Before the Great War the number of concerns specializing in salvage
work were so few that probably all could be numbered on the fingers
of both hands. Sweden had a fine salvage unit at Stockholm, a Danish
company worked from Copenhagen, Germany possessed a very powerful
salvage plant, while perhaps half a dozen salvage concerns operated
in British waters, the most important being the Liverpool Salvage
Association, the London Salvage Association and the famous firm of
Henry Ensor, at Queenstown in Ireland.
In the number of marine salvage units she could muster, Great Britain
was thus particularly fortunate. The dangers of our coasts have long
been regarded as a drawback, yet in time of crisis they proved a
blessing in disguise, for the yearly toll of wrecks on our shores has
provided fine experience for our salvage experts and made them second
to none in the world.
When the Germans hurled their challenge at humanity, all the salvage
concerns operating in Great Britain were at once taken over by the
Admiralty and placed under the command of Commodore F. W. Young.
For long Commodore Young had acted as chief salvage officer to the
Liverpool Salvage Association, and forty years’ experience of raising
wrecks had given him a knowledge of the subject that was unique.
Wandering round our shores in storm and shine, fighting to get ships
off the rocks, struggling to save their cargoes, he learned to know our
rugged coast better than the average man knows the lines on the palm
of his hand. The reefs from which a ship might never escape, the sandy
bays that provided shelter, the bars that lurked in wait for unwary
ships, all were known to him. His knowledge was such that he was able
to sum up the chances of a ship directly he heard where she was wrecked.
Whatever blunders may have been made in appointing other men to other
commands, the First Lords of the Admiralty made no mistake in selecting
Commodore Young to be Director of Naval Salvage. Generals came and
went, Admirals were moved up and down, but this one man was in control
of the Admiralty Salvage Section throughout the whole war, bearing the
grave responsibilities of a most important post from beginning to end.
The first work of the Admiralty Salvage Section was purely naval. These
were the men who laid the mines to guard our harbours, and upon them
devolved the duty of laying down those long lanes of mighty nets to
protect our troopships hurrying from England to France. When the _Lion_
was so sorely stricken at Jutland, it was one of the section’s salvage
steamers that helped her into port, and they were men of the Salvage
Section who patched her scars and made it possible for her to limp home.
But the work of the Salvage Section changed completely with the coming
of the unrestricted campaign of the German submarines. No longer was
it purely naval in character. Thenceforward it became general, and the
officers and men of the section had to stand ready to save merchant
vessels as well as warships.
So grave a menace was the enemy submarine campaign that foreign
shipowners refused to take the risks of sending ships to Great Britain,
for no underwriter with any sense could be expected to insure ships
when the Germans were torpedoing merchantmen at sight. Similarly no
shipowner with any sense would send a ship here that was uninsured, for
if his ship were torpedoed the whole loss would fall on him. For this
reason alone there was a likelihood of diminishing supplies of food and
munitions coming to our ports.
The British Government rose to the situation by becoming the biggest
underwriting concern in the world and insuring every ship entering and
leaving our ports. Great Britain accepted the responsibility for all
losses, and the shipowners knew they were sure to get their money
in the event of their ships being sunk. As a further precaution, the
system of convoy was instituted, whereby half a dozen or a dozen
ships journeyed together under the escort of some of our warships. An
additional measure to cope with the marauding submarines was to arm
our merchantmen so that they stood at least a chance of beating off an
attack.
Shrewd as were the German calculations of winning the war by the
submarine campaign, and nearly as the enemy succeeded, they reckoned
without our Admiralty Salvage Section. While all the powers of the
British Admiralty were concentrated on destroying the German underwater
craft, the abilities of the Naval Salvage Section were focused on
repairing the damage wrought by enemy torpedoes. From a comparatively
minor position, the Salvage Section sprang into paramount importance.
As the list of torpedoed vessels grew day by day, so our salvage
organization was enlarged to grapple with the extra duties.
Directly a ship was torpedoed, the news was wirelessed to Whitehall,
and the nearest available naval craft was ordered to stand by and
render all the assistance possible until a salvage steamer arrived
from the most convenient depot to take over. Salvage steamers and
depots were dotted at various ports all round the coast, and as soon
as particulars flashed through to the Director of Salvage he detailed
his nearest available unit for the job. If a vessel still floated, he
despatched powerful tugs to tow her to port; if she sank, he instructed
a salvage officer to report on her position immediately.
No time was wasted, for the loss of one tide might easily have meant
the total loss of the vessel. Within a few minutes of the report coming
to hand, the Director dealt with the case and suggested how it should
be treated.
Commodore Sir Frederick Young’s calmness was indeed amazing. I have
vivid recollections of seeing him in his room at Whitehall when the
submarine campaign was at its height. The newspapers were full of the
tales of sinking ships, people were talking about it agitatedly, faces
in the inner precincts of Whitehall were grave and obviously concerned,
but the Director of Salvage remained quite unruffled. As I sat talking
with him, the news came through of seven more ships being sunk; on top
of it arrived the information that one of the salvage ships herself had
been torpedoed in the Mediterranean. Yet the Director of Salvage did
not turn a hair.
He asked one of his officers the whereabouts of another salvage craft.
The officer told him.
“Send her out to replace the ----,” and he mentioned the name of the
sunken salvage ship, which I have long since forgotten.
He puffed quietly at his pipe, screwed a monocle into his eye, and
scanned the telegrams with their bad news. Then he gave a few orders,
and in a moment or two the wires were humming with instructions to
various salvage units to hurry to the aid of the stricken ships.
It was all done so quietly and simply, without one sign of flurry or
fuss on the part of the sturdy figure clad in a simple blue serge suit
such as thousands of civilians wear to-day. Yet coming in and out
and waiting deferentially on his word were naval figures resplendent
in gold braid. The contrast emphasized the simplicity of the man
controlling this supreme service. His unaffected ways and quiet
manner masked an amazing cleverness, for no man alive was imbued with
a greater genius for sea salvage work than this modest man sitting
composedly at his desk by the pleasant window in Whitehall.
His big room was set off in the centre by a round polished table
containing a bowl of flowers. Photographs of salvage ships dotted
the walls, while various charts of the British Isles stuck full of
coloured flags bristled with information to those able to read them.
Other charts were concealed beneath spring blinds that sprang up at the
touch of authority. By studying these charts, the Commodore was able to
tell at a glance just how the situation stood, where ships were sunk,
where ships were beached, where his salvage units were working. On a
side-table was a big book of charts that could only be lifted with an
effort, and another table contained a model ship showing the standard
patch.
Called into being by the war, the standard patch certainly proved one
of the greatest aids of the Salvage Section, for many a ship that would
have ended her days at the bottom of the sea was brought safely into
port under the protection afforded by this invention. The standard
patch was formed of grooved timbers fitting one into another, something
like matchboards, and in appearance it resembled the top of a gigantic
roll-top desk. Owing to its construction, it was admirably adapted for
fitting the curves of the hull of a ship.
[Illustration: A TORPEDOED SHIP WHICH WAS SAVED BY BEING BEACHED]
In fitting a standard patch, the size of the hole in the hull was first
ascertained, then the patch was made, bolted into position, and the
edges were made watertight with cement. Many ships had to be beached
at the nearest spot in order to save them from foundering, and the
standard patch was then fitted to enable them to reach port and undergo
permanent repairs. Other ships still remained afloat after being
torpedoed, and it was no uncommon sight to see the ship’s carpenters
constructing a standard patch upon the deck. When the patch was
finished, it was lowered over the side, the bottom edge being weighted
to make it sink in an upright position, while the divers guided it
into place and secured it with bolts and nuts.
[Illustration: THE STANDARD PATCH WHICH WAS FITTED OVER THE HOLE IN THE
SHIP’S SIDE. AS MAY BE SEEN, EACH TIMBER WAS BOLTED HOME AND THE EDGES
WERE MADE WATERTIGHT WITH CEMENT. THESE PATCHES WERE OF GREAT SERVICE
IN DEFEATING THE GERMAN SUBMARINE CAMPAIGN]
Despite its temporary character, the repair was strong enough to enable
the ship to journey to the dock set aside for her reception. Yet many
a ship met various adventures on the way, and her journey to port was
rather a protracted affair. One such case was that of a large vessel
torpedoed by the Germans. Luckily, she did not sink immediately. Her
bulkheads held and her captain was able to head for the shore until
she touched bottom and settled down. Along came the salvage unit, and,
ascertaining the damage, worked desperately to fit a standard patch.
The patch was duly put on, the many bolts screwed up, and the vessel
pumped out and towed off to port.
The salvage officers were congratulating themselves on work well done
when the unexpected happened. There was a dull explosion and a giant
cascade against the side of the steamer. She had been caught a second
time by a German submarine! Her nose was headed inshore and once more
she touched bottom.
Quickly as they could, the salvors tackled her, for she was not the
only ship on the sea receiving the unwelcome attentions of the Germans,
and the salvors were in constant demand all along the coast. They sized
up the new damage, made another patch, drilled the holes in the hull,
fitted a felt bed for the patch to rest against and screwed it tightly
home. Then the pumps were set going, the damaged hold was emptied and
her keel came up from the sandy bed in which it had been resting.
The ship, which had survived two German torpedoes, continued her
interrupted journey, but she had only been an hour or two on the way
when another enemy submarine got her. Whatever the salvage men said and
thought, they started to patch her up again, and in time they had the
thrice torpedoed vessel continuing her slow journey to the dock where
she was to be repaired.
Before they could get her home, however, her rescuers were compelled
to beach her and struggle to save one or two very urgent cases. They
accordingly put her ashore in a sheltered bay in the Isle of Wight
where they knew she would be quite safe until such time as they could
attend to her. She was months making a short trip of a few miles
round the south coast, but she seemed to have as many lives as a cat,
and eventually reached dry dock where the damage wrought by German
torpedoes was properly repaired.
The remarks of the Germans must have been rather interesting when
they discovered that they were torpedoing the same ship time after
time. Probably they thought it was some trick the British were playing
on them, some gigantic bluff to make them waste torpedoes. Anyway,
although they tried and tried and tried again, the Admiralty salvage
men, not to be outdone, managed to save the ship from the clutches of
the Germans after all.
So long as the submarine campaign continued, it was indeed a gigantic
tussle between pumps and patches and torpedoes. At first the torpedoes
had it all their own way, but pumps and patches in the skilful hands of
the Admiralty Salvage Section began to rob the Germans of more and more
of their prizes, and they ultimately proved a most important factor in
bringing home to the foe that the game was not worth the candle.
The demand for pumps of all types was tremendous. Motor pumps, steam
pumps, electric pumps--all were required, and the pump-makers were kept
busily employed night and day. The war brought out the good points of
one pump known as the electric submersible pump. Invented in pre-war
days by an electrical engineer named Macdonald, this invention did not
attract the notice it deserved, and in the end the inventor sold out
his rights and emigrated to Canada. Since then his pump must have been
very successful financially, for one or two that happened to be aboard
a battleship at the battle of Jutland did such wonderful service that
the whole of the British Navy was fitted with them.
Many had tried to solve the problem of an electric pump, but generally
they came to grief owing to the current short-circuiting in the water.
Macdonald worked at the problem until he succeeded in overcoming it,
and the result was a drum-like pump with the inner parts spinning at
a high speed and forcing the water upwards through the pipe. Instead
of fixing his pump at the top end of a suction pipe, Macdonald placed
his pump at the bottom end of a pipe and dropped it into the water.
The pump weighed about half a ton, and owing to the fact that it
worked entirely under water, with water flowing all round and through
its bearings, it was not liable to suffer loss of efficiency through
air leakage. The tendency of the pump to overheat owing to the speed
at which it worked was checked by the cold sea water always passing
through it. It was, in effect, a water-cooled pump that was excellent
for working at depths a little beyond the reach of the ordinary pump.
[Illustration: THREE OF THE ELECTRIC PUMPS WHICH PROVED THEIR
EFFICIENCY DURING THE WAR. THEY REMAINED IN THE HOLD OF THE SUNKEN
WESTMORELAND FOR THREE MONTHS UNTIL SHE WAS RAISED. WORTH £3,000,000,
SHE WAS BY FAR THE RICHEST SALVAGE PRIZE OF THE WHOLE WAR]
For touch-and-go cases the submersible pump was much in demand by
salvage officers, but for cases that required long and steady pumping
for days and perhaps weeks the wonderful Gwynne pumps were not to be
excelled. Their extraordinary reliability is marvellous. So long as
you give them the steam to work with, coupled with proper attention,
they will do almost anything that you ask of them. They will pump
steadily for days and even weeks without stopping, throwing overboard
the specified number of tons of water an hour. They are, indeed,
among the mechanical marvels of the age, practically as perfect as any
machine is ever likely to be.
[Illustration: THE DAMAGE WROUGHT BY A GERMAN TORPEDO. A GOOD IDEA OF
THE IMMENSITY OF THE HOLE MAY BE GAINED BY COMPARING IT WITH THE LEGS
OF THE MAN STANDING ON THE SCAFFOLDING IN THE WRECKED ENGINE ROOM.
DESPITE THE DAMAGE, THE SHIP WAS SAVED]
So sure are they, that salvage men will willingly put to sea in a badly
leaking ship and set out on a voyage that may last a week or two. If
the pumps stopped, the ship might founder in two or three hours. The
men know it, but they do not worry. They have implicit faith in the
pump, and although merely the power of the pump stands between them and
death they carry on quite unconcerned. And while the water is finding
its way into the breaches in the hull of their ship the pumps are
steadily throwing it over the side.
As Henry Ensor, one of the cleverest salvage experts alive, once
remarked to me: “For a long voyage in a leaking ship, give me the
Gwynne.”
Pumps, indeed, played a big part in beating the German submarine,
and it was the submersible type that figured in the case of the
_Westmoreland_, for three placed in the hold of this vessel were left
submerged for nearly three months and upon withdrawal worked quite as
well as when they were put down.
No richer prize than the _Westmoreland_ fell to the Salvage Section
during the whole war, for ship and cargo were worth about £3,000,000.
The vessel was steaming in the neighbourhood of St. Bees Head on her
way to Liverpool when an enemy submarine let loose a torpedo. The
missile ran true, and a moment later a terrific explosion told the
Germans they had bagged their game. Whereat the attacking submarine,
knowing the sea thereabouts was likely to be well patrolled for some
little time to come, quietly slid off.
True as the torpedo ran, the Germans made a slight miscalculation.
Though trifling, it made all the difference in the end. Instead of
the torpedo hitting in that vital spot amidships and destroying the
engines, it struck forward in No. 2 hold and tore an enormous hole in
the hull of the ship big enough to drop a small house into. The heart
of the ship, the engine-room, was untouched, and the captain still
retained the power to drive his ship through the seas.
Slim destroyers slipped over the horizon and crowded round the
torpedoed vessel. Fortunately her bulkheads held firm and, although
the damage was such that it looked as if the ship might founder at any
moment, the captain held his course in a valiant attempt to reach port.
Slowly the bow of the ship sank lower and lower in the water, until it
seemed impossible for her longer to remain afloat. At last a destroyer
manœuvred into position and took off captain and crew, and they stood
by to see the last of the ship. Instead of sinking, however, she still
hung there, and the captain and crew returned to her in order to try
once more to get her to port. There was just a chance that they might
succeed, and the captain was not going to lose that chance.
Engineers and stokers went below to give her steam, and she limped
lamely along, continuing to go down by the head. As her bow went down,
so her stern came up until it was obvious that if she did not soon sink
she was bound to become unmanageable, for in a short time her screws
would be clear of the water and churning the air instead of the sea.
Heading her for the beach while there was yet time, the captain took
her in until her propellers were right in the air and her bow scraped
the bottom, then he and the crew were taken off and the _Westmoreland_
quietly settled down.
If only she had settled at high tide, the _Westmoreland_ might have
proved an easy case for the Salvage Section to deal with. But with the
usual perversity of things, she went down at low water, and as the tide
rose, the sea began to pour out of the broken hold along the shelter
deck and over the tops of the bulkheads into all the other holds.
Unluckily her bulkheads had not been built right up to the top deck.
Instead, they reached only to the previous deck, the shelter deck,
and there was nothing to prevent the seas washing the whole length of
the shelter deck, which was just what they did. The consequence was
that the whole ship filled with water, and at high tide she was quite
submerged, with her top deck 30 feet below the surface.
Commander Kay hastened to the spot and surveyed the wreck. Quickly he
saw that the only way of raising the ship and getting her to port was
to prevent the seas from washing out of the damaged hold into the sound
holds. It appeared simple, but the men who began to strive to carry out
the scheme had the struggle of their lives.
It was February, when the weather was just as bad as it could be. The
heavy seas and strong currents effectually prevented any work being
done for three or four days a week, and on the other days it was only
possible to work for two or three hours at low tide. Watching their
opportunities, the divers scrambled into the wreck and gradually
timbered in a mighty hole, 40 feet across, that was blown in the
shelter deck by the force of the explosion. The first step in their
struggle with the sea was looked upon as won.
Barely was the work completed when the sea, frothing with fury, raged
through the hole in the hull and battered continuously at the underside
of the work until the timbering was reduced to matchwood. I have
already mentioned that salvage men are sparing of words, and, if they
said but little on this occasion, no doubt what they said was to the
point.
With that patience which is beyond all praise, they resumed their
efforts with a firm determination not to be again cheated by the
sea, so they used steel to counter the force of the waves. Whenever
tide and weather served, they worked with might and main to build
watertight walls--or a steel trunkway, as the salvors called it--from
the shelter deck of the damaged hold right up to the top deck in order
to confine the sea to that hold and prevent it from washing over the
tops of the other bulkheads. By then the salvors realized that it was
quite hopeless to attempt to patch the hull of the ship to prevent the
seas from entering, for no temporary work could withstand the full
force of the Atlantic gales. Consequently, the divers concentrated on
building their trunkway, and in a month it was completed and the water
was effectually shut off from washing into the other holds.
The salvors determined now to try to move the ship to a more sheltered
position where they would be able to work for longer periods and with
fewer interruptions. Accordingly, pumps were set to work pumping out
the water in the sound holds, and in time the _Westmoreland_ swung
clear of the bottom. The tugs caught hold of her and towed her inshore
for a couple of miles, when she bumped the bottom again and was allowed
to settle. It was 2 miles to the good, the water was much shallower,
but even more important was the additional shelter which made it
possible for the men to work more continuously.
So the divers toiled away with renewed vigour, hauling the cargo out
of the ship to lighten her, hoisting out case after case of butter for
which the people were clamouring. It was, fortunately, none the worse
for its immersion, and I believe it duly reached the tables of the
people, who had no idea that they were eating butter which had been at
the bottom of the sea. If the true story be told, there is little doubt
that a large quantity of food rescued from the clutches of Neptune was
duly eaten by the British people without their being any the wiser.
Necessity knows no law, and when famine is looming nigh, as it was
then, butter that has been on the seabed is better than butterless
bread. In any case the butter ration was so small--but two ounces a
week--that no danger could possibly accrue through eating it.
Tons and tons of timber props were built into the ship to strengthen
her in all directions. The problem of patching the vessel was
again considered, but the weather was such as to render patching
impracticable. So the salvors allowed the waves to thunder in through
the gaping hole in her side, whence they gushed out of the top of the
ship in fountains of spray. There was nothing else to be done in the
circumstance. Had the salvors succeeded in covering in that mighty hole
in the shelter deck strongly enough to keep back the seas, the seas
would have raged about inside the damaged hold and smashed everything
to pieces; consequently it was much wiser to leave them an outlet. The
trunkway was a safety valve by which the seas escaped after tearing
through the gaping wound.
[Illustration: ONCE THE FORWARD HOLDS OF A SHIP FILL AND DRAG HER DOWN
BY THE BOW SHE IS RENDERED HELPLESS. SHE MAY STILL REMAIN AFLOAT, HER
ENGINES MAY BE PERFECT, BUT HER CAPTAIN NO LONGER HAS ANY CONTROL OVER
HER BECAUSE HER PROPELLER IS OUT OF WATER]
Fourteen weeks after work was first started, Commander Kay decided that
the time had come to make the final lift and get the _Westmoreland_ to
dry dock. The electric pumps were switched on and kept running until
the waterlogged holds were cleared, and the torpedoed vessel rose off
the sandy bottom and floated. Then cropped up the vital matter of
balance. For weeks the divers had been fighting to rid the ship of
water, and now, paradoxically enough, they found they had pumped out
so much that her stern came up clear of the surface, while her bow was
barely clear of the sand.
It was useless to attempt to tow her to port under such conditions,
for in a short while she would have been digging her nose into the
sand and sinking once more. Before the journey could be essayed, it
was essential to balance her properly, and this could only be done by
leaving a sufficient weight of water in the after holds to balance the
water in the forward hold. They had to trim the ship by using water as
ballast. Calmly they allowed the after holds to fill again, then they
set the pumps going until she rose on an even keel. The stumpy tugs
fastened on to her and did not let her go until she was safely in dock.
Altogether the Admiralty Salvage Section during the war salved nearly
500 ships, valued with their cargoes at about £50,000,000. While the
submarine campaign continued, the British need for shipping was so
great that all salvage efforts were concentrated on those ships that
could be quickly salved and put into commission again. The easiest
cases were dealt with first, and the more difficult cases were left
until there was a reasonable opportunity of coping with them.
A careful list compiled by the Admiralty after the war showed that
there were 416 war wrecks lying in less than 20 fathoms, or 120 feet,
around the British coast, and of these it was estimated that one in ten
might perhaps be raised. Actually 51 war wrecks were salved after the
Armistice, but as some of these were lost in foreign parts the original
estimate was not so wide of the mark.
These wrecks, upon which the British Government had paid out millions
in insurance, were the property of the State, but the chances of
raising them were accounted so slight that it was not considered policy
to spend further money on them. Well-known salvage concerns, however,
had no difficulty in obtaining permission to salve any ship which they
had a fancy to raise. They had but to go to the shipping department
concerned in order to win a sympathetic hearing. The terms of the
contract were on the “no cure, no pay” principle, which meant that any
salvage firm with the courage to risk a few thousand pounds in trying
to raise a particular wreck was quite at liberty to do so. In return
for the concession to work on the wreck, they agreed to give the
Government a certain percentage of the value recovered, the percentage
being arrived at by mutual agreement. All risk was consequently borne
by the salvage concerns, who lost their money in the event of failure
and shared their winnings with the Government if they were successful.
The high cost of shipping at that period led to considerable activity
on the part of salvage concerns, for if luck happened to be with them
there was the prospect of making a fortune out of one operation. But
a shipping slump without precedent in all history quickly worked a
tremendous revolution. Some new ships halved their value in six months,
second-hand ships fell in price from £30 a ton to £7 or less a ton.
One great shipping firm had to set aside a fund of half a million in
order to write down the value of their new ships directly they were
launched, for their new liners were worth more on the stocks than they
were in the water. The only way of making their ships pay at all was
to decrease their cost, and this could only be done by sacrificing the
money saved and placed in reserve. In many cases shipowners paid huge
sums to shipbuilders in order to be released from contracts, for they
were able to buy new ships at half the price similar ships would cost
to build.
This remarkable change was brought about by the great shipbuilding
programmes forced on the Allies by the submarine campaign. Not until
after the war was the full force of these programmes felt. The new
ships coming off the stocks made up the lost tonnage in a few months.
The seized German ships helped to increase the slump, and the world
found itself richer by 11,000,000 tons of shipping than it had been in
1914. The war had destroyed the markets, the Continental nations had no
longer any money with which to buy goods, and the result was the most
dramatic change in history. Shipowners who a year previously had been
clamouring for ships at any price, were compelled to let 8,000,000 tons
of shipping lie idle.
Of course these conditions played havoc with salvage concerns. The
fortunes that might have been locked up in war wrecks quietly vanished.
It must be borne in mind that enemy torpedoes in the first place had
done enormous damage to the sunken ships, and what the torpedoes had
left undone the storms of the Armistice years had finished.
The immersion of a ship for a year or two in the sea, with the
consequent rust set up in the metal, works sorry havoc, while sand and
mud swirling about in the engine-rooms tend not to improve the engines.
Every hour that a ship spends on the ocean bed she deteriorates in
value. Mud is silting into her, sand and rust are gnawing away at her,
the swell is shaking her continuously. The sea soon finds out the weak
spots and hammers at them until the whole structure collapses into a
fantastic mass. It can be imagined what some of the war wrecks were
like after a thousand days of such treatment. They were not worth
salving, for no salvage concern would risk thousands of pounds just
to recover a little scrap metal. These factors eventually led to a
cessation of salvage activity around our shores.
For long after the Admiralty Salvage Section had ceased to operate
in home waters, one or two units were working on the Belgian coast,
struggling to clear the harbours of Ostend and Zeebrugge from the ships
that British sailors had so gallantly sunk in order to prevent the
Germans from using them as submarine bases. When the _Vindictive_ went
down in her allotted place, she covered the British Navy with glory.
All the might of Germany, all the skill of which she boasted, failed
to move the sunken ship from the spot where the British had placed
her. The Germans did their uttermost--for they were anxious to use the
harbour--but they were beaten.
The genius of the Admiralty Salvage Section, Commodore Sir Frederick
Young, studied the problem. The _Vindictive_ was not only full of
cement, which had set hard directly the water ran into it, but there
were also many mines aboard, and no one knew whether all these mines
had gone off or whether some of them were still alive. Added to the
problem of the _Vindictive_ was the fact that the Germans, in their
retreat, had sunk all sorts of craft in the harbour to bottle it up
completely, and ensure that the Belgians would never use Ostend again
without going to an awful amount of trouble.
For months the divers of the Salvage Section were struggling with the
wrecks in Ostend, clearing the channel, blowing tons of cement out of
the _Vindictive_ in order to lighten her, cutting away hundreds of tons
of steel so that there should be so much the less to lift. Mighty steel
cables were passed under the _Vindictive_ by divers and attached to
two lifting craft, one on either side of the ship; two giant pontoons
were sunk into place and attached to the hull so that when the time
came they could be pumped out and their power used to help lift the
stricken ship off the bottom. Some of the compartments in the wreck
were made watertight, and after about a year of strenuous toil the task
of lifting the structure was undertaken. Pumps were set going, and as
the tide rose the shattered British warship came off the bottom and was
moved some distance before the falling tide baulked further endeavours.
The next day saw the operations carried to a successful conclusion amid
scenes of wildest enthusiasm.
The raising of the _Vindictive_ signalized the last days of the Naval
Salvage Section, but it was by no means the least of the many triumphs
that crowned it during the war.