 Preface of Blake of the Rattlesnake This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Blake of the Rattlesnake by Frederick Thomas Jane Preface I have not sought or attempted in this story to settle any vexing questions of theories or tactics, such matters are no concern of mine. I have tried instead to work into story forms some of the romance that clings thick around the torpedo service, to set forth some of the poetry latent in torpedo craft. Any other aims I may have had in view are, I trust, sufficiently obvious in the text to need no mention here. It has been my good fortune to have had a good share of experience in torpedo craft during the naval maneuvers of the last few years, and on incidents thus participated in I have based this tale. Maneuvers, of course, are not war, but in the torpedo service at any rate, they are carried out with as much approximation to the actual thing as can be managed. For the rest, I have sought to work out my results from what is held by those who, in the event of war, will have to stake their lives upon their beliefs. I have endeavored, as far as may be, to avoid anything savoring of the improbable, while giving as much allowance as possible to that ever-present element in torpedo work, luck. This ever-a-feature in warfare increases as the years go on, and as scientific devices multiply, however nonexistent they may theoretically be. I am indebted to very many naval friends for suggestions that have materially aided the development of this tale, so many indeed that space will not permit of individual recognition. The trouble they have taken will, I trust, not be thrown away, and I have ventured to hope that this attempt to depict modern warfare from this service point of view will convince the present and the rising generation that scientific advance has not yet eliminated the romance that, let peace-fatus say what they will, clings and ever has clung around war, and that man, the veer, is not yet supplanted by man, the homo. I dimly feel that I owe my readers some sort of apology for not having praded on the need of admiralty reform. It's the fashion to abuse that body, to imply that they are a set of muddle-headed boobies and all the rest of it. In a sense they may be, in that they calmly submit to all this interference from self-appointed critics. Personally I feel that where the energy thus wasted expended in agitation, to give the admiralty powers to act unfettered by the six hundred talking asses at Westminster, in transferring to the navy some of the money frittered away on our, comparatively speaking, useless army, in attempts to nullify the invertebrate knaves of little Englanders, who, whenever imperial questions come up for discussion, do their evil best to prove that modern England can and does produce specimens of humanity that are a disgrace to the name of Britain. Yet thus expended we should be in far less danger of going to leeward. However, the chiefest glory of a democracy, under such as we now live, is the privilege of every fool to teach other men their business. Two thousand years and more ago the Athenian Empire found this sort of thing disastrous. The day may come when we shall learn so too. I would say one final word to those who object to these future war-yarns on the grounds that they are likely to set other nations, at present friendly to us, by the years. Foreign writers are frequently turning out similar stories, describing the utter destruction of the British navy by their own, yet I never heard of any of us bearing them ill-will for it. May our warfare of the future long be confined to the pages of books. As indeed it will be, so long as foreign nations know that we are ready to tackle the lot of them, if need be. CHAPTER 1 TORPEDO DETSEE Well, I'll lay anybody three to one that we don't see any French torpedo-boats between here in Plymouth. No, thanks, Perser. I'm not keen enough on winning that bet to take you on. Added to itch, if we do come across any, there'll be no one left for you to hand the dollars over to. By Joe Gray, you are a croaker and no mistake, laughed the commander. It's easy to see that you've been associating too much with the Vernon Fellows and getting inoculated with the cult of the omnipotent torpedo. Well, anyway, sir, I'd rather be going into action against a big fleet of battleships, and that's no great catch in an old tub like this, is it? None of us would ever come out of it, I guess, except maybe the doctors and the fellows below. However, I'm after a sherry and bitters at present. Who's in for a swindle? Next moment the three of them were deep in the mysteries of poker dice, regardless of war and its inevitable consequences. The future would bring quite enough worry of that sort. There was no need to fill the present with forebodings of evil. I give this bit of conversation because it has run in my head ever since in the way that trivial things like this will run. Whenever my thoughts go back to those stirring days, the first picture in my mind is ever this unimportant little incident. I can still see them bending over the white tablecloth, still hear the loud laugh of the commander, as the paymaster, throwing with a peculiar turn of the hand that he swore by, failed to secure more than a single pair against the full hands of the others. Alas, that it should be but a memory of the dead, a memory of men going calmly to their dooms, knowing as they went that no other fate could be in store for them. For this was the day on which England went to war. The war, as you doubtless remember, broke out quite suddenly and unexpectedly just after the maneuvers in 1890-something. As to say how it came about, that we were embroiled with France and Russia, I can't exactly say. Politics are not in the sailor's line. All I know about it is that when our fleet put into Milford Haven at the end of the maneuvers, instead of our being inspected and sent home to pay off in the usual fashion, we were kept hanging about doing nothing in Dale Harbour, and all leave was stopped. This stoppage of leave troubled us a good deal more than the war scare. Which nobody expected to come to anything. War scares were common in those days, so we stuck on board, cursing and grumbling at our ill luck, till one fateful afternoon came telegrams, saying that war was declared. The spell of peace was ended at last. The long expected thundercloud had burst in all its violence. All our ships were complete with coal, but there were a thousand and one other things to be seen to, letters to be written to those who might never hear from us again, fresh provisions to be got in, things to be made snug for sea, and innumerable little odds and ends. It was a busy day for everybody. I was at this period an acting sub in the Nelson, a rather useless old packet, and the lame duck of our squadron. Having done a verning course, and got a one, I should by rights have been in a torpedo boat, but the Nelson's skipper, an old ship made of mine, had offered me a berth as signal-mady in her, and an jolly, comfortable billet it was, far preferable to roughing things in a torpedo boat, living on sardines in potted meat. The bugle went for dinner, and we all trooped into the wardroom as usual. We had no gunroom mess in the Nelson, she being a mobilized ship. The meal was a hurried one, but that was more because we were to put to sea at one bell, than because we were so soon to face the unknown with its terrible possibilities. Conversation was naturally all about the war and its prospects, and the probability of our being turned over to some more efficient ship when we got to Portsmouth. It's quite on the cards, said the Commander, that the dunderheads at the A will look up this ship and, seeing her down as a first-class armored cruiser, send her off to chase some 20-knot Frenchman. And no one was bold enough to deny his words. The Admiralty could never get it out of their heads in those days that a ship grows old as quickly as a racehorse does. I hope to God this war business gets peaceably settled before we have a fight, said Lieutenant Blake. For there's never a fellow who'll come out of it alive. It's just do your duty and die. Some of the mess were inclined to rally the pessimistic plague on his chicken-heartedness, but our old Number One called across the table to him. All right, my boy, you're down for a V.C. All you chaps who croak in that fashion go and cut a dash later on. Well, I hope I'll do it better than I did in Number 92, replied Blake with a laugh. Number 92 Torpedo Boat, commanded by Blake, had badly damaged herself a few days before, through colliding with another boat off the haven. And while she was lying useless in harbor, Blake had been temporarily sent to us, we being a lieutenant short in the Nelson. There was a good laugh at Blake's joke against himself, and after that we got Marrier. Indeed, by the time we drunk the Queen, we were all as chirpy as the Commander was before dinner. There's nothing like a good meal for pulling a fellow together. There is so much about Blake in this story, that some sort of description of him should be forthcoming. Throw him a bad hand at that kind of thing. Clean-shaved, save for the slight service whiskers he affected, of medium height, rather gaunt. There was little in his outward appearance to distinguish him from other non-bearded officers of his rank. The C-Service sets its indelible mark upon all its votaries, and whatever the original features of the boy, when he grows to manhood, his arduous duties mold his expression into one universal type. Responsibility stamps its seal on the mouth and eyes of every naval officer, making it patent to the world that he is a man of action. For the rest, Blake, like all executive officers, was devoted heart and soul to his profession. Indeed, he went so far that it even became a proverb in the Wardroom. Looking on politicians of both parties as knaves alike, contemptuous of civilian control of the fleet, callous to all amusements, and interested in nothing save in so far as it touched his profession, he was a man marked out to rise and succeed from the first. Blake, said an old admiral of his, is the sort of fellow to attack a feat of battleships with a second-class cruiser, and to manage to come out top. And this, whatever doleful prognostications he might make, was about the tally we all took of him. When I got on deck again it was defined that the catchers and cruisers had already gone out of harbour, and before long we followed suit. I suppose our admiral did not care to risk a torpedo attack in a place like Dale Harbour, where there were no boom defences, and which the maneuvers had shown to be all too open to torpedo attack, so intended to assume the vigorous offensive. Our fleet consisted of the battleships Majestic, Royal Sovereign, Thunderer, Resolution. Our ship Nelson, which was classed as an armored-belted cruiser. The belted cruisers Immortality and Narcissus, first and second-class cruisers Blenheim, Iphigenia, Tribune, Latona, and the third-class cruiser Belona. We had besides some four or five catchers, whose names I cannot now remember, but one of them was the Halcyon, which had only returned that morning from a scouting expedition. She had lain quite near us on her return, and we had speculated much on some holes in her bow that looked uncommonly like shot holes. Her skipper had been a very long time on board the flagship, with her he had been called after having begun a semaphore about the enemy's torpedo boats. I did not hear till later what had actually happened. Indeed I am never quite clear about it. Since the matter was kept as quiet as possible, but as far as I can gather, the Halcyon, scouting off the haven the night before, had almost run into a couple of French torpedo boats, which did not notice her at first, the night being very thick. These boats, which were slowly steaming towards Milford with tubes trained to beam, turned tail and made away at full speed as soon as ever they sighted the Halcyon. But there being a tidy bit of sea on, the catcher was easily able to overhaul them. No two accounts agree as to what happened next, save that the boats went down with all on board. And as the Halcyon was lost herself the very next night, it will never be known exactly how it all came about. But it seems probable that the Halcyon skipper destroyed the boats in order to put it out of their power to do any mischief they might have been intent on doing so soon as war should be declared. I had often heard this sort of action advocated as an absolutely necessary course by torpedo men, who knew pretty well what they were talking about, and there was little doubt that in such a course was wisdom, and it probably saved a good many lives. Nevertheless I doubt not, but that there'd have been a devil of a rumpus had it leaked out at the time. Whatever he heard from the Halcyon, the Admiral kept his own counsel, and we went out to see in single column of line ahead. All lights were, of course, carefully concealed, and we kept station quite six cables apart, the cruisers and catchers scouting ahead and outside of us, our course lying towards the sillies. As you may guess, there was little inclination to turn in on this, the first night of the war, and though I had to keep the morning watch, I went up on the quarter-deck, where our Marine Captain and several other fellows intended going to sleep under the quick-firing guns, so as to be on the spot if any attack took place. All the guns were cast loose and loaded, while boxes of ammunition stood about the decks in readiness for immediate use, should they be required. The torpedo nets were not regularly out, as that would have prevented our steaming at anything like a respectable rate, but they were triced up on the booms, ready to lower at very short notice. All round the bulwarks and in the fighting tops were men on the lookout, and the Captain and Commander were both on the bridge all the night, searching the horizon for hostile vessels. But up to two o'clock nothing had been sighted. The night was a thick one, and the officer of the watch several times lost sight of the Royal Quid, which was our next ahead. Worked as the Nelson was from the after-bridge, it was hard enough to keep station at night even when position lights were used. Now, without even a stern light for guidance, the difficulty was troubled. It must have been about six bells in the middle watch, that a great cloud passed over the vaporish moon, deepening the prevailing gloom. Through the clouds peeped a solitary star, a sickly-looking planet well-nigh overhead, and as I gazed up at it the power of the situation fell upon me. It became the frowning eye of an evil fate, luring and leading to trouble to come. I watched and shivered. A presentiment of disaster stole upon me. For a while I fought against it, but without much success. Feelings of this sort come of their own volition, and man is powerless to drive them away. And so the night wore on. After a bit I went below to try and get a drink of something, where I was smoke-dried as a lime kiln, and also badly needed something to pull me together. As I made my way to the wardroom along the lower deck, half-days by the sudden change from darkness to light, my nerves were all ajarred by a cry on deck, Torpedo Boat, coming up a stern! Bang! went one of the after-quick-firing guns, then came shot after shot in rapid succession, while between the firing came the sound of the Boson's whistles, as the watch was called to man an armship. I was born on deck amid a crowd of half-awake blue-jackets, who had been sleeping under arms in the main deck. It was dark as pitch, but in the flashes of the firing I could just make out our sides, lined with men firing wildly in every direction. Round the hatchways were crowds of blue-jackets and marines, tumbling over the gear and ropes, cursing, swearing and yelling, their loaded rifles going off every now and again in their excitement. Our ship's company was largely made up of boys from the Baskawun and naval reserve men, and most of these were quite overcome with panic. I rushed on to the after-bridge, remaining there some ten minutes while this pandemonium continued, then the officers having by free use of their swords restored some sort of order, the firing was stopped, and an unnatural silence reigned. The skipper concluding that it had been a false alarm, called the men aft and gave them his mind in no very gentle terms. Then, the rest of the fleet having disappeared altogether, he ordered the torpedo nets to be got out, having decided to lie to till daylight. While this job was being seen to, I overheard the purser, who, with most of the non-executive officers, was standing by the charthouse, again offer his bed about torpedo boats. In fact, they were all laughing about the late scene. The searchlights were now burning brightly, dancing over the water, but they revealed nothing save crested billows. Till a chance beam fell on the small vessel to Starbird, apparently coming boughs on towards us, and firing as she came. Every gun on our Starbird side was discharged at her before any orders could be given, and some of the six-pounders must have made good shooting, for we saw her lurch heavily over on one side and begin to settle down. We're at our men cheered lustily and blazed away with renewed energy. It was but a momentary glimpse, for the port-bow guns now began to fire, while a blue light burned from somewhere forward, increased the smoke and blew around us. For one instant we saw a little black hole, belching sparks and flame from a red-hot funnel. The next, a thunderstorm seemed to burst about us. Everyone was thrown violently to the deck. Guns, boats, and torpedo-booms were flung in all directions, while from above a mighty waterspout descending completely wrecked the after-bridge, washing everything into the Starbird scuppers. The ship gave one awful, trembling heave, and then fell back with a tremendous list to port. As I extricated myself from the wreckage, I saw Blake rush to a three- pounder hotchkiss and plump a shot into the torpedo-boat, which had now come up quite close and opened fire on us with her machine-guns. This, so far as I know, was the only shot discharged after the explosion. All order and discipline were at once lost, and a general, Sauve-qui-peur, seemed order of the day. Our mobilized crew had no cohesion, no trust in each other. The reserve men, unused to any discipline, became more dangerous to their fellows than the foe was. Most of the officers had disappeared. The wave of their torpedo explosion had washed them away. And, to add to the confusion, a crowd of stokers, panic-stricken by the horrible scenes in the engine room against which the torpedo had burst, came rushing madly up from below. "'Come along with me, Bovary!' cried Blake, who ran past me at that moment. Quick! There is not a moment to lose if we are to do anything at all!' I started to follow him, forcing my way through the press. But I had not gone very far before something hit me a tremendous whack on the head. And I fell half-dazed against the ruins of the Chart House, to lie there helplessly watching Blake, who seemed to be the only executive officer left trying to get some sort of order. Men were jumping overboard in dozens. Boats were being lowered that must have capsized as soon as they touched the water, so overcrowded, were they? While all the time came the ping-pong of bullets from the torpedo boat tearing through wherever the men were thickest. My servant, plucky, good-hearted fellow that he was, came up to me with a life-belt, and somehow got me into it. Scarcely had he done so when there came another rush, black-heaving water bearing all before it. Then, a far off, as it now seemed, I saw the old Nelson's boughs sliding rapidly under water, a searchlight still burning, shooting its ray up towards the lowering sky above till it met that solitary evil star, which still gazed calmly down upon the strife and turmoil below. The cold water revived me, and I struck out for the scene of the wreck as well as I was able, hoping against hope that either one of our boats might have survived, or that the enemy might pick me up. As it chanced I came across two boats tossing upside down in the violently agitated water, and these were crowded with men clinging to them. I hung on with a rest, glad indeed to have some companions in misfortune, and my gladness was increased when from the other boat I heard the voice of Blake bidding the men be of good cheer. I swam over to this boat and got a place beside him. Before we could say anything, however, we spotted the Torpeur de Utmer steaming slowly towards us. I was about to sing out to them when Blake sternly ordered everyone to be silent. I'm going to capture her, he said. Under any other circumstances I think I should have laughed, but hanging by your eyelids to a capsized whaler is no place for merriment, so I just made ready to obey any orders he might give. When I give the word, board her, said Blake in a whisper, and the order was passed to those clinging to the gig. Soon the torpedo boat was close upon us, and an officer on board called out to us in English to ask whether we surrendered. No! shouted Blake. Follow me, everybody who could swim! And he plunged into the water on what seemed to me the maddest forlorn hope that was ever entered upon. Yet, as it chanced, in its very madness lay our hope of success. For a minute, a fatal minute to them, the Frenchman simply stood still and stared at us. Then, realizing that the attack was in serious earnest, they began to fire at us with rifles, while their captain tried to make the boat steam away. But the Nelson's fire had not entirely missed her, and a shot somewhere near the engines had filled one compartment and reduced her speed to a crawl. Before they could do anything, the majority of us were upon them, clambering over her sides. We did not, of course, do this without loss. Their skipper bowled over several of our men with his revolver. Others were hurled back into the sea. But the space was too limited for the enemy to do much. A good twenty of us were quickly on the deck, and the nine or ten Frenchmen there had a very short shift. In less time than it takes to write, the boat was in our possession, and her crew, prisoners. Blake went to the helm, and having sent some of our fellows down to keep the French stokers hard at it, steered for the spot where the Nelson had gone down. For we had drifted some way from there in the scuffle. And here we were fortunate enough to rescue about a dozen more men who still clung to bits of wreckage. Then we turned towards Milford, the white lighthouse on St. Anne's Head, being just visible in the growing dawn. On the way Blake and I exchanged experiences about the night's fighting, and I asked him how he came to hit on the wild idea that had been our salvation. Well, said he, as soon as I knew the Nelson was done for I ran into a QF gun and put a shot into the torpedo boat's engines. Then I knew she wouldn't be able to get far away. And I had doubts as to how many of our boats would live when the ship went under. Then I picked out as many marines and regular bluejackets as I could lay hands on, and just before the end we got into the water over the port side. Of course we all went down with the ship, but most of us came up again, the rest, you know. It's better than a French prison or Davy Jones' locker. Then we felt amusing over those we should never see again. Brother officers sent to their last account with hardly a moment's warning. Such thoughts will come and make one take umbrage at that hollow mockery, the fortunes of war. Blake even then seemed a man well saved to the country, but as for me, of what account was I, that I alone should be spared of the many so much more needed? Plunged in these sad reflections I paid little heed to what went on around me, and was quite startled to look up and see Blake waving a white flag. Following the direction of his gaze I saw a cruiser coming up fast, while a stern of her was the rest of our fleet, the majestic with a strange cruiser in tow, and the old thunderer with her nose underwater, towed by the resolution. We in the captured torpedo boat were soon in tow also, and in this fashion reached Dale Harbour, and were able to get some tally of the previous night's work. The majestic had captured the French cruiser Isne, and sunk another, with little or no loss to herself, but on the other hand, of our side, the Nelson was sunk, the thunderer disabled, the Iphigenia, Latona, Halcyon, and Gleaner missing. There was only too good reason to fear that the small ship sunk by the Nelson was the Halcyon, and the arrival of the missing Iphigenia, with some of this catcher's sailors whom she had picked up, put this beyond doubt. It was a particularly unpleasant reflection, but it's hard to see how it could have been avoided, since we employed searchlights to look for the enemy, instead of using them merely to keep hostile craft under observation after having been found by the naked eye. Which, I take it, is their proper use. The bends simply blazed at everything they saw caught in the searchlight's beam. We found that Dale Harbour had been full of torpedo boats the night before, and one of them having penetrated up the haven as far as Old Milford had torpedoed the Colp here, presumably taking it for an ironclad in the darkness, some colliers had also been sunk, and Blake's own boat was likewise missing. So altogether it was perhaps just as well that we put to sea when we did. End of chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Blake of the Rattlesnake This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Blake of the Rattlesnake by Frederick T. Jane Chapter 2 Early Victories Hardly had we got the captured Corurs safely up to Pembroke when there came a launch from the flagship with orders for us to take the earliest train possible to Portsmouth. It turned out that officers were terribly short there, and the admiralty, driven by force of circumstances to Rob Peter to pay Paul, had wired to all the home fleets to send as many officers as could be spared to help commission ships they were bringing forward at the naval ports. Blake and I, now being both unattached, were certainly not required at Milford save for the court-marshal on the loss of the Nelson. This, a hastily improvised affair, of course, exonerated us from all blame in the matter and added as a rider some complimentary remarks about the capture of the Corurs. Reaching Portsmouth I found I was appointed to the catcher Rattlesnake, while Blake, to my great joy, was gazetted as her skipper. The Rattlesnake was not ready for sea when we reached her, but things were ship-shape enough for us to begin to settle down. At least, Blake did, for myself, that whack on the head which I got when the Nelson was torpedoed proved one too many for me, now that the excitement was over, and I had to lie up for a day or two at Haslar. This was unfortunate, as I thus missed seeing the first sea-fight between European ironclads, though I heard all about it a few days later from my shipmates. Hearing of a thing and seeing it are very different, however, and then at any rate I chafed much at not having been able to witness the affair. It was pretty dull at Haslar. I wasn't bad enough to be regularly laid up, and in these early days I had the place to myself, say for an old two-and-a-half striper laid up with a broken leg. Wounded by the French, he called it, but I ascertained afterwards that he had tumbled down a hatchway while buzzing round over, culling his ship. This old boy, I forget his real name, but they always called him blow-hard in the service, was a pessimist of the deepest dye, and forever pointing out to me what an evil omen for England was, the seeking of the Nelson. He inquired eagerly of me as to how the men had behaved. I thought as much. He grunted, when I told him of the panic, there's not a single blue-jacket or a marine worth his salt nowadays. The British navy will be bussed up all together in a fortnight. But, I argued, we had hardly any servicemen on board. You can't expect boys on their first sea-trip or naval reserve sailors who don't pay much heed to even their own officers to behave like properly trained blue-jackets. All the same, all the same. He replied, I tell you the service has gone to the devil. Nor would he listen to anything further than I would have urged. I'd heard of blow-hard before that day, however, and so could reckon his criticisms at pretty much their real value, and I don't think I was very much depressed by his evil prognostications. Another time when I was telling him how Blake had captured the French torpedo boat, he suddenly turned on me and asked whether we expected to get our promotion over that job. I said that Blake, at any rate, had earned it. Don't you wish you may get it? He replied, Here's Blake gets his own torpedo boat bunged up, goes off with you Nelson fellows and gets bunged up again, and then he has the luck to capture, by accident, a disabled torpedo boat. You see if the Admiralty don't tell him that they'll cry quits on the business. Which was about what they did do. Still old blow-hard, when he hadn't got his pessimistic fits on, wasn't interesting companion enough if he chose to condescend to talk to me. He was great on statistics of all kinds, and some of them I am quoting below. When war broke out the distribution of naval strength between the belligerents may be roughly tabulated as follows. First-class battleships, England with 20, France 12, Russia 6 for Combined 18. Second-class battleships, England 14, France 11, Russia 5 for Combined 16. Third-class battleships, England 10, France 6, Russia 0, Combined 6. Coast-defense battleships, England 12, France 16 and Russia 15 for Total of 31. Total battleships, England 56, France 45, Russia 26, Combined Total 71. Armored cruisers, England 18, France 8, Russia 8, Total 16. Protected cruisers, first-class. England has 11, France is 3, Russia 1 for Total of 4. Protected cruisers, second and third class, England 53, France 18, Russia 3, Total 21. Total cruisers, England 82, France 29, Russia 12 for Total of 41. Lookout ships, etc., England 19, France 12, Russia 1 for Total of 13. Torpedo cruisers, England 32, France 13, Russia 8 for Total of 21. Torpedo boat destroyers, Seagoing and first-class torpedo boats, England 102, France 185, Russia 58 for Total of 243. Second-class torpedo boats, England 104, France 44, and Russia 108 for Total of 152. Said old Blowhardt is mostly tabulated from Brassy. Of course it's entirely a paper scheme. We've more ships than they have away on foreign stations for one thing. For another, our coast-defense ships aren't hinted at all. I'd tell you what it is. He went on getting, for him, quite enthusiastic. I ought to have been secretary to the Admiralty or something of that sort, for with these figures I'd prove that we outnumber the French and Russian two-to-one, or the other way about, according to the needs of the government. It's wonderful what a lot of juggling you can do over coast defenders, second-class battleships, ships building and ships projected. As a matter of fact, England has about thirty-two available battleships to pit against some seventy the enemy can bring against her. Because they can use their old ships and coast-defense ships, while we, being the attackers, cannot depend on any save our best sea-going vessels. I was disputing this unpleasant fact as well as I could when Blake came in having run over to see how I was getting on. Draw it mild, he said, having overheard Blowhardt's last words. I make it just the other way about. As far as ships and men are concerned, we've quite enough of the former, and the latter, though far too few, are as good as one can wish for. In the matter of battleships, we've got twenty-eight good ships to put up against their twenty-nine. And in cruisers, we've a majority of three-to-one in the better ships. None of the old ships will count. England's right enough if she only holds together and government and parliament don't meddle with the Admiralty. Yes, England will come out of it all right, though it's very doubtful if any of us will live to see peace declared, and from then, till the end of the world, the land-lubber critics will fill the newspapers and reviews with articles on how we ought to have done things. Blowhardt listened to him in silence, but if convinced he didn't look it, or maybe, with Blake's final remarks in his mind's eye, he thought it little odds one way or the other. Well, remarked another lieutenant who had just come in for a yarn, it's a precious good thing that the war has broken out when it has. Having so many ships in commission, we've been able to strike blows at once, and without any of the fatal delay the croakers like our friend here used to prophesy. By a jove, exclaimed Blake, interrupting Blowhardt's indignant refutation, I'm a pretty hand at newsgiving. Here I've just run over to you, fellas, with the first news of the glorious victory of Cherbourg, and I clean forgot to tell it you. What victory? What? We cried together. I've thought as much this is the last place in the world to hear of anything. Well, I've taken part in an ironclad fight. That is, I've looked on from outside and felt beastly seasick. Hurry up and tell us all about the fight, and keep these scandalous confessions of a torpedo man's sea-worthiness for the newspapers," said Blowhardt. Blake laughed good humoredly and proceeded to tell us what we already knew, namely that Admiral Barham had put to sea from Portland with the eight ironclads that had formed the sea manoeuvre fleet, and then went on to inform us how somewhere off Cherbourg was fought in the heavy gale the first serious battle between European ironclads. The French, it appears, had seven ironclads and a couple of cruisers, and when sighted were apparently making for Cherbourg, to effect a junction with a fleet there. It transpired after the action that they had come out from Brest, though how they managed to evade our channel fleet, which was presumably watching that port, I cannot tell, it is one of those puzzling incidents of war that occur when least expected and upset all calculations accordingly. The rattlesnake and catchers took no part in the fight, beyond scouting round the outskirts of it on the lookout for any torpedo boats that might venture out even in such weather, and none of the cruisers seemed to have been engaged. Our eight ironclads, five of them turret ships of somewhat ancient date, met the Frenchman in the gray of the early morning, and the latter, out to get to Cherbourg and not for fighting, seemed to have had little stomach for it from the first. The affair began at long bowls at a good six thousand yards range, and for an hour or so the ships fired at each other without doing any damage worth mentioning, aim being well nigh impossible owing to the heavy seas running. Then finding that the enemy were nearing Cherbourg, and dreading that the arrival of more French ships might spoil his plans, the British admiral altered course eight points and steamed close quarters in column of line abreast. The Alexandra and Rupert, the only two completely belted ships in the squadron, which he had selected as leaders for this very reason, forging slightly ahead before the moment of impact. There being no help for it, our ships being the swifter, the French altered course likewise, and after a short pause, in which the two fleets faced one another in silence, they went for each other at full speed. Both sides being intent on ramming, machine and quick-firing guns were little used in the forward rush, at least not on our side, and the whole affair was over almost before the combatants realized that it had begun. At the last moment before the fleets closed, the prestige of Trafalgar and a thousand other fights did its work, and one or two of the enemy began to waver. Notably a large vessel at the port end of their line, which seemed to have been the Marceau. She let fly at Alexandra with her forward thirty-four centimeter gun, but that ship, being almost bow on, offered a small and uncertain target, and the projectile, passing her, struck the hero's turret, where it burst without penetrating, though one of the twelve-inch guns was damaged by it at the muzzle, and could not afterwards be fired. Before the Marceau could do anything more, the British flagship had come into her with a terrific crash that broke off the mass in both vessels, and upset some of the guns in Alexandra's battery. The latter soon cleared the wreck, and with such of her big guns as would work, immediately pounded into the Frenchman, who gallantly replying, healed over in sync with colors flying. The hero and other ships following passed through the French, letting drive into them with all their guns that were behind armor. By the admiral's order, no machine guns other than those in the fighting tops, and no big guns unprotected by armor, were used. At the other end of our line, the Rupert, which had been specially designed for ramming, plunged into the faux-manant and sank her, and neither the Rupert nor the Alexandra seemed to have sustained any structural injury worth mentioning from the shock. It was far otherwise with the Colossus, which, in attempting to ram their fuirure, carried away everything like match-board as far as the Foremast, where her belt began, with the result that she capsized the moment she cleared the enemy's ship. The fuirure remained afloat, but was shortly afterwards captured, being waterlogged and unable to steam away. The other attempts to ram were ineffectual. The barfleur, which had tried to ram the fuirure before the Colossus and Mr. had her rudder carried away by the ram of the Tonant, although she was not otherwise hurt by it. As the Frenchman passed under her stern, the barfleurs after barbet guns were fired down into her, but they could not be depressed enough to do any vital hurt. A forty-pounder shell, however, penetrated to the Tonant's interned room and, disabling their motive power, brought about her capture, but not before she had considerably damaged the British ironclad amidships. The Galatia, which had she followed the Admiral's orders implicitly, would have been unable to fight a single gun attempted to engage the Turren, with the result that her unprotected battery was put out of action in five minutes, and but for the return of the Alexandra to her assistance she must have been captured or destroyed. The French ships which it got through had now nothing between them and Cherbourg, but instead of running for it, they turned round and gallantly continued the fight. Once, or possibly twice, the fleets charged again, but the field of action was now much wider, and ironclads passed each other in vain attempts to ram. The sea, rising every minute, made aim more and more difficult, only chance shots told, but of these a large proportion hit the ships under the waterline as they rolled. Every vessel sustained serious damage in this way, and soon the ironclads, busily pumping out the tons of water that flooded many compartments, left each other alone. Neither side was completely vanquished, but neither was capable of inflicting much more damage on the other. The scouts now signaled French ships coming up on the horizon, so the Admiral deemed it wiser to withdraw with his battered ships and prizes instead of pursuing the enemy so near to large reinforcements. With the Galatia, Führer, and Tonant in tow, he proceeded back to Portland, the first sea fight of the war having resulted in a great British victory. Of the French ships only three escaped, while the British lost but one battleship, though both the Galatia and Barfleur were too damaged to be of much service for some time to come. This last-named ship had suffered severely amid ships where a couple of big shells from the Tonant had worked indescribable havoc, setting her on fire and destroying all the upper works. Had the men been at the guns instead of under cover, the loss of life would have been terrible, as it was the number of men or de combat in the British squadron was far less than might have been expected. Insignificant, indeed, compared to what had been so frequently predicted. The Alexandra, though she had borne the brunt of the action, had lost but eleven men killed and wounded, while the Rupert's casualties were even less. The Galatia, on the other hand, had fifty men killed outright and almost a hundred wounded. In the captured French ships, this loss was even exceeded, as they had tried to fight their machine guns, and the crews being thus exposed had been destroyed wholesale by splinters and bits of shell. In very few cases was the armor of any ship penetrated. Well, said Blowhard, after we had listened to Blake's account, told in far more graphic language than I can put it in. Well, that just goes to prove what I said, or meant to have said a few minutes ago. The Bar Fluent Galatia, our most modern ships, get bunged up. The only modern French ironclad, the Marceau, gets sunk. What price our modern navy! "'Tisn't a case likely to occur again,' Blake replied, and it's more coincidence than any else. If the fight proves anything, it shows the value of armor, the value of superior numbers, and possibly the value of complete belts. Sandwiched into a fleet of Noah's arcs, the modern battleship has no chance to use her special qualifications, and we can't judge her by this fight. However, whatever the ironclads may do to each other, you'll find that the torpedo boat will be the ultimate factor." After a good deal more of this discussion, Blake took his leave, and Blowhard and I settled down to read the papers which had just arrived, laughing much at their highfalutin descriptions of a modern Trafalgar, as some of them were still advised enough to call the Cherbourg Affair. There was much joy in England that night, and the news of the great victory of Cherbourg was rung far and wide throughout the empire. It was felt on all hands that Britannia still ruled the waves. The nation was delighted, testifying to its joy by shouting the choruses of patriotic songs in the music halls. Ninety-four civilians volunteered for service with the fleets, and some seventy battleships and cruisers were laid down in public and private yards, though, of course, the war was over long before any of them could be used. I give here a list of the combatants from an old newspaper that I have by me, as far as I can recollect, it's tolerably accurate. On the British side, the Alexandra, launched in 1876, 9,490 tons displacement, 12 inch armor, its heaviest gun is 22 tons, 18 guns, had 11 casualties. The Agamemnon, launched in 1882, 8,660 tons, 18 inch armor, has the 38 ton muzzle loader as its largest gun, 6 guns, 9 casualties. The Rupert, launched in 1873, 5,440 tons, 14 inch armor, 22 ton guns, 4 guns, 8 casualties. The Barfleur, launched in 1892, 10,500 tons, 12 inch armor, 29 ton gun, 14 guns, had 31 casualties, was disabled and set on fire. The Colossus, launched in 1885, 9,420 tons, 18 inch armor, 45 ton gun, 9 guns, 190 men drowned when she was sunk. The Edinburgh, launched in 1885, 9,420 tons, 18 inch armor, 45 ton guns, 9 guns, 2 casualties. The Hero, launched in 1886, 6,200 tons, 12 inch armor, 45 ton guns, 6 guns, 4 casualties. The Galatia, launched in 1888, 5,600 tons, 12 inch armor, 22 ton gun, 12 guns, had 147 casualties and was disabled totally. On the French side, the Faurier, launched in 1883, 5,700 tons, 20 inch armor, 48 ton guns, 2 guns, with 183 casualties and was captured. The Marceau, launched in 1887, 10,581 tons, 18 inch armor, 52 ton guns, 21 guns, indeterminate number of casualties, she was sunk. The Tonal, launched in 1880, 4,707 tons, 18 inch armor, 48 ton guns, casualties 149, and she was captured. The Turin, launched 1879, 6,400 tons, 10 inch armor, 16 ton guns, 12 guns, unknown number of casualties, disabled. The Toner, launched 1875, 5,700 tons, 13 inch armor, 28 ton guns, 2 guns, unknown casualties, the Requin, launched 1885, 7,200 tons, 19.5 inch armor, 75 ton guns, 2 guns, unknown casualties. The Fominon, launched 1877, 151 tons, 13 inch armor, 23 ton guns, 6 guns, unknown casualties, and she was sunk. The English ships had a superiority of quick-firing guns, but as before stated, these were little if at all used. Neither side seems to have fired torpedoes. The risk of hitting friends was considered too great. After this fight, reorganized somewhat, augmented and altered, the port and fleet watched Cherbourg, where the French battleships remained in safety and refused to come out. While at the Noir, a fleet was got together for the Baltic, consisting at first of the battleships Royal Oak, Renown, Repulse, Edinburgh, Temerre, and Hero, 10 cruisers and some torpedo boats. By and by it was joined by the Old Ironclads, Northampton, and at the time war broke out, this ship was in commission as a seagoing training ship. All her crew were drafted to other vessels within a week, and when recommissioned later, she was filled with recruits. My brother had the bad luck to be appointed to that ship for her new commission. Also, Monarch, Iron Duke, Swiftshire, and Triumph. But some little time elapsed before these were got to sea, for both men and material were sadly deficient. I don't know where they got the crews from at all. Numbers of their people were fishermen or landsmen out of work, who made but indifferent sailors. For though they learned the work more quickly than was expected of them, they lacked the cohesion and mutual self-confidence, which only long serviced together in fair weather and foul, can bring about in a ship's company. We recognize this now, and even our R&R men have their own special ship and ship's company, but it was very different in those days. However, the fleet in the Baltic fought no action just then, for the Russians kept quiet in Kronstadt. The menace of our torpedo boats has said to have kept them inactive, since the Russians at that time looked upon these little craft with considerable dread. This information I write from recollection of articles in the Times. Personally, I think this was all bunkum, and am inclined to think that our British prestige had a lot more to do with it than anything else. Another point in our favor was the bad weather just at that time. We British were supposed to do things in all weathers, and I well remember, some few years before, our catchers maneuvering in the teeth of a gale, when those of any other nation would have run for harbor, and it was the life on board these small ships that kept the old spirit of the British sailor alive. Hence, when our cruisers met the enemy in dirty weather, they went for them without delay, while these were thinking more about getting comfortably into harbor than fighting battles, and so hostile vessels almost invariably got captured or destroyed. You see, it was a point of honor in the service to either win or go to the bottom, and the way in which our last cruisers would attack a first-class one of the enemies made them shy of us. It wasn't that they were less brave than our fellows. It was simply that they never knew what to expect, or when they were safe from attack. Of course, we occasionally lost ships in this way, but they had generally rendered a pretty good account of themselves first, so that victories against us were apt to be Pyrrhic ones. The Russian was a case in point. He was an old stager with thirteen years' service or more, and had long given up hopes of getting his three stripes. They made him Lieutenant Commander of the Icarus, a useless old tub enough, with only twelve knots brassy speed and an actual speed of about eight or so at that period. Pottering about outside Portsmouth a day or two after the war broke out, over the French cruiser of 2,400 tons, more than doubled the size of his ship. The enemy signaled him to surrender, but instead of that, he hoisted every ensign he had on board and went into action. They blew his ship nearly inside out, and then tried to ram him, which he let them do. Then all his ship's company, Stoker's and everybody, rushed on board the destang, and after a hard fight captured her deck. Shutting down the fellows below, he steamed back to Portsmouth with all but nine of his own crew killed or badly wounded and his own Icarus at the bottom of the Channel. This, happening so early in the war, made a great impression on the enemy, and Jauky got his extra stripe almost immediately, wherein he was luckier than many men who got theirs when all was over and there were no ships left to command. Everyone was anxious to emulate Jauky, and this incident did as much good as a great victory. Another episode of these early days was the case of Captain... I suppress his name, as he's still living, of the... not going to name the ship. He fell in with the Dupuis de L'Homme, a heavily armored cruiser, and getting the very first shot into his engines was completely disabled. He struck his flag, but before the capture could be properly affected, the Blenheim and two other of our cruisers came up unexpectedly, so the Frenchman made off, leaving some of his own men in his vessel in his haste. Captain, what's his name, had struck two overwhelming odds and got off all right at the court-mercial, but everyone in the service cut him for having surrendered. This first week of the war also saw the destruction of the much-vaunted Russian Mediterranean fleet. Our Vice Admiral there had had his eye on them from the first, and fell on them with his whole fleet somewhere off the coast of Sicily directly war was declared. The Pamiat-Azova escaped to Toulon, but the Dmitry Donskoy, Alexander II, and Admiral Nachimov were transferred to the British flag, and men withdrashed from the other English vessels and soldiers from the Malta garrison. The Russians had five ironclads, excluding the two useless Popovkas in the Black Sea. These remained shut up there and unavailable for the time being. At sea we seemed likely to have things all our own way. The enemy's cruisers were fast disappearing, and the merchant traffic suffered a little injury after the first ten days. We had blocked the Suez Canal and the Asiatic and Australian trade to the value of over two hundred million pounds per annum, was diverted around the Cape of Good Hope. Things on shore were not going so well. A sort of chaos was falling on the Admiralty, hampered as it was by parliamentary interference, and by the economy necessary to the possible advent of a general election. The dearth of capable seamen and stokers was severely felt, and bitter were the longings for something like the inscription-merritime of the French. It was even mooted in Parliament to be rejected, however, as incompatible with the institutions of a free country. Press gangs were also proposed, but the measure was, of course, negative. Nevertheless some captains did a little press ganging on their own account, but that was later. Here we have a body of men presided over by highly paid officials, said an MP who had gained notoriety for these sort of remarks. A body of men who for years have eaten their heads off in idleness. Let them do their work. There are quite enough of them without having to pay any more. Outrageous as this view was, it only put into words the thoughts of a large section of the community into whose souls the poison of the mercantile spirit had sunk deep. War is a crime, and but murder by wholesale. It is our duty to try and stop it by every means in our power. And peace means cheap bread again, said yet another section whose raison d'être probably lay in the last few words, a still more serious thing was the attitude of the Labour Party, which had considerable weight with the government. War is but the game of kings, said their leaders, you and yours have no part in it. In order to carry on the government all these parties had to be conciliated, and all the evils of party government came to the fore. And so, though the outside of the nut was firm and strong, the colonel was rotten and eaten out by the worm of democracy, half educated and totally unable to appreciate the great issues at stake. These were the opinions of Lieutenant Blake, our skipper, not my own. I concern myself little with things outside my profession. But Blake, representing as he did, the fundaceaque British naval officer was, before all things, a scientific and highly educated man. He and his cronies were not slow to bear their opinion in the fleet that the only thing that could save the country was the vesting of the supreme control in the service instead of in the civilian element. And press correspondents who heard these views ventilated them in the papers they represented. Whether from conviction or merely for the sake of matter, I cannot say. It depended a good deal on what their papers wanted, I suppose. It did little good anyway, like matter for the contents bills of the half-penny evening papers, insult to the democracy, overbearing conduct of naval officers, Jack Tarr wants to rule the roost, and such like headlines. However, in these early days, everything seemed right enough on the sea, but Blake and his brother officers saw deeper below the surface, and were far from optimistic even then, and the seek will prove them to be true prophets. Perhaps, however, the maddest of all the mad things that happened at that time was the dispute about the Mediterranean. A dispute started by an MP, and carried on by other civilians, as to whether or no it would be advisable to abandon our position there at once. This argument made a great noise. All the newspapers and then the House of Commons discussed it. Eventually a motion was carried that the Mediterranean should be abandoned forthwith, in utter disregard of the fact that the presence of our fleet there occupied the attention of fully two-thirds of the French vessels. Fortunately, the Admiralty refused to be dictated to, notwithstanding the shrieking denunciations of the abandoners, as the party opposed to our maintaining a Mediterranean fleet were called, but the incident showed how great were the dangers looming ahead. Most of us in the service agreed with old Glatton, the port Admiral at Portsmouth, who said that he thought it would be a good thing for the country to invite the leading spirits in the discussion for a sea trip and drop them overboard in mid-channel. Well, it would have put an end to most of the gas that hampered the navy anyway. While all this was going on, plenty of exciting smaller incidents were taking place, and to describe these, I must take the reader back to almost the beginning of the war. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Blake of the Rattlesnake This is the Lebervox recording. All Lebervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit lebervox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Blake of the Rattlesnake by Frederick T. Jane Chapter 3 The Rescue of a Sweetheart I joined the Rattlesnake on August 19th just after the battle of Cherbourg. The Rattle, as we called her in the service, was a torpedo catcher of 550 tons displacement carrying one 4-inch quick-firing gun and two-pounder quick-fires. The 4-inch was only put in position when they hastily fitted the ship for sea. She had previously carried an ordinary 4-inch breech-loading gun. Her horsepower was 2700, which gave a nominal speed of not more than 19 knots. But she could make about that in all weathers, and so was practically one of the best ships in the service for speed, while her engines had never broken down The vessels of the Havoc class were indeed far swifter, but they were not so sea-going as the good old rattle. Lieutenant Blake was a man full of pet ideas about everything, and when I joined, some of these had been put into execution. Around the guns he had piled sandbags. Chains had been slung over the sides of midships, while over guns and everything hung a light awning, the object of which I was at a loss to conceive, till the captain explained that in his opinion men would fight with more assurance under cover, and that even this slight awning gave a feeling of protection that would be valuable in action. Our compliment, all told, was seventy. We acted as a sort of division boat to three torpedo boats, numbers eighty-two, eighty-four, and eighty-six, respectively. If these went out to seek the enemy, we were to accompany them and either lead the attack or lie a bit astern as a protection and rallying point as the case might need. Should we be employed in protecting a fleet, two boats were to keep with us while the third cold. This arrangement was a compromise to those who held that the torpedo boat was the proper answer to the torpedo boat, and looking back at it all after the lapse of years, I think it was about the best thing. The new catchers of the Havoc type came in very handy for this sort of work, but there were not enough of them ready for sea when war broke out to do all the work required. Practically one was needed for every ironclad. Now it is all over. It does seem a thousand pitties that they didn't send a big fleet of catchers and torpedo boats into Cherbourg. Going en masse, we'd have got in somehow and done for the lot of them, though likely enough nobody would have come out of it. Still, we were ready and willing to try it had they only given us the chance. Instead of that, most of us nursed the battleships and did nothing. It must not be supposed that we had an easy time of it, however. Scouting for torpedo boats was arduous work, and none the less so because nothing, at first, came in our way. The night the Empress of India torpedoed, for instance, we were entirely out of it and did not see a single hostile boat though several were about. We had all the monotony of looking for boats without the excitement of chasing them. That first week or so of the war was an anxious time for those who had relatives and friends at sea for the enemy's cruisers were then playing old harry with the merchant service and numberless ships and liners were overdue. One of the newspapers had a terribly pathetic article about the people waiting, waiting, waiting at the piers in places where the steamers used to come in in peacetime and of how they went on watching day after day, night after night, for the ships that never came and never would come now. Save for an occasional warship going in or out of harbor, the waters were as deserted as the ocean in the ancient mariner. No man felt more keenly about these missing merchant men than our skipper since the girl he was engaged to was homeward bound in the valetta which had left jib just before the declaration of war. The valetta was a fastish boat subsidized by the abrulty and her captain reckoned on getting into port before war broke out. Though likely enough he didn't expect it to happen at all, no one did for the matter of that. She was more than a week overdue now, and the chances of her safe arrival were getting infinitesimal. It must have come as a relief to the skipper when we were sent to sea to cruise independently instead of the everlasting patrolling round the fleet. Our orders were to scout down channel, capture any inferior craft we might encounter, but carefully avoid an engagement with the superior force. This we could easily do as, if necessary, we were able to show a clean pair of heels to most things afloat, certainly to any ship likely to be able to damage us. Show heels be damned! said Blake as he read the slate. The French have a darn sight too many cruisers, and if we meet one I'll try and find out whether the ratto can't give her bino. And in this spirit we weighed and put to sea. It was a trying moment all the same. The possibilities of the future seemed so much nearer and greater in a small ship. In a big iron clad, one is so many messmates and creature comforts that one leaves the future to look after itself, but in a frail little craft like the ratto, well, I couldn't contemplate going into action without wondering whether anyone could possibly survive, and I experienced all sorts of sensations that had been foreign to me in the poor old Nelson. Feeling a bit blue, eh, old man? remarked Blake, who was inspecting the conning-tower as I came off the forecastle where I had lingered a bit after getting up anchor. Well, sir, I made reply, one does feel a bit sick at the thought of never seeing home in dear ones again. Of course a fellow is prepared to do his duty and all that, except that in the Nelson there's precious small chance of anyone coming out of it, for to tell the truth I was in a devil of a funk. Well, that's merely one way of looking at it. For my own part, I'm also one of those fatalistic Johnny's who hold that a man can't die before his time, do what he will, though, he added in a sadder tone, maybe there are times when one wishes it would come along. Then as his manner was he left me abruptly, going up on the bridge, while I went below and fell in with a doctor who was fresh from Haslar and a mighty enthusiast. He had the wardroom table covered with murderous-looking knives and instruments, the different uses of which he was explaining to our engineer. I'll tell you what, my son, he was saying, you'll bless me by and by, all of you. The private stock of chloroform for the admiralty only allow about enough for one operation. Poor little blue-eyed doctor with his saws and anesthetics, he never got a chance to use them. We thought him rather an officious little ass, then, yet he proved himself a hero when he died. We steered in a beeline for Plymouth, altering course near the Eddystone about five hours later. A white fog had been coming on and near to sunset time it was so thick that we had to reduce speed to six knots or thereabouts. As we were thus going along we heard the sound of distant firing and, cracking on full speed, the rattle made in the direction whence it seemed to proceed. The noise rapidly increased in volume, but we were unable to locate it. When suddenly the fog lifted and there, right ahead of us, Crimson and the setting sun were a couple of ships firing at each other. It was the first sea-fight I had ever seen and the impression of it is as vivid in my memory as though it were yesterday. Two black ships, one of them apparently our war-spit, neared together, slowly following each other round and round in a circle. From the sides and tops came incessant flashes, a thin film of smoke from the court-eyed ammunition in the stern of them, while under the war-spit's quarter lay a second-class torpedo-boat following her motions and presumably waiting for an opportunity to slip out and torpedo the enemy's vessel. Long before we could reach them the fog curtain came down again thicker than ever so that they were lost to our ken and, night having fallen, we were unable to find them, although the sound of firing continued more when it suddenly ceased. By and by the fog lifted once again, but we saw nothing more of the ships though we passed the early part of the night cruising as near as we could guess in the same place, then, giving it up as a bad job, we went on our way. Once we sighted a cruiser but she turned out to be a friend. This was just as I came on the bridge to take the morning watch for the skipper, who, having been on the bridge since six o'clock on the previous night, turned in all standing for a short rest. We saw nothing more till about three bells, then our lookout notified a large merchantman steaming hard on the port bow, and I altered course in her direction. Before we had neared her appreciably and ere she had noticed us, I fancy, a warship loomed up in pursuit and even as we looked there came a fire-tongue from her bow followed by a splash in the water ahead of the first steamer which replied with a gun mounted somewhere aft and at the same time ran up the British Blue Ensign. A second shell from the pursuer burst in the merchant men of midships and must have damaged her for though she still steamed on her speed was much reduced. At the first alarm I had, of course, had the skipper called and the crew were all at quarters in less than no time. It was intense. Blake, who had been intently watching the steamer through his binoculars, laid them down with a horse cry, Good God! It is the Valletta! Lucy! Lucy! We meet again! The enemy, the French Davout, was now rapidly coming up, firing ever and again at the Valletta, which replied irregularly and without any effect so far as we could make out. The Davout, a protected cruiser of over three thousand tons, carried fourteen guns of sorts to our seven. She had six sixteen-centimeter guns against our solitary long-time so that it appeared little less than suicidal for us to attack her, but the traditions of the British Navy demanded that we should do so. Probably this reason counted second with our skipper. Fate had placed it in his power to strike a blow for the woman he loved and confident in his preconceived plans he went into action with a light heart. Hither, too, the Davout had taken absolutely no notice of us. In our disguise she probably took us for a collier tramp who could be picked up afterwards at Leisure, but a shot from our long-time as she came into range un-deceived her. Before she had recovered her surprise we were pretty well out of reach and the broadside she sent in our direction did no damage. It won't be possible to play that game again, said Blake. I guess that shell of ours made things hum. The captain of the Davout seemed undecided whether to continue the pursuit of the Valletta or to turn aside first and destroy the puny antagonist's stern of him. He must have lent towards the latter course for he slowed down, thus enabling the merchant men to get out of range, but not before another French shell had hit her against our teeth in anger as we thought of the terrible havoc that missile must have wrought on the decks crowded with defenseless passengers. By God, you shall pay for this! Mother Blake, as he himself trained our four-inch gun upon the cruiser, fire! The shell struck the enemy, which in stopping to turn had just come into range again and burst somewhere forward, but we could not see what damage we had done. She still continued to turn as before, letting fly a broad side of three guns at us as she did so. Bow on, as we were, the target we offered was exceedingly small, and none of the projectiles hit us, though we felt the wind of one that passed overhead. Every man under cover, yelled the skipper, and going into the conning tower he put the helm hard afort, using the screws to assist him to turn. But before the rattlesnake had quite got round, a shell from the enemy hit us somewhere astern, bursting against the base of the main mass, which it brought down, and wrecking the steward's pantry and engineer's cabin. A minute or two later we were out of dangerous range, and I was sent below to report damage. On the floor of the wardrobe, amidst the wreckage, lay the doctor, wounded unto death, and near him the sick-bay man, moaning in agony, his right leg shattered to a bloody pulp. As I crawled over the debris, the doctor opened his eyes, and, struggling on his knees toward some bandages and instruments, asked me in a voice little more than a faint whisper to bring the wounded man to him. Poor chap! It was his last effort. Even as he made it, he fell back with a rattle in his throat, and died. Calling a couple of hands, I made the wounded sick-bay man as comfortable as we could under the circumstances, which I am afraid was not much. But since we all expected to join the doctor in a few minutes, it didn't seem to matter much, for none of us have much faith in the captain's plan. Discovering that he could not get within range of us, although nominally a not faster in speed, the devout again slowed down, presumably hoping to entice us within reach. Again we turned, facing the enemy bow to bow. All this time our ship had been getting more and more round to the eastward, and just before turning, I noticed the sky ahead of us, a glorious glow of color, the golden edge of the sun lifting above the inky black water as we circled round. Finding that we were not to be drawn nearer, the enemy commenced to go about again, evidently intent on pursuing the Valetta, which was still well in sight. Stand by the starboard torpedo tube yourself, Bovary, sang out the skipper to me, and fire when I give the word. You will hear me yell to you from the conning tower, but of course if anything unforeseen happens, you must use your own judgment. I am going down to torpedo her in the path of the sun. Everyone else undercover, and lie down, every man jack of you. Go ahead as fast as you can. I heard him yell down the tube to the engine room a minute later. We had a tremendous head of steam, and our speed must have been quite twenty miles an hour. Reckoning the enemy to be about eight thousand yards off, it would take us some fifteen minutes or less to get within torpedo distance of her, and then— The sun, dead astern of us, was now just above the horizon, and his golden rays tipped the foam and mist that clung about our shrouds till they seemed bespangled with glittering jewels. The rigging hummed with the wind of our rush. The engines throbbed and palpitated till I could scarce hold on to the torpedo tube. But I thought of none of these things. Instead thereof I seemed to see another morning fortnight or so ago, with the same sun just rising and catching on a girl's white dress as she stood on the landing stage at Milford, waving a handkerchief to a steam-launch, dashing away down harbour to the Nelson. All else passed from me, and as in a dream I heard the pattering of machine-gun bullets and the wild screech and splash of the shell. Then a cry from somewhere, Look out, starboard torpedo tube! Brought me to myself again. We gave a great swerve to port. Ahead of me over the low bulwarks I saw a huge hull wreathed in smoke and flashes, shining and glimmering in the sunshine, like a great gold mirror set up in the sea. A moment later I had her in the sights of the director. The torpedo flashed out. The noise of the firing ended itself in a mighty roar, and a wave that broke over our bulwarks and set everything awash. Then came a sudden, unnatural calm. I struggled to my feet to look a stern, being almost knocked over, as I did so, by the rush of blue-jackets to man the QF guns. But there was no need to use them for the devout would fire her guns nevermore. The cruiser had her nose underwater, and with propellers wildly splashing in the air, slowly went over on her side. We had described a sort of semi-circle meanwhile. She was now only a cable or so distant from us. Some of the crew we could see frantically trying to get out boats. A white flag was being waved to us, and hands stretched out appealingly. Nearer yet we drew, till we could look upon their faces. Hardy Breton Seaman jumping into the sea. Slowly the great ship went down. Her struggling burden crowding her hull, beseeching for aid that came not. For God's sake, sir, send them a boat!" cried Eye to Blake, who was now standing on the bridge, watching the sinking vessel. What can we do? We cannot risk having all those prisoners aboard us. We can leave them such of our boats as will swim, after the ship has gone down. Till then we can do nothing. And indeed it was only too true. We could not crowd our decks with prisoners who would be twenty to one against our little deck-watch, nor could we even approach nearer without grave risk of being sucked down by the Foundering Davout. Presently, with a great explosion and one awful cry of agony, she went down, and then we steamed over the spot. We lowered the only two boats that would swim. These we had just turned outwards with considerable difficulty, into the struggling mass of men and deck hamper. Numbers clutched at our rungs and the bits of chain and rope that hung from the ship's sides, preying us for the love of God to save them, and some few of these we hauled on board, but the greater number we had to leave to their fate. Then and not till then did we notice the Valletta, which, under slight sail, had drifted down to us before the wind. Her engines were apparently disabled, and, judging from the streams of water that spurted from her sides, she was leaking badly as well. We got up with inhale of her, and these must have been anxious moments for our skipper, as he eagerly scanned the faces of the passengers who crowded her decks, gazing on the horrible sequel to their deliverance. Can you keep afloat? hailed our skipper. I think so, but our engines are disabled. Can you take us in tow, sir? Very good. Is Miss Moncton safe? Who? Miss Moncton, passenger, General Moncton's daughter. The answer was indistinct, and as we steamed up yet nearer, Blake ordered out the dinghy, which had luckily escaped destruction when the main mass fell. He was over the side waiting for it almost before it touched the water, calling to me to come with him. Steer the boat, Bowery, he said. My nerves are all ajar. Look here! You arrange with these fellows about towing and so forth while I go and see what has happened. Miss Moncton is, or perhaps was, to be my wife. I made no answer, thinking it better so, and in silence we went on board. A gray bearded captain came forward to meet us as we came up the Valletta's side. The other officers were drawn up in a group to honor us, but Blake scarcely saw any of this. He rushed, rather than walked, through the crowd of passengers towards an old gentleman of military appearance who was trying to force his way in our direction. I could not hear what was said, being too far away, but from their motions I could guess that it was no good news, and presently, with bowed head by Skipper, followed the old general below. The towing arrangements were soon seen to, but before they were finished, Blake came on deck again with a white, set face, and silently taking his place in the dinghy, we returned to the rattlesnake without any reference to what had occurred on board the Valletta. Shortly afterwards, a hauser having been got out, we slowly made our way to Plymouth with a huge liner in our wake, reaching that port without further adventure, save falling in with a couple of our own cruisers. These went on to look for the unfortunate crew of the Davout, some forty or more of whom were found crowded into our two boats, or clinging to bits of deck hamper, where they had been about twelve hours when rescued. At Plymouth we parted company with the Valletta, which we left inside the breakwater. We, ourselves, were told to proceed at once to Portland, where a sort of floating dockyard had been set up for small repairs. The yards at Devonport and Keyham being already full to overflowing with ships fitting for sea or repairing after actions in which they had been engaged. As soon as we had anchored inside Portland breakwater, nature asserted herself, and we all fell asleep, leaving our ship in charge of a party from the Blenheim, who saw to our wounded, and the next morning we got alongside one of the dockyard steamers, whence a strong batch of carpenters and artificers came on board to put things to rights. All things considered, we had suffered very slightly. Besides the doctor we had only lost seven men killed, and thirteen were wounded, most of these, but slightly. The tempest of fire under which we had charged had mostly passed over and around us, coming bow on, with the blazing sun behind us, we had made a very small and difficult target. If indeed the gunners were able to see us in the glare, machine gun bullets had riddled our boats in top hamper, but beyond the shell which killed the doctor, no big shot had hit us, and the holes where the machine gun fire had penetrated our sides at the moment when we swerved to discharge the torpedo were not so very numerous. Blake's chain defense had done its work well. We heard later, from the prisoners brought in by the cruisers, that the Davout's people fancied we were trying to either ram them or get rammed after the fashion set by Jalke, and they had prepared a warm reception for us had we done so. It seemed that they also eased off a torpedo at us, but it either went under our bottom or missed altogether. As for the Valetta, her history was a series of hare-breath escapes from the days she left Gibraltar. Chased by a French cruiser in the Bay of Biscay, she had made for the Atlantic and given her pursuer the slip. Then, headed off by another, had been driven southward toward the Azores, where a lucky shot from one of the six-inch guns she carried on her poop had disabled this antagonist. Coaling at San Miguel, she struck homewards again, keeping well out in the Atlantic and the French cruisers swarmed like bees off the Spanish coast, and she had got along all right till our eventful meeting with her off the Sillies. The Davout had come up in the night from an opposite direction. Still the Valetta was hoping to out-steam her, but the Frenchmen were within range and firing at her engines. The rest has been already told, save that some five of her crew and twelve passengers were killed by thirty wounded by the enemy's shells. Miss Moncton's name appeared in the list of the slightly wounded, able to proceed to their homes, so we were at a loss to account for the state of mind the skipper was in. Whatever it was, he was a changed man, and though thoughtful of his crew as ever, he now did his duty mechanically and wearily. His old enthusiasm, for the time at any rate, was lost. I suppose she's jilted him, poor beggar! remarked Lawson, my fellow sub, as we went ashore that afternoon to see about some fresh provisions, and I was inclined to agree with him. On the morrow we buried the doctor on shore, the service being read by a white-headed old clergyman, whose voice every now and then broke down in sobs, and by his side was the lady equally aged who clutched his arm as he read the solemn words. They were his father and mother, and it was thus that they buried their only son. THE PRESS GANG The dockyard people were working night and day at our ship, repairing the damage caused by the late action, but, slight as this comparatively speaking was, ten days' time was the earliest possible date by which they could promise her in. We were not allowed to be altogether idle in the interim, but were employed on a job that, however necessary it may have been, was distasteful to the last degree. Ships were continually putting into Portland to try and get a few men from the depot which had been established on board the Beskawan, but the reserve had been exhausted some days before our arrival, and it was absolutely necessary to replenish the supply. No volunteers being forthcoming, the admiral in command of the depot ordered a press gang on his own responsibility, knowing well that the Admiralty and its desperate strait would stand by him if he relieved their difficulty. On the rights and wrongs of the question, I need scarcely speak. Certain newspapers have not dropped the subject even yet, but behind the scenes we recognize that, if men would not volunteer to serve their country, they must be compelled to do so. All the same, none of us quite liked having to carry it out ourselves, and when it was done would have given worlds to have had no share in it. It was yet early in the morning that the semaphore came detailing us for the duty, and glad of any excitement that would kill the memory of the recent fight, which had made me feel pretty queer when it was all over, I at first hailed the news with joy. As for the blue jackets, they were uproariously delighted at it. Sailors hated the civil population pretty strongly just at that time. Blake was the only laggard when the news came, and he tried hard to get off, but it was no good. He had to go. From what transpired that night I can well understand how he must have loath visiting the district selected. The expedition, under the leadership of one Commander Kirsten, consisted also of Lieutenant Blake, myself, and some three-score blue jackets and marines, mostly from our ship. The men all had their cutlasses, and we carried revolvers as well as our swords. A special train took us on our gruesome journey, landing us about a mile from the villages we intended to attack, and outside the station we separated, Kirsten with one detachment moving off at once, while we hung about for a while, waiting till it should get dusk. The church clock was tracking nine as we strolled in small parties down the village street. Halting at the inn where we expected to make our principal hall. To our astonishment we found it deserted, save for a deaf old woman from whom we learned, after much questioning, that the best part of the population was gathered in the parish room, where a concert was being held to raise money for the widows of sailors killed in action. If our task had been unpleasant before, this information made it trebly so. But it had to be gone through, nevertheless, and nothing was to be gained by delay. Five minutes later we were all gathered outside the room. There were two doors to the place, one at the end, the other a small entrance leading to an anti-room as well. Blake and fifteen men made for the larger door while I took the rest towards the other. When the song—we could just catch the sound of a woman singing— when the song is over and they begin to applaud, rush in. Whispered Blake to me as we made for our respective posts. The little door was ajar and through it I could hear one of the sweetest voices that had ever been my lock to listen to, as it died away in that beautiful refrain. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. Then came a storm of applause, and in the midst of it we burst through right on to the platform. Our sudden entrance caused a hush to fall on the audience, who rose to their feet and stared blankly, first at us and then at Blake's men, who had filed in at the other end of the room. It was Blake's voice that first broke the stillness. I want twenty-four volunteers for Her Majesty's fleet, and if these are not willing, it will be my duty to take two dozen of you, whether they will or know. His speech was received in silence, and he repeated it without effect, though a youth or two near him seemed inclined to come forward, and then to think better of it. Very well! cried Blake, anxious to get the business over as soon as possible, and he motioned to his followers to seize the most suitable-looking men. Then indeed arose an awful uproar. I could not see what was going on down Blake's end, as we were fully occupied in striving to capture and handcuff those near us, and at the same time ward off the blows that fell thick upon us from the captives' fellow-villagers. A clergyman got up on the platform and tried to say something, but his words were lost in the din of women shrieking and men cursing. Then suddenly, above this tumult, I heard a woman's voice calling to Blake by his Christian name. Standing on the platform, facing my captain with flashing eyes, was the lady who had been singing when we so abruptly entered. She seemed about to say something more, but an old gentleman, whom I recognized at once as General Moncton, intervened and led her to the anti-room, and thither Blake soon made his way. I did not intentionally play the eavesdropper, but I couldn't help hearing what was said inside, for I was posted close to the door, looking after our prisoners, who, surrounded by weeping women, were crowded into a corner hard by. The rest of the people had cleared out altogether, and comparative silence and some sort of order was restored. Lucy, Blake was saying, fate seems to have ordained that I shall always appear to you as a brute or a murderer. Believe me that in neither case could I have acted otherwise. Why do you shun me and blame me? Because my duty has compelled me to do what you have unfortunately been a witness of. She made no answer, or none that I could hear, and he went on appealingly to her. When we sank that cruiser which chased you in the Valetta, it was really and absolutely impossible for us to pick up her crew without endangering not our liberty only, but your lives and liberty as well. And as for what you have seen tonight, it had to be done, and I had to do it, though God knows I find it hateful enough. The old general seemed to have said something then, but I could not catch his words, and then at length mismocked and spoke. Edward, I loved you with all my heart, and I looked upon you as a prince among men. More, I love you still, though God knows I had rather not, for though I should live for ever, and though to live without you were endless torture yet. Ah, go away, go away, I can never, never forget that cry of the men you left to drown, the cries of the women here whose sons and sweethearts you have taken from them, the little children who will never see their fathers again. Go, and may God forgive you, Edward, for the misery that you bring. I heard no more, much to my relief for, all being ready, we now marched the prisoners away. Blake hurriedly adjoined us, and we started our tramp back to the station, but ere we had got well away from the village, a great crowd of rustics, armed with pitchforks, scythes, and other tools came up, calling on us to give up our prisoners. There was a sharp scuffle, but the countrymen were no match for our sturdy sailors, who, their blood once roused, cut and slashed without mercy. A couple of burly fellows attacked me, one with a scythe cutting at my legs, while his companion thrust at me with a fork, and though I made some sort of defence with my sword, I was being pressed backwards and separated from our party, when a couple of flashes, followed by two sharp reports, came from behind me, in my assailants, throwing up their arms, and stumbled into the roadway in a confused heap. Blake, who had fired the shots, seized my arm, drawing me after him, and we soon rejoined our fellows, who having just charged the mob, were now left in peace. Two blue jackets had received nasty cuts, and most of us had some bruises, but on the whole we had got off lightly. One prisoner had escaped, or been pulled away by his friends, and others, attended by their women folk, were still in our keeping. By threats and force we got them along towards the station, though our progress was slow, and often interrupted by the women who clung about us, begging that we would spare them each her loved one. One old dame, whose grandson was among the captured, cursed us the whole journey, and altogether we felt like a party of murderers. At the station we found Commander Kirsten and his men, with a dozen prisoners, handcuffed together in the center of the group. The commander shut the women outside the station, and we got into the train unimpeded. But long after we had left, the wails and lamentations of the crowd outside rang in our ears. This was, I am happy to say, my first and last experience of a press gang. Kirsten, who had taken part in previous expeditions of the same sort, assured me that one soon got used to it, but for my own part I had sooner be engaged in a slave raid. To make matters worse, after what I had seen, I was, of course, unable to talk the matter over with Blake, and hanging about doing nothing at Portland was about the worst thing possible for me. My mind kept dwelling upon the gruesome scenes of that memorable night, and in flame by reading the violent articles that appeared about it, for the press, with a few honorable exceptions, shrieked loudly about the press gang outrages, I worked myself up into quite a fever of remorse. As for Blake, he went and volunteered for any desperate service that might be on hand, and before long got one that soon relegated the press gang incidents into the obscurity of the past.