Read Ebook: A Sub. of the R.N.R.: A Story of the Great War by Westerman Percy F Percy Francis Wigfull W Edward Illustrator

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Ebook has 820 lines and 83752 words, and 17 pages

A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.

FOUL PLAY IN THE ENGINE-ROOM.

"WELL, Mr. McBride?"

"It's verra far from weel, sir," replied Jock McBride, chief engineer of the SS. "Saraband." Captain Ramshaw folded his arms and waited. He knew that it was practically a matter of impossibility to urge the rugged Scottish engineer beyond his usual gait. McBride could and did work at high pressure, but when it came to making a report he was as slow and stolid as the proverbial obstinate mule.

The SS. "Saraband," 5260 tons, intermediate boat of the Red Band Line, had developed engine troubles shortly after leaving Cape Town. In spite of the assiduous care and attention of the staff the fault developed. Two hundred miles from Las Palmas the breakdown reached a climax. Wallowing like a porpoise the steamer lay helpless in the trough of the Atlantic rollers.

"Ye ken ye tauld me to do three things, sir," resumed McBride. "Firstly, to discover the fault, secondly, to remedy it, an' lastly, to prevent it from occurring again? We'll take case the furrst: here 'tis."

The chief engineer extended a black greasy hand. In the outstretched palm was an oily mass of metal chippings.

"This is a sample from the high-pressure slide valves. They're badly scored. It's nae fair play, for as sure as ma name's Jock McBride, this muck has been put in the gear deliberately. I'll hae ye to ken that both port and starboard engines are damaged."

"While we were in Table Bay?"

"Of course, sir, when we took down the high-pressure cylinders."

"The work was performed by our own staff?"

"Aye, wurrst luck, by one of our ain people."

McBride's lean, tanned face was purple with ill-suppressed anger. "If I could discover the mon I'd not wait for the law to wurrk its course; I'd lay him oot an' stand the consequences. The remedy, sir, is simple, but 'tis the prevention that troubles me. If it is done wance, 'twill most likely occur again--unless I lay my hand on the mon."

"How many of the staff know of this?" asked Captain Ramshaw, pointing to the steel filings.

"Only Meester Raeburn, sir, and he's as guid a lad as ever I hope to have under me. It was he who removed the stuff an' showed it me."

"Then caution him to keep his mouth shut on the business, Mr. McBride. When can you promise to have steam raised?"

"A matter of twa' hours after we've re-assembled the high-pressure slide valves and the auxiliary starting valves, sir."

"Very good, Mr. McBride, that will do."

The chief engineer saluted and hurried off to the engine-room, while Captain Ramshaw made his way to the bridge, which was in charge of Chief Officer Lymore and the fourth officer, Terence Aubyn.

Mr. Lymore, a short, broad-shouldered, powerfully built man, looked inquiringly at his superior officer as the skipper mounted the bridge.

"McBride's found the cause of the mischief, Mr. Lymore," announced Captain Ramshaw. "I do not want either you or Mr. Aubyn to mention the matter to any of the passengers and crew, and Mr. McBride has undertaken to conceal the knowledge from his staff with the exception of Mr. Raeburn. I think the secret can be safely trusted with those whose names I've mentioned."

"You can rely upon us, sir," said the chief officer, and Terence Aubyn touched his cap in acquiescence.

"There's underhand work somewhere," continued the "old man." "McBride informs me that metal scrap has been surreptitiously placed in the high-pressure cylinders, and that it must have been done while the engines were being overhauled at Cape Town. As we had no outside help, the culprit or culprits must have been one of our own men."

"For what reason, do you suppose, sir?"

"That I cannot say. The engineers are, I think, absolutely trustworthy. The firemen are apparently contented. They are paid at rates considerably higher than those demanded by their Union. They have no cause to be affected by labour troubles. And yet some one has deliberately attempted to delay the ship by maliciously tampering with the engines.

"Will it be a long job, sir?" asked Lymore.

"I think not. One blessing, the sea's fairly calm and the passengers don't appear to be unduly anxious. There is now no necessity to send a call for assistance. You might go to the wireless-room, Mr. Aubyn, and tell the operator to inform our agents that the repairs are well in hand, and that we hope to arrive at Las Palmas by daybreak to-morrow."

Terence Aubyn saluted and hurried off. Keen on his work he realized the desirability of executing all orders "at the double." Alacrity afloat, he knew, is a sure password for success, and already he had the reputation of being a smart young officer.

He was barely twenty-two years of age, tall, slimly built yet well-proportioned. His complexion was normally fresh, but constant exposure to a tropical sun and the stinging salt spray of the Atlantic had tanned his skin to a rich deep red. His dark brown hair, in spite of being closely cut, showed a decided tendency to wave. His eyes were rather deep set and of a greyish hue, and were surrounded by a pair of regularly curved eyebrows. The depth of his forehead indicated a sound judgment, while his powerful square jaw betokened a firmness almost bordering on obstinacy.

Terence Aubyn had from his earliest days a strong and passionate love of the sea. He came of an old naval family. For generations back the Aubyns had served their sovereign worthily as officers in the Royal Navy, and Terence fondly hoped to tread the quarter deck of a British battleship as a fully commissioned naval officer.

But hitherto the fates had not been kind to the lad.

While he was still a lieutenant Terence's father had to retire, owing to ill-health. His disability pension was absolutely insufficient for him to hope to send his son to Osborne. Two years later Mr. Aubyn died, leaving Terence, then a promising youth of fourteen, to make his own way in the world.

The lad had plenty of grit. He was determined to go to sea, although the immediate prospect of service under the White Ensign seemed to be very remote. There was a way--the hitherto somewhat despised "back door" method via the Red and Blue ensigns; and although he could not hope to be anything more than a Royal Naval Reserve officer, the chance of serving as such in a British man-of-war slowly but surely changed from a shadow to a substance.

So Terence offered himself at the "Red Band" Line offices as an apprentice and was accepted. Perhaps it was a mistake. It might have been better for him to have served part of his apprenticeship in a sailing vessel. Be that as it may his application and activity gained him the good opinion of the various masters under whom he served, and with flying colours he obtained his Mate's and First Mate's certificates.

Two years later, having secured his "Master's Ticket," he was appointed to SS. "Saraband." The way was now clear for him to apply for a sub-lieutenancy in the Royal Naval Reserve, for, although only fourth officer, the ship exceeded 5000 tons; otherwise he would have to wait until he was advanced another grade in mercantile rank. At the end of the present voyage he hoped to put in his first twenty-eight days training on board a battleship or cruiser.

The "Saraband," though by no means a crack liner, was a fairly swift boat. Built before the days of turbine engines she could even now develop nineteen knots. She was homeward bound, carrying thirty first-class passengers, seventy second-class, and a hundred and seventy "steerage." In addition to a heavy cargo, specie and bullion to the value of a quarter of a million was locked up in her strong-room.

Almost as soon as the "Saraband" cleared Table Bay trouble developed in her engines. Unaccountably the bearings of the main shafting became badly overheated, then a peculiar grinding noise, so foreign to the smoothly purring engines that were the pride and delight of Chief Engineer McBride, became apparent. Finally, to prevent a complete breakdown, the "Saraband" was stopped in mid-ocean while McBride and his staff ascertained and rectified the damage.

The old Scotsman was right. Some one had maliciously tampered with the machinery--but for what purpose?

The fourth officer made his way to the wireless-room and knocked at the door. He was answered by Wilcox, the second operator. A glimpse into the room revealed Grant, the senior man, seated at a table with the receivers clipped to his ears.

"Anything special?" asked Aubyn casually, after he had delivered the "old man's" instructions.

"Slightly," drawled Wilcox. He invariably drawled, no matter the importance of whatever he was about to convey. "Message just come through. Germany has declared war on Russia and has invaded French territory."

"Perhaps," rejoined the wireless operator. "For one thing it will give the ship's newspaper a friendly lead. There's been precious little in it for the last three days. I'm just sending out the notices," and he held up a sheaf of duplicated papers for distribution in various parts of the ship. "Would you mind taking them to the bridge."

In five minutes the news had spread all over the "Saraband." The hitherto lethargic passengers developed intense excitement, and great was the speculation as to when the trouble would end.

"A jolly good thing for us," observed one of the first-class passengers, as Terence passed along the promenade deck. "It will spoil Germany's trade for a while, and we can collar the lot while her hands are full."

"Unless we are drawn in," remarked another.

"Rot!" ejaculated the first contemptuously. "The Government would never allow it. Take my word for it: we'll adopt the same attitude as we did in '70--strict neutrality and make as much as we can out of all the belligerents. The idea of war between Great Britain and Germany is preposterous."

The fourth officer passed on. Much as he would have liked to hear the continuation of the argument he was unable to delay returning to his post.

Shortly after Aubyn's arrival on the bridge, a large German liner, the "Hertzolf," bore down upon the "Saraband." She had some time previously picked up the British vessel's wireless reports of her disabled condition, and in spite of Captain Ramshaw's refusal to accept assistance, had steamed out of her course to investigate.

After receiving reiterated assurances that the work of repairing the machinery was well in hand, the "Hertzolf" inquired how long the task would take.

"Tell them we are almost ready to get up steam," ordered the "old man," somewhat nettled. "Thank them for their inquiries, and say that we will not detain them longer."

Five minutes later the "Hertzolfs" propellers began to churn the water. Gathering way she dipped her red, white, and black ensign, a compliment that the "Saraband" promptly returned. This done she shaped a course to the sou'-west and was soon hull-down.

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