SHIPS OF ALL SIZES
The unrestricted phase of submarine warfare instituted in February,
1917, had, apart from other means, been met by an increase in the
number of Q-ships, so that by the end of May there were close upon
eighty steamers and sailing craft either being fitted out as decoys or
already thus employed. By far the greater number of the big Q-ships
were serving under Admiral Bayly, the other large craft being based
on Longhope, Portsmouth, the south-east of England, and Malta. Of
the smaller types, such as trawlers and sailing ships, no fewer than
one-half were based on Granton, under Admiral Startin, the rest of
these little vessels working out of Stornoway, Longhope, Peterhead,
Lowestoft, Portsmouth, Plymouth, Falmouth, Milford Haven, and Malta.
One of the moderate-sized Q-steamers was the 1,680-ton _Stonecrop_,
alias _Glenfoyle_, which was armed with a 4-inch, a 12-pounder, and
four 200-lb. howitzers. She had begun her special service at the end
of May, 1917, under Commander M. B. R. Blackwood, R.N. She was very
slow, and her captain found her practically unmanageable in anything
of a head wind and sea. Her first cruise was in the English Channel,
and she left Portsmouth on August 22. Three days later when 15 miles
south of the Scillies she saw a large steamer torpedoed and sunk.
_Stonecrop_ herself was caught in bad weather, and had to run before
the gale and sea towing an oil bag astern. Arriving back at Portsmouth
she needed a few repairs, and left again on September 11 to cruise off
the western approaches of the British Isles. Six days later she was
off the south-west coast of Ireland steering a westerly course when
a submarine was seen on the surface. This was the U 88, one of the
biggest types, over 200 feet long, armed with a 4·1-inch
and a 22-pounder, plus torpedoes. It was now 4.40 p.m., and though the
enemy was still several miles away he opened fire three minutes later
with both guns. _Stonecrop_ accordingly pretended to flee from his
wrath, turned 16 points, made off at her full speed (which was only 7
knots), made S.O.S. signals on her wireless, followed by ‘Hurry up or
I shall have to abandon ship’—_en clair_ so that the submarine should
read it. And in order further still to simulate a defensively armed
merchant ship she replied with her after gun.
Thus it went on until 5.15 p.m., by which time the submarine had not
registered a hit and was gradually closing: but most of the shells
were falling very near to the steamer, so that the German might easily
have supposed they were hits. In order to fool the enemy further still
Commander Blackwood had his smoke apparatus now lit. This was most
successful, the whole ship becoming enveloped in smoke and seeming to
be on fire. A quarter of an hour later _Stonecrop_ ‘abandoned’ ship,
sending away also a couple of hands in uniform to represent the men
from the deserted defensive gun. The submarine then displayed the
usual tactics: submerged, came slowly towards the ship, passing down
the port side, rounding the stern, and then came to the surface 600
yards off the starboard quarter, displaying the whole of his length.
For three minutes the British and German captains remained looking at
each other, the former, of course, from his position of concealment.
But at ten minutes past six, as there were still no signs of anyone
coming out of the conning-tower hatch, and as the U-boat seemed about
to make for _Stonecrop’s_ boats, Captain Blackwood decided this was
the critical moment and gave the order. From the 4-inch gun and all
howitzers there suddenly poured across the intervening 600 yards a very
hot fire, which had unmistakable effect: for the fourth shot hit the
base of the conning-tower, causing a large explosion and splitting the
conning-tower in two. The fifth shot got her just above the water-line
under the foremost gun, the sixth struck between that gun and the
conning-tower, the seventh hit 30 feet from the end of the hull, the
eighth got her just at the angle of the conning-tower and deck, the
ninth and tenth shells came whizzing on to the water-line between the
after gun and conning-tower, whilst the eleventh hit the deck just
abaft the conning-tower and tearing it up. Good gunnery, certainly!
This was about as much as the stunned submarine could stand, and
forging ahead she suddenly submerged and sank stern first, but a few
seconds later she rose to the surface with a heavy list to starboard,
and then sank for good and all. For, on submerging, she had found
she was leaking so badly that her condition was hopeless, and she
was doubtless intending to surrender, but apparently the fourth shot
from _Stonecrop_ had so damaged the conning-tower hatch that it could
not be opened. Thus there perished U 88, but this was more than the
sinking of an ordinary submarine, for with her there went to his doom
Lieut.-Commander Schwieger, who, when in command of U 20, had sunk
the _Lusitania_ on May 7, 1915, with the loss of over eleven hundred
men, women, and children. Altogether _Stonecrop’s_ action had been very
neat. He had lured the enemy into a short range, utterly fooled him,
and then disabled him before he woke up. For this service Commander
Blackwood received the D.S.O., and three R.N.R. lieutenants and a naval
warrant officer each received a D.S.C. But Q-ship life was always full
of uncertainties, for on the very next day _Stonecrop_ was herself
torpedoed by another submarine at 1 p.m., though fortunately this
was in a position a little nearer the coast. Two officers and twenty
survivors were picked up by a motor-launch of the Auxiliary Patrol
and landed at Berehaven; sixty-four men in one boat and a raft were
remaining behind, but all available craft were sent out to rescue them.
The employment of small coasting steamers was, during the last phase
of the war, more and more developed. What the Q-ship captain liked was
that the enemy should attack him not with torpedoes but with gunfire.
Now, even the biggest German submarines carried usually not more than
ten torpedoes, and inasmuch as his cruise away from any base lasted
weeks, and, in the case of the _Deutschland_ class, even months, it
was obvious that the U-boat had to conserve his torpedoes for those
occasions which were really worth while. From this it follows that
a submarine captain who knew his work, and was anxious to make a
fine haul before ending his cruise, would not, as a rule, waste his
torpedoes on a 500-ton steamer when he might have secured much bigger
tonnage by using the same missile against a 20,000-ton liner.
This suggested an avenue of thought, and as early as January, 1918,
the matter was considered by Admiral Bayly and developed. Already
there were in existence several small vessels acting as Q-ships,
but simultaneously carrying out in all respects the duties of
cargo-carriers from port to port, and thus paying their way. It was
now decided to look for a little steamer which, based on Queenstown,
would work between the Bristol Channel, Irish Sea, and the south coast
of Ireland, where even during the height of the submarine campaign it
was customary to see such craft. As a result of this decision Captain
Gordon Campbell was sent to inspect the S.S. _Wexford Coast_, which
was being repaired at Liverpool. Her gross tonnage was only 423,
she had a well deck, three masts, and engines placed aft: just the
ordinary-looking, innocent steamer that would hardly attract a torpedo.
Owned by Messrs. Powell, Bacon, Hough, and Co., of Liverpool, this
vessel had already done valuable work in the war; for in 1915 she had
been requisitioned for store-carrying in the Dardanelles, where she was
found invaluable in keeping the troops supplied, and when that campaign
came to an end assisted at the evacuation. Returning to England, she
was again sent out as a store-carrier, this time to the White Sea.
_Wexford Coast_ was now taken up as a Q-ship, her fitting-out being
supervised by Lieut.-Commander L. S. Boggs, R.N.R., who had been in
command of the Q-ship _Tamarisk_, and from the last ship came a large
part of her new crew. She was duly armed, and fitted with a cleverly
concealed wireless aerial, to be used only in case of emergency, and
was then commissioned on March 13, 1918, as ‘Store-Carrier No. 80,’
this title being for the purpose of preserving secrecy. She put to sea
in her dual capacity, but on August 31 had the misfortune to be run
into by the French S.S. _Bidart_, six miles south-east of the Start, at
four o’clock in the morning—another instance of this fatal hour for
collisions. The Frenchman grounded on the Skerries and capsized, and
the _Wexford Coast_ had to put in to Devonport. After the sinking of
the Q-ship _Stockforce_ (to be related presently), Admiral Bayly wished
the captain and crew of the latter to be appointed to a coaster similar
to _Wexford Coast_, so the _Suffolk Coast_ was chosen at the beginning
of August whilst she was lying in the Firth of Forth. Before the end
of the month she had arrived at Queenstown, where she was fitted out.
On November 10 she set out from Queenstown, but on the following day
came the Armistice, which spoiled her ambitions. However, in this, the
latest of all Q-ships, we see the development so clearly that it will
not be out of place here to anticipate dates and give her description.
_Suffolk Coast_ was intentionally the most ordinary-looking little
coaster, with three masts, her engines and funnel being placed aft, and
the very last thing she resembled was a man-of-war. But she was heavily
armed for so small a ship. In her were embodied all the concentrated
experience of battle and engineering development. All that could be
learned from actual fighting, from narrow escapes, and from defects
manifested in awkward moments was here taken advantage of. Instead of
a 12-knot 4,000-ton steamer the development had, owing to the trend of
the campaign, been in the direction of a ship one-eighth of the size,
but more cleverly disguised with better ‘gadgets.’ In fact, instead of
being a model of simplicity as in the early days, the Q-ship had become
a veritable box of tricks. It was the triumph of mind over material, of
brain over battle. Coolness and bravery and resolute endurance were
just as requisite in the last as in the first stages of the campaign,
but the qualities of scientific bluff had attained the highest value.
The basic principle was extreme offensive power combined with outward
innocence: the artfulness of the eagle, but the appearance of a dove.
In _Suffolk Coast_ there was one long series of illusions from forward
to aft. On the fo’c’sle head was a quite usual wire reel such as is
used in this class of ship for winding in a wire rope. But this reel
had been hollowed out inside so as to allow the captain to con the
ship. Near by was also a periscope, but this was disguised by being
hidden in a stove-pipe such as would seem to connect with the crew’s
heating arrangements below. Now this was not merely a display of
ingenuity but an improvement based on many a hard case. What frequently
happened after the ‘abandon ship’ party pushed off? As we have seen,
this was often the time when the real fight began, and the enemy would
shell the bridge to make sure no living thing could remain. That
being so, the obvious position for the captain was to be away from
the bridge, though it broke away from all the traditions of the sea.
In _Suffolk Coast_ the enemy could continue sweeping the bridge, but
the captain would be under the shelter of the fo’c’sle head and yet
watching intently. Similarly both he and his men need not, in passing
from the bridge or one end of the ship to another, be exposed to the
enemy’s fire, for an ingenious tunnel was made right into the fo’c’sle
through the hold. In a similar manner, if the forward part of the ship
had been ‘done in,’ there was a periscope aft disguised as a pipe
coming up from the galley stove.
Now, when a submarine started shelling a Q-ship, the latter would
naturally heave-to and then pretend she had been disabled by being
hit in the engine-room. This was achieved by fitting a pipe specially
arranged to let steam issue forth. The importance of wireless in these
death-struggles may well be realized, so not merely was one wireless
cabinet placed below, but another was situated in the fo’c’sle. The
_Suffolk Coast_, with her two 4-inch and two 12-pounders, was armed
in a manner superior to any submarines excepting those of the biggest
classes such as voyaged south to the Canaries and north-west African
coast. This Q-ship’s guns were concealed in the most wonderfully
ingenious manner, so that it would have puzzled even a seaman to
discover their presence. Thus the forward 12-pounder was mounted in
No. 1 hold, the hatch being suitably arranged for collapsing. The
first 4-inch gun was placed further aft, covered by a deck, and the
sides made to fall down when the time came for action. The second
4-inch was mounted still further aft and similarly concealed, whilst
the other 12-pounder was allowed to be conspicuous at the stern so
that all U-craft might believe she was the usual defensively armed
merchant ship. Without this they might have become suspicious. In this
‘mystery ship’ everything was done to render her capable of remaining
afloat for the maximum of time after injury, and, in addition to having
a well-stowed cargo of timber, she had special watertight bulkheads
fitted. With a thorough system of voice-pipes, so that the captain
could keep a perfect control over the ship’s firing—a most essential
consideration, as the reader will already have ascertained—and a
crew of nearly fifty experienced officers and men, such a small
ship represented the apotheosis of the decoy just as the war was
terminating. Every sort of scheme which promised possibilities was
tried, and many clever minds had been at work, but this represented the
standard of success after four long years.
Every new aspect of the submarine advancement had to be thought out
and met, and the variations were most noticeable, but during the last
few months of the war considerable attention had to be concentrated on
the areas of the Azores, the north, south, east, and west of Ireland,
the Bristol Channel, and the approaches to the English Channel in the
west. But by the spring of 1918 the crews of German submarines had
become distinctly inferior. Their commanding officers were often young
and raw, there was a great dearth of trained engineer officers and
experienced petty officers, and this was shown in frequent engine-room
breakdowns. So many submarines had failed to return home, and others
reported such hairbreadth escapes, that the inferior crews became
nervous and were not sorry to be taken prisoners. The fact was that
not only were expert, highly skilled officers hard to find, but the
hands he was compelled to go to sea with were no longer chosen by the
captain; he had to accept whatever recruits were drafted to his craft.
Of the best _personnel_ that remained many had lost their nerve and
had a very real dread of mines, depth charges, and decoy ships. The
institution of our convoy system and of Q-ships as part of the convoy
did not add to the pleasures of the U-boat officers. It is true that
the often excellent shooting of the submarines was due to the fact
that their gun-layers were generally selected from the High Sea Fleet,
but as against this many of our Q-ship expert gunners were out of the
Grand Fleet. It is true that the cruiser submarines with their two
5·9-inch guns, plus torpedoes, were formidable foes even
for the most heavily armed decoy, but as against this they took a long
time to dive, and thus represented a better target.
If we consider these facts in regard to the later tactics of the
submarines in contest with our decoy ships, there is much that becomes
clear. The excellence of our intelligence system has been shown by
various British and German writers since the war, and, as a rule, we
were extraordinarily prepared for the new developments with which our
Q-ships were likely to be faced. On the other hand, the enemy’s supply
of intelligence was bad, and if we put ourselves in the position of an
inexperienced young U-boat captain we can easily see how difficult was
his task toward the end of hostilities. He was sent out to sink ships,
and yet practically every British ship was at least armed defensively,
and there was nothing to indicate which of them might be a well-armed
decoy, save for the fact that he had been informed by his superiors
that trap-ships were seldom of a size greater than 4,000 tons. Sailing
ships, fishing craft, and steamers might be ready to spring a surprise,
so that it was not easy for the German to combine ruthless attack with
reasonable caution: thus, in effect, the battle came down to a matter
of personality. It was not merely a question of the man behind the gun,
nor of the man behind the torpedo, but the man at the periscope of
the submarine versus the man peeping at him from the spy-hole of the
steamer. They were strange tactics, indeed, to be employed in naval
war when we consider the simple, hearty methods of previous campaigns
in history, but even as an impersonal study of two foes this perpetual
battle of wits, of subtleties, and make-believe, must ever remain
both interesting and instructive in spite of the terrible loss of life
accompanying it. Life on board one of the small steam Q-ships was,
apart from its dangers arising through mines and submarines, distinctly
lacking in comfort. The following extracts from the private diary of a
Q-ship’s commanding officer at different dates afford, in the fewest
words, an insight into the life on board:
‘The heavy westerly gale was banking up the west-going tide, and made
the most fierce and dangerous sea that I have ever seen. The ship made
little headway and was tossed about like a small boat. Fortunately we
managed to keep end on to the sea, or I think the old tub would have
gone slick over. As it was she behaved well, though her movements were
pretty violent. Seas broke over the stern and washed away the stern
gratings, one big sea broke right over the forward deck, a tumbling
mass of foam, into the water on the other side of the ship, carrying
away a ventilator and some steam-pipes. I had one spasm of anxiety,
when in the middle of all this the wheel jammed for a few seconds, and
I feared she would broach-to. If we had done so, I think the ship would
at once have been rolled over and smothered. I have never before seen
such enormous breakers....’
‘Had just finished tea and was sitting at the table yarning with the
others when the alarm gong went and we all dashed out.... Immediately
before the gong went, M——, our young R.N.V.R. signalman, who had
never been to sea before, and who was on watch, remarked to W——, the
officer of the watch, “What’s that funny-looking stick sticking out of
the water over there?” W—— cast an eye at the said “funny-looking
stick sticking out of the water” 200 yards on our starboard beam,
and remarked profanely: “Good God, man, why, it’s a periscope!” and
promptly rang the gong.’ It was, indeed, a periscope, and presently the
submarine opened fire and sent a shell through the ship’s engine-room,
which disabled the ship, though she was afterwards towed into port,
where she was repaired and refitted for her next encounter.
‘Completed loading timber at 11 a.m. Total 599 tons. That ought to
keep us afloat if we are torpedoed.... The ship’s behaviour is quite
different to what it was with coal ballast. She moves, but with a much
easier motion, and without that terrible jerkiness she had before....
When off the —— we fell in with a lifeboat under sail, evidently
with survivors from a sunk ship. Stopped and took them on board. They
turned out to be the captain, 2nd officer, purser, 3rd engineer, and
ten men, part of the crew of the S.S. ——, which had been torpedoed at
11.30 a.m. yesterday.... Discussing the daily lie for Fritz with S——:
To-day we are from Cape Coast Castle with kernels, bound for London. I
wonder if it will go down with Fritz....’
And the following entry after successfully sinking a German submarine
notwithstanding many months of monotonous uneventfulness:
‘I then “spliced the main-brace.” We passed the S—— Light at 11.30
p.m., and just before picking up the Examination boat received a
wireless message from [the Commander-in-Chief], which reads: “Very well
done. A year’s perseverance well rewarded.”... We anchored at midnight,
and a boat at once came off with a doctor, who removed the wounded....
A tug brought off the armed guard sent ... to receive our prisoners....
We formally mustered the prisoners and handed them over, with the
signing of receipts for their custody and disposal, etc. It was an
impressive moment when I led the officer in charge to the saloon, and
handed over to him the commanding officer of the submarine. A couple of
bluejackets with rifles fixed promptly closed up at either elbow, and
he was marched out. He had the grace to pause at the door, where I was
standing, and to thank me for my treatment of him. He was no doubt very
much upset by the loss of his ship: we found him extremely glum and did
our best to cheer him up. He had lunch with us, and I think he really
did find that we were human. Similarly the other officers tendered
their thanks (they all went away in a good deal of our clothing),
and when it came to the marching off of the men, —— stepped out of
the ranks and tendered to me their grateful thanks for the excellent
treatment they had received at our hands.’