_U-Boats that Never Returned_
“_Let us march farther, undaunted and confident, along the road
of force. Then our future will be secure against British avarice
and revenge. The German is too good to become England’s
vassal._”—ADMIRAL VON SCHEER.
Many U-boats were buried in the same grave as their last victim. This
was not adequate retribution, but it left the Navy and the Mercantile
Marine with one submarine the less to fight.
Close to the wreck of the great White Star liner _Justicia_, a
magnificent steamer of 32,000 tons, lie the remains of one of her
attackers. There may be others, but I give the official figure. The
submarine in question was sunk by the destroyer _Marne_ on the 20th
June, 1918, the day the Germans were being driven back across the
historic river whose name she bore. The _Justicia_ was dogged by
submersibles for twenty-two hours, during which time no fewer than seven
torpedoes were fired at her. It was the most determined onslaught ever
made by U-boats. Moreover, the attack is remarkable by reason of the
fact that not only were destroyers and other craft convoying the vessel,
but she herself was armed.
The first torpedo struck and exploded in the engine-room, killing
fifteen men and injuring the third engineer so terribly that he died
later. The second weapon was diverted from its course by the
_Justicia’s_ gunners; the third missed. Depth charges and other means
were used to deal with the menace, and apparently with success. During
the ensuing night nothing further was seen or heard of the enemy. Early
the following morning, however, two torpedoes were fired simultaneously,
one taking effect in No. 3 hold, the other in No. 5 hold. When it was
realized that there was not the remotest chance of bringing the
_Justicia_ to port, the crew of between six and seven hundred were
quietly transferred to another vessel. The liner kept afloat for eight
hours after that, a remarkable testimony to the efficient work of those
who had built her in the Belfast yards of Messrs Harland and Wolff.
Several commanders of U-boats asserted that a number of attempts had
previously been made to sink the _Justicia_, but had failed because she
was provided with torpedo nets. This does not seem altogether an
adequate explanation, unless we are to presume that the devices alleged
to be in use were not in position when the maritime snipers succeeded in
sending her to Davy Jones’s locker.
The during-the-war policy of the British Admiralty as regards lost,
stolen, and strayed U-boats was one of reserve, and rightly so. When you
are on the watch for a gang of burglars you make as little fuss about it
as possible. If full publicity had been given to the methods of capture
the Central Powers would have speedily become conversant with them. We
preferred to let the enemy find out things for himself—if he could. To
use an expression common on the Western Front, it ‘put the wind up’
German crews to find that an ever-increasing number of their friends on
U-boats failed to report after a voyage. Except in rare instances no
information as to their fate came to relieve their friends’ anxiety.
They just disappeared from mortal ken. It did not make for ease of mind;
it harrowed the nerves of the strongest. The effect on the _moral_ of
the enemy was distinctly marked. The plot rebounded. The sea-dogs of the
British Merchant Service were to be frightened into submission; their
ships were to rust for want of use, moss was to grow on the quayside. It
was the U-boat which surrendered to the White Ensign.
The first enemy submersible to be lost was U 15, sunk in the North Sea
by H.M.S. _Birmingham_ on the 9th August, 1914. This was admitted by Mr
Winston Churchill in a telegram to the Lord Mayor of the cruiser’s
name-place, whose loyal citizens had made a presentation of plate to her
officers’ mess. U 15 was a small vessel of about 300 tons, carrying a
crew of twelve officers and men, and appears to have had two or three
consorts with her. An A.B. on the _Birmingham_, which was attached to
the First Light Cruiser Squadron, sighted the periscope of a submarine,
and fire was opened at once. The noise of the guns and the piercing
notes of the bugle calling all to action stations brought those who were
not on watch to their allotted positions in double quick time. Officers
in pyjamas, men with one leg in their trousers and one out, scampered
along the upper deck as though joining in a race, anxious only to get to
grips with the enemy. It is said that the first shell struck the
periscope and rendered the submarine sightless. If so, it was a
marvellous shot at a range of a couple of miles or thereabouts. Probably
the sailor who set the story going was indulging in a little game of
‘leg-pulling,’ a hobby not unknown in the Navy. There was a mighty
swerve as the captain of the cruiser altered course so as to be out of
the line of fire. In another instant the _Birmingham_ was racing toward
her assailant as though the engines would tear themselves from their
pits in the excitement of the chase. Every gun was trained on the
U-boat. Another shot rang out, wrecking the conning-tower. The sharp
steel bow of the man-of-war did the rest. There were no survivors.
In October 1914 it was announced that the T.B.D. _Badger_ had rammed and
probably sunk an enemy submarine. This was contradicted by the Germans,
who asserted that the vessel in question had returned to her base in a
damaged condition. There was less uncertainty about a U-boat casualty
that happened in the following month. U 18 penetrated a certain harbour
in the north of Scotland much frequented by naval vessels. It happened
that just as the submarine was going in, a trawler attached to the
Patrol was coming out. Apparently the tough little craft passed over the
U-boat, for the skipper immediately signalled, “Have struck submarine.”
Now a submarine chase was much appreciated by those who commanded
destroyers. There was sport about it rather more exciting than merely
“barging about the North Sea.” The T.B.D. _Garry_ was first in the
field. She slipped along in wonderful style and attempted to ram the
enemy as she was endeavouring to get away. According to a seaman, the
periscope crumpled up, but the jar that was felt was scarcely enough to
warrant his commander in believing that the U-boat had run her course.
Accordingly he cruised about for a while, anticipating that eventually
she would come to the surface if any life remained in her. This is
exactly what happened, and once again the _Garry_ worked up to full
speed. She was on the verge of crashing into the enemy when the crew
appeared on deck. One of them waved a white handkerchief in token of
surrender. It was a narrow squeak, but the destroyer rescued three
officers and twenty-three of her crew. One of the latter was drowned. He
volunteered to stay behind and open the Kingston valve so that the craft
might not be captured.
To give a chronological list of the U-boats known to have perished in
the war, with particulars of their death, would occupy all the pages in
this volume. I can therefore only cite a few instances. The story of the
sinking of an unknown marauder by the _Thordis_, a little coasting
steamer of 500 tons, is too well known to require retelling.[28] Captain
Bell was the first master in the Merchant Service to win official
recognition as a submarine-sinker.
U 8 had been operating in the Straits of Dover and the English Channel
for several weeks before she was finally rounded up by a dozen
destroyers under the command of Captain C. D. Johnson. This was in the
afternoon of the 4th March, 1915. Here again there was an alarming
discrepancy in the company the submersible ought to have carried and the
number she actually had on board. Her normal complement was twelve
officers and men; when she was sunk twenty-nine survivors were picked
up. The sinking of U 8 and U 12 was made the basis of a threat of
reprisals upon British officer prisoners in Germany because the
authorities at Whitehall did not “feel justified in extending honourable
treatment” to the men of U 8. They held that there was “strong
probability” of their having “been guilty of attacking and sinking
unarmed merchantmen” and “wantonly killing non-combatants.” Sir Edward
Grey pointed out that up to the time of the incident more than a
thousand officers and men of the German Navy had been rescued from the
sea, “sometimes in spite of danger to the rescuers, and sometimes to the
prejudice of British naval operations.” Not a single British sailor had
been picked up by the enemy. The widely circulated report that the
officers of U 8 were guests of Royal Artillery officers at lunch at
Dover Castle was a falsehood.
The life of U 12 as a pirate was extremely short. She was caught by the
destroyer _Ariel_ on the 10th March, 1915, before she had been able to
do anything approaching appreciable damage, her sole victim being a
little steam collier of 60 tons, which she sank by means of a bomb.
A certain amount of mystery is also associated with this particular
submarine. Her displacement, if she were the original U 12, was 300 tons
submerged and 250 tons above water. Fourteen men would have been ample
to work her, yet she had a complement of twenty-eight. It is possible,
though the idea seems somewhat far-fetched on account of the limited
accommodation on board, that the men in excess were being trained. What
appears to be far more probable is that an old number had been given to
a new boat, just as the name _Arethusa_ has been borne by a long line of
fighting ships in the Royal Navy. Ten of the pirates were picked up and
landed in Scotland; eighteen were drowned.
Although Captain Otto Weddigen achieved momentary fame in Germany as the
hero of an exploit that sent the _Aboukir_, the _Cressy_, and the
_Hogue_ to the bottom of the North Sea, he did not live long to enjoy
his popularity. When the U 9, the submarine which he commanded on that
occasion, was withdrawn from service, he was given the U 29, believed to
have a displacement of some 800 tons, and to be armed with two
quick-firing guns and four or more torpedo-tubes. One of the U 9’s last
adventures was to get entangled in the net of a Dutch steam trawler,
necessitating the cutting away of the lines.
U 29 first appeared as a commerce-destroyer about a fortnight before she
was sent to the bottom. Her hunting-ground was the vicinity of the
Scillies. Known as ‘the Polite Pirate,’ Weddigen sank five or six
merchant ships, and on occasion regaled the crews with cigars and wine
and towed their boats toward land. Not once did he behave with the
stupid and blundering brutality of many of his associates in arms. When
the crew of the _Adenwen_ were taking to the boats, one of the men fell
overboard. Weddigen happened to be on the conning-tower at the time.
Noticing the sailor’s plight and his rescue, the captain of the U-boat
sent him a suit of dry clothes.
The German commander’s order Pour le Mérite and the Iron Cross of the
First Class went down with his ship. This misfortune reached the
Kaiser’s ears. That august personage sent duplicates to Weddigen’s
widow, at the same time condoling with her in “the bitter loss of a man
whom the entire Fatherland mourns, who achieved unforgettable fame for
himself and the Fatherland, and who will live for all time as a shining
example of daring, calm, and resolution.”
Weddigen’s humanity came in very useful when the fate of U 29 had to be
explained in the German Press. The _Deutsche Tageszeitung_ suggested
that “British ships surprised U 29 while she was busy saving the crew of
the steamer. In the midst of this humane work the knightly English must
have caught U 29 while she was helpless, and it would be easy for them
to destroy her. The noble hypocritical sentimentality of the English
Press about the captain points to facts of this kind.” Admiral Klaus,
writing in the _Vossische Zeitung_, put forward the theory that the
submarine was sunk by a British ship flying a neutral merchant flag, and
added that as the British Admiralty had seen fit to withhold details
there were apparently good reasons for not being proud of the success.
The only information vouchsafed by the officials of the Wilhelmstrasse
was couched in the baldest of bald language: “U 29 has not yet returned
from her last cruise. According to the report of the British Admiralty
issued on March 26 [1915], the ship sank with her entire crew. The
submarine must therefore be regarded as lost.” The burial of the U-boat
in a shroud of mystery must have been horribly galling to the bigwigs of
Berlin. The intimation that she was “sunk by one of His Majesty’s ships”
conveyed nothing to them except the obvious.
On the 9th June, 1915, Mr Balfour announced in the House of Commons that
a German submarine had been sunk and the entire crew taken prisoners.
The German Admiralty subsequently announced that U 14 was evidently the
vessel in question, as it had “not returned from its last expedition.”
Whether the following letter is a typical revelation of the mind of the
German underwater sailor or not is more than I can say, but it is
particularly interesting as showing that the writer was thankful to a
kindly Providence for sparing him when the game of piracy and murder had
come to an end and he was safe in British hands. It could scarcely be
supposed that every German who sailed in a submarine did it of his own
free will or took a delight in the work. I can only suggest that all too
often the Prussian Cult makes blackguards of men who are not by nature
what they afterward become. The communication runs as follows:
MY DEAR, GOOD PARENTS,
Go to church the first Sunday after you receive these lines from me,
and thank the good God for having so mercifully watched over and
preserved me. I have fallen into the hands of the English, unwounded
and whole in body and mind, and have been well treated, quite
particularly so by the English naval officers.
It was an extremely sad day for me. First of all in the morning I
saw dead on the deck two poor Norwegians who had unhappily fallen
victims to our gunfire. The day will be engraved on my memory in
letters of blood.
But as for you, dear parents, do not be distressed, and do not weep
for me. The good God Who has protected me hitherto will continue to
be my aid, and if it should be His will that I should quit this
world I shall know how to die.
The submersible in which the writer of the above letter served was
UC 39, commanded by Otto Ehrentraut, a personal friend of Prince Henry
of Prussia. UC 39 was a mine-layer, but does not appear to have been so
employed when she was destroyed. She was simply indulging in
cold-blooded piracy with the aid of torpedoes and shell. Her first
victim was the Norwegian s.s. _Hans Kinck_. Although the vessel stopped
when summoned to do so, many rounds were fired at the helpless ship.
Victim No. 2 was the British s.s. _Hanna Larsen_, which was sunk by
bombs and the master and chief engineer made prisoners. Victim No. 3 was
another Norwegian steamer, the _Ida_, when the old practice of firing
after the vessel had stopped was again indulged. No fewer than twenty
shells were hurled at her before Otto Ehrentraut gave the order to cease
fire. It was only then that the men in one of the _Ida’s_ boats ventured
to come alongside and inform him that two of their comrades, both
wounded, had been left on the sinking vessel. When a German officer
clambered on board, the mate and the steward were lying dead on the
deck. There they were allowed to remain while the _Ida_ was finished off
with bombs.
A steamer and a trawler were next attacked. Both escaped in the mist.
Another steamer was encountered a little later, but this time UC 39
caught a Tartar. A destroyer was close by and opened fire. Before the
submarine could dive sufficiently low to make her whereabouts uncertain
a depth charge exploded in her near vicinity. Water poured in, making it
dangerous to remain submerged. So she came to the surface, to receive a
tornado of fire from the man-of-war. Ehrentraut appeared on the
conning-tower, and was struck by a shell. His place was taken by another
officer. As UC 39 continued on her course, the commander of the
destroyer yelled through a megaphone for her to stop. Before she
answered the summons several of the crew had been killed or wounded, but
seventeen survivors were rescued. All these events were crowded into two
days.
The French, Italian, and Japanese Navies all displayed splendid prowess
in dispatching submarines. The Austrian U 3, a small submarine of 300
tons displacement when submerged, was rounded up in the Lower Adriatic
by the French T.B.D. _Bisson_ after a search in which Italian men-of-war
had joined. No sooner was the periscope sighted than the destroyer
scored a hit at over 3000 yards. The second shot was not so successful,
for it fell short, but the third struck her and exploded in the
engine-room. Although U 3 went down in half a minute, twelve of her crew
were rescued.
The U-boat which wrecked the _Chateaurenault_ in the Ionian Sea on the
14th December, 1917, took a lot of killing. After the enemy had sent her
first torpedo, the spot where she submerged was riddled with shells. On
her reappearance shortly afterward, the gunners of the cruiser opened
fire, causing her once more to make a hasty withdrawal. A second torpedo
followed, and the U-boat was again shelled, while two seaplanes dropped
bombs. Unable to keep under water, she came up for the last time, and
was literally blown to pieces.
I have scarcely touched the fringe of a vast topic. In August 1918 Mr
Lloyd George stated that 150 enemy submarines had been destroyed by the
British Navy alone since the beginning of the war. Before the end forty
more had been added to the obituary list, while three were destroyed by
the Germans at Zeebrugge, half a dozen foundered in British mine-fields,
and one was lost in the North Sea while crossing to Harwich. Precise
particulars of the When and Where of submarine-hunting cannot even now
be given, but the How of the matter will be related in fuller detail in
later chapters.