BRITISH SUBMARINES IN THE BALTIC
The story of our submarine campaign in the Baltic is the first of two
romances of the sea--one Northern and one Southern--the like of which
is not to be found in the annals of the last 300 years. War must often
make us familiar with obscure or long-forgotten places, the scenes of
old voyages, and battles long ago; but to adventure with our submarines
into the Baltic, or the Sea of Marmora, is to slip through unimagined
dangers into a legendary world beyond all history--sailing the seas
of the past, with the captains of the future. The exploration under
water of those intricate and perilous channels was alone a discovery of
supreme skill and daring; and the brilliant acts of war achieved by the
adventurers form only a minor part of the glory of being there at all.
The first of our submarine voyagers in the Baltic was Lieut.-Commander
Max Horton, in E. 9. Before the War was a year old his fame had spread
far and wide; but the details of his success are not even yet generally
known, and cannot be given here. By October 6, 1914, he had sunk a
German light cruiser and a destroyer, both in the ‘North Sea,’ and it
may perhaps be guessed that he had, at any rate, thought of penetrating
into the Baltic. By January, 1915, he was a full Commander, and had
received the D.S.O. On the 29th of that month, he was not only in
the Baltic, but was sinking a destroyer there; on May 11, he bagged
a transport; and on June 5, he put to the credit of E. 9 another
transport and another destroyer. Finally, on July 2, he torpedoed the
_Pommern_, a 13,000-ton battle-ship of an older type, but armed with
11-inch guns.
On July 29, he slipped again, in company with E. 1 (Commander N. F.
Laurence), and after some independent hunting, the two boats both
arrived at Reval. E. 9 had attacked a cruiser and a submarine; and, on
August 18, had had a covetous look at a squadron of battle-cruisers,
detailed for the German attack on the Gulf of Riga. But as they were
moving constantly in regular formation, and at high speed over a large
area, it was not possible to deal satisfactorily with them. E. 1,
however, had had better luck. On August 19, Commander Laurence came
to observation depth at 8.0 A.M., and under cover of a fog succeeded
in stalking the same squadron. They were manœuvring in line abreast,
and within ten minutes came across E. 1’s bows, with destroyers on
both flanks. Commander Laurence had, of course, only a single ship
to aim at--the battle-cruiser on the wing nearest to him, which was
ascertained to have been the _Moltke_, a 22,600-ton ship. At 8.20, he
fired his starboard torpedo, and at the same moment dived to avoid a
destroyer which was coming straight for him. His luck was good, both
ways. The torpedo got home on the battle-cruiser, and the destroyer
missed E. 1 by a few feet. The next day he reported to the Russian
Admiral at Reval.
These two boats were followed, on August 15, by E. 8 and E. 13.
The fate of E. 13 will not be forgotten while there is any rightful
indignation left in Europe. On August 19, she got ashore on a neutral
coast--the Danish island of Saltholm--and there, with her crew upon
her, was deliberately shot to pieces by a German war-ship, in defiance
of all humanity and international law. Her officers and men behaved
with perfect courage, but many of them were killed before they could
get away from the wreck of their boat.
Lieut.-Commander Goodhart’s account of the voyage of E. 8 is a plain
and business-like document, but to read it, with a map beside it,
is to look far away into a world of historic names and ever-present
dangers. It is easy enough to imagine the passage up the Skager-Rak,
always remembering that we must keep well out of the central line of
traffic, and that in the afternoon we have to dive and pass under a
whole fleet of steam trawlers. At 7 P.M. it is possible to come to the
surface again. The Commander orders full speed, rounds the Skaw, and
enters the Kattegat. In the fading twilight, several merchant-steamers
are seen going north. The shore and island lights twinkle out one by
one--Hamnskar, Vinga, Skaw, Trindelen, and Anholt. The night is short.
By 3.0 A.M. we must dive again, and lie quietly on shoal ground, while
the traffic goes over us. At 5.25 A.M. we venture to the surface, but
are put down quickly by a steamer. At 7.0 we venture again, and do a
scurry of 1½ hours in a friendly mist. Then down again, and crawl at 3
knots, till at 1.0 P.M. we are off the entrance to the Sound.
Here Commander Goodhart has to make the choice between going forward
submerged, or waiting for darkness and then attempting the channel on
the surface. He is confident of being able to get to his position
under water, and decides accordingly to continue diving into the Sound
and wait for night inside. He proceeds at fifty feet, and, by 3.6 P.M.,
has verified his position, coming up to twenty-one feet to do so. He
goes down again to fifty feet, and alters course to pass through the
northern narrows. At 4.10 P.M. he is east of Helsingör Light--‘By thy
wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!’ At 5.20, after another observation,
he goes to bottom in eleven fathoms, feeling comfortably certain that
he has not been detected--so far--on his passage.
At 8.15 P.M. he rises to the surface. The Danish shore is bright with
many lights, the Swedish shore is dark--all is exactly as it may have
been a century and more ago, when Nelson was there on his way to his
great battle. E. 8 goes south-westward on the surface, altering course
to avoid being seen by two destroyers, who are going north, along the
Danish shore, at a great pace. One of them suddenly turns south, but
then stops, as if in doubt. E. 8 runs on into still more dangerous
waters; the lights of Copenhagen are blazing brightly, and in Middle
Ground Fort a searchlight is working. Now and again it strikes the
submarine. Then come several fishing-boats, then two red lights in a
small craft going south, close over to the Danish shore. She is on our
starboard beam for some time, but luckily not near enough to see us,
and we head boldly for Flint Channel.
Off Malmo, the shore lights are dazzling, and it is extremely hard
to fix a position. There are many fishing-boats about, each carrying
two bright lights. The Commander orders the boat to be trimmed down,
with upper deck awash, and proceeds with one engine only, at seven
knots. He steadies his course through Flint Channel, passing at least
twenty vessels towards the western end of it, some carrying two and
some three white lights, and one making searchlight signals in the air.
The majority of the fishing-boats are no sooner avoided by a change of
course, than we run past a small tramp showing a green light, and then
three white ones. She seems to have anchored; but two other vessels
have to be dodged, and then the ship which has been signalling with
searchlight. Immediately afterwards, when just N.E. of the Lightship,
with her three vertical red lights, a small torpedo-boat or trawler
sights us as we creep by within 200 yards of her. Probably it is the
searchlight in Copenhagen which has shown us up. Anyhow it is tally-ho
at last!
She lights red and green flares, and alters course in our direction.
We dive, and strike bottom--‘very strong bottom’--at nineteen feet on
gauge, which immediately decreases to fourteen feet. At fourteen feet,
then, we try to proceed on our course; but the ground is fearfully
uneven, and a succession of bumps brings us to a dead stop. It is 11.40
P.M. After an anxious quarter of an hour, the Commander rises to the
surface. The Drogden Lightship is on our starboard quarter. A large
destroyer or small cruiser is ahead of us, showing lights--she is the
one who had made searchlight signals. She is only two hundred yards
away, but the Commander trims E. 8 deep, and steals past on motors.
Four minutes this takes, and we then find a destroyer right ahead, and
only one hundred yards from us. There is nothing for it but to dive.
Down we go to twenty-three feet on gauge; but at sixteen feet the boat
strikes bottom heavily on the starboard side, carrying away all blades
of the starboard propeller. We lie on the bottom and listen to our
pursuers overhead.
Life is now a matter of minutes and feet. At 12.15, the boat goes down
to eighteen feet, but is still bumping badly. At 12.19, Commander
Goodhart stops her and comes silently to the surface. The destroyer
is there, close on our starboard beam. At 12.20, we dive again, as
slowly as we dare, and at seventeen feet we glide away on our course,
the depth of water mercifully increasing as we go. For a long time we
seem to be escaping. Then, at 2.10 A.M., we strike bottom again at
eighteen feet. An hour more, and we rise to the surface, only to see
the destroyer on our port beam. Happily she is now a mile off, and does
not see us. When we come up again, at 7.15, there is nothing in sight.
At 8.53 we dive for a steamer, and at 10.40 for a destroyer. E. 8 is
nearly out of breath now--her battery is running very low.
Commander Goodhart decides to find a good depth, go to the bottom, and
lie there till darkness gives him a chance of recharging. From 10.40
A.M. till 6.40 P.M. we lie like a stone in twenty-three fathoms.
At 6.40 a Swedish steamer is still patrolling ahead. At 8.25 P.M. a
patrol of three vessels is close astern, and very slowly moving east.
The moon is too bright for us and we dive again. At 9.30 we try once
more, but are put down by a shadowy destroyer to the southward. At
last, ten minutes before midnight, we find a bit of sea where we and
the boat can breathe in peace.
But only for two hours; daylight comes early in northern waters. It is
now August 20. At 2.0 A.M. we dive again, and lie in seventeen fathoms,
spending time and imagination upon the chart. We are well out of the
Sound now, and clear of the Swedish coast. On our starboard beam lies
the island of Rügen, where we shall never make holiday again; further
back, on our quarter, is the channel that leads to Lübeck and to Kiel,
which we hope to visit yet. Right ahead is the island of Bornholm,
which we must pass unperceived, and beyond it the whole expanse of the
Baltic lies open.
Commander Goodhart rises to the surface at 9.0 A.M., but dives again at
noon. We are now not far west of Rönne; and as he wishes to make sure
of passing Bornholm unobserved, he decides to remain on the bottom till
dark, then slip by and recharge his batteries, for a long run north by
daylight. By 7.0 P.M. we are on our way, and eight hours later we are
passing the east coast of the great island of Gotland. At 9.2 P.M. we
dive for a light cruiser, which passes overhead forward; at 10.0 we
return to the surface and proceed north-east, running past the entrance
to the Gulf of Riga and the island of Oesel. By 1.0 A.M. on August 22,
we have to dive for daylight; but by 3.0 we are up again, and going on
our course full speed. At 8.30 A.M. we sight Dagerört ahead and join
E. 9 (Commander Max Horton). In company with her and with a Russian
destroyer, we pass into the entrance of the Gulf of Finland; and by
9.0 P.M., E. 8 is secured in Reval harbour. Within twenty-four hours,
Commander Goodhart has docked and overhauled her, replaced her broken
propeller, and reported her ready for sea.
The career of E. 8 in the Baltic was long and successful. It began, so
far as sinkings are concerned, with the destruction of the steamer
_Margarette_ of Königsberg by gunfire, on October 5, 1915, and the most
exciting day in the record was October 23, when the _Prinz Adalbert_, a
cruiser of nearly 9,000 tons, fell to her first shot. E. 8 was cruising
off Libau when, at 8.50 A.M., Commander Goodhart observed smoke on the
horizon, and altered course to intercept the ship which was soon seen
to be an enemy. She had three funnels and two very high masts, and was
going west with two destroyers, zigzagging--one on each bow.
Commander Goodhart ran on, at seven and a half knots, till he got
within 3,000 yards, when he eased to five knots in order to lessen his
wake. The wind was slight, from S.S.E., and there was bright sunlight.
The conditions were ideal for an attack from the southward. All tubes
were made ready; the enemy came on at an estimated speed of fifteen
knots. At 9.28 the port destroyer passed ahead; four minutes later,
Commander Goodhart fired his bow tube at the war-ship’s fore-bridge and
began to look out for results.
They came. After one minute he observed a very vivid flash on the
water-line at the point of aim. This was immediately followed by a very
heavy concussion, and the entire ship was hidden instantly in a huge
column of thick grey smoke. Evidently the torpedo had exploded the fore
magazine. The sky was filled with debris, and the smaller bits began
falling in the water near the submarine. There was no use in spending
time on the surface, and in one minute more, E. 8 was sliding down
to fifty feet, where she stayed for eight minutes, to give the rest
of the ship ample time to come down. At 9.42 Commander Goodhart rose
to twenty feet, and took a survey through his periscope. There was
no sign of the _Prinz Adalbert_. The two destroyers had closed on to
the scene of the explosion, but it was not likely that they had been
able to find any survivors, for the destruction of the ship had been
instantaneous and complete. Commander Goodhart decided not to attack
them, because, for all he knew, they were ignorant of his presence; if
so, they might very probably imagine the damage to have been done by
a mine, and give him future opportunities. The shot had been a long
one, about 1,300 yards, and this was in the circumstances particularly
fortunate; for at a shorter distance, such as 500 or 600 yards, the
submarine herself would have felt a tremendous shock from the double
explosion.
An hour later he saw four destroyers hovering about the place of the
wreck. He turned away, and they made no attempt to follow. At dawn next
day he reported by wireless, and then proceeded to his base.
In the meantime E. 19, Lieut.-Commander F. N. Cromie, had arrived.
She set to work in earnest upon the German shipping engaged in the
service of the naval and military departments of the enemy, towards the
western end of the Baltic. Monday, October 11, was her best day, and
the beginning of a downright panic in the Hamburg trade. ‘8.0 A.M.,’
says Lieut.-Commander Cromie, ‘started to chase merchant shipping.’
He had good hunting. At 9.40 A.M. he stopped the _Walter Leonhardt_,
from Lulea to Hamburg, with iron ore. The crew abandoned ship, and
were picked up by a Swedish steamer, considerately stopped for the
purpose. A gun-cotton charge then sent the empty vessel to the bottom.
By noon, E. 19 was chasing the _Germania_ of Hamburg, signalling her to
stop immediately. In spite of the signals and a warning gun-shot, she
continued to bolt, and soon ran ashore. Lieut.-Commander Cromie went
alongside cautiously to save her crew, but found that they had already
abandoned ship. He tried to tow her off, but failed to move her--small
wonder, for her cargo consisted of nearly three million kgs. of the
finest concentrated iron ore, from Stockholm to Stettin. He left her
filling with water, and at 2.0 gave chase to the _Gutrune_. By 3.0 he
had towed her crew to the Swedish steamer, and started her for the
bottom with her 4,500,000 kgs. of iron ore, from Lulea to Hamburg.
The game went forward merrily. At 4.25 he began to chase two more large
steamers going south. In twenty minutes he had stopped one--the Swedish
boat _Nyland_, with ore for Rotterdam and papers all correct--told her
to proceed, and ten minutes later caught the _Direktor Rippenhagen_,
with magnetic ore from Stockholm to Nadenheim. While she was sinking
he stopped another Swede bound for Newcastle, and gave her the
_Direktor’s_ crew to take care of. An hour later, he proceeded to chase
a large steamer, the _Nicomedia_, who tried to make off towards the
Swedish coast. A shot across her bows brought her to a more resigned
frame of mind. She proved to be a large and extremely well-fitted
vessel, carrying six to seven million kgs. of magnetic ore from Lulea
to Hamburg. The crew were sent ashore in boats, and E. 19 proceeded
up the west of Gotland. Her cruise was marked by one more incident--a
significant one. During the morning of October 12, Lieut.-Commander
Cromie stopped the _Nike_, and went alongside to examine her. He found
her to be in iron ore from Stockholm to Stettin, under command of
Captain Anderson, whose passport, from the Liverpool Police, proved
him to be a Swede. To a Hun, this would have made no difference; but
Lieut.-Commander Cromie had British ideas on international law. He
sent Lieutenant Mee on board with a prize crew of two men, in the good
old style of our ancestors, and ordered them to take the prize into
Reval for further investigation. After what we have already said about
submarines and war policy, the point needs no pressing. War against
trading vessels and non-combatants is possible within the rules, but
only in certain circumstances. Even where those circumstances exist,
there is no excuse for breaking the rules; and where they do not exist,
only a barbarian would hack his way through the net of international
law and common humanity. Our Navy has in all circumstances kept both
these laws: the German submarines have deliberately and cruelly broken
both.
Lieut.-Commander Cromie continued to have the good fortune he deserved.
He ended the 1915 campaign with another war-ship in his bag. Cruising
in the Western Baltic on the morning of November 7, he sighted a light
cruiser and two destroyers, but was disappointed in his attempt to
attack. Three hours later, at 1.20, in a favourable mist, he had a
second chance. A light cruiser--perhaps the same--with one destroyer in
attendance, came on at fifteen knots, steaming south and east. He dived
at once, and at 1.45 fired his starboard torpedo. The range was about
1,100 yards, and the shot went home on the cruiser’s starboard side
forward. She immediately swung round in a large circle and then stopped
dead. She appeared to be on fire and sinking. But Lieut.-Commander
Cromie was unwilling to leave her in uncertainty. He avoided the
destroyer, passed under her stern, and manœuvred for a second shot.
This was fired at 1,200 yards, and was aimed at the cruiser’s
main-mast, just abaft of which it actually struck. A double explosion
followed. Evidently the after magazine had blown up, and several large
smoking masses were shot out some 200 yards in the direction of the
submarine. The destroyer then opened a heavy fire on the periscope with
H.E. shell. Down went E. 19 for her life; but three minutes later,
she was up again to see what was happening. The cruiser--she was the
_Undine_ of 2,650 tons--was gone. The destroyer was picking up a few
survivors, and after a restless half-hour made off to the southward,
leaving on the scene only a ferry-boat flying the German mercantile
flag. Lieut.-Commander Cromie left also, and arrived next day at Reval,
where he reported the attack and added that, under existing weather
conditions, it was only rendered possible by the sound judgment and
prompt action of Lieutenant G. Sharp, who was officer of the watch at
the time.
E. 19 was not alone in her successful campaign against the German
iron-ore trade. A week after her fine break recorded above, E. 9
arrived on the scene; and Commander Max Horton, in two successive
days, sank the _Soderham_, _Pernambuco_, _Johannes-Russ_, and
_Dall-Asfen_--four serious losses to the German gun factories, and even
more serious blows to the courage of their carrying trade. The captain
of the _Nike_ told Lieutenant Mee on his voyage to Reval, that after
E. 19’s first raid no less than fifteen ships were held up at Lulea,
awaiting convoys; and after E. 9’s success, the command of the Baltic
seemed to have passed for the time out of German hands.
Such a state of things could not, of course, be continuously
maintained--the Baltic weather alone made that impossible. E. 1, E. 8,
and E. 18 followed their leaders, and all did good service during the
autumn; but their reports show how severe were the conditions when
the winter really set in. E. 9 had already noted very bad weather in
November, and on the 25th ‘boat became covered with a large quantity
of ice.’ On January 10, 1916, E. 18, commanded by Lieut.-Commander
R. C. Halahan, reports ‘temperature very low: sea very rough; great
difficulty in keeping conning-tower hatch clear of ice, as sea came
over constantly and froze at once.’ Two days later she proceeded to
Reval in company with a Russian ice-breaker. ‘The ice was very thick
in places, but no difficulty was experienced in getting through.’
These hindrances continued for months. As late as April 28, we find
E. 18 accompanied through Moon Sound by an ice-breaker ‘as there were
occasional thick ice-fields.’ The next day some of these ice-fields
came drifting down upon the anchorage, and E. 18 had to slip and anchor
off until night. Even so, she could not be sure of escaping all danger;
for the ice brought down large masses of stone, and deposited them in
the channels.
[Illustration: ‘The Russian ice-breakers freed them from the harbour
ice.’
[_See page_ 123.
]
In spite of all difficulties and hardships, our submarines continued
their campaign indomitably, and would no doubt at this hour still hold
the mastery of the Baltic trade, if the collapse of our Russian friends
had not deprived them of their bases and rendered their operations
useless. Early in April, 1917, it became evident that Finland must
fall into German hands, and steps were taken to withdraw our naval
force from the Baltic. But, for the boats themselves, there could be
no return from the scene of their voyages and victories. They lay
ice-bound in the harbour of Helsingfors, and there they must end their
unparalleled story, for surrender to an enemy so unworthy was not to be
thought of.
As soon, then, as official news came of the landing of German troops at
Hango, these famous adventurers were led to their last rendezvous. The
Russian ice-breakers freed them from the harbour ice. All the Russian
officers who had been attached to the British flotilla, and who were
then in Helsingfors, offered their assistance for the funeral rites,
and soon after midday Lieut. Basil Downie, the officer in command
of the submarine depot, put to sea in E. 1, followed by E. 9, E. 8,
and E. 19. Each boat carried her death potion in the form of torpedo
warheads with a 20-lb. dry cotton charge as primers. Three of these
charges were allotted to each--one forward, one aft, and one amidships;
and when the alarm-bell of the clock in each should ring, contact
would be made and the end would come. The point decided on was reached
at last. The bells rang, and E. 19, E. 1, and E. 9 sank to their own
thunder. E. 8, by some failure of her clock, remained unhurt, and since
the ice-breaker could not stay out at sea longer, she was left to die
another day, with other comrades. At 7.0 next morning, Lieut. Downie
put to sea again with C. 26 and C. 35 and the torpedo-barge, with the
few remaining stores. When the clocks rang this time, E. 8 sank, and
C. 26 with her. The barge and C. 35 were left to wait for C. 27, the
last of that victorious company. On the following morning the barge was
blown up, and the two submarines were simply sunk in fifteen fathoms.
They went down uninjured, but within three minutes two great explosions
followed, and twelve-foot columns of water shot up. ‘This, presumably,’
says the report, ‘was the exploding of their batteries.’ Our Viking
ancestors would have said, perhaps, that it was the bursting of their
dragon hearts.