H.M.S Part 9

By Thy guiding mercy sent, Fruitful was the road we went-- Back from battle we.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm, If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home, When against us men arose and sought to work us harm, We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

Heaving sea and cloudy sky Saw the battle flas.h.i.+ng by, As Thy foemen ran.

By Thy grace, that made them fly, We have seen two hundred die Since the fight began.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right, If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!

If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight, We never should have closed with them--Thy seas are dark and broad.

Through the iron rain they fled, Bearing home the tale of dead, Flying from Thy sword.

After-hatch to fo'c'sle head, We have turned their decks to red, By Thy help, O Lord!

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown, But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud; It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone, When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

Sixty miles of running fight, Finished at the dawning light, Off the Zuider Zee.

Thou that helped throughout the night Weary hand and aching sight, Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

AN AFFAIR OF OUTPOSTS.

The wardroom of the Depot s.h.i.+p was just emptying as the late-breakfast party lit their pipes and cigarettes and headed for the smoking-room next door, when a signalman brought the news in. The Commander, standing by the radiator, took the pad from the man's hand and read it aloud. He raised his voice for the first few words, then continued in his usual staccato tones as the silence of his audience showed that they were straining their ears in fear of missing a word:--

"_Lyddite_, _Prism_, _Axite_, and _Pebble_ in action last night with six enemy destroyers--_Pebble_ sunk--fifty-seven survivors aboard _Lyddite_--enemy lost two sunk, possibly three--_Lyddite_ with prisoners and _Prism_ with _Axite_ in tow arriving forenoon to-day."

There was a moment's pause as the Commander handed the signal back, and then half a dozen officers spoke at once. The Fleet-Surgeon was not one of them. He gathered up his two juniors with a significant glance, as one sees a hostess signal to her Division as the dessert-talk flags, and the three vanished through the door to get to work on their grim preparations. The Engineer officers conferred for a minute in low tones and then followed them out. The signal had given clearer data for the workers in flesh and bone to act on than it had for those who work in metals, and there was nothing for the latter to do but to get their men ready and to guess at probabilities. The remainder of the Mess broke into a buzz of conversation: "_Axite_, she must be pretty well hashed up; it must have been gun-fire, a torpedo would have sunk her.... Rot! why should it? What about the _Salcombe_ or the _Ventnor_? _They_ got home.... Yes, but not from so far out, and there's a sea running outside too.... Well, the Noorder Diep isn't a hundred miles, and that must be where...."

The Commander beckoned the First Lieutenant to him, as that officer was rising from his chair at the writing-table. "You'd better warn the Gunner, Borden, that the divers may be needed; and tell my messenger as you go out that I want to see the Boatswain and Carpenter too--thank you." He turned to the s.h.i.+p's side and looked out through the scuttle at the dancing, sunlit waters of the harbour. He had supervised the work of preparation for a.s.sisting and patching lame ducks more than once before, and he knew that his subordinates needed little a.s.sistance from him. What was troubling his mind was the question of the casualties. The _Pebble_ was gone, so there was no need for spare hands to be provided for her, while her survivors were actually a gain. They would not be fit for work for a bit, though, a good few of them probably wounded, and the remainder perhaps needing treatment after immersion in a December sea. Then the three others--it sounded like a hard-fought action, and hard fights meant losses. That was the worst of these destroyer actions, the casualties were mostly good men, and it took so long to train good ratings. If only one saved the officers and men it wouldn't really matter how many destroyers were lost, he reflected, as he walked out of the mess towards his cabin and the little group of Warrant and Petty officers who awaited him by the doorway.

It was barely an hour later, and the bustle of preparation aboard the Depot s.h.i.+p was still in progress when they came in sight. The outer forts had reported them as approaching the entrance, and the next news was good also, for it was simply the deduction on the part of the watching s.h.i.+ps' companies, when they saw the big black-and-yellow salvage tugs that had been out since dawn come chugging up harbour alone, that the victors had disdained a.s.sistance. Then the _Lyddite_ showed her high bow and unmistakable funnels as she swung round the entrance shoals and steadied up harbour at a leisurely ten knots. At that distance she looked dirty and sea-worn, but intact. Close astern of her came _Prism_ and _Axite_, and as they showed, the watchers involuntarily caught their breaths.

The _Prism_ looked queer and foreign somehow, with no foremast, a bare skeleton of a bridge, and a shapeless heap where the forward funnel had stood. The _Axite_ looked just what she was--a mere battered hull, with very little standing above the level of her deck, her stern nearly awash, and her bow bent and torn as if some giant hand had gripped and twisted it. As the pair of cripples neared the dock entrance, two smaller tugs which had followed astern came hurrying up to close on the _Axite's_ sides, while the towing hawser that had been watched with such anxiety through three cold and stormy watches splashed in the churned-up water under the _Prism's_ counter. The _Prism_ increased speed slightly, and up against the bl.u.s.tering wind came the faint sound of cheering from the cruisers down the harbour as she pa.s.sed them. She eased down into station astern of the _Lyddite_, and the Yeoman of Signals on the Depot s.h.i.+p's bridge s.h.i.+fted his telescope from the shaking canvas of the wind-dodger to the steadier support of a stanchion.

"What's she like--can you make 'er out?" A Leading Telegraphist had walked out from the wireless office, and, in obvious hopes of getting hold of the telescope, was standing at his elbow.

"Pretty sight, I don't think," replied the Yeoman grimly. "Dirty work for the hospital there, and I reckon it's 'Port Watch look for messmates'--all along under the bridge she's been catching it, and I can't see--Yes, O.K.--He's up there on the bridge--_Who?_ The skipper, of course. Mister Calton, Commander--begging his pardon. Me and him were in the old _Cantaloup_ two years. Gawd! but ain't they been in a dust-up! What do you say? _Lyddite?_"

He turned to look as the big destroyer pa.s.sed, half-raised his gla.s.s, and then lowered it. There was enough for his naked eye to see to discourage him from a closer view. Her decks were crowded with men, lying, standing, or sitting down. The white bandages showed up clearly against the general background of dull grime, and the bandages were many. A torpedo-tube pointing up like an A.A. gun, and a dozen or so of splinter holes in funnel and casing, showed that some, at least, of the wounded were her own. About the casing, between the wounded, lay dozens of dull bra.s.s cartridge-cases, and aft--a curious touch of triviality--two seamen and a steward were emptying boxes of smashed gla.s.s and crockery overside. A few men waved and shouted in reply as the Depot s.h.i.+p roared a welcome across to her, but the greater number were silent. The two scarred and blood-spotted craft swung gently in to the jetty, where the lines of ambulances and stretchers awaited them, and as the first heaving-lines flew, the Yeoman turned to the Telegraphist with a look almost of pride on his dark saturnine face--

"Well, I'm ----," he said admiringly, "if that ain't sw.a.n.k! Did you see 'em? Why, stiffen the Dutch--they've got new Sunday Ensigns hoisted to come up harbour with, and"--he swung round and levelled his gla.s.s at the _Axite_, now almost hidden in the smoke and steam of the group of tugs around her at the lock gates--"I'm d.a.m.ned if she ain't got a new one up too. Here, have a look at it, man. It's on a boathook staff sticking up in the muzzle of the high-angle gun----"

1917.

The "liaison officer" felt distinctly nervous as his steamboat approached the gangway. He had no qualms as to his capabilities of carrying out the work he was detailed for--that of acting as signals-and-operations-interpreter aboard the Flotilla leader of a recently allied destroyer division--but the fact that he had been told that he must be prepared to be tactful weighed heavily on his mind.

His ideas on the subject of Americans were somewhat hidebound, but at the same time very vague. Would they spring the statement on him that they had "come over to win the War for you," or would they refer at once to their War of Independence? Did the Yankees hate all Britishers, or---- His boat b.u.mped alongside the neat teak ladder, and he noted with a seaman's appreciation the perfectly-formed coachwhipping and Turks' Heads on the rails. A moment later he was standing on a very clean steel deck, gravely returning the salute of what appeared to be a muster of all the officers in the s.h.i.+p.

A tall commander took a pace forward. "_Malcolm_," he said, "I'm Captain--glad to meet you." The Englishman saluted, and they shook hands. "My name's Jackson," he replied, and turned as the American, taking his arm, ran through a rapid introduction to the other officers. Each of these repeated the formula, accompanied by the quick bow and handshake. Jackson followed suit as best he could, and began to feel that on such formal occasions he had the makings of a real _attache_ or diplomatist in him.

A few minutes, and he found himself sitting in a long-chair in a wardroom which might have been a counterpart of his own, and accepting a long cigar from the box handed him. "Did you have a good trip over?" he ventured.

"We sure did, and saw nix--not even a U-boat. Had a bit of a gale first day out, but it blew off quick. But say, there wasn't a German s.h.i.+p for three thousand miles. Don't you ever see some about?"

"Well, you see--er--no. They only show out now and then, and it's only for a few hours when they do. Of course, there are plenty of Fritzes, but they keep under most of the time--you don't see them much."

"Well, we thought it real slow, didn't we, Commander? We were just ripe for some gunplay, but we never got a chance to pull."

Jackson looked across at the Commander and smiled. "We felt that way for a long time, sir. But now we just go on hoping and keeping ready.

We've had so many false alarms, you see."

The Commander laughed. "That's one on you, Benson," he said. "We won't get so excited next time we see the Northern Lights."

There was a general shout of laughter, and Jackson turned cold. This, he thought, was a little early for him to start putting his foot in it. The officer called Benson, however, did not appear to be about to throw over the alliance just yet. He walked to the sideboard, and returned with a couple of lumps of sugar in his hand. "Lootenant," he said gravely, "in the absence of stimulants in the U.S. Navy, I can only give you what we've got. We've no liquor aboard, but we've sure got sugar."

"Yes," said the Commander. "We're all on the water-waggon here, whether we like the ride or not."

Jackson sat up in his chair and shed his official pose. He could, at any rate, talk without reserve on Service subjects. "Well, sir," he said, "I'm not a teetotaller, but it doesn't worry me to go teetotal if I've got to. I don't worry about it if I'm in training for anything; and the fact is--well, if there was a referendum, or something of that sort, in the Navy as to whether we were to be compulsory teetotallers or not, I believe the majority would vote for 'no drinks.' _I_ would, anyway, and I'm what you'd call an average drinker."

"They didn't ask us to vote any, but if they had--in war-time--I guess we'd have voted the same way. If you can't get it you don't want it, and we've kind of got used to water now. And so your name's Jackson?

Any relation?"

Jackson's brain worked at high pressure. This was a poser. Sir Henry Jackson? Stonewall? How many noted Jacksons were there? He played for safety and replied with a negative.

"Ah, well! there's perhaps some connection you don't know of," said the Commander encouragingly. "Which part of England are your folk from? Birmingham. Well, of course, it's a big family.... My father knew him well, and was with him through the Valley Campaign."

Jackson sighed with relief. "You're from Virginia then, sir?"

"No, sir--I'm from Maryland. My father joined the Army of Virginia two days before Bull Run."

"Are you all Southerners here, then?"

"We're sure _not_," came a chorus of voices. "Nix on Secesh ... John Brown's Body...." Jackson developed nerves again. He felt as if he had asked a Nationalist meeting to join him in drinking confusion to the Pope. The company did not seem disposed to let him off, however.

"Which do you think ought to have won, Lootenant? You were neutral--let's hear it."

Jackson looked apologetically at the Commander.

"Well, sir, I think the North _had_ to win; and" (he hurried on) "it's just as well she did, because if she hadn't there wouldn't be any U.S.A. now--only a lot of small states."

"That's so; but there need not have been any war at all."

"There needn't, sir; but it made the U.S.A. all the same. The big event of the Franco-Prussian War wasn't the surrender at Sedan; it was the crowning of the German Emperor at Versailles. And in the Civil War--well, it made one nation of the Americans in the same way as the other did of the Germans."

"Well, Lootenant, if wars are just to make nations into one, what was the good of our wars with you?"