Another ship, Laburnum, was now standing by, and at dusk suggested that Commander Campbell and his men should come on board for the night; but they refused to give up their ship as long as they could steer her. About two hours after midnight the end seemed to have come; Q. 5 suddenly started to list, the water gained rapidly, the donkey boiler-room was flooded, and the helm could no longer be used. At 3.30 Commander Campbell put the helm amidships, and ordered his men aboard Laburnum. He then followed himself, but returned to his own ship at daybreak and resumed towing; then, finding her in a very critical condition, he was compelled to go back to Laburnum for the time.
In the evening, when they were at last nearing port, the trawler Luneta came out to help. Q. 5 had by now nearly twenty degrees of list, and her stern was nearly eight feet under water; but she was brought in after all, and we may take her commander’s word for it that her safe arrival in harbour was due to the splendid seamanship of Lieutenant-Commander W. W. Hallwright of the Laburnum. In an achievement like this, there is a romantic touch of the old tradition—it was by just such seamanship that our frigate captains saved the Fleet after Trafalgar.
We may hear, too, what the commander of Q. 5 said about his officers and crew. ‘They may almost be said to have passed through the supreme test of discipline. The chief-engineer and the engine-room watch remained at their posts and kept the dynamos going until driven out by water. They then had to hide on top of the engine-room. The guns’ crews had to remain concealed in their gun-houses for nearly half an hour, while we could feel the ship going down by the stern. At that time it appeared touch-and-go whether the ship would sink before we sank the enemy. The officers and men who remained on board during the towing also did splendidly, the conditions at times being most dangerous ... it is difficult to select individuals where all did so well.’ But without selecting, we may name two by their names: Engineer-Lieutenant L. S. Loveless, R.N.R., and Lieutenant Ronald Stuart, R.N.R., First and Gunnery Lieutenant, both now members of the Distinguished Service Order. It is hardly necessary to add that their commander received the Victoria Cross. He was born for it.
It is not often that any man, or any ship’s company, can repeat their best performance and better it; yet Commander Campbell’s third victory was followed by a fourth, of which, as the Admiral on his station said truly, it is difficult to speak in sober terms. Four months after Q. 5 had struggled back to port, her men were out again in the Pargust, a merchant vessel on the same Special Service. The ship was going 8 knots in heavy rain and mist, with a fresh southerly breeze and a choppy sea. Like Q. 5, she got what she was looking for—what others run fast and far to avoid. A torpedo was seen coming towards her on the starboard beam. It was apparently fired at very close range, for it had not yet settled down to its depth, but jumped out of the water when only a hundred yards from the ship. This time there was no choice, and no manœuvring; Pargust received the shot in the engine-room and near the water-line. It made a large rent, filled the boiler-room, the engine-room and No. 5 hold with water, killed a stoker, wounded Engineer Sub-Lieutenant John Smith, R.N.R., and blew the starboard lifeboat into the air, landing pieces of it on the aerial.
The alarm had already been sounded and ‘Abandon ship’ ordered. The three remaining boats—one lifeboat and two dinghies—were lowered, full of men, the ship’s helm being put hard a-starboard to get a lee for them. Lieutenant F. R. Hereford, R.N.R., as before, went in charge of them and greatly distinguished himself by the coolness and propriety with which he acted the part of Master of the supposed merchantman.
As the last boat was pushing off, the enemy’s periscope was seen for the first time, just before the port beam, and about 400 yards from the ship. He turned and came straight on; but ten minutes later, when only 50 yards from the ship and close to the stern of the lifeboat, he submerged completely and disappeared. His periscope was sighted again a few minutes later, directly astern; he then steamed to the starboard quarter, turned round and went across to the port beam, turned again towards the ship and lifeboat, and finally, after all this nosing about, broke surface within 50 yards or less. But even now he was extremely cautious, showing only his conning-tower and ends; and when the lifeboat pulled away round the ship’s stern, he followed close behind, with only one man visible on top of the conning-tower, shouting directions to those below.
For the next three minutes of this long game of patience, the strain was intense. Commander Campbell was watching the man on the conning-tower carefully, for as long as he saw him perched up there he knew that he could reserve his fire. Lieutenant Hereford was waiting till he was certain that his captain was in a winning position. As soon as that was attained, he pulled deliberately towards the ship. This annoyed the submarine, whose object was evidently, in case of a fight, to keep the boats as much as possible in the line of fire. He came right up to the surface and began to semaphore to the boats, at the same time training a Maxim on them.
But by this time the U-boat was only one point before the ship’s beam, with all guns bearing on him at 50 yards’ range—Commander Campbell’s chance had come. He opened fire with a shot from the 4-inch gun, which struck the base of the conning-tower and also removed the two periscopes. Hit after hit followed, nearly all in the conning-tower, which could no longer be closed. The submarine took a list to port, and several men rushed up, out of the hatch abaft the conning-tower. Then, as the stern began to sink and oil squirted from the boat’s sides, the rest of the crew came out, held up their hands and waved in token of surrender. Commander Campbell, of course, ordered ‘Cease fire’; but no sooner had the order been obeyed, than the pirate started to move off on the surface, hoping, though listing to port and down by the stern, and in honour bound a prisoner, to get away in the mist. The Pargust could not follow, so that she was obliged to open fire again. The U-boat’s breach of faith did not save her. In her quick rush, she got to about 300 yards from her captor, whose guns continued to speak straight to her. Then a shot apparently touched off one of her torpedoes—there was an explosion forward, and she fell over on her side. For a moment her bow was seen jutting up sharply out of the water, and the next she was gone.
In her reckless rush to escape she had washed overboard her men abaft the conning-tower; one man went down clinging to her bow, and some who came up the fore-hatch were left struggling in the thick oil. The boats of the Pargust were sent to the rescue. They had a hard pull to windward in a choppy sea; but they managed to save the only two whom they found alive. The Pargust lay tossing helplessly for nearly four hours. Then H.M.S. Crocus arrived and towed her into port, escorted by another of H.M.’s ships and the U.S.S. Cushing.
‘It is difficult,’ says Commander Campbell, ‘where all did well, to mention individual officers and men, as any one officer or man could easily have spoiled the show. It was a great strain for those on board to have to remain entirely concealed for thirty-five minutes after the ship was torpedoed—especially, for instance, the foremost gun’s crew, who had to remain flat on the deck without moving a muscle.’ And the actual combatants were not the only heroes; for he adds: ‘The men in the boats, especially the lifeboat, ran a great risk of being fired on by me if the submarine closed them.’