_Singeing the Sultan’s Beard_
“_There must be a beginning of any great matter, but the continuing
unto the end until it be thoroughly finished yields the true
glory._”—SIR FRANCIS DRAKE.
To win the first Victoria Cross awarded to a naval officer in the Great
War, to be the first submarine commander to gain it in any war—these are
no mean distinctions. Primarily, of course, Lieutenant Norman Douglas
Holbrook, R.N., owed his blue ribbon to “most conspicuous bravery,” as
the _Gazette_ has it, but to this must be added a particularly daring
and unique exploit that showed exceptional tactical and executive skill.
The deed was not one of those lightning-stroke affairs that lack
premeditation and are accomplished on the spur of the moment in the heat
of battle. The elements of conflict were there, guns, ammunition,
soldiers, and all the stage scenery necessary to give a picturesque and
enthralling setting. The chief actor alone failed to appear in the
picture. I would not for the world attempt to minimize the superb
heroism of any holder of a much-coveted decoration. Yet there is a
marked difference between this particular deed and all others that had
gone before. It was accomplished in a place remote from other British
battle forces. The young officer neither carried a wounded man on his
back amid a storm of bullets, his comrades looking on, nor with a
machine-gun held up a horde of Huns.
Harking back, it is interesting to recall that the first person to win
the V.C. was a bluejacket—an above-salt-water sailor. Holbrook belonged
to the same splendid Service, but to a section unborn when Charles Davis
Lucas flung overboard a live shell from H.M.S. _Hecla_ off Bomarsund in
1854. The commander of B 11 gained his fourpennyworth of bronze in a
submarine below the sea. What Holbrook’s meritorious action lacks in
intensity of swift drama is more than compensated by the cool and
calculated daring of the whole proceeding.
Standing quietly in a sealed chamber breathing ‘canned air’ for nine
mortal hours, dodging mines, torpedo-boats, and gunfire from forts,
requires a steady nerve and a concentration of mind and purpose beyond
what is called for in open fighting. He accomplished what he had to do,
brought back his ship, fourteen men and an officer, quite safely, and
betrayed an eager anxiety as to what his next task might be.
It was not as though Holbrook had been placed in command of a brand-new
vessel of modern type, replete with the latest improvements, spacious,
comfortable, and minus the stuffiness so inseparably associated with
earlier craft. B 11 was one of the smallest, slowest, and oldest
submarines in the British Navy. She had been launched in 1906, when
Holbrook was still a ‘snotty,’ which is the Service name for midshipman.
There was no question as to the risks all on board knew they were about
to run. It was an adventure in the truest sense of the word, without a
single ‘dead cert.’ in it. Every man jack of them left letters behind,
“in case of accidents,” as one of the brave fellows modestly put it, and
he added, perhaps half wistfully, that the commander was “a very cool
hand.” The latter fact needs no qualification; it is self-evident. For
one thing the Lieutenant had promised his mother “to be careful” when he
bade her good-bye at Portsmouth. He fulfilled his pledge, as is the
habit of worthy sons of worthy parents. Later on, when he gave her an
account of his deeds, Holbrook gently reminded her of his vow in a
subtle way. He signed his letter, “Your affectionate and _careful_ son.”
Which shows that a sense of humour is likewise one of his traits.
Lieutenant Holbrook had been appointed to H.M.S. _Egmont_ at Malta for
the command of B 11 in December 1913. What he and his submarine did in
the interim of a year does not concern us. The blue waters of the
Mediterranean hid them from the public gaze for exactly twelve months.
Then they suddenly turned up in the Ægean Sea, hundreds of miles from
their base. The Angel of Peace had retired sadly before the bustling
entrance of Mars. A combined British and French squadron was gathered
together in the neighbourhood of the entrance to the Dardanelles. There
was an idea that big ships and big guns could smash their way through
the Straits and appear before Constantinople. Eminent naval men said
that the project was perfectly feasible; others that it was an
impossible task. The ‘Ayes’ had it; the ‘Noes’ came into their own a
little later. The heavy fathers of the Fleet had tuned up for the
overture at daybreak on the 3rd November, 1914. On the 13th of the
following month Holbrook and his merry men started to pierce the Straits
_via_ the underseas.
Wiseacres in the battleships, jealous of the reputation of the giants,
and secretly itching to follow in the tracks of Admiral Sir J.
Duckworth, who had got through in 1807, before battleships were quite so
bulky and the Turks so well prepared, called in superstition to justify
their views. The 13th was, and always had been, unlucky. It was the
height of foolishness to tempt Providence with that date staring at one
from the calendar. Really, the lack of wisdom in their superiors was
beyond words!
The commander of the expedition was too eager to get on with the job to
be deterred by superstition, and too much occupied with practical
affairs to be concerned with old women’s tales once the Dardanelles had
been entered. The Hellespont of ancient history is a bit of a teaser to
a navigation officer. It has all manner of depths and shallows, widths
and currents. Mists frequently hang between the rocky heights and the
low hills of the landlocked waterway like steam and smoke in a railway
tunnel. To these difficulties were added peril from mine, floating and
fixed, peril from the guns of forts and land batteries, and peril from
whatever naval forces might be in the vicinity.
Holbrook’s main object was to torpedo the Turkish battleship
_Messudiyeh_. She was guarding the mine-field in the roadstead of
Nagara, below the Narrows. Here the distance between the banks is only
some 1400 yards, and the current often runs at the rapid rate of four
and a half knots. The _Messudiyeh_ was a rather curious specimen of
naval architecture, the combined product of British and Italian labour.
Launched at Blackwall forty years before, she had been rebuilt to a
great extent at Genoa in 1902. From the point of view of armament she
was by no means to be despised. Although her two 9.2–in. breech-loaders
were being overhauled in England and had given place to wooden replicas,
she mounted twelve 6–in. quick-firers, and over two dozen smaller
weapons—a plentiful selection of guns for service should B 11’s
periscope be sighted. As a matter of fact it _was_ sighted, but not
before Holbrook had taken his observations and discharged a torpedo, as
we shall have occasion to notice a little later.
The 10,000–ton battleship was perhaps the least of the difficulties that
confronted the intrepid Lieutenant. When beset by so many dangers
comparison between one and another is of little consequence. The ship
was anchored, and therefore presented as fine a target as a submarine
commander could wish. But before she could be reached there was a
gauntlet of five rows of live mines to be run. It was no good trying to
‘rush’ the Straits. For one thing, the motors of B 11 could not propel
her more than 5½ knots an hour when submerged, and only 11 knots on the
surface, and for another, speed would have been a disadvantage rather
than a help. Barging into the nearest horned canister is not good for
the health of a submarine, and Holbrook realized that he must feel his
way in the painful manner of a blind man, with the difference that at
intervals he could use his periscope.
The fact that the _Messudiyeh_ had been the flagship of a British
admiral previous to the outbreak of war lent a sentimental interest to
the commander’s project. All submarine officers are not compounded of
crude blood and iron, as popular belief has it. Holbrook is a
particularly human specimen of the species, and has more than a strain
of idealism in his make-up. Rear-Admiral Limpus had been engaged in
reorganizing the Ottoman naval service previous to the winning-over of
the Turks by the Germans. To be sure the serviceable material at his
disposal, so far as battleships were concerned, was poor enough. These
numbered three in all, but three on the effective list are better than
none, and two Dreadnoughts were under construction in England. The
last-mentioned are now members of the great family that goes under the
generic name of the Royal Navy.
Holbrook threaded his way through the mines, as Nelson dodged the shoals
at Copenhagen, got within target-distance of his intended victim, took
his bearings, and discharged an 18–in. torpedo, the first to be fired by
a B boat since the commencement of the war.
Do not run away with the idea that it was a one-sided affair—a game of
naval cricket with the British commander as bowler and the batsman out
of his wicket. The wash of the periscope had been spotted by a keen-eyed
look-out on the _Messudiyeh_. Before Holbrook knew the result of his
aim, shells were falling unpleasantly near, and not a few! The enemy
peppered the spot with a mighty weight of metal, but B 11 was down and
under when the Turks got the correct range. Even then things were
precious uncomfortable, for the submarine grounded on a shoal, with only
about thirty feet of water above her thin skin. It took some little
time, plus much bumping and scraping, to get clear, but Holbrook never
turned a hair. Flurry is not in his dictionary. He gave an order or two,
then waited. On the whole B 11 behaved herself very well. She got into
deeper water, from which Holbrook took a look round to ascertain the
extent of the damage done. After expressing his satisfaction, he again
descended.
During the whole voyage B 11 remained submerged for nine of the longest
hours that the crew had ever experienced. The early British submarines
are cramped and stuffy, with the minimum of accommodation and the
maximum of discomfort. At least the crew could congratulate themselves
on having accomplished something, for there had been a mighty
reverberation a few seconds after the torpedo had started on its
travels. It was horribly difficult to keep a straight course on account
of the current, but coxswains and men proved themselves worthy of so
gallant a skipper.
What of the _Messudiyeh_? It was given out by the Turkish authorities
that she had sunk at her anchorage off the Asiatic shore “as the result
of a leak,” and that part of the ship was still above water. The
_communiqué_ has a refreshing touch of humour about it not altogether
characteristic of the general run of similar announcements. If we may
accept the word of ‘a reliable source,’ the veteran turned turtle in
shallow water within five minutes of having received Holbrook’s
compliments. Of the battleship’s crew, which may have numbered 600 or
more, the same authority states that only twenty-three escaped. These
were got out by the dexterous manipulation of axe and saw.
If Englishmen take their pleasures sadly, they make war with a light
heart. Shortly after his return, Lieutenant Holbrook was presented with
a specially constructed Iron Cross—a huge metal affair almost as big as
his head. Commander Bromley[29] performed the mock ceremony on board
H.M.S. _Indefatigable_, to the immense amusement of the assembled
company.
Holbrook was rightly acclaimed the Hero of the Service. Admiral Count
Bettolo, voicing the opinion of the countrymen of Columbus, said that
the achievement was a “magnificent feat which highly honours the British
Navy and shows the firm determination to succeed on the part of the
English sailors.” “The British Navy,” he added, “wishes the world to
know it is capable of heroism and daring not inferior to that of any
other Navy. The organizer of the raid has demonstrated that he possesses
the qualities to triumph at any cost.” In Russia the exploit was hailed
as one of enormous military value, which the enthusiasm of the moment
doubtless suggested but subsequent events did not justify. It certainly
robbed Turkey of the _Messudiyeh_. Most important of all, Lieutenant
Norman Douglas Holbrook had blazed a trail.
Lieutenant Sydney T. Winn, second in command of B 11, was appointed to
the Distinguished Service Order. No one was more delighted to hear of
this honour than Lieutenant Holbrook. All the members of the crew were
granted the Distinguished Service Medal.
The ill-fated Dardanelles Campaign, so rich in deeds of daring and so
poor in practical results, introduced to the world at large two other
submarine commanders, each of whom won the V.C. in connexion with it.
Lieutenant-Commander Edward Courtney Boyle, R.N., took E 14 beneath the
enemy mine-fields and suddenly appeared in the Sea of Marmora on the
27th April, 1915. He was stalking transports, the enemy’s favourite
method of conveying troops to Gallipoli because the land communications
consisted of a solitary road. The submarine, a larger and more powerful
boat than B 11, with a displacement of 810 tons, did not return to her
base until twenty-two days later. When she arrived it was much to the
astonishment of many officers and men of the Allied Fleet, who had
firmly believed that she and her brave crew had gone to Davy Jones’s
locker.
During the interim E 14 had dodged mines, navigated treacherous
currents, kept out of harm from hostile patrols, sunk a couple of
gunboats, wrecked two transports—one crowded with 6000 troops—and poked
her inquisitive nose into the Bosphorus.
The first week spent in the Sea of Marmora was terribly exciting. E 14
was hunted by all the light craft at the disposal of the Turks.
Gunboats, destroyers, and torpedo-boats took part in the chase, without
achieving the slightest success. Their failure, combined with shortage
of coal, caused most of them to be withdrawn from the service.
Thenceforth they assumed the more humble _rôle_ of convoys. This phase
lasted a short time only. After Boyle had sunk the large troopship
already mentioned, the Turkish soldiers refused to go by sea, preferring
to march for three days and three nights rather than run the risk of
meeting the terrible submarine.
E 14 went into the Marmora on two subsequent occasions. Altogether she
spent no fewer than seventy days there. On her last visit she had to
break through the net placed across the Dardanelles by Nagara Point. As
this formidable obstacle was made of chain and 3½-in. wire, it “required
some breaking,” to quote the words of the commanding officer. Then
Boyle’s first lieutenant developed typhoid, and was ill for the
remainder of the voyage, a matter of over a fortnight. About fifty
vessels, including dhows laden with grain and other useful commodities,
were sent to the bottom by E 14, but—mark this—no non-combatant ship was
ever sunk before the crew had been taken close inshore in their boats
and had been fed if they were hungry. Submarines can be good Samaritans,
despite German assertions to the contrary. It should also be added that
for two days E 14, in conjunction with E 11, shelled the reinforcing
troops marching to repel the Suvla Bay landing.
Boyle superbly earned and won the V.C., his colleagues, Lieutenant E. G.
Stanley, R.N., and Acting-Lieutenant R. W. Lawrence, R.N.R., were
awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, and each member of the crew was
given the Distinguished Service Medal. One can fully appreciate the
statement of Admiral de Robeck, that “it is impossible to do full
justice to this great achievement.” On the occasion of E 14’s first
penetration of the Straits the King sent the gallant Commander and his
crew a telegram of congratulation.
Another E boat carried this process of anything but peaceful penetration
still farther. Lieut.-Commander Martin Eric Nasmith, R.N., not only took
E 11 through the Dardanelles and crossed the Sea of Marmora, but
actually succeeded in entering the Golden Horn, situated no fewer than
170 miles from the entrance to the Straits. At the quay adjoining the
arsenal he fired a torpedo, which “was heard to explode.” Whether it hit
a transport or a lighter laden with firebricks lying near by has not
been ascertained with certainty. The Turks and their Teutonic friends
are none too keen on telling the truth if it is to their disadvantage.
One informant had it that the barge was blown to smithereens, and that
part of the _débris_ was flung with such terrific force against the
German Levant steamer _Stambul_ that she was holed and had to be
beached. Another report stated that the strong current deflected the
torpedo, causing it to blow up part of the jetty. All independent
observers were at least unanimous as to the effect of the raid on the
nerves of the inhabitants of Constantinople. The people were
panic-stricken, and when the Turkish guns opened fire on their invisible
foe they merely contributed to the ferment. So far as Nasmith was
concerned, it was almost a case of ‘much ado about nothing.’ E 11
escaped with no worse casualty than a jagged wound in her periscope!
Many of the Turks thought that the Russian Black Sea Fleet had broken
through and was bombarding the capital as a preliminary to the landing
of troops. Nasmith was merely singeing the Sultan’s beard, as Drake had
singed that of Philip of Spain three centuries before.
Whether the torpedo in question struck troopship, lighter, or jetty at
Constantinople does not much matter; the Commander’s remaining torpedoes
found their billets right enough. Nasmith undoubtedly destroyed two
heavily laden transports, a large gunboat, an ammunition ship, and three
store ships, while another vessel containing supplies was driven ashore.
As though this bag were not large enough, he returned to torpedo a
fourth transport when his crew were congratulating themselves that the
most dangerous part of the homeward voyage had been safely negotiated.
The ammunition ship blew up with a terrific explosion. By her loss the
enemy was deprived of thousands of charges, a quantity of gun mountings,
and a 6–in. gun. Having sunk everything that could be sunk, Nasmith
returned to report.
The most unpleasant incident of a whole chapter of exciting passages
occurred in the Sea of Marmora. The submarine ran foul of the cable that
anchored a mine. As other canisters of death were in the vicinity, it
was much too perilous to attempt to go astern in the hope that the steel
rope would become disentangled. The mine was the submarine’s unwelcome
guest for eleven miles. Every officer and man knew it, and each realized
only too well exactly what would occur if one of the horns of the
beastly thing bumped against the boat or struck some floating object.
What with submerged torpedo-tubes skilfully rigged up by the Turks on
shore, land batteries, forts, floating and anchored mines, there was
sufficient food for reflection to say nothing of the sinister appendage,
and it is perhaps not surprising that the company was serious. If
conversation was not animated this was not entirely due to the somewhat
sultry atmosphere of E 11. However, Nasmith got rid of the mine at last,
and when he emerged among the battleships and cruisers at the other end
of the Dardanelles no King or Kaiser ever received a warmer welcome.
This young hero of thirty-two years, who had already attracted notice by
his ready resource when A 4 inadvertently sank while exercising at
Spithead in 1905, had certainly earned his V.C., and the same may be
recorded of his brother-officers, Lieutenant Guy D’Oyle-Hughes, R.N.,
and Acting-Lieutenant Robert Brown, who were given similar distinctions
to those awarded to the subordinate officers of E 14. Had Nelson been
alive we may be quite sure he would have admitted the heroes of this
chapter to his gallant ‘band of brothers.’ Their exploits are memorable,
as Bacon says of another great naval episode, “even beyond credit, and
to the Height of some Heroicall Fable.”