THE ‘MYSTERY’ SAILING SHIPS
Most people would have thought that the sail-driven decoys would have
had a very short life, and that they would speedily have succumbed.
On the contrary, though their work was more trying and demanded a
different kind of seamanship, these ‘mystery’ ships went on bravely
tackling the enemy.
The Lowestoft armed smacks, for instance, during 1916 had some pretty
stiff tussles, and we know now that they thoroughly infuriated the
Germans, who threatened to have their revenge. Looked at from the
enemy’s aspect, it certainly was annoying to see a number of sailing
smacks spread off the coast, each obviously trawling, but not to know
which of them would in a moment cut her gear and sink the submarine
with her gun. It was just that element of suspense which made a
cautious German officer very chary of going near these craft, whereas
he might have sunk the whole fishing fleet if he dared. It was not
merely annoying; it was humiliating that a small sailing craft should
have the impertinence to contend with the super-modern ship of a German
naval officer. That, of course, was not the way to look at the matter;
for it was a contest, as we have seen, in which brains and bravery
were factors more decisive than anything else. The average British
fisherman is ignorant of many things which are learnt only in nautical
academies, but the last you could accuse him of being is a fool or a
funk. His navigation in these sailing smacks is quaint and primitive,
but he relies in thick weather chiefly on the nature of the sea-bed. He
can almost smell his way, and a cast of the lead confirms his surmise;
he finds he is just where he expected to be. So with his character.
Hardened by years of fishing in all weathers, and angered to extreme
indignation during the war by the loss of good ships and lives of his
relatives and friends, this type of man, so long as his decoy smack had
any sort of gun, was the keenest of the keen.
One of these smacks was the _Telesia_, armed only with a 3-pounder,
and commanded by Skipper W. S. Wharton, who did extraordinarily well
in this dangerous service. On March 23, 1916, he was trawling roughly
thirty-five miles S.E. of Lowestoft, when about midday he sighted a
submarine three miles off, steering to the north-east. At 1.30 p.m.
the German, who was evidently one of the cautious type, and having
a careful scrutiny before attacking, approached within 50 yards of
the _Telesia’s_ starboard bow, and submerged with her periscope just
showing. She came back an hour later to have another look, and again
disappeared until 4.30 p.m., when she approached from the north-east.
Having got about 300 yards away she attacked, but she had not the
courage to fight on the surface a little sailing craft built of wood.
Instead, she remained submerged and fired a torpedo. Had that hit,
_Telesia_ and her men would have been blown to pieces; but it just
missed the smack’s bows by four feet. Skipper Wharton at once brought
his gun into action, and fired fifteen rounds at the periscope, which
was the only part of her that could be seen, and an almost impossible
target. The enemy disappeared, but arrived back in half an hour,
and this time the periscope showed on the starboard quarter, coming
straight for the smack, and rising out of the water at the same time.
Again she fired a torpedo, and it seemed certain to hit, but happily
it passed 40 feet astern. At a range of only 75 yards the smack now
fired a couple of shots as the enemy showed her deck. The first shot
seemed to hit the conning-tower, and then the fore part of the hull was
observed coming out of the water. The second shot struck between the
conning-tower and the hatch, whereupon the enemy went down by the bows,
showing her propeller. She was a big craft, judging by the size of
her conning-tower, and certainly larger than those which had recently
been sinking Lowestoft smacks. Skipper Wharton, whilst fishing, had
himself been chased, so he was fairly familiar with their appearance.
Whether the enemy was actually sunk is a matter of doubt. Perhaps she
was not destroyed, although UB 13 was lost this month; how and where
are unknown. One thing is certain, however, that the little _Telesia_
caused her to break off the engagement and disappear. The smack could
do no more, for the wind had now died right away, and this fact
demonstrated the importance of these decoy smacks being fitted with
motors, so that the craft would be able to manœuvre in the absence of
wind; and this improved equipment was now in certain cases adopted.
Skipper Wharton well deserved his D.S.C. for this incident, and two of
the ship’s company also received the D.S.M. The whole crew numbered
eight, consisting of Skipper Wharton, a naval chief petty officer, a
leading seaman, a marine, an A.B., and three fishermen.
On the following April 23 _Telesia_—this time under the name of
_Hobbyhawk_ and under the command of Lieutenant H. W. Harvey,
R.N.V.R.—together with a similar smack named the _Cheero_, commanded
by Lieutenant W. F. Scott, R.N.R., put to sea from Lowestoft. They
had recently been fitted with specially designed nets, to which were
attached mines. It had been found that with 600 yards of these nets
towing astern the smack could still sail ahead at a speed of 3 knots.
A bridle made out of a trawler’s warp was stopped down the towing wire
and from forward of the smack, so that she would look exactly like
a genuine smack when fishing with the ordinary trawl. All that was
required was that the submarine should foul these nets astern, when, if
everything worked as it should, destruction to the enemy would follow.
At 5.45 that afternoon, when 10 miles N.E. of the Smith’s Knoll
Pillar Buoy, the nets were shot and the batteries connected up to
the net-mines. The wind was light, so _Cheero_, towing away to the
south-east, was going ahead very slowly. Each of these two smacks was
fitted with a hydrophone by means of which the beat of a vessel’s
engines could be heard, the noise of a submarine’s being very different
from that of reciprocating engines in a steamer. About 7 p.m. _Cheero_
distinctly heard on her instrument the steady, quick, buzzing,
unmistakable noise of a submarine, and the noise gradually increased.
About three-quarters of an hour later the wire leading to the nets
suddenly became tight and stretched along the smack’s rail. The strain
eased up a little, became tight again, then an explosion followed in
the nets, and the sounds of the submarine’s engines were never heard
again. The sea was blown by the explosion 20 feet high, and as the
water was settling down another upheaval took place, followed by
oil. The crew remained at their stations for a few minutes awaiting
further developments, and then were ordered to haul the nets, but a
great strain was now felt, so that instead of two men it required
six. As the second net was coming in, the whole fleet of nets took a
sharp angle down, and a small piece of steel was brought on board.
Other pieces of steel came adrift and fell into the sea. As the third
net was being hauled in, the whole of the nets suddenly became free
and were got in quite easily, whilst the crew remarked on the strong
smell of oil. It was found that one mine had exploded, and when the
nets were eventually further examined ashore in Lowestoft there could
be no doubt but that a submarine had been blown up, and more pieces
of steel, some of considerable size, dropped out. Thus UC 3, with all
hands, was destroyed. She was one of the small mine-layers which used
to come across from Zeebrugge fouling the shipping tracks along the
East Anglian coast with her deadly cargoes, and causing the destruction
of merchant shipping, Allied and neutral alike. On May 18 of the same
year _Hobbyhawk_ (_Telesia_) and a similar smack, the _Revenge_ (alias
_Fame_), had a stiff encounter with a submarine in about the same
place, but there is reason to suppose that in this case the enemy was
not sunk.
This idea of commissioning sailing smacks as Q-ships now began to be
adopted in other areas. Obviously only that kind of fishing craft could
be employed which ordinarily were wont to fish those particular waters;
otherwise the submarine would at once have become suspicious. Thus, at
the end of May, a couple of Brixham smacks, which usually fished out
of Milford, were fitted out at Falmouth, armed each with a 12-pounder,
and then sent round to operate in the Milford district. These were the
_Kermes_ and _Strumbles_ respectively. They were manned by a specially
selected crew, and the two commanding officers were Lieutenant E. L.
Hughes, R.N.R., and Sub-Lieutenant J. Hayes, R.N.R. But although they
were given a good trial, these craft were not suitable as soon as the
autumn bad weather came on. Their freeboard was too low, they heeled
over too much in the strong prevailing winds, so that it was difficult
to get the gun to bear either to windward or leeward; and, except when
on the top of a sea, their range of vision was limited, so before
November was out these ships ceased to be men-of-war and were returned
to their owners.
Along the Yorkshire coast is found a type of open boat which is never
seen farther north than Northumberland and never farther south than
Lincolnshire. This is the cobble, a peculiar and rather tricky kind
of craft used by the fishermen of Whitby, Scarborough, Bridlington,
Filey, and elsewhere. They carry one lug-sail and can be rowed, a
single thole-pin taking the place of a rowlock. The smaller type of
cobble measures 28 feet long by 2-1/4 feet deep, but the larger type,
capable of carrying nine tons, is just under 34 feet long by 4-3/4 feet
deep. Here, then, was a boat which, with her shallow draught, could
with safety sail about in the numerous minefields off the Yorkshire
coast. No submarine would ever suspect these as being anything but
fishermen trying to snatch a living. In the early summer of 1916 two of
these boats, the _Thalia_ and _Blessing_, were commissioned. They were
sailing cobbles fitted with auxiliary motors, and were sent to work
south-east of the Humber in the Silver Pit area. Here they pretended
to fish, towing 300 yards of mine-nets, 30 feet deep, in the hope that,
as had happened off Lowestoft, the submarine would come along and be
blown up. However, they had no luck, and after a few months’ service
these boats also were returned to their owners. But in spite of this,
Q-sailing-ships were still being taken up, the difficulty being to
select the right type. Even in the Mediterranean the idea was employed.
Enemy submarines had been destroying a number of sailing vessels, so
the Admiralty purchased one local craft, gave her a small auxiliary
motor, and towed her to Mudros, where she could be armed and equipped
in secrecy. One day she set forth from Malta in company with a British
submarine, and two days later was off the coast of Sicily. Here the
sailing craft attracted a large enemy submarine, the British submarine
of course watching, but submerged. Unfortunately, just when the enemy
might have been torpedoed, the heavy swell caused the British submarine
to break surface. The enemy was quick to observe this, dived for his
life, and disappeared. The rest of the story is rather ludicrous. The
British submarine remained submerged in the hope that the enemy would
presently come to the surface, while the sailing craft lost touch
with her consort and turned towards Malta, using her motor. The next
incident was that she sighted 6 miles astern an unmistakable submarine,
which was at once taken for the enemy. Being without his own submarine,
the somewhat inexperienced R.N.V.R. officer in command made an error of
judgment, and, abandoning the ship, destroyed her, being subsequently
picked up by a Japanese destroyer. It was afterwards discovered that
this was our own submarine who had been working with the sailing
craft, and was now on her way back to Malta!
The other day, laid up hidden away at the top of a sheltered creek
in Cornwall, I came upon an interesting brigantine. Somehow I felt
we had met before, but she was looking a little forlorn; there was
no life in the ship, yet she seemed in that curious way, which ships
have in common with human beings, to possess a powerful personality.
Freights were bad, the miners were on strike, and here was this good
little vessel lying idle, and not so much as noticed by those who
passed. Then I found out who she was. Here was an historic ship, the
famous _Helgoland_, which served right through to the end of the war
from the summer of 1916. Now she was back in the Merchant Service, and
no one seemed to care; yet hundreds of years hence people will write
and talk of her, as they still do of Grenville’s _Revenge_ or the old
clipper-ships _Cutty Sark_ and _Thermopylæ_.
_Helgoland_ had been built in 1895 of steel and iron at Martenshoek
in Holland, where they specialize in this kind of construction, but
she was now British owned and registered at Plymouth. She measured 122
feet 9 inches long, 23 feet 3 inches beam, drew 8 feet aft, and her
tonnage was 310 burthen and 182 net. In July, 1916, this ship was lying
in Liverpool undergoing an extensive overhaul, and here she was taken
over from her owners and sent to Falmouth, where she was fitted out
forthwith as a Q-ship. Armed with four 12-pounders and one Maxim, she
was known officially in future under the various names of _Helgoland_,
_Horley_, _Brig_ 10, and Q 17. Her crew were carefully chosen from the
personnel serving in Auxiliary Patrol vessels at Falmouth, with the
exception of the guns’ crews; the ship’s complement consisting of two
R.N.R. officers, one skipper, one second hand, two petty officers, six
Royal Navy gunnery ratings, eight deckhands of the Trawler Reserve, one
carpenter, one steward, and one cook, the last three being mercantile
ratings. Of her two officers one was Temporary Sub-Lieutenant W. E. L.
Sanders, R.N.R., who, by reason of his sailing-ship experience, was
appointed as mate. This was that gallant New Zealander who had come
across the ocean to help the Motherland, performed amazing service
in Q-ships, fought like a gentleman, won the Victoria Cross, and
eventually, with his ship and all his crew, went to the bottom like the
true hero that he was. The story must be told in a subsequent chapter.
When we consider the actions fought by these topsail schooners and
brigantines in the Great War we appear almost to be dreaming, to be
sent right back to the sixteenth century, and modernity seems to have
been swept clean away. While the Grand Fleet was unable, these sailing
ships were carrying on the warfare for which they had never been
built. In the whole of the Royal Navy there were hardly any suitable
officers nowadays who possessed practical experience in handling
schooners. This was where the officer from the Mercantile Marine, the
amateur yachtsman, the coasting skipper, and the fisherman became so
invaluable. In these days of decaying seamanship, when steam and motors
are dominant, it is well to set these facts down lest we forget. The
last of the naval training brigs has long since gone, and few officers
or men, even in the Merchant Service, serve an apprenticeship under
sail.
_Helgoland_ left Falmouth after dark, September 6, 1916, on her
first cruise as a man-of-war, and she had but a few hours to wait
before her first engagement took place. Commanded by Lieutenant A. D.
Blair, R.N.R., she was on her way to Milford, and at 1.30 p.m. on the
following day was only 10 miles south of the Lizard when she sighted
a submarine on the surface 3 points on the starboard quarter. There
was an alarm bell fitted up in _Helgoland_ which was rung only for
action stations, and, as it now sounded, each man crept stealthily to
his appointed place. Under the command of Lieutenant W. E. L. Sanders,
R.N.R., and following his example of perfect calmness, the guns’ crews
carried out their work without flurry or excitement.
Within five minutes the enemy, from a distance of 2,000 yards, had
begun shelling the brigantine. The first shot fell 10 yards short,
but the second and third struck the foretopsail yard—how strange
it seems to use the time-honoured phrases of naval warfare for a
twentieth-century fight—one shell going right through the yard. It
happened that on this fine summer’s day there was no wind; so here was
the unlucky _Helgoland_ becalmed and unable to manœuvre so as to bring
her guns to bear as required. It seemed as if the enemy intended to lie
off and shell this perfect target with impunity, directing the fire
from ahead and astern, which was just the way the brigantine’s guns
would not bear. However, after the second shot from the submarine, the
_Helgoland’s_ guns would just bear, so Lieutenant Blair dropped his
screens and opened fire whilst still there was a chance. The fourth
round from the after gun seemed to hit the enemy, and she immediately
lurched and dived. Lieutenant Blair then sent two of his hands aloft
to look for periscopes, and in a few minutes one was sighted on the
starboard quarter 200 yards away and closing. Two rounds from each of
the starboard guns were therefore fired, one striking the water very
close to the periscope, which again disappeared.
Nothing further happened until half an hour later, when a larger
submarine with sail set, about the size of a drifter’s mizzen, was
sighted right aft. As soon as this U-boat bore 3 points on the port
quarter, she also was attacked, and dived under cover of her smoke
screen. The afternoon passed, and at dusk (7 p.m.), when there was
still no wind, the sound of a submarine’s motors was heard as if
circling around the brigantine. An hour later _Helgoland_ bent her new
foretopsail, and just before 9.30 a submarine was seen right ahead,
so in the calm the Q-ship could not get her guns to bear. Half an
hour later, as there was still no wind, _Helgoland_ spoke an armed
trawler, who towed her back to Falmouth. Just as the two ships were
communicating, the enemy fired a couple of torpedoes which, thanks to
_Helgoland’s_ shallow draught, passed under her amidships. So ended the
brigantine’s first cruise. It was unfortunate that at long range she
had been compelled to open fire and disclose her identity, but that was
owing to the calm, and subsequently she was fitted with an auxiliary
motor.
[Illustration: FIG. 6.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE MOVEMENTS OF
‘HELGOLAND’ AND SUBMARINE ON OCTOBER 24, 1916.]
Her next fight was in much the same position, about 20 miles S.W.
of the Lizard. At 6.20 a.m. on October 24, 1916, _Helgoland_, now
commanded by Lieutenant G. G. Westmore, R.N.R., was on an E.S.E.
course, the wind being S.W., force 4, and there was a moderate sea.
About a mile off on the starboard bow was a large tramp steamer
steering a westerly course, and presently was seen a submarine
following astern of the tramp. Lieutenant Westmore at once sent his
crew to quarters, keeping all of them out of sight, with the exception
of the ratings who represented the watch that ordinarily would be seen
on the deck of such a coaster. In order to pass close to the German,
the brigantine hauled to the wind, and at 6.42 the submarine opened
fire on the steamer. As the enemy was now abeam, and only 1,000 yards
to windward of the _Helgoland_, Lieutenant Westmore determined that
this was the opportune moment. To wait longer would only have meant an
increase in the range; so down went the screens and fire was opened
with the starboard guns. The second and third shots seemed to strike
the enemy amidships, and she then dived, after firing only one round,
which passed well astern. Everything had worked well except that the
screen had jammed at the critical moment, but Lieutenant Sanders,
who was seeing that guns and crew were ready, soon cleared it. While
he was looking after his men, and Lieutenant Westmore was generally
looking after the ship, Skipper William Smith, R.N.R., was at the wheel
steering with marked coolness, and Skipper R. W. Hannaford, R.N.R.,
was in charge of the sails, handling them and trimming the yards as
required.
The first submarine was painted a dark colour, with a brown sail set
aft, so that at first she resembled one of our drifters. And now a
second U-boat, painted a light colour with no sail, was seen two
miles away heading for the tramp steamer. The latter happened to be
the Admiralty transport _Bagdale_, whose crew had by now abandoned
her, the ship’s boats being close to the submarine. _Helgoland_ went
about on the other tack and stood towards the enemy, so as to save the
_Bagdale_, and at 4,000 yards fired at the submarine. The latter was
not hit, dived, came to the surface and made off to the south-west,
not being seen after this. The brigantine stood by the abandoned
_Bagdale_, tacking ship at frequent intervals, so as to prevent the
submarine resuming her onslaught. Soon after nine two trawlers were
observed, and summoned by gunfire and rockets. They were sent to
pick up the crew and to tow the transport into Falmouth. Thus, if no
submarine had been sunk, this sailing ship had saved the steamer by
frightening away the enemy, and there were more engagements still to
follow.
By this—October, 1916—the Q-ship service had increased to such an
extent that there were actually forty-seven decoy craft operating.
These comprised almost every kind of vessel, from motor drifters to
medium-sized steamers. Their success or failure depended partly on
captain and crew, but partly on luck. Some Q-ships, as we have seen,
never sighted a U-boat; others were in action as soon as they got out
of port. The advantage of these Q-sailing-ships was that they could
keep the sea independent of the shore for periods much longer than
the trawlers or tramps. Owing to their roomy decks, these coasters
were well suited for the erection of dummy deckhouses to conceal the
armament, and another advantage was that, not utilizing engines or a
propeller—except when used occasionally—there was no noise to prevent
constant listening on the hydrophones. There was always the chance that
during the dark hours, when the enemy on his hydrophones could not hear
the sailing ship approaching, the schooner or brigantine might suddenly
surprise and sink a submarine lying on the surface charging its
batteries. The result was that in the first week of November another
sailing craft was requisitioned. This was the three-masted barquentine
_Gaelic_, which was then lying at Swansea loaded with 300 tons of
coal. _Gaelic_, who was known officially afterwards also under the
names of _Gobo_, _Brig_ 11, and Q 22, was 126 feet 8 inches long and 21
feet in the beam. She had been built of iron in 1898, was registered at
Beaumaris, and remained in service throughout the rest of the war. In
August, 1918, she was operating in the Bay of Biscay, and then returned
to Gibraltar. At the end of November she left ‘the Rock,’ reached
Falmouth by the middle of December, and then was towed to Milford to be
paid off, reconditioned, and returned to commercial work. But before
then, as we shall presently see, she was to carry out some first-class
work.
There is no person more conservative than the seafaring man; the whole
history of the sailing ship shows this clearly enough, and it is
curious how one generation is much the same as another. It was Lord
Melville who, in the early years of the nineteenth century, stated
that it was the duty of the Admiralty to discourage, to the utmost of
their ability, the employment of steam vessels, as they considered
the introduction of steam was calculated to strike a fatal blow to
the naval supremacy of Great Britain. A hundred years later, although
the Q-sailing-ship had justified herself, yet there was a sort of
conservative prejudice against her development. ‘The small sailing
vessel,’ complained a distinguished admiral, ‘will develop into a
sailing line-of-battle ship with an electric-light party reefing
topsails and a seaplane hidden in the foretopmen’s washdeck locker, and
everybody seasick.’
Yes: there was much in common between this flag-officer and the noble
lord, in spite of the intervening century.