VI

I have mentioned the fact that Submarine "A E 2" (Lieut.-Commander

Stoker) was the first boat to get into the Sea of Marmora. Her

experience is worth relating, especially in view of the fact that she

was an Australian Navy boat, and that her trip was made simultaneously

with the Gallipoli landing.

She entered the Straits at 2.30 A.M. on 25th April 1915, and continued

upon the surface till, being fired on from the northern shore, she

dived at 4.30 A.M., and proceeded at 70 feet depth through the

mine-field. Her despatches say:--

"During the ensuing half-hour or so the scraping of wires against

the vessel's sides was almost continuous, and on two occasions

something caught up forward and continued to knock for some

considerable time before breaking loose and scraping away aft."

Off Chanak she torpedoed a small Turkish gunboat in passing, and dodged

the stem of a torpedo-boat that attempted to ram the periscope. "A E 2"

then ran aground (her compass having developed defects) under the guns

of Fort Anatoli Mejidieh. She got off, and proceeded on at 90 feet,

till she ran aground again on the Gallipoli shore for five minutes.

This second bump damaged the hull somewhat. She got off and went on,

pursued by all the miscellaneous small craft of the Narrows, all of

them firing at and trying to ram her periscope. At 8.30 A.M., the

pursuit being close, she intentionally ran aground on the Asiatic shore

to wait, at a depth of 80 feet, till the chase should have passed on

overhead. She waited there, listening to the propellers passing to and

fro, until 9 P.M., when she rose and found nothing in sight. At 4 A.M.

on the 26th she went on, having charged up her batteries and

unsuccessfully attacked two unknown men-of-war (one of them probably

the battleship _Hairedin Barbarossa_) near Gallipoli. At 9 A.M. she

entered the Sea of Marmora. Unfortunately, "A E 2" carried no gun, and

had to rely on her torpedo armament, which at 9.30 A.M. failed her when

she endeavoured to sink a transport--one of four coming towards the

Peninsula. On 27th April she had more bad luck with torpedoes, and

another transport (escorted by a destroyer screen) escaped her. On the

28th another torpedo failed to hit a small ship convoyed by two

T.B.D.'s, and in the evening her sixth torpedo missed on "two

men-of-war approaching at high speed from westward." On the 29th, being

chased by torpedo-boats and gunboats, she was forced to fire a chance

shot in order to discourage the pursuit. The torpedo missed a yard

ahead of a gunboat, and "pursuit then ceased." In the evening she met

"E 14" at a rendezvous, the latter boat having followed her up the

Straits. On the 30th, "A E 2" met her end:--

"10.30 A.M.: Boat's bow suddenly rose, and boat broke surface

about one mile from T.B. Blew water forward, but could not get

boat to dive. Torpedo-boat got very close, firing, and a gunboat

from Artaki Bay began firing at a range of about three miles;

flooded a forward tank, when boat suddenly took a big inclination

down by bows and dived rapidly. The 100-feet depth-line was

quickly reached and passed. Went full speed astern and commenced

to blow main ballast. After some interval boat came back to

100-feet depth, so reflooded and went ahead, but boat broke

surface stern first. Within a few seconds the shots fired holed

the engine-room in three places. Owing to the great inclination

down by the bow it was impossible to see the torpedo-boat through

the periscope, and I considered that any attempt to ram her would

be useless. I therefore blew main ballast, and ordered all hands

on deck. Assisted by Lieut. Haggard, I then opened the tanks to

flood and went on deck. The boat sank in a few minutes...."

All the officers and men were saved, being picked out of the water by

the Turkish torpedo-boat after "A E 2" had sunk. A lot of trips were

made by submarines up the Sea of Marmora, but it was not all child's

play inside or on the way up. "E 15" and "E 14" were lost in the

Straits, "E 20" was torpedoed by a U-boat when off Constantinople, and

"E 7" was sunk in the Chanak nets.

As was published at the time, submarine "E 13" was lost on the 18th

September 1915, on Saltholm, Denmark. As a matter of fact her loss with

part of the crew was part of the price paid by the Navy for the passage

of E boats into the Baltic. "E 13" was bound for Libau _viâ_ the

Sound, and was wrecked owing to a defective compass. She was doubtful

enough of the compass's accuracy for such narrow and intricate waters

to have eased to 250 evolutions and to have stopped one engine when she

grounded on the S.E. end of Saltholm, striking all along her length on

shelving rocky bottom. She blew all tanks and began operations to get

away. At 5 A.M. a Danish torpedo-boat arrived and communicated,

stating that "E 13" had twenty-four hours to get herself away in, but

that no assistance could be given her.... Then a German destroyer

arrived and remained watching until two Danish torpedo-boats

approached, when she left. At 9 A.M. "E 13" was still trying to move,

and three Danish torpedo-boats were anchored watching her; then came

two German destroyers. At half a mile range the leading enemy hoisted

a signal and blew her syren. Before the signal could be read she was

three hundred yards away, at which range she fired a torpedo and

opened fire with all guns. "E 13," hit all over, caught fire at once,

and Commander Layton ordered the crew to abandon ship, telling them to

take to the water and scatter as much as possible, the German fire

being "Man-killing," _i.e._ with shrapnel and machine-gun.

The Danish torpedo-boats at once got out their boats, and one

torpedo-boat steamed in between the Germans and their target--this

action causing the Germans to cease fire. The Germans then withdrew,

having killed fifteen officers and men of "E 13" in the water. The

submarine was hit about fourteen times by four-inch shells and by many

of smaller calibre; she was completely destroyed. The officers and men

saved were taken aboard the Danish flagship and treated with the utmost

kindness. I will not comment on this incident.

Commander Layton escaped from his prison in Denmark, and returned

safely to command another submarine.

I must record here the account of the escape of Stoker Petty Officer

William Brown. It was an extraordinary experience for any man, but I

must again point out that the submarine sailor is, in his training and

sense, something out of the common.

The submarine Brown was in was acting as "target" for other boats which

were practising attacks on her as training for actual war attacks on

U-boats at sea. The exercising area was just off Harwich, and the

"target" was running a straight course along it, looking out for the

periscope of the attacker. Suddenly the periscope appeared--50 yards on

the bow and travelling fast; a collision was inevitable. The attacker's

conning-tower was smashed, and she sank at once with all hands. The

captain of the "target" was on the bridge, and receiving a report that

his own boat was sinking fast, he called all hands on deck. Petty

Officer Brown did not apparently hear the order, and with two other men

(a stoker and engine-room artificer) went down with the boat. The

conning-tower lid being open as she sank, the stoker and artificer who

were in the midship compartment waited a few seconds in a pocket of air

near the conning-tower ladder, and then dived for it, swimming through

the boat till the gleam of brighter water showed overhead, then rising

up through sixty-five feet till they gained the surface. Brown had

taken shelter in the engine-room, closing the door after him. His own

account of the incident is quite clear, though perhaps a little

technical.

... "Something was heard to come in contact with the bottom of the

boat forward, twice in quick succession. Immediately after the

engine-room telegraph rang to 'out-clutches.' I took out the port

clutch and closed the muffler valve--then it was reported that the

ship was making water. I proceeded forward to ascertain the

position of the leak, and came to the conclusion she was holed down

low. My first impulse was to close the lower door of the

conning-tower. At this point the chief engine-room artificer

inquired if all hands were out of the engine-room. I replied I

would find out. On going aft I found one man coming forward, and I

ordered him to put his life-belt on, keep his head, and wait his

turn at the conning-tower hatch. Finding there was nobody else aft,

I came forward and put on a life-belt and closed the valve on the

air trunk through the engine-room bulkhead--then water began to

come down through the conning-tower hatch and the boat took a dip

forward...."

From the collision to this point was actually about 90 seconds. Brown

leaves the impression in one's mind that he spent part of this time

"tidying up" and generally giving a final polish to his department

before leaving (perhaps he did):--

"I went aft and shouted to the hands forward to come aft to the

engine-room. There was no response. The midship compartment was in

darkness and partly flooded. Chlorine gas began to come through. I

closed the engine-room door and began to unscrew the clips of the

torpedo hatch above me. At this juncture the engine-room was in

complete darkness, with the exception of the port pilot-lamp, which

was burning through 'earth.' The water was slowly rising in the

engine-room through the voice-pipes, which I had left open to

relieve the pressure on the bulkhead door.

"I then proceeded to disconnect the torpedo hatch from its gearing,

which meant the removal of two split pins and two pins from the

links. Before the foremost one could be removed, however, I had to

unship the strongback and wait till there was sufficient pressure

in the boat to ease the hatch off the strongback...."

It all sounds so very simple, but the man misses out a lot. It was

almost pitch-dark. He was working on top of the engines of a nearly

full submarine which had gone to the bottom. He was half-submerged in

electrically-charged water, and chlorine gas was coming in through the

voice-pipes from the batteries. The hatch he was trying to open was

very heavy--well screwed down--and was over his head in a difficult

position to reach.

"The heat at this time was excessive, therefore I rested awhile and

considered the best means of flooding the engine-room, and

eventually came to the conclusion that the best way was to flood

through the stern tube or the weed-trap of the circulating system,

or by dropping the exhaust and induction valves and opening the

muffler-valve. I tried the stern tube first, but could neither open

the stern-cap nor rear door. Then I came forward again. Whilst

passing the switchboards I received several shocks. I tried to open

the weed-trap of the circulating inlet, but it was in an awkward

position, and with water coming over the top of me I could not ease

back the butterfly-nuts. So proceeded forward again and opened

muffler-valve, also the test-cocks on the group exhaust-valves;

tried them and found water was coming in. Then I climbed on top of

the engines underneath the torpedo hatch and unshipped the

strongback, drawing the pin out of the link with a spanner that I

had with me. In order to flood the boat completely I opened the

scuttle in the engine-room bulkhead. Chlorine gas came in as well

as water. I tried three times to lift the torpedo hatch, but each

time could only open it half-way, and each time air rushed out

through it and the hatch fell down again. I clipped the hatch

again, having to dive down to fetch the clip-bolts, and as the

pressure increased again, I knocked off the clips. The hatch flew

open, but not enough to let me out. I tried to lift it again with

my shoulder, but it descended on my hand. I managed to raise the

hatch sufficiently to clear my hand and let it down again. Then I

flooded the boat rapidly through the deadlight till the water came

to the level of the coaming. I was then able to raise the hatch and

come to the surface...."

To put the case from the point of view of the destroyer lying above the

scene of the collision, bubbles and gouts of oil and gas came up for an

hour and a half after the boat had sunk. Then a man appeared swimming.

He wore an air-belt, he had a smashed hand and was very done, but was

full of information for the salvage party with reference to the state

of the boat he had just left, such as which valves, doors, etc., were

open and which were closed.

During the war the High Sea Fleet was seldom seen by any ships,

submersible or otherwise, but "E 23" (Lieut.-Commander Turner) had a

very good view of them on 19th August 1916.

At three o'clock in the morning, in clear weather, cloudy with no moon,

she saw ships steering west by Borkum Riff. She got her tubes ready and

stood in to attack on the surface. As she closed, trimmed half-down,

and with every one keyed up for the shot, she saw the German

battle-cruisers go by, their destroyer screen passing her at

dangerously close range. As the destroyer wash dashed against the

conning-tower and the resultant gleam of phosphorus indicated her

presence to the enemy, she fired a beam tube at the _Seydlitz_, the

leading ship. As she did so the _Seydlitz_ opened on her with her

secondary battery at 800 yards' range. "E 23" dived and ran down to the

bottom in 140 feet to reload. The _Seydlitz_ must have dodged as the

boat fired, and the torpedo missed. At 3.30 A.M. "E 23" rose and saw

smoke to the south-east. She attacked, diving at full speed, and made

out eight battleships in single line ahead with destroyers on either

bow of each ship and Zeppelins overhead. This was the _König_ and

_Kaiser_ class squadron following the battle-cruisers. As they were

obviously going to pass her at long range, "E 23" gave them one chance

torpedo at 4000 to 5000 yards' range without success, and turned her

attention to eight more battleships astern of them--viz., four

_Heligoland_ class, four _Nassau_ class, with one Zeppelin, and a

destroyer screen. She fired two torpedoes at the rear ship (the

_Westfalen_), hitting her with one, and making a hole 45 feet by 14

feet along her side. The destroyers turned to ram, but "E 23" was at 90

feet by the time they arrived overhead. As their propellers passed she

came to periscope depth again and saw the _Westfalen_ listing to

starboard with her speed reduced. The damaged ship made an effort to

follow her consorts, while the submarine dived westward after her; but

her consorts were not waiting for lame ducks, and they had passed on at

18 knots. The big ship turned, and with five destroyers guarding her,

came back towards harbour. "E 23" fired again, and this time as she

hurried down to 90 feet after the shot, heard depth-charges exploding

after her. Whether she hit with the last shot or not is doubtful. In

the midst of the depth-charges it is impossible to differentiate and

locate a torpedo explosion. But the _Westfalen_ was got home and into

dock. As soon as the chase had ceased, "E 23" rose and signalled the

news of the High Sea Fleet's venture to the Grand Fleet, but on the

latter's approach the enemy had turned back from the mouth of the Bight

and passed home by the Northern Channel. During the attack on the Fleet

"E 23" had a perfect view in clear weather of all the ships, and was

able to note all funnel bands and distinctive markings on them, and to

recognise each unit of the great Armada as it crossed the periscope

field.

The big "K" class submarines were used for scouting patrols in 1917 and

1918. This was not because we were short of boats, but because it was

known that if boats don't get in sea-time they tend to become

inefficient--also, perhaps it was known that we would have plenty of

warning from the Intelligence Department if the High Sea Fleet moved,

and so could call the "K's" home to refill with oil in readiness if a

fleet action was likely. The "K" patrols were on lines between the

Bight and our coast which enemy raiders or mine-layers would be likely

to cross if they came out. Except for practice dives at dawn and

evening, the boats stayed on the surface all the time, zigzagging up

and down their patrol lines at 17 knots. Apart from occasional U-boats

or our own ships nothing was seen, and the work done was like most of

the patrol work of the war--very dull, but useful and necessary. The

boats, however, were able to test their own behaviour in bad weather on

several occasions, with the result that weak points could be eliminated

or strengthened, and the design modified and made more seaworthy. A K

boat in a gale is a very handsome ship, her smooth run and fine lines

slide the seas off very prettily, and if her speed is eased to suit the

length of the sea she rides like a cruiser. It is true that she is not

comfortable in bad weather: in the boiler-room the stokers have to wear

oilskins because of the water pouring down from the vents overhead, and

big seas sometimes come down the funnels, causing "flashing-back" and

scalding; the water tumbles down the conning-tower hatch, splashing off

the control-room deck and causing "earths" on adjacent switchboards,

with the result that men going up and down the conning-tower ladder are

greeted with shocks as soon as they grasp the rungs.

They have a quick destroyer-like roll, and, unless going slow, they

have a trick of neglecting to lift occasionally when meeting a head

sea; but they are really safe sea-boats, and if trim and speed are

correctly adjusted, far more comfortable in bad weather than destroyers

are. Their great advantage is in their lines, for a smooth-run hull

with no obstructions deflects, instead of holding, the water. All

submarines are pretty wet in a head sea, for they are heavy vessels

with little buoyancy, and do not lift in time to the waves, so that a

passage to windward in an E boat, for instance, is for the men on the

bridge one long cold bath, especially in the short breaking seas of the

Dogger, when a boat goes butting into everything as it comes without

troubling to rise to it. I have not figures to refer to, but can at any

rate remember one captain, one first lieutenant, and two seamen being

lost overboard at different times from boats on passage in North Sea

gales during the war. The German cargo submarine _Deutschland_ was

considerably endangered on her voyage to America by the big Atlantic

seas tumbling down her conning-tower: it is considered in Germany that

the loss of the _Bremen_ on her first voyage was due to something

of the sort--that the boat put her nose into a head sea, and filled

before her hatch could be shut down, or she could lift again in the

next hollow. In the North Atlantic there may be 500 yards of trough

between the wave-crests in a gale, and a heavy submarine running down

the slope would be liable to bury herself in the next great hill of

water as it met her.

Many incidents must have occurred during the war of which we have now

no record. The boats which were lost in the Bight "from causes unknown"

may have been on their patrol billets for some time before meeting

their end, and what they did and what they saw will never be known. On

at least one occasion the veil has been lifted: "L 10" (Lieut.-Commander

Whitehouse) was known to have been sunk by German destroyers in October

last; it was after the Armistice that we heard that she had first sunk

a German destroyer, "S 33," and had then herself been destroyed by the

remainder of the flotilla. When we get a German account of the war at

sea we may find in it here and there a belated piece of news of a

missing E boat. It is, however, believed that the enemy destroyed most

of his records and despatches during the Revolution, in order to

prevent what would have been, from his point of view, premature

publication.

In August 1916, submarine "E 16" (Lieut.-Commander Duff-Dunbar) was

lost in the Bight. She was proceeding to a billet in the enemy northern

swept channel, and "E 38" was following her at about seven miles

distance. Seeing smoke on the horizon ahead, "E 38" dived, but could

not get within range of the enemy ships (which are known to have been

cruisers). She saw, however, splashes rise from the water near the

ships as if they were firing at something, and this is confirmed by

enemy reports that on that day they fired at a periscope attacking

them. Firing at a periscope does not at all imply that the fire has

damaged the boat, but from a vague statement by a German officer of the

boat being "blown up" by the gunfire, one can surmise that "E 16"

struck a mine while attacking. Her captain was an officer who stood

very high in his contemporaries' estimation, in addition to being

highly thought of by his seniors, and the approval of equals is harder

to earn than that of one's seniors. He had, in December 1915, torpedoed

and sunk an enemy net-layer off the Western Ems. E boats having been

seen by the enemy off this river, they sent out a 3000-ton auxiliary to

lay anti-submarine nets on the billet. The ship was escorted by four

trawlers, a torpedo-boat, a small sloop, and several tugs and other

small craft, but apart from the fact that there is Scriptural

instruction against laying snares in sight of the bird, the enemy

should have realised that an escort screen is no protection against a

determined attack. "E 16" approached the screen, the units of which

were zigzagging round the ship; she had to cut things fine, as the

units were numerous, and the intervals between them small. Her

periscope crossed the stern of an armed trawler at a range of fifty

yards, and looking in the eyepiece Duff-Dunbar saw a sailor at the

trawler's stern point at him, stabbing his finger at the six inches of

thin tube that passed, and opening his mouth widely in what was guessed

to be a volume of Teutonic sound. Two torpedoes were fired, while the

escort charged and shouted and blew syrens, but the target had a

section of net over the stern on its way out, and she was practically

stopped and helpless; she sank in twelve minutes amidst a scene of

great excitement. Three torpedo-boats and four trawlers hunted and

swept for "E 16" for four hours, but she watched the proceedings from

some distance off through her periscope, and in view of the high speed

and constant alterations of course used by the torpedo-boats, refrained

from joining in with further torpedo practice.

Submarine "E 38," just mentioned, met the High Sea Fleet on the 19th

October 1916.

"Friday 13th: Left Harwich in execution of previous orders.

"14th: Started diving patrol.

"15th: Violent south-westerly gale, and a very heavy sea.

"16th: Strong W.N.W. gale. High confused sea.

"17th: Light N.W. wind. Moderate swell.

"18th: Fine weather.

"19th: 6.22 A.M. sighted funnels and masts of heavy ships to the

E.N.E...."

I have put that extract in to show, firstly, how dull a patrol normally

is, and, secondly, how the boats have to wait on their billets at all

times and in all weather, while the enemy comes to sea at his

convenience when it is nice and calm. "E 38" dived at full speed to

attack, but could not get within range of the leading squadron, which

was composed of battle-cruisers and destroyers, and which was

zigzagging at high speed. Then came two light cruisers, at one of which

Lieut.-Commander Jessop fired but missed at 600 yards. On raising his

periscope again he "observed destroyers zigzagging at high speed in all

directions." Then came the battle Fleet, which passed out of range, and

then a light cruiser--the _München_--with the usual screen of

destroyers zigzagging each side of her. Allowing her a speed of 22

knots, "E 38" torpedoed her abreast the foremost funnel, filling the

whole of the forward boiler-room with water and damaging her severely.

The weather being calm and the bulkheads sound, the ship was safely got

into harbour by the Germans.

Two boats were lost on the Dutch coast in 1916 and the crews interned.

The first was "E 17," on the 6th January. She was carried in by an

exceptional set of water into the Texel when steering for Terschelling.

She pounded and hammered on the banks in a breaking sea till she was

strained, leaking and damaged; then she got off and started back on the

surface to Harwich. An unfortunate incident then betrayed her. She met

a Dutch cruiser, which approached in such a way that her colours were

not visible, and (being at practice gun stations) with her guns

swinging in "E 17's" direction. Lieut.-Commander Moncrieffe very

naturally took her for an enemy and dived. As soon as the boat was

under, the pounding she had received on the shoal showed its full

effect. She began to fill, and the water reaching her battery and

chlorine fumes being emitted, she had to be hastily brought to the

surface. Still under the impression that the cruiser was German,

Lieut.-Commander Moncrieffe sank his boat. It was the actual fact that

the boat was forced to dive that made her past salving: if she had been

able to continue her voyage to England on the surface she would

probably--given good weather and hard pumping--have arrived home.

The second boat, "H 6," ran ashore in misty weather on Schiermonnikoog--well

in the Bight. She went hard on to the shoals and lay with a big list

two and a half miles from the lighthouse. She sent a wireless signal

to Captain Waistell, commanding the Flotilla, who was at sea

superintending the operations of his boats in the T.B.D. _Firedrake_.

Captain Waistell hurried to the spot, but realised that in such a

position (close to enemy harbours) it would be impossible to carry out

salvage operations. He decided, however, to send a motor-boat in with

orders to "H 6" to send off the confidential books and the more highly

trained ratings of the crew--her captain with the remaining hands

staying to see to her salvage and internment. This was done, though the

operation took over two hours--an anxious time for all concerned. The

boat was salved by the Dutch, and subsequently disposed of by us to

their Government.

The enemy, of course, lost several boats by grounding and subsequent

surrender on our coasts. The Goodwins, the Shipwash, and the French

shoals were the end of some boats, and others were certainly damaged

and weakened by contact with outlying parts of these islands. The case

of "U-C 5" will be remembered, as she was salved and taken up the

Thames to be shown to the public. She was herded on to the Shipwash

shoal off Harwich by destroyers, and she then surrendered to H.M.S.

_Firedrake_ after touching off demolition charges against her

mining-room bulkhead. The mines did not go off, and the boat remained

more or less undamaged by the explosions. Lieutenant Patterson,

torpedo-lieutenant of the VIIIth Submarine Flotilla, then dived into

her as she lay half-submerged and removed the detonator plugs of her

mines. For this act he was later decorated. U-C boats were always

laying mines off Harwich, with occasional success; they certainly

managed to destroy in this way two of our boats as they left harbour.

Our mine-laying submarines used to return the compliment at Zeebrugge.

Perhaps the most exciting mine laid by us was the one which was

accidentally let go in the middle of the submarine exercising area off

Harwich harbour. The boat that had slipped it reported the fact

broadcast, and everybody out near the area, knowing that the unpleasant

piece of cargo had functioned correctly, and, with no discrimination

between friend or foe, was waiting at its correct depth below the

surface for something to hit it, cleared off hurriedly. The sweepers

were sent for and the obstruction removed, after which the exercises

proceeded as before. The Germans had some similar incidents which

turned out more unpleasantly--at least, from their point of view. On

one occasion a half-flotilla of boats were lying alongside their parent

ship in Wilhelmshaven. A sailor accidentally let a mine go from the

outside boat; the mine was due to become "alive" after a quarter of an

hour, and was, owing to the shoal water, already rubbing the keels of

the boats. An instant report by the sailor of what he had done, and a

general movement of the boats away, would have saved the situation; but

the sailor did not rise to the occasion. His home was in far-distant

Hanover, and he started for it and demobilisation as fast as he could

run. Punctually to time the mine exploded violently, and the

half-flotilla was suddenly reduced in numbers.

The enemy also suffered from a very touchy pistol which they introduced

for the war-heads of their torpedoes. It was a very good pistol for

service, as it went off unfailingly on contact with our ships, but it

had the disadvantage of doing the same thing aboard German submarines

if they pitched heavily in a seaway, which made it rather unpopular and

led to its modification. This type of torpedo pistol is thought by the

Germans to have caused the loss of the light cruiser _Karlsruhe_,

which unaccountably blew up off the coast of South America in 1915. A

U-boat was certainly lost in Kiel from this cause, a torpedo having

slid forward in the tube until it touched the outer door, when it at

once exploded. That sort of case explains why, in night encounters at

short range between British and German submarines, our enemies never

tried to use the ram; with the same kind of hair-trigger explosives in

our tubes we would have been equally cautious.

I want to tell some stories about submarine sailors here, but there are

such hundreds of incidents to record that it is impossible to tell

many. In despatches of submarine captains describing successes against

the enemy, one sees almost every time: "The whole crew having carried

out their duties calmly and admirably, it is impossible for me to

recommend any particular men for decoration...." But I remember an

incident near the Hiorns Reef Light Vessel, when a boat approached a

suspicious trawler and dived past her to investigate--finding that the

suspected gun in the bows was in reality a spar on the capstan, the

boat "dipped" to seventy feet to turn away; but owing to the trawler

altering course as she did so, dived right into the trawl net and hung

up in it. It seeming extremely probable that the net was a real

submarine-catching device, and that the trawler was hostile, it was

decided to wait a while before rising, in order that ammunition, etc.,

might be prepared at the conning-tower foot, and general frightfulness

arranged for the expected fight on the surface. Meanwhile, with her

motors stopped, the boat was towed along in the net, taking

extraordinary angles every way, and generally acting like a trapped

salmon. When ready, the tanks were blown, and the boat rose with a

rush, breaking surface in a festoon of net and wires close under the

trawler's stern. The gun's crew jumped to their stations, riflemen lay

down on the bridge deck, and a petty officer with an axe started to

chop away the wires that were holding the boat. It was desirable, owing

to the presence of a distant Zeppelin, to get clear and dive again as

soon as possible, whether an altercation was necessary with the trawler

or not, and so the petty officer was instructed to get a move on. As a

matter of fact, the trawler was Dutch, and hoisted her colours to prove

it, so that no shooting was necessary; but the chief feature of the

incident was that from his arrival on deck with the axe, to the "plop"

of the last wire being cut through five minutes later (when he

straightened up, and luridly asked when the shooting was going to

begin), the petty officer never looked round or faced to see what kind

of enemy he had to engage. He chopped with his back turned, showing a

fine lack of curiosity and a strict attention to business. The

submarine sailor is really an imperturbable person. A boat was engaged

in attacking a U-boat which had come to the surface half a mile away to

charge her batteries, unaware of the presence of the E boat diving past

on patrol. The sighting of the enemy, and the call to "action

stations," came as the sailor servant was laying the officers'

breakfast; the attack, owing to the circles and evolutions of the

target, took an hour. As the E boat turned in on her firing course, her

captain lowered the periscope, and steadying his voice to hide his

excitement, passed the word: "We'll fire in three minutes--stand by bow

tubes"; and at once a voice spoke by his side--a voice confident in the

fact that a definite time-interval had at last been mentioned--"Your

coffee, sir. Will you have it now? It's getting cold." It is regretted

that the captain's placidity was so far short of his subordinate's that

he abruptly refused the offer. The same sailor on one occasion, when

acting as officers' cook, quite surpassed himself at dinner by

producing a very excellent but mysterious savoury when the boat was a

week out on patrol. His tact was not equal to his cooking, however, for

on being questioned as to the savoury's ingredients, he explained that

"four o' the eggs and the last bit o' cheese went west yesterday, and I

didn't like to waste 'em." But then curry-powder will camouflage

anything if you use enough.

The submarine sailor is a picked man and a high standard is expected of

him. The officers do their best to show him what the standard should

be, but he is able to produce examples on his own for the instruction

of his messmates. When in July 1918 "C 25" was attacked by five German

seaplanes off Harwich, and the captain and all hands on deck were shot

down by machine-gun fire, the first lieutenant started up the

conning-tower to investigate, and as he came up, Leading-Seaman Barge,

the only one alive of four on the bridge, called down to him, "Dive;

don't worry about me, I'm done for."

The boat did not dive; she got back to harbour on the surface, but

Leading-Seaman Barge was dead five minutes after his last speech--a

speech which, thinking it over, appears to be not a bad epitaph.

In 1915 a man well known to the Submarine Service--a Submarine Flotilla

Chaplain--went out in "E 4," under Commander Leir, to see for himself

how his messmates spent their time on patrol. It is usual in patrol

submarines to have as few hands on deck as possible--in fact, nobody is

allowed on deck beyond the officer on watch, a look-out, and perhaps

one other. On this occasion "E 4," having the chaplain on board,

decided to call her crew to prayers on deck while they were on passage

to their area, but the crowded state of the bridge a few minutes later

was rather a handicap to quick diving when a Zeppelin interrupted the

service. The padre, however, had no intention of being a mere

passenger, and during the trip he, after a little training, was able to

stand his trick on a hydroplane wheel when diving. A survivor from an

armed trawler torpedoed by "E 4" was also a grateful guest, and the

curious sight might occasionally have been seen of a German prisoner

and a naval chaplain sitting on adjacent stools and working the

diving-wheels in harmony. What the padre really thought of the trip is

not known, but there was no doubt about his having the attention and

respect of his somewhat reckless flock on his return to harbour. "E 4"

was the sort of boat to take a passage in if one wished to see life in

the Bight thoroughly. On one occasion she rose to the surface and

chased a U-boat up to Heligoland, endeavouring to instil into her

opponent a spirit of pugnacity by continual signals on the arc-lamp,

such as, "How many women and children have you killed to-day?" and in a

sort of meet-you-half-way tone, "Gott strafe England!" The U-boat,

however, was not playing, and used her superior speed to get away

(which was perhaps as well, because, if she'd only known it, "E 4" at

the time, had no gun).

This was early in the war, when things had not settled down and the

minefields in the Bight were few. More than one boat then had dived

right up to the entrance of Schillig Roads and had looked longingly at

the guardship lying just out of range across the shoals. E boats

treated destroyers with contempt, and used to remain on the surface in

their presence to the last possible moment. There are many rumours of

strange incidents of 1914 and 1915 which did not reach despatches, such

as wireless signals to Heligoland suggesting that the enemy ships

should come out and give our boats a chance, or of boats firing a

succession of different coloured lights off the mouth of the Ems in the

hope of enticing something out to see what it was all about. If the

wireless story is not true it is at any rate a sound idea. We did not

produce any propaganda department till much later, or they might have

developed it, for such signals would have been very suggestive when

intercepted by neutral wireless stations. The state of defence of the

Bight changed from 1914, when our boats played about in it as they

pleased, and even cruisers could come in and actually sight Heligoland,

to the 1915 stage, when boats had to work inside, diving all day in the

midst of enemy patrol vessels and getting their batteries charged in

the intervals between alarms at night. Then the minefields began to

thicken, and the submarine patrol line was brought gradually back to

the longitude of Borkum. Then our minefields began to cluster around

those the enemy had laid, and the patrols eventually took up a curved

line from Terschelling across the mouth of the Bight to Hiorn's Reef

and the Vyl Light, and remained there, except for occasional

examination trips up to the enemy harbours and for the frequent visits

of our mine-laying submarines (which used to drop their cargoes

wherever they were most likely to have full effect). This moving back

of the patrol line was not due to the increase of the Bight minefields

alone: the realisation of the use of the submarine as a scout and the

recognition of the fact that for our fleet the wireless in the

submarines was of more strategic use than were the torpedoes, altered

the policy by which the boats were stationed. A tactical victory may be

useful, but it is a strategical victory that wins a war, and this fact

was at the base of our policy at sea. The enemy seems never to have

understood what sea-strategy meant, although his tactics were sound

enough. It is a curious thing to note how the _rôle_ of the

submarine changed during the war. The boats of both sides started by

being ordinary anti-warship craft, taking a chance when they could.

Gradually our boats became outer-line scouts (with exceptions), and the

U-boats (with exceptions) became exclusively commerce-destroyers. At

present anti-submarine work has advanced so far that it would be a rash

nation which would endeavour to obtain a victory over another by a

submarine force alone. The big cruiser-submarine is a danger, but it

can be met and defeated by a better (though not necessarily bigger)

submarine, while the anti-submarine work by surface ships will always

be the prerogative of the nation with the big fleet in support. The

submarine, as we know it now, can never win a war without a battle

fleet behind it: the two types of weapon work together, and the one

cannot supplant the other. A curious remark has been made by a German

officer to an English one. "If we had beaten your Fleet, you could have

still kept up the blockade with your submarines, because England

geographically blockades Germany, and so we would have been no better

off." Geographically he was right--strategically he was, in the

author's opinion, very much wrong.

The "crash dives," so frequently performed by boats when in danger,

were sometimes exciting. If the trim was too heavy at the time, the

boat might take an angle and go right on down to the bottom: this has

been done sufficiently violently at times to crack some of the battery

cells, and also to start the torpedoes running in the tubes with

resultant damage to the torpedoes and a discharge of exhaust gas into

the boat. It is always advisable for the officer on deck to get down as

soon as possible after he has rung the diving alarm-horn--otherwise he

may get left behind, as the crew below don't wait for him. The lower

door of the conning-tower is dropped by an officer below if water comes

down, isolating the officer in the conning-tower, who is probably

struggling to get the upper lid closed. One boat had a little

difficulty once through a corner of the bridge-screen catching under

the hinges of the upper lid; the boat was going under--the captain was

furiously trying to jam the lid down--and the water was pouring into

the boat. The captain called down to close the lower door and that he

would "swim for it," but before this was done the obstruction cleared,

the hatch closed, and he fell down into the boat. The depth being then

thirty feet, it can be imagined that a good deal of water had come in

and things had been exciting, to say the least of it; it was noticed,

however, that the seamen's cook had never throughout the incident

looked up once from his careful watch on the cooking of the sailors'

sausages. Another incident occurred near Heligoland, when one officer

of an E boat came on deck to relieve another during the nightly three

hours' charge. As he came up he saw a faint light astern and called

attention to it. The officer already on deck (hereinafter known as

Number One) had just passed the word down to let some more water into

the tanks "till I tell you to stop," in order to lower the boat a

little and leave only her conning-tower visible. His attention being

distracted to the light astern (which was on the south end of

Heligoland), he began to study it with his glasses, and had dropped the

memory of flooding tanks from his mind--until a shout from officer

Number Two made him turn. The water was up to the tip of the

conning-tower lid. The look-out and Number Two had leaped below, and

the third officer, inside the boat, had his hand on the lever of the

lower door and his eyes on a depth gauge, which already showed ten

feet. Number One got down inside in remarkably quick time (at the cost

of some abrasions) and pulled the upper lid down after him as the North

Sea came over the top. Packed in the conning-tower with him were the

look-out and Number Two--both of them helpless with laughter. The third

officer then blew tanks, and as the boat reached the surface again,

opened the lower door and inquired if there was anybody to go back for?

Fortunately there was not.

A patrol boat's crew being trained to dive quickly and to ask questions

afterwards, a boat on passage with low buoyancy is rather a touchy

platform to stand on. The diving alarm button is fitted just inside the

conning-tower lid, and one stoops down to ring it. One officer thought

that a "wandering" lead extension with a bell-push button on it would

be a convenient fitting, as he could then stand on watch on the bridge

and ring the alarm with his hand in his lammy-coat pocket. It worked

all right till a sea came over his head and put two inches of salt

water in the pocket; the bell push was not water-tight, and, well, he

only just got in and joined his crew before they were right under. An E

boat was once running past the Maas Lightship off the Dutch coast. She

was trimmed a bit more than half down, and was travelling at fourteen

knots, with a little "rise" helm on the hydroplanes. The captain and

look-out were on the bridge--it was flat calm and fairly clear weather.

Down below an enthusiastic stoker chose the moment as suitable for

oiling-over the shafting of the after hydroplanes; he started by

releasing the locking gear, and running the planes "hard-up." The boat

instantly tried to loop the loop. Her bow rose till she was at an

extraordinary angle--the engines slowed up and hammered violently--the

look-out vanished below, the captain jumped down the ladder, rang the

telegraphs to "slow," and (having realised what had happened), remained

with his head and shoulders out, looking at the foaming wave of water

that had risen to half-way along the bridge. He knew that as soon as

the boat slowed she would regain her normal angle, and he intended then

to show that he, at any rate, was abreast of the situation, and to

descend with dignity when the headway was lost, and to sarcastically

liken his crew to a collection of Armenian schoolgirls. The crew,

however, unwittingly defeated him. The motto of a patrol boat is, "When

in doubt--dive," and they were well-trained men. They did not know

what had happened beyond that the boat had done something funny and

that there was a lot of violent language going on inside her. The

captain watched the stern wave--instead of receding as the angle

lessened--break right over his head, and he had to shut down quickly

and come below, being met by the complacent report of "Thirty feet,

sir, going down." The passing Dutch trawlers had a good view of the

incident, and must have thought the boat had gone mad.

There were always so many fishing trawlers about on the Dutch coast

that it was impossible for our boats to avoid being seen and noted when

on passage on the surface. If possible, one gave them a wide berth in

case of accidents, but none of them were ever found to be Germans in

disguise. The British patrol boats were more unpleasant: an R boat

nearly met her end from one off the Irish coast once at night. The

submarine was an anti-submarine patrol, and was charging on the

surface, when the trawler approached and endeavoured to ram. The

attempt was dodged by a matter of feet, and apparently the trawler's

men were too excited to recognise the volley of verbal vitriol (that

was addressed to them as they shot past) as being English, for as the R

boat dropped across their stern they opened rapid fire on her with the

after gun. The submarine men could look into the gun-muzzle at a few

yards' range, but in spite of their being nearly deafened by a very

rapid and continuous fire, there was no damage done except for a graze

on the after superstructure. The submarine then used her superior speed

and vanished.

Our mine-laying submarines were few in number, for the reason that we

had not the need for such boats that the enemy had. We could have built

more if we had wished to, but owing to the short length of enemy

coast-line we found that a few boats running regularly could cover the

work. The mines were laid down anywhere in the Bight where results

might be expected from them, and off Zeebrugge and places on the

Belgian coast where enemy ships passed. There was far more secrecy over

the work of mine-laying boats than that of the patrol boats, for the

enemy knew quite well that we had a patrol ring round the Bight, and he

probably knew roughly the number and positions of the boats we had out

at any time. But the mine-layers used to get short notice of their

leaving: they hoisted their mines aboard, got their orders, and

vanished to the northeastward before anyone else in the depôt had had

time to wonder where they were going. A patrol boat used to have an

area about ten miles by ten to work in; a mine-layer had to put the

cargo absolutely on the spot ordered,--an error in navigation might

mean not only that the enemy would not hit the mines, but that an E

boat might run into them later under the impression that she was

skirting the field. It was customary, therefore, for the run from

Harwich to be made to some light-vessel or a fixed point on the Dutch

coast before entering the Bight, and for the greatest care to be taken

by star observations, etc., on the run-in to check the reckoning. After

the Armistice the evidence of the enemy showed that the navigation and

placing of mines had been extraordinarily accurate. Two of the boats

were lost on this duty, both in the Bight, and both probably through

striking mines--"E 24" and "E 34."

In July 1917 "E 41" (Lieut.-Commander Holbrook, V.C.) having just laid

her mines in a swept channel in the Bight, sighted a German merchant

ship approaching, guarded by an escort of patrol craft. "E 41"

torpedoed the ship, and was promptly chased by the escort. She led the

chase towards the spot where she had just put her mines down, and went

deep herself as she crossed the dangerous area. The patrol craft,

however, broke off the pursuit before they reached the spot, and turned

home. A little more ardour on their part and "E 41" could have watched

her own mines at work.

One mine-layer had the good fortune to pick up the laden boats of a

neutral steamer which had been sunk by the enemy. She towed them into

safety (her captain nobly refusing a present of a box of cigars offered

him by the survivors). On his return to Harwich the officers of his

flotilla rose to the occasion and presented him with a large pair of

binoculars, complete in a lacquered case. The binoculars (suitably

inscribed) were formed of two beer bottles joined together, and the

case was neatly made of biscuit-box tin. Suitable speeches being made

and the glasses handed over, the recipient was requested to sign a

"receipt note" for them. Wondering at such meticulous red-tape, he

complied, and the carbon paper being removed and the underlying "chit"

sent to the wardroom steward, he discovered that his signature was the

authority for drinks all round to the deputation, which, after all, was

the main object for which the ceremony had been inaugurated.