pfirst">In the Ballast Tank

THE RIVAL SUBMARINES.

CHAPTER I.

CAPTAIN RESTRONGUET LEAVES CARDS.

The garrison port of Portsmouth was mobilized. Not for the "real thing," be it understood, but for the quarterly practice laid down in the joint Naval and Military Regulations of 1917.

Everything, thanks to a rigid administration, had hitherto proceeded with the regularity of clockwork; the Army officials were patting themselves on the back, the Naval authorities were shaking hands with themselves, and, in order to cement the bond of unity, each of the two Services congratulated the other.

To the best of their belief they had reason to assert that Portsmouth was once more impregnable. A series of surprise torpedo-boat attacks upon the fortress had signally failed. The final test during the mobilization was to be in the form of a combined attack upon the defences by the battleships then lying at Spithead and the airships and aeroplanes stationed at Dover, Chatham, and Sheerness.

At eight o'clock on the morning of the day for the grand attack the fleet at Spithead prepared to get under way. Forty sinister-looking destroyers slipped out of harbour in double column line ahead, and as soon as they had passed the Nab Lightship a general signal was communicated by wireless for the battleships to weigh and proceed.

The Commander-in-Chief and the Admiral-Superintendent of Portsmouth Dockyard had breakfasted ashore on that particular morning, and both officers, with the Military Lieutenant-Governor of the Garrison, were to proceed to Spithead on a cruiser to witness the departure of the fleet. It was a fine day, but the beauties of the morning were lost upon them; to have to breakfast at an unearthly hour had considerably ruffled their tempers.

"Come along, Maynebrace," exclaimed the Commander-in-Chief irritably. "It's six bells already."

"Coxswain! Coxswain! Where in the name of thunder is my coxswain?" shouted Rear-Admiral Maynebrace.

"Here, sir!" exclaimed that worthy, saluting.

"Has the Lieutenant-Governor arrived yet, coxswain?"

"Yes, sir. The police at the Main Gate have just telephoned through to say that Sir John Ambrose has arrived, sir, but being rather late proceeded straight to the jetty."

"And kept us kicking our heels here," grumbled Sir Peter Garboard, the Commander-in-Chief. "Look alive, Maynebrace, or----"

At that moment a flag-lieutenant, red in the face and well-nigh breathless with running, dashed up the steps of the portico of the Admiralty House.

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "Sir, this message has just come through."

Sir Peter took the proffered envelope, fumbled with the flap with his flabby fingers, and at last untied the Gordian knot by tearing off one edge.

"Good heavens, Maynebrace!" he gasped. "Read this!"

The Admiral-Superintendent, with unbecoming haste, grasped the paper and read:--

"Vice-Admiral, First Battle Squadron, Home Fleet, to Commander-in-Chief, Portsmouth. On fleet weighing anchor a painted board was found attached to the anchor of every battleship, the said board bearing the words 'With the compliments of Captain Restronguet.' Have ordered fleet to anchor again and am sending divers to investigate. Will communicate their report in due course."

All traces of irritability vanished from the faces of the two Admirals. Instinctively they realized that something of moment had taken place, and that instant action was necessary.

"A diver has been playing the fool, perhaps?" hazarded Maynebrace.

"Diver? Humph! Can you imagine a diver leaving his card, in the shape of a painted piece of wood, attached to the anchors of forty ships? No, no, Maynebrace, it's not that: at least, that's my opinion."

"Well, then, sir, what is it?" questioned the Rear-Admiral.

"A menace to our fleet, that's what it is. Although there is no real harm done the moral result is bad enough. It's my opinion that there's a foreign submarine at work. Moreover, she must have means of direct outside communication while she is submerged."

"What makes you think it is a foreign submarine?"

"Logic, my dear Maynebrace, logic. None of ours are capable of such a feat, and there's no knowing what these foreigners are up to. As inventors they are miles ahead of us. And what is more, the name--Restronguet--doesn't that sound French?"

"Perhaps," admitted the Rear-Admiral. "But all the same it is exasperating; it is humiliating. And there are some who think that the days of the submarine are over!"

Even as the introduction of ironclads propelled by steam machinery had revolutionized naval warfare in the middle of the nineteenth century, so had the vast strides in military aeronautics rendered obsolete, or nearly so, the huge battleships that were the chief features of the world's navies in the beginning of the present century. For several years a fierce war of controversy was waged between the supporters of an all-powerful navy and those who pinned their faith in vessels capable of supporting themselves in the air and able to use the terribly aggressive means that the researches of science could bestow.

Not only did the Great Powers take up the question. The lesser states of the world, realizing that a sudden revolution in warfare might place them on an equal basis with nations who had hitherto kept them in the background, took the liveliest interest in the discussion. They agreed that since the ill-advised building of the first British Dreadnought had given other Sea Powers a chance to build equally formidable vessels at the same rate of construction, and that in consequence the predominant Navy flying the White Ensign was practically out-of-date, a drastic and sudden revolution whereby a comparatively cheap means of offence could be created might also render