On June 12, 1917—that is, six weeks after the previous incident, just time enough to give leave to all the crew, get the ship refitted and sailed to her new area—Prize left Killybegs (Ireland) to cruise to the westward of the Irish coast. At 11 a.m. on this day she was under all sail on a N.N. W. course, doing not more than a knot through the water, when she sighted a submarine 1½ miles to the E.S.E. proceeding slowly on the same course as Prize. The movements of this submarine thereafter are worth noting. It is only reasonable to suppose that on his return to Germany in U 93 Ziegler would give a full description of the trap-ship which had so nearly destroyed him. This information would, of course, be passed on to the other submarine captains who frequented this Irish area, and we may be quite certain that they would be on the look-out for her, anxious to revenge their service. Now, in these modern times, and in any twenty-four hours, you will see far more steamers of all sorts than 200-ton sailing craft: it certainly was so during the war off the west and south-west coast of Ireland. During the years I was on patrol there, with the exception of quite small local fishing craft and an occasional full-rigged ship making the land after her voyage across the Atlantic, one scarcely ever sighted a sailing vessel of any kind. Ziegler would have reported in effect: ‘Look out for a three-masted topsail schooner of about 200 tons. She has a bow like this..., her stern is like this..., and her sheer is so.... You will probably find she has a dummy deckhouse placed here...;’ and a rough sketch would afford his comrades a pretty accurate idea. You cannot ever disguise the appearance of such a sailing ship altogether, no matter what name you give her, nor what colour you paint her hull. A three-masted topsail schooner is that and nothing else, and would henceforth be regarded with the utmost suspicion. Then, on comparing her with the sketch and examining her with the eye of seamanlike experience, no astute submarine officer could have had much doubt in his mind. A British officer who knew this ship well has told me that in his opinion there was one small detail, in respect of the wireless, which, to a careful observer, would always give her character away. This may be so: at any rate, the following incidents seem to indicate that the enemy were on the look-out for her during the rest of her career, and persistently attacked her.
On the occasion of June 12, as soon as the submarine came to the surface and opened fire, Prize as usual, after the necessary intentional bungling, sent away her boat, which took up a position half a mile away on the starboard bow. The enemy kept on firing, and at 11.30 the schooner was hit twice, so three minutes later, as the enemy was turning away to increase the range, Sanders ordered the screens to be lowered, and opened fire from both starboard guns at 1,800 yards. One shell seemed to hit, and the enemy immediately dived. But two hours later a submarine was seen on the surface 4 miles away on the starboard quarter, and remained in sight for a quarter of an hour. Then next morning at 6.30 a submarine was sighted stopped, 1½ miles ahead on the surface. Five minutes later he dived, but came up after four minutes 1,500 yards off on the starboard bow. At 6.43 he again dived, and was not seen again. Probably each of these three appearances was the same submarine. On the first he was repulsed, on the second he would have a perfect opportunity of making a detailed sketch, on the third he may have been intending to attack by torpedo, but the westerly swell from the Atlantic possibly interfered with accurate firing. But, apart from all surmise, it is absolutely evident that the enemy was able to obtain a picture of the schooner, which beyond all doubt would establish her identity on a future occasion. The importance of this will presently be seen.
For this action of June 12 Lieut.-Commander Sanders was given a D.S.O. to wear with his V.C. He had had a very trying time. When, at 11.30, the German shells had hit, the falls of the port davit had been shot away, and another shot had struck the ship on the starboard side amidships just on the top of the sheer strake plate. This shell had exploded and caused the ship to leak. Lieut.-Commander Sanders, who was lying concealed between the mast and the hatch, put up his arms to shield his face from the burst fragments and so received a piece of shell in his right arm above the wrist. In addition, the force of the explosion knocked him over and hurled him to the other side of the deck, where he was picked up by Skipper Mead. In spite of the pain and the shock, Sanders was just sufficiently conscious to give the order ‘Action’ at 11.33, when screens were downed, White Ensign run up, and fire was returned. The schooner came back to her base, her gallant captain recovered from his wound, and two months later we find her operating in the Atlantic again to the north-west of the N.W. Irish coast. On this occasion she was cruising with one of our D-class submarines, the idea being that when the enemy came along Prize would be attacked and heave-to in the customary manner, while the British submarine would stealthily make for the enemy and torpedo him whilst, so to speak, he was not looking.
On the forenoon of August 13, imagine this schooner with her newly-painted black topsides and red boot-topping, flying the Swedish flag and heading east. Suddenly UB 48 was sighted to the north, so Sanders hove-to and signalled the British submarine that there was a German submarine to port. Shells began to be fired from the enemy, who closed. The British submarine saw the shots falling but could not see the enemy until 4.10 p.m., when the German was descried to starboard of the Prize. There was a considerable lop on at the time, and Prize was seen with White Ensign flying at the peak, and her guns manned. Five hours later the British submarine came to the surface and spoke Prize, who stated that she had opened fire on the enemy at 200 yards, and had hit him. This we now know from another source was perfectly true, but the hits were not in a vital part of the German. During the dark hours UB 48 bided his time, and at midnight fired two torpedoes, the second of which hit, causing a terrific explosion, so that nothing more was seen, and the good ship Prize, with her gallant captain and all his brave men, ended her career after one of the most brilliant periods that can be found in the records of sea achievement. UB 48 was on her maiden voyage from Germany via the north of Scotland and N.W. of Ireland to Cattaro in the Adriatic, where she arrived on September 2, sinking merchantmen on the way. This modern type of submarine, with her 4·1-inch gun and her ten torpedoes, was a difficult craft to sink. Her second officer had been taken from the German Mercantile Marine, so we can assume that his critical eye would scrutinize the schooner and detect something which convinced his captain that this was really a trap-ship. That the submarine should have been content, whilst on a long passage, to waste so many hours over a mere sailing craft of quite small tonnage would have been doubtful; but the Prize having once shown her White Ensign and used her guns to effect decided the German that she must be settled with after dark, when she would be a good target in that August night. It was a fair fight, but the chances were all in favour of the German, since it is practically impossible to see a periscope at night, whereas the Q-ship’s sails would loom up and show in which direction the target was heading; and, further, the submarine had the advantage of mobility all the time.
The facts which have just been stated are authentic, and it is as well that they should now be made known. Ignorance always breeds falsehood, and after the loss of Prize there were all sorts of wild stories going about both in the Service and in the Mercantile Marine. Some of them are too ghastly to be related, but a favourite version was that the brave Sanders had been taken prisoner and lashed to the submarine’s periscope, which then submerged and so drowned him. Another story, which was very prevalent, was that he had been cruelly murdered. There is not a word of truth in these suggestions. Lieut.-Commander Sanders died as he would have wished, aboard his ship with his men. His body rests in the Atlantic where the remains of his glorious Prize sank: but his memorial, unveiled by Lord Jellicoe as Governor of New Zealand, will inspire generations who come after.
For dogged devotion to dangerous duty, for coolness in peril, for real leadership of men, for tenacity in ‘sticking it,’ this hero among those great and gallant gentlemen of the Q-ship service will remain as a model of what a true British sailor should be. Had he lived, his influence would have been tremendous, but by his refusing a safe billet when he was fully entitled to it, and preferring deliberately to court death because that way duty and honour pointed, his example should be a great source of strength to every young apprentice beginning his life in the Merchant Service, every midshipman of His Majesty’s Navy, and every young man content to learn the lessons which are taught only by the sea. On land, for their historic exploits at the Dardanelles and in France we gratefully remember the Australians and New Zealanders. It is fitting that one of the latter should have bequeathed to us such distinction on the sea: it is characteristic of the great co-operation when the children of the Empire flocked to help their mother in her throes of the World War.
CHAPTER XII
SHIPS AND ADVENTURES
Independence of character is a great asset in any leader of men, but it is an essential, basic virtue when a man finds himself in command of a ship: without such an attribute he is dominated either by his officers, his own emotions, or the vagaries of chance. In the case of a Q-ship captain, this aloofness was raised to a greater degree of importance by reason of the special nature of the work. Can you think of any situation more solitary and lonely than this? There are, of course, all kinds and conditions of loneliness. There is the loneliness of the airman gliding through celestial heights; there is the loneliness of the man in the crowd; there is the loneliness of the sentry, of the hermit, of the administrator in the desert. But I can conceive of nothing so solitary as the Q-ship captain lying alone on the planking of his bridge, patiently waiting and watching through a slit in the canvas the manœuvres of an artful U-boat.