MINED-IN
HOW many people realise that, with a single unimportant exception, there
was no part of the English or Scottish coast which was not mined-in at
least once by German submarines during 1914-1918? Harbour entrances,
often less than two miles from the shore, were repeatedly blocked by
lines of hostile mines, laid by U-C boats through their stern tubes, in
which they seldom carried less than fifteen to twenty of these deadly
weapons, without the vessels rising to the surface either when
approaching the coast, laying the mines or effecting their escape.
Many important waterways, such as the Straits of Dover, the mouth of the
Thames, the approaches to Liverpool, the Firth of Forth, Aberdeen,
Lowestoft and Portsmouth, were repeatedly chosen for this form of
submarine attack. At one base alone no less than 400 mines were
destroyed by the attached anti-submarine flotillas in one year, and
round the coasts of the United Kingdom an average of about 3000 of these
invisible weapons were located and destroyed annually.
What this meant to the 24,000,000 tons of mercantile shipping passing to
and fro through the danger zone _every month_ will be better realised
when it is stated that less than 400 merchant ships were blown up by
mines during the three years of intensive submarine warfare.
The losses among the minesweeping and patrol flotillas, which were
mainly responsible for the crushing defeat of this piratical campaign,
were, however, very heavy. They amounted to over 200 ships and several
thousand men. Few will therefore deny to those who lived and to those
who died a share in the glory of the great victory.
Statistics make but uninteresting reading, and from the following
account of what happened off a big Scottish seaport while the
inhabitants ashore slept in peace and safety a better idea will be
obtained of the arduous nature of the work of minesweeping and patrol in
time of war than could possibly be imparted by pages of figures.
* * * * *
The early dusk of a winter evening was settling over a white land and a
leaden sea. A mist of sliding snow increased the gloom and blotted out
the vessels ahead and astern as the line of patrol boats left the
comparative warmth and security of one of the largest northern harbours
for twelve hours in the bitter frost on night patrol.
The cold was intense and of that penetrating nature which causes men to
shiver even in the thickest of clothing. Although some eighteen degrees
of frost had flattened the sea, a freezing spray still blew in showers
over the narrow deck and, for just a few minutes, the lead-grey sky
gleamed dully red as the sun dipped below the snow-covered land.
The crew of the M.L. moved about the cramped deck stiffly, for they were
clad in duffel suits, oilskins and sea-boots, and little but their eyes
and hands were visible. The officer on the small canvas-screened bridge
was likewise an almost unrecognisable bundle of yellow and white wool
and black leather. As a contrast, however, to the whitening deck and
snow-clad men, the reflection of a warm yellow light came up through the
wardroom hatchway, and more than one longing glance was cast down into
the snug interior.
These men were not all hardened by long and severe sea training; many of
them formed part of the new navy, gaining experience amid the bitter
cold and dangers of the grey North Sea. A call for the signalman came
from the bridge, and a boy, who had been swinging his arms to warm his
numbed fingers, responded smartly. The lieutenant-in-command wiped the
snow from his eyes as he peered round the canvas side-screen and asked
tersely what the next ship ahead was trying to signal.
The boy seized his semaphore flags and went out on to the spray-swept
fore-deck, steadying himself against the fo'c'sle hatch cover. He
flinched at first when the spray stung the exposed parts of his body,
and then, with straining eyes and dripping oilskins, he managed, after
the words had been repeated several times, to read the signal which was
being sent down the line from the leading ship somewhere in the white
haze ahead.
"Proceed independently to allotted stations for night patrol" was the
order then conveyed to the bridge and afterwards passed on by flag to
the next astern. When the last ship had received the signal each unit of
the flotilla swung out of line and disappeared in the sliding snow.
As the darkness increased the cold strengthened and a little bitter wind
began to moan through the scanty rigging. Men stamped their feet and
swung their arms to increase the circulation in numbed limbs, and every
now and then during the next three hours one member of the watch on deck
would disappear for a few minutes down the galley hatchway to drink a
cup of hot cocoa, which, so far, the cook had succeeded in keeping warm
on the ill-natured petrol stove.
At 9 P.M. the first watch was over and half-frozen men climbed stiffly
down the iron ladder into the tiny fo'c'sle, where the heat and fugg of
oil stoves caused their thawing limbs to throb painfully. The starboard
watch, fresh from the heat of the tiny cabin, whose four hours on deck
now commenced, were shivering in the icy wind and showers of spray.
Glancing at the dimly lit chart on the small table cunningly fitted into
the front of the wheel-house, the commander noted the approximate
position of the ship in the 140,000 square miles of sea and snow around,
and then turning to the coxswain, whose "trick" it was at the wheel, he
gave the necessary orders for the course and speed. The duty of this
vessel was to patrol certain approaches to the great harbour on which
the flotilla was based until relieved at daybreak by another unit, and,
as merchant ships had many times been attacked in these waters, a sharp
look-out was necessary. To carry this out effectively in the darkness
and driving snow was a task calling for all the qualities of dogged
endurance inherent in the British sailor.
For over two hours nothing was seen or heard except the moaning of the
wind and the lash of the sea, but shortly after midnight one of the
look-outs reported the sound of engines away to the starboard.
The M.L.'s propellers were stopped and the watch on deck listened
intently. The splash of the sea and the many noises of a rolling ship
drowned any other sound there might have been, and the patrol was then
continued. Less than half-an-hour later, however, the clank! clank!
clank! of engines again became suddenly audible, and the vessel was
turned in the direction of the sound.
The engines were put to full speed ahead, and as each comber struck the
bows the little ship trembled from stem to stern, and clouds of icy
spray swept high over the mast. The big steel hull of some man-o'-war or
merchantman might suddenly loom up out of the darkness so close ahead
that no skill could avoid a collision, and the eyes of all aboard were
gazing alertly into the blackness of the night.
Five minutes' dash through the blinding, stinging spray and the engines
were once more shut off to listen. The curious clanking noise had,
however, ceased, and although hydrophones were used to again locate the
sound, there was no result, only the ceaseless wash of the sea and the
low moaning of the wind. Another mile or so of pounding through the
waves, followed by an interval of listening, brought the same
discouraging result, and the slow, monotonous routine of patrol was
continued.
The stinging frost of the night became the numbing cold of early
morning, and the long hours in the snow and icy spray had left their
mark on all. Limbs were stiff and sore. The edges of wet and half-frozen
sleeves rasped swollen wrists. Faces smarted and eyes ached, but little
was said in the way of complaint, for men grow hard on northern seas or
else succumb to the hardships.
When the first dim light of a winter dawn broke reluctantly over the
grey tumbling sea and whirling snow another night patrol was over, and
the cheering thought came to all that soon the welcome warmth and
shelter of club and recreation room would embrace them for the brief
hours of daylight, while others kept watch upon the seas.
It had been snowing hard for the past twenty-four hours, but as the
light of a new day strengthened it eased somewhat, and away to the
westward the blue outline of the land became visible. The fitful wind of
the night rose to a stiff breeze, but no one paid much attention to the
increasing volume of bitter spray which swept the deck as the grey-green
rollers put on their white caps of foam, for the ship was heading
towards the harbour and their vigil was over until darkness again closed
down.
Few things are more trying to the temper than to be kept waiting for
relief after a bad spell at sea, and but few crimes are more heinous
than to leave the watched area before another patrol takes up the
never-ceasing duties. Therefore, if peace and quietness and an absence
of insulting signals counted for anything, it ill behove any ship in the
day patrol to keep her opposite member of the night guard waiting.
This time the relief was late and the M.L. steamed angrily up and down,
with all eyes strained shorewards. Then the first of the line of armed
trawlers and motor launches crawled out of the harbour in a smother of
black smoke. When barely half-a-mile of sea separated the incoming and
outgoing ships a loud reverberating boom rolled over the sea. So great
was the explosion that the shock of it was felt rather than heard, and a
gigantic column of black smoke, rising over 100 feet into the air,
appeared to engulf the leading unit of the trawler patrol.
Regardless of the danger, the C.O. of the motor launch sent his swift
shallow-draught boat flying over the mine-field into the floating
debris. The only two mangled survivors had, however, been picked up by
the trawler astern of the ill-fated vessel, which had been literally
blown to pieces, nothing remaining afloat when the smoke cleared away
except a signal locker and a few timbers.
[Illustration: A MOTOR LAUNCH OF THE NAVAL PATROL
_Yachting Monthly_
_Photo by Com. Sir A. Lee Guinness_]
More than one of the other vessels, whose engines had been stopped
immediately the explosion occurred, narrowly escaped drifting down with
the tide on to the field of hidden mines, but with the skill and
presence of mind gained by similar experiences in the past both the
trawler unit and the M.L. flotilla were extricated without further loss.
It was evident from the fact that several of the mines were barely
submerged and could be dimly seen from the decks that the work of laying
them had been done hastily under the cover of night, and a sense of keen
sorrow and disappointment pervaded the vessels of the night guard. Once
again climatic conditions had favoured the enemy. In those long winter
hours of impenetrable blackness and driving snow no watch, however
efficient, could be relied upon to prevent such operations from being
occasionally carried out. It was merely the chance of war, but
nevertheless it was felt keenly, and the sense of responsibility was not
dispelled until some weeks later.
When the _sweepers_ arrived it was soon discovered that the harbour was
temporarily mined-in. Signals were exchanged with the "Senior Naval
Officer" of the base, and the night guard was ordered to assist in
preventing shipping from attempting to enter the harbour before the
approaches had been swept clear and the mines destroyed. Weary ships
with disappointed crews once more turned seawards, but the physical
discomforts of stinging spray and frequent snowstorms passed almost
unnoticed in the efforts of the flotilla to prevent the ceaseless stream
of ocean traffic from approaching the danger zone unnoticed in the
blinding white haze.
Tired limbs were forced to continued efforts and numbed faculties were
goaded afresh. Big ships loomed out of the mists around and were
informed of the dangers and directed into the pathways of safety.
Trawlers returning from the fishing-grounds of the far north had to be
intercepted, local craft piloted round the mine-field in the shallow
water close inshore, signals flashed to the outer patrols, and the hours
of daylight and activity passed quickly by.
By seven bells in the afternoon watch the dusk of the long winter night
began again to settle over the sea, blotting out one patrol from
another. On this as on many other similar nights spent in the bitter
frost, thick sea fog or flying spume, in waters infested with mines and
hostile submarines, certain senses became dulled, though the brain
remained alert and the limbs as active as cramp and cold would allow.
But the little incidents of those long hours are lost in blurred
memories of cries from the look-out, hulls towering out of the
blackness, the flashing of Morse lamps, the ceaseless and violent
pitching and rolling of a small ship, moments of tense excitement,
followed by hours of cold and an utter weariness of the soul.
When the first pale streaks of returning daylight had turned to the
fiery red of a frosty sunrise, dirty and unshaven men moved painfully
about the slippery decks. The sea had flattened in the night and the
snowing had ceased, but twenty degrees of frost had gripped the wet
decks and the soaked clothing. As the vessels stood towards the shore
weary eyes were turned anxiously on the signal station, but not yet was
the recall to be hoisted, for although the seas around had been swept
clear of mines, there was still a careful inspection to be made before
the area could be reported clear, so that ships might come and go.
When at last a line of flags fluttered to the distant mast-head away on
the hill ashore, and the signal-boy read out, "M.L.'s to return to
harbour," there was a feeble cheer.
. . . . . . . .
On a calm, frosty morning some three weeks later the boats of the old
night guard, now doing their spell of day duty, discovered a long trail
of thick greenish-black oil on the surface leading seawards. It was
evident that a hostile submarine had rested during the previous night on
the sandy bottom in the shallow water close inshore and, rising to the
surface, had made off at daybreak. The trail was followed and
information was quickly received from an Iceland trawler, which had
passed the submarine on the surface some two hours previous. Ships were
concentrated by wireless, and although it did not fall to the lot of the
M.L.'s to give the _coup de grace_, they had the satisfaction of
returning to harbour with the knowledge that their honour had been
retrieved, and yet another German submarine would never again commit
outrage on the high seas.