16 - Blake of the "Rattlesnake" - The Saving of England - "Torpedo Triumphans"

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter sixteen of Blake of the Rattlesnake. This is a
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This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina.

(00:23):
Blake of the Rattlesnake by Frederick T. Jane, Chapter sixteen,
the final chapter Torpedo Triumphants the Saving of England. The French,
believing the remnants of the British Navy to be safely
shut up at Chatham or Plymouth, and so unsuspicious of

(00:45):
any attack, had guarded the entrances to the solent in
very negligent fashion, and for some time no lookouts were visible.
In three lines, we steamed slowly towards our quarry, the
Collier Lill being some three or four cables ahead of us.
Our center line consisted of torpedo boat number eighty seven,

(01:07):
towing astern of her six dummy torpedo boats which we
have made during our stay at Lamblash. These were each
a cable or so apart, the intervals being somewhat irregular,
and the tow line was underwater all the way, so
as to lessen the weight and save it from being
cut through by shot. Our port or inshore division consisted

(01:32):
of the Ratto, dasher and hornet. The rest formed the
starboard attack. All of us, even the dummy boats, flew
the Russian ensign. It was a strange feeling to enter
thus as foes the harbor that had never before been aught,
but English in the memory of man, everything having been

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practiced and arranged at Lamblash, we took up this formation
without a hitch, and steaming thus incautious fashion. At length
sighted a small vessel ahead, a French scout, which turned
her searchlight on the Lily. Captain Higgs, who had gone
on with lights out so as to attract attention, had

(02:14):
picturesquely wrecked his vessel for the occasion. With a dummy
fore funnel shorn of half its length, main masts broken
off short, and imitation shotholes in her side. The Lily
looked as though she had just emerged from a hard
fought fight. The Frenchman fired a gun across her bows

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as a signal for her to stop, which she immediately did,
and turning a searchlight we had fitted her with full on,
the enemy began making at the same time a series
of heterogeneous signals that must have sorely puzzled those who
tried to read them, Blinded by the searchlight, their attention

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occupied by the supposed Russian none of the enemies saw
us steal past until it was too late for them
to interfere with our attack. We had passed them, and
ahead of us lay two long lines of battleships, some
looming up black and silent in the darkness, others lit
up by the flashes of the random guns they had

(03:15):
already begun to fire. Mostly they used no searchlights, fearing
thereby to bewilder their gunners, nor as yet were they
certain in which direction to look. Before long, however, a
chance beamed from the electric light fell upon our leading
torpedo boat, now going for between the lines at her
utmost speed, the dummies trailing well out astern of her.

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I suppose the Russian flag puzzled the French, for there
was a lull in the firing, some signaling shouting and
momentary indecision. But as number eighty seven reached the farther
end of the lines, a vigorous cannonade began again, and
at the same instant we heard the destination of a
couple of torpedoes. The psychological moment had come. Blake blew

(04:04):
his signal whistle. We tore down the Russian flag, hoisting
the white ensign in its place, and off we went
between the shore and the enemy till we had passed
the last of them. Then, circling round, we charged back
to complete the work of destruction we had begun. Scarcely.
A shot came near us as our torpedoes went home,

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one after the other with a series of the most
awful explosions I have ever witnessed. By the time we
had been up the lines and down again a space
of but a few minutes. Of all that great armada,
but two ships were left firing. All the rest had
sunk or run aground. Our dummy boats, which had received

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the greater part of the enemy's attentions, held out well
too well, in fact, since with the exception of the
leading boat, they had proved well nigh indestructible, and unless
we could either destroy or take them away with us,
it would be impossible to again practice this brilliant rouse
de guerre, as it was. Their recovery seriously delayed us,

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but at length one of the torpedo boats managed to
pick up a buoy that drifted astern of them, and
none too soon we made back at full speed. Torpedo
boats were coming out of the harbor in shoals, while
ahead we could discern our old acquaintance, the scout we
had passed coming in. Blake, who had anticipated some trouble

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of this sort, at once signaled to our consorts to
clear out independently and rendezvous off the needles, and all
immediately scattered into accordance with a pre arranged plan. The
Ratto got out untouched, and once past the needles, slowed
down to pick up such other vessels of our flotilla
as might be about. The Hornet Dasher and two torpedo boats,

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which had kept in sight, soon jined us, and eventually
we made out the three queer shaped funnels of the
Speedy as she labored along in our wake, the five
remaining dummies towing astern of her. But of our other
vessels we saw nothing, though we looked for them long
and anxiously. Miss Monkton, who during the attack had been

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shut up in the cunning tower, now came out on deck,
prematurely congratulating herself that the fighting was over. She was
soon undeceived, however, by hearing our commodore giving orders for
the attack on the other hostile fleet that we expected
to find at Portland. Hitherto, the girl had exercised restraint,

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but the prospect of this fresh danger did away with
her self control. And in front of Thorn and myself,
within hearing even of some of the crew, she urged
Blake to abandon the enterprise. Have I no claim upon
you too? Have not I, your affianced bride, a right
to demand that you live and for me, we heard

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her passionately exclaim. But Blake was inexorable. A shame that
through my indecision, this trouble had come upon us. Anxious
to men matters as much as lay in my power,
I called out to man an armed ship on my
own responsibility, and in the bustle of the moment, Blake
led her to the conning tower, again, torn by conflicting emotions,

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compelled to endanger the life of the woman he loved,
Our skipper never wavered one moment, nor did he even
exhibit any signs of annoyance. At this last provocation. The
certainty of ultimate destruction was now so strong that all
other feelings were smothered in its fatalism. The glamour of
the death Watch was upon us. So much was this

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so that it never occurred to any of us what
a pretty scandal Miss Monckton's presence on board would cause, if,
by any off chance, we should survive. I doubt if
it struck her either, But she, at any rate was
past caring for anything save her wild desire to save
our captain's life. At first we did not think we

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were being followed, but in this we were mistaken a
few miles from Portland Bill, just as we were making
our final dispositions for the attack, several rockets went up
astern of us, and after a brief interval, these were
answered by others ahead. All these signals were similar to
those made by the enemy in the solent white and

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green stars turning to red, evidently a distinguishing signal. It
had been our intention to stop about here in order
to transfer some spare torpedoes to our boats, which were
now unarmed, but the discovery of our presence by the
enemy made this a grave risk. It seemed better to
attack with our larger ships only, and this we started

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to do. As yet the strangers could not tell our
exact whereabouts, while their signals made their own positions pretty plain.
Though we were not yet able to discover whether the
ships ahead were merely scouts or the Russian Portland fleet.
Till this should be ascertained, it was our policy not
to attack them, lest catching the sprat we should lose

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the mackerel. Blake altered course, and we stood for the
shore at sixteen knots, passing quite unobserved, within a mile
of the advancing warships. In a few more minutes Portland
would be open to us. In the excitement, I had
forgotten all about Miss Moncton, though I should have known
that she would seize any opportunity that might present itself

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to wreck our plans. When the thought of her suddenly
flashed across my mind, I started to look for her,
but I was too late. Hard by the Conning tower
was a rocket ready and positioned for firing, the string
hanging within easy reach of anyone. As I can came
in sight of it. Blake was standing up by the
twelve pounder, watching the enemy through his night glasses. Miss Monkton,

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below him, was gazing at the rocket. In an instant
I divined her purpose, but I was too far away
to prevent it. I called out to her not to
touch it, But even as I called, she pulled the
string with a hiss and a roar. The rocket flew
blazing into the sky, lighting up the waters all around
us and betraying our exact position to the enemy. Blake

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dropped his glasses as though he had been shot, and
immediately jumped onto the deck beside her. I expected an explosion,
but his first words were to inquire whether she was hurt.
He was unsuspicious. Even yet you have done for us now, Lucy,
he said, gently, when she had assured him that the
rocket had done her no harm, How on earth did

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you manage to get entangled in it? For a minute?
There was a pause. Then I did it on purpose,
she answered, slowly. On purpose, he repeated, scarce, seeming to
understand her. On purpose. See, the enemy are coming back.
We shall be captured. Only capture will save you from

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your suicidal self. The Rata will never be captured. Lucy.
You have only helped to sink her a little sooner,
was all he said. Her motive was so plain, her
loving desperation so apparent, that he had not the heart
to be angry with her, but on his face came
a look that made me wonder whether, holding it to

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be his duty, he was going to have her thrown overboard.
There was no time now for any more speech. The
enemy was coming up rapidly, firing randomly at us as
they came now to port, now to starboard. We rushed,
but the enemy were not to be shaken off. We
and the destroyers might have bowled through them, but this

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would have entailed the sacrifice of the speedy and probably
of the torpedo boats as well, and for this Blake
was not prepared. The strange vessels swift as ourselves kept
pace with us. Evidently they were uncertain of our strength
and power, and were waiting till daylight should enable them
to destroy us at long range. At length, the dreaded

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dawn broke and we could make out the black forms
of hostile cruisers steaming with us. As we made down channel.
The sea ahead was comparatively clear, and there was just
a chance that we might yet get away. Presently, the
enemy began to signal rapidly. Their leading vessels slowed down
from their lofty tops. They had sighted something ahead, but

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whether it was a death trap into which we were speeding.
We could not yet ascertain. Still, whatever might be ahead,
we could not stop to fall into the hands of
our pursuers, and so we sped along till we made
out a number of battleships coming towards us in wide
single column of line abreast. Tired out and exhausted as

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we were, we braced ourselves for another fight. But long
ere we had got within range of them, we made
out the center vessel. She could, even at that distance,
be none other than the Old Thunderer. We approached the
fleet warily enough, nevertheless, lest they should prove to be
in hostile hands. While they regarded us with equal suspicion.

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After a while they began to signal to us, and we,
having made our numbers which could just be distinguished in
the dawning light, they sent on a cruiser flying a
white flag. Then, satisfied as to who we were, signaled
to us to fall in astern. The Thunderer, it may
be remembered, had been badly torpedoed on the first night

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of the war, and had only got out of dockyard
hands in time to be shut up in Plymouth. Her
captain semaphorre to us us that they had broken out
of Plymouth found the previous night destroyed some of the
blockading fleet, which had already been severely handled by the
maker forts, and were now in hot pursuit of the

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remainder who had fled away up channel. And these presumably
were some of the ships we had met hen so
narrowly escaped from the fleet with the Thunderer, consisted of
the old ironclads Agincoreps, Dreadnought, Hercules, Sultan, Rupert, Neptune, Devastation, Bellerophon,

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the cruisers Talbot, Sappho and Phoebe, and one torpedo boat
a Thornycroft boat whose number I forget. And these were
all that was left to the British Navy save ships
on foreign stations, and a ragtag and bobtail fleet of
badly damaged ironclads, including the half completed Illustrious, that had

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been telegraphed to break out from Chatham, the forts of
which had so far prevented attacks from the land on
the Russians at the Nore. Blake, on his part, signaled
back that in the last few days we had between
Lamlash and Plymouth torpedoed the Ruric and two other vessels,
unknown that we had been into the Solent the previous night,

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and during our visit had sunk or disabled some twenty
French warships. Further communication was interrupted by a movement of
the enemy ahead. It was now light enough to see
them fairly well, and we could count a good twenty
large ships, besides a number of small craft a stern
of the British ironclads. A dozen or more other ships

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were visible. A great battle was imminent, a battle against
overwhelming odds. The enemy's present movements were confined to a
change of formation. However, they made no attempt to attack
our entrapped fleet. Either they hoped to force us to
surrender by a show of superior force, horse or else.

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The daily expected peace made their admirals doubtful as to
the advisability of risking the loss of any more ships
while destroying the British. It was now quite light, and
the rising sun showed us columns of smoke on the
eastern horizon. Yet another fleet coming up to join in
the navel armageddon. The British admiral, unable to steam it

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much above ten knots, made no attempt to escape. It
would have been utterly useless to try and do so.
With the enemy's swift vessels so near. He was practically
surrounded Thorn and I stormed at the dilatoriness of our admiral.
He's just letting them collect so as to have a
good number to strike to I said, no, said Blake,

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coming up to us. He thinks the fleet steaming down
are our ships from Chatham, though the enemy fancy they
are Russians. In any case, the fight will begin in
a few minutes more. He paused, then went on in
a strained voice, avoiding our eyes. Before it does, Miss
Moncton must leave the Rattlesnake. And so I want to

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ask a favor of you, Bovarie. We've been shipmates together
all through the war, and on the strength of it,
I ask you to leave the ship now to do
what sir I inquired in wonder. Miss Moncton must leave
the ship. I cannot have her go down with the rattlesnake.
Take her off in the boat now now at once,

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get her to the shore, if possible, or if you
cannot do that, on board one of the battleships. I
can fight this fight without you, as I've settled what
to do, but I cannot send her adrift at the
mercy of a couple of blue jackets. But her father, Sir,
lies dead in the wardrobe. The strain and excitement have

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been too much for him. It's a hard thing to do,
old man. I know it makes you seem a runaway,
so I ask instead of order you. I am ready, sir,
was all I said, and he grasped my hand in
a farewell shake. God bless you, Bovary, he added brokenly.

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Miss Moncton was half dead from exposure and terror. The
sudden death of the old general had completely upset her,
and when Blake told her to get into the boat,
she obeyed him mechanically. I was already in the boat
with a single blue jacket that Blake could spare me,
and directly she had taken her place in the stern.
We shoved off, rowing our hardest. Blake, not trusting himself

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to speak, hurried back to his post on top of
the conning tower. But the sad drama was not ended.
We had rowed but a few strokes from the doomed
vessel when Miss Mocton awoke to what was going on
and sprang to her feet with a piercing scream of
terror that wrung my very heart. Edward headward, for God's sake,

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don't send me away from you. Let me stay and
die with you. Die with you. I don't want to
live when you are gone. With a strength born of
anguish and despair, she seized my oar, and despite my
efforts to prevent her, backed water with it. Not daring
to meet her eyes, I put my head down to

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hide my face and pull my very hardest against her.
Presently her strength failed, and abandoning the attempt, she made
as though to jump into the sea, but holding fast
on to her I prevented that also. Gradually her struggles ceased,
and she sank down into the bottom of the boat

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in a swoon over the water. In sad accents, came
the voice of Blake. Goodbye, my darling, good bye. And
then the Rattlesnake made a way to her doom. Guns
were firing and signals flying, and through the smoke I
could see the light squadrons of the opposing fleets charging

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at each other. In a moment they seemed to meet
a brief cloud of smoke and flame, then out of
the melee emerged the Ratto, Dasher and Hornet, steering straight
for the hostile battleships at thirty miles an hour. The
water around them was lashed into foam by the shot
and shell, but they held their way unchecked. They reached

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the leading iron clads, the spume of torpedo explosions rose
like water spouts. Then they vanished in the mist and
strain our eyes as we would. No trace of them
was visible. The firing increased in intensity, the big guns
taking their turn too, for by now some of the
belligian ironclads were within range of each other. Suddenly, through

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a rift in the smoke, I saw the Ratto torn
and battered much down by the head. Before her were
two huge iron clads that had collided in the confusion
caused by Blake's attack. She was evidently sinking, but the
British flag still flew from her ensign staff above the
shot splashed water. Ours seemed to pass as she crawled

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nearer and nearer to the battleships now towering above her.
Two or three pregnant minutes at the most, there came
a lull in the firing, a lull of foreboding the
ships touched. As they did so, a mighty column of
mingled flame and water leaped into the air, and falling
hid everything from my sight. Then came the roar of

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a terrific explosion, and I knew that Blake and the
Rattlesnake were no more. He had blown her up in
the midst of the foe. So enrapt was I, and
watching this terrible episode that I had left the boat
to drift by herself. Shot was now falling around us,
and pull as we would against the tide, we could

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not gain the shore. In the course of our struggles,
we were hailed from the thunderer, and soon when we
were alongside her, the great ironclads slowed down. A rope
was thrown to us, and Miss Monkton, still in her swoon,
taken on board and sent below. The fight was growing
in intensity, and now was not the moment for explanations.

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I was hastily told off to take the post of
a sub who poor fellow was already down. But of
what I did, or how we fared in that battle
of giants, I have but little, if any coherent recollection.
It suffices to say that some hours later When the
firing ceased, a large portion of the Plymouth and Chatham

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squadron still floated, bruised and battered, but victorious guns behind
armor had conquered, and seven French and Russian ironclads now
flying the white ensign were our fruits of victory. The
rest of our gallant foes had gone down with colors flying.
This battle, as everybody knows, ended the war. The fleet

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cruised about the Channel for a few days, but there
were no more fights. The enemy had had enough of it.
The last week, thanks mostly to Blake, had cost them
some forty warships. The Ratto alone, in blowing up with
all that dynamite on board, had taken two ironclads to
the bottom with her and severely damaged a third, and

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altogether the enemy were without any fleet suitable to continue
the war. Their deadly QF guns had made little impression
on the Thunderer and her completely armored consorts, which were
soon fit for sea. As ever, cruisers from foreign stations
were daily arriving home having cleared distant waters of all

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hostile vessels, and the Allies, hampered by nihilists and anarchists
at home, were only too anxious to end a war
that threatened to continue only to their disadvantage, and so
as everyone knows, the great peace came about. In conclusion,
I must explain what I should perhaps have made clearer before,

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that this little tale is in no way intended to
compete with the more elaborate histories of the war that
have appeared in the last few years. My claim to
be read lies in my being. I fear the only
survivor of those who knew Blake and were with him
when he and his fellow torpedo men saved England and

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laid down their lives for her sake. Whether England was
worth the sacrifice is a question that those who look
around them cannot have much difficulty in answering. The self
sacrifice of her sailors has brought England a spell of
peace again. It has created a large number of desirable
berths in the War Pension Office. It is given an

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open field for the exercise of parliamentary and party fudge
for some years to come. But the patriotic outburst of
the closing months of eighteen ninety something has fizzled out
long ago. The starving of the navy goes on just
as it did before the war, and though improvements have

(25:13):
been effected in many details, yet minor considerations outweigh the
more important issues as of old now and again, I
hobbled to Saint Paul's, where some who had been shipmates
with them before the war placed a monument to the
memory of Blake and the Aeronites, and as I gaze

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on its stony grandeur, I often wished that my name, too,
were on that marble slab. Blake was better dead with glory,
for had he lived, all that he had done would
scarcely have atoned for his revolt. Indeed, I was court
martialed for my small share in it, and though let
off without any special punishment, my naval career ended with

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the war, the credit and glory of which was usurped
by the military. The Navy was thanked for its assistance
in the closing days. The mass of the honor went
to an army of volunteers that defeated the French, who
Blake's attack. Having lost them, the command of the Sea
were retreating in disorderly haste towards Portsmouth. Miss Moncton never

(26:22):
recovered from the double shock of that memorable and fateful night.
For a while she haunted Blake's tomb, a tall, black
clad figure worn with grief, but she has long since
gone to join him, where the weary are addressed. This
is the end of Blake of the Rattlesnake by Frederick T. Jane.

(26:47):
Thank you for listening.