Destroyer Patrol Duty on Christmas Day.

Otago Witness, Issue 3327, 19 December 1917, Page 65

Destroyer Patrol Duty on Christmas Day.

By Capt. E, R. G. R. Evans, C. 8., j D. 5.0., R.N.

For the Nameless it was the third Christmas Day of the war, and the Nameless, as usual, was on patrol. The fact that the festive day had commenced was announced to the sub-lieutenant as he came on watch by two figures in dripping oilskins—the captain and the torpedo gunner to wit. The sub. grinningly thanked the skipper for his Christmas wishes, and the gunner retired to the wardroom after turning over the watch to the aforesaid cheerful soul. The sub. couldn't help smiling—he was young, healthy, and happy; everyone liked him, and apparently he liked everyone, for he had never been known to say an uncharitable thing. . The skipper had faced the world longer than the sub., and he could and did say very uncharitable things, especially when the half-yeai'ly promotions were announced and the admiral's despatches were published. Perhaps he had reason to be bitter, for he was a very capalle fellow, and had several times been passed over. Few naval officers could show a better record of sea service in the War, and the skipper's record of crime was not great—far from it.

-There are such things as ' 'bumps'' in destroyers. Some bump trawlers, some bump breakwaters, some bump shoal patches and damage their propellers, while some destroyers bump enemy submarines and hostile destroyers on purpose. Most of these bumps are recorded against the skippers; but some are' in their favour.

The captain of the Nameless "had never bumped an enemy vessel, nor had he bumped a friend; but there was one thing he had bumped, and that thing was spherical almost, with horns —it was a German mine. Certain duty had led our skipper with his previous command, that beautiful Grey Lady, close to the eneir \ coasts. Thanks to previous careful study of her structural qiialities, a good knor ledge .of the pumping facilities, and a splendid preparation to meet such a contingency, this selfsame skipper had brought his graceful destroyer back safely to her base after striking the mine. But when she was under repair our young commanding officer was appointed to the Nameless in another flotilla, under a new; admiral and a new captain (D). A captain (D) is a Tather senior officer who controls many dest.-oyere in a flotilla, and he is an awe-inspiring person altogether for the youngsters who work these swift little vessels that pester the submarine.

Our skipper in the Nameless held that recently-created and high-sounding rank of lieutenant-commander, and he aspired by virtue of his seniority and good sea service to become a commander; but things had gone against him. The new admiral knew not our skipper; t*iat Great Mogul of golden cuffs and coloured medal ribbons knew only of the Nameless.

The captain (D), with cunning leer, mistrusted all destroyer skippers, for he had lived a long time. He vastly mistrusted, therefore, the skipper of the Nameless. It seemed so strange that he should have sent him a lieutenant-com-mander from one of the great fighting flotillas unless that individual had done something wrong—or nothing right.

The Nameless was not attached to a fighting flotilla; she -was meiely one of a hard-worked sea-keeping lot of boats that patrolled far away from the North Sea, hunting submarines and escorting whatever they were told to.

Our skippper had in reality been sent here for a rest by a well-meaning official who had never seen destroyers in a gale, and so he found himself on a third Christmas Day in the war wallowing, rolling, and pitching in a south-westerly gale far out of sight of land.

Certain instructions had been received by wireless, and .were being dreaded. The yeoman of signals brought them up on

a little leaflet and handed their to the skipper. How hateful! This meant eight hours' steaming into the teeth of the gale; then a meeting with another destroyer, then an escort trip which could not be enjoyable in this weather. The skipper looked at the chart, laid off a course, making allowances for wind, tide, and deviation, then the Nameless was turned nose into the wind. The skipper and the sub. crouched behind the bridge-screens, and "thud" went the bows into an oncoming sea. The destroyer shivered from stem to stern; she more than shivered—she shook. It was wonderful that such a lightlyconstructed vessel could go through such a sea; yet the Nameless could and did. What's more, she came through the heavy weather scathless.

The drenching sprays at first were not too cold; but as time went on the officers, look-outs, gun's crews, and signalmen became stiff with discomfort, saturation, and the salt water stickiness that never quito dries out of the sailors' clothing in small ships. Their fingers were numb, and, although the monotonous babble of the sheltering gun's crew had dared into actual song early in the middle watch, the gaiety had died away as all the Avorld grew wetter for those poor, long-suffering souls. Even their mates in the stokehold gave them a thought of pity; but their own lot was none too good, shut down below in the frowst and stench of the hot oil fumes.

"Christmas Hay!" sniffed one of the stokers, as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand and held grimly to the iron ladder with the other. ' Better down 'ere than up top." ventured another. Nobody troubled to contradict or even to agree; they'd all to stick it out and see it through, as they had many a gale before. Ungrumbling, uncomplaining for the most part, with nothing cheerful in the ship except, possibly, the fires that glowed in the furnaces. Little slants of satisfaction were occasionally afforded to the seamen when they got their night-watch cocoa, followed by a "woodbine" which one of the gun's crew passed round in a half-squashed packet from his sou'-wester. The inside of his oilskin hat is probably the driest part about him, for his sea-boots are halffull of water by now, and his socks squelch like nothing on earth. To go back to the bridge, the engineerlieutenant has made his way up.. He has a patent oilskin—better than anyone else's; but a sea has caught him as he climbs up the steep bridge ladder, and ha is like a little drowned rat. However, he Is a big-hearted rat, and from under the oilskin coat he produces a large thermos flask full of hot cocoa.

It is better than ever, for it has a strange, delicate taste. The "chief" has sized up the effects of the skipper's, wet night up topsides, and against all his principles he has flavoured the cocoa with rum. You see, it is getting near promo-tion-time; the engineer knows this, and knows that long, cold, wet watches make the skipper resentful against his contemporaries in cosier jobs at the Admiralty under the eyes of the powers that be. So up he comes—God bless him—with his cocoa. We'll forgive him for the rumflavouring. But what on earth is this?' Something else comes out from the patent oilskin after the enamel mugs have been filled and handed .round. A metal sandwich-box and a whiff oi roasted cheese. Yes, the chief has made welsh-rarebit somehow over the Primus stove. How nice it smells, but how good it tastes, and in less time than it takes to e&t, all blights are forgotten, and the sub. chips in,'" Pity the poor millionaires and mouldy old captain (D) —they couldn't enjoy 'food like Ave do."

It is four a.m. now; the watches change again; the first lieutenant comes up to take over "the morning." He is, in truth, surprised at the coraial greeting to him; but he readily drops in for a share of the engineer-lieutenant's feast. "Christmas, aha!" he burbles, as he munches the now lukewarm but still delicious welsh-rarebit. " Oh, I forgot to hang up my stocking!" Everyone laughs, including the grizzled coxswain steering instead of the duty quarter-master. This latter has fallen down a slippery ladder, and is now hors de combat on the mess-deck. And so it goes on. " Biff, sss-sss-sh, wallop," as wave after wave, struck by the razor-like bow, throws up its sheet of icy spray that flops down over deck and bridge. The skipper was no fool; don't imagine that the welsh-rarebit was spoilt. Not at all. He had rung down to the engineroom to go dead slow while the luxurious tit-bit was properly dealt with, and the cocoa was not allowed to be salted and spoilt by the sea. How wrong of him! Then on again till the grey dawn sulkily spreads over the face of the troubled waters. The officer of the watch reports a ship on the starboard bow. He and the skipper scan her carefully through their prismatic binoculars after wiping the lenses dry. They are satisfied, and alter course.

Another destroyer is close to the steamer, and as they mutually close the vessel hoists a string of flags which confirm her name. The Nameless' now turns round, and, oh ! the difference this makes. What a relief ! No more plunging to speak of, no more flooded decks. The forecastle is quite dry, and even the rain has stopped. The wardroom hatch is opened at last, and the ventilators and stove-pipe are shipped. The two stewards mop up the wet from the floor, and soon a bright fire crackles and sparkles in the mess. The rolling is not too bad, and quite a good bi'eakfast i_s provided. As the forenoon advances the weather improves slightly, and a greasy, shining diso proclaims the sun, such as it is, to liven up the day. The officers not on duty collect by the shelter built for the after-gun's crew, smoke their pipes, and discuss the Christmas programme while the breakfast things

are cleared aAvay and the wardroom is being cleaned up. Then down the little hatch they go, and produce packets, boxes, and- parcels.

Some attempts are made at decoration, and prospects are very bright, for, thanks to Gertie Young, the ship's " marraine," a host of good things is forthcoming. Gertie Young has adopted the Nameless as godmother. She has a fine idea of what is most required and most welcome to the officers and ship's company. So we find sweets, cigarettes, pipes, tobacco, and cigars amongst her generous gifts. Crystallised fruits and crackers, several good cakes that would scandalise the Food Controller—how did she get them?

For each officer and man a special present, which includes a pair of splendid sea-boot stockings, gloves, and a "Gertie Young hat." This latter is a fine affair—-fur-lined leather with ear protectors, but suitable rather for the Christmas weather of story books—cold, crisp, and frosty. Unfortunately, the Nameless does not often meet with this sort of winter meteorological condition, but she does occasionally have to patrol in biting north-easterly winds when there is not a high sea running, and for these days the "Gertie Young hats" are full of snug promise. After a "little consultation between the skipper and first lieutenant it is decided that the former will remain on the bridge at dinner-time so that all the remaining officers can dine together. This is certainly a suitable arrangement, for destroyer captains do not care to be far from their bridges at sea when instant action is the order of the day, especially with submarines lurking and watching for opportunities to sink the slow-moving merchant vessel which is her easy prey. The Christmas dinner has been eaten, and the cook has excelled himself. Every mess has had Its share of good things. In most cases roast beef has stood on the table instead of turkey and the like, but plum puddings and mince pies have played quite a prominent part, thanks to Gertie Young. The men feel intense satisfaction at weathering the Food Controller, and much fun has been poked at him. Those who have been on duty' have their dinners dished up by the repleted ones, and an atmosphere of smoke pervades the messdeck. Contrary to usual custom, smoking has been allowed here to-day, and everyone is happy, despite the limited accommodation and the odour of sea-boots, old serge suits, cooked food, and tobacco. This same contentment prevails in the wardroom, where several healths have been drunk, commencing with the loyal toast to the King, and warmly concluding with the name of Gertie the benefactress. But suddenly the humming, easy whir of the turbine-driven propeller-shafts changes to a more agitated tone, and the wardroom is disturbed by the pronounced vibration of a greatly-increased speed. Caps are seized all round as tne alarm bells ring, but, before anyone can reach the deck, the coffee cups and port glasses are thrown off the table by the concussion of a terrific explosion. As the officers rush on deck to th,eir action stations the ship lurches' to starboard, and speed is reduced. Nobody quite realises what has happened —except those on the bridge. The skipper is making his way aft. The Nameless has completed her escort duty successfully —more than successfully. The destroyer and her escorted steamer are at anchor is a sheltered haven, scuttles are being opened up to freshen the atmosphere which has been so close, down below, while at sea. The little engineer lieutenant comes up from the engine room and gleefully congratulates the skipper, and the two men go down together to the captain's cabin. Outside here an armed seaman, with grim features and square jaw, is pacing up and down. The two officers enter the cabin, and the smiles die away from their faces. The surgeon-probationer is bending over the captain's bunfl; a huddled figure is writhing uneasily there. The poor wretch moans., and deliriously babbles something which sounds like "Katerina." Yes, she is probably his sweetheart, perhaps his wife. Again and again the delirious man's lips frame the girl's name. The hard-faced seaman outside has no sympathy. He mutters: "Lusitania, yer blighter!" and he thinks of the lifeless form, with long wet hair and staring eyes, that he saw landed at Queenstown —his only sister was murdered by a submarine captain's order. But the officers in the cabin know not the same sorrow, they only see a badlywounded German officer. His life is fast ebbing away, just as those lives he himself has taken have ebbed away, when his now shattered and harmless submarine has torpedoed unarmed passenger ships and other non-combatant vessels wherever and whenever met with, "Poor devil," says the skipper; "is there nothing you can do for him?" "I am afraid not, sir," replies the young surgeon. "He will never regain his senses; there's not the ghost of a hope." The Nameless had sunk an enemy submarine. It meant everything for the ekipEer —his promotion would be assured, and is ship had made good. In the wardroom the sub- was all smiles. An the skipper entered the mess he was greeted cordially by this boy: "You won't forget this Christmas, sir? Aren't you glad you went without your Christmas dinner?" "Slightly, sub. But what about the other two Huns we picked up? Are they recovered from their Christmas swim?" "Oh yes,, sir. They're all right now. They are having Christmas supper with out local nuts on the mess-deck.*'