During the early part of the Spanish-American war a fleet of vessels
patrolled the Atlantic coast from Florida to Maine. The Spanish Admiral
Cervera had left the home waters with his fleet of cruisers and
torpedo-boats and no one knew where they were. The lookouts on all the
vessels were ordered to keep a sharp watch for strange ships, and
especially for those having a warlike appearance. All the newspapers and
letters received on board the different cruisers of the patrol fleet
told of the anxiety felt in the coast towns and of the fear that the
Spanish ships would appear suddenly and begin a bombardment. To add to
the excitement and expectation, especially of the green crews, the men
were frequently called out of their comfortable hammocks in the middle
of the night, and sent to their stations at guns and ammunition
magazines, just as if a battle was imminent; all this was for the
purpose of familiarising the crews with their duties under war
conditions, though no enlisted man knew whether he was called to
quarters to fight or for drill.
These were the conditions, then, when one bright Sunday the crew of an
auxiliary cruiser were very busy cleaning ship--a very thorough and
absorbing business. While the men were in the thick of the scrubbing,
one of the crew stood up to straighten his back, and looked out through
an open port in the vessel's side. As he looked he caught a glimpse of a
low, black craft, hardly five hundred yards off, coming straight for the
cruiser. The water foamed at her bows and the black smoke poured out of
her funnels, streaking behind her a long, sinister cloud. It was one of
those venomous little torpedo-boats, and she was apparently rushing in
at top speed to get within easy range of the large warship.
"A torpedo-boat is headed straight for us," cried the man at the port,
and at the same moment came the call for general quarters.
As the men ran to their stations the word was passed from one to the
other, "A Spanish torpedo-boat is headed for us."
With haste born of desperation the crew worked to get ready for action,
and when all was ready, each man in his place, guns loaded, firing
lanyards in hand, gun-trainers at the wheels, all was still--no command
to fire was given.
From the signal-boys to the firemen in the stokehole--for news travels
fast aboard ship--all were expecting the muffled report and the rending,
tearing explosion of a torpedo under the ship's bottom. The terrible
power of the torpedo was known to all, and the dread that filled the
hearts of that waiting crew could not be put into words.
Of course it was a false alarm. The torpedo-boat flew the Stars and
Stripes, but the heavy smoke concealed it, and the officers, perceiving
the opportunities for testing the men, let it be believed that a boat
belonging to the enemy was bearing down on them.
The crews of vessels engaged in future wars will have, not only swifter,
surer torpedo-boats to menace them, but even more dreadful foes.
The conning towers of the submarines show but a foot or two above the
surface--a sinister black spot on the water, like the dorsal fin of a
shark, that suggests but does not reveal the cruel power below; for an
instant the knob lingers above the surface while the steersman gets his
bearings, and then it sinks in a swirling eddy, leaving no mark showing
in what direction it has travelled. Then the crew of the exposed
warship wait and wonder with a sickening cold fear in their hearts how
soon the crash will come, and pray that the deadly submarine torpedo
will miss its mark.
Submarine torpedo-boats are actual, practical working vessels to-day,
and already they have to be considered in the naval plans for attack and
defense.
Though the importance of submarines in warfare, and especially as a
weapon of defense, is beginning to be thoroughly recognised, it took a
long time to arouse the interest of naval men and the public generally
sufficient to give the inventors the support they needed.
Americans once had within their grasp the means to blow some of their
enemies' ships out of the water, but they did not realise it, as will be
shown in the following, and for a hundred years the progress in this
direction was hindered.
It was during the American Revolution that a man went below the surface
of the waters of New York Harbour in a submarine boat just big enough to
hold him, and in the darkness and gloom of the under-water world
propelled his turtle-like craft toward the British ships anchored in
mid-stream. On the outside shell of the craft rested a magazine with a
heavy charge of gunpowder which the submarine navigator intended to
screw fast to the bottom of a fifty-gun British man-of-war, and which
was to be exploded by a time-fuse after he had got well out of harm's
way.
Slowly and with infinite labour this first submarine navigator worked
his way through the water in the first successful under-water boat, the
crank-handle of the propelling screw in front of him, the helm at his
side, and the crank-handle of the screw that raised or lowered the craft
just above and in front. No other man had made a like voyage; he had
little experience to guide him, and he lacked the confidence that a
well-tried device assures; he was alone in a tiny vessel with but half
an hour's supply of air, a great box of gunpowder over him, and a
hostile fleet all around. It was a perilous position and he felt it.
With his head in the little conning tower he was able to get a glimpse
of the ship he was bent on destroying, as from time to time he raised
his little craft to get his bearings. At last he reached his
all-unsuspecting quarry and, sinking under the keel, tried to attach the
torpedo. There in the darkness of the depths of North River this unnamed
hero, in the first practical submarine boat, worked to make the first
torpedo fast to the bottom of the enemy's ship, but a little iron plate
or bolt holding the rudder in place made all the difference between a
failure that few people ever heard of and a great achievement that would
have made the inventor of the boat, David Bushnell, famous everywhere,
and the navigator a great hero. The little iron plate, however,
prevented the screw from taking hold, the tide carried the submarine
past, and the chance was lost.
David Bushnell was too far ahead of his time, his invention was not
appreciated, and the failure of his first attempt prevented him from
getting the support he needed to demonstrate the usefulness of his
under-water craft. The piece of iron in the keel of the British warship
probably put back development of submarine boats many years, for
Bushnell's boat contained many of the principles upon which the
successful under-water craft of the present time are built.
One hundred and twenty-five years after the subsurface voyage described
above, a steel boat, built like a whale but with a prow coming to a
point, manned by a crew of six, travelling at an average rate of eight
knots an hour, armed with five Whitehead torpedoes, and designed and
built by Americans, passed directly over the spot where the first
submarine boat attacked the British fleet.
The Holland boat _Fulton_ had already travelled the length of Long
Island Sound, diving at intervals, before reaching New York, and was on
her way to the Delaware Capes.
She was the invention of John P. Holland, and the result of twenty-five
years of experimenting, nine experimental boats having been built before
this persistent and courageous inventor produced a craft that came up to
his ideals. The cruise of the _Fulton_ was like a march of triumph, and
proved beyond a doubt that the Holland submarines were practical,
sea-going craft.
At the eastern end of Long Island the captain and crew, six men in all,
one by one entered the _Fulton_ through the round hatch in the conning
tower that projected about two feet above the back of the fish-like
vessel. Each man had his own particular place aboard and definite duties
to perform, so there was no need to move about much, nor was there much
room left by the gasoline motor, the electric motor, storage batteries,
air-compressor, and air ballast and gasoline tanks, and the Whitehead
torpedoes. The captain stood up inside of the conning tower, with his
eyes on a level with the little thick glass windows, and in front of
him was the wheel connecting with the rudder that steered the craft
right and left; almost at his feet was stationed the man who controlled
the diving-rudders; farther aft was the engineer, all ready for the word
to start his motor; another man controlled the ballast tanks, and
another watched the electric motor and batteries.
With a clang the lid-like hatch to the conning tower was closed and
clamped fast in its rubber setting, the gasoline engine began its rapid
phut-phut, and the submarine boat began its long journey down Long
Island Sound. The boat started in with her deck awash--that is, with two
or three feet freeboard or of deck above the water-line. In this
condition she could travel as long as her supply of gasoline held
out--her tanks holding enough to drive her 560 knots at the speed of six
knots an hour, when in the semi-awash condition; the lower she sank the
greater the surface exposed to the friction of the water and the greater
power expended to attain a given speed.
As the vessel jogged along, with a good part of her deck showing above
the waves, her air ventilators were open and the burnt gas of the engine
was exhausted right out into the open; the air was as pure as in the
cabin of an ordinary ship. Besides the work of propelling the boat,
the engine being geared to the electric motor made it revolve, so
turning it into a dynamo that created electricity and filled up the
storage batteries.
[Illustration: LAKE'S SUBMARINE TORPEDO-BOAT _PROTECTOR_
This boat is designed to travel on the surface, or fully submerged, or
on the ocean's bottom. She is provided with wheels that support her when
on the bottom, and with a divers' compartment from which divers can work
on submarine cables or the enemies' explosive mines.]
From time to time, as this whale-like ship plowed the waters of the
Sound, a big wave would flow entirely over her, and the captain would be
looking right into the foaming crest. The boat was built for under-water
going, so little daylight penetrated the interior through the few small
deadlights, or round, heavy glass windows, but electric incandescent
bulbs fed by current from the storage batteries lit the interior
brilliantly.
The boat had not proceeded far when the captain ordered the crew to
prepare to dive, and immediately the engine was shut down and the clutch
connecting its shaft with the electric apparatus thrown off and another
connecting the electric motor with the propeller thrown in; a switch was
then turned and the current from the storage batteries set the motor and
propeller spinning. While this was being done another man was letting
water into her ballast tanks to reduce her buoyancy. When all but the
conning tower was submerged the captain looked at the compass to see how
she was heading, noted that no vessels were near enough to make a
submarine collision likely, and gave the word to the man at his feet to
dive twenty feet. Then a strange thing happened. The diving-helmsman
gave a twist to the wheel that connected with the horizontal rudders aft
of the propeller, and immediately the boat slanted downward at an angle
of ten degrees; the water rose about the conning tower until the little
windows were level with the surface, and then they were covered, and the
captain looked into solid water that was still turned yellowish-green by
the light of the sun; then swiftly descending, he saw but the faintest
gleam of green light coming through twenty feet of water. The _Fulton_,
with six men in her, was speeding along at five knots an hour twenty
feet below the shining waters of the Sound.
The diving-helmsman kept his eye on a gauge in front of him that
measured the pressure of water at the varying depths, but the dial was
so marked that it told him just how many feet the _Fulton_ was below the
surface. Another device showed whether the boat was on an even keel or,
if not exactly, how many degrees she slanted up or down.
With twenty feet of salt water above her and as much below, this
mechanical whale cruised along with her human freight as comfortable as
they would have been in the same space ashore. The vessel contained
sufficient air to last them several hours, and when it became vitiated
there were always the tanks of compressed air ready to be drawn upon.
Except for the hum of the motor and the slight clank of the
steering-gear, all was silent; none of the noises of the outer world
penetrated the watery depths; neither the slap of the waves, the whir of
the breeze, the hiss of steam, nor rattle of rigging accompanied the
progress of this submarine craft. As silently as a fish, as far as the
outer world was concerned, the _Fulton_ crept through the submarine
darkness. If an enemy's ship was near it would be an easy thing to
discharge one of the five Whitehead torpedoes she carried and get out of
harm's way before it struck the bottom of the ship and exploded.
In the tube which opened at the very tip end of the nose of the craft
lay a Whitehead (or automobile) torpedo, which when properly set and
ejected by compressed air propelled itself at a predetermined depth at a
speed of thirty knots an hour until it struck the object it was aimed at
or its compressed air power gave out.
The seven Holland boats built for the United States Navy, of which the
_Fulton_ is a prototype, carry five of these torpedoes, one in the tube
and two on either side of the hold, and each boat is also provided with
one compensating tank for each torpedo, so that when one or all are
fired their weight may be compensated by filling the tanks with water so
that the trim of the vessel will be kept the same and her stability
retained.
The _Fulton_, however, was bent on a peaceful errand, and carried dummy
torpedoes instead of the deadly engines of destruction that the
man-o'-war's man dreads.
"Dive thirty," ordered the captain, at the same time giving his wheel a
twist to direct the vessel's course according to the pointing finger of
the compass.
"Dive thirty, sir," repeated the steersman below, and with a slight
twist of his gear the horizontal rudders turned and the submarine
inclined downward; the level-indicator showed a slight slant and the
depth-gauge hand turned slowly round--twenty-two, twenty-five,
twenty-eight, then thirty feet, when the helmsman turned his wheel back
a little and the vessel forged ahead on a level keel.
At thirty feet below the surface the little craft, built like a cigar
on purpose to stand a tremendous squeeze, was subjected to a pressure of
2,160 pounds to the square foot. To realise this pressure it will be
necessary to think of a slab of iron a foot square and weighing 2,160
pounds pressing on every foot of the outer surface of the craft. Of
course, the squeeze is exerted on all sides of the submarine boats when
fully submerged, just as every one is subjected to an atmospheric
pressure of fifteen pounds to the square inch on every inch of his body.
The _Fulton_ and other submarine boats are so strongly built and
thoroughly braced that they could stand an even greater pressure without
damage.
When the commander of the _Fulton_ ordered his vessel to the surface,
the diving-steersman simply reversed his rudders so that they turned
upward, and the propeller, aided by the natural buoyancy of the boat,
simply pushed her to the surface. The Holland boats have a reserve
buoyancy, so that if anything should happen to the machinery they would
rise unaided to the surface.
Compressed air was turned into the ballast tanks, the water forced out
so that the boat's buoyancy was increased, and she floated in a
semi-awash, or light, condition. The engineer turned off the current
from the storage batteries, threw off the motor from the propeller
shaft, and connected the gasoline engine, started it up, and inside of
five minutes from the time the _Fulton_ was navigating the waters of the
Sound at a depth of thirty feet she was sailing along on the surface
like any other gasoline craft.
And so the ninety-mile journey down Long Island Sound, partly under
water, partly on the surface, to New York, was completed. The greater
voyage to the Delaware Capes followed, and at all times the little
sixty-three-foot boat that was but eleven feet in diameter at her
greatest girth carried her crew and equipment with perfect safety and
without the least inconvenience.
Such a vessel, small in size but great in destructive power, is a force
to be reckoned with by the most powerful battle-ship. No defense has yet
been devised that will ward off the deadly sting of the submarine's
torpedo, delivered as it is from beneath, out of the sight and hearing
of the doomed ships' crews, and exploded against a portion of the hull
that cannot be adequately protected by armour.
Though the conning-dome of a submarine presents a very small target,
its appearance above water shows her position and gives warning of her
approach. To avoid this tell-tale an instrument called a periscope has
been invented, which looks like a bottle on the end of a tube; this has
lenses and mirrors that reflect into the interior of the submarine
whatever shows above water. The bottle part projects above, while the
tube penetrates the interior.
[Illustration: SPEEDING AT THE RATE OF 102-3/4 MILES AN HOUR]
The very unexpectedness of the submarine's attack, the mere knowledge
that they are in the vicinity of a fleet and may launch their deadly
missiles at any time, is enough to break down the nerves of the
strongest and eventually throw into a panic the bravest crew.
That the crews of the war-ships will have to undergo the strain of
submarine attack in the next naval war is almost sure. All the great
nations of the world have built fleets of submarines or are preparing to
do so.
In the development of under-water fighting-craft France leads, as she
has the largest fleet and was the first to encourage the designing and
building of them. But it was David Bushnell that invented and built the
first practical working submarine boat, and in point of efficiency and
practical working under service conditions in actual readiness for
hostile action the American boats excel to-day.