When the Armistice came the enemy was told to notify us of the position
and details of his swept channels; this he did, and it was found that
there was not much in the report that was news to us. When the U-boats
left Germany on their last voyage to our coast in November 1918, they
came by the swept channel that runs west from Heligoland to the N.
Dogger Bank Lightship; the same channel was used for the voyage of the
Armistice Commission in H.M.S. _Hercules_ towards Wilhelmshaven in
December. It was then found that our charts were, if anything, slightly
more up to date than were those of the German pilots. A despatch
describing a mine-laying submarine's trip will explain why we were so
fully abreast of navigational matters inside the Bight.
"'E 45'
(Lieut.-Commander Gaimes).
"April 22nd: Proceeded _viâ_ X. 1 channel, Terschelling and
South Dogger Bank Lightships.
"April 23rd: Observed noon position 54° 30´ N., 3° 53´ E. 7 P.M.:
Picked up first of enemy swept channel buoys and proceeded up
channel."
At each buoy she passed, "E 45" fixed position and plotted her run on
the chart. At 10 P.M. she dived to pass under one of our mine-groups,
and at 11.30 P.M. she rose and proceeded on the surface. At 1 A.M. she
went to the bottom in 99 feet till 8.15 P.M., noting in her log that
the greatest rise and fall of tide shown on her depth-gauge was 4-1/2
feet.
"8.44 P.M.: Observed vessel showing white light. Dived. Continued
diving through minefield.
"11 P.M.: Surface. Proceeded to mine-laying position."
She then laid her mines and came away by the same route. The laying
position was between Heligoland and Ruter Gat, within sight of the
German examination steamer and close to the entrance in the boom
defence between Heligoland and the shore. If "E 45" had been caught in
the act she would have found it awkward, as there was barely enough
water there for her to dive, though it was in the main entrance to the
enemy local defences.
I have mentioned the case of "E 13," and described her shelling by the
enemy when she lay aground on the Island of Saltholm. Of the survivors,
two were at once sent to hospital, and the remainder were berthed
aboard the Danish ship _Peder Skram_, all being treated with great
kindness. The _Peder Skram_ took them to Copenhagen and transferred
them to the naval barracks. Commander Layton at once began to think of
escape, and, after three weeks in Copenhagen, withdrew his parole--due
notice being given on his part and precautions taken on the part of the
Danes. He knew that his only chance of escape was to so arrange matters
that his absence should be undiscovered till he had time to cross the
frontier to Sweden; this was done by the time-honoured method of
leaving a dummy figure in his bed. He had to pass six sentries on his
way out in addition to the one outside his door, but he had the
assistance of his officers in this difficulty. Lieutenant Eddis
distracted the door-sentry's attention while his captain crossed to
Lieutenant Garriock's room, and then turned his attention to the two
guard officers downstairs. Commander Layton changed in Lieutenant
Garriock's room into a suit of "acquired" Danish sailor's clothes, and
left by the window down a "hammock lashing." He walked through the
kitchen and pantry of the officers' block, went through the pantry
window (having already arranged for "distractions" for the outside
sentries), and walked off towards the jetty. He passed the old mast
crane (that is shown in pictures of the battle of Copenhagen, and which
still looks out over waters that have seen wars innumerable), and
hurried on to where the dockyard wall joins the sea. There he took to
the water and swam some way along the shore till he landed under the
lock bridge at the basin entrance. He was now in the town area; he took
off his clothes, wrung them out and replaced them (there was 18° of
frost), then walked to the Kristiansund-Copenhagen ferry pier. He
boarded the ferry and made the passage amidst a crowd of Danish sailors
and police, went to a rendezvous with a friend on arrival, changed his
clothes, and became a Norwegian merchant-ship mate of Finnish birth and
language (Finnish interpreters are generally scarce). He then caught
the first train out to Christiania, called at the Legation for a
passport, and went straight on to Bergen, changing his personality on
the way to that of "George Perkins, U.S.A.--a Marine Overseer." At
Bergen he boarded the Norwegian mail-boat for Newcastle, still posing
as an American. His histrionic abilities, however, were rather
discredited on the journey, as several fellow-passengers doubted that
he really came from the States, and one tactlessly stated that he would
have put him down as a British naval officer, "if he hadn't been told
he was an American." At Newcastle he had considerable difficulty in
establishing his identity--the sleuth instinct of a Boy Scout causing
him some trouble--but he eventually cleared his character, and reached
London on Tuesday, having broken out of prison at 7.30 P.M. the
previous Friday. The hue-and-cry started too late to catch him, and,
partly perhaps owing to Danish sympathy with this country, and also
certainly owing to his personality having become popular with the
Copenhagen people during his parole period, the chase was guided by the
Danish newspapers into several wrong directions.
On the 15th April 1915, Submarine "E 15" (Lieut.-Commander T. S.
Brodie) made the first attempt to enter the Sea of Marmora. She
entered the Dardanelles at 2 A.M., dived at 4, and at 6.45 A.M. she
struck the shore under the Turkish guns. The captain ordered all tanks
to be blown, and under a terrific fire he tried to get the boat off by
going full astern (she had bounced up the beach till her conning-tower
and hull were exposed), and the survivors reported that he had just
inquired if the hull was badly hit or not when a large shell passed
through the conning-tower, killing him instantly. Orders were given to
abandon the ship, and Lieutenants Price and Fitzgerald proceeded,
while shell after shell struck the boat, to destroy the charts and
papers. This boat was later further demolished by a gallant British
picket-boat attack. A fortnight later "A E 2" was sent up, and, as has
been told, was lost in the Marmora. The third and fourth boats, "E 11"
and "E 14" got through safely. It is interesting to read in a German
publication that the German Admiral on the spot stated later, "The
English submarines in the Marmora performed magnificently.... The
English submarine design is excellent." A German officer would not
agree with the latter part of the remark, as every nation has a
different type of boat, but certainly in the Marmora our submarine
officers preferred the E type of boat to anything else.
One thing that this war has shown us is that the Germans have not got a
monopoly in the manufacture of first-class optical lenses. In 1914 the
German periscope was a lot better than ours; in 1915 we put out
contracts for periscopes to new firms in this country; in 1916 our new
periscopes equalled those of the enemy; in 1918 our latest periscopes
were the best in the world. This advance was accomplished by our firms
in face of two handicaps--one, that our periscopes ordered were some
seven feet longer than the enemy's; the other, that ours were to be
practically vibrationless. The results gained have broken the bubble of
reputation previously raised by the Jena glass factories. In the Diesel
oil-engine the Germans probably lead us--in steam turbines we lead
them. In general submarine design and practice we are a long way ahead,
while in certain minor details they give us points to copy. Among a
mass of clumsy fittings in their boats (fittings which had long ago
been eliminated or simplified with us) one finds small labour-saving
"gadgets" installed which we have either not thought of, or have
neglected to supply. A typically German piece of thoroughness is to be
seen--one specimen on Zeebrugge Mole, the other at Wilhelmshaven. This
is a raised platform carrying a gun on top; the platform works on
eccentric bearings which are able, through the use of a separate motor,
to roll or pitch the gun to a variable amount while the submarine
gunlayer under training endeavours to carry out practice at a target
towed past him out at sea. It is also reported that this arrangement is
sometimes used to cure submarine sailors of excessive sea-sickness:
this is probably true, as an hour's stay on the rocking platform would
cure the most hardened case. As our boats did not use the gun much,
such a contrivance was not needed; but in any case such shore training,
as opposed to practice at sea, is against the usual habit of our Navy.
Which method is right--well, there's something to be said for both
sides.
Early in the war the U-boats were faster than the E's by quite two
knots. Later our patrol boats became two knots faster than the later
U's, while, of course, our Fleet submarines were much faster still. In
gun-power the U-boats were always better, because they wanted guns more
for their work. This implied that our boats were always the faster
under water. In speed of diving, _i.e_. in time of getting under,
there was practically no difference between the two types. In endurance
the types were, ton for ton, the same, though our boats were probably
far more comfortable and roomy to live in. In torpedo armament
(_i.e_. in number of tubes) there was no comparison--our boats
were always the more heavily armed. In wireless installations we were
behindhand in 1914-15, but were ahead in 1918. In general steadiness of
diving and control and in under-water handling we were always ahead. In
structural strength and capacity to resist the pressures of great
depths of water the enemy were probably slightly better. In hydroplane
installations the American boats seem to be ahead of both of us.
Neither the English nor German boats recorded a success due to the use
of hydrophones, and they appear to have been little used by either
Submarine Service. Both, however, used the under-water sound-signalling
gear (of Fessenden type) with success, and it was found to be a useful
adjunct to submarine work. Each Navy was fitting larger torpedoes and
warheads in 1918 in view of the fact that the modern surface war-ship
was found to be difficult to sink with the usual eighteen-inch weapon.
It will be gathered from the above that we had and still have a lead in
design and construction. What is far more important, however, is the
lead we have kept in training and quality of the officers and men. The
Germans improvised a Submarine Service--we had one already before the
war, and we simply expanded it "according to plan," as more boats were
needed.
On the outbreak of war, the Submarine Service, as did the surface
fleet, added to its personnel by the use of Royal Naval Reserve
officers, and "hostilities only" ratings, the latter being usually men
with experience as motor mechanics or workshop engineers. These ratings
were employed either in the depot ship workshops or in the engine-rooms
of sea-going submarines, and they there justified their presence by the
sound and keen work they performed under strange and often dangerous
circumstances. The R.N.R. officers were used as watch-keepers and
navigators in the boats, and their history in the war is shown in their
long list of decorations and casualties. They were not expected to
learn much of the technicalities of submarines--there were other
officers aboard who could look after that side of the business--but in
many cases they taught themselves far more than had been expected, with
the result that they were able to substitute on occasions the regularly
trained officers. Their chief duty, however, lay in watch-keeping and
navigating: nothing could approach the air of calm detachment with
which an R.N.R. would go forward to his bunk to turn in, after he
had--half-way through his night-watch on deck--pressed the button of
the diving alarm at sight of an enemy patrol boat close aboard, closed
the lid, descended with a rush, and reported the cause of the alarm to
the captain. By the time the captain had checked the descent and
levelled the boat at sixty feet, the R.N.R. lieutenant would be snoring
peacefully, the matter being out of his head once he had taken his
decision to give the "crash-dive" order. All through the war we carried
an R.N.R. officer aboard every sea-going submarine as a "third-hand,"
and the Service owes a very great deal to the help of these competent
and loyal auxiliaries.
The following is written of a combination of two or more true war
incidents. It is intended to illustrate what the writer considers to be
the true strategic use of patrol submarines.
After 1916 the Submarine Patrol flotillas that watched the exit of the
Heligoland Bight were given certain orders, which altered altogether
their duties and their _raison d'être_. These were to the effect
that no outward-bound ship of the enemy was to be attacked or fired at
until a signal had first been made by the sighting submarine, to report
such enemy's presence and movement; only homeward-bound ships could be
fired at, and if outward-bound ships were seen, the reporting signal
was to be made at all costs. This alteration detracted somewhat from
the interest of submarine war, but it added largely to the strategic
usefulness of our patrol boats. It is of no use to torpedo an enemy
ship and thereby lose a chance for the Grand Fleet of cutting off the
whole enemy force, and a torpedo fired meant that an hour or more of
depth-charging would follow the shot, and prevent the signal being made
before the news of the enemy's position had grown cold.
The submarine was a J boat, and her station was at the western end of
the North Dogger Bank-Heligoland swept channel. The weather had been
rough and wet for the first four days of her patrol, reducing the
periscope visibility to a few hundred yards' range across grey and
foaming seas. The boat had patrolled at twenty feet depth (which is
shallow for a big boat) in order to see anything at all, and because of
the steep seas she had kept always beam to them, except for the turns
at the end of her ten-mile beat. Each turn had caused her to either
break surface or slip down to eighty feet, owing to the quick
inclinations given her as the waves met her end-on. The weather cleared
suddenly on the fourth night, and next morning she dived at dawn, under
a gentle swell that hourly died down to a calm deep blue ocean. The
visibility was good--how good her captain had hardly realised until
through his high-power periscope he picked up the unmistakable line of
brown blurs to the east that meant an approaching enemy squadron at a
range of at least ten miles. He turned and dived at half-speed towards
them, calling his crew to "action stations" at once. He knew that his
orders forbade him to fire, but there was always the chance of his
having to use his torpedoes in self-defence--self-defence, that is, of
a legitimate kind, not of the type said to be used in certain districts
where only mad elephants are allowed to be killed, but where all the
elephants are said to became indubitably mad "after the first shot." As
the smoke-blurs grew he eased speed to "dead slow"; the enemy was shown
by the rate of change of his bearings to be steering a course which
would take him past the J boat at easy range. The periscope slid along
very slowly, only about a foot of its length showing above water; the
captain knew that he could see Zeppelins if they were about, but an
aeroplane, especially against the sun, is a different proposition, and
he did not want to risk being observed before his wireless had done its
work. Twenty minutes from sighting the smoke he turned to east to pass
parallel to the enemy, and he moved slowly past their line. Looking
closely at them with the high-power instrument, and with his periscope
top now a bold three feet above the surface, he spoke rapidly and
briefly to his third officer, who, notebook in hand, stood at his
elbow--
... "Four light cruisers--_Pillau_, _Königsberg_, and two more--line
ahead two cables--speed twenty--course west. A destroyer screen on each
bow--two a side. Away to starboard of them at five miles are five
battle-cruisers--the usual lot with a big screen--too smoky to count.
Cut that down, make a signal of it and get it coded, quick!"
He trained the periscope to eastward again, stared for a minute at the
horizon, and then lowered the big instrument down into its well. There
was apparently nothing following the two squadrons, and he intended to
rise and snap in his wireless signal as soon as they had left him far
enough astern--say seven miles--to make it fairly safe for him to do
so. After ten minutes he raised his periscope for a look, then lowered
it and studied his watch for ten minutes more. Another searching sweep
of the horizon and--"Stand by for surface--Smack that signal off the
moment the aerial's up, Pilot--all ready there? _Surface_...."
The lid swung open as the top of the hull showed, and the captain
nipped straight up on to the bridge rail and looked astern towards the
haze of brown smoke that marked where the German battle-cruisers were
steaming on. After one glance he twisted round to look forward and
raised his glasses; lowering them, he gave a general look round and
overhead, then beckoned to the messenger (a seaman who stood in the
conning-tower with his head just below the lid of the hatch). "Tell the
first lieutenant to stop blowing and to come up...."
Twenty seconds later his subordinate was beside him, and he spoke over
his shoulder, watching the horizon to the east. "More of 'em coming
out--tell the operator to get a hustle on--I'll have to dip in five
minutes or they'll see us."
The first lieutenant nodded and turned to jump down the ladder.
"Zeppelin to starboard," he said as he vanished; "long way up."
The captain nodded--glanced at the distant airship, and continued his
watch on the approaching ships. He had a mild contempt both for a
Zeppelin's offensive powers and for her capability of seeing submarine
conning-towers at anything but short range. In any case, she was five
minutes' flight away at least, and he hoped to be under water again by
that time. The enemy squadron appeared at long range to be composed of
four more light cruisers with no destroyer screen, and steaming in
either quarter-line or line abreast--a formation perhaps adopted as a
precaution against submarine attack. After three minutes he began to
tap his hand impatiently against the periscope standard; after five, he
stepped down and looked anxiously down the conning-tower. The first
lieutenant was just coming up the ladder.
"Well?"
"He's burnt out a coil, sir, and it'll take a few minutes; signal's not
started yet."