SUBMARINES AND Q-SHIP TACTICS
In order properly to appreciate the difficulties of the Q-ships,
it is necessary to understand something of the possibilities and
limitations of the U-boats. No one could hope to be successful with
his Q-ship unless he realized what the submarine could not do, and how
he could attack the U-boat in her weakest feature. If the submarine’s
greatest capability lay in the power of rendering herself invisible,
her greatest weakness consisted in remaining thus submerged for a
comparatively short time. On the surface she could do about 16 knots;
submerged, her best speed was about 10 knots. As the heart is the vital
portion of the human anatomy, so the battery was the vital part of the
submarine’s invisibility. At the end of a couple of hours, at the most,
it was as essential for her to rise to the surface, open her hatches,
and charge her batteries as it is for a whale or a porpoise to come up
and breathe. It was the aim, then, of all anti-submarine craft to use
every endeavour to keep the U-boat submerged as long as possible. Those
Q-ships who could steam at 10 knots and over had a good chance then of
following the submarine’s submerged wake and despatching her with depth
charges. If she elected not to dive, there was nothing for it but to
tempt her within range and bearing of your guns and then shell her. To
ram was an almost impossible task, though more than one submarine was
in this way destroyed.
The difficulty of anti-submarine warfare was increased when the enemy
became so wary that he preferred to remain shelling the ship at long
range, and this led to our Q-ships having to be armed with at least one
4-inch against his 4·1-inch gun. The famous Arnauld de la Périère, who,
in spite of his semi-French ancestry, was the ablest German submarine
captain in the Mediterranean, was especially devoted to this form of
tactics. Most of the German submarines were double-hulled, the space
between the outer and inner hulls being occupied by water ballast and
oil fuel. The conning-tower was literally a superstructure imposed over
the hull, and not an essential part of the ship. That is why, as we
have already seen, the Q-ship could shell holes into the tower and yet
the U-boat was not destroyed. Similarly, a shell would often pierce the
outer hull and do no very serious damage other than causing a certain
amount of oil to escape. Only those who have been in British and German
submarines, and have seen a submarine under construction, realize what
a strong craft she actually is.
The ideal submarine would weigh about the same amount as the water
surrounding her. That being a practical impossibility, before she
submerges she is trimmed down by means of water ballast, but then
starts her engines and uses her planes for descent in the same way
as an aeroplane. The flooding tanks, as we have seen, are between
the two hulls, and the hydroplanes are in pairs both forward and
aft. The U-boat has been running on the surface propelled by her
internal-combustion motors. Obviously these cannot be used when she
is submerged, or the air in the ship would speedily be used up.
When about to submerge, the German captain trimmed his ship until
just afloat; actually he frequently cruised in this trim when in the
presence of shipping, ready to dive if attacked. The alarm was then
pressed, the engineer pulled out the clutch, the coxswain controlling
the forward hydroplane put his helm down, the captain entered the
conning-tower, the hatch was closed, and away the steel fish cruised
about beneath the surface.
The U-boat was now running on her electric batteries. By means of two
periscopes a view was obtained not merely of the sea above, but also
of the sky, so that surface craft and aircraft might be visible. The
order would be given to submerge to say 10 metres. Alongside each of
the two coxswains was a huge dial marked in metres, and it was the
sole duty of these two men to watch the dials, and by operating a big
wheel controlling each hydroplane maintain the submarine at such a
depth. Horizontal steering was done also by a wheel, and course kept
by means of a gyroscope compass, a magnetic compass in this steel ship
with so much electricity about being out of the question. The batteries
were charged while the submarine was on the surface by turning the oil
engines into a dynamo by means of the clutch, the hour before dawn and
the hour after sunset being favourable times for so charging.
The reader will have noted the preliminary methods of attack on the
part of the submarine and his manner of varying his position. He
divided his attack into two. The first was the approach, the second
was the attack proper. The former was made at a distance of 12,000
yards, and during this time he was using his high-power, long-range
periscope, manœuvring into position, and ascertaining the course and
speed of the on-coming Q-ship. The attack proper was made at 800 or
400 yards, and for this purpose the short-range periscope was used.
Now watch the U-boat in his attempt to kill. He is to rely this time
not on long-range shelling, but on the knock-out blow by means of his
torpedo: he has endeavoured, therefore, to get about four points on
the Q-ship’s bow, for this is the very best position, and he has dived
to about 60 feet. During the approach his torpedo-tubes have been got
ready, the safety-pins have been removed, and the bow caps of the tubes
opened. The captain has already ascertained the enemy’s speed and the
deflection or angle at which the torpedo-tube must point ahead of the
Q-ship at the moment of firing. When the enemy bears the correct number
of degrees of deflection the tube is fired, the periscope lowered,
speed increased, and, if the torpedo has hit the Q-ship, the concussion
will be felt in the submarine. This depends entirely on whether the
Q-ship’s speed and course have been accurately ascertained. The torpedo
has travelled at a speed of 36 knots, so, knowing the distance to be
run, the captain has only to look at his stop-watch and reckon the
time when his torpedo should have hit. If the German was successful
he usually hoisted his periscope and cruised under the stern of the
ship to obtain her name. If he were an experienced officer he never
came near her, after torpedoing, unless he was quite certain she was
abandoned and that she was not a trap. During 1917 and onwards, having
sunk the Q-ship, the submarine would endeavour to take the captain
prisoner, and one Q-ship captain, whose ship sank underneath him, found
himself swimming about and heard the U-boat’s officer shouting to the
survivors, ‘Vere is der kapitan?’ but the men had the good sense
to lie and pretend their skipper was dead. After this the submarine
shoved off, and my friend took refuge with others in a small raft.
But frequently a submarine would wait a considerable time cruising
round the sinking ship, scrutinizing her, examining the fittings, and
expecting to find badly hinged bulwarks, a carelessly fitted wireless
aerial, a suspicious move of a ‘deckhouse’ or piece of tarpaulin hiding
the gun. This was the suspense which tried the nerves of most Q-ship
crews, especially when it was followed by shelling.
We have seen that the U-boat sought to disguise herself by putting
up a sail when in the vicinity of fishing craft or patrol vessels.
The submarine which torpedoed one ship disguised her periscope by
a soap box, so that it was not realized till too late that this
innocent-looking box was floating _against_ the tide. At the best the
submarine was an unhandy craft, and it took her from three to six
minutes to make a big alteration of course, inasmuch as she had to
dive deeper lest she should break surface or disturb the surface of
the water. Again, when running submerged, if she wished to turn 16
points—_e.g._, from north to south—the pressure on her hull made it
very difficult.
It may definitely be stated that those who went to their doom in
U-boats had no pleasant death. When the Q-ship caused the enemy to be
holed so that he could not rise and the water poured in, this water,
as it moved forward in the submarine, was all the time compressing
the air, and those of the crew who had not already committed suicide
suffered agonies. Moreover, even if a little of the sea got into
the bilges where the batteries were placed there was trouble also.
Sea-water in contact with the sulphuric acid generated chlorine, a very
deadly gas, which asphyxiated the crew. There is at least one case on
record of a U-boat surrendering to a patrol boat in consequence of
his crew having become incapacitated by this gas; and on pulling up
the floorboards of a British submarine, one has noticed the chlorine
smell very distinctly. The dropping by the decoy ship of depth charges
sometimes totally destroyed the submarine, but even if this was not
accomplished straight away, it had frequently a most salutary effect:
for, at the least, it would start some of the U-boat’s rivets, smash
all the electric bulbs in the ship, and put her in total darkness. The
nasty jar which this and the explosion gave to the submarine’s crew
had a great moral effect. A month’s cruise in a submarine in wintry
Atlantic weather, hunted and chased most of the way from Heligoland
to the Fastnet and back, is calculated to try any human nerves: but
to be depth-charged periodically, or surprised and shelled by an
innocent-looking tramp or schooner, does not improve the enthusiasm of
the men. Frequently it happened that the decoy ship’s depth charges
merely put the hydroplanes out of gear so that they jammed badly.
The U-boat would then make a crash-dive towards the bottom. At 100
feet matters became serious, at 200 feet they became desperate; and
presently, owing to pressure, the hull would start buckling and
leaking. Then, by sheer physical strength, the hydroplanes had to be
coaxed hard over, and then up would come the U-boat to the surface,
revealing herself, and an easy prey for the Q-ship’s guns, who would
finish her off in a few fierce minutes. Life in a U-boat was no picnic,
but death was the worst form of torture, and such as could be conveyed
to the imagination only by means of a Théâtre Guignol play.
It was the obvious duty of the Q-ships to make the life of a U-boat as
nearly as possible unbearable, and thus save the lives of our ships
and men of the Mercantile Marine. It was no easy task, and even with
perfect organization, well-thought-out tactics, and well-trained crews,
it would happen that something would rob the decoy of her victory.
On October 20, 1916, for instance, the Q-ship _Salvia_, one of the
sloop-class partially reconstructed with a false counter-stern to
resemble a 1,000-ton tramp, was off the west coast of Ireland when a
submarine appeared astern, immediately opened fire, and began to chase.
_Salvia_ stopped her engines to allow the enemy to close more rapidly,
but the U-boat, observing this, hauled out on to the Salvia’s starboard
quarter, and kept up her firing without shortening the range of 2,000
yards. _Salvia_ next endeavoured to close the range by going slow ahead
and altering slightly towards the enemy, but the latter’s fire was
now becoming so accurate that _Salvia_ was soon hit on the starboard
side by a 4·1-inch high-explosive shell. This burst through in nine
places in the engine-room bulkhead, smashing an auxiliary steam-pipe
and causing a large escape of steam. The engines were now put full
ahead, and course was made for the enemy, who sheered away and shortly
afterwards dived.
[Illustration: FIG. 7.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE MOVEMENTS OF
‘SALVIA’ IN HER ACTION WITH SUBMARINE ON OCTOBER 20, 1916.]
That being so, _Salvia_ deemed it prudent to pretend to run away, but
in the middle of the evolution her steering gear unfortunately broke
down, and before control was established again with hand-steering
gear, the ship had swung 90 degrees past her course, and the submarine
reappeared on the port beam about 1,500 yards away, but presently
disappeared. The breakdown had been most unfortunate, for otherwise
a short, sharp action at about 700 yards would have been possible,
followed by an excellent chance of dropping a depth charge very close
to the enemy. In that misty weather, with a rough sea and a fairly
strong breeze, it had been difficult to see any part of the U-boat’s
hull, for she had trimmed herself so as to have little buoyancy, and
only her conning-tower could be discerned. Below, in the Q-ship, the
engine-room staff found themselves up against difficulties; for it was
an awkward job repairing the leaking steam-pipe, as the cylinder tops
and the engine-room were full of live steam and lyddite fumes. The
chief artificer and a leading stoker were overcome by the fumes, but
the job was tackled so that steam could be kept up in the boilers.
A few months later _Salvia_ (alias Q 15) ended her career. Just before
seven o’clock on the morning of June 20, 1917, when in Lat. 52.15
N., Long. 16.18 W.—that is to say, well out in the Atlantic—she
was struck on the starboard side abreast the break of the poop by a
submarine’s torpedo. Troubles did not come singly, for this caused
the depth charge aft to explode by concussion, completely wrecking
the poop, blowing the 4-inch gun overboard, and putting the engines
totally out of action. Here was a nice predicament miles from the Irish
coast. At 7.15 a.m., as the after part of the ship was breaking up,
her captain sent away in the boats all the ship’s company except the
crews of the remaining guns and others required in case the ship should
be saved. The submarine now began to shell _Salvia_ heavily from long
range, taking care to keep directly astern. The shells fell close to
the boats, so these were rowed farther to the eastward. A shell then
struck the wheelhouse and started a fire, which spread rapidly to the
upper bridge. It was now time for the remainder of the crew to leave
in Carley rafts, and temporarily the submarine ceased fire; but when
one boat started to go back to the ship the enemy at once reopened his
attack. He then closed the rafts and took prisoner _Salvia’s_ captain,
who arrived safely in Germany, and was released at the end of the
war. At 9.15 a.m. the ship sank, and ten minutes later the submarine
disappeared. Thus _Salvia’s_ people were suddenly bereft of ship and
skipper, with the broad Atlantic to row about in, boisterous weather,
and a heavy sea. The boat which had endeavoured to return to the ship
then proceeded to search for the men in the Carley rafts, but could see
nothing of them. After about an hour this boat sighted what looked like
a tramp steamer, so hoisted sail and ran down to meet her. At 11.20
a.m. this steamer picked them up: she happened to be another disguised
sloop, the Q-ship _Aubrietia_, commanded by Admiral Marx, a gallant
admiral who had come back to sea from his retirement, and as Captain,
R.N.R., was now taking a hand in the great adventure. Search was then
made, and within two hours the men in the rafts were picked up, and
a little later the other three boat-loads were located: but five men
had been killed, three by the first explosion in _Salvia_ and two by
shell-fire. It had been a sad, difficult day.
In the Mediterranean the enemy was showing an increased caution against
likely decoys, and by the beginning of December, 1916, had already
sunk a couple of Q-ships. The Q-ship _Saros_ (Lieut.-Commander R. C.
C. Smart) was operating in this sea, and had an engagement on October
30, thirteen miles from Cape San Sebastian. The engine-room was ordered
to make smoke, as though the stokers were endeavouring to get the
utmost speed out of the ship: at the same time the engines were rung
down to ‘slow.’ But the enemy realized the ruse and slowed down, too.
Lieut.-Commander Smart endeavoured to make the enemy think a panic
had seized the ship. So the firemen off watch were sent below to put
on lifebelts and then to man the boats. Stewards ran about, placing
stores and blankets in the boats, but the enemy insisted on shelling,
so _Saros_ had to do the same, whereupon the submarine’s guns’ crews
made a bolt for the inside of the U-boat, and then made off. As soon
as she had got out of sight, _Saros_ changed her disguise, taking the
two white bands off the funnel, hoisting Spanish colours, and altering
course for the Spanish coast.
[Illustration: FIG. 8.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE MOVEMENTS OF
‘SAROS’ IN HER ACTION WITH SUBMARINE ON NOVEMBER 3, 1916.]
Three days later _Saros_ was returning to the Gibraltar-Malta shipping
track, heading for the Cani Rocks, after carrying out firing exercises.
At half-past four in the afternoon, the officer of the watch heard a
shot, and saw a submarine 7,000 yards off on the starboard beam. She
was not trimmed for diving, and was apparently trimmed to cruise like
this during the night on the surface. She seemed quite careless and
slow about her movements, evidently never suspecting _Saros’_ true
character. _Saros_ altered course towards the enemy, who was firing
all the time, one round exploding and falling on board and several
coming close over the bridge. The U-boat, after going on an opposite
course, very slowly turned to starboard to get on a parallel course,
and men were seen hoisting up ammunition on deck. The light was bad,
and it was becoming late, but _Saros_ had manœuvred to get the German
in a suitable position as regards the sun, so at 5,500 yards range
opened fire with her 4-inch and 12-pounder at 4.44 p.m. This shocked
the Teuton, so that the crew which had been sitting around smoking, and
apparently criticizing the old ‘merchantman,’ suddenly became active,
lowered the wireless masts and disappeared below. By the tenth round,
the enemy, who appeared to have been hit, dived, and at 4.50 p.m.
_Saros_ ceased fire. Course was then altered to where she had last been
seen, and just before turning, the enemy for a moment showed himself,
but as the gun-layer was ready the German disappeared, and then
artfully cruised about submerged, so as to get in a good position. She
was never seen again, but at 5.15 p.m. a torpedo passed just ahead of
the _Saros_, and thereafter the latter zigzagged at her utmost speed.
During the night there was a moon until midnight, and an anxious time
was spent. Owing to the amount of sea, _Saros_ was not doing more
than 8-1/2 knots, but no further attack took place. It had been one
able captain against another, and no actual result had been made. So
the warfare went on in the Mediterranean. _Baralong_, now called
_Wyandra_, who had been sent to the Mediterranean, had an engagement
earlier in the year with a submarine, on the evening of April 13, 1916,
and probably hit the enemy.
In the spring of 1917 three more Q-ships, Nos. 24, 25, and 26, had been
taken up to be fitted out and serve under Vice-Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly,
at Queenstown. These were respectively the _Laggan_ (alias _Pladda_),
_Paxton_ (alias _Lady Patricia_), and the _Mavis_ (alias _Nyroca_),
being small steamers of 1,200 or 1,300 tons, each armed with one 4-inch
and two 12-pounders. Q 18 (alias _Lady Olive_) had begun her work in
January. Now, of these four ships two had very short lives. On May 20
Q 25 was sunk in the Atlantic, her commanding officer and engineer
officer being taken prisoners by the submarine. Twenty-two survivors
were picked up by a trawler, and four were picked up by an American
steamer and taken to Manchester. Three officers and eight men were
found by the United States destroyer _Wadsworth_, who had arrived only
a few days before from America.
The fate of Q 18 was as follows: At 6.35, on the morning of February
19, 1917, she was at the western end of the English Channel, when she
was attacked by a submarine who was coming up from 3 miles astern
shelling her. After the usual panic party had been sent away and the
others had concealed themselves, the submarine came close under the
stern, evidently so as to read the ship’s name. At 7.10 _Lady Olive_
opened fire, the first two shots hitting the base of the conning-tower,
the other shot putting the enemy’s gun out of action and killing the
man at the gun, the range being only 100 yards. Six more effectual
shots were fired, the man in the conning-tower being also killed. The
submarine then submerged. Lieutenant F. A. Frank, R.N.R., the captain
of the Q-ship, now rang down for full speed ahead, with the intention
of dropping depth charges. No answer was made to his telegraph, so he
waited and rang again. Still no answer. He then left the bridge, went
below to the engine-room, and found it full of steam, with the sea
rising rapidly. Engine-room, stokehold, and the after ’tween deck were
filling up, the dynamo was out of action, it was impossible to use the
wireless, and the steam-pipe had burst owing to the enemy having landed
two shots into the engine-room.
As the ship was sinking, the only thing to do was to leave her. Boats
and rafts were provisioned, the steel chest, containing confidential
documents, was thrown overboard, the ship was this time _really_
abandoned in earnest, and all took to the three boats and two rafts at
9.30 a.m. Thus they proceeded in single line. Fortunately the weather
was fine, and Lieutenant Frank decided to make for the French coast,
which was to the southward, and an hour later he despatched an officer
and half a dozen hands in the small boat to seek for assistance. So
the day went on, but only the slowest progress was made. At 5 p.m.
Lieutenant Frank decided to leave the rafts and take the men into
the boats, as some were beginning to faint through immersion in the
cold February sea, and it was impossible to make headway towing those
ungainly floats with the strong tide setting them at this time towards
the Atlantic. The accommodation in each boat was for seventeen, but
twenty-three had been crowded into each.
With Lieutenant Frank’s boat leading, the two little craft pulled
towards the southward, and about 9 p.m. a light was sighted, but soon
lost through the mist and rain. An hour later another light showed up,
and about this time Lieutenant Frank lost sight of his other boat, but
at eleven o’clock a bright light was seen, evidently on the mainland,
and this was steered for. Mist and rain again obscured everything,
but by rowing through the night it was hoped to sight it by daylight.
Night, however, was followed by a hopeless dawn, for no land was
visible. It was heart-breaking after all these long hours. The men had
now become very tired and sleepy, and were feeling downhearted, as well
they might, with the cold, wet, and fatigue, and, to make matters no
better, the wind freshened from the south-west, and a nasty, curling
sea had got up. Lieutenant Frank put the boat’s head on to the sea,
did all he could to cheer his men up, and insisted that he could see
the land. Everyone did a turn at pulling, and the sub-lieutenant, the
sergeant-major of marines, the coxswain, and Lieutenant Frank each
steered by turns. Happily by noon of the twentieth the wind eased up,
the sea moderated, and Lieutenant Frank had a straight talk to his men,
telling them their only chance was to make the land, and to put their
hearts into getting there, for land in sight there was. Exhorting these
worn-out mariners to put their weight on to the oars, he reminded them
that everyone would do ‘spell about,’ for the land must be made that
night.
Every man of this forlorn boat-load buckled to and did his best,
but, owing to the crowded condition, and the weakness of them all,
progress was pathetically slow. Thus passed another morning and another
afternoon. But at 5.15 p.m. a steamer was sighted. Alas! she ignored
them and turned away to the westward, and apparently was not coming
near them. Then presently she was seen to alter course to the east,
and began to circle towards them. This was the French destroyer,
_Dunois_, who had seen a submarine actually following this English
rowing boat. The destroyer, which had to be handled smartly, came
alongside the boat, and shouted to the men to come aboard quickly, as
she feared she might lose the submarine. Here was rest at last; but,
just as the boat had got alongside, _Dunois_ again caught sight of the
Hun, had to leave the boat and begin circling round and firing on the
pest. At six o’clock the destroyer once more closed the boat, and got
sixteen of the men out, when she suddenly saw the U-boat, fired on her,
and went full speed ahead, the port propeller guard crashing against
the boat, so that it ripped out the latter’s starboard side.
There were still seven men in the boat, and it seemed as if they were
destined never to be rescued after their long vigil, and moreover the
boat was now nearly full of water. _Dunois_ came down again; some of
the Q-ship’s seven jumped into the water, the destroyer lowering her
cutter and picking up the rest. The submarine was not seen again;
the destroyer arrived safely in Cherbourg, where the Englishmen were
landed, and next morning they met a trawler with the crew of the second
cutter on board.
Such, then, were action and counter-action of Q-ship and submarine;
such were the hardships and suffering which our men were called upon
to endure when by bad luck, error of judgment, or superior cleverness
of the enemy, the combat ended unfavourably for the mystery ship. Not
all our contests were indecisive or victorious, and some of these
subsequent passages in open boats are most harrowing tales of the sea.
Men became hysterical, went mad, died, and had to be consigned to the
depths, after suffering the terrors of thirst, hunger, fatigue, and
prolonged suspense. It was a favourite ruse for the U-boat, having seen
the survivors row off, to remain in the vicinity until the rescuing
ship should come along, so that, whilst the latter was stopped and
getting the wretched victims on board, Fritz could, from the other
side, send her to the bottom with an easily-aimed torpedo. There can be
no doubt that, but for the smartness of _Dunois’_ captain, she, too,
would have suffered the fate of the Q-ship, and then neither British
nor French would have survived. It is such incidents as these which
make it impossible to forget our late enemies, even if some day we
forgive.