Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

“You’ll see her in the morning. The half-section has been on the coastal shipping run, north as far as Boston. We get sent out on that infrequently, showing our noses to the Merchant Navy, letting them know we exist and care about them! Always the chance of a cruiser raid along the East Anglian coast, so the Admiralty says. Don’t make sense to me – most of the coasters running down to London are tiny – sailing craft of forty or fifty tons, steamers not a great deal bigger. A lot of them, I will accept, but sending a cruiser out after them risks a major ship for little enough gain. However, ours is not to reason why…”

Difficult sailing along a shallow coast with all of the navigation and hazard buoys taken up. Necessarily inshore because that was where the small ships were. A night passage along that coastline would be fraught. It would be interesting in the morning to see how Lancelot had fared.

“Do you know what you will be doing, Sturton?”

“Working up the half-section for a few days then patrolling in the North Sea – nothing out of the ordinary.”

There was no need to mention the possible bombardment – that might smack of favouritism, even the faintest implication to be avoided.

Simon took an early breakfast, glancing out of the wardroom and across the harbour, watching for Lancelot to come in out of the morning mists.

Four L Class entered, neatly in line astern, took up their moorings. There was a working party on one, tidying up ropes in the bows, as if she had been towed. More men dropped a boat and then took a hose aboard and paddled to the stern, started a hasty clean-up. The captain was coming ashore in the other boat.

“’Morning, Sturton. Washing down the mud thrown up by the screws at the stern and clearing up after a tow. Found a mudbank by the looks of it. Lancelot, of course.”

“Let us hope the screws and rudder are still good, Quiller. Soft mud, from the way it’s washing off. Should be good.”

“Hopefully. Eat up, Sturton, you might well be taking over earlier than you thought for. Tyrwhitt might not be in a good mood at this time of day.”

Simon was on his second cup of coffee when a messenger came to his table, asked him to attend the Commodore in his cabin.

“Good morning, Sturton. Get your bags together, man! Take over Lancelot with immediate effect. Just been on the telephone to the Admiralty. I sacked Captain Hayes five minutes ago. Grounded in the Wash overnight, came off with a rope and this morning’s tide. Captain blamed the First and the Coxswain equally, not his fault at all! I am dumping all three. Waiting for their postings now. I will have new men aboard within the day. The Coxswain will be a new man in the job. Chief Petty Officer out of one of the old King Edwards at Chatham, knew him years back. Good man and he will be delighted to get back to the boats. Small ships all of his life! Your new First has a good record on paper up to his last ship. I don’t know him. No reason to suppose he is other than a good officer – but!”

Simon took his cue.

“But what, sir?”

“His previous captain – Dover Patrol, one of the light cruisers, Birmingham – got rid of him, claimed he was insubordinate. Court found for him and he has been sent to me for employment, no stain on his character. All yours, Sturton.”

“Thank you, sir. I trust he will not be another Gibson.”

“So do I, man! We put up a black there. Damned good thing you got us out from underneath! He has been shifted out of Dartmoor, by the way – don’t look so surprised, not released. Sent to Broadmoor, to the criminal lunatic asylum. They say he’s gone right round the bend, raving mad! From all I hear, you have to be crazy as a loon for the screws at Dartmoor to notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“Good thing he was gone from Sheldrake before he went mad, sir.”

“Very.” Tyrwhitt was not prepared to examine that set of possibilities. “Off you go. Get aboard Lancelot and do something with her. A week in Harwich and then I’ll send the four of you out on shake down and then it’s to business.”

Simon ran to his cabin on the depot ship, mind racing. All new officers, apart from the sub, and a week to take the ship in hand.

‘Could be busy.’

“Packer, we are to board Lancelot at soonest. Pass the word to Mr Rees and the other two that they are to get across before me. Mr Rees acting as senior. Coxswain is coming up on the train from Chatham and the First from Dover, both due here today.”

Packer could pass the word unofficially; much more convenient than Simon making a formal announcement. The three would speak to the officers they knew on the depot ship and pick up the buzz, the latest rumours.

Simon waited an hour, out of courtesy, to give the previous captain’s steward time to clear his cabin, then took a boat out from the depot ship. He sat in the stern sheets, an arm resting on the gunwale to display the two and a half stripes, warning the sentry of a senior officer, likely to be the new captain, if he was awake.

Two cables distant and he saw men scurrying, a side party forming. He had not caught them unawares, which made for a better start.

Rees welcomed him formally, the pipes squealing in the background. Higgins, Waller and an unknown sub were stood properly behind him, a rank of ratings to the other side. They had done well in the absence of Coxswain and First, the pair who would normally arrange such things.

“Thank you, Mr Rees. I know the officers, of course, with just the single exception.”

“Sublieutenant McCracken, sir.”

The accents of Ulster were harsh in the young man’s voice.

Very young, made his commission well before he was twenty, suggesting an efficient man – or another Higgins.

“You have your watchkeeping certificate, Mr McCracken?”

“I have, sir.”

“Good. You will be a useful member of the wardroom. What is your seniority?”

“Three months, sir.”

“That places you senior to Mr Higgins. I will expect you both to assist Mr Waller who is new to the Navy but has considerable yachting experience.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“First Lieutenant and Coxswain are on trains at the moment, should be here today. We can delay setting a watch-keeping roster until the First arrives. Mr Rees will be busy with the guns and tubes so Mr Higgins will be Officer of the Day. Mr McCracken, take Waller on a tour of the ship, if you please. No engineroom personnel present, Mr Rees?”

“Chief ERA has gone across to the yard, sir, to pick up some spares. His senior is working on the steering motor, which took some strain last night – details I do not know, sir. Hands are to Make and Mend after cleaning ship, sir. The grounding upset everything in the mess decks and there is an amount to do to make themselves comfortable again.”

“They took the mud at speed, I presume?”

“I believe so, sir. I have not had the opportunity to discuss the details yet.”

Simon shook his head; the lookouts should have seen something, have been able to give a last-minute warning.

“I shall be in my cabin for a while, reading the log and getting a feel for the ship. Pass the word that there will be no inspections today. I shall go over the whole ship tomorrow, with the new First.”

A new captain’s inspection was normally of a gleaming bright ship, polished and ready for him; he did not want to start his tenure by discovering the mess left behind by the night’s misfortunes.

The Log revealed almost nothing. The previous captain had been cautious in all of his entries. His record of the grounding recorded latitude and longitude of the mud bank and the fact that the First Lieutenant had the watch and the Coxswain was at the wheel; it said nothing else. Glancing back, the ship had not gone to action stations, was cruising through the night with half of her men asleep.