_Tragedy in the Middle Seas_
“_Germany must for all time to come maintain her claim to
sea-power._”—LT.-GEN. BARON VON FREYTAG-LORINGHOVEN, _Deputy Chief
of the German General Staff_.
The Adriatic afforded much interesting naval news. The strategy of the
Austrians was exactly that of the High Sea Fleet—tip-and-run raids and
avoidance of battle whenever possible. During the blockade of the
Austro-Hungarian naval ports of Pola and Cattaro previous to Italy’s
becoming an active participant in the war, the battleships and cruisers
of the French Fleet were frequent objects of attacks on the part of
enemy underwater craft. The armoured cruiser _Leon Gambetta_ escaped
being submarined on the 2nd September, 1914, only to fall a victim on
the 27th April, 1915. The Austrian U 5, a small boat with a surface
displacement of 235 tons, commanded by Lieutenant von Trapp, picked her
up some twenty miles south-west of Cape Leuca. It was a brilliant
moonlight night, the armoured cruiser was steaming slowly, and hitherto
no U-boat in the Adriatic had betrayed activity after the passing of
day. The great black shape, with its four massive funnels, stood out a
mammoth silhouette as the first torpedo sped on its devastating errand.
It struck the port side, wrecked the dynamos, and plunged the ship in
darkness, precluding the possibility of a momentary flash of a
search-light to discover the assailant. The wireless was also put out of
action by the same cause. A second torpedo wrought havoc in one of the
boiler-rooms. “From the heeling of the cruiser,” says a Vienna account,
“Lieutenant Trapp concluded that a further torpedo was unnecessary.”
An effort was made to beach the ship. This failing, it became the
difficult task of Captain Andre to provide for the safety of his crew, a
task not only hampered by lack of illumination, but by the boats having
been swung inboard to ensure the more effective use of anti-torpedo
guns. “The boats are for you; we officers will remain,” Admiral Sénès
told the crew without the slightest affectation of heroism, although
neither he nor any single individual on the quarterdeck was to be saved.
He called the men his children, told them to keep steady and take to the
boats. “Forward, sailors of France!” he cried. “My destiny is here,”
said Commander Depérière, the worthy colleague of so gallant an officer.
“I die with my ship. Vive la France!” Portable torches were used to show
the way to the wounded and the sick. To make escape easier the captain
issued orders to fill the starboard compartments so as to counterbalance
the intake of water on the other side. He did not want the great ship to
turn turtle before _mes enfants_ had been afforded an opportunity to
escape. One officer, anxious to restrain any undue haste that would
retard escape, took out a cigar from his case, lit it, and puffed away
as calmly as though he were in Toulon Harbour instead of standing in a
foot of water on a ship that was rapidly sinking under him. “Vive la
France!” shouted the officers on the bridge; “Vive la France!” echoed
the many who had failed to get away. With that ringing cheer of Victory
and not of Defeat, the _Leon Gambetta_ and 684 officers and men of the
gallant company disappeared out of the night into the greater darkness.
From first to last the tragedy took just ten minutes.
Those who were saved owed their lives to the fine courage of the
commanders of Italian torpedo-boats and destroyers, who ran the risk of
being mistaken for French men-of-war.[25] Jean and Jacques are never at
a loss when it comes to paying a compliment. Had they been British
sailors who were pulled out of the water, a gruff but well-meant “Much
obliged” would probably have sufficed. Frenchmen are more artistic. They
cried “Vive l’Italie!” As for U 5, when she returned to Cattaro she was
naturally received with honours.
The _Danton_, a French battleship with a displacement of 18,028 tons,
completed at Brest in the spring of 1909, was on the point of
celebrating the seventh anniversary of her launching when she was struck
down in the Mediterranean on the 19th March, 1917. She had taken many
months to build, but took only thirty minutes to sink. Destruction comes
easier to man than construction. Two torpedoes accomplished her end.
Fortunately the catastrophe occurred in the afternoon, and the tragedy
of the _personnel_ of the _Leon Gambetta_ was not repeated, although
even then 296 of her company lost their lives. The destroyer _Massue_
and patrol vessels rescued the remaining 806 officers and men.
The story of how Lieutenant-Captain Robert Moraht sent the _Danton_ to
her doom was subsequently told by himself. The following is based on his
lively narrative.
At midday the U-boat was off the south-west point of Sardinia, and those
of the crew not actually required for the working of the ship were
enjoying a breath of fresh air on deck with a delightful sense of having
nothing whatever to do. Moraht was below, when the whistle of the
speaking-tube blew a short, sharp blast. He answered the summons readily
enough. “A steamer on the port bow,” came the message, spoken in a tone
of some urgency. Almost before the commander had taken his ear from the
instrument the men were clattering down the ladders and taking up action
stations. Reaching the conning-tower with some difficulty by reason of
the undue haste, Moraht distinctly saw the outlines of the vessel whose
appearance had so suddenly changed their programme for the afternoon.
The commander picked it up with his glasses. “French battleship!”
announced a fellow officer who was standing at the telescope. At the
moment the commander’s thoughts were centred on whether the U-boat had
been seen, whether hunter and hare were both aware of the other’s
presence.
Apparently not. The _Danton_ kept on her zigzag course, as yet far out
of range. Had she sighted the submarine she could have got clear away;
there was little chance now, for Moraht had submerged. Presently a
destroyer made her appearance, likewise zigzagging, and in advance of
the battleship. The U-boat was nearer the object of her vengeance, and
likewise nearer danger. Destroyers are to submarines what terriers are
to rats. Moraht felt a shade uncomfortable. Besides, a battleship in the
Mediterranean, or any other sea for the matter of that, does not go
about blind. Keen eyes look out for her safety and their own. What the
men on the destroyer might miss, those on the _Danton_ might find. The
commander of the submarine was sparing in the use of the periscope.
There is a tell-tale wake when that apparatus is above the surface that
human device cannot dispel. The waters, parted by the tube, embrace as
though long separated, leaving a trail of emotion behind. Moraht popped
it up now and again as necessity compelled, took his bearings, lowered
it, and checked his course.
The weather conditions on this ‘Mediterranean Front’ changed in favour
of the Germans, as they usually did in France, according to popular
belief, whenever the Allies took the offensive. Listen to the commander:
“A considerable lightening of the mist was rolling up from the
north-west, and the wind was freshening; thick white tufts of foam stood
on the deep blue sea. That was the light we wanted. Anyhow, nobody saw
us. The destroyer raced past without suspicion about 600 yards off, then
the giant ship herself came before our bow. Everything was just right
to-day. ‘Both tubes, attention! No. 1—let go! No. 2—let go.’”
The periscope vanished, its wash was replaced by that of the torpedoes
and a liberal accompaniment of bubbles. The weapons, at an interval of
five seconds between them, tore the ship asunder. Later, from a safer
distance, Moraht took a peep at his victim in her death-agony. The
rudder was hard to port, proof that the twin harbingers of destruction
had been seen and a fruitless attempt made to dodge them. The torpedoes
could scarcely have performed their duty more loyally. The _Danton’s_
massive keel was where her turrets ought to have been; her bulgy side,
with casemates resembling a fortress, revealed “two holes like barn
doors.”
Moraht says that his boat ‘buck-jumped’ after the shots. This means that
the compensating tanks, which fill with water to make up for loss of
displacement when a torpedo leaves the tube, did not act quickly enough.
As a consequence the periscope and the upper part of the superstructure
appeared above the surface for a second or two. The _Massue_ dropped
depth charges, and the ‘buck-jump’ may not have been entirely
unconnected with them.
To-day the submarine that robbed the Allies of a fine ship mounting four
12–in., a dozen 9.4–in., and sixteen 2.9–in. guns does not figure as a
fighting unit in what remains of the German Navy. She has joined the
_Danton_,
Visiting the bottom of the monstrous world.
Austrian submarines depleted the ranks of Italy’s naval forces by
several ships, but the hereditary enemy of the Land of Dante lost
considerably more at the hands of Italy, which also policed some 300
miles of coast with flotillas of hydroplanes in addition to the regular
naval units. During a reconnaissance in force in the Upper Adriatic, the
_Amalfi_, an armoured cruiser of 9958 tons displacement, carrying four
10–in. and eight 7.5–in. guns, was torpedoed at dawn on the 7th July,
1915. According to information received, it was the intention of the
Austrians to bombard the Italian coast. While searching the Dalmatian
littoral for the enemy, with the idea of bringing him to battle before
he could carry out his object, the cruiser was lost. The ship listed
heavily to port almost immediately, and sank in less than thirty
minutes. Nearly all her officers and crew, numbering 684, were saved.
Before giving orders to leave the ship the commander lined up his men on
the quarterdeck and shouted, “Long live the King! Long live Italy!” The
response was not less hearty than if they had been given a week’s leave.
One instance of extraordinary bravery stands out conspicuously, though
the discipline was exemplary in every respect. While in the water the
chief engineer was drawn toward the revolving propellers, and one of his
arms was completely severed. A surgeon witnessed the incident when
swimming at no great distance away. With powerful strokes he reached the
injured officer, took off his own belt, applied it as a tourniquet, and
then supported the sufferer until help arrived. The surgeon was on the
verge of collapse, but he had performed a feat probably unique in the
annals of first aid.
The second armoured ship to be lost by Italy was torpedoed three weeks
later in the same sea. She bore the honoured name of _Giuseppe
Garibaldi_, whose presentation swords of gold were kept on board as
treasures beyond price. The cruiser formed part of a squadron that had
been bombarding the railway and fortifications at Cattaro, where a
number of Austrian battleships had taken refuge, unwilling to face four
Italian vessels which had outlived their youth. The enemy adopted much
more stealthy tactics. As the _Giuseppe Garibaldi_, the _Vettor Pisani_,
the _Varese_, and the _Ferruccio_ were steaming away they sent out a
flotilla of submarines. The first attack was skilfully fended. Subjected
to a withering fire, in which the _Giuseppe Garibaldi_ joined, two of
the U-boats sought safety in flight. U 4 was so badly damaged that she
sank. A fourth either lay ‘doggo’ for a time or returned to the attack a
little later. Her first torpedo, fired at the close range of about 500
yards, missed, but the second did such damage, despite the cruiser’s
belt of 6–in. armour, that saving her was out of the question. The
majority of her crew of 540 were rescued.
When Germany and Austria arranged to drench Europe in blood in pursuit
of Teutonic ambitions, the Austro-Hungarian Navy possessed three
completed Dreadnoughts, of which the _Viribus Unitis_ was one. This
powerful battleship of 22,000 tons, carrying twelve 13–in. guns, twelve
5.9–in. quick-firers, six torpedo-tubes, and a complement of nearly 1000
officers and men, was attacked in Pola Harbour by an intrepid French
submarine, which succeeded in damaging her to such an extent that she
was rendered useless for a considerable time. Had she been at sea it is
probable the _Viribus Unitis_ would have sunk, but plenty of assistance
was handy, and she reached dry dock with a very ugly wound in her hull
and certain portions of her engines so badly wrecked that the workshops
at Trieste had to get busy to provide new parts. This was in December
1914. She was still in Pola Harbour in May 1918, when a little Italian
motor-boat penetrated the mine-field, cables, and steel nets guarding
the entrance and completed the discomfiture of the great vessel. Captain
Pellegrini and three volunteers discharged two torpedoes at the _Viribus
Unitis_, and after seeing them take effect, sank their own tiny craft to
prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. This was the
thirteenth operation by the Italian Navy against enemy bases, and was
completely successful. Apparently the Dreadnought was resurrected, for
she was again sunk in November 1918 by means of a time-charge laid by
two Italian officers.
Italy also lost several fine destroyers by attack from Austrian or
German U-boats. The _Impetuoso_ was submarined in the Straits of Otranto
on the 10th July, 1916, with small loss of _personnel_, but the fate
which befell the _Nembo_ was more tragic and more romantic. The _Nembo_
was escorting a transport to Valona. The submarine was sighted on board
the destroyer, whose commander at once changed course so as to cover his
charge, which had some 3000 soldiers on board. He succeeded in doing
this, and the torpedo intended for the transport struck the _Nembo_ with
full force. She at once began to settle, but the indomitable officer
swung his ship round with the intention of ramming his assailant. Loss
of speed and gain of water on the part of the destroyer gave the U-boat
time to submerge, but the commander still had another card to play. He
ordered depth charges to be dropped overboard. There was a mammoth
upheaval of water, followed by the reappearance of the enemy showing
evident signs of distress. Shortly afterward destroyer and submarine
went to a common grave, the _Nembo_ carrying with her most of her
gallant crew, while eleven men from U 16 managed to scramble into one of
the destroyer’s boats that floated by without a solitary occupant.
Vienna newspapers, like those of Berlin, endeavoured to bolster up the
naval cause of the Central Powers by deliberately manufacturing
desirable news. In January 1915 the Austrians were told that their E 12
had sunk the French battleship _Courbet_, a Dreadnought armed with a
dozen 12–in. guns. That was sufficiently wide of the mark in all
conscience, for it was absolutely untrue, but the loss of the _Jean
Bart_ by colliding with her when going to her assistance was tagged on
to make the victory still more complete. E 12 certainly did succeed in
hitting the _Jean Bart_ with a torpedo, but the material damage was of
slight importance and was speedily repaired. At the time the _Courbet_
was many miles away from the scene of the imaginary action—“in excellent
trim,” as the French Ministry of Marine stated. On another occasion the
French battleship _Vérité_ was alleged to have been seriously damaged by
a German submarine.
This tale of disaster, terrible in the loss of great ships and greater
men, is at the worst only a record of what is legitimate in modern naval
warfare. Those who thought, like Nobel, that the more violent the
agencies to be employed in conflict the more likelihood of preserving
peace had their fond delusions shattered in the saturnalia of the
centuries. Likewise those who sow the wind often reap the whirlwind.