Submarine and Anti-submarine

by Sir Henry John Newbolt

There was less than no time to be lost. Orders were given and obeyed instantaneously. The engines leaped to full speed as the ship came round sharply to port and steered straight for the enemy. In less than fifteen seconds the crash came—a heavy impact, at seventeen knots, on a point just before the U-boat’s conning-tower, very nearly at right angles. P. 57 cut her way right through, and as she did so the order for the depth-charges reached the officer of the watch. The first charge was released with great promptitude and precision as the damaged submarine passed under the ship’s stern. P. 57 turned sixteen points and came back over the spot, when a second charge was immediately dropped and a buoy put down.

An hour and a half afterwards Lieut.-Commander Birnie returned, after verifying his position, and found very large quantities of oil rising about fifty yards from his buoy. He dropped a third depth-charge and another buoy, and patrolled the neighbourhood all night. Sweepers arrived next day, located the U-boat with a bottom sweep in thirty fathoms, lowered a depth-charge on the sweep wire and blew the wreck up. For this ‘speedy and faultless attack’ Lieut.-Commander Birnie received the D.S.O., Lieutenant Isdale the D.S.C., and two A.B.’s the D.S.M.

This feat was a remarkable one, for it was performed in almost total darkness; but success was achieved in even more difficult circumstances by P. 51 towards the end of March 1918. It was 8.30 in the evening; the sea was calm under the moonlight, but great spaces of it were darkened by cloud shadows. The commander, Lieutenant William Murray, R.N.R., was in the chart-house, and Mr. Whittel, the gunner, on watch, when the signalman on the bridge reported a submarine on the surface, about one point before the port beam and less than 300 yards away. Orders were at once given to increase to full speed, and starboard the helm to ram. As the ship swung, the commander reached the bridge and took charge. He could see the enemy’s wash and bow wave. Then she appeared more distinctly as a large U-boat, 350 feet long, with a huge conning-tower and about two feet of freeboard showing. P. 51 continued to swing into the desired position and the moment for a successful ram seemed to have arrived. Then occurred one of those sudden and unforeseen accidents which try a commander’s presence of mind and decision to the utmost. To strike the U-boat fair it was, of course, necessary to put the helm over as soon as P. 51’s head had swung far enough to be pointing for her, and so steady the ship on her course. But this order could not be obeyed—the helm had jammed. Lieutenant Murray knew that to struggle with it could only at best result in a bungling collision which would injure his own ship rather than the enemy. He made a lightning act of renunciation, kept his helm a-starboard and swung completely round, passing close along the submarine’s side and then turning altogether away from her. The helm was soon afterwards found to be acting again; but in the meantime P. 51 had lost sight of the enemy.

She dashed westwards, and in two minutes sighted the U-boat again, a mile away on the port quarter. A new ramming attack was immediately planned, and the guns were ordered to open fire; but the submarine dived completely before they could pick her up in the uncertain light. In ten seconds Lieutenant Murray had brought P. 51 over a patch of oil which betrayed the spot where the U-boat was submerging. Three depth-charges followed her down. The first two produced the usual upheaval of water, but the third blew a quantity of wreckage into the air, of many shapes and sizes. P. 51 continued to circle around, and ten minutes later three shocks were felt below in rapid succession. Nothing more was seen, nor could any movement be heard on the hydrophone.

The official verdict was one of ‘Probably sunk,’ the evidence being considered good but inconclusive. It was, however, afterwards supplemented by final proof, and the case was re-marked ‘Known.’ Lieutenant Murray accordingly received the D.S.C. and two of his men the D.S.M.

Very little information has been given to the public about the Yacht Patrol; but it is certain that, when all is known, the history of this service will be eagerly read. There is a fine Elizabethan air about the gift of a ship to the Navy by a private owner, and we can imagine how keenly the giver would follow the career of his own boat, longing to command her himself, and glorying to catch her name now and then through the gales and rumours and gunfire of the seas, where she is at last flying the white ensign. Such a gift was the Prize, who with the heroic Sanders, her Commander, lies fathoms deep, and still unknown to many; but in time to come she will be remembered with Farnborough, Pargust and Dunraven, and her owner’s name will stand in a unique and honourable list.

Among the victories of the Yacht Patrol, one of the most timely and decisive was that of May 26, 1918. H.M. Yacht 024, Lorna, Lieutenant C. L. Tottenham, R.N.R., was on patrol that day in Lyme Bay, intercepting east-bound traffic, and keeping an eye at the same time on the activities of a U-boat off Portland Bill, whom she intended to deal with when opportunity should offer. Soon after 8.0 in the evening, she spoke two ships in succession, the Jabiru and War Cross, and ordered them both into Weymouth Bay, warning them at the same time of the enemy submarine. At 8.50 P.M. a lamentable signal came back by wireless—‘S.O.S., S.S.S.S., 2 miles S.W. of Portland Bill, ss. Jabiru, torpedoed.’

Lorna immediately proceeded at full speed, to look for the sinking ship and give what assistance might be possible. But, at 9.14 P.M., she intercepted the reassuring message—‘Proceeding to port, torpedo missed fire.’ Lieutenant Tottenham at the same moment saw that War Cross, which had parted only twenty-five minutes before, had now turned and was steering westward, having evidently also received the S.O.S. signal from Jabiru. He altered course and spoke her accordingly, advising her captain to lay the land, and endeavour to round the Bill inside the U-boat’s operating radius. He also offered to go with him as escort, but War Cross pluckily declined, thinking he could do better by waiting for darkness and running in by himself.

Lieutenant Tottenham left him and searched the horizon for another smoke streamer. His game was to meet every ship which came that way and by closing them one after another, in the falling dusk, to ensure being within striking distance when the U-boat should make the next attempt at assassination. The only success which could satisfy him would be the destruction of the enemy before he had had time to strike the ‘live bait’—an ambition which showed great nerve, and a grasp of the principle of the offensive in war. It would have been easy to make all merchantmen give the Bill a wide berth, and perhaps save the next ten of them thereby; but the pest would be active again to-morrow, in the same place or another—destruction, at all risks, is the only cure for U-boats.

Before long another ship was seen approaching from the south, and Lorna at once headed towards her. But after steaming for about three and a half miles on this errand, Lieutenant Tottenham perceived that the new-comer was already in good hands, or would soon be so—the armed drifter Evening Primrose was closing her, evidently with the intention of acting as escort. At this moment a fresh ship came in sight, approaching the Bill from the west. Lieutenant Tottenham instantly altered course and made straight for her.