all. She worked directly under Rear Admiral Clinton-Baker, R.N., who
wired his congratulations upon the successful completion of the first
three operations, and when, at the end of May, she was recalled to our
squadron, he wrote to Captain Marshall:
Once more I wish to thank you for all that you have done and
for the very willing help which you, your officers and ship’s
company have always given. It is much to be regretted that the
work which you commenced and so admirably carried out is not to
be completed, at any rate for the present, though doubtless you
will be doing equally useful work elsewhere in the near future.
Good luck to you and your ship.
This minefield accounted for two enemy submarines and there was little
further submarine activity in that vicinity, which should be credited
largely as an achievement of our squadron. And as a sample of quality
before the North Sea mining began, the _Baltimore’s_ work gave our
colleagues confidence that we could do our part—by far the largest
portion—in that great, open sea operation. As immortalized in our song:
“The _Baltimore_ was the first away.
She traveled a thousand miles a day,
To show the Allies the lively way
Of the Yankee Mining Squadron.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MINE ASSEMBLING AND EMBARKING
Following the conference on board the _Queen Elizabeth_, our bases worked
full blast on the mines for the first operation. One group assembled and
tested the anchors, another the mines, a third the plummet, a fourth the
plummet and anchor together, and a fifth, the final assembly, of mine
and anchor complete—called a unit. A section of mine track of standard
gauge sufficed to test the anchor wheels and thus obviate trouble on
board from their binding or dropping between the ship’s tracks during
minelaying, possibly causing an interrupted string. It speaks well for
the manufacture, for the testing at the bases, and for the ship’s mine
track installations, that no such interruption ever occurred in the whole
series of operations.
[Illustration: MINES AND MINE ANCHORS AWAITING ASSEMBLY.
The Anchors were Shipped in Pairs, for Convenience in Handling.]
The adjustment of firing mechanism was done in a locked room, the secret
entrusted only to a few. It was delicate work, to be done patiently and
methodically, for its accuracy determined whether the mine would be
alive—or a dud. Fidelity in such adjustments is hard enough to maintain
when the repetitions are numbered only by tens. Where hundreds and
thousands are involved the tax on attention becomes severe.
Before loading the mines into the cars, for transfer to the lighters,
each mine was primed with a mealed TNT “booster” charge and the firing
detonator was put in place—all ready for the laying—and five safety
devices were seen in place and in order. These devices would prevent the
firing mechanism working until the mine had reached a certain minimum
depth under water and had been in the water about 20 minutes, and would
also prevent exploding in case of loss overboard during embarking. Such
devices usually function properly, and dependence is not placed on one
alone but on several together, any one of which will make the mine safe
to handle—by experienced men. At an early stage in the training in mines,
one learns to treat them with respect always—no liberties. Even the
safest explosives, the surest mechanism, have an occasional, inexplicable
aberration.
[Illustration: LOADING MINES INTO LIGHTERS.
At Base 18, on the Caledonian Canal, at Inverness.]
The ready mines are swung up into open freight cars, for hauling to the
water side, whence they go, 40 to 80 together, in lighters out to the
ships. After being landed on the tracks of the minelayer, one safety pin
is removed—leaving four—and the mine is then examined for any derangement
during the three handlings in transit from the store shed.
The north of Scotland was a barred area, yet it was reported possible for
information to get through to the enemy in 18 to 20 hours—time enough for
interference to hatch out. With so much activity at the bases, lighters
going to the ships loaded and returning empty, and a large destroyer
escort coming in on 5 June, the fact that an operation was in early
prospect was obvious. The _hour_ of departure at least could be kept
secret, and the start was fixed for midnight. The two detachments of the
mine squadron and the destroyer escort would assemble at 1 o’clock a.m.,
7 June, just outside the Sutors, the high rocky headlands at the mouth of
Cromarty Firth. On this first occasion the preparations continued until
one hour before the ships weighed anchor.
[Illustration: SQUADRON FLAGSHIP “SAN FRANCISCO.”
Receiving Mine Lighters Alongside in Inverness Firth.]
Rehearsal of this operation had been impossible except on paper, but
careful study of it had produced instructions that were comprehensive,
yet elastic enough for emergency. The order for the operation gave a
complete program, including a mining schedule showing the time when each
ship was to begin laying and how many mines to plant. This was gone
over with the captains, and then Captain H. R. Godfrey, R.N., and I had
a conference with Rear Admiral Strauss, on the general features of the
excursion. Captain Godfrey, commanding H.M.S. _Vampire_ and the 14th
Destroyer Flotilla, was our first escort leader.
Our operation was to be no “captains’ fight.” Teamwork was indispensable.
Every ship must keep in her station throughout and do her allotted stint
exactly on time. The instructions said, “Once begun, keep strictly to
schedule times, regardless of the _omission_ of signals or delay in
them.” Otherwise there would be gaps in the barrier, impossible to fill
without waste of time and space, and mines would be brought back that
should have been planted. Teamwork in the high degree wanted meant every
man alive to his interest in the general result and sensible to his
responsibility for his part in it. All would learn this in time, but it
must be driven home beforehand. It was of utmost importance that the
first operation should be an unquestionable success.
Accordingly, after making the preliminary inspection of each new ship,
I spoke to each ship’s company, partly to comment on their work so far,
but chiefly to enlist the best efforts of each individual. Rumor and
conjecture were the sources of all they had learned hitherto of the
work ahead of them. Now they were told something of its magnitude and
importance—that it had been regarded as doubtful of accomplishment, but
their squadron commander had promised success in their name, promised
the kind of success that comes only with the best teamwork throughout
the ship and by all ships in the squadron. Every man should realize that
now, in war, his utmost was called for, as never before in his life; that
however simple and unimportant his duty might seem, it was his to do,
and he was counted on not to be content that any other man’s work should
be better done, and that, in our work, prolonged through hours, the
attention must never slacken—the 600th mine must be as carefully tended
as the first. The men gave the closest attention—not an eye wavered,
hardly a muscle moved—giving back such confidence that, on board the
_Canonicus_, which I had found in fine condition, I could wind up with,
“And when the last mine is out, the only signal I expect to send to you
is ‘_Canonicus_ well done’!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIRST MINELAYING EXCURSION
The eve of our first departure was drizzling and misty. Attempts for some
advance sleep were of no avail—too much pressure had directly preceded.
When 11 o’clock came without sign of the two ships due from the inner
anchorage in Beauly Basin, we in the flagship wondered why. The tide was
falling, another half hour passed—would they never come? Signals and
radio failed to get through. Very soon, if not already, they would be
unable to pass through the new dredged channel. At last, near midnight,
they appeared. The pilots had been delayed through a misunderstanding on
shore, in itself slight—but it was a narrow escape from being 10 hours
late, which, on our first operation, would have made a bad impression,
without and within.
The start is made without signals, all dark and noiseless on board,
except for the rumbling chain as the ship gets underway. As the _San
Francisco_ heads out slowly, one after another the signal quartermaster
reports the other ships underway and following. We take two-thirds speed
now. The full number of lookouts are at their stations and warned to be
alert, and the men are now sent to the battery, making a little stir
for the moment, then quiet falls again. Fort George shows the signal
for an open gate, we increase to standard speed, and as the second ship
passes out through the submarine net, they all form single column astern
and close up—to 500 yards apart. The rocky shore looms high and black
on the left, not a single house light showing. On the off-shore side,
small patrol craft can be dimly seen, on watch against lurking danger.
Fifteen minutes more and we see long, low forms slinking against the dark
background of North Sutor. Those are the escort destroyers, going out to
form a screen. Close following them we make out larger, higher, moving
shadows—our detachment from the other base—one, two, three, four—_five_!
_All there!_ The detachments are so timed that they reach the junction
buoy at the same moment, and the whole squadron stands on, without pause,
together, 10 ships in two parallel columns, 500 yards apart. Ahead and
on either side are four destroyers, 12 in all. No signals, no lights, no
sound but quiet tones on the bridge and the swash of the water overside.
Three miles along, the water deepens to 60 feet. A screened flash from
the flagship to the opposite leader and the squadron, all together,
slackens speed, to get out paravanes—those underwater, outrigger-like
affairs which guard against anchored mines in one’s path. Only a few
minutes, then up each column comes the sign “yes,” passed by ships in
succession—another flash from the flagship, and we resume standard speed
again, keeping on, out Moray Firth, through the one-mile wide channel,
which is swept daily for mines.
[Illustration: THE MINE SQUADRON AT SEA.
Returning to Base After Laying the Ninth Minefield.]
Off Pentland Skerries, near John O’Groat’s House, we turn east, and
here as we pass, the supporting force files out of Scapa Flow—six
light cruisers, then a squadron of battle cruisers and another of four
battleships, each squadron screened by six destroyers. Very impressive
are these great ships, majestic in movement, as they sweep off to the
southward and eastward, disappearing in the morning haze, which magnifies
their towering bulk. We see them no more until next day but know they are
there, on guard against raiders.
The British Minelaying Squadron is out, too, four ships with a joint
capacity of 1300 mines, but we do not meet. Though protected by the
same heavy squadrons, we work independently, in different areas. They
are bound this time for the section near the Norway coast, Area C it is
called, while we are to begin at the southeastern corner of the middle
section, Area A, and work to the westward.
Straight over to Udsire we go, a small island off the Norway coast, the
nearest good landmark from which to take a departure for the minelaying
start point. We make Udsire Light near 11.30 p.m., close in to about 11
miles distance, turn north for a sufficient run to give a good fix, and
then head off-shore. Accurate determination of the minefield’s position
is necessary for use in laying another field close by subsequently, and
also for the safety of the vessels sweeping the mines up after the war.
There must be steady steaming and steering, with a minimum of changing
course—no hesitation, no trial moves, for neither the time at disposal
nor the submarine risk will permit.
All goes smoothly until the turn to head off-shore, when one destroyer
crosses too close under _San Francisco’s_ stern and cuts her “taut wire.”
This is fine piano wire, furnished in spools of 140 miles of wire, the
whole weighing one ton. A small weight would anchor the end to the
bottom, and then a mile of wire meant a mile over the ground without
question.
The wire is soon started again, and as the _Baltimore_ is running her
wire on the other flank, and the weather is clear enough for good
navigational bearings and star sights, no harm is done. We head for a
position seven miles in advance of the start point, so that the squadron
may turn together to the minelaying course and have still a half-hour in
which to settle down.
It is a busy night and early morning, keeping the ships in formation,
verifying the navigation, keeping a keen lookout in every direction for
submarines—we are now in their regular route—going over the mines for
final touches and making other preparations necessarily left to the last.
About 4 o’clock, Lieut. Commander Cunningham, the flagship’s navigator,
reports that we shall reach the start point at 5.27 a.m. Captain Butler
and I check his figures, and at 4.27 the signal is made that minelaying
will begin in one hour. The crews go to mining stations, to see all
clear and then stand by. In the flagship we watch for the reports of
readiness. Ship by ship they signal in the affirmative. They are ready,
every one.
Now the last turn has been made and the signal is flying to begin laying
in seven minutes. The ships are formed in a single line abreast, speeding
towards the start point—like race horses when the starter’s flag is up.
It is a stirring sight. How will it go, after all these months—for some
of us years—of preparation? Our work to-day will mean much to those in
Washington.
No ship is off the line by so much as a quarter length. Commander Canaga
stands with watch in hand—“two minutes, one minute, thirty seconds,
fifteen?” He looks up inquiringly. A nod—all right. “Five seconds—haul
down!” Up go the red flags on the first ships to plant, the sign that
their minelaying has begun, and word comes from the flagship’s launching
station at the stern, “First mine over.” All well so far.
The minelaying now runs entirely by the time table. Each ship gives her
successor five minutes warning and, as her last mine dives overboard,
shows the signal “Begin minelaying at once; I have suspended.” The
successor begins accordingly, showing her red flag. The staff officers on
board the _San Francisco_ watch for these signals, comparing the times
with what they should be, and counting also the seconds elapsed between
the launching of successive mines, from the ships whose sterns we can
see. A few seconds out now and then—otherwise all goes according to
schedule, just as planned before leaving the United States.
The hardest task is on board the _Housatonic_—a new ship, with a new
mining installation, of type untried in service, and a crew inexperienced
in minelaying—dropping 675 mines without intermission, 1 every 11½
seconds, during 2 hours and 10 minutes. Her mate is standing by, ready
for any interruption, but the _Housatonic_ completes the task without a
break—making a world record, a continuous line of mines, 28 miles long.
On a later occasion, the _Canonicus_ planted 860 mines in 3 hours 35
minutes, an unbroken line of 43 miles.
About 20 minutes after planting began, an explosion was felt and a
geyser seen astern. A few minutes later the same occurred again, and
other explosions followed, at varying intervals and distances, some just
visible on the horizon. Others which were nearer, as evidenced by the
sharpness of the shock, threw up no geyser, indicating that they were at
the middle or lowest depth.
In the proof tests held off Cape Ann in April, it had been observed
that a mine at the middle level, 160 feet submergence, made no surface
disturbance when detonated, until 8 seconds had elapsed, and then only as
much as the wash of a light swell over a submerged rock. At the deepest
level, 240 feet submergence, a detonation produced no more surface
upheaval than there is in a glass of well iced champagne. The ship being
about 800 yards away, the shock was heavy and sharp. The water surface
all over could be seen to tremble with the shock, but directly over the
mine itself, when, after 27 seconds, the gas came up, there was no more
surface disturbance than a pleasure canoe could have ridden with safety.
A slick on the water would follow, but this could not be distinguished
at much over a mile distance nor at all if there were a white cap sea
running.
Observers recorded the number, times, and approximate positions of all
explosions and, on board the _San Francisco_ and _Baltimore_, there were
listeners stationed at the submarine signal receivers, so as to get a
full count. All observers did not agree, as the indications from sounds
and shocks varied according to distance and depth. Some explosions gave
a prolonged reverberation, at times sounding to the unassisted ear like
two or three explosions in rapid succession, but in the submarine signal
receiver each explosion made a distinct sound, unmistakable.
The count by the _San Francisco_ and _Baltimore_, differing by only 2,
practically agreed on 100 explosions, or about 3 per cent of all mines
planted. Although a perfect record was desirable, the detonations showed
the minefield to be alive and sensitive, and their number was not large
for a new mine, not yet long enough in service to refine out the minor
defects.
Surprising enough on deck, where one could see, that first explosion must
have startled the men in the engine room, in the coal bunkers, and on
the lower mine decks. The blow rings sharper down there, where resulting
damage, in broken pipe joints or started boiler tubes, might be expected
first. Whether gun, torpedo, or mine, however, it is all one—the duties
go on just the same.
As the mines on the launching deck move slowly aft, those on lower decks
move forward, to the elevators and up. Working spaces are cramped,
passages narrow, bulkhead doors closed wherever possible. At the right
time, a door will be opened, the portable section of mine track
adjusted, the mines in that compartment hauled out, and the door closed
again water-tight, all as quickly as possible. Close, hot, foul with oily
steam and seasickness—it is sweating, disagreeable work below decks. But
complaint is nowhere in the ships. The feeling is well expressed by one
man, writing home:
When the first mine went over, I had a curious feeling of
exultation. The fear, the perils, the uncertainties that
surround our work, slipped from me like the foolish fancies of
a nightmare. There, at last, was a nail in the Kaiser’s coffin.
Come what might, I had justified my existence. Had the whole
German High Seas Fleet appeared in the offing, I am sure I
should have gone to my battle station with a shout of glee.
Prolonged activity, in preparing the squadron and bringing it out, makes
it trying now for me, to look on, hands folded—nothing to do while
everything goes well—yet constantly alert, for instant decision in case
of mishap. After nearly four hours, the schedule is finished. Some marker
buoys are dropped, for later use in beginning another minefield. The line
of ships then takes the narrower route formation, and we head back for
the base. Butler, Canaga, and I exchange quiet congratulations. Our work
together has been to good purpose.
The men clean up the decks, get a wash for themselves, and those off duty
drop asleep—anywhere—the deck is covered with them. On top of the duties
common to all men-of-war, to move the 400-ton masses of mines, in slow
but steady time, is very fatiguing, even with steam winches to help.
We are not finished yet. Expectation of a quiet afternoon doze, handy
to the bridge, is rudely dispelled by a smoke screen started by the
destroyers. Unaware it is only an exercise, all hands tumble up to battle
stations. Then one minelayer must stop, to tighten a nut working loose.
Two destroyers are left to guard her, all three overtaking us in a few
hours. Next a dirigible balloon heaves in sight, and then a widespread
smoke covers the horizon, developing into a convoy of 50 vessels.
Finally, in the midst of dinner, the siren of our next astern shrieks
“Submarine to port!”
While the minelayers, upon signal, swing together away from the danger
quarter, the _Vampire_ swoops by at 30 knots, to drop two depth charges
on the spot indicated. Captain Godfrey signals, “Whatever was there,
those charges will keep him down for a considerable time.” All quiet
again, we return to our cold provender, remarking that, as a name, mine
squadron is ill chosen. It should be “Crowded Hour Club.”
Reports had now come in from all the ships that there had been no
casualties. All were prepared to undertake another operation upon
receiving the mines, and without further incident we returned to our
former anchorages, arriving at 3.30 next morning. But ere that day
closed, so memorable in our lives, I signaled the squadron:
The operation to-day was an excellent performance by each ship
and by the squadron as a whole. The fact of some premature
explosions does not detract from the highly creditable mine
handling and steady steaming. Confidence in the personnel and
faith in the undertaking are well justified, and captains may
well be proud of their commands, as the squadron commander is
of the squadron.
SQUADRON ORGANIZATION AND SHIPS’ DATA
MINE SQUADRON ONE, U.S. ATLANTIC FLEET
(Designated in H.B.M. Grand Fleet, SECOND MINELAYING SQUADRON)
Captain Reginald R. Belknap, U.S.N., Squadron Commander
Flagship—U.S.S. _San Francisco_
Chief of staff [1]Captain H. V. Butler.
Aid and tactical officer Commander B. L. Canaga.
Squadron construction and mining officer [1]Comdr. L. F. Kimball.
Squadron engineer [1]Lt. Comdr. F. R. Berg.
Squadron engineer from 1 October, 1918 [1]Lieut. G. J. Blessing.
Flag lieutenant and secretary Lt. Comdr. E. S. R. Brandt.
Aid and secretary after 23 August, 1918 Ensign Roger F. Hooper, R.F.
Squadron radio officer, also signal
officer after 23 August, 1918 Lieut. R. C. Starkey.
Communication officer and aid Lt. (j. g.) R. L. White, R.F.
Squadron surgeon [1]Lt. Comdr. G. C. Rhoades
(M.C.).
Squadron surgeon from 1 October, 1918 [1]Lieut. H. P. Stevens
(M.C.), R.F.
Squadron supply officer [1]Lieut. C. R. Eagle (P.C.).
Squadron athletic officer [1]Lt. Comdr. G. W. Hewlett.
Assistant squadron construction officer [1]Lieut. G. R. Arey (C.C.).
_San Francisco_ (flagship)—Captain H. V. Butler, U.S.N.
Launched at Union Iron Works, San Francisco, October 26, 1889,
as a protected cruiser; commissioned as a mine ship August 21,
1911; length 324 feet, beam 49 feet, extreme draft 24 feet,
full load displacement 4583 tons; twin screw, 18 knots; four
5-inch 51-caliber guns, two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, 170
mines; officers 22, crew 350; additional for flagship, officers
5, enlisted men 47; total on board 424.
_Baltimore_—Captain A. W. Marshall, U.S.N.
Launched at Cramp’s Shipyard, Philadelphia, October 26, 1888,
as a protected cruiser; commissioned as a mine ship March 8,
1915; length 335 feet, beam 48½ feet, extreme draft 24 feet,
5482 tons; twin screw, 18 knots; four 5-inch 51-caliber guns,
two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, 180 mines; officers 21, crew
339; total 360.
_Roanoke_—Captain C. D. Stearns, U.S.N.
Launched August 30, 1911, named _El Dia_; commissioned as a
minelayer January 25, 1918, at Tietjen and Lang’s Shipyard,
Hoboken, N.J.
_Housatonic_—Captain J. W. Greenslade, U.S.N.
Launched November 14, 1899, named _El Rio_; commissioned
January 25, 1918, at Tietjen and Lang’s.
_Canandaigua_—Captain W. H. Reynolds, U.S.N.
Launched in May, 1901, named _El Siglo_; commissioned March 2,
1918, at the Morse Dry Dock and Repair Company, Brooklyn, N.Y.
_Canonicus_—Captain T. L. Johnson, U.S.N.
Launched November 14, 1899, named _El Cid_; commissioned March
2, 1918, at the Morse Yard.