Now, when a submarine started shelling a Q-ship, the latter would naturally heave-to and then pretend she had been disabled by being hit in the engine-room. This was achieved by fitting a pipe specially arranged to let steam issue forth. The importance of wireless in these death-struggles may well be realized, so not merely was one wireless cabinet placed below, but another was situated in the fo’c’sle. The Suffolk Coast, with her two 4-inch and two 12-pounders, was armed in a manner superior to any submarines excepting those of the biggest classes such as voyaged south to the Canaries and north-west African coast. This Q-ship’s guns were concealed in the most wonderfully ingenious manner, so that it would have puzzled even a seaman to discover their presence. Thus the forward 12-pounder was mounted in No. 1 hold, the hatch being suitably arranged for collapsing. The first 4-inch gun was placed further aft, covered by a deck, and the sides made to fall down when the time came for action. The second 4-inch was mounted still further aft and similarly concealed, whilst the other 12-pounder was allowed to be conspicuous at the stern so that all U-craft might believe she was the usual defensively armed merchant ship. Without this they might have become suspicious. In this ‘mystery ship’ everything was done to render her capable of remaining afloat for the maximum of time after injury, and, in addition to having a well-stowed cargo of timber, she had special watertight bulkheads fitted. With a thorough system of voice-pipes, so that the captain could keep a perfect control over the ship’s firing—a most essential consideration, as the reader will already have ascertained—and a crew of nearly fifty experienced officers and men, such a small ship represented the apotheosis of the decoy just as the war was terminating. Every sort of scheme which promised possibilities was tried, and many clever minds had been at work, but this represented the standard of success after four long years.
Every new aspect of the submarine advancement had to be thought out and met, and the variations were most noticeable, but during the last few months of the war considerable attention had to be concentrated on the areas of the Azores, the north, south, east, and west of Ireland, the Bristol Channel, and the approaches to the English Channel in the west. But by the spring of 1918 the crews of German submarines had become distinctly inferior. Their commanding officers were often young and raw, there was a great dearth of trained engineer officers and experienced petty officers, and this was shown in frequent engine-room breakdowns. So many submarines had failed to return home, and others reported such hairbreadth escapes, that the inferior crews became nervous and were not sorry to be taken prisoners. The fact was that not only were expert, highly skilled officers hard to find, but the hands he was compelled to go to sea with were no longer chosen by the captain; he had to accept whatever recruits were drafted to his craft. Of the best personnel that remained many had lost their nerve and had a very real dread of mines, depth charges, and decoy ships. The institution of our convoy system and of Q-ships as part of the convoy did not add to the pleasures of the U-boat officers. It is true that the often excellent shooting of the submarines was due to the fact that their gun-layers were generally selected from the High Sea Fleet, but as against this many of our Q-ship expert gunners were out of the Grand Fleet. It is true that the cruiser submarines with their two 5·9-inch guns, plus torpedoes, were formidable foes even for the most heavily armed decoy, but as against this they took a long time to dive, and thus represented a better target.
If we consider these facts in regard to the later tactics of the submarines in contest with our decoy ships, there is much that becomes clear. The excellence of our intelligence system has been shown by various British and German writers since the war, and, as a rule, we were extraordinarily prepared for the new developments with which our Q-ships were likely to be faced. On the other hand, the enemy’s supply of intelligence was bad, and if we put ourselves in the position of an inexperienced young U-boat captain we can easily see how difficult was his task toward the end of hostilities. He was sent out to sink ships, and yet practically every British ship was at least armed defensively, and there was nothing to indicate which of them might be a well-armed decoy, save for the fact that he had been informed by his superiors that trap-ships were seldom of a size greater than 4,000 tons. Sailing ships, fishing craft, and steamers might be ready to spring a surprise, so that it was not easy for the German to combine ruthless attack with reasonable caution: thus, in effect, the battle came down to a matter of personality. It was not merely a question of the man behind the gun, nor of the man behind the torpedo, but the man at the periscope of the submarine versus the man peeping at him from the spy-hole of the steamer. They were strange tactics, indeed, to be employed in naval war when we consider the simple, hearty methods of previous campaigns in history, but even as an impersonal study of two foes this perpetual battle of wits, of subtleties, and make-believe, must ever remain both interesting and instructive in spite of the terrible loss of life accompanying it. Life on board one of the small steam Q-ships was, apart from its dangers arising through mines and submarines, distinctly lacking in comfort. The following extracts from the private diary of a Q-ship’s commanding officer at different dates afford, in the fewest words, an insight into the life on board:
‘The heavy westerly gale was banking up the west-going tide, and made the most fierce and dangerous sea that I have ever seen. The ship made little headway and was tossed about like a small boat. Fortunately we managed to keep end on to the sea, or I think the old tub would have gone slick over. As it was she behaved well, though her movements were pretty violent. Seas broke over the stern and washed away the stern gratings, one big sea broke right over the forward deck, a tumbling mass of foam, into the water on the other side of the ship, carrying away a ventilator and some steam-pipes. I had one spasm of anxiety, when in the middle of all this the wheel jammed for a few seconds, and I feared she would broach-to. If we had done so, I think the ship would at once have been rolled over and smothered. I have never before seen such enormous breakers....’
‘Had just finished tea and was sitting at the table yarning with the others when the alarm gong went and we all dashed out.... Immediately before the gong went, M——, our young R.N.V.R. signalman, who had never been to sea before, and who was on watch, remarked to W——, the officer of the watch, “What’s that funny-looking stick sticking out of the water over there?” W—— cast an eye at the said “funny-looking stick sticking out of the water” 200 yards on our starboard beam, and remarked profanely: “Good God, man, why, it’s a periscope!” and promptly rang the gong.’ It was, indeed, a periscope, and presently the submarine opened fire and sent a shell through the ship’s engine-room, which disabled the ship, though she was afterwards towed into port, where she was repaired and refitted for her next encounter.
‘Completed loading timber at 11 a.m. Total 599 tons. That ought to keep us afloat if we are torpedoed.... The ship’s behaviour is quite different to what it was with coal ballast. She moves, but with a much easier motion, and without that terrible jerkiness she had before.... When off the —— we fell in with a lifeboat under sail, evidently with survivors from a sunk ship. Stopped and took them on board. They turned out to be the captain, 2nd officer, purser, 3rd engineer, and ten men, part of the crew of the S.S. ——, which had been torpedoed at 11.30 a.m. yesterday.... Discussing the daily lie for Fritz with S——: To-day we are from Cape Coast Castle with kernels, bound for London. I wonder if it will go down with Fritz....’
And the following entry after successfully sinking a German submarine notwithstanding many months of monotonous uneventfulness:
‘I then “spliced the main-brace.” We passed the S—— Light at 11.30 p.m., and just before picking up the Examination boat received a wireless message from [the Commander-in-Chief], which reads: “Very well done. A year’s perseverance well rewarded.”... We anchored at midnight, and a boat at once came off with a doctor, who removed the wounded.... A tug brought off the armed guard sent ... to receive our prisoners.... We formally mustered the prisoners and handed them over, with the signing of receipts for their custody and disposal, etc. It was an impressive moment when I led the officer in charge to the saloon, and handed over to him the commanding officer of the submarine. A couple of bluejackets with rifles fixed promptly closed up at either elbow, and he was marched out. He had the grace to pause at the door, where I was standing, and to thank me for my treatment of him. He was no doubt very much upset by the loss of his ship: we found him extremely glum and did our best to cheer him up. He had lunch with us, and I think he really did find that we were human. Similarly the other officers tendered their thanks (they all went away in a good deal of our clothing), and when it came to the marching off of the men, —— stepped out of the ranks and tendered to me their grateful thanks for the excellent treatment they had received at our hands.’