HOW H.M. TRAWLER NO. 6 LOST HER REFIT
AN earlier chapter described the periodical overhauls necessary to keep
the ships of the hard-worked auxiliary navy in proper fighting
condition. These "refits" were needed not only by the ships but also by
the men who worked them. They came about once a year and lasted for two
or three weeks, during which time the crews were able to go home for at
least a few days of much-needed rest.
To describe how everyone, from commander to signal-boy, looked forward
to these spells of leave is unnecessary. Let the reader imagine how he
himself would feel after nine or ten months of the monotony and danger,
to say nothing of the hardships, of life at sea in time of war.
There was, however, another consideration, one seldom referred to but
nevertheless unavoidably present in the minds of all. Each time a refit
came round there were ships which would never be docked again, and
comrades who had missed their leave. Men told themselves that the luck
they had enjoyed for so long could not last, and it is about one of
these, in a fight against overwhelming odds, that the following story
deals.
Three of his Majesty's armed trawlers were plunging through the sea on
their lonely beat in the Western Ocean. The Hebrides lay far to the
southward, and less than two days' steam ahead lay the Arctic Circle.
These cheerless surroundings, however, found no echo in the hearts of
the watch below on the leading ship of the unit, who were lounging on
the settees in the oil-smelling fo'c'sle discussing their prospects of
long leave, for their ship was to "blow-down" for a thorough refit when
they returned to harbour in less than three weeks' time.
On the deck of the same vessel two officers, standing in the shelter of
the wheel-house, were sweating and shivering in patches, but also happy
with the thought of the forthcoming reunion with their families and the
brief enjoyment of the comforts of home after seven long winter months'
wandering, with soul-destroying monotony, over the windswept wastes of
England's frontier. The watch on deck, with the exception of the
helmsman and look-out, crouched under the lee of the iron
superstructure, alternately swinging their arms and stamping their
heavily booted feet, but they too were mentally impervious to the dismal
surroundings.
Of the second ship in the line the same cheery story cannot be told. She
was jealous of the first. It would be another two months at least before
she would go in dock for refit; and among the watch below there were
three new hands on their first voyage, two of whom would, just then,
have preferred the peace and stillness of the sea bottom to the
friskiness of the surface.
The third trawler was a happy little ship, for although the junior of
the unit she had been very fortunate in securing a "Fritz" all to her
own cheek less than three months before.
This, then, was one of the units on the Outer Hebrides and Iceland
patrol during the winter of 1915, and they seemed to be the sole
occupants of the leagues of water around.
It was barely eleven o'clock, Greenwich time, when they reached the last
ten miles of their beat, and speed was reduced so that they would not
have to turn about and begin steaming back over the course they had come
until the morning watch went below at midday. This was an artful though
harmless arrangement to enable those going off duty to have a meal and
at least an hour's rest in peace, as on the voyage back both wind and
sea would be astern and the vicious lurching of the small ship reduced
to a minimum.
The time passed slowly, as it generally did on patrol when nothing
exciting was afoot, but a few minutes before the awaited eight bells the
officer on duty snatched up the binoculars, and almost simultaneously
the look-out gave a warning shout which caused the attention of everyone
on deck to suddenly become strained.
Away to port, less than half-a-mile distant, the thin grey tube of a
periscope could be seen planing through the waves, with a fringe of
white foam blowing from its base. There was a hoarse cry down the
fo'c'sle hatch for "All hands on deck!" The telegraph tinkled for "Full
ahead!" A signal was made to the ships astern for concerted action. The
gun was manned, and the leading trawler, now cleared for action, headed
towards her under-water opponent.
The other two vessels of the unit put on speed and spread out until all
three were line-abreast and about two cables apart. In this formation
the chase was maintained for some twenty minutes, when a second
submarine appeared above the surface away to starboard. She appeared to
be a large vessel and would probably have turned the scale at 1000 tons.
It was at this early stage in the action that the mistake was made. The
leading trawler immediately opened fire, but the range was considerable
and the shells fell short. Signalling to the other two trawlers to
continue the chase of the first submarine sighted, she headed straight
for the largest of the two hostile craft to engage her at close range.
While this was in progress the first submarine came to the surface and
proved to be also a larger craft than had been anticipated. The two
trawlers chasing her immediately opened fire, but her superior surface
speed soon placed her out of range of the comparatively small guns then
carried by the trawler patrols.
Now came the surprise. Almost simultaneously the two submarines opened
fire from heavy guns. The shells at first fell wide, but in a moment
the British officers realised that they were outranged, for whereas
their shells were falling short, those from the enemy whistled over
their heads and ploughed up columns of white water over a cable's length
astern.
To increase speed and so reduce the range became imperative, and the
steam-pressure in the trawlers' boilers was raised to bursting point by
the simple expedient of screwing down the safety valve. For some minutes
it looked as though the effort would be successful, and then the range
slowly increased again and "short" after "short" was registered by the
gunners.
At this psychological moment a German shell carried away the funnel of
the leading trawler and smothered her decks with smoke. When a temporary
shield had been rigged it was observed that one of the other patrol
ships had been crippled by a direct hit and was in a sinking condition.
It now became evident that the superior speed and gun-power of the
submarines enabled them to keep out of range of the trawlers' weapons
and to ply their long-range fire with telling effect.
The officer in command of the patrol at once realised the mistake he had
made when opening the action, in betraying the power of his own guns
before he was sufficiently close to the enemy to ensure hits, and he
cursed this want of foresight which looked like costing the life of the
flotilla. Given one direct hit on each of his two powerful opponents and
they would in all probability have been put out of action, but instead
he had only the mortification of seeing every shell fired fall short,
while his own vessels were being battered to pieces by the long-range
guns of an enemy with whom he could not close.
The withholding of fire while hostile shells are bursting around is one
of the many severe strains imposed on the human mind by modern war, and
in anti-submarine tactics it often means the difference between victory
and defeat, which, followed to its logical conclusion, is generally life
or death.
One hope now remained--that by skilful manoeuvring the trawlers could
be kept afloat until help arrived; but in those wastes of sea no vessel
might pass for many hours, and even then not a warship.
Such is the working of Fate: the leading trawler of the unit was to have
been fitted with wireless while under the approaching refit, and with
its aid patrol cruisers or fast destroyers could soon have been brought
to the scene of operations.
Thirty minutes later the crippled ship, the junior member, gave three
defiant shrieks with her syren and slid under the surface with her
colours flying. For over two hours the others manoeuvred to get one on
each side of the submarines to enable them to get the few shells
remaining in their magazines home on the target, but so great was the
disparity of both range and speed that at five in the evening nearly
half their crews were dead or wounded, and a little while later the
ice-cold water closed over the leading ship. Still the other fought on,
but as dusk closed over the sea she too went down in this obscure
fight.
No search for possible survivors was made by the submarines, which
glided westwards into the smoky red afterglow, leaving the bitter cold
to finish the work of death.
. . . . . . . .
A big armed liner of the Tenth Cruiser Squadron had heard the distant
firing and came upon the scene just before darkness finally closed over.
Four bodies were still lashed to a raft, but in all except one life was
extinct.
When the doctors bent over the half-frozen form in which a flicker still
lingered they shook their heads. Death waged a stern battle even for
this last relic, but life triumphed, and when the agony of returning
animation had ceased the sole survivor told the cruiser's mess how
Trawler No. 1 had lost her refit.