The Submarine Hunters

"A sou'easter's the brute for that. Brings with it dozens of German mines that have broken adrift from the Belgian coast. When I was stationed at Great Yarmouth we had the same game in easterly gales. It was nothing unusual to find twenty of the brutes lying ashore; and on several occasions they have exploded on coming into contact with the rocks, and then, especially at night, everyone thought that the Germans had at last ventured to risk 'The Day'.

"I remember one that came ashore a few miles from Lowestoft. It was a whopper, of a different type from the rest. An Engineer officer brought a dozen young subalterns down to see it and give them an object-lesson. He talked for the best part of an hour, explaining its construction, and laying particular stress upon the need of the greatest caution when handling it. Finally he proceeded to explode it electrically. The circuit of the battery was tested and found to be in perfect order, and the wires were then connected with the detonator of the mine, after the tube containing the fulminate of mercury had been removed.

"The whole crowd took cover. The circuit was completed, but the mine didn't budge. They tried three times, and finally came to the conclusion that the thing was a dud.

"Then a squad of soldiers took pot-shots at it until it was fairly riddled with bullet holes, but still the blessed thing wouldn't explode. Eventually it was decided to remove the mine to a laboratory for examination, and a team of mules was requisitioned to drag it off the beach.

"One of the mules suddenly took it into his head to be a little bit premature, for he lashed out, broke away from the traces, and pelted down the beach. When the brute came to the place where the mine lay, he found that the tackle which the men had already rove to shift it was in his way. Possibly the sight of a rope upset him, for he backed and lashed out with his hind legs—and up went the mine with a terrific bang. They never found any of the pieces of the mule."

At length, as is invariably the case, the gale blew itself out, and, although the sea still ran high, the absence of broken water made it possible for the hatchways to be kept open.

The behaviour of the Capella and her consorts was a matter for congratulation. They had stood the test remarkably well, and had proved themselves good all-weather craft, provided that they could be kept head to wind.

A week later the Capella returned to Southampton to replenish her stores, and after three days in port she received orders to proceed to the French coast and patrol off Cape Levi, where the presence of a hostile submarine had been reported.

This intelligence was serious. It meant that, once again, an unterseeboot had made its way into the English Channel, and was lying on the track of the British transports and hospital ships running between Southampton and Rouen.

It took the Capella two hours only to run from The Nab to within sight of the French coast. Even then her motors were not running at the maximum number of revolutions. Extreme speed was only resorted to when actually engaged in submarine hunting.

As the vessel closed with the grey cliffs of Normandy, Ross suddenly shouted: "Submarine on the port bow!"

Less than two cables' length away could be discerned the twin periscopes and a portion of the conning-tower. The submarine was not forging ahead; it was simply stationary, except for a slight movement caused by the action of the waves. It certainly was not a British craft. It might be French. The odds were that it was German, since submarines belonging to the allied nations were not in the habit of keeping awash, unless in the presence of an enemy.

Quickly the guns, which were already cleared for action, were trained upon the visible part of the submarine; but as she made no attempt to move, Captain Syllenger refrained from giving the order to open fire.

Thrice the Capella circled round the mysterious craft, at the same time gradually closing, since she had nothing to fear from the discharge of a torpedo.

"I believe she's abandoned, sir," said Barry.

The Capella stopped. Preparations were being made for the lowering of a boat, when one of the seamen shouted:

"It's a dud, sir; a blessed decoy-bird!"

The man was right. Upon investigation, the submarine was found to be nothing more than a couple of barrels covered with painted canvas. Two thick poles passing vertically through them, and weighted at the lowermost ends to give the necessary stability, served as periscopes.

"There's a real submarine knocking about, I'll swear," said the skipper. "Put a shot into those barrels, Morgan."

One shell was sufficient. Little more than a hundred chips floating on the surface was left of the decoy.

The Capella was about to resume her course when a warning cry was heard:

"Torpedo coming, sir!"