Q Ships and Their Story 15

Q Ships and Their Story 15

That being so, _Salvia_ deemed it prudent to pretend to run away, but

in the middle of the evolution her steering gear unfortunately broke

down, and before control was established again with hand-steering

gear, the ship had swung 90 degrees past her course, and the submarine

reappeared on the port beam about 1,500 yards away, but presently

disappeared. The breakdown had been most unfortunate, for otherwise

a short, sharp action at about 700 yards would have been possible,

followed by an excellent chance of dropping a depth charge very close

to the enemy. In that misty weather, with a rough sea and a fairly

strong breeze, it had been difficult to see any part of the U-boat’s

hull, for she had trimmed herself so as to have little buoyancy, and

only her conning-tower could be discerned. Below, in the Q-ship, the

engine-room staff found themselves up against difficulties; for it was

an awkward job repairing the leaking steam-pipe, as the cylinder tops

and the engine-room were full of live steam and lyddite fumes. The

chief artificer and a leading stoker were overcome by the fumes, but

the job was tackled so that steam could be kept up in the boilers.

 

A few months later _Salvia_ (alias Q 15) ended her career. Just before

seven o’clock on the morning of June 20, 1917, when in Lat. 52.15

N., Long. 16.18 W.—that is to say, well out in the Atlantic—she

was struck on the starboard side abreast the break of the poop by a

submarine’s torpedo. Troubles did not come singly, for this caused

the depth charge aft to explode by concussion, completely wrecking

the poop, blowing the 4-inch gun overboard, and putting the engines

totally out of action. Here was a nice predicament miles from the Irish

coast. At 7.15 a.m., as the after part of the ship was breaking up,

her captain sent away in the boats all the ship’s company except the

crews of the remaining guns and others required in case the ship should

be saved. The submarine now began to shell _Salvia_ heavily from long

range, taking care to keep directly astern. The shells fell close to

the boats, so these were rowed farther to the eastward. A shell then

struck the wheelhouse and started a fire, which spread rapidly to the

upper bridge. It was now time for the remainder of the crew to leave

in Carley rafts, and temporarily the submarine ceased fire; but when

one boat started to go back to the ship the enemy at once reopened his

attack. He then closed the rafts and took prisoner _Salvia’s_ captain,

who arrived safely in Germany, and was released at the end of the

war. At 9.15 a.m. the ship sank, and ten minutes later the submarine

disappeared. Thus _Salvia’s_ people were suddenly bereft of ship and

skipper, with the broad Atlantic to row about in, boisterous weather,

and a heavy sea. The boat which had endeavoured to return to the ship

then proceeded to search for the men in the Carley rafts, but could see

nothing of them. After about an hour this boat sighted what looked like

a tramp steamer, so hoisted sail and ran down to meet her. At 11.20

a.m. this steamer picked them up: she happened to be another disguised

sloop, the Q-ship _Aubrietia_, commanded by Admiral Marx, a gallant

admiral who had come back to sea from his retirement, and as Captain,

R.N.R., was now taking a hand in the great adventure. Search was then

made, and within two hours the men in the rafts were picked up, and

a little later the other three boat-loads were located: but five men

had been killed, three by the first explosion in _Salvia_ and two by

shell-fire. It had been a sad, difficult day.

 

In the Mediterranean the enemy was showing an increased caution against

likely decoys, and by the beginning of December, 1916, had already

sunk a couple of Q-ships. The Q-ship _Saros_ (Lieut.-Commander R. C.

C. Smart) was operating in this sea, and had an engagement on October

30, thirteen miles from Cape San Sebastian. The engine-room was ordered

to make smoke, as though the stokers were endeavouring to get the

utmost speed out of the ship: at the same time the engines were rung

down to ‘slow.’ But the enemy realized the ruse and slowed down, too.

Lieut.-Commander Smart endeavoured to make the enemy think a panic

had seized the ship. So the firemen off watch were sent below to put

on lifebelts and then to man the boats. Stewards ran about, placing

stores and blankets in the boats, but the enemy insisted on shelling,

so _Saros_ had to do the same, whereupon the submarine’s guns’ crews

made a bolt for the inside of the U-boat, and then made off. As soon

as she had got out of sight, _Saros_ changed her disguise, taking the

two white hands off the funnel, hoisting Spanish colours, and altering

course for the Spanish coast.

 

[Illustration: FIG. 8.—DIAGRAM TO ILLUSTRATE APPROXIMATE MOVEMENTS OF

‘SAROS’ IN HER ACTION WITH SUBMARINE ON NOVEMBER 3, 1916.]

 

Three days later _Saros_ was returning to the Gibraltar-Malta shipping

track, heading for the Cani Rocks, after carrying out firing exercises.

At half-past four in the afternoon, the officer of the watch heard a

shot, and saw a submarine 7,000 yards off on the starboard beam. She

was not trimmed for diving, and was apparently trimmed to cruise like

this during the night on the surface. She seemed quite careless and

slow about her movements, evidently never suspecting _Saros’_ true

character. _Saros_ altered course towards the enemy, who was firing

all the time, one round exploding and falling on board and several

coming close over the bridge. The U-boat, after going on an opposite

course, very slowly turned to starboard to get on a parallel course,

and men were seen hoisting up ammunition on deck. The light was bad,

and it was becoming late, but _Saros_ had manœuvred to get the German

in a suitable position as regards the sun, so at 5,500 yards range

opened fire with her 4-inch and 12-pounder at 4.44 p.m. This shocked

the Teuton, so that the crew which had been sitting around smoking, and

apparently criticizing the old ‘merchantman,’ suddenly became active,

lowered the wireless masts and disappeared below. By the tenth round,

the enemy, who appeared to have been hit, dived, and at 4.50 p.m.

_Saros_ ceased fire. Course was then altered to where she had last been

seen, and just before turning, the enemy for a moment showed himself,

but as the gun-layer was ready the German disappeared, and then

artfully cruised about submerged, so as to get in a good position. She

was never seen again, but at 5.15 p.m. a torpedo passed just ahead of

the _Saros_, and thereafter the latter zigzagged at her utmost speed.

During the night there was a moon until midnight, and an anxious time

was spent. Owing to the amount of sea, _Saros_ was not doing more

than 8-1/2 knots, but no further attack took place. It had been one

able captain against another, and no actual result had been made. So

the warfare went on in the Mediterranean. _Baralong_, now called

_Wyandra_, who had been sent to the Mediterranean, had an engagement

earlier in the year with a submarine, on the evening of April 13, 1916,

and probably hit the enemy.

 

In the spring of 1917 three more Q-ships, Nos. 24, 25, and 26, had been

taken up to be fitted out and serve under Vice-Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly,

at Queenstown. These were respectively the _Laggan_ (alias _Pladda_),

_Paxton_ (alias _Lady Patricia_), and the _Mavis_ (alias _Nyroca_),

being small steamers of 1,200 or 1,300 tons, each armed with one 4-inch

and two 12-pounders. Q 18 (alias _Lady Olive_) had begun her work in

January. Now, of these four ships two had very short lives. On May 20

Q 25 was sunk in the Atlantic, her commanding officer and engineer

officer being taken prisoners by the submarine. Twenty-two survivors

were picked up by a trawler, and four were picked up by an American

steamer and taken to Manchester. Three officers and eight men were

found by the United States destroyer _Wadsworth_, who had arrived only

a few days before from America.

 

The fate of Q 18 was as follows: At 6.35, on the morning of February

19, 1917, she was at the western end of the English Channel, when she

was attacked by a submarine who was coming up from 3 miles astern

shelling her. After the usual panic party had been sent away and the

others had concealed themselves, the submarine came close under the

stern, evidently so as to read the ship’s name. At 7.10 _Lady Olive_

opened fire, the first two shots hitting the base of the conning-tower,

the other shot putting the enemy’s gun out of action and killing the

man at the gun, the range being only 100 yards. Six more effectual

shots were fired, the man in the conning-tower being also killed. The

submarine then submerged. Lieutenant F. A. Frank, R.N.R., the captain

of the Q-ship, now rang down for full speed ahead, with the intention

of dropping depth charges. No answer was made to his telegraph, so he

waited and rang again. Still no answer. He then left the bridge, went

below to the engine-room, and found it full of steam, with the sea

rising rapidly. Engine-room, stokehold, and the after ’tween deck were

filling up, the dynamo was out of action, it was impossible to use the

wireless, and the steam-pipe had burst owing to the enemy having landed

two shots into the engine-room.

 

As the ship was sinking, the only thing to do was to leave her. Boats

and rafts were provisioned, the steel chest, containing confidential

documents, was thrown overboard, the ship was this time _really_

abandoned in earnest, and all took to the three boats and two rafts at

9.30 a.m. Thus they proceeded in single line. Fortunately the weather

was fine, and Lieutenant Frank decided to make for the French coast,

which was to the southward, and an hour later he despatched an officer

and half a dozen hands in the small boat to seek for assistance. So

the day went on, but only the slowest progress was made. At 5 p.m.

Lieutenant Frank decided to leave the rafts and take the men into

the boats, as some were beginning to faint through immersion in the

cold February sea, and it was impossible to make headway towing those

ungainly floats with the strong tide setting them at this time towards

the Atlantic. The accommodation in each boat was for seventeen, but

twenty-three had been crowded into each.

 

With Lieutenant Frank’s boat leading, the two little craft pulled

towards the southward, and about 9 p.m. a light was sighted, but soon

lost through the mist and rain. An hour later another light showed up,

and about this time Lieutenant Frank lost sight of his other boat, but

at eleven o’clock a bright light was seen, evidently on the mainland,

and this was steered for. Mist and rain again obscured everything,

but by rowing through the night it was hoped to sight it by daylight.

Night, however, was followed by a hopeless dawn, for no land was

visible. It was heart-breaking after all these long hours. The men had

now become very tired and sleepy, and were feeling downhearted, as well

they might, with the cold, wet, and fatigue, and, to make matters no

better, the wind freshened from the south-west, and a nasty, curling

sea had got up. Lieutenant Frank put the boat’s head on to the sea,

did all he could to cheer his men up, and insisted that he could see

the land. Everyone did a turn at pulling, and the sub-lieutenant, the

sergeant-major of marines, the coxswain, and Lieutenant Frank each

steered by turns. Happily by noon of the twentieth the wind eased up,

the sea moderated, and Lieutenant Frank had a straight talk to his men,

telling them their only chance was to make the land, and to put their

hearts into getting there, for land in sight there was. Exhorting these

w