Full Speed Ahead: Tales from the Log of a Correspondent with Our Navy — John Shaqi
Full Speed Ahead: Tales from the Log of a Correspondent with Our NavyBeston, Henry
History
Full Speed Ahead: Tales from the Log of a Correspondent with Our Navy
Beston, Henry
United States. Navy; World War, 1914-1918 -- Naval operations
I climbed the narrow ladder again and crept along the superstructure
to the bridge which rose for all the world like a little grey steel
pulpit. One has to be reasonably sure-footed. It was curious to
emerge from the electric lighted marvel to the sunlight of the bay,
to the view of the wild mountains descending to the clear sea. The
captain gave his orders. Faint, vague noises rose out of the
hatchway; sailors standing at various points along the superstructure
cast off the mooring ropes and took in bumpers shaped like monstrous
sausages of cord which had protected one bulging hull from another;
the submarine went ahead solemnly as a planet. Friendly faces leaned
over the rail of the mother ship high above.
Once out into the bay, I asked the second in command just what we
were up to. The second in command was a well knit youngster with the
coolest, most resolute blue eyes it has ever been my fortune to see.
"We're going to take shots at a British submarine and then she's
going to have a try at us. We don't really fire torpedoes--but
manoeuvre for a position. Three shots apiece. There she is now,
running on the surface. Just as soon as we get out to deep water
we'll submerge and go for her. Great practice."
A British submarine, somewhat larger than our American boat, was
running down the bay, pushing curious little waves of water ahead of
her. Several men stood on her deck.
"Nice boat, isn't she? Her captain's a great scout. About two
months ago a patrol boat shot off his periscope _after_ he made it
reasonably clear he wasn't a Hun. You ought to hear him tell about
it. Especially his opinion of patrol boat captains. Great command
of language. Bully fellow, born submarine man."
"I meant to ask you if you weren't sometimes mistaken for a German,"
I said.
"Yes, it happens," he answered coolly. "You haven't seen Smithie
yet, have you? Guess he was away when you came. A bunch of
destroyers almost murdered him last month. He's come the nearest to
kissing himself good-bye of any of us. Going to dive now, time to
get under."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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