Chapter V: The Return of the Captains

The breakfast hour was drawing to its end, and the very last straggler sat alone at the ward room table. Presently an officer of the mother ship, passing through, called to the lingering group of submarine officers.

"The X4 is coming up the bay, and the X12 has been reported from signal station."

The news was received with a little hum of friendly interest. "Wonder what Ned will have to say for himself this time." "Must have struck pretty good weather." "Bet you John has been looking for another chance at that Hun of his." The talk drifted away into other channels. A little time passed. Then suddenly a door opened, and one after the other entered the three officers of the first home coming submarine. They were clad in various ancient uniforms which might have been worn by an apprentice lad in a garage, old grey flannel shirts, and stout grease stained shoes; several days had passed since their faces had felt a razor, and all were a little pale from their cruise. But the liveliest of keen eyes burned in each resolute young face, eyes smiling and glad. A friendly hullaballoo broke forth. Chairs scraped, one fell with a crash.

"Hello, boys!"

"Hi, John!"

"For the love of Pete, Joe, shave off those whiskers of yours; they make you look like Trotsky."

"See any Germans?"

"What's the news?"

"What's doing?"

"Hi, Manuelo" (this to a Philipino mess boy who stood looking on with impassive curiosity), "save three more breakfasts."

"Anything go for you?"

"Well, if here isn't our old Bump!"

The crowd gathered round Captain John who had established contact (this is military term quite out of place in a work on the Navy) with the eagerly sought, horribly elusive German.

"Go on, John, give us an earful. What time did you say it was?"

"About 5 A.M.," answered the captain. He stood leaning against a door and the fine head, the pallor, the touch of fatigue, all made a very striking and appealing picture. "Say about eight minutes after five. I'd just come up to take a look-see, and saw him just about two miles away on the surface, and moving right along. So I went under to get into a good position, came up again and let him have one. Well, the bird saw it just as it was almost on him, swung her round, and dived like a ton of lead."

The audience listened in silent sympathy. One could see the disappointment on the captain's face.

"Where was he?"

"About so and so."

"That's the jinx that got after the convoy sure as you live."

The speaker had had his own adventures with the Germans. A month or so he shoved his periscope and spotted a Fritz on the surface in full noonday. The watchful Fritz, however, had been lucky enough to see the enemy almost at once and had dived. The American followed suit. The eyeless submarine manoeuvred about some eighty feet under, the German evidently "making his get-a-way," the American hoping to be lucky enough to pick up Fritz's trail, and get a shot at him when the enemy rose again, to the top. And while the two blind ships manoeuvred there in the dark of the abyss, the keel of the fleeing German had actually, by a curious chance, scraped along the top of the American vessel and carried away the wireless aerials!

All were silent for a few seconds, thinking over the affair. It was not difficult to read the thought in every mind, the thought of _getting at the enemy_. The idea of our Navy is "Get after 'em, Keep after 'em, Stay after 'em, Don't give 'em an instant of security or rest." And none have this fighting spirit deeper in their hearts than our gallant men of the submarine patrol.

"That's all," said Captain John. "I'm going to have a wash up." He lifted a grease stained hand to his cheek, and rubbed his unshaven beard, and grinned.

"Any letters?"

"Whole bag of stuff. Smithie put it on your desk."

Captain John wandered off. Presently, the door opened again, and three more veterans of the patrol cruised in, also in ancient uniforms. There were more cheers; more friendly cries. It was unanimously decided that the "Trotsky" of the first lot had better take a back seat, since the second in command of the newcomers was "a perfect ringer for Rasputin."

"See anything?"

"Nothing much. There's a bit of wreckage just off shore. Saw a British patrol boat early Tuesday morning. I was on the surface, lying between her and the sunrise; she was hidden by a low lying swirl of fog; she saw us first. When we saw her, I made signals, and over she came. Guess what the old bird wanted ... _wanted to know if I'd seen a torpedo he'd fired at me_! An old scout with white whiskers, one of those retired captains, I suppose, who has gone back on the job. He admitted that he had received the Admiralty notes about us, but thought we acted suspicious.... Did you ever hear of such nerve!"

When the war was young, I had a year of it on land. Now, I have seen the war at sea. To my mind, if there was one service of this war which more than any other required those qualities of endurance, skill and courage whose blend the fighting men so wisely call "_guts_," it surely was our submarine patrol. So here's to the L boats, their officers and crews, and to the _Bushnell_ and her brood of Bantry Bay!