P-BOATS AND AUXILIARY PATROL
The trawler is a fishing-boat by birth, and a mine-sweeper by
necessity; the destroyer is first of all a fighting ship, and a
protector of the weak. They will both kill a submarine when it comes
their way; but we have ships--classes of ships--whose whole profession
and occupation it is to hunt the pirate. Their methods differ as the
methods of two kinds of hound. The Q-boat hunts slowly and craftily,
the P-boat and the Yacht Patrol by speed, the ram, and the dreaded
depth-charge. It is unnecessary to give the technical description of
either class. A yacht is a yacht, and for a P-boat you may imagine
a long slim boat, with fine lines and a rather low freeboard, three
officers, a surgeon, and some fifty-five men--depth-charges round the
stern and a gun or two, but no torpedoes.
In September 1917, H.M.S. P. 61 received orders to pick up in a certain
roadstead the oiler _San Zeferino_ and escort her to her destination.
It was no easy job; the _San Zeferino’s_ steering gear was defective,
she could not zigzag; and in the misty showers and very dark weather
prevailing, her course was embarrassingly original. But she was a
valuable ship, and P. 61 meant to get her in if it could be done.
The sea was moderate, but visibility was no more than three-quarters
of a mile. P. 61 kept on the convoy’s starboard bow and only about
two cables ahead, zigzagging at seventeen knots. At three minutes to
six in the morning, the oiler was suddenly observed to be settling
by the stern. Lieut.-Commander Frank Arthur Worsley, R.N.R., on the
bridge of P. 61, had heard no sound of explosion, and no one in the
ship had sighted a submarine. The Commander knew, however, that in the
thick mist and with a head wind and wash against him, this was natural
enough. He immediately circled twice round the convoy, signalling to
her: ‘Have you been torpedoed?’ With some difficulty she replied ‘Yes,’
and also that she had sighted the submarine.
Lieut.-Commander Worsley ascertained that the _San Zeferino_ had her
boats swung out and was in no immediate danger. He then reduced speed,
in order not to betray his presence to the enemy, and started off
north-west on the chase. Inevitably he soon lost sight of the oiler in
the fog, and was obliged to turn in order to regain touch. He found the
convoy still heading on her course, though her engines were wrecked;
crossed her bows, and passed down her port side and under her stern.
Directly P. 61 was clear, Lieutenant J. R. Stenhouse, R.N.R., on her
bridge, sighted the enemy about half a mile away on the starboard beam,
heading westward at nine knots.
Action stations had already been sounded, and fire was now opened from
the port 12-pounder gun. One round of common shell was sent into the
submarine, striking her just before the conning-tower. But a gun action
was not the final object of P. 61. Lieut.-Commander Worsley had got his
engines up to full speed as he came on, and saw that the enemy could
not escape his ram. So sure was he that, after three minutes’ run, he
deliberately stopped both engines, so as to let the ship’s bows drop
deeper in the water and make a better hit.
The engines stopped, the bows sank two feet, the order ‘Stand by to
ram’ was heard, and P. 61 struck the enemy stem on, on the port side,
just abaft the conning-tower. Her speed at the moment was fully 20
knots, and the impact was severe; the submarine rolled over as the
stem cut into her; and when P. 61’s stern was just above her, a very
violent explosion took place, giving Lieut.-Commander Worsley, for an
instant, the nightmare that he had been torpedoed by another U-boat in
the moment of victory. He was quickly reassured. P. 61 had suffered no
damage. But round the place of collision the sea was boiling with foam;
immense air-bubbles were coming to the surface in rushes, and continued
for some minutes after the explosion. There was oil upon the surface,
and in it two men struggling. Lifebelts were thrown to them, and boats
put out. One of the two was rescued and proved to be Ober-Leutnant
Alfred Arnold, the commanding officer of the U-boat--the fifth upon
the list of 150 published by the British Admiralty. The submarine
was U.C. 49 and lies at the bottom in forty-seven fathoms. The _San
Zeferino_ was taken in tow by P.61 and came safely in after an arduous
twelve hours--an admirable piece of work. Lieutenant-Commander Worsley
received the D.S.O., Lieutenant Stenhouse the D.S.C., and two petty
officers the D.S.M. for excellent steering and gun-laying.
On this occasion the P-boat had left her patrol duty for the moment,
to act as escort. This was not the case with P. 57, who had a similar
success in November of the same year. In the dark of early morning,
about 6 o’clock, she had just challenged and examined by searchlight
a vessel which turned out to be a friend, when the forward look-out
reported ‘Buoy on the port bow!’ Course was altered to examine this
buoy, and on approaching it both Lieut.-Commander H. C. Birnie, R.N.R.,
in command of P. 57, and Lieutenant Isdale, R.N.R., his officer of the
watch, simultaneously perceived it to be a large U-boat heading due
west and only 200 yards distant.
There was less than no time to be lost. Orders were given and obeyed
instantaneously. The engines leaped to full speed as the ship came
round sharply to port and steered straight for the enemy. In less than
fifteen seconds the crash came--a heavy impact, at seventeen knots, on
a point just before the U-boat’s conning-tower, very nearly at right
angles. P. 57 cut her way right through, and as she did so the order
for the depth-charges reached the officer of the watch. The first
charge was released with great promptitude and precision as the damaged
submarine passed under the ship’s stern. P. 57 turned sixteen points
and came back over the spot, when a second charge was immediately
dropped and a buoy put down.
An hour and a half afterwards Lieut.-Commander Birnie returned, after
verifying his position, and found very large quantities of oil rising
about fifty yards from his buoy. He dropped a third depth-charge and
another buoy, and patrolled the neighbourhood all night. Sweepers
arrived next day, located the U-boat with a bottom sweep in thirty
fathoms, lowered a depth-charge on the sweep wire and blew the wreck
up. For this ‘speedy and faultless attack’ Lieut.-Commander Birnie
received the D.S.O., Lieutenant Isdale the D.S.C., and two A.B.’s the
D.S.M.
This feat was a remarkable one, for it was performed in almost total
darkness; but success was achieved in even more difficult circumstances
by P. 51 towards the end of March 1918. It was 8.30 in the evening; the
sea was calm under the moonlight, but great spaces of it were darkened
by cloud shadows. The commander, Lieutenant William Murray, R.N.R., was
in the chart-house, and Mr. Whittel, the gunner, on watch, when the
signalman on the bridge reported a submarine on the surface, about one
point before the port beam and less than 300 yards away. Orders were at
once given to increase to full speed, and starboard the helm to ram.
As the ship swung, the commander reached the bridge and took charge.
He could see the enemy’s wash and bow wave. Then she appeared more
distinctly as a large U-boat, 350 feet long, with a huge conning-tower
and about two feet of freeboard showing. P. 51 continued to swing into
the desired position and the moment for a successful ram seemed to have
arrived. Then occurred one of those sudden and unforeseen accidents
which try a commander’s presence of mind and decision to the utmost.
To strike the U-boat fair it was, of course, necessary to put the helm
over as soon as P. 51’s head had swung far enough to be pointing for
her, and so steady the ship on her course. But this order could not be
obeyed--the helm had jammed. Lieutenant Murray knew that to struggle
with it could only at best result in a bungling collision which would
injure his own ship rather than the enemy. He made a lightning act of
renunciation, kept his helm a-starboard and swung completely round,
passing close along the submarine’s side and then turning altogether
away from her. The helm was soon afterwards found to be acting again;
but in the meantime P. 51 had lost sight of the enemy.
She dashed westwards, and in two minutes sighted the U-boat again, a
mile away on the port quarter. A new ramming attack was immediately
planned, and the guns were ordered to open fire; but the submarine
dived completely before they could pick her up in the uncertain light.
In ten seconds Lieutenant Murray had brought P. 51 over a patch of
oil which betrayed the spot where the U-boat was submerging. Three
depth-charges followed her down. The first two produced the usual
upheaval of water, but the third blew a quantity of wreckage into the
air, of many shapes and sizes. P. 51 continued to circle around, and
ten minutes later three shocks were felt below in rapid succession.
Nothing more was seen, nor could any movement be heard on the
hydrophone.
The official verdict was one of ‘Probably sunk,’ the evidence being
considered good but inconclusive. It was, however, afterwards
supplemented by final proof, and the case was re-marked ‘Known.’
Lieutenant Murray accordingly received the D.S.C. and two of his men
the D.S.M.
Very little information has been given to the public about the Yacht
Patrol; but it is certain that, when all is known, the history of this
service will be eagerly read. There is a fine Elizabethan air about
the gift of a ship to the Navy by a private owner, and we can imagine
how keenly the giver would follow the career of his own boat, longing
to command her himself, and glorying to catch her name now and then
through the gales and rumours and gunfire of the seas, where she is at
last flying the white ensign. Such a gift was the _Prize_, who with the
heroic Sanders, her Commander, lies fathoms deep, and still unknown to
many; but in time to come she will be remembered with _Farnborough_,
_Pargust_ and _Dunraven_, and her owner’s name will stand in a unique
and honourable list.
Among the victories of the Yacht Patrol, one of the most timely
and decisive was that of May 26, 1918. H.M. Yacht 024, _Lorna_,
Lieutenant C. L. Tottenham, R.N.R., was on patrol that day in Lyme Bay,
intercepting east-bound traffic, and keeping an eye at the same time
on the activities of a U-boat off Portland Bill, whom she intended to
deal with when opportunity should offer. Soon after 8.0 in the evening,
she spoke two ships in succession, the _Jabiru_ and _War Cross_, and
ordered them both into Weymouth Bay, warning them at the same time
of the enemy submarine. At 8.50 P.M. a lamentable signal came back
by wireless--‘S.O.S., S.S.S.S., 2 miles S.W. of Portland Bill, ss.
_Jabiru_, torpedoed.’
_Lorna_ immediately proceeded at full speed, to look for the sinking
ship and give what assistance might be possible. But, at 9.14 P.M., she
intercepted the reassuring message--‘Proceeding to port, torpedo missed
fire.’ Lieutenant Tottenham at the same moment saw that _War Cross_,
which had parted only twenty-five minutes before, had now turned and
was steering westward, having evidently also received the S.O.S. signal
from _Jabiru_. He altered course and spoke her accordingly, advising
her captain to lay the land, and endeavour to round the Bill inside the
U-boat’s operating radius. He also offered to go with him as escort,
but _War Cross_ pluckily declined, thinking he could do better by
waiting for darkness and running in by himself.
Lieutenant Tottenham left him and searched the horizon for another
smoke streamer. His game was to meet every ship which came that way and
by closing them one after another, in the falling dusk, to ensure being
within striking distance when the U-boat should make the next attempt
at assassination. The only success which could satisfy him would be
the destruction of the enemy before he had had time to strike the
‘live bait’--an ambition which showed great nerve, and a grasp of the
principle of the offensive in war. It would have been easy to make all
merchantmen give the Bill a wide berth, and perhaps save the next ten
of them thereby; but the pest would be active again to-morrow, in the
same place or another--destruction, at all risks, is the only cure for
U-boats.
Before long another ship was seen approaching from the south, and
_Lorna_ at once headed towards her. But after steaming for about three
and a half miles on this errand, Lieutenant Tottenham perceived that
the new-comer was already in good hands, or would soon be so--the
armed drifter _Evening Primrose_ was closing her, evidently with
the intention of acting as escort. At this moment a fresh ship came
in sight, approaching the Bill from the west. Lieutenant Tottenham
instantly altered course and made straight for her.
At 9.55 P.M., when he had hardly steadied _Lorna_ on her new course, he
sighted the periscope of a submarine. It was steering due west, almost
directly towards the approaching steamer, and seeing the position of
the two ships, and their converging courses, he assumed rightly that
the enemy was manœuvring for an attack of the usual kind, without
warning. Of _Lorna’s_ presence the U-boat was apparently quite unaware,
though she was now only 150 feet distant and rapidly coming up on the
starboard side of the periscope.
But aware or unaware, the pirates were doomed--caught in the act, and
helpless as they had thought to find their victim. _Lorna’s_ helm flew
over to starboard. The ship swung, in one swift curve, through the
intervening fifty yards, and in two minutes from sighting her enemy
she was right over the periscope. The U-boat dipped, but far too late;
as _Lorna_ passed over the spot a shuddering jar was felt throughout
her--her keel had struck the conning-tower, but so lightly that the
pirates below probably thought they had escaped destruction for this
time. A moment later they knew their error. Down came _Lorna’s_ first
depth-charge, set to fifty feet. The helm went over still further to
starboard, and the second charge dropped about fifty feet from the
first, and at the same depth.
Both charges detonated, and it was impossible to believe that they
could have failed to destroy or seriously cripple the U-boat. They must
have exploded in the most dangerous way possible, just alongside and
underneath the target, where the resistance would be the maximum. The
proof came a few moments afterwards. While continuing his circle, in
order to pass again over the spot and make sure, Lieutenant Tottenham
suddenly sighted four objects in the water among the disturbance caused
by the two explosions. He turned and steered direct for the place,
expecting to find wreckage of some kind; but on arriving, at full
speed, he saw an astonishing tumult of water, caused by an upward rush
of air, gas, and oil, which showed beyond doubt that the U-boat was
immediately below.
The next moment was a terrible one. As _Lorna’s_ third depth-charge
dropped into this seething cauldron, cries of ‘Kamerad!’ were heard,
and those on the yacht’s deck, looking back as she raced over, saw
the new explosion hurl into the air the bodies of four men, who for a
brief instant had been survivors from the sunken U-boat. Lieutenant
Tottenham eased down and returned to pick them up. One was found still
crying ‘Help!’ and ‘Kamerad!’ but the other three were already dead,
from the effect of the explosion, or of the thick mass of oil in which
they were submerged. About the unhappy prisoner there was no doubt. He
was seriously injured internally, and was gone in three hours’ time.
He lived and died in a cruel and cowardly business, but if care and
kindness could have saved him, _Lorna_ would have brought him into port
and been glad to do it.
This submarine was U.B. 74. She was a week out, and had already sunk
three ships when she was caught. Her commander was Ober-Leutnant
Schtiendorf, and his name will be found in the list of the 150, for his
case was among those marked as ‘Known.’
One more patrol story must be added--a story in some ways unique,
with mysterious details which haunt the imagination, but can never be
finally explained. The vessels of the patrol on this occasion were
not yachts, or P-boats in the strict sense of the classification. One
was the _Sarba_, an armed trawler like those we have already met,
and commanded by Lieutenant George G. Astbury, R.N.R.; the other was
a small boat, with no name but T.B. 055, commanded by Gunner T. H.
Britton.
On the morning of October 31, 1917, T.B. 055 was accompanying the
trawlers who were engaged in sweeping an important channel outside a
British harbour. At 3.0 P.M. when the sweep was practically over, Mr.
Britton noticed an oil track on the surface of the channel. This was in
itself an astonishing sight, and not to be accounted for in a moment.
How could a submarine have ventured into a channel only thirteen
fathoms deep, and daily swept by a highly efficient force of trawlers?
And for what possible reason could she be lying there on the bottom at
3 o’clock in the afternoon, in a position where she could use none of
her weapons, and was certain to be found and attacked?
Mr. Britton went into the oil track to investigate; stopped his boat
and listened on the hydrophone. His astonishment was redoubled--the
submarine was there, and not only there, but busy and audible. The case
was so extraordinary that he and his trained hydrophone listener took
counsel together and classified the sounds they heard. First there were
the usual ‘water noises’; these were continuous and perfectly familiar.
Secondly, there was an almost continuous high-pitched sound, somewhat
similar to that of a turbine engine running. Thirdly, at intervals of
a few seconds, came a noise as of knocking or hammering upon metal;
the speed of the tapping varied from slow to fairly rapid blows.
Lastly--and this was the most unexpected and mysterious of all--on two
occasions there was audible, over all the other noises, a sound as of
wireless letters on a high musical note.
For three minutes these sounds were heard, noted, and compared.
T.B. 055 was then taken forward about 200 yards, to the end of the oil
track, and the hydrophone was used again. Precisely the same sounds
were heard, except that this time the musical note, as of a wireless
message, was not repeated. Mr. Britton had no desire to lose time; but
he was not troubled with nerves, and he was determined to make sure of
his evidence. He took precautions to stop all ship’s noises. The fact
only became clearer that the sounds below came from a live submarine.
What her crew were doing no one could know; but she was there for an
evil purpose, and she must pay the penalty.
The oil was still coming up in a visible thin stream from below the
surface. T.B. 055 dropped a Reindeer buoy with moorings, to mark the
spot exactly, got under way and came back over the position. As she
passed, a depth-charge was dropped. The tide was fairly slack at
the time, and there was every reason to believe that it found the
target. Mr. Britton returned to the spot once more. The volume of oil
rising had now increased, and a strong smell of oil fuel was noticed,
which had not been there before. The blobs of oil which now came to
the surface had brownish air-bubbles and froth among them; in the
hydrophone, nothing was to be heard but the ordinary water noises.
It was now 3.35 P.M., and the armed trawler _Sarba_ was seen
approaching. Mr. Britton reported what he had been doing to Lieutenant
Astbury, who at once stopped his own engines and used his hydrophone.
Then, as he too could hear no sign of life, he took a sounding, found
sixteen fathoms and a sandy bottom, and decided that the enemy must
be still there, alive or dead. Accordingly he steamed clear of the
position, turned and came back over it at full speed. He determined to
set his depth-charge for eighty feet, in spite of the shallowness of
the water, because, with the boat on the bottom at ninety-six feet,
he would be absolutely certain of getting a very close explosion. The
charge detonated, and he returned at once to the spot. Large bubbles of
air and quantities of oil were coming up, and within a short time the
oil was covering a very wide area. Sarba stood by all night, using her
hydrophone frequently.
It was now evident that the enemy was dead; but the more the
circumstances were reflected upon, the more difficult it was to explain
them. Next morning, when T.B. 055 had ‘proceeded to sea in accordance
with programme,’ Lieutenant Astbury, in _Sarba_, was left alone, with
nothing but two buoys and an oil patch to give so incredible a story
any kind of reality. He got out a sweep wire with a sinker of 1¾
cwt. and took a sweep along the position. The sweep brought up on an
immovable obstruction, and the incredible seemed once more possible.
At 2.0 P.M. arrived the armed drifter _Sunshine_ and T.B. 058. They
found _Sarba_ lying as near as possible in the position where she had
exploded her depth-charge, and where her sweep had brought her up.
They took a ground sweep under her, and their sweep wire also fouled
the same obstruction. _Sarba_, like a faithful dog, remained on guard
during the following night. At last, at 2.30 P.M. on November 2, the
divers arrived.
[Illustration: ‘The diver who first went down found the submarine lying
on her side.’]
Before the day was out, all uncertainty was removed. The diver who
first went down found the submarine lying on her side. When visited
a second time, she had been righted by the tide or some shifting of
weight; but she and all her crew were dead. The main fact was thus
proved; but the mystery remained and still remains inexplicable
and haunting. Possibly the answer, to the first of the two questions
involved, may be a simple one. The U-boat may have got into the channel
in a fog, and finding herself there when the weather cleared, she may
have dived for safety and decided to remain on the bottom till it was
dark enough to steal away. But the sounds cannot be explained to the
satisfaction of those who know most about submarine war. The U-boat
commander must have realised the enormous risk he was incurring, when
he allowed those noises to be made at such an hour of day. He must
have known that the British Patrol is well equipped with hydrophones,
with depth-charges, and with sweeps. Either he had some serious injury
to repair, and no time to wait; or else his boat was completely
disabled at the bottom, and the hammering and other noises were the
desperate attempts of the crew to draw attention in the hope of being
rescued. ‘There is also,’ said the Admiral of the station, ‘the third
possibility, that the boat carries inside her a tragedy that will never
be known.’