Survivors
Aug 21, 1615 hours. Esquimalt Naval Dockyard.
McBride walked up the hill to the Naval Hospital. As he got closer, he was greeted by a drone of low moaning. Nurses and volunteers were treating some of the less severely wounded on stretchers on the lawn, with roaming doctor and a pharmacist administering morphine as required. Between the supine wounded men, a pair of goats were grazing. Those of Rainbow’s survivors who were without visible wounds alternately helped with the wounded, stood smoking, engaged in vigorous conversation with comrades, or paced about irritably. A few, overcome with fatigue, had fallen asleep on the grass. One sailor stood in the middle of the cobblestone path, wrapped in a blanket, muttering to himself and shaking uncontrollably. A nurse offered him a cup of hot tea, which he accepted without comment. McBride recognized faces among the surviving crew, acquaintances in the small-town social scene of his capital city, or sons of acquaintances. He also noticed the absence of some faces he knew to be on Rainbow’s crew.
McBride began doing rounds, shaking hands and offering congratulations and encouraging words. He crossed paths with Commander Hose several times. Hose was engaged in the same activity, but it was clear to McBride that the captain’s connection to his men was much deeper. McBride was not sure what he himself would say, had he just survived such an experience, and then with the memory fresh and vivid, been glad-handed by a politician. But as an elected leader, this was his duty, and he would not shirk it.
Later, CGS Alcedo steamed back across the harbor to embark some infantry, and McBride caught a ride. The patrol vessel’s destination was the wharf at the Recreation and Parade Grounds at the east of Esquimalt harbor, the only wharf of size undamaged by the bombardment. McBride learned from the crew that Major Roy, the militia commander of the province, had ordered a platoon of the 88th Fusiliers to be deployed by sea to Jordan River, to garrison against an overland attack on Victoria’s hydroelectric plant. Alcedo was to be their transport.
“Pachena Dominion Wireless Station is reporting the Hun is steaming up the coast, towards Bamfield. And the scuttlebutt is that another company of the 88th is being moved to Port Alberni by train, in case the Hun attack there,” Alcedo’s Naval Reserve First Officer told McBride, confidentially. “Along with the artillery mobile reserve from the Coberg Battery. This is a secret, but I suppose it is fine that I tell you, with you being the premier of the province and all. There was a landing and a battle right in Bamfield this morning, you know.”
Alcedo tied up at the parade ground wharf. The submarine, which proved to be CC-2, was already alongside the same wharf. McBride expected the crew of CC-2 to be frantically provisioning, but they looked to be engaged like the survivors of Rainbow, at ease and smoking. Keyes and Trousdale stood on the deck of the submarine, in discussion.
“Sir Richard,” the two naval officers greeted him as he approached. The men looked somber. McBride joined them on the submarine’s narrow after deck.
“We had another loss today,” said Trousdale. “Lieutenant Mainland-Dougall was sunk pressing a close surface attack on Nürnberg. With all hands.”
“His sacrifice set up my successful attack,” said Keyes quietly. “Bert Jones will be proud. We are all proud.” McBride took off his hat. The men stood in silence for a moment.
“I was expecting more activity here,” said McBride curiously, gesturing at CC-2’s lazing crew. “Is this not the only warship on the coast?”
“This boat will not be going anywhere for a while,” said Trousdale.
“Probably not for a few weeks,” said Keyes. “The diesel engine is blown. Overheated. Broken gudgeon pin, hole in the crankcase, the whole bit. Her batteries are run right down to nothing. We ordered a replacement MAN diesel from Toronto last week, in anticipation of this. I suppose it will arrive by train, when it does.”
“We will have to locate a working shipyard, somewhere on the coast,” said Trousdale. “Or requisition a capable vessel as a submarine tender.”
“I suppose we could bodge together some way to charge the batteries from shore,” said Keyes. That would give us a 5 mile radius of action, if we pushed the limit.”
“When we have electricity again,” said Trousdale.
The conversation was drowned out by the tramping of boots on the dock timbers, and of NCOs shouting orders, as 50 Fusiliers marched down the dock and boarded Alcedo. The patrol vessel cast off and steamed out of the harbor.
“I think you have chased the Hun away,” said McBride, resuming. “I would not expect them back.”
“Oh no,” said Trousdale. “The Hun are gone, out into the wide Pacific, or to the bottom when Izumo arrives. But they are leaving for want of targets. What is left here to burn or sink?”
“We will build back, you will see,” said McBride, feeling the mood called for an inspirational pick-me-up. “The Hun have dealt us a foul blow, it is true. But much of the industry they have destroyed was not built a decade ago. The men and women of this province are an industrious lot. We will rise to the occasion and prosper again, and more quickly than you imagine. You will see.”
The hard-hearted submariners resting on the dock followed McBride’s speech, and bantered cynically among themselves. “The fires should be extinguished in a few hours, that will be a good start,” said one.
“Although the fires would give us some light when it gets dark,” said another.
McBride had not got to his place in politics by listening to nay-sayers. “I say one of the first tasks will be to repair the All Red Line cable at Bamfield, to re-establish regular communication with the Empire.”
“And it just so happens we have a cable ship suitable for the job, right here in the harbour,” said Trousdale. “The CS Restorer.” He gestured at the pair of masts jutting from the debris strewn water.
The men became quiet, and looked towards the setting sun. Only a few distant sounds carried over the dull roar of the burning naval coal stores.
CS Restorer
HMCS CC-2
Royal Naval Hospital Esquimalt
search-bcarchives.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca
McBride walked up the hill to the Naval Hospital. As he got closer, he was greeted by a drone of low moaning. Nurses and volunteers were treating some of the less severely wounded on stretchers on the lawn, with roaming doctor and a pharmacist administering morphine as required. Between the supine wounded men, a pair of goats were grazing. Those of Rainbow’s survivors who were without visible wounds alternately helped with the wounded, stood smoking, engaged in vigorous conversation with comrades, or paced about irritably. A few, overcome with fatigue, had fallen asleep on the grass. One sailor stood in the middle of the cobblestone path, wrapped in a blanket, muttering to himself and shaking uncontrollably. A nurse offered him a cup of hot tea, which he accepted without comment. McBride recognized faces among the surviving crew, acquaintances in the small-town social scene of his capital city, or sons of acquaintances. He also noticed the absence of some faces he knew to be on Rainbow’s crew.
McBride began doing rounds, shaking hands and offering congratulations and encouraging words. He crossed paths with Commander Hose several times. Hose was engaged in the same activity, but it was clear to McBride that the captain’s connection to his men was much deeper. McBride was not sure what he himself would say, had he just survived such an experience, and then with the memory fresh and vivid, been glad-handed by a politician. But as an elected leader, this was his duty, and he would not shirk it.
Later, CGS Alcedo steamed back across the harbor to embark some infantry, and McBride caught a ride. The patrol vessel’s destination was the wharf at the Recreation and Parade Grounds at the east of Esquimalt harbor, the only wharf of size undamaged by the bombardment. McBride learned from the crew that Major Roy, the militia commander of the province, had ordered a platoon of the 88th Fusiliers to be deployed by sea to Jordan River, to garrison against an overland attack on Victoria’s hydroelectric plant. Alcedo was to be their transport.
“Pachena Dominion Wireless Station is reporting the Hun is steaming up the coast, towards Bamfield. And the scuttlebutt is that another company of the 88th is being moved to Port Alberni by train, in case the Hun attack there,” Alcedo’s Naval Reserve First Officer told McBride, confidentially. “Along with the artillery mobile reserve from the Coberg Battery. This is a secret, but I suppose it is fine that I tell you, with you being the premier of the province and all. There was a landing and a battle right in Bamfield this morning, you know.”
Alcedo tied up at the parade ground wharf. The submarine, which proved to be CC-2, was already alongside the same wharf. McBride expected the crew of CC-2 to be frantically provisioning, but they looked to be engaged like the survivors of Rainbow, at ease and smoking. Keyes and Trousdale stood on the deck of the submarine, in discussion.
“Sir Richard,” the two naval officers greeted him as he approached. The men looked somber. McBride joined them on the submarine’s narrow after deck.
“We had another loss today,” said Trousdale. “Lieutenant Mainland-Dougall was sunk pressing a close surface attack on Nürnberg. With all hands.”
“His sacrifice set up my successful attack,” said Keyes quietly. “Bert Jones will be proud. We are all proud.” McBride took off his hat. The men stood in silence for a moment.
“I was expecting more activity here,” said McBride curiously, gesturing at CC-2’s lazing crew. “Is this not the only warship on the coast?”
“This boat will not be going anywhere for a while,” said Trousdale.
“Probably not for a few weeks,” said Keyes. “The diesel engine is blown. Overheated. Broken gudgeon pin, hole in the crankcase, the whole bit. Her batteries are run right down to nothing. We ordered a replacement MAN diesel from Toronto last week, in anticipation of this. I suppose it will arrive by train, when it does.”
“We will have to locate a working shipyard, somewhere on the coast,” said Trousdale. “Or requisition a capable vessel as a submarine tender.”
“I suppose we could bodge together some way to charge the batteries from shore,” said Keyes. That would give us a 5 mile radius of action, if we pushed the limit.”
“When we have electricity again,” said Trousdale.
The conversation was drowned out by the tramping of boots on the dock timbers, and of NCOs shouting orders, as 50 Fusiliers marched down the dock and boarded Alcedo. The patrol vessel cast off and steamed out of the harbor.
“I think you have chased the Hun away,” said McBride, resuming. “I would not expect them back.”
“Oh no,” said Trousdale. “The Hun are gone, out into the wide Pacific, or to the bottom when Izumo arrives. But they are leaving for want of targets. What is left here to burn or sink?”
“We will build back, you will see,” said McBride, feeling the mood called for an inspirational pick-me-up. “The Hun have dealt us a foul blow, it is true. But much of the industry they have destroyed was not built a decade ago. The men and women of this province are an industrious lot. We will rise to the occasion and prosper again, and more quickly than you imagine. You will see.”
The hard-hearted submariners resting on the dock followed McBride’s speech, and bantered cynically among themselves. “The fires should be extinguished in a few hours, that will be a good start,” said one.
“Although the fires would give us some light when it gets dark,” said another.
McBride had not got to his place in politics by listening to nay-sayers. “I say one of the first tasks will be to repair the All Red Line cable at Bamfield, to re-establish regular communication with the Empire.”
“And it just so happens we have a cable ship suitable for the job, right here in the harbour,” said Trousdale. “The CS Restorer.” He gestured at the pair of masts jutting from the debris strewn water.
The men became quiet, and looked towards the setting sun. Only a few distant sounds carried over the dull roar of the burning naval coal stores.
CS Restorer
HMCS CC-2
Submariners Association of Canada (Central)
www.saoc-central.ca
Royal Naval Hospital Esquimalt
Royal Naval Hospital; Esquimalt. - RBCM Archives
RBCM Archives
