Days to Remember: The British Empire in the Great War

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Days to Remember: The British Empire in the Great War Battle of the Falkland Islands—December 8. Last Phase. The Kent's success was of a different kind. Normally she had but 23-½ knots of speed to the Nürnberg's 25; but her engine-room department by consummate skill and energy forced their lame duck to a speed which at the end of nearly four hours brought her within 12,000 yards of her enemy. Both ships opened fire, the Kent receiving one hit and making two. The Nürnberg then burst two of her boilers, and dropped to 19 knots, turned eight points to port, and engaged with her broadside. Captain Allen accepted the challenge, ran on, and placed the Kent before her beam at 6,000 yards. By 6.10 he had her burning and almost silenced; he ran on again, and raked her at 3,500 yards, destroying all her guns forward. At 6.30 she was silent and motionless. A few more shots, and she hauled down her flag. Captain Allen hastily repaired and lowered two of his damaged boats; but before they could reach her the Nürnberg turned over and sank. Twelve of her men were found, but only seven survived. Commander Wharton of the Kent has memorably described the final scene. "It was strange and weird, all this aftermath, the wind rapidly arising from the westward, darkness closing in, one ship heaving to the swell, well battered, the foretop-gallant mast gone. Of the other, nothing to be seen but floating wreckage, with here and there a man clinging, and the 'molly hawks' (vultures of the sea) swooping by. The wind moaned, and death was in the air. Then see! Out of the mist loomed a great four-masted barque under full canvas. A great ghost-ship she seemed. Slowly, majestically, she sailed by, and vanished in the night." The battle-cruisers' fight had been visited, earlier in the day, by the same ghost-ship; manned, it might easily be imagined, by phantom seamen of the Nelsonian age. Not since that age, and seldom even then, had so impressive a victory been won at sea: it was not a defeat of the enemy, it was his annihilation. Admiral Sturdee had seized all his opportunities, surmounted all his difficulties, and attained all his objects; he was even able to return his most valuable ships to the Grand Fleet practically intact and in the shortest possible time. It may be added that in a fine dispatch he showed once more how a British admiral writes of his enemy's fate and of his own achievement. CHAPTER XXIV. MYSTERY SHIPS. It was towards the end of 1914 that the German Admiralty conceived the idea of blockading the British Isles by means of a submarine fleet. The enterprise was a difficult one; for the pursuit and capture of commerce a submarine is very ill fitted. A frail boat with a small crew cannot afford to hold up and examine a ship on the surface; still less to put a prize crew on board and send the captured vessel into port. It was therefore decided that to carry out the blockade merchant ships must be sunk without examination and without warning. If crews, passengers, or even neutrals perished in this process, the "blame," says Admiral Scheer, "would attach to those who despised our warnings." No civilized power had ever before threatened to kill non-combatants on logical principles of this kind, and as soon as it was seen that the German Admiralty were attempting to carry out their murderous intentions it became necessary to devise means of destroying their U-boats wherever they could be found. They were accordingly hunted by destroyers, by trawlers, by submarines, and by airships and seaplanes; they were destroyed by gun fire, by mines, by nets, by torpedoes, and by depth charges, and all these were used with the greatest skill and success. Of all the hunting methods, perhaps the most attractive to the English sporting instinct was that of the Mystery Ships, or Q-boats. This was at first merely the use of a simple trap, but was developed by the genius of a single man into an entirely novel campaign of the most heroic kind. The Special Service ship or Q-boat of 1915 was a tramp or collier with a concealed armament for the decoying and destruction of submarines. The first success was achieved on July 25, 1915, when one of them, the Prince Charles (Lieutenant W. P. Mark-Wardlaw), was pursued and shelled by U36, near North Rona Island. Her crew abandoned ship, leaving their gunners concealed on board. The U-boat thereupon closed; but when she was within five hundred yards of her apparently helpless prey, the British guns were suddenly unmasked, and the submarine sank under their fire, leaving fifteen of her crew to be rescued by the victors. It was about this same time that a young lieutenant-commander named Gordon Campbell put to sea in charge of the Special Service ship Farnborough , formerly a collier, and now manned from the Mercantile Marine and Royal Naval Reserve. For six months the cruise was unsuccessful, but in the spring of 1916 the Farnborough's look-out at last sighted a U-boat, which, after firing a torpedo at her, broke surface within 1,000 yards, and summoned the supposed tramp with a shot across her bows. Lieutenant-Commander Campbell, who had trained his crew to a perfect knowledge of the game they had to play, stopped the ship, blew off steam ostentatiously, and ordered a "panic abandon ship." The U-boat came nearer, and reopened fire. Lieutenant-Commander Campbell, who was still concealed aboard his ship, then hoisted the white ensign and unmasked his guns. With twenty-one shots from her 12-pounders the Farnborough drove the U-boat under water, then steamed full speed towards her with depth charges, and when she reappeared mortally wounded, sent her to the bottom with five more rounds at point-blank range. Three weeks afterwards the Farnborough had the good fortune to be attacked by another U-boat, with whom she fought a surface action at a range of nearly 1,000 yards, disabling her at the second shot, and finally blowing her up. The Germans quickly perceived the deadliness of this new method, which made every attack on a merchant vessel a possible disaster for the U-boat, and their press was instructed to complain of the unscrupulousness of an enemy who used disguised ships and took the attacker by surprise. Commanders of U-boats were instructed to use greater caution in approaching their victims, and it soon became evident to Commander Campbell that they would no longer venture to come near a live ship. He determined to tempt them with a wounded one. When his new ship, Q5, was attacked by a U-boat early in 1917, he manoeuvred intentionally to get her torpedoed. The crew then abandoned ship as before, while Commander Campbell and his gunners lay hidden in the water-logged vessel, watching until the timid enemy should venture to the surface to finish her off. It took the U-boat twenty minutes to make up her mind. She then came up within 300 yards, and approached to fire a second torpedo, with her captain visible on his conning-tower. The first shot fired from Q5 took off his head, and the boat was then completely shattered; one officer and one man were picked up alive. Q5, with water in her engine-room, boiler-rooms, and holds, then signalled for help, and was taken in tow by Lieutenant-Commander W. W. Hallwright of the Laburnum , with the assistance of the Narwhal , the Buttercup , and the trawler Luneta ; after a night of heroic exertions and great danger she was brought safely into port. Commander Campbell received the Victoria Cross. Of his officers and crew he wrote: "They may almost be said to have passed through the supreme test of discipline. The chief engineer and the engine-room watch remained at their posts and kept the dynamos going until driven out by water. They then had to hide on top of the engine-room. The guns' crews had to remain concealed in their gun-houses for nearly half an hour, where we could feel the ship going down by the stern. At that time it appeared touch and go whether the ship would sink before we sank the enemy." Four months afterwards Campbell and his men were out again, in the Special Service ship Pargust , and were again successful in being torpedoed. This time the U-boat, after some hesitation, came within 50 yards, and was so much injured by the Pargust's fire as to be incapable of submerging. Her crew made tokens of surrender, but when Commander Campbell ceased fire, attempted to make away upon the surface. The Pargust , of course, could not follow, but by a lucky shot she exploded a torpedo aboard the U-boat and destroyed her, saving only two of her crew. She was then herself towed into port by the Crocus . This time the Victoria Cross was given to Lieutenant R. N. Stuart, D.S.O., R.N.R., and to Seaman William Williams, D.S.M., R.N.R., to be worn on behalf of the whole ship's company. Captain Campbell's next command was the Special Service ship Dunraven , disguised as an armed British merchant vessel. She was zigzagging at eight knots in rough water, when a U-boat opened fire upon her at 5,000 yards. Captain Campbell ran up the white ensign, and returned the fire with a 2-½-pounder, intentionally firing short, and making terrified signals for the U-boat's benefit. Then, as the shells fell closer, he let off a cloud of steam to indicate boiler trouble, and ordered a "panic abandon ship." The Germans now became more confident, and began to make hits; one shell exploded a depth charge on the Dunraven's poop, and blew Lieutenant Charles Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R., out of his control station. The U-boat then ceased fire, and came past within 500 yards; but she was partly hidden by the smoke from the Dunraven's burning poop, and though Captain Campbell knew that his magazine and depth charges must explode sooner or later, he decided to trust his men and wait until the enemy gave him a better chance. The U-boat kept him waiting just too long. She was passing the Dunraven's stern, when the poop blew up, hurling the 4-inch gun and the gun's crew into the air, and starting the "open fire" buzzers at the guns. The U-boat was hit, but not fatally, and at once submerged. Captain Campbell hastily collected his wounded, turned hoses on to the burning poop, where the magazine was still intact, and signalled to an approaching warship to keep away and deflect traffic, as his action was not yet ended. The second stage was begun by the enemy torpedoing the Dunraven abaft the engine-room. Captain Campbell at once ordered a "Q abandon ship"—that is, he left his guns visible and pretended that the concealed gunners were now leaving after being detected. The ship continued to burn, and the submarine circled cautiously round, shelling her for forty minutes, then submerged again. Captain Campbell had still two torpedoes left, and both of these he fired at the submarine. One just missed her head, and the other passed two feet abaft her periscope. He had now lost his last chance of a kill, and signalled urgently for assistance, preparing at the same time for a last fight with a single gun. The American vessel Noma came up immediately, followed by the Attack and the Christopher . The U-boat was driven off, the fire extinguished, and the ship taken in tow by the Christopher . During the night it was found necessary to take off her crew and her wounded, and the Dunraven was sunk at last by a British gunshot. In reporting this action Captain Campbell brought specially to notice the extreme bravery of Lieutenant Bonner, who received the Victoria Cross, and the 4-inch gun's crew, to whom the same honour was given. "Lieutenant Bonner, having been blown out of his control by the first explosion, crawled into the gun hatch with the crew. They there remained at their posts with a fire raging in the poop below, and the deck getting red hot. One man tore up his shirt to give pieces to the gun's crew to stop the fumes getting into their throats; others lifted the boxes of cordite off the deck to keep it from exploding; and all the time they knew that they must be blown up, as the secondary supply and magazine was immediately below. They told me afterwards that communication with the main control was cut off, and although they knew they would be blown up, they also knew that they would spoil the show if they moved, so they remained until actually blown up with their gun. Then when, as wounded men, they were ordered to remain quiet in various places during the second action, they had to lie there unattended and bleeding, with explosions continually going an aboard, and splinters from the enemy's shell-fire penetrating their quarters. Lieutenant Bonner, himself wounded, did what he could for two who were with him in the wardroom. When I visited them after the action they thought little of their wounds, but only expressed their disgust that the enemy had not been sunk. Surely such bravery is hard to equal." It may be added that such bravery is still harder to defeat. The discipline and devotion which the genius of this commander had imparted to his ship's company, when added to the long-descended seamanship and enterprise of our Service, proved too much for the unscrupulous courage and mechanical skill of the enemy. It cannot be doubted that in any imaginable war at sea the same qualities would produce the same result; for the mystery, after all, lay rather in the men than in the ships. CHAPTER XXV. JUTLAND. On May 30, 1916, the Grand Fleet put to sea for one of its periodical sweeps. Admiral Jellicoe had information which gave him some hope that the enemy might at last be caught in the North Sea; and in fact, on the morning of the 31st, the German High Sea Fleet did come out, in ignorance of Jellicoe's move, but in "hope of meeting with separate enemy divisions." Admiral Scheer had with him the Battle Fleet of fifteen dreadnoughts and six older ships, with three divisions of cruisers, seven torpedo flotillas, and ten zeppelins; and in advance of these was a squadron of five battle-cruisers, under Admiral Hipper, with his own cruisers and destroyers. Advancing towards Hipper was the British Battle-Cruiser Fleet under Admiral Beatty—the Lion , Princess Royal , Tiger , Queen Mary , Indefatigable , and New Zealand —with the Fifth Battle Squadron under Rear-Admiral Evan-Thomas—the Barham , Valiant , Malaya , and Warspite ; and in front of these were three light-cruiser squadrons under Commodore Goodenough, with four destroyer flotillas. Behind, and at a considerable distance, to avoid alarming the enemy too soon, came Admiral Jellicoe with the main fleet—twenty-four dreadnoughts in six divisions abreast of each other, and each in line ahead. He had with him also the Third Battle-Cruiser Squadron, three squadrons of cruisers, and three destroyer flotillas. The light cruiser Galatea first sighted enemy ships at 2.20 p.m. Soon she reported the smoke of a fleet, and at 3.31 Beatty sighted Hipper and formed his line of battle. At 3.48 the action began at 18,500 yards, Hipper racing back towards his fleet and Beatty pursuing. The firing on both sides was rapid and accurate; in twelve minutes the leading ships on both sides had been seriously hit; six minutes more and a salvo, which reached her magazine, destroyed the Indefatigable . The Fifth Battle Squadron now drew up and came into action. Immediately afterwards the enemy sent fifteen destroyers and a light cruiser to attack with torpedoes. They were met by our twelve destroyers, who fought with them a most gallant battle within the main battle, repulsing them and forcing their battle-cruisers to turn. The Nestor , the Nomad , and two enemy destroyers were sunk; the battle-cruisers swept on, and the action was resumed. The enemy's gunners now seemed to be losing their first accuracy, and at 4.18 the third ship of the German line was burning. But a few minutes later a salvo struck the Queen Mary in a vital part abreast of a turret; in one minute the ship was gone, and the Tiger , her next astern, passed over the place where she had been, without seeing any sign of her but smoke and falling debris. Admiral Beatty had lost two of his six battle-cruisers, and his flagship was damaged; but his tactics and his fighting spirit were in no way disturbed. Twelve minutes later he was cheered by Commodore Goodenough reporting the German Battle Fleet. He had found the enemy at last in the open, and his business now was to draw them on towards the Grand Fleet. He recalled his destroyers and turned his whole force northward. Hipper, still steering south, fought him for a few minutes as they passed one another on opposite courses, and then turned north to follow him. The whole German fleet was now in line; but Beatty, having the superior speed, was able to overlap their head and keep their tail out of action. He engaged their five battle-cruisers with his own four, supported by the Barham and the New Zealand , while the Malaya and the Warspite were hammering their leading battleships. ADMIRAL SIR DAVID BEATTY (EARL BEATTY OF THE NORTH SEA). The Grand Fleet was now rapidly approaching, and Admiral Jellicoe had to prepare for the extremely difficult manoeuvre of joining battle with an enemy of whose position he was not fully informed. Gun-flashes were reported at 6.5 on the starboard bow, but the only ships visible were the Lion and other battle-cruisers steering east in thick mist. The admiral lost no time; at 6.8 he ordered two torpedo flotillas to his port front and one to starboard; then, after receiving a further report from Admiral Beatty, at 6.16 he ordered his six divisions of battleships to deploy eastwards, forming on the port wing column. He thus threatened to cut off the enemy from his base, and in order to close him the more quickly the deployment was made by divisions instead of in succession. The movement was entirely successful. At the same time the battle-cruisers were getting clear to the south and east, and Admiral Evan-Thomas's four ships were forming astern of the fleet. They did this under fire, but without serious interference; the Warspite , whose helm jammed, was for a few moments carried over towards the enemy, but the German gunnery was no longer steady enough to hit her. Battle of Jutland.—Track Chart. For the Germans the horizon was now filled with an unending line of British ships, and the sight, as their own officers said, "took the heart out of the men." They were already "utterly crushed" by the masterly way in which Admiral Jellicoe had brought his huge fleet into action, and they saw that Admiral Beatty was outflanking them by "a model manoeuvre, a performance of the highest order."[#] Their line bent away, first to the east, and then to the south, suffering heavily as it turned, and making not a hit in return. [#] Captain von Hase. They had, however, inflicted some losses on the British cruisers while the battleships were deploying. Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Arbuthnot, who had chased the light cruiser Wiesbaden (with the Defence , Warrior , and Black Prince ) and crippled her between the lines, came under fire from two German battle-cruisers, and was blown up with the Defence , while the Warrior and the Black Prince were badly hit. Rear-Admiral Hood, too, met his fate; he had been scouting far to the south with the Invincible , Inflexible , and Indomitable , and was returning north to take station at the head of Beatty's line. He executed this manoeuvre in grand style, and at once engaged the gigantic Derfflinger , hitting her repeatedly; but after two minutes of hard pounding a big shell blew up the Invincible's magazine, and she sank with her admiral. But by this time the action between the main fleets had been virtually lost and won. The German battleships at the head of Admiral Scheer's line had suffered severely under the fire of the British rear divisions and were turning away south, while their battle-cruisers were in even worse plight. Two minutes after the Invincible sank, the Lutzow was no longer able to keep station, and Admiral Hipper was compelled to transfer his flag. But his difficulty was to find a sound ship; his next astern, the Derfflinger , had lost her wireless and was gaping with a hole 20 feet square in her bows; the Seydlitz had also lost her wireless, and had shipped several thousand tons of water. After being some time in a destroyer, the admiral went aboard the Moltke , and sent the Derfflinger to lead the line, with only the Von der Tann to follow. Half dead though these three remaining ships were, their hardest task was yet before them. Admiral Scheer was in a desperate position, outmanoeuvred and outfought, with the Grand Fleet in the act of forming line between him and his base; and he is entitled to all credit for the plan which he adopted to secure his escape from total destruction. At 7.12 he ordered Hipper to attack Beatty in hope of breaking his encircling movement, and three minutes afterwards sent his destroyers to hold Jellicoe's line with a torpedo attack, while he got away his crumpled battle fleet to the westward. These tactics cost him dear, but he was successful in increasing his distance and withdrawing his battleships from the fire which must speedily have overwhelmed them. In the torpedo attack not less than twenty of his torpedoes were seen to cross the British line. All were avoided, for Admiral Jellicoe, acting on principles adopted by the Admiralty some time before, ordered his ships to turn away two or more points as soon as the attack was seen. When it was over they at once turned back towards the enemy, but Admiral Scheer had by that time disappeared westward into the mist. Of his twenty-one battleships twelve had been seriously damaged, and their united fire had made but a single hit on the twenty-six British battleships which engaged them—a hit which wounded three men in the Colossus . The gallant Hipper suffered even more severely. He had no sooner started his attack on Beatty when the Derfflinger met more than her match in the Lion . In eight minutes she is reported by her chief gunnery officer, Captain von Hase, to have received twenty 15-inch shells, which destroyed turret after turret, carried away her fire control and chart-house, and set her on fire fore and aft. With only two heavy guns left, she drew off and went after her fleet, followed by the Von der Tann only. The Seydlitz and the Moltke had already left the line under cover of the smoke from the burning Lutzow . The light was now failing fast; the Lion was still hunting, but could no longer find her prey. In spite of some heavy hits, her admiral and his command were insatiable, and even disappointed. But they had, in fact, achieved a day's fighting which is without a parallel—a battle-cruiser victory complete in itself. Touch was now lost between the two fleets, and Admiral Jellicoe had to consider his dispositions for the night. He had completely succeeded in interposing between the enemy and their base, and his object was to bar their retreat and secure a final action next day. He therefore placed his battleships to the south in four columns a mile apart, his destroyers 5 miles to their rear, with the battle-cruisers and cruisers to the west, and two light-cruiser squadrons farther north and south. Finally, at 9.30, he sent the mine-laying flotilla leader, Abdiel , to lay a minefield towards the Horn Reef—a precaution which resulted in several explosions among enemy ships during the night. The German commander-in-chief was well aware that in a daylight action he could expect nothing but destruction. He resolved on a rush for home in the dark, and here again he has the credit of a right decision and a right method. He sent his ships to make their way through in detachments. Some three or four light cruisers first ran into our destroyers, slightly damaged the Castor , received a torpedo hit, and vanished. Another group of cruisers attacked our Second Light Cruiser Squadron at very short range, inflicted heavy casualties on the Dublin and the Southampton , and disappeared, but with the loss of the light cruiser Frauenlob . The destroyer Sparrowhawk was sunk in action with a third group of cruisers, and a little later the Tipperary . At midnight some battleships passed near the same flotilla, and one, the Pommern , was torpedoed and sunk. Another battleship squadron followed soon after, and sank the destroyer Ardent . At 1.46 a.m. the Twelfth Flotilla, farther north, sighted six Kaiser battleships and attacked them. Captain Stirling, in the Faulkner , torpedoed one, and some time later Commander Champion, in the Nomad , hit another; but the Germans claim that both the wounded ships reached port. The Ninth Flotilla lost the Turbulent , rammed by a large unknown vessel; but at 2.35 the destroyer Moresby , of the Thirteenth Flotilla, attacked four Deutschland battleships and torpedoed one. Lastly, it is believed that the Black Prince , who had been crippled hours before, was seen for a moment under the searchlights and guns of a number of enemy ships, who sank her at once. All this battle by night was fought under the most desperate conditions, the horror of darkness and the glare and crash of sudden death alternating for five hours; but it was far more ruinous to the German fleet than to the British. When day broke, Admiral Jellicoe formed his fleet in line ahead and turned north; at 5.15 he called in the battle-cruisers; at 6 a.m. he sighted his cruisers, and at 9 the destroyers rejoined. He had now all his force in hand, except the Sixth Division of six battleships under Admiral Burney, whose flagship, the Marlborough , had been hit by a torpedo and was now being sent home under escort to be repaired. This, however, was no cause for delay, and Admiral Jellicoe patrolled the battle area till noon, in search of the enemy, moving first north, then south-west, and finally north by west. It was clear that Admiral Scheer had no intention of further fighting. He had a zeppelin out scouting, and admits that she reported to him the position of the British fleet. But he was in no condition to move. He had inflicted on us a loss of three battle-cruisers, three armoured cruisers, and eight destroyers; while of his own ships one battleship, one battle-cruiser, four light cruisers, and five destroyers had been sunk. But his effective force had been diminished out of all proportion to ours; his battle-cruisers were in no condition to fight; he had discovered that the whole squadron of pre-dreadnoughts were unable to lie in a modern line of battle, while six of the remaining fifteen were unfit to be anywhere but in dock; of his eleven light cruisers ten had been hit, and four of them sunk. He had, in short, no fleet to make a fight with; whereas Admiral Jellicoe had available twenty-six powerful battleships, all but four of them untouched, six battle-cruisers out of nine, and all his light forces, except three cruisers sunk and three hard hit. More fatal still, then and for ever, was the injury to the moral stamina and tradition of the German fleet. In that one day they passed from the militant to the mutinous state of mind, and their commander knew it. As Captain Persius wrote afterwards in the Berliner Tageblatt : "The losses sustained by our fleet were enormous, in spite of the fact that luck was on our side; and on June 1, 1916, it was clear to every one of intelligence that this fight would be, and must be, the only one to take place. Those in authority have often admitted this openly." The Kaiser did his best to shout our victory down, and he was seconded, though more feebly, by German admirals who knew better. But the High Sea Fleet had failed completely to challenge the control of the sea, and henceforth degenerated towards the final surrender. CHAPTER XXVI. THE BRITISH SUBMARINE SERVICE. The war record of the British submarine service is unique; the difficulties and dangers which our men faced and overcame were such as no other navy has attempted. The patrol of the shallow Belgian coast and the hunting down of U-boats was a very different task from torpedoing merchant vessels or hospital ships without warning; and the campaigns in the Marmora and the Baltic were conducted under conditions which had no parallel elsewhere. A glance at the map will show that the Marmora was not only distant from the British naval base, but that the only line of approach was of an uncommonly formidable character. The channel of the Dardanelles is narrow and winding, with a strong tide perpetually racing down it, and setting strongly into its many bays. It was, moreover, protected by forts with powerful guns and searchlights and torpedo tubes, and by barrages of thick wire and netting; it was also patrolled constantly by armed ships. Yet all these defences were evaded or broken through with marvellous courage and ingenuity; for nearly a year a succession of brilliant commanders took their boats regularly up and down the passage, and made the transport of Turkish troops and munitions first hazardous and finally impracticable. Two battleships, a destroyer, and five gunboats fell to them, besides over thirty steamers, many of which were armed, nine transports, seven ammunition and store ships, and no less than 188 sailing ships and dhows with supplies. It is hardly necessary to add that in no case was violence done to neutrals or non-combatants. The first officer to take a British submarine up the Dardanelles was Lieutenant Norman Holbrook. It was in December 1914 that his attempt was made, and after equipping his boat, B11, with ingenious devices for jumping obstacles, and running several preliminary trials, he trimmed and dived for Sedd-el-Bahr at the moment when the searchlights were extinguished at dawn. Rather more than four hours after his start he had passed the Straits and was at last able to put his periscope above water. He found his fortune at the same moment. There, on his starboard beam, was a large two-funnelled vessel, painted grey, and flying the Turkish ensign. At 600 yards he fired his starboard torpedo, and dipped for a few seconds. An explosion was heard. B11 came quietly to observation depth again of her own motion, and her commander, still at his periscope, saw the grey ship firing a number of guns. His boat dipped again, but he got her up once more, and this time saw his enemy, the battleship Messudiyeh , silent, and sinking slowly by the stern. He turned for home, dived into the channel, and ran along the bottom at full speed; came up to take his bearings, dived again, and by 2 p.m. had cleared the exit. In ten hours he had proved all the possibilities of a novel campaign. He had forced the strongly-barred channel, surprised and sunk a battleship in broad daylight, and returned to report, though he had gone up without information and come down with a damaged compass. Of the boats which followed in the spring and summer of 1915, the most famous were E14 (Lieutenant-Commander E. Courtney Boyle); E11 (Lieutenant-Commander M. E. Nasmith); E12 (Lieutenant-Commander K. M. Bruce); E7 (Lieutenant-Commander Cochrane); E2 (Commander David Stocks); and K1 (Lieutenant Wilfred Pirie). In efficiency all these surpassed everything which had been thought possible of submarines. Their cruises lasted from a fortnight at first to thirty days later, and finally to forty and even forty-eight. During this time they would run 2,000 miles and more, with no resources for supply or repairs beyond what they carried on board. When Commander Boyle brought E14 back to her base in August after her third cruise, she had done over 12,000 miles since leaving England, and had never been out of running order—a record for which her chief engine-room artificer, James Hollier Hague, was promoted to warrant rank. It is impossible to relate here the adventures, the ingenuities, and the brilliant service which these seven commanders reported in the bald and convincing style of the British Navy. One example only can be given—a typical and not an exceptional one. Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith took E11 up for the first time in May 1915, in succession to Commander Courtney Boyle, who had just returned, leaving the Turks under the belief that the Marmora was infested by a whole flotilla of submarines. By a curious combination of activity and accident, Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith at once confirmed this legend. On his second day out he "dived unobserved into Constantinople," and torpedoed a Turkish gunboat; five hours later he stopped a small steamer, whose crew did a "panic abandon ship," capsizing all their boats as they were put out. An American gentleman then appeared on the upper deck and conversed amicably, after which he was sent ashore, and the ship, being found to contain a Krupp gun and ammunition, was cleared and sent to the bottom. Two heavily laden store-ships were then attacked. One was sunk and the other driven ashore. Under a hurricane of fire from the shore batteries, the submarine dived and got away towards the Bosphorus. At Galata there was a panic; all shops were closed, troops were disembarked from transports, re-embarked, and again landed. The effect was redoubled next day when the American gentleman returned to tell his story. Probably he had inquired the number of the British submarines on the ground, and had been misunderstood to be asking for the number of the boat he was aboard; for he reported—and the news ran through Constantinople—that there were eleven of our boats in the Marmora, holding up all ships going to the Dardanelles. And E11 did in fact achieve this result. Transports lay idle in the Golden Horn, and as the one real boat and her ten imaginary consorts patrolled the Marmora, Turks and Americans wondered where they had their base, and how it had been prepared in hostile waters. In August E11 was on duty once more, hunting in couples with E14. Commanders Boyle and Nasmith rendezvoused on the 6th, and concerted a plan for shelling troops next day on the land route to Gallipoli. This operation was very successful; in less than three hours E11's 12-pounder twice broke up columns on the coast road. On the following day Commander Boyle destroyed a 5,000 ton supply steamer with torpedo and gun-fire, while Commander Nasmith sank the battleship Haireddin Barbarossa . This ship was passing north-east of Gallipoli, escorted by a destroyer. E11 was skilfully brought into position on her starboard beam, and two torpedoes got home amidships. The Barbarossa immediately took a list to starboard, altered course towards the shore, and opened a heavy fire. But within twenty minutes a large flash burst from her fore part, and she rolled over and sank. The Turks attempted to conceal the details of this catastrophe; but they confided to Mr. Einstein of the American Embassy that a gunboat perished with Barbarossa , and one of two transports which she was convoying, while the other ran aground. They added that the attack was made by six submarines, who completely surrounded the battleship and her convoy. Commander Nasmith afterwards sank a large collier and two more transports, and then turned his attention again to cutting the enemy's communications by land. His lieutenant, D'Oyly Hughes, volunteered to take the most dangerous part in an attack on the Ismid railway. A raft was put together behind Kalolimno Island, capable of supporting one man, and carrying his equipment and a charge of explosives. With this Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes was to reach the shore, and blow up the railway line, or, if possible, the viaduct. The risk involved not only the volunteer but E11 herself, for so long as he had still a chance of returning, she could not quit the neighbourhood, or even conceal herself by submerging. At 2 a.m. Commander Nasmith took the boat inshore till her nose just grounded, within three feet of the rocks, where there were cliffs on each side high enough to prevent her conning-tower from being seen. Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes dropped into the water and swam off, pushing his raft towards a spot about 60 yards to the left. Besides his demolition charge he had only a revolver, a bayonet, an electric torch, and a whistle. He found a landing place, scaled the cliff, and prowled along the railway with his heavy charge till he was brought up by the sound of voices; three Turks were sitting by the side of the line. He laid down his guncotton, and made a wide detour to inspect the viaduct, roused a small farmyard on his way, and was again stopped by finding a number of men working a stationary engine at the near end of the viaduct. He crept back to his gun-cotton, and decided to blow up a low brickwork support over a small hollow, only 150 yards from the men, but a spot where real damage could be inflicted. He muffled the pistol for firing the fuse, but on so still a night it made a very loud noise. The three Turks heard it, and instantly started to chase their enemy down the line. Lieutenant Hughes had but one chance—to find his way to the shore and swim off. To gain time, he turned and fired at his pursuers; they stopped to return his fire, and he distanced them, gained the shore, and plunged into the water. As he did so he heard with joy the sound of a heavy explosion, with the crash of fragments hurled into the sea. The railway line was effectively cut; but he was three-quarters of a mile from the bay where E11 was lying hid. He swam out to sea, and after going some 500 yards blew a long blast on his whistle; but the boat failed to hear him. Day was breaking—the time of waiting for him must be short. He swam ashore again, rested on the rocks, and plunged in once more. One by one he had to throw away pistol, torch, and bayonet. At last he rounded the point and his whistle was heard; but at the same moment shouts and rifle fire came from the cliffs above. The boat backed out towards him, determined to save him at any cost. But now came the most trying part of his adventure. In the early morning mist the bow, the gun, and the conning-tower of the submarine appeared to the distressed swimmer to be three small rowing-boats advancing towards him, and manned, of course, by enemies. He turned back, swam ashore, and tried to hide himself under the cliffs. But he was still cool and clear-headed, and after climbing a few feet looked back and realized his mistake. One last swim of 40 yards, and he was picked up almost exhausted. He had run hard for his life and swum a mile in his clothes. "5.5 a.m.," says E11's log, "dived out of rifle fire, and proceeded out of the Gulf of Ismid." She ended her cruise with a brilliant week's work; fought an action with three armed tugs, a dhow, and a destroyer, evading the destroyer, and sinking two of the other ships by gun-fire; torpedoed two large transports; bombarded the magazine and railway station at Mudania; battered the viaduct for an hour; and on her return down the Dardanelles passed the obstacles without assistance or misadventure. Her final cruise was in November and December, when she was out forty-eight days, and sank forty-six enemy ships. Her last companion, E2, was recalled two days later, and the campaign was over. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BRITISH SUBMARINE SERVICE ( continued ). The first of our submarine voyagers in the Baltic was Lieutenant-Commander Max Horton, in E9. He distinguished himself in the early months of the war by sinking a German light cruiser and a destroyer in the North Sea. In January 1915 he entered the Baltic, sank a destroyer on the 29th, a transport on 11th May, and on 5th June another transport and another destroyer. On 2nd July he torpedoed the Pommern , a 13,000 ton battleship, with 11-inch guns. He was then joined by E1 (Commander N. F. Laurence), and on 22nd August by E8, whose log contains the best account of the long, intricate, and dangerous voyage out. Commander Goodhart started in E8 on 18th August, with 1,500 miles of adventure between him and his new base at Reval. He passed warily up the Skagerrack, avoiding the central line of traffic, and diving once under a whole fleet of steam trawlers. At 7 p.m. he came to the surface again, rounded the Skaw at full speed, and entered the Kattegat. In the fading light several merchantmen were seen going north; the shore and island beacons began to twinkle one by one—Hamnskau, Vinga, Skaw, Trindelen, Anholt. But the night was short; by 3 a.m. he must dive again and lie on shoal ground while traffic passed above him. At 5.25 he ventured up, but was put down quickly by a steamer; to be seen might rouse a hunt. At 7 he came up again and did a survey of l-½ hours in a friendly mist, then down again, to crawl at 3 knots till 1 p.m., when he was off the entrance to the Sound. Here he must choose between going forward submerged, or waiting for darkness and attempting the channel on the surface. He decided to continue his dive into the Sound and wait for night inside. He went in at 50 feet, came up to 21 feet to verify his position, down again to 50, and altered course to pass through the northern narrows. At 4.10 p.m. he was east of Helsingor Light; at 5.20, after another observation, he went to bottom in 11 fathoms, to wait for darkness. At 8.15 p.m. he rose to the surface; the Danish shore was bright with many lights, the Swedish shore all dark. He steered south-westward on the surface, altering course to avoid being seen by two destroyers which were going north along the Danish shore at a great pace; but now one of them suddenly turned south and stopped. E8 ran on, but into still more dangerous waters. The lights of Copenhagen were bright, and a searchlight was working from Middle Ground Fort; now and again it swept across the submarine. Then came several fishing boats, then two red lights moving south, close over to the Danish shore. There was nothing to show that E8 had been seen, and she headed boldly for Flint Channel. Off Malmo the shorelights were dazzling, and it was extremely hard to fix a position. There were also many fishing boats about, each carrying two bright lights. Commander Goodhart ordered the boat to be trimmed down, with upper deck awash, and proceeded with one engine only, at 7 knots. He steadied his course through Flint Channel, passing at least twenty vessels with white lights, and one making searchlight signals in the air. No sooner had these been avoided by changing course than a tramp came along, showing first a green light and then three white ones. She seemed to have anchored; but now two other vessels had to be dodged, and then the ship with the searchlight. Immediately afterwards, when just north-east of the lightship's three vertical red lights, E8 was viewed at last; a small torpedo boat sighted her as she was creeping by within 200 yards. The hunt was up; the enemy showed red and green flares, and altered course to chase. E8 dived, and struck "very strong bottom" at 19 feet, and immediately afterwards at 14 feet. A succession of bumps brought her to a stop. It was 11.40 p.m. After an anxious quarter of an hour Commander Goodhart decided to rise to the surface. On his starboard quarter was the Drogden lightship, ahead of him a large destroyer or small cruiser—the ship which had been signalling with searchlight. She was only 200 yards away, but the commander trimmed his boat deep, and stole past. This took four minutes, and he then found another destroyer right ahead, and within 100 yards. He could but dive; the boat struck bottom at 16 feet heavily, carrying away all blades of the starboard propeller. The pursuers could be heard overhead. Life was now a matter of minutes and feet. The boat was still moving; at 12.15 a.m. she was at 18 feet, and bumping badly; at 12.19 the commander stopped her and came silently to the surface. The destroyer was still close on his starboard beam, and in one minute he had dived again as slowly as he dared; mercifully the water deepened as E8 glided away. She seemed to be escaping; but at 2.10 a.m. she struck bottom again, and when she ventured up after an hour, there again was the destroyer on her port beam. Happily this time she got down without being seen, and when she came up again at 7.15 there was nothing in sight. But the danger was not over yet. E8 was nearly out of breath; her battery was running very low. After diving again to avoid a steamer and afterwards a destroyer, Commander Goodhart decided to find a good depth, and lie at the bottom till darkness gave him a chance of recharging. For eight long hours E8 lay like a stone in 23 fathoms. When she came up three or four vessels were patrolling close by, and the moon was too bright. She tried again, but was again put down by a shadowy destroyer to the southward. At last, ten minutes before midnight, she found a bit of quiet sea where she could take breath. But only for two hours; daylight comes early in northern waters. At 2 a.m. Commander Goodhart dived again, and lay long in 17 fathoms, spending his time in studying the chart. He was now well out of the Sound, and clear of the Swedish coast. Right ahead was the island of Bornholm, and if that could be passed successfully, the Baltic lay open beyond, a long voyage still, but a less crowded thoroughfare. At 9 a.m. he came to the surface for three hours. By noon he was not far west of Ronne, and as he wished to make sure of getting past Bornholm unobserved, he decided to remain on the bottom till dark, then slip by and recharge his batteries for a long run north by daylight. By 7 p.m. he was on his way; by sunrise on the 21st he was passing the east coast of the great island of Gotland. At 9.2 p.m. he dived for a light cruiser, which passed over him; at 10 he returned to the surface and ran past the entrance to the Gulf of Riga and the island of Oesel. By 1 a.m. on August 22nd he had to dive for daylight, but at 3 he came up again, and ran ahead at full speed. At 8.30 a.m. on August 23rd he sighted Dagerort ahead, and joined Commander Max Horton in E9, passed with her and a Russian destroyer into the Gulf of Finland, and by 9 p.m. secured E8 in Reval harbour. Within twenty-four hours he had docked and overhauled her, replaced her broken propeller, and reported her ready for sea. Of the warships sunk by E8 and her consorts, and of their blockade of the German traffic in the Baltic, there is no need to speak. Their feats of war, brilliant as they were, formed only a minor part of the glory of their intricate and perilous voyages in a hostile sea.

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