WAR-SHIP _v._ SUBMARINE
The story of the contest between our war-ships and their new enemy, the
submarine, is the story of a most remarkable and successful adaptation.
Of the six principal methods of defence used by our Navy at the end
of the fourth year of war, three are old and three new; and it is a
striking proof of the scientific ability of the Service, that the three
old methods have been carefully reconsidered, and that, instead of
abandoning them because, in their original use, they were apparently
obsolete, our officers have turned them to even better account than the
new inventions.
The oldest device for the protection of war-ships against
torpedoes--whether fired by torpedo-boats or submarines--is the net.
Our older battle-ships, as everyone will remember, were fitted with
a complete set of steel nets on both sides, and with long booms for
hanging them out. These booms, when not in use, were lashed diagonally
along the ship’s sides, like great stitches, and gave the typical
vessels of the British Fleet a peculiar and decidedly smart appearance.
Very smart, too, was the quickness and precision with which the order
‘Out torpedo nets!’ was executed; but--long before 1914--everyone was
perfectly aware that the nets were practically as much out of date as
masts and sails. They were so heavy, and hung so low in the water,
that no ship could manœuvre in them, and even for a fleet at anchor
they had ceased to be a trustworthy defence; for the Whitehead torpedo
was now fitted with cutters which could shear a way through the steel
meshes.
Nets of the old type, therefore, have played no part in the present
War--unless we are to believe the Turkish account of the sinking of the
_Ocean_ in the Dardanelles, according to which the nets were out, and
were not only useless as a protection, but dragged down some of our men
when they might otherwise have escaped by swimming. But, because one
type of net is obsolete, the British Navy has seen no reason to reject
all nets as impracticable. It is not beyond imagination to conceive a
net so light and large of mesh, that it will diminish by no more than
one knot the speed of the ship which carries it, and will yet catch
and deflect a torpedo in the act of passing through it. For it must be
remembered that the real problem is not how to stop a torpedo in its
full 30-knot career, but how to prevent it from striking the ship with
its head at an angle not too fine for the detonator to be fired. A turn
of the helm, or the mere wave from the cut-water of a fast ship, has
often sent a torpedo running harmlessly away along the quarter. The net
of the future may be found equally successful in catching the fish by
its whiskers and turning it forward along the bow, where the same wave
will drive it outwards from the ship’s course.
The second familiar means of defence was the gun. Here again there was
a temptation to despair. The secondary armament of any battle-ship or
cruiser was fairly certain to make short work of a torpedo-boat, or of
a submarine visible upon the surface. But no living gunner had ever
fired at the periscope of a submarine--a mark only two feet, at most,
out of the water, and only four inches in diameter. To see such an
object at, say, 1,000 yards, was difficult; to hit it might well seem
impossible. Yet 1,000 yards was but one-tenth of the possible range at
which a modern submarine might fire its torpedo.
Nevertheless the use of the gun was not discarded; and two important
discoveries were made in consequence. The first of these was that
gunfire may be distant, wild, or even unaimed, and yet have an
excellent effect. The existence of a submarine is so precarious--its
chance of surviving a single direct hit is so slight--that the mere
sound of a gun will almost always be enough to make it submerge
completely--unless it can engage the enemy, with superior gun-power, at
a range of its own choosing. When Captain Weddigen had already hit the
_Aboukir_, the _Hogue_, and the _Cressy_, and all three were sinking,
the sound of the _Cressy’s_ guns was enough to cause his disappearance,
though it is very improbable that the shooting was really dangerous;
for the listing of the ship was rapid, and according to eye-witnesses,
the gallant gunners were soon firing in the air. Since then, the same
thing has been repeatedly observed; and some brilliant successes by our
patrol-boats and trawlers have shown that the U-boat has every right to
be nervous when it hears even a 6-pounder talking English.
The other discovery is a much more recent one. As soon as it was
once recognised that a torpedo is just as innocuous when deflected,
as when stopped or evaded, the idea was sure to strike the handiest
gunners in the world that they might use their weapons to disturb
the straightforwardness of the fish’s onset. Even thirty knots is
nothing to the velocity of a modern shell, and without hoping for a
direct hit on an object from six to twenty-two feet under water, it
was thought possible to give a twist to the torpedo’s nose sufficient
to make a potential hit into a miss or a glancing shot. This feat was
actually performed by the gunners of the _Justitia_, who, with splendid
coolness, shot at torpedoes as sportsmen used to shoot at oncoming
tigers, and succeeded in killing or diverting several, only to fall at
last before the rush of numbers.
[Illustration: ‘She had gone full speed for the enemy, and rammed him.’]
A third weapon of the war-ship was the ram; and the use of this,
being an offensive-defensive method, was the best of all, as we shall
see presently. It was, from the beginning, present to the mind of
every naval man, for A. 1 (our very first submarine) was lost, with
all hands, in May, 1904, by being accidentally rammed in the act of
submerging. It happened, too, that the first attack made by a submarine
against British war-ships in the present War was beaten by this
method. On August 9, 1914, a squadron of our light cruisers sighted
the periscope of a German U-boat, which had succeeded in approaching
to within short range of them. In the account of the affair published
at the time, we were informed that H.M.S. _Birmingham_ had sunk the
submarine by a direct hit on the periscope, and that this was the
only shot fired. Some time afterwards, the truth became known--the
_Birmingham_ had to her credit, not an impossible feat of gunnery, but
a brilliant piece of seamanship. She had gone full speed for the enemy,
and rammed him. Her captain was not led to do this by inspiration or
desperation, but by a scientific knowledge of the elements in the
problem. Without stopping to think afresh, he knew that a submarine
takes a certain time to dive to a safe depth, and that his own ship,
at 27 knots, would cover a good 900 yards of sea in one minute. When
his eye measured the distance of that periscope, he saw that--given
straight steering--the result was a mathematical certainty.
The new methods introduced during the War are also three in number.
Of one--the use of dazzle-painting--we have already heard. It is, of
course, a purely defensive measure, intended to deceive the eye at the
periscope by misrepresenting the ship’s size, distance, and course.
Another deceptive device is the phantom ship or dummy. A vessel of
comparatively small size and value is covered more or less completely
with a superstructure of light wood-work, with sham funnels, turrets
and big guns, so that she has all the appearance of a battle-cruiser or
Dreadnought. The U-boat may run after her, or run from her, according
to his feeling at the moment; but, in either case, he will be wasting
his time and laying up disappointment for himself. In May, 1915,
during the Gallipoli campaign, the Germans spent a certain amount of
time and trouble in torpedoing a ship which they supposed to be H.M.S.
_Agamemnon_, and in their illustrated propaganda sheets they give a
picture of that ship as one of the victims of the irresistible U-boats.
For a short time the story was believed inside Constantinople, and Mr.
Lewis Einstein, of the American Embassy there, relates in his diary
that this success, coming (as it appeared to do) immediately after
the sinking of the _Triumph_ and _Majestic_, was almost more than he
could bear. Fortunately for his peace of mind, he soon discovered the
truth. The supposed _Agamemnon_ was a dummy, and lay for some time
near the entrance of the Dardanelles, with her false turrets and sham
guns, exposed to the view of friends and foes on the two shores. Very
possibly this dummy received a shot which might otherwise have been
successfully directed against a genuine battle-ship, and the deception
was thus really useful. The German cunning is expended in a very
different direction. Its object is often to deceive their own people
as to what has actually been lost, not to avert a possible loss at our
hands. Thus when the super-submarine _Bremen_ was sunk on her outward
voyage for America, one dummy _Bremen_ after another was ostentatiously
brought home to a German port, as if returning from a successful
Atlantic passage. A more flagrant instance still was the statement
that, among the German losses in the Battle of Jutland, was the
sinking of the _Pommern_, a small and obsolete battle-ship of 13,000
tons, built in 1905. The British Admiralty, who knew that that older
_Pommern_ had been sunk in the Baltic by Commander Max Horton, nearly
a year before, had no difficulty in identifying the _Pommern_ lost at
Jutland with a new Dreadnought of the largest type, commissioned since
her predecessor’s destruction and christened by her name--either then
or at the moment when it became necessary to put a good face on their
disasters in the battle. It is to be hoped that this state of things
may continue on both sides. The Germans are welcome to our phantom
ships, if we thereby save our real ones; while, if we can sink their
real ones, we may well be content to hear them given imaginary names.
The two Services have different ideas of what is a useful dummy.
The newest method of preserving ships from the torpedo is a purely
constructional device, and very little can be said of it here. But we
have been allowed to know this much--the _Marlborough_ was torpedoed
at Jutland, but returned to the line of battle within nine minutes,
fought for three hours, and eventually came home under her own steam,
defeating a submarine attack on the way. We are not told how this very
satisfactory result is attained in the construction of a Dreadnought
of 25,000 tons, capable of full battle-ship speed. It cannot be by the
mere addition of the bulging compartments known as ‘blisters,’ for in
the older cruisers in which these were tried they were found to cause
too great a sacrifice of speed. The result, however, is there; and
there can be no doubt that as the number of unsinkable ships increases,
the activity of the U-boat will be very greatly discouraged.
But it would be contrary to the principles of war and the genius
of our Navy, to rely upon purely defensive measures to defeat the
submarine enemy. It is sometimes said that the U-boat campaign took
us by surprise. So far as this applies to the legitimate use of the
submarine against war-ships, the statement is quite untrue. The
campaign against merchant shipping and non-combatant passengers, waged
in defiance of all international law and common humanity, did certainly
take us by surprise; and it is only to our credit, and the discredit
of our enemies, that their barbarity was beyond our imagination. But
the efforts of the U-boats against our fleet were, as we have shown
in a previous chapter, actually less successful than our own attacks
upon theirs, and our tacticians were never for a moment at a loss
to deal with them. The principles had been thought out long ago. As
early as 1907, the distinguished admiral who writes over the name
‘Barfleur’ clearly stated his belief that ‘the untried submarine’ was
not likely to prove more effective than the torpedo-boat and destroyer
in depriving our Battle Fleet of the control of the sea. ‘Nothing is
more to be deprecated,’ he added, ‘than the attempt which has been
made to enhance unduly its importance, by playing on the credulity
of the public. The new instrument of war has no doubt a value, but
that it is anything more than an auxiliary, with limited and special
uses, is difficult to believe.’ And he turned back to old and tried
principles: ‘The traditional role of the British Navy is not to act on
the defensive, but to prepare to attack the force which threatens.’
In September, 1914, when Weddigen’s _coup_ showed that the moment
had come, ‘Barfleur’ was among the first to attack the new problem
tactically--he saw at once that the war-ship’s best defence lies in the
offensive power given by her immense superiority in speed and weight.
And if the single ship is formidable to the submarine, a squadron
is still more so. By its formation, its manœuvres, its pace and its
ramming power, it reverses the whole situation--the hunter becomes the
hunted, and must fly like a wolf from a pack of wolf-hounds, every one
more powerful than itself.
There remains, of course, the question of the best formation for the
squadron to adopt. Upon this point there are more opinions than one,
and a conversation may be reported in which the merits of line abreast
and line ahead were set against one another by two naval officers,
and both put out of court by a third. The first two were captains
commanding ships in two different squadrons. They argued the question
between them with great seriousness; but in so cool and abstract a
manner, that the spectator might be pardoned for suspecting--rightly or
wrongly--that they were supporting doctrines which were not personal
to themselves but derived from higher authority--perhaps from their
respective admirals, both men of great ability and experience. It was
noticeable, too, that the admiral at whose table the disputants were
sitting, and who himself commanded yet another squadron, maintained
an attitude of neutrality; though it is certain that he and his own
officers, several of whom were present, had often discussed the
problem, and were probably agreed upon the answer to it.
‘Speed,’ said Captain A, ‘seems to be the key to the solution. It is
only in line ahead that speed helps you--in fact gives you something
like practical safety. If a torpedo, fired at a column in line ahead,
misses the ship it is aimed at, it is very unlikely to be so wide a
shot as to hit either the next ahead or next astern--it is a miss
directly it crosses the line.’
Captain B remained perfectly grave, but he looked very well content
with this argument. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘theoretically; but, in fact, the
contrary has happened. In a column of eight ships, in line ahead, the
_London_ and the _Formidable_ were the last two. You remember that the
torpedo which sank the _Formidable_ was believed to have been meant for
the _London_. And anyhow, speed and stormy weather failed to save the
rear ship.’
‘The speed was insufficient,’ replied Captain A, ‘not worth calling
speed. When your fleet is in line abreast, columns disposed astern, the
theoretical chances of hitting are much greater. Speed is no advantage
in such a formation--in fact it may be a positive disadvantage. It may
actually increase the virtual target. A shot which misses the near ship
of a line abreast may still hit one of the others.’
‘Laurence,’ said Captain B, ‘when he fired at the _Moltke_, considered
her, as wing ship of the squadron, to be his only chance.’
‘There was no second line disposed astern,’ replied Captain A; ‘but
even so, if his torpedo had just missed, ahead of the _Moltke_, the
next or next but one in the line might have come forward just in time
to receive the shot.’
‘That,’ said Captain B, ‘is a mere question of time and distance; and,
in anything like ordinary circumstances, you would not get your result.
Say the ships are three cables apart, and doing only fifteen knots. The
torpedo is going double the speed; but by the time it has run the three
cables along the line, the next ship will have gone one and a half
cables ahead and be past the danger point.’
‘Your ship may be zigzagging,’ replied Captain A, ‘and run right into
it. Line ahead has the advantage there--in fact, speaking generally,
I have the power, which you have not, of immediate deployment in
any direction. I can avoid mines, or turn away from the submarine
altogether.’
‘Certainly,’ said Captain B, looking again quite well content, ‘but
you would not turn away in any case--you would best defend yourself by
attacking the submarine.’
Captain A hesitated a moment. ‘Yes,’ he replied at last, ‘but in line
abreast your attack might be positively dangerous to yourself. Suppose
your columns in line abreast to be zigzagging, as they probably would
be, and imagine one of your ships to put her helm the wrong way--there
would inevitably be a collision.’
‘I cannot imagine such a thing,’ said Captain B.
‘I appeal to the Admiral,’ said Captain A.
It seemed an embarrassing thing, for a host and superior officer, to
be called upon to give judgment between his guests on so serious an
argument. But the Admiral was not in the least embarrassed. He did
not even express his own opinion, which was thought to favour Captain
B. ‘Let me remind you,’ he said, ‘that you have not examined the
most important witness in the case--the commander of the submarine.
What order is the most dangerous for the submarine to meet? I asked
Commander C, one of our best E-boat officers, this question lately, and
he replied “Quarter-line, undoubtedly.”’
He turned to the only landsman present, and reminded him that in a
quarter-line, or bow-and-quarter line, the ships are echeloned each
upon the quarter of the next ahead instead of directly astern. He
added, ‘A will say that this is in his favour, because ships in a
quarter-line are really in line ahead, only that each one in turn is a
little out of the straight. And B will claim that he wins, because a
quarter-line is merely a line abreast in which each ship lags a little
more behind the true front. And C will tell us that the only thing
which matters is that the quarter-line gives the unhappy submarine less
chance of hitting, and more chance of being sunk than either of the
other two formations. And thereupon the Court is adjourned.’