Q Ships and Their Story 10

Q Ships and Their Story 10

When we consider the actions fought by these topsail schooners and

brigantines in the Great War we appear almost to be dreaming, to be

sent right back to the sixteenth century, and modernity seems to have

been swept clean away. While the Grand Fleet was unable, these sailing

ships were carrying on the warfare for which they had never been

built. In the whole of the Royal Navy there were hardly any suitable

officers nowadays who possessed practical experience in handling

schooners. This was where the officer from the Mercantile Marine, the

amateur yachtsman, the coasting skipper, and the fisherman became so

invaluable. In these days of decaying seamanship, when steam and motors

are dominant, it is well to set these facts down lest we forget. The

last of the naval training brigs has long since gone, and few officers

or men, even in the Merchant Service, serve an apprenticeship under

sail.

 

_Helgoland_ left Falmouth after dark, September 6, 1916, on her

first cruise as a man-of-war, and she had but a few hours to wait

before her first engagement took place. Commanded by Lieutenant A. D.

Blair, R.N.R., she was on her way to Milford, and at 1.30 p.m. on the

following day was only 10 miles south of the Lizard when she sighted

a submarine on the surface 3 points on the starboard quarter. There

was an alarm bell fitted up in _Helgoland_ which was rung only for

action stations, and, as it now sounded, each man crept stealthily to

his appointed place. Under the command of Lieutenant W. E. L. Sanders,

R.N.R., and following his example of perfect calmness, the guns’ crews

carried out their work without flurry or excitement.

 

Within five minutes the enemy, from a distance of 2,000 yards, had

begun shelling the brigantine. The first shot fell 10 yards short,

but the second and third struck the foretopsail yard—how strange

it seems to use the time-honoured phrases of naval warfare for a

twentieth-century fight—one shell going right through the yard. It

happened that on this fine summer’s day there was no wind; so here was

the unlucky _Helgoland_ becalmed and unable to manœuvre so as to bring

her guns to bear as required. It seemed as if the enemy intended to lie

off and shell this perfect target with impunity, directing the fire

from ahead and astern, which was just the way the brigantine’s guns

would not bear. However, after the second shot from the submarine, the

_Helgoland’s_ guns would just bear, so Lieutenant Blair dropped his

screens and opened fire whilst still there was a chance. The fourth

round from the after gun seemed to hit the enemy, and she immediately

lurched and dived. Lieutenant Blair then sent two of his hands aloft

to look for periscopes, and in a few minutes one was sighted on the

starboard quarter 200 yards away and closing. Two rounds from each of

the starboard guns were therefore fired, one striking the water very

close to the periscope, which again disappeared.

 

Nothing further happened until half an hour later, when a larger

submarine with sail set, about the size of a drifter’s mizzen, was

sighted right aft. As soon as this U-boat bore 3 points on the port

quarter, she also was attacked, and dived under cover of her smoke

screen. The afternoon passed, and at dusk (7 p.m.), when there was

still no wind, the sound of a submarine’s motors was heard as if

circling around the brigantine. An hour later _Helgoland_ bent her new

foretopsail, and just before 9.30 a submarine was seen right ahead,

so in the calm the Q-ship could not get her guns to bear. Half an

hour later, as there was still no wind, _Helgoland_ spoke an armed

trawler, who towed her back to Falmouth. Just as the two ships were

communicating, the enemy fired a couple of torpedoes which, thanks to

_Helgoland’s_ shallow draught, passed under her amidships. So ended the

brigantine’s first cruise. It was unfortunate that at long range she

had been compelled to open fire and disclose her identity, but that was

owing to the calm, and subsequently she was fitted with an auxiliary

motor.

 

 

[Illustration: FIG. 6.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE MOVEMENTS OF

‘HELGOLAND’ AND SUBMARINE ON OCTOBER 24, 1916.]

 

Her next fight was in much the same position, about 20 miles S.W.

of the Lizard. At 6.20 a.m. on October 24, 1916, _Helgoland_, now

commanded by Lieutenant G. G. Westmore, R.N.R., was on an E.S.E.

course, the wind being S.W., force 4, and there was a moderate sea.

About a mile off on the starboard bow was a large tramp steamer

steering a westerly course, and presently was seen a submarine

following astern of the tramp. Lieutenant Westmore at once sent his

crew to quarters, keeping all of them out of sight, with the exception

of the ratings who represented the watch that ordinarily would be seen

on the deck of such a coaster. In order to pass close to the German,

the brigantine hauled to the wind, and at 6.42 the submarine opened

fire on the steamer. As the enemy was now abeam, and only 1,000 yards

to windward of the _Helgoland_, Lieutenant Westmore determined that

this was the opportune moment. To wait longer would only have meant an

increase in the range; so down went the screens and fire was opened

with the starboard guns. The second and third shots seemed to strike

the enemy amidships, and she then dived, after firing only one round,

which passed well astern. Everything had worked well except that the

screen had jammed at the critical moment, but Lieutenant Sanders,

who was seeing that guns and crew were ready, soon cleared it. While

he was looking after his men, and Lieutenant Westmore was generally

looking after the ship, Skipper William Smith, R.N.R., was at the wheel

steering with marked coolness, and Skipper R. W. Hannaford, R.N.R.,

was in charge of the sails, handling them and trimming the yards as

required.

 

The first submarine was painted a dark colour, with a brown sail set

aft, so that at first she resembled one of our drifters. And now a

second U-boat, painted a light colour with no sail, was seen two

miles away heading for the tramp steamer. The latter happened to be

the Admiralty transport _Bagdale_, whose crew had by now abandoned

her, the ship’s boats being close to the submarine. _Helgoland_ went

about on the other tack and stood towards the enemy, so as to save the

_Bagdale_, and at 4,000 yards fired at the submarine. The latter was

not hit, dived, came to the surface and made off to the south-west,

not being seen after this. The brigantine stood by the abandoned

_Bagdale_, tacking ship at frequent intervals, so as to prevent the

submarine resuming her onslaught. Soon after nine two trawlers were

observed, and summoned by gunfire and rockets. They were sent to

pick up the crew and to tow the transport into Falmouth. Thus, if no

submarine had been sunk, this sailing ship had saved the steamer by

frightening away the enemy, and there were more engagements still to

follow.

 

By this—October, 1916—the Q-ship service had increased to such an

extent that there were actually forty-seven decoy craft operating.

These comprised almost every kind of vessel, from motor drifters to

medium-sized steamers. Their success or failure depended partly on

captain and crew, but partly on luck. Some Q-ships, as we have seen,

never sighted a U-boat; others were in action as soon as they got out

of port. The advantage of these Q-sailing-ships was that they could

keep the sea independent of the shore for periods much longer than

the trawlers or tramps. Owing to their roomy decks, these coasters

were well suited for the erection of dummy deckhouses to conceal the

armament, and another advantage was that, not utilizing engines or a

propeller—except when used occasionally—there was no noise to prevent

constant listening on the hydrophones. There was always the chance that

during the dark hours, when the enemy on his hydrophones could not hear

the sailing ship approaching, the schooner or brigantine might suddenly

surprise and sink a submarine lying on the surface charging its

batteries. The result was that in the first week of November another

sailing craft was requisitioned. This was the three-masted barquentine

_Gaelic_, which was then lying at Swansea loaded with 300 tons of

coal. _Gaelic_, who was known officially afterwards also under the

names of _Gobo_, _Brig_ 11, and Q 22, was 126 feet 8 inches long and 21

feet in the beam. She had been built of iron in 1898, was registered at

Beaumaris, and remained in service throughout the rest of the war. In

August, 1918, she was operating in the Bay of Biscay, and then returned

to Gibraltar. At the end of November she left ‘the Rock,’ reached

Falmouth by the middle of December, and then was towed to Milford to be

paid off, reconditioned, and returned to commercial work. But before

then, as we shall presently see, she was to carry out some first-class

work.

 

There is no person more conservative than the seafaring man; the whole

history of the sailing ship shows this clearly enough, and it is

curious how one generation is much the same as another. It was Lord

Melville who, in the early years of the nineteenth century, stated

that it was the duty of the Admiralty to discourage, to the utmost of

their ability, the employment of steam vessels, as they considered

the introduction of steam was calculated to strike a fatal blow to

the naval supremacy of Great Britain. A hundred years later, although

the Q-sailing-ship had justified herself, yet there was a sort of

conservative prejudice against her development. ‘The small sailing

vessel,’ complained a distinguished admiral, ‘will develop into a

sailing line-of-battle ship with an electric-light party reefing

topsails and a seaplane hidden in the foretopmen’s washdeck locker, and

everybody seasick.’

 

Yes: there was much in common between this flag-officer and the noble

lord, in spite of the intervening century.