The Victory At Sea

by William Sowden Sims; Burton Jesse Hendrick

CHAPTER VI

AMERICAN COLLEGE BOYS AND SUBCHASERS

I

Who would ever have thought that a little wooden vessel, displacing only sixty tons, measuring only 110 feet from bow to stern, and manned by officers and crew very few of whom had ever made an ocean voyage, could have crossed more than three thousand miles of wintry sea, even with the help of the efficient naval officers and men who, after training there, convoyed and guided them across, and could have done excellent work in hunting the submarines? We built nearly 400 of these little vessels in eighteen months; and we sent 170 to such widely scattered places as Plymouth, Queenstown, Brest, Gibraltar, and Corfu. Several enemy submarines now lie at the bottom of the sea as trophies of their offensive power; and on the day that hostilities ceased, the Allies generally recognized that this tiny vessel, with the "listening devices" which made it so efficient, represented one of the most satisfactory direct "answers" to the submarine which had been developed by the war. Had it not been that the war ended before enough destroyers could be spared from convoy duty to assist, with their greater speed and offensive power, hunting groups of these tiny craft, it is certain that they would soon have become a still more important factor in destroying submarines and interfering with their operations.

The convoy system, as I have already explained, was essentially an offensive measure; it compelled the submarine to encounter its most formidable antagonist, the destroyer, and to risk destruction every time that it attacked merchant vessels. This system, however, was an indirect offensive, or, to use the technical phrase, it was a defensive-offensive. Its great success in protecting merchant shipping, and the indispensable service which it performed to the cause of civilization, I have already described. But the fact remained that there could be no final solution of the submarine problem, barring breaking down the enemy moral, until a definite, direct method of attacking these boats had been found. A depth charge, fired from the deck of a destroyer, was a serious matter for the submarine; still the submarine could avoid this deadly weapon at any time by simply concealing its whereabouts when in danger of attack. The destroyer could usually sink the submarine whenever it could get near enough; it was for the under-water boat, however, to decide whether an engagement should take place. That great advantage in warfare, the option of fighting or of running away, always lay with the submarine. Until it was possible for our naval forces to set out to sea, find the enemy that was constantly assailing our commerce, and destroy him, it was useless to maintain that we had discovered the anti-submarine tactics which would drive this pest from the ocean for all time. Though the convoy, the mine-fields, the mystery ships, the airplane, and several other methods of fighting the under-water boat had been developed, the submarine could still utilize that one great quality of invisibility which made any final method of attacking it such a difficult problem.

Thus, despite the wonderful work which had been accomplished by the convoy, the Allied effort to destroy the submarine was still largely a game of blind man's buff. In our struggle against the German campaign we were deprived of one of the senses which for ages had been absolutely necessary to military operations—that of sight. We were constantly attempting to destroy an enemy whom we could not see. So far as this offensive on the water was concerned, the Allies found themselves in the position of a man who has suddenly gone blind. I make this comparison advisedly, for it at once suggests that our situation was not entirely hopeless. The man who loses the use of his eyes suffers a terrible affliction; yet this calamity does not completely destroy his usefulness. Such a person, if normally intelligent, gradually learns how to find his way around in darkness; first he slowly discovers how to move about his room; then about his house, then about his immediate neighbourhood; and ultimately he becomes so expert that he can be trusted to walk alone in crowded streets, to pilot himself up and down strange buildings, and even to go on long journeys. In time he learns to read, to play cards and chess, and not infrequently even to resume his old profession or occupation; indeed his existence, despite the deprivation of what many regard as the most indispensable of the senses, becomes again practically a normal process. His whole experience, of course, is one of the most beautiful demonstrations we have of the exquisite economy of Nature. What has happened in the case of this stricken man is that his other senses have come to fill the place of the one which he has lost. Deprived of sight, he is forced to form his contacts with the external world by using his other senses, especially those of touch and hearing. So long as he could see clearly these senses had lain half developed; he had never used them to any extent that remotely approached their full powers; but now that they are called into constant action they gradually increase in strength to a degree that seems abnormal, precisely as a disused muscle, when regularly exercised, acquires a hitherto unsuspected vigour.

This illustration applies to the predicament in which the Allied navies now found themselves. When they attempted to fight the submarine they discovered that they had gone hopelessly blind. Like the sightless man, however, they still had other senses left; and it remained for them to develop these to take the place of the one of which they had been deprived. The faculty which it seemed most likely that they could increase by stimulation was that of hearing. Our men could not detect the presence of the submarine with their eyes; could they not do so with their ears? Their enemy could make himself unseen at will, but he could not make himself unheard, except by stopping his motors. In fact, when the submarine was under water the vibrations, due to the peculiar shape of its propellers and hull, and to its electric motors, produced sound waves that resembled nothing else in art or nature. It now clearly became the business of naval science to take advantage of this phenomenon to track the submarine after it had submerged. Once this feat had been accomplished, the only advantage which the under-water boat possessed over other warcraft, that of invisibility, would be overcome; and, inasmuch as the submarine, except for this quality of invisibility, was a far weaker vessel than any other afloat, the complete elimination of this advantage would dispose of it as a formidable enemy in war.

A fact that held forth hopes of success was that water is an excellent conductor of sound—far better than the atmosphere itself. In the air there are many crosscurrents and areas of varying temperature which make sound waves frequently behave in most puzzling fashion, sometimes travelling in circles, sometimes moving capriciously up or down or even turning sharp corners. The mariner has learned how deceptive is a foghorn; when it is blowing he knows that a ship is somewhere in the general region, but usually he has no definite idea where. The water, however, is uniform in density and practically uniform in temperature, and therefore sound in this medium always travels in straight lines. It also travels more rapidly in water than in the air, it travels farther, and the sound waves are more distinct. American inventors have been the pioneers in making practical use of this well-known principle. Before the war its most valuable applications were the submarine bell and the vibrator. On many Atlantic and Pacific points these instruments had been placed under the water, provided with mechanisms which caused them to sound at regular intervals; an ingenious invention, installed aboard ships, made it possible for trained listeners to pick up these noises, and so fix positions, long before lighthouses or lightships came into view in any but entirely clear weather. For several years the great trans-Atlantic liners have frequently made Nantucket Lightship by listening for its submarine bell. From the United States this system was rapidly extending all over the world.

American inventors were therefore well qualified to deal with this problem of communicating by sound under the water. A listening device placed on board ship, which would reveal to practised ears the noise of a submarine at a reasonable distance, and which would at the same time give its direction, would come near to solving the most serious problem presented by the German tactics. Even before the United States entered the war, American specialists had started work on their own initiative. In particular the General Electric Company, the Western Electric Company, and the Submarine Signal Company had taken up the matter at their own expense; each had a research department and an experimental station where a large amount of preliminary work had been done. Soon a special board was created at Washington to study detection devices, to which each of these companies was invited to send a representative; the board eventually took up its headquarters at New London, and was assisted in this work by some of the leading physicists of our universities. All through the summer and autumn of 1917 these men kept industriously at their task; to such good purpose did they labour that by October of that year several devices had been invented which seemed to promise satisfactory results. In beginning their labours they had one great advantage: European scientists had already made considerable progress in this work, and the results of their studies were at once placed at our disposal by the Allied Admiralties. Moreover, these Admiralties sent over several of their experts to co-operate with us. About that time Captain Richard H. Leigh, U.S.N., who had been assigned to command the subchaser detachments abroad, was sent to Europe to confer with the Allied Admiralties, and to test, in actual operations against submarines, the detection devices which had been developed at the New London station. Captain Leigh, who after the armistice became my chief-of-staff at London, was not only one of our ablest officers, but he had long been interested in detection devices, and was a great believer in their possibilities.

The British, of course, received Captain Leigh cordially and gave him the necessary facilities for experimenting with his devices, but it was quite apparent that they did not anticipate any very satisfactory results. The trouble was that so many inventors had presented new ideas which had proved useless that we were all more or less doubtful. They had been attempting to solve this problem ever since the beginning of the war; British inventors had developed several promising hydrophones, but these instruments had not proved efficient in locating a submarine with sufficient accuracy to enable us to destroy it with depth charges. These disappointments quite naturally created an atmosphere of scepticism which, however, did not diminish the energy which was devoted to the solution of this important problem. Accordingly, three British trawlers and a "P"[6] boat were assigned to Captain Leigh, and with these vessels he spent ten days in the Channel, testing impartially both the British and American devices. No detailed tactics for groups of vessels had yet been elaborated for hunting by sound. Though the ships used were not particularly suitable for the work in hand, these few days at sea demonstrated that the American contrivances were superior to anything in the possession of the Allies. They were by no means perfect; but the ease with which they picked up all kinds of noises, particularly those made by submarines, astonished everybody who was let into the secret; the conviction that such a method of tracking the hidden enemy might ultimately be used with the desired success now became more or less general. In particular the American "K-tubes" and the "C-tubes" proved superior to the "Nash-fish" and the "Shark-fin," the two devices which up to that time had been the favourites in the British navy. The "K-tubes" easily detected the sound of large vessels at a distance of twenty miles, while the "C-tubes" were more useful at a shorter distance. But the greatest advantage which these new listening machines had over those of other navies was that they could more efficiently determine not only the sound but also the direction from which it came. Captain Leigh, after this demonstration, visited several British naval stations, consulting with the British officers, explaining our sound-detection devices, and testing the new appliances in all kinds of conditions. The net result of his trip was a general reversal of opinion on the value of this method of hunting submarines. The British Admiralty ordered from the United States large quantities of the American mechanisms, and also began manufacturing them in England.

About the time that it was shown that these listening devices would probably have great practical value, the first "subchasers" were delivered at New London, Conn. The design of the subchaser type was based upon what proved to be a misconception as to the cruising possibilities of the submarine. Just before the beginning of the Great War most naval officers believed that the limitations of the submarine were such that it could not operate far from coastal waters. Hardly any one, except a few experienced submarine officers, had regarded it as possible that these small boats could successfully attack vessels upon the high seas or remain for any extended period away from their base. High authorities condemned them. This is hard to realize, now that we know so well the offensive possibilities of submarines, but we have ample evidence as to what former opinions were. For example, a distinguished naval writer says that at that time "The view of the majority of admirals and captains probably was that submersible craft were 'just marvellous toys, good for circus performances in carefully selected places in fine weather.'" He adds that certain very prominent naval men of great experience declared that the submarine "could operate only by day in fair weather; that it was practically useless in misty weather"; that it had to come to the surface to fire its torpedo; that its "crowning defect lay in its want of habitability"; that "a week's peace manœuvres got to the bottom of the health of officers and men"; and that "on the high seas the chances [of successful attack] will be few, and submarines will require for their existence parent ships." The first triumph of Otto Weddingen, that of sinking the Cressy, the Hogue, and the Aboukir, did not change this conviction, for these three warships had been sunk in comparatively restricted waters under conditions which were very favourable to the submarine. It was not until the Audacious went to the bottom off the north-west coast of Ireland, many hundreds of miles from any German submarine base, that the possibilities of this new weapon were partially understood; for it was clear that the Audacious had been sunk by a mine, and that that mine must have been laid by a submarine. Even then many doubted the ability of the U-boats to operate successfully in the open sea westward of the British Isles. Therefore the subchaser was designed to fight the submarine in restricted waters; Great Britain and France ordered more than 500 smaller (80-foot) vessels of this type, or of approximately this type, built in the United States; and just before our declaration of war the United States had designed and contracted for several hundred of a somewhat larger size (the 110-foot chasers) with the original idea of using them as patrol boats near the harbours and coastal waters of our own country. Long before these vessels were finished, however, it became apparent that Germany could not engage in any serious, extensive campaign on this side; it was also evident that any vessel as small as the subchaser had little value in convoy work, notwithstanding the excellence of its sea-keeping qualities; and we were all rather doubtful as to just what use we could make of these new additions to our navy.

The work of pushing the design and construction of these boats reflects great credit upon those who were chiefly responsible. The designs were drawn and the first contracts were placed before the United States had declared war. The credit for this admirable work belongs chiefly to Commander Julius A. Furer (Construction Corps) U.S. Navy, and to Mr. A. Loring Swasey, a yacht architect of Boston, who was enrolled as a lieutenant-commander in the reserves, and who served throughout the war as an adviser and assistant to Commander Furer in his specialty as a small vessel designer, particularly in wood. It speaks well for the ability of these officers that the small subchasers exhibited such remarkable sea-keeping qualities; this fact was a pleasant surprise to all sea-going men, particularly to naval officers who had had little experience with that type of craft. The listening devices had not been perfected when they were designed, and this innovation opened up possibilities for their employment which had not been anticipated; for these reasons it inevitably took a large amount of time, after the subchasers had been delivered, to provide the hydrophones and all the several appliances which were necessary for hunting submarines. Apparently those who were responsible for constructing these boats had a rocky road to travel; with the great demand for material and labour for building destroyers, merchant ships, and for a multitude of war supplies, it was natural that the demands for the subchasers in the early days were viewed as a nuisance; the responsible officers, therefore, deserve credit for delivering these boats in such an efficient condition and in such a remarkably short time. That winter, as everyone will recall, was the coldest in the memory of the present generation. Day after day the poor subchasers, coated with ice almost a foot thick, many with their engines wrecked, their planking torn and their propellers crumpled, were towed into the harbour and left at the first convenient mooring, where the ice immediately began to freeze them in. As was inevitable under such conditions, the crews, for the most part, suffered acutely in this terrible weather; they had had absolutely no training in ordinary seamanship, to say nothing of the detailed tactics demanded by the difficult work in which they were to engage.

I do not think that the whole lot contained 1 per cent. of graduates of Annapolis or 5 per cent. of experienced sailors; for the greater number that terrible trip in the icy ocean, with the thermometer several degrees below zero, and with very little artificial heat on board, was their first experience at sea. Yet there was not the slightest sign of whimpering or discouragement. Ignorant of salt water as these men at that time were, they really represented about the finest raw material in the nation for this service. Practically all, officers and men, were civilians; a small minority were amateur yachtsmen, but the great mass were American college undergraduates. Boys of Yale, Harvard, Princeton—indeed, of practically every college and university in the land—had dropped their books, left the comforts of their fraternity houses, and abandoned their athletic fields, eager for the great adventure against the Hun. If there is any man who still doubts what the American system of higher education is doing for our country, he should have spent a few days at sea with these young men. That they knew nothing at first about navigation and naval technique was not important; the really important fact was that their minds were alert, their hearts filled with a tremendous enthusiasm for the cause, their souls clean, and their bodies ready for the most exhausting tasks. Whenever I get to talking of the American college boys and other civilians in our navy, I find myself indulging in what may seem extravagant praise. I have even been inclined to suggest that it would be well, in the training of naval officers in future, to combine a college education with a shorter intensive technical course at the Naval Academy. For these college men have what technical academies do not usually succeed in giving—a general education and a general training, which develops the power of initiative, independent thought, an ability quickly to grasp intricate situations, and to master, in a short time, almost any practical problem. At least this proved to be the case with our subchaser forces. So little experience did these boys have of seafaring that, as soon as they had completed their first voyage, we had to place a considerable portion in hospital to recover from seasickness. Yet, a few months afterward, we could leave these same men on the bridge at night in command of the ship. When they reached New London they knew no more of seamanship and navigation than so many babies, but so well were these boys instructed and trained within a few weeks by the regular officers in charge that they learned their business sufficiently well to cross the Atlantic safely in convoy. The early 80-foot subchasers which we built for Great Britain and France crossed the ocean on the decks of ocean liners; for it would have been a waste of time, even if international law had permitted it, to send them under their own power; but all of the 110-footers which these young men commanded crossed the ocean under their own power and many in the face of the fierce January and February gales, almost constantly tossed upon the waves like pieces of cork. As soon as they were sufficiently trained and prepared to make the trip, groups were despatched under escort of a naval vessel fitted to supply them with gasolene at sea. Such matters as gunnery these young men also learned with lightning speed. The most valuable were those who had specialized in mathematics, chemistry, and general science; but they were all a splendid lot, and to their spirit and energy are chiefly due their remarkable success in learning their various duties.

"Those boys can't bring a ship across the ocean!" someone remarked to Captain Cotten, who commanded the first squadron of subchasers to arrive at Plymouth, after he had related the story of one of these voyages.

"Perhaps they can't," replied Captain Cotten—himself an Annapolis man who admires these reservists as much as I do. "But they have."

And he pointed to thirty-six little vessels lying at anchor in Plymouth Harbour, just about a hundred yards from the monument which marks the spot from which the Mayflower sailed for the new world—all of which were navigated across by youngsters of whom almost none, officers or men, had had any nautical training until the day the United States declared war on Germany.

Capable as they were, however, I am sure that these reservists would be the first to acknowledge their obligations to the loyal and devoted regular officers of the Navy, who laboured so diligently to train them for their work. One of the minor tragedies of the war is that many of our Annapolis men, whose highest ambition it was to cross the ocean and engage in the "game," had to stay on this side, in order to instruct these young men from civil life.

I wish that I had the space adequately to acknowledge the work in organization done by Captain John T. Tompkins; in listening devices by Rear-Admiral S. S. Robison, Captains Frank H. Schofield, Joseph H. Defrees, Commanders Clyde S. McDowell, and Miles A. Libbey, and the many scientists who gave us the benefit of their knowledge and experience. It is impossible to overpraise the work of such men as Captains Arthur J. Hepburn, Lyman A. Cotten, and William P. Cronan, in "licking" the splendid raw material into shape. Great credit is also due to Rear-Admiral T. P. Magruder, Captains David F. Boyd, S. V. Graham, Arthur Crenshaw, E. P. Jessop, C. M. Tozer, H. G. Sparrow, and C. P. Nelson, and many others who had the actual responsibility of convoying these vessels across the ocean.

I assume that they will receive full credit when the story of the work of the Navy at home is written; meanwhile, they may be assured of the appreciation of those of us on the other side who depended so much for success upon their thorough work of preparation.

II

The sea qualities which the subchaser displayed, and the development of listening devices which made it possible to detect all kinds of sounds under water at a considerable distance, immediately laid before us the possibility of direct offensive operations against the submarine. It became apparent that these listening devices could be used to the greatest advantage on these little craft. The tactics which were soon developed for their use made it necessary that we should have a large number of vessels; nearly all the destroyers were then engaged in convoy duty, and we could not entertain the idea of detailing many of them for this more or less experimental work. Happily the subchasers started coming off the ways just in time to fill the need; and the several Allied navies began competing for these new craft in lively fashion. France demanded them in large numbers to work in co-operation with the air stations and also to patrol her coastal waters, and there were many requests from stations in England, Ireland, Gibraltar, Portugal, and Italy. The question of where we should place them was therefore referred to the Allied Naval War Council, which, at my suggestion, considered the matter, not from the standpoint of the individual nation, but from the standpoint of the Allied cause as a whole.

A general survey clearly showed that there were three places where the subchasers might render the most efficient service. The convoy system had by this time not only greatly reduced the losses, but it was changing the policy of the submarines. Until this system was adopted, sinkings on a great scale were taking place far out at sea, sometimes three or four hundred miles west of Ireland. The submarines had adopted the policy of meeting the unescorted ships in the Atlantic and of torpedoing them long before they could reach the zones where the destroyer patrol might possibly have protected them. But sailing great groups of merchantmen in convoys, surrounded by destroyers, made this an unprofitable adventure, and the submarines therefore had to change their programme. The important point is that the convoys, so long as they could keep formation, and so long as protecting screens could be maintained on their flanks, were virtually safe. Under these conditions sinkings, as already said, were less than one-half of 1 per cent. These convoys, it will be recalled, came home by way of two "trunk lines," a southern one extending through the English Channel and a northern one through the so-called "North Channel"—the latter being the passage between Ireland and Scotland. As soon as the inward-bound southern "trunk-line" convoys reached the English Channel they broke up, certain ships going to Plymouth, Portsmouth, Southampton, and other Channel ports, and others sailing to Brest, Cherbourg, Havre, and other harbours in France. In the same fashion, convoys which came in by way of the North Channel split up as soon as they reached the Irish Sea. In other words, the convoys, as convoys, necessarily ceased to exist the moment that they entered these inland waters, and the ships, as individual ships, or small groups of ships, had to find their way to their destinations unescorted by destroyers, or escorted most inadequately. This was the one weak spot in the convoy system, and the Germans were not slow to turn it to their advantage. They now proceeded to withdraw most of their submarines from the high seas and to concentrate them in these restricted waters. In April, 1917, the month which marked the high tide of German success, not far from a hundred merchant ships were sunk in an area that extended about 300 miles west of Ireland and about 300 miles south. A year afterward—in the month of April, 1918—not a single ship was sent to the bottom in this same section of the sea. That change measures the extent to which the convoy saved Allied shipping. But if we examine the situation in inclosed waters—the North Channel, the Irish Sea, St. George's Channel, and the English Channel—we shall find a less favourable state of affairs. Practically all the sinkings of April, 1918, occurred in these latter areas. In April, 1917, the waters which lay between Ireland and England were practically free from depredations; in the spring of 1918, however, these waters had become a favourite hunting ground for submarines; while in the English Channel the sinkings were almost as numerous in April, 1918, as they had been in the same month the year before.

Thus we had to deal with an entirely new phase of the submarine campaign; the new conditions made it practicable to employ light vessels which existed in large numbers, and which could aggressively hunt out the submarines even though they were sailing submerged. The subchaser, when fitted with its listening devices, met these new requirements, though of course not to the desirable degree of precision we hoped soon to attain with still further improved hydrophones and larger vessels of the Eagle class then being built.

The matter was presented to the Allied Naval Council and, in accordance with the unanimous opinion of all of the members, they recommended that of the subchasers then available, a squadron should be based on Plymouth, where it could be advantageously used against the German submarines which were still doing great damage in the English Channel, and that another squadron, based on Queenstown, should similarly be used against the submarines in the Irish Sea.

I was therefore requested to concentrate the boats at these two points, and at once acquiesced in this recommendation.

But another point, widely separated from British waters, also made a powerful plea for consideration. In the Mediterranean the submarine campaign was still a menace. The spring and early summer of 1918 witnessed large losses of shipping destined to southern France, to Italy, and to the armies at Salonika and in Palestine. Austrian and German submarines, operating from their bases at Pola and Cattaro in the Adriatic, were responsible for this destruction. If we could pen these pests in the Adriatic, the whole Mediterranean Sea would become an unobstructed highway for the Allies. A glance at the map indicated the way in which such a desirable result might be accomplished. At its southern extremity the Adriatic narrows to a passage only forty miles wide—the Strait of Otranto—and through this restricted area all the submarines were obliged to pass before they could reach the water where they could prey upon Allied commerce. For some time before the Allied Naval Council began to consider the use of the American subchasers, the British navy was doing its best to keep submarines from passing this point. A defensive scheme known, not very accurately, as the "Otranto barrage" was in operation. The word "barrage" suggests an effective barrier, but this one at the base of the Adriatic consisted merely of a few British destroyers of ancient type and a large number of drifters, which kept up a continuous patrolling of the gateway through which the submarines made their way into the Mediterranean. It is no reflection upon the British to say that this barrage was unsatisfactory and inadequate, and that, for the first few months, it formed a not particularly formidable obstruction. So many demands were made upon the British navy in northern waters that it could not spare many vessels for this work; the Italian navy was holding the majority of its destroyers intact, momentarily prepared for a sortie by the Austrian battle fleet; the Otranto barrage, therefore, important as it was to the Allied cause, was necessarily insufficient. The Italian representatives at the Allied Council made a strong plea for a contingent of American subchasers to reinforce the British ships, and the British and French delegates seconded this request.

In the spring of 1918 I therefore sent Captain Leigh to southern Italy to locate and construct a subchaser base in this neighbourhood. After inspecting the territory in detail Captain Leigh decided that the Bay of Govino, in the island of Corfu, would best meet our requirements. The immediate connection which was thus established between New London and this ancient city of classical Greece fairly illustrates how widely the Great War had extended the horizon of the American people. There was a certain appropriateness in the fact that the American college boys who commanded these little ships—not much larger than the vessel in which Ulysses had sailed these same waters three thousand years before—should have made their base on the same island which had served as a naval station for Athens in the Peloponnesian War, and which, several centuries afterward, had been used for the same purpose by Augustus in the struggle with Antony. And probably the sight of the Achelleion, the Kaiser's palace, which was not far from this new American base, was not without its influence in constantly reminding our young men of the meaning of this unexpected association of Yankee-land with the ancient world.

III

By June 30, 1918, two squadrons of American chasers, comprising thirty-six boats, had assembled at Plymouth, England, under the command of Captain Lyman A. Cotten, U.S.N. The U.S. destroyer Parker, commanded by Commander Wilson Brown, had been assigned to this detachment as a supporting ship. The area which now formed the new field of operations was one which was causing great anxiety at that time. It comprehended that section of the Channel which reached from Start Point to Lizard Head, and included such important shipping ports as Plymouth, Devonport, and Falmouth. This was the region in which the convoys, after having been escorted through the submarine zone, were broken up, and from which the individual ships were obliged to find their way to their destinations with greatly diminished protection. It was one of the most important sections in which the Germans, forced to abandon their submarine campaign on the high seas, were now actively concentrating their efforts. Until the arrival of the subchasers sinkings had been taking place in these waters on a considerable scale. In company with a number of British hunting units, Captain Cotten's detachment kept steadily at work from June 30th until the middle of August, when it became necessary to send it elsewhere. The historical fact is that not a single merchant ship was sunk between Lizard Head and Start Point as long as these subchasers were assisting in the operations. The one sinking which at first seemed to have broken this splendid record was that of the Stockforce; this merchantman was destroyed off Dartmouth; but it was presently announced that the Stockforce was in reality a "mystery" ship, sent out for the express purpose of being torpedoed, and that she "got" the submarine which had ended her own career. This happening therefore hardly detracted from our general satisfaction over the work done by our little vessels. Since many ships had been sunk in this area in the month before they arrived, and since the sinkings started in again after they had left, the immunity which this region enjoyed during July and August may properly be attributed largely to the American navy. Not only were no bona-fide merchant ships destroyed, but no mines were laid from Start Point to Lizard Head during the time that the American forces maintained their vigil there. That this again was probably not a mere coincidence was shown by the fact that, the very night after these chasers were withdrawn from Plymouth, five mines were laid in front of that harbour, in preparation for a large convoy scheduled to sail the next day.

By the time that Captain Cotten's squadron began work the hunting tactics which had been developed during their training at New London had been considerably improved. Their procedure represented something entirely new in naval warfare. Since the chasers had to depend for the detection of the foe upon an agency so uncertain as the human ear, it was thought to be necessary, as a safeguard against error, and also to increase the chances of successful attack, that they should hunt in groups of at least three. The fight against the submarine, under this new system, was divided into three parts—the search, the pursuit, and the attack. The first chapter included those weary hours which the little group spent drifting on the ocean, the lookout in the crow's nest scanning the surface for the possible glimpse of a periscope, while the trained listeners on deck, with strange little instruments which somewhat resembled telephone receivers glued to their ears, were kept constantly at tension for any noise which might manifest itself under water. It was impossible to use these listening devices while the boats were under way, for the sound of their own propellers and machinery would drown out any other disturbances. The three little vessels therefore drifted abreast—at a distance of a mile or two apart—their propellers hardly moving, and the decks as silent as the grave; they formed a new kind of fishing expedition, the officers and crews constantly held taut by the expectation of a "bite." And frequently their experience was that of the proverbial "fisherman's luck." Hours passed sometimes without even the encouragement of a "nibble"; then, suddenly, one of the listeners would hear something which his experienced ear had learned to identify as the propellers and motors of a submarine. The great advantage possessed by the American tubes, as already said, was that they gave not only the sound, but its direction. The listener would inform his commanding officer that he had picked up a submarine. "Very faint," he would perhaps report, "direction 97"—the latter being the angle which it made with the north and south line. Another appliance which now rendered great service was the wireless telephone. The commanding officer at once began talking with the other two boats, asking if they had picked up the noise. Unless all three vessels had heard the disturbance, nothing was done; but if all identified it nearly simultaneously, this unanimity was taken as evidence that something was really moving in the water. When all three vessels obtained the direction as well as the sound it was a comparatively simple matter to define pretty accurately its location. The middle chaser of the three was the flagship and her most interesting feature was the so-called plotting-room. Here one officer received constant telephone reports from all three boats, giving the nature of the sounds, and, more important still, their directions. He transferred these records to a chart as soon as they came in, rapidly made calculations, and in a few seconds he was able to give the location of the submarine. This process was known as obtaining a "fix." The reports of our chaser commanders are filled constantly with reference to these "fixes"—the "fix" being that point on the surface of the ocean where three lines, each giving the direction of the detected sound, cross one another. The method can be most satisfactorily illustrated by the following diagram:

HOW THE LISTENING DEVICES LOCATED A SUBMARINE.

In this demonstration the letters A, B, and C, each represent a subchaser, the central one, B, being the flagship of the division. The listener on A has picked up a noise, the direction of which is indicated by the line a a. He telephones by wireless this information to the plotting-room aboard the flagship B. The listeners on this vessel have picked up the same sound, which comes from the direction indicated by the line b b. The point at which these two lines cross is the "fix"; it shows the spot in the ocean where the submarine was stationed when the sound was first detected. The reason for having a report from the third subchaser C is merely for the purpose of corroborating the work of the other two; if three observations, made independently, agree in locating the enemy at this point, the commanding officer may safely assume that he is not chasing a will o' the wisp.

But this "fix" is merely the location of the submarine at the time when it was first heard. In the great majority of cases, however, the submerged vessel is moving; so, rapidly as the men in the plotting-room may work, the German has advanced beyond this point by the time they have finished their calculations. The subchasers, which have been drifting while these observations were being made, now start their engines at full speed, and rush up to the neighbourhood of their first "fix." Arrived there, they stop again, put over their tubes, and begin listening once more. The chances are now that the noise of the submarine is louder; the chasers are getting "warmer." It is not unlikely, however, that the direction has changed, for the submarine, which has listening devices of its own—though the German hydrophones were decidedly inferior to the American—may have heard the subchasers and may be making frantic efforts to elude them. But changing the course will help it little, for the listeners easily get the new direction, and send the details to the plotting-room, where the new "fix" is obtained in a few moments. Thus the subchasers keep inching up to their prey; at each new "fix" the noise becomes louder, until the hunters are so near that they feel justified in attacking. Putting on full speed, all three rush up to the latest "fix," drop depth charges with a lavish hand, fire the "Y" howitzers, each one of which carries two depth charges, meanwhile manning their guns on the chance that the submarine may decide to rise to the surface and give battle. In many of these hunts a destroyer accompanies the subchasers, always keeping at a considerable distance, so that the noise of its propellers will not interfere with the game; once the chasers determine the accurate "fix," they wire the position to this larger ship, which puts on full steam and dashes with the speed of an express train to the indicated spot, and adds ten or a dozen depth charges to those deposited by the chasers.

Such were the subchaser tactics in their perfection; yet it was only after much experience that the procedure began to work with clock-like regularity. At first the new world under the water proved confusing to the listeners at the tubes. This watery domain was something entirely new in human experience. When Dr. Alexander Bell invented his first telephone an attempt was made to establish a complete circuit by using the earth itself; the result was that a conglomerate of noises—moanings, shriekings, howlings, and humming sounds—came over the wire, which seemed to have become the playground of a million devils. These were the noises, hitherto unknown, which are constantly being given out by Mother Earth herself. And now it was discovered that the under-ocean, which we usually think of as a silent place, is in reality extremely vocal. The listeners at the C- and K-tubes heard many sounds in addition to the ones which they were seeking. On the K-tubes a submarine running at full speed was audible from fifteen to twenty miles, but louder noises could be heard much farther away. The day might be bright, the water quiet, and there might not be a ship anywhere within the circle of the horizon, but suddenly the listener at the tube would hear a terrific explosion, and he would know that a torpedo, perhaps forty or fifty miles distant, had blown up a merchantman, or that some merchantman had struck a mine. Again he would catch the unmistakable "chug! chug! chug!" which he learned to identify as indicating the industrious and slow progress of a convoy of twenty or thirty ships. Then a rapid humming noise would come along the wire; that was the whirling propeller of a destroyer. A faint moan caused some bewilderment at first; but it was ultimately learned that this came from a wreck, lying at the bottom, and tossed from side to side by the current; it sounded like the sigh of a ghost, and the frequency with which it was heard told how densely the floor of the ocean was covered with victims of the submarines. The larger animal life of the sea also registered itself upon the tubes. Our listeners, after a little training, could identify a whale as soon as the peculiar noise it made in swimming reached the receivers. At first a school of porpoises increased their perplexities. The "swish! swish!" which marked their progress so closely resembled the noise of a submarine that it used to lead our men astray. But practice in this game was everything; after a few trips the listener easily distinguished between the porpoise and the submarine, though the distinction was so fine that he had difficulty in telling just how he made it. In fact, our men became so expert that, out of the miscellaneous noises which overwhelmed their ears whenever the tubes were dropped into the water, they were able almost invariably to select that of the U-boat.

In many ingenious ways the chasers supplemented the work of other anti-submarine craft. Destroyers and other patrol boats kept track of the foe pretty well so long as he remained on the surface; the business of the chaser, we must remember, was to find him after he had submerged. The Commander-in-Chief on shore sometimes sent a radio that a German had appeared at an indicated spot, and disappeared beneath the waves; the chasers would then start for this location and begin hunting with their listeners. Aircraft which sighted submarines would send similar messages; convoys that had been attacked, individual ships that had been torpedoed, destroyers which had spotted their prey, only to lose track of it as soon as it submerged, would call upon the chasers to take up the battle where they had abandoned it.

As long as the chasers operated in the waters which I have indicated, those between Start Point and Lizard Head, they "got" no submarine; the explanation was simple, for as soon as the chasers and British hunting vessels became active here, the Germans abandoned this field of operations. This was the reason that the operative area of the Plymouth detachment was extended. Some of the chasers were now sent around Land's End and up the north Cornish coast, where colliers bound from Wales to France were proving tempting bait for the U-boats; others operated farther out to sea, off the Scilly Islands and west of Brest. In these regions their contacts with the submarine were quite frequent.

There was no U-boat in the German navy which the Allied forces were so ambitious to "get" as the U-53. I have already referred to this celebrated vessel and its still more celebrated commander, Captain Hans Rose. It was this submarine, it will be recalled, which had suddenly paid a ceremonious visit to Newport, R.I., in the autumn of 1916, and which, on its way back to Germany, had paused long enough off Nantucket to sink half a dozen British cargo ships. It was the same submarine which sank our own destroyer, the Jacob Jones, by a chance shot with a torpedo. Thus Americans had a peculiar reason for wishing to see it driven from the seas. About the middle of August, 1918, we discovered that the U-53 was operating in the Atlantic about 250 miles west of Brest. At the same time we learned that two German submarines were coming down the west coast of Ireland. We picked up radio messages which these three boats were exchanging; this made it quite likely that they proposed to form a junction west of Brest, and attack American transports, which were then sailing to France in great numbers. Here was an opportunity for the subchasers. The distance—250 miles to sea—would be a severe strain upon their endurance, but we assigned four hunting units, twelve boats in all, to the task, and also added to this contingent the destroyers Wilkes and Parker. On the morning of September 2nd one of these subchaser units picked up a suspicious sound. A little later the lookout on the Parker detected on the surface an object that looked like a conning-tower, with an upright just forward which seemed to be a mast and sail; as it was the favourite trick of the U-53 to disguise itself in this way, it seemed certain that the chasers were now on the track of this esteemed vessel. When this mast and sail and conning-tower suddenly disappeared under the water, these suspicions became still stronger. The Parker put on full speed, found an oilslick where the submarine had evidently been pumping its bilges, and dropped a barrage of sixteen depth charges. But had these injured the submarine? Under ordinary conditions there would have been no satisfactory answer to this question; but now three little wooden boats came up, advanced about 2,000 yards ahead of the Parker, stopped their engines, put over their tubes, and began to listen. In a few minutes they conveyed the disappointing news to the Parker that the depth charges had gone rather wild, that the submarine was still steaming ahead, and that they had obtained a "fix" of its position. But the U-53, as always, was exceedingly crafty. It knew that the chasers were on the trail; its propellers were revolving so slowly that almost no noise was made; the U-boat was stealthily trying to throw its pursuers off the scent. For two and a half hours the chasers kept up the hunt, now losing the faint noise of the U-53, now again picking it up, now turning in one direction, then abruptly in another. Late in the afternoon, however, they obtained a "fix," which disclosed the welcome fact that the submarine was only about 300 yards north of them. In a few minutes four depth charges landed on this spot.

When the waters had quieted the little craft began listening. But nothing was heard. For several days afterward the radio operators could hear German submarines calling across the void to the U-53, but there was no answer to their call. Naturally, we believed that this long-sought enemy had been destroyed; about a week later, however, our radios caught a message off the extreme northern coast of Scotland, from the U-53, telling its friends in Germany that it was on its way home. That this vessel had been seriously damaged was evident, for it had made no attacks after its experience with the subchasers; but it apparently had as many lives as a cat, for it was able, in its battered condition, to creep back to Germany around the coast of Scotland, a voyage of more than a thousand miles. The subchasers, however, at least had the satisfaction of having ended the active career of this boat. It was damaged two months before the armistice was signed, but it never recovered sufficiently from its injuries to make another voyage. Yet I must do justice to Captain Rose—he did not command the U-53 on this last voyage. It was its only trip during the whole course of the war when he had not commanded it!

The story of the U-53 ends with a touch which is characteristically German. It was one of the submarines which were surrendered to the Allies at the signing of the armistice. Its first visitors, on this occasion, were the Americans; they were eager to read its log-book, and to find out just what had happened on this final voyage. The book was on board, and it contained a record of the U-53's voyages from the day when it was commissioned up to the day when it was surrendered. Two or three pages only were missing; the Germans had ripped out that part which described the encounter with the American subchasers! They were evidently determined that we should never have the satisfaction of knowing to just what extent we had damaged the boat; this was the only revenge they could take on us.

IV

On the morning of September 6th three subchaser units, under the command of Ensign Ashley D. Adams, U.S.N.R.F., were listening at a point about 150 miles west of Land's End. At about eleven-thirty two of these units detected what was unquestionably the sound of a submarine. Moreover, the usual "fixes" disclosed that the enemy was close at hand; so close that two of the units ran up and dropped their charges. This first attack produced no result on the submarine; the depth charge from one of the howitzers, however, unfortunately landed near one of the chasers, and, though it injured no one, it put that particular unit out of commission. However, for two hours Ensign Adams's division kept closely on the heels of the quarry, now stopping to obtain a "fix," now running full speed to catch up with the fleeing prey. At one o'clock the plotting-room reported that the submerged boat was just about a hundred yards ahead. The three chasers laid barrages according to pattern, and the three "Y" guns shot their depth charges; the region of the "fix" was so generously sowed with these bombs that it seemed an impossibility that the German could have escaped.

As soon as the tumult quieted down, the chasers put out their tubes and listened. For twenty minutes not a sound issued from the scene of all this activity. Then a propeller was heard faintly turning or attempting to turn. The noise this time was not the kind which indicated an effort to steal away furtively; it conveyed rather the impression of difficulty and strain. There was a slight grating and squeaking such as might have been made by damaged machinery. This noise lasted for a few seconds and then ceased. Presently it started up again and then once more it stopped. The submarine was making a little progress, but fitfully; she would go a few yards and then pause. A slight wake now appeared upon the surface, such as a submerged U-boat usually left when the water was calm; the listeners at the tube were pleased to note that the location of this disturbance coincided precisely with their "fix," and thus, in a way, confirmed their calculations. One of the subchasers promptly ran ahead and began to drop depth charges on this wake. There was not the slightest doubt that the surface boat was now directly on top of the submarine. After one of the depth charges was dropped, a black cylindrical object, about thirty inches long, suddenly rose from the depths and jumped sixty feet into the air; just what this unexpected visitant was no one seems to know, but that it came from the hunted submarine was clear.

Under such distressing conditions the U-boat had only a single chance of saving itself; when the water was sufficiently shallow—not deeper than three hundred feet—it could safely sink to the bottom and "play dead," hoping that the chasers, with their accursed listening devices, would tire of the vigil and return to port. A submarine, if in very good condition, could remain silently on the bottom for two or three days. The listeners on the chaser tubes presently heard sounds which suggested that their enemy was perhaps resorting to this manœuvre. But there were other noises which indicated that possibly this sinking to the bottom was not voluntary. The listeners clearly heard a scraping and a straining as though the boat was making terrific attempts to rise. There was a lumbering noise, such as might be made by a heavy object trying to drag its hulk along the muddy bottom; this was followed by silence, showing that the wounded vessel could advance only a few yards. A terrible tragedy was clearly beginning down there in the slime of the ocean floor; a boat, with twenty-five or thirty human beings on board, was hopelessly caught, with nothing in sight except the most lingering death. The listeners on the chasers could follow events almost as clearly as though the inside of the U-boat could be seen; for every motion the vessel made, every effort that the crew put forth to rescue itself from this living hell, was registered on the delicate wires which reached the ears of the men on the surface.

Suddenly sharp metallic sounds came up on the wires. They were clearly made by hammers beating on the steel body of the U-boat.

"They are trying to make repairs," the listeners reported.

If our subchasers had had any more depth charges, they would have promptly put these wretches out of their misery, but they had expended all their ammunition. Darkness was now closing in; our men saw that their vigil was to be a long one; they sent two chasers to Penzance, to get a new supply of bombs, and also sent a radio call for a destroyer. The spot where the submarine had bottomed was marked by a buoy; lanterns were hung out on this buoy; and two units of chasers, six boats in all, prepared to stand guard. At any moment, of course, the struggling U-boat might come to the surface, and it was necessary to have forces near by to fight or to accept surrender. All night long the chasers stood by; now and then the listeners reported scraping and straining noises from below, but these grew fainter and fainter, seeming almost to register the despair which must be seizing the hearts of the imprisoned Germans.

At three o'clock in the morning a British destroyer arrived and presently the two chasers returned from Penzance with more ammunition. Meanwhile, the weather had thickened, a fog had fallen, the lights on the buoy had gone out, and the buoy itself had been pulled under by the tide. The watching subchasers were tossed about by the weather, and lost the precise bearing of the sunken submarine. When daylight returned and the weather calmed down the chasers again put over their tubes and attempted to "fix" the U-boat. They listened for hours without hearing a sound; but about five o'clock in the afternoon a sharp piercing noise came ringing over the wires. It was a sound that made the listeners' blood run cold.

Only one thing in the world could make a sound like that. It was the crack of a revolver. The first report had hardly stilled when another shot was heard; and then there were more in rapid succession. The listeners on two different chasers heard these pistol cracks and counted them; the reports which these two men independently made agreed in every detail. In all, twenty-five shots came from the bottom of the sea. As there were from twenty-five to thirty men in a submarine crew the meaning was all too evident. The larger part of officers and men, finding themselves shut tightly in their coffin of steel, had resorted to that escape which was not uncommonly availed of by German submarine crews in this hideous war. Nearly all of them had committed suicide.

V

Meanwhile, our subchaser detachment at Corfu was performing excellent service. In these southern waters Captain C. P. Nelson commanded two squadrons, comprising thirty-six vessels. Indeed, the American navy possessed few officers more energetic, more efficient, more lovable, or more personally engaging than Captain Nelson. The mere fact that he was known among his brother officers as "Juggy Nelson" gives some notion of the affection which his personality inspired. This nickname did not indicate, as might at first be suspected, that Captain Nelson possessed qualities which flew in the face of the prohibitory regulations of our navy: it was intended, I think, as a description of the physical man. For Captain Nelson's rotund figure, jocund countenance, and always buoyant spirits were priceless assets to our naval forces at Corfu. Living conditions there were not of the best; disease was rampant among the Serbians, Greeks, and Albanians who made up the civil population; there were few opportunities for entertainment or relaxation; it was, therefore, a happy chance that the commander was a man whose very presence radiated an atmosphere of geniality and enthusiasm. His conversational powers for many years had made him a man of mark; his story-telling abilities had long delighted naval officers and statesmen at Washington; no other selection for commander could have been made that would have met with more whole-hearted approval from the college boys and other high-type civilians who so largely made up our forces in these flotillas. At Corfu, indeed, Captain Nelson quickly became a popular favourite; his mind was always actively forming plans for the discomfiture of the German and Austrian submarines; and all our Allies were as much impressed with his energy as were our own men. For Captain Nelson was more than a humorist and entertainer: he was pre-eminently a sailor of the saltiest type, and he had a real barbaric joy in a fight. Even in his official communications to his officers and men he invariably referred to the enemy as the "Hun"; the slogan on which he insisted as the guiding principle of his flotilla was "get the Hun before he has a chance to get us." He had the supreme gift of firing his subordinates with the same spirit that possessed himself; and the vigilance, the constant activity, and the courage of the subchasers' crews admirably supplemented the sailor-like qualities of the man who commanded them.

I have already referred to the sea-going abilities of the subchasers; but the feat accomplished by those that made the trip to Corfu was the most admirable of all. These thirty-six boats, little more than motor launches in size, sailed from New London to Greece—a distance of 6,000 miles; and, a day or two after their arrival, they began work on the Otranto barrage. Of course they could not have made this trip without the assistance of vessels to supply them with gasolene, make the necessary routine repairs, care for the sick and those suffering from the inevitable minor accidents; and it is greatly to the credit of the naval officers who commanded the escorting vessels that they shepherded these flotillas across the ocean with practically no losses. On their way through the Straits of Gibraltar they made an attack on a submarine which so impressed Admiral Niblack that he immediately wired London headquarters for a squadron to be permanently based on that port.

As already said, the Otranto Strait was an ideal location for this type of anti-submarine craft. It was so narrow—about forty miles—that a force of moderate size could keep practically all of the critical zone under fairly close observation. Above all, the water was so deep—nearly 600 fathoms (3,600 feet)—that a submarine, once picked up by the listening devices, could not escape by the method which was so popular in places where the water was shallow—that of sinking to the bottom and resting there until the excitement was over. On the other hand, this great depth made it very difficult to obstruct the passage by a fixed barrier—a difficulty that was being rapidly overcome by a certain Franco-Italian type of torpedo net. This barrage, after the arrival of our chasers, was so reorganized as to make the best use of their tactical and listening qualities. The several lines of patrolling vessels extended about thirty-five miles; there were vessels of several types, the whole making a formidable gauntlet, which the submarines had to run before they could get from the Adriatic to the Mediterranean. First came a line of British destroyers; it was their main duty to act as protectors and to keep the barrage from being raided by German and Austrian surface ships—a function which they fulfilled splendidly. Next came a line of trawlers, then drifters, motor launches, and chasers, the whole being completed by a line of kite balloon sloops. Practically all these vessels, British as well as American, were provided with the American devices; and so well did these ingenious mechanisms function that it was practically impossible for any submarine to pass through the Otranto barrage in calm weather without being heard. In fact, it became the regular custom for the enemy to wait for stormy weather before attempting to slip through this dangerous area, and even under these conditions he had great difficulty in avoiding detection.

From July, 1918, until the day of the armistice, our flotilla at this point kept constantly at work; and the reports of our commanders show that their sound contacts with the enemy were very frequent. There were battles that unquestionably ended in the destruction of the submarines; just how much we had accomplished, however, we did not know until the Austrians surrendered and our officers, at Cattaro and other places, came into touch with officers of the Austrian navy. These men, who showed the most friendly disposition toward their American enemies, though they displayed the most bitter hostility toward their German allies, expressed their admiration for the work of our subchasers. These little boats, the Austrians now informed us, were responsible for a mutiny in the Austrian submarine force. Two weeks after their arrival it was impossible to compel an Austrian crew to take a vessel through the straits, and from that time until the ending of the war not a single Austrian submarine ventured upon such a voyage. All the submarines that essayed the experiment after this Austrian mutiny were German. And the German crews, the Austrian officers said, did not enjoy the experience any more than their own. There was practically no case in which a submarine crossed the barrage without being bombed in consequence; the moral of the German crews steadily went to pieces, until, in the last month of the war, their officers were obliged to force them into the submarines at the point of a pistol. The records showed, the Austrian high officers said, that the Germans had lost six submarines on the Otranto barrage in the last three months of the war. These figures about correspond with the estimates which we had made; just how many of these the British sank and just how many are to be attributed to our own forces will probably never be known, but the fact that American devices were attached to all the Allied ships on this duty should be considered in properly distributing the credit.

We have evidence—conclusive even though somewhat ludicrous—that the American device on a British destroyer "got" one of these submarines. One dark night this vessel, equipped with the C-tube, had pursued a submarine and bombed it with what seemed to have been satisfactory results. However, I have several times called attention to one of the most discouraging aspects of anti-submarine warfare: that only in exceptional circumstances did we know whether the submarine had been destroyed. This destroyer was now diligently searching the area of the battle, the listeners straining every nerve for traces of her foe. For a time everything was utterly silent; then, suddenly, the listener picked up a disturbance of an unusual kind. The noise rapidly became louder, but it was still something very different from any noise ever heard before. The C-tube consisted of a lead pipe—practically the same as a water pipe—which was dropped over the side of the ship fifteen or twenty feet into the sea; this pipe contained the wires which, at one end, were attached to the devices under the water, and which, at the other end, reached the listener's ears. In a few seconds this tube showed signs of lively agitation. It trembled violently and made a constantly increasing hullabaloo in the ears of the listener. Finally a huge German, dripping with water like a sea lion, appeared over the side of the destroyer and astounded our British Allies by throwing up his arms with "Kamerad!" This visitant from the depths was the only survivor of the submarine which it now appeared had indubitably been sunk. He had been blown through the conning tower, or had miraculously escaped in some other way—he did not himself know just what had taken place—and while floundering around in the water in the inky darkness had, by one of those providences which happen so frequently in war time, caught hold of this tube, and proceeded to pull himself up hand-over-hand until he reached the deck. Had it not been for his escape, the British would never have known that they had sunk the submarine!

This survivor, after shaking off the water, sat down and became very sociable. He did not seem particularly to dislike the British and Americans, but he was extremely bitter against the Italians and Austrians—the first for "deserting" the Germans, the latter for proving bad allies.

"How do you get on with the Italians?" he asked the British officer.

"Very well indeed," the latter replied, giving a very flattering account of the Italian allies.

"I guess the Italians are about as useful to you as the Austrians are to us," the German sea lion replied.

In writing to our officers about this episode, the British commander said:

"We have found a new use for your listening devices—salvaging drowning Huns."

VI

On September 28, 1918, Captain Nelson received the following communication from the commander of the Allied naval forces at Brindisi, Commodore W. A. H. Kelly, R.N.:

"Can you hold twelve chasers ready to leave Corfu to-morrow (Sunday) for special service? They should have stores for four days. If unavoidable, barrage force may be reduced during their absence. Request reply. Further definite orders will be sent Sunday afternoon."

To this Captain Nelson sent an answer which was entirely characteristic:

"Yes."

The Captain well knew what the enterprise was to which this message referred. The proposed undertaking was one which was very close to his heart and one which he had constantly urged. The Austrian port of Durazzo, on the Adriatic, at that time was playing an important part in the general conflict. It was a base by which Germany and Austria had sent supplies to their ally Bulgaria; and in September the Entente had started the campaign against Bulgaria which finally ended in the complete humiliation of that country. The destruction of Durazzo as a base would greatly assist this operation. Several ships lay in the harbour; there were many buildings used for army stores; the destruction of all these, as well as the docks and military works, would render the port useless. The bombardment of Durazzo was, therefore, the undertaking for which the assistance of our subchasers had been requested. It was estimated that about one hour's heavy shelling would render this port valueless as an Austrian base; and to accomplish this destruction the Italians had detailed three light cruisers, the San Giorgio, the Pisa, and the San Marco, and the British three light scout cruisers, the Lowestoft, the Dartmouth, and the Weymouth. According to the plan agreed upon the Italian ships would arrive at Durazzo at about ten o'clock on Wednesday morning, October 2nd, bombard the works for an hour, and then return to Brindisi; when they had finished, it was proposed that the British cruisers should take their places, bombard for an hour, and likewise retire. The duty which had been assigned to the subchasers in this operation was an important one. The Austrians had a considerable force of submarines at Durazzo; and it was to be expected that they would send them to attack the bombarding warships. The chasers, therefore, were to accompany the cruisers, in order to fight any submarine which attempted to interfere with the game. "Remember the life of these cruisers depends upon your vigilance and activity," said Captain Nelson in the instructions issued to the officers who commanded the little vessels.

At nine o'clock that Sunday evening twelve chasers slipped through the net at Corfu and started across the Adriatic; they sailed "in column," or single file, Captain Nelson heading the procession in subchaser No. 95, his second in command, Lt.-Comdr. Paul H. Bastedo, coming next in chaser No. 215. The tiny fleet hardly suggested to the observer anything in the nature of military operations; they looked more like a group of motor launches out for a summer cruise. The next morning they arrived at Brindisi, the gathering place of all the Allied vessels which were to participate in the operation—that same Brindisi (or Brundisium) which was one of the most famous ports of antiquity, the town from which Augustus and Antony, in 42 B.C., started on the expedition which, at the battle of Philippi, was to win them the mastery of the ancient world. Upon arriving Captain Nelson went ashore for a council with Commodore Kelly, who commanded the British cruisers, and other Allied officers. When he returned Captain Nelson's face was glowing with happiness and expectation.

"It's going to be a real party, boys," he informed his subordinate officers.

Two days were spent at Brindisi, completing preparations; on Tuesday evening Captain Nelson called all his officers for a meeting on board the British destroyer Badger, to give them all the details of the forthcoming "party." If there had been any flagging spirits in that company when the speech began—which I do not believe—all depression had vanished when "Juggy" had finished his remarks; every officer left with his soul filled by the same joy of approaching battle as that which possessed his chief.

At 2.30 Wednesday morning the chasers left Brindisi, steering a straight course to Durazzo. The night was very dark; the harbour was black also with the smoke from the cruisers and other craft which were making preparations to get away. After steaming a few hours the officers obtained with their glasses their first glimpse of Durazzo; at this time there were no fighting ships in sight except the chasers, as the larger ships had not yet arrived. Captain Nelson knew that there were two or three Austrian destroyers at Durazzo, and his first efforts were devoted to attempts to persuade them to come out and give battle. With this idea in mind, the chasers engaged in what they called a "war dance" before the port; they began turning rapidly in a great circle, but all to no purpose, for the Austrian ships declined to accept the challenge. After a time the smoke of the Italian cruisers appeared above the horizon; this was the signal for the chasers to take their stations. Durazzo is located in an indentation of the coast; at the southern extremity of the little gulf the land juts out to a point, known as Cape Laghi; at the northern extremity the corresponding point is Cape Pali; the distance between these two points is about fifteen miles. Two subchaser units, six boats, were assigned as a screen to the Italian cruisers while the bombardment was under way. One unit, three boats, was stationed at Cape Pali, to the north, to prevent any submarines leaving Durazzo from attacking the British cruisers, which were to approach the scene of activities from that quarter, and another unit, three boats, was stationed off Cape Laghi. Thus the two critical capes were covered against submarine surprises, and the attacking vessels themselves were effectively screened.

The Italian cruisers sailed back and forth for about an hour, blazing away at Durazzo, destroying shipping in the harbour, knocking down military buildings, and devastating the place on a liberal scale, all the time screened in this operation by our chasers. Meantime, unit B, commanded by Lieutenant-Commander Bastedo, had started for its station at Cape Pali. The Austrian shore batteries at once opened upon the tiny craft, the water in their neighbourhood being generously churned up by the falling shells. Meanwhile, the British cruisers, after steaming for a while east, turned south in order to take up the bombarding station which, according to the arranged programme, the Italian warships were about to abandon. The three screening chasers were steaming in column, No. 129, commanded by Ensign Maclair Jacoby, U.S.N.R.F., bringing up the rear. Suddenly this little boat turned to the right and started scampering in the direction of some apparently very definite object. It moved so abruptly and hastily that it did not take the time even to signal to its associates the cause of its unexpected manœuvre.

On board No. 215 there was some question as to what should be done.

"Let's go," said Commander Bastedo. "Perhaps he's after a submarine."

No. 215 was immediately turned in the direction of the busy No. 129, when the interest of its officers was aroused by a little foamy fountain of spray moving in the water slightly forward of its port beam. There was no mystery as to the cause of that feathery disturbance. It was made by a periscope; it was moving with considerable speed also, entirely ignoring the subchasers, and shaping its course directly toward the advancing British cruisers. Commander Bastedo forgot all about subchaser No. 129, which apparently was after game of its own, and headed his own boat in the direction of this little column of spray. In a few seconds the periscope itself became visible; Commander Bastedo opened fire at it with his port gun; at the second shot a column of water and air arose about six feet—a splendid geyser which informed the pursuer that the periscope had been shattered. By this time the third chaser, No. 128, was rushing at full speed. The submarine now saw that all chance of attacking the British ships had gone, and turned to the south in an effort to get away with a whole skin. But the two subchasers, 215 and 128, quickly turned again and started for their prey; soon both were dropping depth charges and shooting their "Y" guns; and a huge circle of the sea was a mass of explosions, whirling water, mighty eruptions of foam, mist, and débris—and in the mass, steel plates and other wreckage flew from the depths into the air.

"That got him!" cried the executive officer from the deck of No. 215, while the crew lifted up its voices in a shout that was reminiscent of a college yell.

It was not until this moment that Commander Bastedo and his associates remembered the 129, which, when last observed, was speeding through the water on an independent course of her own. In the midst of the excitement there came a message from this boat:

"Submarine sighted!"

Then a second afterward came another message.

"My engines are disabled."

In a short time Bastedo had reached the boat.

"Where is the submarine?"

"We just sank it," was the answer. No. 129 had dropped eight depth charges, one directly over the Austrian boat; in the water thrown up the officers had counted seven pieces of metal plates, and the masses of oil and bubbles that presently arose completed the story of the destruction. Meanwhile, the British cruisers had taken up their station at Durazzo and were finishing the work that made this place useless as a military headquarters.

Not a man in the whole American force was injured; in a brief time the excitement was all over, and the great ships, screened again by the wasps of chasers, started back to Brindisi. The impression made upon our Allies was well expressed in the congratulatory message sent to me in London by Commodore Kelly, who commanded the British cruisers in this action.

"Their conduct," he said, "was beyond praise. They all returned safely without casualties. They thoroughly enjoyed themselves."

And from the Italians came this message:

"Italian Naval General Staff expresses highest appreciation of useful and efficient work performed by United States chasers in protecting major vessels during action against Durazzo; also vivid admiration of their brilliant and clever operations which resulted in sinking two enemy submarines."

The war was now drawing to a close; a day before the Allied squadrons started for Durazzo Bulgaria surrendered; about two weeks after the attack Austria had given up the ghost. The subchasers were about this time just getting into their stride; the cessation of hostilities, however, ended their careers at the very moment when they had become most useful. A squadron of thirty-six under the command of Captain A. J. Hepburn reached Queenstown in September, but though it had several interesting contacts with the enemy, and is credited with sending one German home badly damaged, the armistice was signed before it had really settled down to work. The final spectacular appearance was at Gibraltar, in the last four days of the war. The surrender of Austria had left the German submarines stranded in the Adriatic without a base; and they started home by way of the Mediterranean and Gibraltar. A squadron of eighteen chasers had just arrived at the Azores, on the way to reinforce the flotilla at Plymouth; seven of these were at once despatched to Gibraltar on the chance that they might bar the passage of these U-boats. They reached this port at the storm season; yet they went out in the hardest gales and had several exciting contacts with the fleeing Germans. The records show that five submarines attempted to get through the straits; there is good evidence that two of these were sunk, one by the British patrol and one by our chasers.

FOOTNOTE:

[6] A "P" boat is a special type of anti-submarine craft smaller and slower than a destroyer and having a profile especially designed to resemble that of a submarine.

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