CATCHING SUBMARINES.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1684, 10 March 1917, Page 4

CATCHING SUBMARINES.

THE TRAMP’S DISGUISE. A RIGHT AND LEFT. There was nothing of the ocean greyhound about H.M.S. Toppler. In pre-war days, as the Saucy Annie, of Hull, she had earned dividends for a practical-minded owner whose standard of beauty for a ship was that she should be able to carry the maximum of cargo at the minimum of working cost. When the long hand of the Admiralty reached out and grabbed her she had been for some time freighting consignments of rancid oil, and the odour of this still clung lovingly to her skin. But although from an aesthetic point of view the bluffnosed, slab-sided old boat had many shortcomings, she possessed certain qualities which the Admiralty surveyors regarded with an approving eye. So they put a couple of guns into her, provided her with a White Ensign to be hoisted “as and when required,” and sent her out to hunt for submarines. This task she pursued diligently, but with ill-success, for some time.

Although the Toppler got where submarines were often enough seen, these wily craft did not seem to like the look of her. Whenever she “showed up,” they dipped down into the “ditch,” periscopes and all, and disappeared.

“Th 1 blamed old hooker can smell U-boats, an’ by gum if they can’t smell her they ain’t got no noses,” opined “Dodger” Long to “Gunnery Jack” of the Toppler as a whiff from her hold assailed his nostrils.

Now the “owner” of the Toppler was ;i man who believed in results. He eould not content himself with merely chasing' submarines; he wanted to catch them. After turning over the matter so that he could look at all sides of it, lie put back to port with a plan in his mind. There what he planned was done, and when the Toppler went to sea again it was in such a disreputable guise that even her former owner, although in no ways squeamish on the subject of appearances, would have refused to acknowledge her. She looked like a long-condemned hulk that had broken adrift from a “knacker's yard.” And from captain downwards her complement was in keeping with their ship in outward seeming. Even a San Francisco “crimp” would have been ashamed to own them. “Wot a lot o’ beauties; looks as if we’d all been shanghaied,” quoth “Dodger" Long, gleefully rubbing the three days' growth on his chin. A NEST OF SUBMARINES. “An’ wot a ship arter the !” added “Jumper” Collins, mentioning the smart battle-cruiser from which he had been drafted. “Well, there ain’t no wash decks ’ere, an’ routine’s like an old shoe, so I ain’t grumblin’.” For some days the Toppler wallowed along—“steamed” would be the wrong word for it —and surely nowhere else alloat could such an apparently unseaworthy old tub, such an enticing target for a Fboa.t, have been met with. “Please don’t hurt me; I’m worthless,” was written all over her, and every motion of her lumbering hull proclaimed helpless, inoffensive innocence.

Other vessels ;is (hey passed her wondered that any owners had the lemerity (o send sneh a t'reekless old boat to sea in these limes, and said things about the Toppler and her erew wliieh would have pleased (he la Her mightily if they could have heard them.

“Bet she don’t get much farther without bein' stopped,” remarked the watchkeeper of a slick liner as he turned from contemplating the Toppler. And he was right—she did not.

The Toppler was rambling along —“Sleep walkin’," “Dodger” Long called it —when a periscope eame ripping towards her and a U-boat quickly heaved to the surface. A minute or so later a second U-boat rose on the other bow. “We’ve dropped into a whole llotilla of d ’ pirates,” said the Toppler’s captain unconcernedly. “Steady, lads, and stand by for orders." “Aye, aye, sir,” cheerfully responded “Dodger” Long, and the crew stepped quickly to their stations. The captain passed some orders below, then stopped his engines and walked to the dicky at the end of the bridge nearest to the first-risen U-boat. With a cap slouched over his ears and a thickly-sprouting beard on his chin, the Toppler’s “owner” looked what he was not. The usual parley began, or it would be more correct to say the “pirates” issued their customary orders for abandoning the ship. The Toppler they apparently held in contempt as a something that would not yield them much booty, and was not worth wasting a torpedo upon. QUICK WORK. “Let down your ladder; I’m going to send aboard and blow your ship up,” ordered Pirate -No. I. “All right, sir,” humbly acquisced the Toppler’s captain,, and a companion ladder began to grate its way down her side. “Lower both," commanded the pirate, “and be ready to leave with your crew.” “Very well, sir,” and the Toppler’s captain obeyed in so far as lowering the second ladder was concerned, but reserved the right to make what disposition he thought

best of his crew, though he did not tell the pirate this.

From the U-boat two little canvas Berthans pushed off and made for each side of the Toppler. “Stand by now for quick action, and mind you don't let the blighter's with the bombs come aboard us,” rasped out the captain. “Aye, aye, sir; we’ll watch out for that,” answered the men crouched under the nettings. Jerked along by the short pulls of their little oars, the two collapsibles came towards the Toppler by a series of leaps. Arriving at the companions the bow men held on with a boat-hook while a pirate officer jumped from each boat and hurried up the ladder, followed by a couple of men. As they stepped on the deck horny, hard-tilting fists caught them under the ear, and one by one they fell like logs. At the same time a brawny figure jumped to the top of either ladder and bullets of pig-iron crashed down into each of the boats, ripping out their bottoms.

The Toppler’s skipper watched this intently.

“Fire!” he shouted, sharply jerking the engine-room telegraphs. Instantly the White Ensign ran up astern, and the Toppler, baring her teeth, snarled destruction at: the pirates. “Wh-r-r! Wh-r-r!” sang her guns, and before they had any

chance of making a reply both Üboats were sunk. One rolled over on her side and disappeared with a gurgle of astonished protest against such cavalier treatment; the other, badly holed forward, slid swiftly nose downwards into her grave as if glad to get from the roach of those viciously snarling guns. “A right and loft —like shooting grouse from fhe butts; better than I ever hoped for,” soliliquised the Toppler’s captain as he leaned upon the bridge rail and watched his boats pull off to pick up the survivors.