hostilities the cosy atmosphere of the place had givenway to a state of almost Spartan simplicity.
Silence reigned. The rest of the officers off duty were literallydevouring their greetings from home or else were burying their headsbetween the pages of newspapers that were at least three days old.
In the warm glow, with his mind fully occupied with thoughts of homeand distant friends, Greenwood forgot completely the rigorous periodof "Action Stations" in the fore-top. But all things come to an end.Reluctantly the A.P. folded his letters and placed them in hispocket. As he did so he caught Tressidar's eye.
"Anything startling?" asked the sub., taking a vacant place on thelounge within a couple of feet of Greenwood's chair.
"Heaps," replied the A.P. "For one thing, an aeroplane came down onthe pate
r's greenhouse. No one hurt. I can imagine the governorcutting up rough about it. He never could see the humorous side ofanything. The mater is still knitting for the troops. I pity the poorfellows who get hold of any of the gear she turns out. Once upon atime in the dire days of my youth she knitted me a pair of socks. Ididn't forget to chip her about them, too."
"She makes awfully decent cakes," remarked Tressidar reminiscently.
"She does," agreed the A.P. "And I remember the time when we broughta hammer and a cold chisel to the tea-table and pretended to splitthe almond paste asunder."
"Wasn't that the cake your sister Doris made?"
"Might have been, now you mention it," said Greenwood. "Talking ofDoris, she's now a probationer in the Reserve Nursing Service, andshe's appointed to Auldhaig."
"Is that so?" asked Tressidar with ill-feigned disinterestedness.Nevertheless a deep flush overspread his tanned and weather-beatenfeatures. The sub. had always been extremely partial to the girl, butDoris had been in the habit of keeping him severely in his place.That was long before the war.
"Strange that she should be sent to our base," continued Eric. "Wemay see something of her this Christmas, for I heard the fleetpaymaster say that we are likely to remain in harbour until early inthe New Year. He had the tip from the engineer-commander, whosubmitted a list of defects as long as your arm."
As a matter of fact Ronald Tressidar knew more about DorisGreenwood's plans than did her brother, for a letter from the girlwas reposing in his pocket. Generally outspoken and communicative inmost matters, Tressidar maintained a studious reticence in his chum'spresence whenever the subject of Greenwood's nineteen-year-old sisterwas discussed.
"There's 'Action Stations' again!" exclaimed a lieutenant-commanderas a bugle blared on deck.
Instantly there was a rush on the part of the occupants of thewardroom, to the accompaniment of the sharp cracks of thequick-firers.
But before Tressidar gained the deck the danger--at least for thetime being--was over. The "Pompey" had ported helm, while at lessthan twenty yards on the port beam the surface of the water wasmarked by a pair of diverging lines that indicated the track of atorpedo. By a smart display of helmsmanship the cruiser had escapeddestruction.
Already the skipper, who after an arduous night had turned in, was onthe bridge, with his feet in carpet slippers and the legs of hispyjama suit showing below the bottom of his great-coat.
"See any signs of a periscope, Mr. Flanders?" he inquired of theofficer of the watch.
"No, sir," was the reply. "We opened fire at what turns out to be afloating spar. The torpedo came from broad on our port beam before Iordered the helm to be put hard over."
"Good!" exclaimed Captain Raxworthy. "We'll see if we can't nab her."
In ordinary circumstances a battleship or cruiser that has the goodluck to be missed by a hostile torpedo steams off at full speed fromthe dangerous locality. Should destroyers or patrol boats be in thevicinity, they are brought up at full speed to attempt to interceptthe submarine. But on this occasion the "Pompey" was alone in thisremote portion of the North Sea.
Contrary to precedent, Captain Raxworthy gave orders for the cruiserto slow down and come to a standstill. At the same time volumes ofsteam were allowed to hiss through the steam-pipes. All the six-inchand light quick-firers were manned, ready at the first glimpse of thehostile periscope to let fly such a weight of metal that the stillsubmerged hull of the submarine would stand no chance of resistingthe powerful shells.
The skipper of the "Pompey" was correct in his surmise. By slowingdown and letting off steam the cruiser behaved in much the same wayas if she had been actually torpedoed. The crew of the submarineheard the sounds that apparently betokened the cruiser in herdeath-agonies, and they could not resist the temptation to approachthe surface and survey their work through the periscope.
Four hundred yards away on the "Pompey's" starboard quarter apole-like object shot stealthily above the surface. It wanted thetrained eyes of a seaman to discern the ripple of foam that denotedthe position. Half a dozen or more of the "Pompey's" crew spotted theexpected target.
"A MAELSTROM OF FOAM HID THE SPOT WHERE THE PERISCOPEHAD BEEN VISIBLE"]
The next instant twenty shells were shrieking through the air ontheir way towards the doomed submarine. A perfect maelstrom of foam,mingled with smoke and fragments of metal hid the spot where theperiscope had been visible.
The columns of foam subsided; the smoke drifted rapidly away in thestrong breeze; but ominous air-bubbles and an ever-increasing oilypatch that had the effect of quieting the crested waves denoted theundisputed fact that yet another unterseeboot had shot her lastbolt. Eight hours later H.M.S. "Pompey" entered Auldhaig Firth.