THE STORY OF THE ‘FARNBOROUGH’
Two days before the end of February, 1916, I happened to be returning
from leave in England to my ship, which was in Queenstown for
boiler-cleaning. In the Holyhead-Kingstown steamer I found myself in
conversation with a junior lieutenant-commander, R.N., who also was
returning to his ship at Queenstown. We talked of many things all the
way down across Ireland, but this quiet, taciturn officer impressed
me less by what he said than by what he left unsaid, and it took me a
long time to guess the name of his ship. I thought I knew most of the
commanding officers of sloops and trawlers and drifters, and so on, at
work off the south and south-west coasts of Ireland, but I had neither
seen this officer nor heard his name before. At the beginning of the
war he was unknown to the public; in fact, not until three weeks after
the end of this February did he win distinction, but to-day his name
is known and respected in every navy of the world, and his career as a
naval officer is different from anything ever recorded in the pages of
history.
This was Lieut.-Commander Gordon Campbell, who just before the
war was a lieutenant in command of an old-fashioned destroyer
based on Devonport. On October 21, 1915—the date is particularly
fortunate as having been the 110th anniversary of the Battle of
Trafalgar—Lieutenant Campbell commissioned the tramp steamer
_Lodorer_ at Devonport as a Q-ship, but on passage thence to Queenstown
changed her name to _Farnborough_, as it had become gossip that she had
been armed for special service. Through that trying winter the little
_Farnborough_ endured gale after gale, and her young captain, attired
in the rig of a typical tramp skipper, with his smart crew trained now
to look slovenly yet be mentally alert all the time, never for a moment
wavered in the belief that one day would come his opportunity. He had
organized his ship to a pitch of perfection, and nothing was lacking
except the appearance of a U-boat.
On March 1, 1916, the enemy renewed its submarine campaign after lying
dormant since the day when _Baralong_ had sunk her U 41, except for
the Christmas-time temporary outburst. During the first three weeks of
March one, or more, submarine had sunk shipping off the Irish coast
to the extent of three steamers and one sailing craft. On the morning
of March 22, _Farnborough_, who had come from Queenstown, was now
cruising up the west coast of Ireland, the exact position being Lat.
51.54 N., Long. 10.53 W., and the time 6.40 a.m. Steaming along at 8
knots, a submarine awash was suddenly sighted by one of the crew named
Kaye, an A.B. of the Royal Naval Reserve, about five miles away on the
port bow. After a few minutes it dived, and _Farnborough_ coolly took
no notice but kept jogging along the same course. The submarine had
evidently determined to sink the old tramp, for twenty minutes later
she fired a torpedo which passed so close ahead of _Farnborough_ that
bubbles were seen under the forecastle. Still she pretended to take
no notice, and a few minutes later the submarine broke surface about
1,000 yards astern, passing from starboard to port, then, having got on
the Q-ship’s port quarter, fired a shell across the latter’s bows and
partly submerged.
_Farnborough_ now stopped her engines, blew off steam, and the panic
party, consisting of stokers and spare men, were ordered to abandon
ship; so away they rowed under Temporary Engineer Sub-Lieutenant J.
S. Smith, R.N.R. The enemy then came closer until he was but 800
yards off. Not a human being was visible aboard the ‘abandoned’
ship, but everyone was lying concealed in expectant readiness, yet
Lieut.-Commander Campbell was quietly watching every move of the enemy.
A few minutes later the latter, intending to sink the deserted ship,
fired a shell, but this fell 50 yards short. Here was _Farnborough’s_
big opportunity that had been awaited and longed for ever since last
Trafalgar Day; now was the time—or never. Thus the collier tramp
declared herself a man-of-war, armed as she was with five 12-pounders,
two 6-pounders, and one Maxim gun. One of the two ships must certainly
go to her doom, and her fate would be settled in a few terrible
moments: there would be no drawn-out engagement, but just a violent
blow, and then finish. Lieut.-Commander Campbell, in his place of
concealment, knew that his men could be trusted to do the right thing,
knew that they were waiting only for the word from him. True, the
guns’ crews were not the kind of expert men you find in battleship or
cruiser. They had joined the Service after the declaration of war,
but had been trained up splendidly by one of the ship’s officers,
Lieutenant W. Beswick, R.N.R. On them much depended. If they fired too
soon, became excited, made a movement, or bungled their work, they
would give the whole show away, and the sinking ship would not be the
submarine.
‘Open fire!’ came the order as the White Ensign was hoisted, and then
from the three 12-pounders which could bear came a hail of shells,
whilst Maxim and rifle fire also rained down. The light this morning
was bad, but the shooting from these newly trained men was so good
that the submarine was badly holed by the rapid fire; thus, slowly
the enemy began to sink. Observing this, Campbell then endeavoured
to give her the knock-out blow, so steamed full speed over the spot
and dropped a depth charge. This fairly shook the submarine, who next
appeared about ten yards away in an almost perpendicular position, that
portion of the craft from the bows to the conning-tower being out of
the water. A large rent was discerned in her bow; she was certainly
doomed, and one periscope had been hit. Wasting none of the golden
opportunity, _Farnborough_ reopened fire with her after gun, which put
five rounds into the base of the conning-tower at point-blank range,
so that the German sank for the last time. Again _Farnborough_ steamed
over the spot, and let go two more depth charges, and presently up
came a large quantity of oil and bits of wood which covered the sea
for some distance around. So quickly perished U 68, one of the latest
submarines—a 17-knot boat, armed with one 4·1-inch, one 22-pounder,
a machine gun, eleven torpedoes, and with a cruising radius of 11,000
miles.
[Illustration: OFFICERS OF Q-SHIP “FARNBOROUGH”
Captain Campbell with his officers, disguised as a mercantile captain.]
[Illustration: Q-SHIP HEROES
Captain Gordon Campbell, V.C., D.S.O., R.N., and Lieutenant C. G.
Bonner, V.C., D.S.C., of Q-ship “Dunraven,” each wearing the Victoria
Cross, at the King’s Garden Party for V.C.’s. (see Chapter XIV.)
To face p. 42]
This brilliant success had a most cheering effect on all the patrol
vessels working off the Irish coast. With careful reserve the story was
breathed in wardrooms, and it percolated through to other stations,
inspiring even the most bored officer to go forth and do likewise.
This victory had a most important bearing on the future of the Q-ship
service, and officers and men were eager to take on a job which
afforded them so much sport. It meant something more, too. For, junior
though he was, Lieutenant-Commander became Commander Gordon Campbell,
D.S.O.; Lieutenant W. Beswick, R.N.R., who had trained the guns’ crew
so well, and the Engineer-Lieutenant Loveless received each a D.S.C.,
and three of the crew the coveted D.S.M. There followed also the usual
£1,000 in addition to prize bounty. Of the ship’s complement seven
of the officers belonged to the Royal Naval Reserve, and many of the
ratings were either of that service or the Royal Naval Volunteer
Reserve.
Adventures are to the adventurous. In less than a month from this
event _Farnborough_ was again engaged with a submarine, under
circumstances more difficult than the last. One who was present at
the engagement described it to me, and though the submarine managed
afterwards to reach Germany, she was wounded, and only just escaped
total destruction. However, this in no way detracts from the merits of
the story, which is as follows: The scene was similar to that of the
previous incident, the exact position being Lat. 51.57 N., Long. 11.2
W.—that is to say, off the west coast of Ireland. The time was 6.30
in the afternoon of April 15, 1916, and _Farnborough_ was proceeding
northward, doing 5 knots, for Commander Campbell was hoping to
intercept a German submarine which had been reported off the Orkneys on
the 13th, and was probably coming down the west Irish coast.
At the time mentioned the sea was calm and it was misty, but about two
miles off on the starboard quarter could be seen a steamer. Suddenly,
without warning, between the two ships a submarine broke surface,
but Commander Campbell pretended to ignore her until she hoisted the
international signal TAF (‘Bring your papers on board’). Owing to
the mist it was impossible to distinguish the flags clearly enough
to read them. However, Commander Campbell stopped his ship like a
terrified tramp, blew off steam, but quietly kept her jogging ahead
so as to edge towards the enemy and avoid falling into the trough of
the heavy Atlantic swell. There was the submarine lying full length
on the surface, about 300 feet long, with a very large conning-tower
amidships, one gun forward, one aft, and most of the hull painted a
light grey. In reply to the German’s signal _Farnborough_ now kept
her answering pennant at the dip and hoisted ‘Cannot understand your
signal.’ All this delay was valuable to the Q-ship, for it allowed her
to close the range stealthily; and now the submarine also came closer,
with her foremost gun already manned. In the meantime, the ‘tramp’ did
what she was expected to do—hoisted the signal ‘I am sending boat with
ship’s papers,’ and at the same time the bridge boat was turned out
(again in command of Sub-Lieutenant J. S. Smith, R.N.R.), and Commander
Campbell was seen to hand his papers to this officer to take over to
the submarine. It was now 6.40 p.m., and the German fired a shot which
passed over the ship, doing no direct harm, but incidentally spoiling
the whole affair. The best laid schemes of Q-ship captains, and the
most efficient crews, occasionally go astray. One of _Farnborough’s_
people, hearing this gun, thought that _Farnborough_ had opened fire,
so accordingly fired also. It was unfortunate, but there it was. This
mistake forced Commander Campbell’s hand; he at once hoisted the White
Ensign and gave the general order to fire. The range was now about
1,000 yards, and he proceeded at full speed so as to bring his after
gun to bear, the ships becoming about in this position:
[Illustration: FIG. 5.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE POSITIONS OF
‘FARNBOROUGH’ AND SUBMARINE IN THE ACTION OF APRIL 15, 1916.]
The enemy had been about a point before the _Farnborough’s_ starboard
beam, but when the action commenced the former had been brought
successfully on the beam. The Q-ship’s 12-pounders quickly got off a
score of rounds, accompanied by the 6-pounder and the Maxim and rifles.
Quite early the enemy became damaged, and eventually she submerged
under the screen of smoke, a remarkably near escape which must have
made a great impression on her crew. After dropping depth charges,
_Farnborough_ closed the strange steamer which had been stopped about
500 yards off, and found her to be the Dutch S.S. _Soerakarta_. With
true seamanlike chivalry the Dutch captain, pitying the shabby-looking
tramp steamship, actually offered Commander Campbell assistance.
This neutral was bound from the Dutch East Indies to Rotterdam, via
Falmouth and Kirkwall, and on sighting him the submarine had hoisted
the usual ‘Bring your papers on board.’ The Dutchman had just lowered
his boat, and was about to row off to the German, when up came the
unkempt collier _Farnborough_ with a white band on her funnel, and
then, to the amazement of all beholders, from her blazed shell after
shell. It was a splendid free show, and one shell was distinctly seen
to hit the conning-tower. Two miles away from the scene was the armed
trawler _Ina Williams_ on patrol, and as soon as she heard the firing
she went to action stations and came along at full speed. Ten minutes
later she felt a couple of shocks, so that her captain thought she had
struck something. These were, in fact, the concussions of the two depth
charges which _Farnborough_ had dropped.
If the submarine had escaped, at least he would be able to warn his
superiors at home that they could never tell the difference between a
‘trap-ship’ and a genuine merchantman, and it would be safer not to
attack steamers unless they were perfectly sure. During the rest of
that year Commander Campbell continued to cruise in _Farnborough_, but
the summer and autumn passed and no further luck offered itself.
Winter followed and was almost merging into spring, and then again this
ship made history. In another chapter this thrilling episode will be
told. In the meantime much else had happened.
One of the greatest enthusiasts of the Q-ship idea was Vice-Admiral
Sir Lewis Bayly, who was in command of the Irish coast. No Q-ship
officer serving under this admiral could ever complain that anything
was left undone by assistance that could have been performed by the
sagacity or advice of this Commander-in-Chief. It was he who made
repeated visits to the Q-ships as they lay in Haulbowline Dockyard,
in order to see that not the smallest important detail for efficiency
was lacking. The positions of the guns, the collapsing of the screens,
the erection of the dummy deckhouses concealing the guns, the comfort
of the personnel—nothing was too trivial for his attention provided
it aimed at the one end of sinking the enemy. As with ships, so with
officers. With his vast knowledge of human nature, and his glance
which penetrated into a man’s very soul, he could size up the right
type of volunteer for decoy work; then, having once selected him and
sent him to sea, he assisted him all the time whenever wireless was
advisable, and on their return to port encouraged, advised, and rested
the captains, while the Haulbowline Dockyard paid every attention to
improving the Q-ship’s fighting power. No keen, capable officer on
this station who did his job ever failed to get his reward; and the
result of all this, and the certain knowledge that if _in extremis_
a Queenstown naval ship would at once be sent to his rescue, created
such a fine spirit that an officer would almost sooner die than
return to port after making a blunder of an engagement. By reason of
this, the Queenstown Q-ships became famous for their high standard
and achievements. In the spring of 1916 the four experienced decoys
_Farnborough_, _Zylpha_, _Vala_, and _Penshurst_, were operating from
that port. They cruised off the south and south-west Irish coasts;
between Milford Haven and the Scillies; off the western approach to
the English Channel; up the Irish Sea as far as the north of Ireland.
In a few weeks four more decoys were added to that station, so that
there were eight of them by July. They cruised along the merchant ship
courses as far out into the Atlantic as 17° W., as far south as the
middle of the Bay of Biscay, as far east as the Isle of Wight, and as
far north as the Hebrides—in other words, just where U-boats were
likely to attack. One of these eight was the S.S. _Carrigan Head_,
which was commanded by Lieut.-Commander Godfrey Herbert, D.S.O., R.N.,
late in command of the _Antwerp_. _Carrigan Head_ was a fine ship of
4,201 tons, and, in order to make her practically unsinkable, she was
sent to Portsmouth, where she was filled with empty casks and timber.
As may be expected from her commander, this was a very efficient ship.
Below, the timber had been stowed in the holds with great cleverness
so that it would have been a considerable time before she could ever
founder. I well remember on one occasion wandering all over the decks
of this ship, but it was quite impossible to see where her big 4-inch
and two 12-pounders were located.
That being so, it was not surprising that a submarine never suspected
on September 9, 1916, that this was another ‘trap-ship.’ It was just
before 6.30 in the evening that this steamer was sixty miles south-west
of the Lizard, when a submarine was sighted about 2,000 yards off on
the starboard bow. The enemy had hoisted some flag signals, but they
were too small to be read. It was presumed that it was the usual order
to stop, so the steamer hove-to and the captain called up the stokers
who were off watch to stand by the lifeboats, for all this time the
submarine, who had two guns, was firing at the ship. Having lowered
the starboard lifeboat halfway down to the water, the Q-ship pretended
to try and escape, so went full speed ahead, turned to port, and
brought the enemy right astern. The German maintained a rapid fire,
many shots coming unpleasantly across the bridge, one entering the
forecastle and wounding two men, of whom one afterwards died. Another
shell entered the engineers’ messroom and slightly injured Temporary
Engineer Sub-Lieutenant James Purdy, R.N.R. This same shell also cut
the leads to the wireless room just above.
As several shells fell within a few feet of the ship, Commander Herbert
decided to feign surrender, hoisted the International Code pennant
close up, turned eight points to port, but with the real intention
of firing on the submarine, which had now risen to the surface with
complete buoyancy and presented a good target. But in turning to port,
_Carrigan Head_ was thus brought broadside on to the swell, so that
the ship began to roll heavily and helm had to be altered to get her
head on to the sea. At 6.50 p.m. the enemy was about 1,500 yards away,
and while both lifeboats were being lowered the submarine kept up an
intermittent fire. Three minutes later Commander Herbert decided to
reveal the character of his ship and attack; therefore, going full
speed ahead, he fired seven rounds, one of which seemed to hit. The
submarine was considerably surprised and at once dived, so having
arrived near the spot _Carrigan Head_ dropped depth charges. The enemy
was not sunk, but she did not reappear, such was her fright, until an
hour and a half later when she sank the Norwegian S. S. _Lodsen_ off
the Scillies. The enemy’s behaviour was typical: as soon as he was
attacked he broke off the engagement and took to flight by submerging,
and it was only on the rarest occasions that he was willing to fight,
as were the Q-ships, to a finish.
By reason of their service, Q-ship officers became a race apart. Their
arrival and departure were kept a profound secret, night-time or early
morning being usually selected. The ships were worked as separate
units, not as squadrons, and their cruising ground was always being
changed. They went to sea in strange garments, and when they came
ashore they usually wore ‘plain clothes,’ the naval equivalent for
the soldiers’ expression ‘mufti.’ At a time when all the nation was
in arms and for a healthy man to be seen out of uniform was to excite
derisive anger, some of the Q-ship officers had amusing and awkward
experiences. Arrived in port at the end of a trying cruise, and rather
looking forward to a pleasant respite for a few days, they would run
against some old friend in a public place, and be greeted by some such
remark as, ‘Why aren’t you in uniform?’ or ‘What ship are you serving
in? I didn’t know _you_ were on this station; come and have a drink.’
It was difficult to preserve secrecy when such questions were asked
direct by old shipmates. Who knew but that the man two paces away was a
spy, who would endanger the lives of the Q-ship and crew the next time
they put to sea? Surely, if there be occasions when it is legitimate to
tell a lie, this was a justifiable one. Thus the life in this special
service was one that called for all the ability which is usually latent
in any one man. I do not ever remember a Q-ship officer who was not
something more than able. Some were killed, some were taken prisoners
by submarines, some broke down in health; but in no case did you ever
find one who failed to realize the intense seriousness of his job or
neglected any means of keeping himself in perfect physical health and
the highest possible condition of mental alertness. Not once could he
be caught off his guard; the habit was ingrained in him.