On a German Submarine--Fight with a Destroyer--Periscope Hit--Record of
the Submarine in this War--Dawning Failure of the Undersea Boat--Figures
Issued by the British Admiralty--Proof of Decline--Our Navy's Part in
this Achievement
A first lieutenant with acting rank of commander takes the order in the
gray dawn of a February day. The hulk of an old corvette with the Iron
Cross of 1870 on her stubby foremast is his quarters in port, and on the
corvette's deck he is presently saluted by his first engineer and the
officer of the watch. On the pier the crew of the U-47-1/2 await him. At
their feet the narrow gray submarine lies alongside, straining a little
at her cables.
"Well, we've got our orders at last," begins the commander, addressing
his crew of thirty, and the crew look solemn. For this is the U-47-1/2's
first experience of active service. She has done nothing save trial
trips hitherto and has just been overhauled for her first fighting
cruise. Her commander snaps out a number of orders. Provisions are to be
taken "up to the neck." Fresh water is to be put aboard, and engine-room
supplies to be supplemented.
A mere plank is the gangway to the little vessel. As the commander,
followed by his officers, comes aboard, a sailor hands to each of the
officers a ball of cotton waste, the one article aboard a submarine
which never leaves an officer's hands. For of all oily, grimy, greasy
places the inside of the submarine is supreme. The steel walls, the
doors, the companion-ladders all sweat oil, and the hands must be wiped
dry at every touch. Through a narrow hole aft the commander descends by
a straight iron ladder into a misty region whose only light comes from
electric glow-lamps. The air reeks with the smell of oil. Here is the
engine-room and, stifling as the atmosphere is with the hatches up, it
is as nothing compared to what the men have to breathe when everything
is hermetically sealed.
Here are slung hammocks, where men of one engine-watch sleep while their
comrades move about the humming, purring apartment, bumping the sleepers
with their heads and elbows. But little things like that do not make for
wakefulness on a submarine. The apartment or vault is about ten feet
long; standing in the middle, a man by stretching out his arms may
easily have his fingers in contact with the steel walls on either side.
Overhead is a network of wires, while all about there is a maze of
levers, throttles, wheels, and various mechanical appliances that are
the dismay of all but the mind specially trained in submarine operation.
The commander very minutely inspects everything; a flaw will mean a long
sleep on the bottom, thirty men dead. Everything is tested. Then,
satisfied, the commander creeps through a hole into the central
control-station, where the chief engineer is at his post. The engineer
is an extraordinary individual; the life of the boat and its
effectiveness are in his care. There must be lightning repairs when
anything goes wrong on an undersea craft, and in all respects the
chief's touch must be that of a magician.
Exchanging a word or two with the chief engineer, the commander
continues his way to the torpedo-chamber where the deadly "silverfish,"
as the Germans have named the hideous projectiles, lie. Perhaps he may
stroke their gleaming backs lovingly; one may not account for the loves
of a submarine commander. The second-in-command, in charge of the
armament, joins him in the torpedo-room and receives final instructions
regarding the torpedo and the stowing of other explosives. Forward is
another narrow steel chamber, and next to it is a place like a cupboard
where the cook has just room to stand in front of his doll-house
galley-stove. It is an electric cooker, of course. Housewives who
operate kitchenettes in Manhattan will appreciate the amount of room
which the cook has. And, by the way, this being a German submarine, the
oily odors, the smell of grease, and the like are complicated by an
all-pervading smell of cabbage and coffee. Two little cabins, the size
of a clothes-chest, accommodate the deck and engine-rooms officers--two
in each. Then there is a little box-cabin for the commander.
As the sun rises higher the commander goes into his cabin and soon after
emerges on deck. His coat and trousers are of black leather lined with
wool, a protection against oil, cold, and wet weather. The crew are at
their stations.
"Machines clear," comes a voice from the control-station.
"Clear ship," comes the order from the bridge, followed by "Cast off."
The cables hiss through the water and slap on the landing-stage; the
sound of purring fills the submarine which glides slowly into open
water. Into the bay comes another U-boat. Stories of her feat in sinking
a steamship loaded with mutton for England has preceded her. There has
been loss of life connected with that sinking, but this makes no
difference to the Teutonic mind, and the officer of the U-47-1/2 shouts
his congratulations.
Now the submarine is out in the open sea, the waves are heavy and the
vessel rolls uncomfortably. The craft, it may be remarked, is not the
craft for a pleasant sea-voyage. The two officers hanging onto the rails
turn their eyes seaward. The weather increases in severity. The officers
are lashed to the bridge. There they must stay; while the boat plies the
surface the bridge must not be left by the commander and his assistant.
Sometimes they remain thus on duty two and three days. Food is carried
to them and they eat it as they stand.
It may be that the commander is trying to balance a plate of heavy
German soup in his hand as a cry comes from a lookout.
"Smoke on the horizon, off the port bow, sir."
The commander withdraws from his food, shouts an order and an electric
alarm sounds inside the hull. The ship buzzes with activity. The guns on
deck are hastily housed. Bridge appurtenances are housed also, and
sailors dive down through the deck-holes. The commander follows. Water
begins to gurgle into the ballast-tanks while the crew seal every
opening. Down goes the U-47-1/2 until only her periscope shows, a
periscope painted sea-green and white--camouflaged. The eyes of the
watch-officer are glued to the periscope.
"She is a Dutchman, sir," he says at length. The commander steps to the
periscope and takes a look. The Dutchman has no wireless and is bound
for some continental port. It is not wise to sink every Dutch boat one
meets--although German submarines have sunk a sufficient number of them,
in all conscience. At all events, the steamship goes in peace and the
submarine comes to the surface. The commander is glad, because electric
power must be used when the vessel is moving under water and there must
be no waste of this essential element.
So the submarine proceeds on her way, wallowing and tumbling through the
heavy graybacks of the North Sea. At length after fifty-four hours the
necessity of sleep becomes apparent. The ballast-tanks are filled and
the craft slowly descends to the sandy bottom of the sea. It is
desirable that the crew go to sleep as quickly as possible, because when
men are asleep they use less of the priceless supply of oxygen which is
consumed when the boat is under water. However, the commander allows the
men from half an hour to an hour for music and singing. The phonograph
is turned on and there on the bottom of the North Sea the latest songs
of Berlin are ground out while the crew sit about, perhaps joining in
the choruses--they sang more in the early days of the war than they do
to-day--while the officers sit around their mess-table and indulge in a
few social words before they retire.
In the morning water from the tanks is expelled and the boat rises to
greet a smiling sea. Also to greet a grim destroyer. The war-ship sees
her as she comes up from a distance of perhaps a mile away. All steam is
crowded on while the leaden-gray fighter--the one craft that the
submarine fears--makes for her prey. Sharp orders ring through the
U-boat. The tanks are again filled, and while the commander storms and
ejaculates, everything is made tight and the vessel sinks beneath the
surface. The electric-motors are started and the submarine proceeds
under water in a direction previously determined, reckoned in relation
to the course of the approaching destroyer.
Presently comes a dull explosion. The destroyer arriving over the spot
where the undersea boat was last seen, has dropped a depth-bomb, which
has exploded under the surface at a predetermined depth. The submarine
commander grins. The bomb was too far away to do damage, although the
craft has trembled under the shock. There comes another shock, this time
not so palpable. Eventually all is quiet.
For an hour the submarine proceeds blindly under water, and then
cautiously her periscope is thrust above the surface. Nothing in sight.
Orders sound through the vessel and she rises to the surface. She could
have remained below, running under full headway, for six hours before
coming to the surface. So the day goes on. Toward nightfall smoke again
is seen on the horizon. It proves to be a large freighter ladened,
apparently, with cattle. Two destroyers are frisking about her, crossing
her bow, cutting around her stern. The steamship herself is zigzagging,
rendering accurate calculations as to her course uncertain.
By this time, of course, the submarine has submerged. The watch-officer
and the commander stand by the periscope, watching the approaching
craft. The periscope may not be left up too long; the watchers on the
destroyers and on the deck of the vessel, which is armed, are likely to
spy it at any time. So the periscope is alternately run down and run up.
The submarine has moved so that the steamship will pass her so as to
present a broadside. Up comes the periscope for one last look. The
observer sees a puff of smoke from the deck of a destroyer and a quick
splash of water obscures the view momentarily.
"They have seen us and are firing."
But the steamship is now within a mile, within fairly accurate torpedo
range. An order rolls into the torpedo-room and the crew prepare for
firing. In the meantime a shower of shells explode about the periscope.
There comes a sudden vagueness on the glass into which the observer has
been gazing.
"The periscope has been hit."
Thoughts of launching the torpedo vanish. Safety first is now the
dominant emotion. Additional water flows into the tanks and the craft
begins to settle. But as she does so there is a sudden flood of water
into the control-room; a hoarse cry goes up from the crew. The officers
draw their revolvers. Evidently the injured periscope has caused a leak.
Before anything can be done there is a tremendous grinding, rending
explosion; the thin steel walls contract under the force of the released
energy. Above them the destroyer crew gazing eagerly at the geyser-like
volume of water arising from the sea descry pieces of metal, dark
objects of all sorts. The sea quiets and up from the depths arise clouds
of oil, spreading slowly over the waves. The U-47-1/2 has joined many a
nobler craft upon the wastes of subaqueous depths.
But not always has the outcome of a submarine attack been so fortunate
for us. There have been thousands of instances--many more of them in the
past than at present, fortunately--where the U-boat returned to her base
with a murderous story to tell. While it is certain that when the totals
for the present year are compiled an engaging tale of reduced submarine
effectiveness will be told; yet--as the British Government has
announced--any effort to minimize what the submarine has done would work
chiefly toward the slowing up of our ship-building and other activities
designed to combat directly and indirectly the lethal activities of the
submarine. And from a naval standpoint it is also essential that the
effectiveness of the undersea craft be fully understood.
It was on January 31, 1917, that the German Government suddenly cast
aside its peace overtures and astonished the world by presenting to the
United States Government a note to the effect that from February 1 sea
traffic would be stopped with every available weapon and without further
notice in certain specified zones. The decree applied to both enemy and
neutral vessels, although the United States was to be permitted to sail
one steamship a week in each direction, using Falmouth as the port of
arrival and departure. On February 3 President Wilson appeared before
Congress and announced that he had severed diplomatic relations with
Germany on the ground that the imperial government had deliberately
withdrawn its solemn assurances in regard to its method of conducting
warfare against merchant vessels. Two months later, April 6, as already
noted, Congress declared that a state of war with Germany existed.
The German people were led to believe that an aggregate of 1,000,000
tons of shipping would be destroyed each month and that the wastage
would bring England to her knees in six months and lead to peace. The
six months went by, but the promises of the German Government were not
fulfilled. Instead the submarine war brought the United States into the
struggle and this, in the words of Philipp Scheidemann, leader of the
German majority Socialists, has been "the most noticeable result."
None the less, the submarine, used ruthlessly, without restrictions,
proved itself to be an unrivalled weapon of destruction, difficult to
combat by reason of its ability to stalk and surprise its quarry, while
remaining to all intents and purposes invisible. It has taken heavy toll
of ships and men, and has caused privation among the peoples of the
Entente nations; it is still unconquered, but month by month of the
present year its destructiveness has been impaired until now there may
be little doubt that the number of submarines destroyed every month
exceeds the number of new submarines built, while the production of ship
tonnage in England and the United States greatly outweighs the losses.
In other words, the submarine, as an element in the settling of the war
in a manner favorable to Germany, has steadily lost influence, and,
while it is not now a negligible factor, it is, at least, a minor one
and growing more so.
Secret figures of the British Admiralty on submarine losses and world
ship-building issued in March, 1918, show that from the outbreak of war,
in August, 1914, to the end of 1917, the loss was 11,827,080 tons.
Adding the losses up to April of the present year--when the submarine
sinkings began to show a markedly decreased ratio--and we get a total of
13,252,692 tons. The world's tonnage construction in the four years
1914-17 was 6,809,080 tons. The new construction in England and the
United States for the first quarter of 1918 was 687,221 tons, giving a
total from the beginning of the war to April 1 of 1918, 7,750,000 tons
built outside of the Central Powers since the beginning of the war, with
a final deficit of about 5,500,000 tons. Of this deficit the year 1917
alone accounted for 3,716,000 tons.
[Illustration: _From a photograph copyright by Enrique Midler_. A U. S.
SUBMARINE AT FULL SPEED ON THE SURFACE OF THE WATER.]
From the last quarter of 1917, however, the margin between construction
and loss has been narrowing steadily. In the first quarter of 1918 the
construction in Great Britain and America alone was over 687,000 tons
and the losses for the whole world were 1,123,510 tons. Here is a
deficit for three months--the first three months of the present year--of
436,000 tons, or an annual average of 1,750,000 tons, which is a deficit
one-half less than that of the black year of 1917. When figures at the
end of the present year are revealed we may find that we have reckoned
too little upon the ship-building activity of both England and the
United States, in which event the deficit may prove to be even less. But
in any event the dry figures as set forth are worth perusal inasmuch as
they point not only to the deadly effectiveness of the submarine in the
first year of unrestricted activity, but show how valiantly the Allied
sea power has dealt with a seemingly hopeless situation in the present
year.
In the House of Commons not long ago a definite statement that the trend
of the submarine war was favorable to the Allies was made. The one
specific item given was that from January 1 to April 30, 1917, the
number of unsuccessful attacks upon British steamships was 172, a weekly
average of 10. Last year in the ten weeks from the end of February to
the end of April there were 175 unsuccessful attacks, or a weekly
average of 18. This statement was not exactly illuminating. For of
itself a decline in the weekly number of unsuccessful attacks would
imply an increase in the effectiveness of the U-boat--which we know is
not so. What the House of Commons statement really meant, of course, was
that the number of _successful_ attacks had been declining as well as
the number of unsuccessful attacks--or, in other words, that the German
sea effort as a whole was declining. The U-boats are not hitting out as
freely as they did a year ago. This argues that there are fewer of them
than there were in 1917. For actual tonnage losses we have the word of
the French Minister of Marine that the sinkings for April, 1918, were
268,000 tons, whereas in April of the previous year they were 800,000
tons, an appalling total.
"The most conclusive evidence we have seen of the failure of the enemy's
submarine campaign is the huge American army now in France, and the
hundreds of thousands of tons of stores brought across the Atlantic,"
said James Wilson, chairman of the American labor delegation, upon his
return to England last May from a visit to France and to the American
army. "Less than twelve months have passed since General Pershing
arrived in France with 50 men. The developments that have taken place
since seem little short of miraculous."
Georges Leygues, Minister of Marine of France, in testifying before the
Chamber of Deputies in May said that in November of 1917 losses through
the submarine fell below 400,000 tons, and since has diminished
continuously. He said that the number of submarines destroyed had
increased progressively since January of the present year in such
proportion that the effectiveness of enemy squadrons cannot be
maintained at the minimum required by the German Government. The number
of U-boats destroyed in January, February, and March was far greater in
each month than the number constructed in those months. In February and
April the number of submarines destroyed was three less than the total
destroyed in the previous three months. These results, the minister
declared, were due to the methodical character of the war against
submarines, to the close co-ordination of the Allied navies; to the
intrepidity and spirit animating the officers and crews of the naval and
aerial squadrons, to the intensification of the use of old methods and
to the employment of new ones.
We may lay to ourselves the unction that the reduced effectiveness of
the submarine coincided with the entrance of our naval forces into the
war. This is taking nothing from the French, British, and Italian
navies; as a matter of truth, it would be gross injustice to ignore the
fact that the large share of the great task has been handled through the
immense resources of the British. But the co-ordinated effort which
began with the arrival of our vessels on the other side, the utter
freedom with which Secretary Daniels placed our resources at the service
of the British was inspiring in its moral influences throughout the
Entente nations, while practically there may be no doubt that our craft
have played their fair share in the activities that have seen the steady
decline of deadliness on the part of the U-boat. We may now consider the
methods which our navy in collaboration with Allied sea power have
employed in this combat for the freedom of the seas.