The next two days passed quietly; no submarines were seen or heard of, until on the second morning, at half-past eight, a periscope was suddenly observed passing along between the Swiftsure and Agamemnon, at anchor off Cape Helles not six hundred yards from each other. Fire was opened immediately, and down dipped the periscope, to appear again just ahead and on the Swiftsure's starboard bow. The Swiftsure's 14-pounders blazed away, under went the periscope and did not appear again.
It is a mystery why she did not fire a torpedo; presumably she had no time to get into position to make a good shot. A signal sent to the ships off Gaba Tepe and Anzac warned them; but just before half-past twelve the Triumph there was struck by two torpedoes. The news that she had a list brought all the Swiftsure's officers and men on deck. Sure enough, they could see her through telescopes listing heavily, and two destroyers standing by. In twenty minutes the red composition on her bottom showed above the water; she rapidly fell over, remained bottom upwards for some eight minutes, and then disappeared. Fortunately, very few of her crew were lost.
Another exodus of ships followed, and only the poor old Majestic and the Henri IV, that quaint old Frenchman—with the Captain who feared neither mine nor torpedo—remained off the Peninsula. Three days' grace the Majestic received, and then she too met her fate, a submarine creeping up, with her periscope just showing, and firing two torpedoes at her through a gap between two small store ships. At 6.45 a.m. on Friday, 28th May, the poor old ship received her death-blows, and seven and a half minutes later capsized. For months her ram just appeared above the water off "W" beach, until the autumn gales made her settle farther down and mercifully hid her from sight.
It is not surprising that the general feeling of uncertainty and uneasiness due to the approach or German submarines should, now that they had arrived, sunk two big ships, and driven the others away, give place to one of foreboding and depression.
The army, which had landed with such proud hopes of opening the gates of The Narrows for the fleet to pass through, had fought itself to a standstill at Helles and Anzac; its supply beaches were constantly under shell-fire, and even the "rest" camps daily gave up their toll of dead and wounded from shells shrapnel or high-explosive.
The big ships could not use the narrow waters with freedom or safety; and if one, two, three, or five submarines, whatever their number was at this time, had already made the long voyage from Germany, ten, fifteen, or twenty might follow; and even if the big ships forced their way to Constantinople, these submarines could make it impossible for them to stay there.
Everyone wondered what would be the next move—what would happen next.
There were two bright patches of cheerful sky between the dark clouds: our own submarines, working with unparalleled daring and skill, passed up and down The Narrows, through the nets laid across to catch them, almost at their ease, and prevented the Turks from using the Sea of Marmora to bring up troops or stores; the Commander-in-Chief himself remained optimistic, in spite of all.
Dr. O'Neill, meeting Captain Macfarlane, who had just returned from the yacht Triad, which now flew the Commander-in-Chief's flag, asked him: "How about the Admiral, sir? I suppose he is even more depressed than we are?"
"Not a bit of it," Captain Macfarlane told him. "He is quite cheery; he has a lot 'up his sleeve' yet."