Chapter XXVI The British Submarine Service
The war record of the British submarine service is unique; the difficulties and dangers which our men faced and overcame were such as no other navy has attempted. The patrol of the shallow Belgian coast and the hunting down of U-boats was a very different task from torpedoing merchant vessels or hospital ships without warning; and the campaigns in the Marmora and the Baltic were conducted under conditions which had no parallel elsewhere.
A glance at the map will show that the Marmora was not only distant from the British naval base, but that the only line of approach was of an uncommonly formidable character. The channel of the Dardanelles is narrow and winding, with a strong tide perpetually racing down it, and setting strongly into its many bays. It was, moreover, protected by forts with powerful guns and searchlights and torpedo tubes, and by barrages of thick wire and netting; it was also patrolled constantly by armed ships. Yet all these defences were evaded or broken through with marvellous courage and ingenuity; for nearly a year a succession of brilliant commanders took their boats regularly up and down the passage, and made the transport of Turkish troops and munitions first hazardous and finally impracticable. Two battleships, a destroyer, and five gunboats fell to them, besides over thirty steamers, many of which were armed, nine transports, seven ammunition and store ships, and no less than 188 sailing ships and dhows with supplies. It is hardly necessary to add that in no case was violence done to neutrals or non-combatants.
The first officer to take a British submarine up the Dardanelles was Lieutenant Norman Holbrook. It was in December 1914 that his attempt was made, and after equipping his boat, B11, with ingenious devices for jumping obstacles, and running several preliminary trials, he trimmed and dived for Sedd-el-Bahr at the moment when the searchlights were extinguished at dawn. Rather more than four hours after his start he had passed the Straits and was at last able to put his periscope above water. He found his fortune at the same moment. There, on his starboard beam, was a large two-funnelled vessel, painted grey, and flying the Turkish ensign. At 600 yards he fired his starboard torpedo, and dipped for a few seconds. An explosion was heard. B11 came quietly to observation depth again of her own motion, and her commander, still at his periscope, saw the grey ship firing a number of guns. His boat dipped again, but he got her up once more, and this time saw his enemy, the battleship Messudiyeh, silent, and sinking slowly by the stern. He turned for home, dived into the channel, and ran along the bottom at full speed; came up to take his bearings, dived again, and by 2 p.m. had cleared the exit. In ten hours he had proved all the possibilities of a novel campaign. He had forced the strongly-barred channel, surprised and sunk a battleship in broad daylight, and returned to report, though he had gone up without information and come down with a damaged compass. Of the boats which followed in the spring and summer of 1915, the most famous were E14 (Lieutenant-Commander E. Courtney Boyle); E11 (Lieutenant-Commander M. E. Nasmith); E12 (Lieutenant-Commander K. M. Bruce); E7 (Lieutenant-Commander Cochrane); E2 (Commander David Stocks); and K1 (Lieutenant Wilfred Pirie). In efficiency all these surpassed everything which had been thought possible of submarines. Their cruises lasted from a fortnight at first to thirty days later, and finally to forty and even forty-eight. During this time they would run 2,000 miles and more, with no resources for supply or repairs beyond what they carried on board. When Commander Boyle brought E14 back to her base in August after her third cruise, she had done over 12,000 miles since leaving England, and had never been out of running order—a record for which her chief engine-room artificer, James Hollier Hague, was promoted to warrant rank.
It is impossible to relate here the adventures, the ingenuities, and the brilliant service which these seven commanders reported in the bald and convincing style of the British Navy. One example only can be given—a typical and not an exceptional one. Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith took E11 up for the first time in May 1915, in succession to Commander Courtney Boyle, who had just returned, leaving the Turks under the belief that the Marmora was infested by a whole flotilla of submarines. By a curious combination of activity and accident, Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith at once confirmed this legend.
On his second day out he “dived unobserved into Constantinople,” and torpedoed a Turkish gunboat; five hours later he stopped a small steamer, whose crew did a “panic abandon ship,” capsizing all their boats as they were put out. An American gentleman then appeared on the upper deck and conversed amicably, after which he was sent ashore, and the ship, being found to contain a Krupp gun and ammunition, was cleared and sent to the bottom. Two heavily laden store-ships were then attacked. One was sunk and the other driven ashore. Under a hurricane of fire from the shore batteries, the submarine dived and got away towards the Bosphorus. At Galata there was a panic; all shops were closed, troops were disembarked from transports, re-embarked, and again landed. The effect was redoubled next day when the American gentleman returned to tell his story. Probably he had inquired the number of the British submarines on the ground, and had been misunderstood to be asking for the number of the boat he was aboard; for he reported—and the news ran through Constantinople—that there were eleven of our boats in the Marmora, holding up all ships going to the Dardanelles. And E11 did in fact achieve this result. Transports lay idle in the Golden Horn, and as the one real boat and her ten imaginary consorts patrolled the Marmora, Turks and Americans wondered where they had their base, and how it had been prepared in hostile waters.
In August E11 was on duty once more, hunting in couples with E14. Commanders Boyle and Nasmith rendezvoused on the 6th, and concerted a plan for shelling troops next day on the land route to Gallipoli. This operation was very successful; in less than three hours E11’s 12-pounder twice broke up columns on the coast road. On the following day Commander Boyle destroyed a 5,000 ton supply steamer with torpedo and gun-fire, while Commander Nasmith sank the battleship Haireddin Barbarossa. This ship was passing north-east of Gallipoli, escorted by a destroyer. E11 was skilfully brought into position on her starboard beam, and two torpedoes got home amidships. The Barbarossa immediately took a list to starboard, altered course towards the shore, and opened a heavy fire. But within twenty minutes a large flash burst from her fore part, and she rolled over and sank.
The Turks attempted to conceal the details of this catastrophe; but they confided to Mr. Einstein of the American Embassy that a gunboat perished with Barbarossa, and one of two transports which she was convoying, while the other ran aground. They added that the attack was made by six submarines, who completely surrounded the battleship and her convoy. Commander Nasmith afterwards sank a large collier and two more transports, and then turned his attention again to cutting the enemy’s communications by land.
His lieutenant, D’Oyly Hughes, volunteered to take the most dangerous part in an attack on the Ismid railway. A raft was put together behind Kalolimno Island, capable of supporting one man, and carrying his equipment and a charge of explosives. With this Lieutenant D’Oyly Hughes was to reach the shore, and blow up the railway line, or, if possible, the viaduct. The risk involved not only the volunteer but E11 herself, for so long as he had still a chance of returning, she could not quit the neighbourhood, or even conceal herself by submerging.
At 2 a.m. Commander Nasmith took the boat inshore till her nose just grounded, within three feet of the rocks, where there were cliffs on each side high enough to prevent her conning-tower from being seen. Lieutenant D’Oyly Hughes dropped into the water and swam off, pushing his raft towards a spot about 60 yards to the left. Besides his demolition charge he had only a revolver, a bayonet, an electric torch, and a whistle. He found a landing place, scaled the cliff, and prowled along the railway with his heavy charge till he was brought up by the sound of voices; three Turks were sitting by the side of the line. He laid down his guncotton, and made a wide detour to inspect the viaduct, roused a small farmyard on his way, and was again stopped by finding a number of men working a stationary engine at the near end of the viaduct.
He crept back to his gun-cotton, and decided to blow up a low brickwork support over a small hollow, only 150 yards from the men, but a spot where real damage could be inflicted. He muffled the pistol for firing the fuse, but on so still a night it made a very loud noise. The three Turks heard it, and instantly started to chase their enemy down the line. Lieutenant Hughes had but one chance—to find his way to the shore and swim off. To gain time, he turned and fired at his pursuers; they stopped to return his fire, and he distanced them, gained the shore, and plunged into the water. As he did so he heard with joy the sound of a heavy explosion, with the crash of fragments hurled into the sea. The railway line was effectively cut; but he was three-quarters of a mile from the bay where E11 was lying hid.
He swam out to sea, and after going some 500 yards blew a long blast on his whistle; but the boat failed to hear him. Day was breaking—the time of waiting for him must be short. He swam ashore again, rested on the rocks, and plunged in once more. One by one he had to throw away pistol, torch, and bayonet. At last he rounded the point and his whistle was heard; but at the same moment shouts and rifle fire came from the cliffs above. The boat backed out towards him, determined to save him at any cost.
But now came the most trying part of his adventure. In the early morning mist the bow, the gun, and the conning-tower of the submarine appeared to the distressed swimmer to be three small rowing-boats advancing towards him, and manned, of course, by enemies. He turned back, swam ashore, and tried to hide himself under the cliffs. But he was still cool and clear-headed, and after climbing a few feet looked back and realized his mistake. One last swim of 40 yards, and he was picked up almost exhausted. He had run hard for his life and swum a mile in his clothes. “5.5 a.m.,” says E11’s log, “dived out of rifle fire, and proceeded out of the Gulf of Ismid.”
She ended her cruise with a brilliant week’s work; fought an action with three armed tugs, a dhow, and a destroyer, evading the destroyer, and sinking two of the other ships by gun-fire; torpedoed two large transports; bombarded the magazine and railway station at Mudania; battered the viaduct for an hour; and on her return down the Dardanelles passed the obstacles without assistance or misadventure. Her final cruise was in November and December, when she was out forty-eight days, and sank forty-six enemy ships. Her last companion, E2, was recalled two days later, and the campaign was over.