A SUBMARINE GRAVEYARD
Instead of the line of wandering specters, then, we must conjure up a different picture, equally weird—an under-world shrouded in darkness; for little light penetrates the deep sea. Here in the cold blackness, on the bed of the ocean, the wrecks of vessels that once sailed proudly overhead lie still and deathly silent—some keeled over on their sides, some turned turtle, and most of them probably on even keel. Here and there may be one with its nose buried deep in the mud; and in the shallower waters we may come across one pinned down by the stern, but with its head buoyed by a pocket of air, straining upward and swaying slightly with every gentle movement of the sea, as if still alive.
This submarine graveyard offers wonderful opportunities for the engineer, because the raising of wrecked vessels is really a branch of engineering. It is a very special branch, to be sure, and one that has not begun to receive the highly concentrated study that have such other branches as tunneling, bridge-construction, etc. Nevertheless it is engineering, and it has been said of the engineer that his abilities are limited only by the funds at his disposal. Now he has a chance to show what he can do, for there are hundreds of vessels to be salved where before there was but one. The vast number of wrecks in deep water will make it pay to do the work on a larger and grander scale than has been possible heretofore. Special apparatus that could not be built economically for a single wreck may be constructed with profit if a number of vessels demanding similar treatment are to be salved.
The principal fields of German activities were the Mediterranean Sea and the waters surrounding the British Isles. Although the submarine zone covered some very deep water, where the sounding-lead runs down two miles without touching bottom, obviously more havoc could be wrought near ports where vessels were obliged to follow a prescribed course, and so most of the U-boat victims were stricken when almost in sight of land. In fact, as was pointed out in a previous chapter, it was not until efficient patrol measures made it uncomfortable for the submarines that they pushed out into the open ocean to pursue their nefarious work. The Lusitania went down only eight miles from Old Head of Kinsale, in fifty fathoms of water.
If we draw a line from Fastnet Rock to the Scilly Islands and from there to the westernmost extremity of France, we enclose an area in which the German submarines were particularly active. The soundings here run up to about sixty fathoms in some places, but the prevailing depth is less than fifty fathoms. In the North Sea, too, except for a comparatively narrow lane along the Norwegian coast—which, by the way, marked the safety lane of the German blockade zone—the chart shows fifty fathoms or under. If our salvors could reach down as far as that, most of the submarine victims could be reclaimed. But fifty fathoms means 300 feet, which is a formidable depth for salvage work. Only one vessel has ever been brought up from such a depth and that was a small craft, one of our submarines, the F-4, which sank off the coast of Hawaii four years ago.