The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge, April 1918 Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  M.-L. 4452

  "And the run across to Ostend?" inquired Sub-lieutenant GuyBranscombe of M.-L. 4452.

  "A wash-out," replied his superior officer, Lieutenant FrankFarnborough.

  Branscombe expressed no surprise at the information. During the warthere were innumerable instances of orders being given, of planscarefully laid, and preparations made sometimes for weeks in advance,then, at the last hour, they would be countermanded. In Serviceparlance the abandonment of any particular project is generallyreferred to as a "wash-out".

  M.-L. 4452 was lying in the outer harbour of Ramsgate. It was deadlow water, but sufficient for the M.-L. to lie afloat alongside theeastern arm of the stone pier that towered twenty-five to thirty feetabove the deck of the trim little craft.

  She had had a quick, uneventful run round from the Firth of Forth,and upon reporting at Dover had been ordered to lie in RamsgateHarbour, owing to certain activities in progress at the former base.It was on the cards that M.-L. 4452, in company with five sisterships, was to take part in important operations off the Belgiancoast--operations requiring courage and discretion, and far frombeing devoid of great risk to life and limb.

  For her size the M.-L. was a comfortable packet. True, she rolledheavily in a seaway and was unhandy on her helm when running at slowspeed. Built of wood and equipped with two powerful eight-cylindermotors, she could attain a speed of twenty-six knots.

  For'ard she carried a 3-inch quick-firer. In the wake of thegun-mounting rose the wheel-house, surmounted by a small but powerfulsearchlight. Her single mast supported a complex array of wirelessgear and a cross-yard with necessary signalling halyards. On theslightly raised deck-house was a dinghy in chocks, the davits beingswung inboard. The boat was made of thin sheet iron, with water-tightcompartments fore and aft and was sufficiently light to enable twohands to haul her up and down a beach. Judging by the dents andbulges in the dinghy's sides she had already been called upon to douseful work.

  Right aft fluttered the White Ensign, an emblem under which few ifany, of the motor-boat officers ever dreamt of sailing prior to theeventful August, 1914.

  On either side and slightly in advance of the ensign staff, M.-L.4452, like a hornet, carried her sting in her tail; for here were twopowerful depth charges, capable of shattering the plating of a U-boatwithin a radius of fifty or sixty yards from the source of theexplosion.

  Below, the M.-L. was provided with ample accommodation--far more thanthe casual outside observer would give her credit for.

  The crew, consisting of seven hands, were berthed for'ard. Then camethe store rooms and wireless and hydrophone rooms. Abaft were thegalleys, the ward-room one opening into the officers' livingquarters.

  The ward-room was a picture of cosiness. The M.-L.'s skipper had seento that, for he had been sufficiently long in the Service to know theropes. A few gallons of white enamel, drawn from the dockyard store,had worked wonders on the walls and ceiling of the ward-room, whilethe beams and timbers had been painted a dark brown to represent oak.The result was that the place resembled the interior of anold-fashioned half-timbered house, while, to carry out the scheme,the electric lamps were encased in cardboard, cut in the fashion ofeighteenth-century lanterns.

  Opening out of the ward-room were the two-bunked sleeping quartersfor the officers, also enamelled tastefully and effectively. At thepresent time these were in a somewhat disordered state, oilskins,sea-boots, and pilotcoats dumped promiscuously, bearing a silenttestimony to the fact that M.-L. 4452 had encountered heavy weatherin the Straits of Dover.

  Frank Farnborough, lieutenant and skipper of the M.-L., was a tall,slimly-built man of twenty-five. In civil life he was a consultingengineer, who was just beginning to make a name for himself when warbroke out. His chief pastime was yachting, and in his littleweatherly nine-ton yawl he had visited and was well acquainted withevery port and haven between the Humber and the Lizard, and had anodding acquaintance with the Dutch and Belgian coast and that ofFrance from Dunkirk to Brest.

  On the formation of the Motor Boat Reserve he had joined on as anordinary deckhand, but it was not long before his experience andability gained him a commission.

  His sub, Guy Branscombe, has already been introduced.

  Every man of the crew was an amateur yachtsman. In private life theywere respectively barrister, mining engineer, Manchester merchant,two ex-public schoolboys, a stockbroker, and a bank clerk. Thebarrister, senior in point of age, was ship's cook, he havingvoluntarily taken on the job, and, considering it was doubtfulwhether he ever made even a cup of tea for himself prior to 1914, hedid remarkably well.

  The discipline on board would have turned the hair of a pukka R.N.officer grey; but still there was discipline of sorts. They had beenshipmates since 1916, turning over from another M.-L., that hadperished gloriously in an endeavour to assist a torpedoed liner, when4452 was received from the contractors.

  Altogether they were a jovial, hard-working band of comrades. The menhad as much yachting as they wanted, summer and winter alike, withthe excitement of hunting Fritz or the chance of bumping on adrifting mine thrown in. Yet, far from being fed-up, for theyrealized that life on an M.-L. was infinitely preferable tofoot-slogging in the infantry, their zest was enhanced rather thandimmed.

  Only a few minutes before the skipper's return, Branscombe had beentalking with Able Seaman Brown, R.N.V.R., and stockbroker.

  "As a matter of fact, sir," remarked Brown, "I'm seriously thinkingthat after the war--if the war is ever going to end--I'll buy anM.-L. There'll be hundreds on the market and I guess the Admiraltywill be lucky if they get 300 pounds a piece for them."

  "And what then?" asked the Sub. "You may be a budding millionaire,but no man in ordinary circumstances could afford to run one of thesehookers."

  "That's where you are mistaken, sir, I fancy," replied A. B. Brown."These packets will be purchasable after the war for a matter of a fewhundred pounds. I'd take out the engines and sell them. They'd comein handy for electric light plant for a country house or something ofthat sort. Then I'd get a single 40-60 H.P. Kelvin motor, which usesparaffin instead of petrol, and couple up the twin screws. That's mylittle castle in the air for after the war, sir."

  "Tea ready?" enquired the skipper. "No? Well, there's time to givethe dogs a run ashore."

  He eyed the twenty-five foot vertical ladder somewhat dubiously. Itwas strong enough, but a considerable portion towards the lower endwas slippery with seaweed and slime. Then he whistled to two largesheep-dogs who were coiled up in the stern sheets of the dinghy.

  Peter and Paul were recognized members of M.-L. 4452's complement.They belonged to Frank Farnborough but had been adopted by everyindividual on board. Both animals had been violently seasick on thefirst occasion when they put to sea, but from that time onwards, blowhigh or blow low, they behaved like seasoned sons of the sea.

  "Send 'em up in a bowline," suggested Branscombe.

  "Hardly good enough," objected the Lieutenant. "I'll carry them up,one at a time."

  Placing Peter on his back and holding on to one paw, Farnboroughbegan his somewhat hazardous climb. All went well for the first half,and then a catastrophe occurred. It was owing to a large ginger catthat was prowling along the very edge of the quay. Peter spotted her,and began barking. The feline arched her back and spat defiance. Thisinsult was more than the sheep-dog could stand. He began to strugglefuriously. His master's admonition to "shut up" was ignored. The nextinstant Farnborough's feet slipped on the slimy rung, and, hamperedby the heavy animal, he fell upon the deck.

  It was a drop of about twelve feet, but sufficient to make theLieutenant writhe. His right ankle was badly sprained, while, to makematters worse, he had struck his back against the edge of the raisedcabin-top. Peter, unhurt, but genuinely concerned, began to lick hismaster's hand.

  "Nothing much," declared Farnborough in answer to Branscombe'sinquiry. "Bit of a twist to my ankle, that's all. Lucky thing oldPeter wasn't hurt, the sil
ly old ass!"

  One of the men, taking each dog in turn under his arm, made theascent in safety, and the now docile animals went off to visit agreat friend--the cook at the Naval Base Canteen.

  "I'll have to turn in for half an hour or so," declared Farnborough."My ankle is giving me socks. It'll be all right soon. What? Go tothe medico for a little thing like that? No, thanks; besides, we areunder orders to sail at eight."

  "Not the stunt?" asked Branscombe.

  "No, laddie; I said it was a wash-out," replied the skipper. "It'scoming off all in good time; can take your affidavit on that. . . .By Jove! that was a bit of a twister," he added with a wry smile ashe carefully lowered himself down the steep companion ladder to theward-room. "Quite all right, though. A little embrocation will soonset matters right."

  Having laid himself on his bunk, Farnborough drew an envelope fromthe inside breast-coat pocket of his monkey-jacket.

  "Here you are!" he remarked, giving his sub the contents of theenvelope. "Usual thing. You might see that the dogs are on boardbefore we start. I'll get you to take the old hooker out, old man."

  Guy Branscombe scanned the typewritten orders. They were marked"Confidential", which is a word that in Service matters may mean alot, or nothing. Often orders of the most trivial character are somarked, possibly by a minor official who wishes to magnify theimportance of his particular work. Consequently, there is a tendencyto under-estimate the significance of the word "Confidential". It isanother instance of "Familiarity breeds contempt".

  However, in this case the orders were important. M.-L.'s 4452, 4453,4454, and 4455 were to proceed on patrol between certain positions. Areference to the chart showed that the limits were from a point sixmiles north-west of the mouth of the Scheldt to a point five milesdue north (true) of the Sandettie Bank Lightship. Three largedestroyers from the Dover patrol were to act as covering vessels,while a couple of monitors, each armed with a single 17-inch gun,were to keep Fritz on thorns by lobbing a few shells with uncannyaccuracy upon the fortifications of Zeebrugge.

  The special task of the M.-L.'s was to keep a look-out for a squadronof bombing aeroplanes, which were engaged in liberally plastering theMole and canal locks of Zeebrugge with tons of high explosives.Should a seaplane become disabled and be compelled to alight on thesea, then the handy little craft would speed to the rescue, in spiteof the fact that they were within range of the long-distance Germanguns on the Belgian coast.

  "All plain sailing?" asked Farnborough. "Good! If you'll take herout, and call me at eight bells, I'll be eternally grateful to you.So the old hooker's going to have her baptism of fire."