The Story of the Airship 2

The Story of the Airship 2

The subs’ biggest catch was the USS San Diego, a cruiser, sunk by mine

off Fire Island, just outside New York harbor, July 19, 1918, with 1,180

officers and men aboard. Only six lives, fortunately, were lost. The

battleship Minnesota, escorted by a destroyer, struck a mine off Fenwick

shoals light ship, early in the morning of September 29, but made

temporary repairs and limped back into Philadelphia Navy Yard 18 hours

later. A fragment of the mine was found imbedded in her frame work.

 

[Illustration: Reproduced from U.S. Navy map showing track of

submarines operating in American waters during last few months of

first World War.]

 

Mines were laid at strategic points. One field, with its mines 500 to

1,000 yards apart was laid off Cape Hatteras, one at the mouth of

Chesapeake Bay, one across Delaware Bay, two in between these key

inlets, another off Barnegat, and the last off Fire Island. Some of the

mines drifted ashore, others were found and destroyed—the last ones not

till the following January. But mines accounted for six of the ships

lost.

 

One of the submarines, the U-117, built as a mine layer, planted 46 of

the 58 mines laid along our shores; four others were merchant subs of

the Deutschland type, including the Deutschland itself, which had twice

previously visited this country on ostensibly friendly missions.

 

Though the subs encountered a few victims on the way over or back, most

of the ships were destroyed in the shallower waters within 200 miles of

the American and Canadian coast. The fishing was better close in.

 

Naval Intelligence knew, through Admiral Sims’ office in London, just

when each submarine left Kiel, what its probable destination was, and

its approximate arrival date. The Navy could not broadcast this

information, lest U-boat captains learn they were expected, but took

appropriate defense measures. Even so, each submarine traveled directly

to its destination, carried out its mission.

 

U-boats operated almost with immunity from Newfoundland to the Virginia

capes. Twice American men of war passed over submerging craft so close

as almost to ram them. The U-151 worked at cutting cables for three

days, near enough to New York City that the crew could see the lights of

Broadway at night. The U-115, lying off the Virginia capes, came to the

surface one afternoon just in time for its periscope to disclose a

cruiser, two destroyers and a Navy tug a mile away, peacefully returning

from routine target practice, entirely unaware that the U-boat was

lurking in the vicinity.

 

The submarines got a poor press that summer, not only for reasons of

military secrecy, but because more stirring news held the attention of

the public. The AEF was beginning to see action in France.

 

Still headlines flashed occasionally as censorship was raised, or

survivors brought in stories. From the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin

during this period:

 

“Hun U-boats Raid New Jersey coast—Schooner Edward H. Cole Attacked by

two Submarines, Destroyed—Two Attacked Off New England—Atlantic Ports

Closed”—and the story, under New York date line: “Germany has carried

her unrestricted submarine warfare to this side of the ocean—at least

five vessels sunk—submarine chasers ordered out from Cape May—Coast

Guard stations on special lookout—marine insurance companies announce

sharp increase in rates.”

 

News Flash—“Wireless report from passenger steamer Carolina says she is

under attack”—The Carolina is sunk, 300 survivors are landed at Barnegat

Bay, 19 at Lewes Del., 30 at Atlantic City, others picked up in open

boats.

 

[Illustration: On this map of actual ship sinkings and mine layings

in 1918 is superimposed a sketch of the area which a handful of

modern patrol blimps might cover.]

 

Then: “Navy mine sweepers sent out to destroy mines and floating

torpedoes which had missed target—tanker Herbert L. Pratt strikes mine

in shallow water on maiden voyage—War Department asks Congress for

$10,000,000 to set up balloon and plane stations along the coast to

combat sub menace—British steamer Harpathian torpedoed off Virginia

capes—American vessel, name withheld, puts back to ‘an Atlantic port’

after being chased by U-boat.”

 

The record continues: “San Diego sunk by mine—tug and four barges

sunk—British freighter attacked—sub sends landing crew on board lumber

schooner off Maine coast, set her afire—Steamer Merak sunk off

Hatteras—tanker torpedoed off Barnegat Bay, beaches blanketed with

oil—Norwegian steamer Vinland—British steamer Peniston and Swedish

steamer Sydland off Nantucket—nine U. S. fishing vessels off

Massachusetts coast—British tanker Mirlo—U.S. Schooner Dorothy

Barrett—tanker Frederick R. Kellogg” and so on and on.

 

Events of the time and since have swept these happenings out of the

minds of most Americans—even if they knew of it at the time. But

somewhere, half forgotten in Naval files, is an official report,

painstakingly compiled after the war, from ship logs, from stories by

merchant captains and crews, even by officers of surrendered German

submarines, to make up as complete a record as possible of one of the

amazing operations of the war—and one whose magnitude, in territory

covered and damage done, few suspected, even within the Navy, at the

time.

 

Only two subs had so much as a brush with American ships. The transport

von Steuben, former German liner, proceeding to the rescue of men in

life boats from a merchant ship, dropped depth bombs which the U-boat

escaped by diving to 83 meters, lying low till the enemy had gone.

 

Closer call had the U-140, largest and most modern of the fleet, which

after sinking several ships off Diamond Shoals, including the light ship

itself, almost caught a tartar when the Brazilian passenger liner,

Uberabe, zigzagging furiously to escape, sent out S.O.S. messages which

brought four U.S. destroyers hurrying to the rescue. Nearest was the USS

Stringham, which proceeding under full speed, using the Uberabe as a

screen, charged on the U-boat, dropped 15 depth charges when the U-boat

dived, timed to explode at different levels.

 

[Illustration: Training exercises with U. S. submarines have taught

airship captains much about the habits, movements and

characteristics of the underseas craft. (U. S. Navy photo).]

 

[Illustration: The year before America got into the last war the

German submarine U-51 sank a half dozen merchant ships off Nantucket

Island then proceeded into Newport. (U. S. Navy photo)]

 

[Illustration: Navy airships in practice patrols identify, as to

class and nationality, all surface ships in their area, learn to

recognize the silhouette of a submarine from afar. (U. S. Navy

photo)]

 

The U-boat captain, one of the best in the German navy, drove his craft

at a sharp angle to 400 feet. One charge exploding underneath the sub

turned it stern upward till it stood almost perpendicular. He managed to

level out finally at 415 feet, lay there as long as he dared, finally

reached the surface. His ship was so badly crippled it had to abandon

its mission and set out for home—though it sunk a couple more ships in

the mid-Atlantic on the way back.

 

The only U-boat casualty was the U-156 which after getting 34 victims in

American waters, getting eight in one day, was itself sunk by mines—but

off Faroe Island as it was almost home.

 

This then is the story of submarine operations in U. S. waters in 1918—a

half hearted effort of short duration started late in the day—but which

destroyed 100 ships, totalling 200,000 tons, most of them close to our

shores.

 

No one could doubt but that in the event of another war submarines would

be used again, and in more vigorous fashion. The American fleet might

easily keep major enemy ships at a safe distance, and bombing attack

from any part of Europe or over the Pacific would have little military

value. But certainly submarines would find their way past the screen of

Navy craft, bob up off American harbors, again to lay mines in the path

of coastwise steamers, deliver hit-and-run attack by torpedo and gunfire

at American craft.

 

We could be equally sure that these ugly motorized sharks, churning the

muddy sub-surface waters, would not be satisfied to attack merchantmen

only, would be looking for bigger prey.

 

On the map showing the operations of German submarines in 1918 let us

superimpose, as an example, the patrol area which two blimps, basing at

Boston, Lakehurst, Cape May and Norfolk might effectively cover in a 12

hour period.

 

A patrol area of 2,000 square miles per ship is conservative. It assumes

the ship flying at no faster than 35 knots, having visibility of five

miles in all directions. As a matter of fact, allowing a little more

than 40 knots speed—and the airship cruises considerably faster than

that—we might say that a modern blimp could patrol an area 10 miles wide

and 500 miles long in the 12 hours, or an area of 5,000 square miles.

But by criss-crossing back and forth in accordance with a progressive

plan, an area of 2,000 square miles could be made reasonably

secure—except under extremely adverse conditions of visibility.

 

Laying these patrol areas down over the map of submarine operations of

1918 it is apparent that such patrols would cover much of the territory

where ship sinkings were achieved, cover all of the areas where mines

were laid.

 

With blimps operating from such bases, in addition to the patrols being

executed by other naval craft, we might conclude that no submarine could

venture within 100 miles of the American coast during daylight hours

without considerable risk of detection, and that blimps should be able

to make contribution to the safety of coastwise shipping and harbor cities.