# For the Freedom of the Seas/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII
IN THE SUBMARINE "Q-4"
NELSON couldn't remember having ever been so glad to see anyone as he was to see the lad who, his surprise turning to pleasure, thrust a brown and not over-clean hand toward the bunk. He had been many times pretty lonesome since leaving the Wanderer, and the fact came to him as he seized the proffered hand and gripped it hard. Martin Townsend's laughter rang out gayly as he seated himself precariously on the edge of the bunk, and Nelson found himself joining in for no very apparent reason. Somehow, finding Townsend again was like finding an old friend, even though they had been together but a little over an hour in all their lives!
What happened after that is easily imagined. Martin took possession of Nelson and, standing by while he dressed himself in his togs which were as dry as they were likely to get in an atmosphere that would have discouraged a hygrometer, ​and a pair of borrowed boots, and superintending the process of devouring a tin cup of strange oatmeal gruel, he afterwards bore him off in the direction of the after battery compartment which, save for the absence of cooking arrangements was similar to the corresponding compartment forward. In the central station Nelson saw Captain Hale and the junior officer, Lieutenant Morris, both clear-eyed, lean-faced men well under thirty years. It was the captain who noted them as they passed and spoke to Martin.
"Is this the man we picked up, Townsend?"
"Yes, sir."
Captain Hale looked Nelson over with undisguised interest as the latter paused and saluted. "What's your name?" he asked.
Nelson gave the information, and, in reply to further questions, narrated briefly the story of his adventures. The junior lieutenant turned from his post at the gyroscopic compass and listened.
"Sounds like a romance to me, my boy," laughed the captain at the end, his gray eyes twinkling. "Have you tried it on the marines yet?"
"No, sir, I've had no chance," answered Nelson, smiling.
"Well, I suppose it must be so. You're pretty good proof of it. But it beats any story I've heard ​yet in the Navy. You're a mighty lucky fellow to get out of a scrape like that. What was it like on the Gyandotte last night?"
"Pretty rough, sir."
"I guess it was. You know the Gyandotte, George," he added, turning to the lieutenant. "Weren't you on her once?"
"Yes, I was with the Gyandotte five years ago. It was her last cruise. We thought she wouldn't hold together to make port. She's been overhauled, though, I believe."
"Hope so. Well, make yourself at home, Troy. Townsend will find you something to do perhaps. We'll put you back on your ship when we can, but I don't know when we'll see her again."
"Thank you, sir." Nelson followed Martin into the next compartment and was introduced to two of the crew who were lounging there. Something in their attitude toward Martin prompted Nelson to ask, as he seated himself on a bench beside the other: "Are you a petty officer?"
"Surest thing you know, old scout!" Martin laughed. "They made me a gunner's mate, third class. Don't ask me why, though. See that you treat me properly after this. Now tell me the whole yarn, Troy. What's happened to you since ​I saw you last? Did you see me that day on the river? Where's your friend Mason?"
"Mason? Oh, you mean Masters. Billy's still on the Wanderer, I think. I'd be there yet, too, if it hadn't been for a piece of luck." Whereupon Nelson told of his meeting on the train with the Navy official and his transfer to the Gyandotte. And that led to the battle off Bermuda with the Mahlow. Martin had to have full details of that encounter and was disappointed by the colossal ignorance displayed by the narrator. "You see," explained Nelson, "you don't have much chance to watch things, Townsend, on a gun crew. You have your hands pretty full and you can't see much, anyhow. At least, you can't if you're shellman, because you're behind the gun all the time. Most of what I know about that row came from hearing the other fellows talk afterwards."
"It must have been great!" sighed Martin. "Wish I'd been there. Still, I wouldn't have had much fun, I guess, since you didn't try torpedoes on the Hun. Does the Gyandotte carry tubes?"
"No. How long have you been on this boat?"
"Three weeks. A little over. She's a dandy, isn't she? Have you been over her? Like to look around?"
​"Yes, indeed," responded the other eagerly. "Lieutenant Somebody—the one with the gruff voice—told a man named Clancy to take me in charge, and Clancy told me to report to him in the engine room. Maybe I'd better, eh?"
"Clancy?" laughed the other. "He's a fine lad to have charge of anyone! Come on in here and we'll see him."
The engine room was the next compartment aft, and they found Clancy alone there engaged in polishing the bright work of the port engine, although so far as Nelson could; see every inch of brass or copper or steel was already immaculate.
Clancy's willingness to be relieved of his responsibility was so patent as to be almost impolite, and the two boys went on to the after compartment. Here were the main motors and the auxiliary machinery of all kinds. Two men were in charge there, a petty officer and an oiler. The low hum of the motors and the faint, slow churn of the twin propellers alone broke the silence. Martin explained the mechanism that was driving the steel cylinder through the depths, once or twice calling on the electrician for aid. On the surface, Nelson learned, it was the big Diesel oil-burning engines that supplied the power, but, ​since they depended on a large amount of air for their performance, it was not possible to use them when submerged. When ready to sink the Diesels were stopped and uncoupled from the shafts and the motors started. These obtained their energy from storage batteries located beneath the deck on which they stood. The petty officer in charge explained the working of the contractor gear by which the control of the motors is effected in the central station. The main motors compartment, like every other section of the submarine, was painted white and was as clean as a Dutch kitchen. The electric bulbs flooded the place with light. The arching sides were crowded with switchboards and hung with a confusion of cables and wires.
Returning forward, they passed into the long compartment at that moment presided over by the diligent Clancy. The two great engines occupied every bit of space there save for a central passage barely wide enough to move through. Clancy held forth at length and with enthusiasm on those engines, but Nelson, whose bent of mind was not mechanical, found it difficult to understand what was told him. He did get away with one or two interesting facts, however: as, for instance that the Diesels burned crude oil instead of kero​sene or gasoline, at a vast saving, and that instead of having the charges in the cylinders ignited by electric sparks, in the only way he had ever heard of, the engines produced their own heat for ignition by compression.
"It's like this," elaborated Clancy. "These are four cycle engines, do you see? That is, one of the pistons does four strokes to one explosion of the charge, two up and two down. Now take this fellow. When the piston in this cylinder goes down it draws a lot of air into the cylinder after it. When it goes up again it compresses that air something fierce; about five hundred pounds to the square inch. That heats the air, do you see, to something like a thousand degrees. Next oil is sprayed into the cylinder by compressed air, and when it hits that hot air already there it lights. That's what they call combustion, and that sends the piston down again and turns the shaft over. That's the third stroke. The fourth is the next up-stroke and that pushes the burnt gases out, and there you are!"
Nelson shook his head. "It sounds all right," he said, "but what makes the engine start first of all?"
"The storage batteries."
"And how fast will they, drive the boat?"
​"Sixteen knots at a pinch, but we usually do twelve on account of using two much fuel at high speed. You got to think of fuel, you know."
"I suppose so. And where do you keep that?"
"Everywhere." Clancy waved a big hand vaguely. "There's tanks of it all over. The main tanks are fore and aft, next to the keel, but we've smaller ones here and there. There isn't any space wasted on one of these contraptions, Nep."
"Why did he call you Nep?" asked Martin curiously as they went on. Nelson explained and his friend chuckled. "That's not so bad, either. Guess I'll have to call you that, too. This we call the after quarters, but technically it's the after battery compartment. About half the storage batteries are underfoot here. You can see the cables leading forward there. These gratings lift up when you want to get at the cells. That's my bunk there. Those cupboards are where we stow our gear. Next is the central station. Can't show you around there, though, for the Old Man doesn't like us hanging about. Everything's controlled from there, you see."
They paused inside the door and looked through into the next compartment. There were nine persons there, the captain and first officer ​and seven men. It was quite a spacious chamber, as it needed to be in order to accommodate all those necessary to navigate the boat under water. A ladder led upward to the conning tower above and a bench ran along one side, but for the rest the furnishings of the central station were all mechanical. Dials, valves, gyroscope compass, manifolds, steering and diving wheels, depth gauges, levers, clinometer for determining the boat's inclination, motor controllers, engine room telegraph, navigating lights, voice pipes and other things were indicated by Martin. Here was the brain of the craft. Every activity was controlled from this white-walled, light-flooded chamber and from it wires and pipes led forward and aft like nerves. Two gunner's mates were at the big brass wheels controlling the diving rudders, while in front of them a gauge indicated the boat's depth. Their duty, explained Martin, was to keep the submarine on an even keel, and at the depth ordered by the navigating officer, by means of the forward and aft diving rudders. Near them a mechanic presided over the air and water manifolds of the ballast and trimming tanks. A fourth man was in charge of the Kingston valves which flooded the main ballast tanks during submergence. A steersman was at the wheel to the left of the ​forward door and two electricians stood by the Number Two periscope ready for duty. The place was a white vault of shining machinery that made no noise in which the quiet conversation of the two officers was strangely distinct.
Martin led the way through to the forward battery compartment where some half-dozen of the crew were at rest in their bunks or seated about the table. The cook was busy at the electric range, for the hour, as Nelson had seen by the clock in the central station, was close on ten. Martin exchanged remarks with the fellows around the table and led the way aft to another watertight door. Passing through this, Nelson found himself in the wireless room, a small compartment at present holding one man, who, with a telephone receiver strapped to his head, was listening at the Fessenden Oscillator, or submarine signal apparatus. The compartment was a maze of wires, meters, switches, coils and other electrical contrivances. Beyond the wireless room were small staterooms occupied by the officers. They were tiny bare white-walled cells containing little more than a bunk, a chest of drawers, a small writing desk and a lavatory each. Beyond the open door of one Nelson glimpsed the ​gruff-voiced first lieutenant who had dubbed him Neptune.
"Here's where I live when I'm on duty," said Martin as they passed through still another door into the bow torpedo compartment. They were now close to the submarine's nose and the moisture-studded roof above was perceptibly nearer their heads. Facing them were the butts of the four twenty-one-inch torpedo tubes, each a round white-enameled bulls-eye at first glance. A second look, however, showed the bulls-eyes to be dish-shaped covers on long, curved hinges which, as Martin explained, were opened by hand to expose the breeches for loading. On chocks at each side of the compartment rested eight torpedoes, which, with, those already in the tubes, made twelve in all. Besides the torpedo tubes the compartment also held the anchor winches, and Martin showed how the anchor chains could be slipped by a simple device in case of fouling.
There were two men in there, busy with oiled rags when the visitors entered. Martin introduced them to Nelson and he received a hearty if somewhat greasy handshake from each. He found the torpedo compartment more interesting than any of the others and asked a dozen questions in as many minutes. Martin was very will​ing to explain everything, his mates throwing in helpful interpolations. (It was evident to Nelson from the way in which these latter viewed him that he was looked on by the crew of the Q-4 as rather a remarkable individual.)
"Here's the way it's done," began Martin. "This tube"—laying a hand affectionately on one of the breeches—"has a watertight cap at the outer end of it. It can be opened or closed by turning this little wheel. When we want to load a tube we close the outer cap first of all. Then we open this inner cover, like this." He suited action to word and Nelson, stooping, peered into the tube which already held a torpedo. "We roll one of those torpedoes up and slide it in. This cover is closed again; you see it has a rubber joint here which makes it watertight. Then——"
"Prepare for firing, Mart," suggested one of the others.
"Yes, that's so. I forgot to say that we remove the safety pin before we load the torpedo, but you probably know about that. And, of course, we set the depth gear. That done, we close this inner cover, so. Next we open this valve which lets in water from the filling tank. There's one of these tanks for each tube, and ​each holds just enough water to fill in around the torpedo."
"But why not draw the water from the outside?" asked Nelson.
"Because you'd add about seven hundred pounds of weight to the boat and start her sinking. You see, you've got to maintain the same stability. When you fill around the torpedo with water from the tank you're not taking on any more weight, you're only shifting it from one place to another, and without changing its longitudinal position. Get that?" Nelson nodded.
"Then we open the outer cap and we're ready for firing. We report Number One or Two, or whichever it may be, ready over the tube, and the Old Man just presses a button. Air compressed to a hundred pounds to the square inch butts in through here behind the torpedo and out she goes at thirty knots. Simple, what?"
Nelson smiled. "When you know how. But look here, Townsend. After you've shot your first torpedo where do you get water from to fill the tube around the next one? Your tank's empty, isn't it?"
"Right-o! But listen to me, old settler. When your 'moldie' leases the tube the water flows into it. The weight of that water is only a few hun​dred pounds less than the weight of the torpedo and water together was before. So next thing we do we close the outer cap again. Then we pump seven hundred pounds of that water back into the filling tank. After that we blow the rest of the water in the tube into what's called the compensating tank. Now, then, we've still got the same weight aboard as we had before we parted with Mr. Torpedo. Do I make myself plain?"
"Quite, thanks. It—it's rather wonderful, isn't it?"
"Well, it's ingenious. I'll say that much for it. After all the water is out we open this inner breech again and we're all ready to slip in another torpedo. And that's how that's done! Jimmy here could have doped it out better for you, but I guess you've got the general idea. How's the air, fellows?"
"Getting a bit thick, I'd say," replied the one alluded to as Jimmy. He sniffed knowingly and then took a deep breath. "Wonder how it is on the surface."
"Blowing like the Old Harry, I guess. When did we dive? I was asleep."
"About three-twenty, I think it was. We're good for another fifteen or sixteen hours yet, but I hope he'll pop up before that. It's the bat​tery smell that gets me. I can taste the stuff already."
"Can you really stay down as long as he said?" asked Nelson as they made their way along the passage to the after quarters.
"We can stay down as long as our battery holds out, which at four knots an hour, about what we're doing, would be from twenty-two to twenty-four hours. Anyway, that's what they say. I was never down more than four hours until now. As far as the air is concerned, I guess no one knows how long this tub could stay down. I dare say the air would hold out about as long as the battery, though. That needn't worry you, Nep. We'll be popping out long before that."