_Depth Charges in Action_
“_I believe the day is not distant when we shall overcome the
submarines as we have overcome the Zeppelins and all the infernal
machines started by the Germans in this war._”—LORD MILNER.
One of the most effective antidotes for the submarine menace when the
approximate whereabouts of the enemy is known is the depth charge,
already mentioned more than once in these pages. Outwardly it resembles
nothing more murderous than a cylindrical drum such as is used for
storing paraffin oil. There the likeness ends. Inwardly it is filled
with high explosive, and fitted with a fuse that can be set to detonate
at any desired depth. Given a reasonable amount of luck, the surprise
packet when thrown overboard blows up in the track of the enemy. Very
often it strikes a death-blow, sometimes it does such extensive damage
that it is only with extreme difficulty that the injured craft can crawl
back to port, and occasionally the enemy escapes with nothing worse than
a nasty jar. The effect naturally depends on the distance separating the
charge from the target.
Some time since a young friend of mine who is an engineer officer on a
certain armed auxiliary was asked if he would volunteer to take charge
of the engine-room of a mine-sweeper. “Their man” was in sick bay, and
as mine-laying U-boats had become increasingly active in the vicinity,
it was highly desirable that operations should be resumed with the least
possible delay. As his own ship was not due to sail for several days, he
assured the skipper that he would be delighted to render any possible
service. Incidentally he looked forward to what he termed “a bit of
sport.”
It was abominably rough outside the sheltered seclusion of the harbour,
and he was beginning to think that ‘a willing horse’ is a synonym for a
fool, when a terrific crash made the ship quake, flung him in anything
but a gentle manner against the nearest handrail, and nearly burst his
ear-drums. Our friend glued his eyes to the indicator, expecting it to
swing round to ‘Astern’ or ‘Stop.’ The hand remained motionless. He
comforted himself with the reflection that if the bow was blown to bits
or the vessel sent sky-high it was none of his business. It was not his
duty to interfere with the navigation of the ship, which was certainly
ploughing her way through the short and choppy seas as though nothing
untoward had happened.
Presently the skipper’s burly form appeared at the casemate. “What on
earth was _that_?” asked the engineer. “Only a depth charge exploding a
couple of miles away,” was the answer. “There’s lots of oil hereabouts.”
Unfortunately the Allies were not the sole possessors of the
prescription for these quick-acting pills. Depth charges ‘made in
Germany’ were sometimes dropped in the tracks of British submarines. A
certain commander, who also knows what it is to face the ugly muzzles of
6–in. guns spitting flame when a submarine is cruising awash, confesses
to a preference for the latter weapon. This is the reason why:
He came near the surface at an awkward moment. No sooner had he fixed
his eyes to the periscope than he discovered that enemy
torpedo-boats—not one but many—were in the immediate neighbourhood.
Their movements showed them to be perfectly well aware of his presence.
His orders were terse. Any hesitation in translating them into action
would have meant disaster. The boat began to descend, nose foremost. She
continued travelling in that direction even when it was a matter of
urgent importance to maintain an even keel. Something had jammed, and
jammed badly. Then there was a terrific report, followed by a concussion
that did more than merely shake the submarine. Some of the crew were
knocked down. No need to ask if there had been a seaquake. Everybody
knew right enough what had happened, and fully realized that the shock
was probably only the prelude to further episodes of a similar kind.
Rivets, bolts, and plates held good—so did the beastly jam. The
submarine just dived to the bottom. There the officer let her remain
without any attempt to repair the trouble. Like Brer Rabbit, he believed
there were occasions when it is supreme wisdom to ‘lie low’ and do
nothing. This was one of them. There was no immediate haste. He appeared
to be waiting for something.
The ‘something’ came three minutes later, accompanied by a deafening
bang that made rich, warm blood run cold. Another depth charge had been
hurled overboard. It made the submarine rock, but a careful
investigation of every nook and cranny made it evident that she had not
so much as sprung a leak. British shipbuilders are the finest in the
world when they like, and they had liked when putting together this
underwater craft. With those on board the _Norah Creina_ the commander
could say, “God bless every man that swung a mallet on that tiny and
strong hull! It was not for wages only that they laboured, but to save
men’s lives.”
Evidently the enemy was not quite satisfied that he had killed his prey.
There was nothing on which to base a report of death. Surmise is not
certainty; it withholds proof. The Germans got out their sweeps and
began fishing. The imprisoned men could hear the cable scraping along
their boat, and thanked God when it ceased. The wire rope got entangled
in nothing. That was a big mercy.
A third depth charge was heard and felt to explode, nearer this time,
but still without doing serious injury. The torpedo-boats dropped no
more ground-bait after that. The submarine was “missing, believed
killed.” The Germans were not fond of remaining in one spot for any
considerable time. When the victim was dead or mortally wounded, there
was no need to attend the funeral. There were always the grey police of
the Patrol to be reckoned with.
Down below the crew of the “missing, believed killed” were straightening
things out and wondering if they were to receive further attention from
above. Two, four, six, eight hours passed, daylight with them. Little
likelihood of the hunters being about now. Then the submarine, according
to the official report, “proceeded to her base.”
Before the war I tried to puzzle out why it was that human beings, of
their own free will, became firemen on a battleship. One minute in a
stokehold is sixty seconds too long for most people. To me the problem
remains unsolved. Are they all possessed of the steel nerves of Hotham
when he was told to fight his vessel till she sank and was comforted by
Duncan’s remark that he had taken the depth of the water and that when
the _Venerable_ went down his flag would still be flying? Stoking is bad
enough, but what of those who volunteer for service in a submarine? They
do not seem to be out of the ordinary ruck of humanity. Solve the riddle
of the ‘something’ they possess and you will be able to put down in
black and white, after the manner of a sum, the secret of Britain’s
Sea-power.
Seemingly unconscious of the unpleasant fact that a T.B.D. was a mere
mile away, a submersible broke surface, presumably to recharge her
storage batteries. No sooner had she come to the top than the commander
discovered the British vessel racing toward him at full tilt. If the
destroyer missed a fine chance of ramming by reason of the Hun’s
alertness, she certainly seized a rare opportunity for dropping a couple
of depth charges. They gave the enemy a terrible shaking. No other
reason would have brought the U-boat so perilously near the surface as
to uncover the periscope, which appeared at an angle sufficiently rakish
to show that the submarine was anything but comfortable. The T.B.D. gave
her another dose. One or two other vessels appeared, anxious to render
assistance with a further supply of concentrated destruction. In
addition to a lavish waste of oil, there came to the surface four
significant things: a calcium float, a broken steel buoy, a wooden
ladder, and a lifebelt. I do not think there is the least likelihood
that that particular U-boat returned to Zeebrugge or any other lair.
Sometimes even more conclusive evidence of decease was furnished by the
victim. Motor launches which formerly lived a genteel existence, lifting
silver cups at smart regattas, became terribly efficient engines of war
as submarine-chasers. One of them sighted the ‘eye’ of a U-boat not more
than 200 yards away. A couple of depth charges were dropped on the spot
just after she had disappeared. Some hefty sheets of metal came hurtling
up from Neptune’s kingdom, flung wide of the attacking vessel by great
good fortune. The usual tell-tale streaks of oil, ascending in
ever-increasing volume, afforded further testimony to the efficacy of
the explosions.
Some U-boats took a lot of killing; they seemed as hydra-skinned as the
offspring of Typhon and Echidna was many-headed. They came to resemble
the poor patient who has a complication of diseases and yet lives for
years. Therefore we usually made assurance doubly sure. A destroyer on
patrol gave a submersible a thundering good ramming. There was no doubt
about it, because the skipper on the bridge saw a gaping hole in the
hull just before the conning-tower, and seeing is believing. Now it was
no part of British war methods to impose a lingering death on our
enemies, however deep-dyed in sin they might be. We got the killing
business over as speedily as possible. On this occasion two depth
charges were flung out to polish off the job with the maximum of
celerity. Then the destroyer circled round the spot on the off chance
that the U-boat might still be near the surface. There was plenty of oil
rising thereabouts, but the commander of the T.B.D. was not quite
convinced of a ‘kill,’ and it was his business to deal with facts rather
than probabilities. So he anchored a buoy near the spot, determined to
return at daylight. When he came back several hours later rainbow
patches were still rising. He used another depth charge before
proceeding on the uneven tenor of his way. In due course the position
was swept and the wreck located.
Lord Jellicoe has told us that at night a submarine travelling awash is
not visible at a distance of more than 200 yards. Moonlight, of course,
increases visibility, and on the particular night I have in mind the
look-out on a British auxiliary sighted a U-boat in surface trim about
half a mile distant. The patrol vessel gave chase, but the submarine
managed to submerge before her enemy came up. Half a dozen depth charges
were dropped overboard. Their explosion—‘some explosion,’ as Uncle Sam
would say—was followed by what the commander termed a ‘disturbance’
about 300 yards distant, which may or may not have been the U-boat
breaking surface, likely enough inadvertently. At any rate, a shot
whistled in that direction. Vast pools of oil settled on the water.
Harsh, guttural voices made themselves audible above the tumult. One
survivor was picked up. Sir Eric Geddes has said that when the full
story of the British Navy in the Great War is told “it will surpass in
heroism and daring and ingenuity and wonder the tales of Captain
Marryat.”
[Illustration:
The Destroyer’s Short Way with the U-Boat
Sighted at a distance of several miles, a British destroyer found a
U-boat in difficulties and ended them in the manner depicted.
_Drawn by a Naval Officer_
]
The speed of a convoy is necessarily that of the slowest ship, but
sometimes bad steaming plays ducks and drakes with the keeping of a
correct formation, on which so much depends. Ships have an awkward way
of falling behind, necessitating their being shepherded like a flock of
sheep, and adding considerably to the risks. The commander of a convoy
needs a sweet temper.
A merchantman was forming an involuntary rearguard on her own account.
She had fallen behind, and in her isolated position was an ideal target
for any U-boat that might happen to be lying low by reason of the
presence of lynx-eyed destroyers with the main body. One of the latter
was detached to hasten up the sluggard. Scarcely had she reached her
before one of the steamers in the van was neatly torpedoed. Heading for
the track of the steel fish, the T.B.D. apparently cut across the
submarine. She quivered from stem to stern with the force of the bump.
The skipper of a sister ship distinctly saw a periscope sticking above
the waves, and, coming up, dropped a depth charge, which was followed by
an explosion and the appearance of the U-boat astern. Both destroyers
put their helms right over, and opened fire. The fight was ended by one
of them charging the submersible and literally chopping her in half.
Both sections kept afloat for a few seconds, then disappeared in two
mammoth whirlpools. It was one of the cleanest cuts of the war, though a
United States cruiser managed to perform a similar feat a few weeks
later.
While escorting a convoy a look-out on the U.S. destroyer _Fanning_
noticed a periscope sticking out of the water. Heading for the spot, a
single depth charge was unloaded. The U-boat came to the surface, and
after a short chase meekly surrendered. According to the evidence of
prisoners, the machinery of the submarine was wrecked beyond repair.
The Germans referred to depth charges as ‘water-bombs.’ Frankly, they
were not enamoured of them. With that abnormal lack of humour which no
Briton can understand, Commander Rose of the Kaiser’s Underseas Navy
explained that “their material effect is only small”—witness the above
samples—“but the infernal din of their explosion” had a great moral
effect, “especially on an inexperienced crew.”