deck awash, and proceeded with one engine only, at 7 knots. He steadied his course through Flint Channel, passing at least twenty vessels with white lights, and one making searchlight signals in the air. No sooner had these been avoided by changing course than a tramp came along, showing first a green light and then three white ones. She seemed to have anchored; but now two other vessels had to be dodged, and then the ship with the searchlight. Immediately afterwards, when just north-east of the lightship's three vertical red lights, E8 was viewed at last; a small torpedo boat sighted her as she was creeping by within 200 yards.
The hunt was up; the enemy showed red and green flares, and altered course to chase. E8 dived, and struck "very strong bottom" at 19 feet, and immediately afterwards at 14 feet. A succession of bumps brought her to a stop. It was 11.40 p.m. After an anxious quarter of an hour Commander Goodhart decided to rise to the surface. On his starboard quarter was the Drogden lightship, ahead of him a large destroyer or small cruiser—the ship which had been signalling with searchlight. She was only 200 yards away, but the commander trimmed his boat deep, and stole past. This took four minutes, and he then found another destroyer right ahead, and within 100 yards. He could but dive; the boat struck bottom at 16 feet heavily, carrying away all blades of the starboard propeller. The pursuers could be heard overhead.
Life was now a matter of minutes and feet. The boat was still moving; at 12.15 a.m. she was at 18 feet, and bumping badly; at 12.19 the commander stopped her and came silently to the surface. The destroyer was still close on his starboard beam, and in one minute he had dived again as slowly as he dared; mercifully the water deepened as E8 glided away. She seemed to be escaping; but at 2.10 a.m. she struck bottom again, and when she ventured up after an hour, there again was the destroyer on her port beam. Happily this time she got down without being seen, and when she came up again at 7.15 there was nothing in sight.
But the danger was not over yet. E8 was nearly out of breath; her battery was running very low. After diving again to avoid a steamer and afterwards a destroyer, Commander Goodhart decided to find a good depth, and lie at the bottom till darkness gave him a chance of recharging. For eight long hours E8 lay like a stone in 23 fathoms. When she came up three or four vessels were patrolling close by, and the moon was too bright. She tried again, but was again put down by a shadowy destroyer to the southward. At last, ten minutes before midnight, she found a bit of quiet sea where she could take breath.
But only for two hours; daylight comes early in northern waters. At 2 a.m. Commander Goodhart dived again, and lay long in 17 fathoms, spending his time in studying the chart. He was now well out of the Sound, and clear of the Swedish coast. Right ahead was the island of Bornholm, and if that could be passed successfully, the Baltic lay open beyond, a long voyage still, but a less crowded thoroughfare.
At 9 a.m. he came to the surface for three hours. By noon he was not far west of Ronne, and as he wished to make sure of getting past Bornholm unobserved, he decided to remain on the bottom till dark, then slip by and recharge his batteries for a long run north by daylight. By 7 p.m. he was on his way; by sunrise on the 21st he was passing the east coast of the great island of Gotland. At 9.2 p.m. he dived for a light cruiser, which passed over him; at 10 he returned to the surface and ran past the entrance to the Gulf of Riga and the island of Oesel. By 1 a.m. on August 22nd he had to dive for daylight, but at 3 he came up again, and ran ahead at full speed. At 8.30 a.m. on August 23rd he sighted Dagerort ahead, and joined Commander Max Horton in E9, passed with her and a Russian destroyer into the Gulf of Finland, and by 9 p.m. secured E8 in Reval harbour. Within twenty-four hours he had docked and overhauled her, replaced her broken propeller, and reported her ready for sea.
Of the warships sunk by E8 and her consorts, and of their blockade of the German traffic in the Baltic, there is no need to speak. Their feats of war, brilliant as they were, formed only a minor part of the glory of their intricate and perilous voyages in a hostile sea.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE MERCANTILE MARINE AND FISHING FLEETS.
Among the great deeds of the war there is one which, though hardly to be described in detail, ranks in truth among the greatest of all. It is a collective deed: the conduct of the whole British Mercantile Marine and the Fishing Fleet—Services not less worthy than the professional Navy and Army to represent the "decent and dauntless people" of these islands. It had been prophesied before the war that after three ships had been sunk by enemy submarines no merchantman would put to sea. The prophet, though himself a naval man, can have known little of the resourcefulness of his own Service, and still less of the temper of his fellow-countrymen.
During the four years of the war, British commerce was never held up by any unwillingness of our seamen to face gun-fire or torpedo: skippers, engineers, and deck hands who had had three, four, or five ships sunk under them were constantly asking to be employed again before their clothes were dry. Seventeen thousand of them died in the 9,000,000 tons of shipping that we lost; yet not a man among the survivors drew back. On the contrary, it must be recorded that the enemy owed much of his success to the habitual and imperturbable confidence of the British skipper in his own ship and his own judgment. The men of the Mercantile Marine and Fishing Fleets also took their full share in the work of defending our coasts and hunting down their lawless and cruel enemies; and in this work they showed every quality of a great Service. It was in no empty form of words that the King honoured the memory of "that great company of our men, who, though trained only to the peaceful traffic of the sea, yet in the hour of national danger gave themselves, with the ancient skill and endurance of their breed, to face new perils and new cruelties of war, and in a right cause served fearlessly to the end." Of this skill, endurance, and fearlessness, recorded in a thousand terse and unpretentious logs, an example or two may be picked almost at random.
In 1915, when the U-boat war was still a new experience, a sharp little double action was fought by two armed smacks, the Boy Alfred and the I'll Try, against two German submarines. The British boats were commanded by Skipper Walter S. Wharton and Skipper Thomas Crisp, and were out in the North Sea, when they sighted a pair of U-boats coming straight towards them on the surface. The first came within 300 yards of the Boy Alfred and stopped. Then followed an extraordinary piece of work, intelligible only to the German mind. The U-boat signalled with a flag to the Boy Alfred to come nearer, and at the same time opened fire upon her with rifles or a machine-gun, hitting her in many places, though by mere chance not a single casualty resulted.
Skipper Wharton's time had not yet come; he was neither for submission nor for a duel at long range; he risked all for a close fight. He first threw out his small boat, and by this encouraged the U-boat to approach nearer. She submerged and immediately reappeared within a hundred yards. A man then came out of the conning-tower and hailed the Boy Alfred, giving the order to abandon ship, as he intended to torpedo. But Skipper Wharton had now the range he desired—the hundred yards hammer and tongs range so dear to Nelson's gunners—and instead of "Abandon ship" he gave the order "Open fire." His man at the 12-pounder did not fail him; the first round was just short, and the second just over, but having straddled his target, the gunner put his third shot into the submarine's hull, just before the conning-tower, where it burst on contact. The fourth shot was better still: it pierced the conning-tower and burst inside. The U-boat, with her torpedo unfired, sank like a stone, and a significant wide-spreading patch of oil marked her grave.
In the meantime the second enemy had gone to the east of the I'll Try, who was herself east of the Boy Alfred. He was still more cautious than his companion, and remained submerged for some time, cruising around the I'll Try with only a periscope showing. Skipper Crisp, having a motor fitted to his smack, was too handy for the German, and kept altering course so as to bring the periscope ahead of him, whenever it was visible. The enemy disappeared entirely no less than six times, but at last summoned up courage
