"The business of the submarines," says Mr. Kipling, "is to run monstrous risks from the earth, air, and water, in what, to be of any use, must be the coldest of blood." Submarine officers, he continues, "play hourly for each other's lives, with Death, the umpire, always at their elbow on tiptoe, to give them 'out.'" And consider the bowling and fielding in this nightmare game, where there is rarely a second innings. A bomb from a Zeppelin or an aeroplane, a shot from a 4-inch gun, a bump against a mine, a collision with a reef or the bows of a destroyer, trawler, or tramp, an accident to the complicated gear—and all is over. Nevertheless, the officers and crews of submarines soon lose the sense of imminent peril, and go about their business quite unconcerned.
The following story shows how a submarine was trapped, but managed to free herself and turn the tables on her enemy. A British boat, which was cruising under water in the North Sea, ran her nose into a net and became entangled. She rose to the surface, meaning to cut away the net and get clear. No sooner did her conning tower appear above the water than her commander saw a Zeppelin hovering right above him, and in a moment a bomb plumped into the sea unpleasantly near. He had no alternative but to go below again; but this he had to do as gingerly as possible, for otherwise the submarine would have wrapped herself up in the net still more. Steadily she sank, and by slow working and wriggling managed to get clear of the entanglement. Then she lay on the bottom, and her commander began to think out the next move in the perilous game. Should he go back to warn the other submarines, or should he wait and try to "bag" something? He knew that the Zeppelin believed him to be entangled in the net, and that it was sure to signal for destroyers to come and finish him off, so he sat tight and waited. In a few minutes he heard the screws of the destroyers churning above him. Then he rose, and at the critical moment gave the signal to let loose a torpedo. The shot went home: the destroyer crumpled up, and was taken in tow by a consort. Unhappily, as the commander had no more torpedoes, he was balked of a second victim.
Since the war began, British submarines have penetrated into every harbour and river mouth on the coast of Germany. One day a British boat in the mouth of a German river was seen by the enemy. At once she went under; but though she lay on the silt at the bottom, she had not more than five feet of water above her. Almost any patrol boat could have hit her and destroyed her had her whereabouts been known; but somehow the Germans missed her. They meant to catch her, however, and began to sweep the river with a wire trawl. Before long the commander of the submarine heard the trawl rasping along his hull. He sat and listened, expecting every moment that it would catch on something, and reveal him to the Germans working above. The suspense was enough to turn a man's hair gray. Happily, the trawl slid off the hull, and the danger passed. At nightfall the submarine made her way into the open sea, and finally reached harbour safely.
The following story has been told of a fight between a British submarine and a Zeppelin. One day a boat came to the surface, and found herself right underneath a Zeppelin that was flying only a few yards above the sea. The commander could not see the sky, only the shining bulge of the airship. Luckily he was not under the "stinging end" of the monster. Immediately he sank till his decks were awash, and went away to windward, so that the Zeppelin had to follow him with the wind in its teeth. Then he sent a man to the gun on deck. The waves were washing over the submarine, and the man was nearly drowned; but he hung on, and whenever he saw a chance, fired a shot at the airship, which by this time was dropping bombs. One of his shots got home, and the Zeppelin was obliged to steer to leeward and give up the chase. A fortnight later she was seen with a patch on the place where she had been hit.
On page 283 of our third volume I told you how Lieutenant Holbrook won the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery while in command of a submarine which was scouting in the Dardanelles during December 1914. In these narrow waters, and in the Sea of Marmora, some extraordinary feats were performed by our submarines during the year 1915. An American correspondent tells us that our under-water boats created a reign of terror amongst the peasants and villagers living on the shores of that sea. Turkish warships and gunboats and large numbers of transports and supply ships were sunk, and navigation was almost entirely suspended. On April 27, 1915, Submarine E14 dived under the enemy mine fields and entered the Sea of Marmora. In spite of strong currents, the presence of hostile patrols, and the hourly danger of attack from the enemy, she succeeded in sinking two Turkish gunboats and two transports, one of them large and full of troops; and after cruising in the enemy's waters for twenty-two days, returned in safety. For this remarkable exploit, which the admiral at the Dardanelles declared himself unable to do justice to, Lieutenant-Commander Edward Courtney Boyle received the Victoria Cross.
Late in May the British submarine E11 had an extraordinary "bag." She succeeded in destroying one large Turkish gunboat, two transports, one ammunition ship, and three storeships, and drove another storeship ashore. Then she passed through the minefield on her homeward way; but, on sighting another Turkish transport, returned, and managed to torpedo it. In the course of her cruise she entered the Golden Horn, and actually discharged a torpedo at a transport lying alongside the arsenal. The Turks declared that the torpedo struck the quay and blew up two hundred yards of masonry. Lieutenant-Commander Martin Eric Nasmith, who was the heart and soul of these intrepid feats, was rightly awarded the highest token of valour.