Q Ships and Their Story 21

Q Ships and Their Story 21

The sighting of this little topsail schooner made him avaricious. He

had sunk eleven: why not make the number a round dozen? So, at 8.45

p.m., he altered course towards the _Prize_, and ordering on deck to

see the fun all his men who could be spared, he opened fire with both

guns. Lieutenant Sanders therefore brought _Prize_ into the wind, and

sent his panic party to row about. This party consisted of six men

in charge of Skipper Brewer, of the Trawler Reserve, who had been

intentionally visible on deck, and now launched their small boat. In

the meantime, at the sounding of the alarm, Lieutenant Sanders and

Skipper Meade (also of the Trawler Reserve) had concealed themselves

inside the steel companion-cover amidships, and the rest of the crew

were hiding under the protection of the bulwarks or crawling to their

respective stations. _Prize’s_ two guns were placed one forward,

concealed by a collapsible deckhouse, and one aft, on an ingenious

disappearing mounting under the hatchway covers of the after hold,

and she carried also a couple of Lewis guns. Lieutenant W. D. Beaton,

R.N.R., who was second in command of the ship, was in charge of the

gunnery forward, and lay at the foot of the foremast with his ear to a

voice-pipe which led back to where Lieutenant Sanders was conning the

ship.

 

The contest could not fail to be interesting, for it resolved itself

into a duel between one ‘star-turn’ artist and another. Neither was a

novice, both were resourceful, plucky men, and the incident is one of

the most picturesque engagements of all the Q-ship warfare. Taking it

for granted that this little trader out in the Atlantic was what she

appeared to be, von Spiegel closed. _Prize’s_ head had now fallen off

to the eastward, so the submarine followed her round, still punishing

her with his shells, to make sure the abandon-ship evolution had been

genuine. Two of these shells hit _Prize_ on her waterline—you will

remember she was built of iron and steel—penetrating and bursting

inside the hull. One of them put the auxiliary motor out of action and

wounded the motor mechanic: the other destroyed the wireless room and

wounded the operator. That was serious enough, but cabins and mess-room

were wrecked, the mainmast shot through in a couple of places, and the

ship now leaking. Such was the training, such was the discipline of

these men under their gallant New Zealand captain, that, in spite of

this nerve-wracking experience, they still continued to remain on deck,

immobile, unseen, until Lieutenant Sanders should give the longed-for

word. They could see nothing, they could not ease the mental strain by

watching the enemy’s manœuvres or inferring from what direction the

next shot—perhaps the last—would come. This knowledge was shared only

by Lieutenant Sanders and Skipper Meade as they peeped through the

slits of their lair. Several times Sanders crept from this place on

hands and knees along the deck, encouraging his men and impressing on

them the necessity of concealment.

 

Meanwhile, closer and closer drew the submarine, but the latter

elected to remain dead astern, and this was unfortunate, for not one

of _Prize’s_ guns would thus bear. Then there was a strange sound aft.

Everyone knows that the inboard end of a patent log fits into a small

slide, which is screwed down on to the taffrail of a ship. Suddenly

this slide was wrenched and splintered, for the enemy had got so

close astern that she had fouled and carried away the log-line in her

endeavour to make quite sure of her scrutiny. U 93 then, apparently

convinced that all was correct, sheered out a little and came up on the

schooner’s port quarter only 70 yards away, being about to send her

quickly to the bottom.

 

Thus had passed twenty long, terrible minutes of suspense on board

the Q-ship, and it was five minutes past nine. But patience, that

great virtue of the really brave, had at length been rewarded. Through

his steel slit Sanders could see that his guns would bear, so ‘Down

screens!’ ‘Open fire!’ and up went the White Ensign. Covers and false

deckhouses were suddenly collapsed, and the _Prize’s_ guns now returned

the fire, as the pent-up feelings of the crew were able to find their

outlet in fierce activity. But even as the White Ensign was being

hoisted, the submarine fired a couple more shots, and the schooner was

twice hit, wounding one of the crew who had rushed below to fetch from

the bottom of the ladder a Lewis gun. Von Spiegel was now evidently

very angered, for putting his helm hard aport he went full speed ahead

to ram the schooner, and with that fine bow he might have made a nasty

hole at the waterline, through which the sea would have poured like

a waterfall. But he realized that he was outside his turning circle,

so put his helm the other way and tried to make off. It was then that

a shell from the _Prize’s_ after gun struck the forward gun of the

submarine, blowing it to pieces, as well as the gun’s crew. The second

shot from the same British gun destroyed the conning-tower, and a

Lewis gun raked the rest of the men on the deck. The third shot from

_Prize’s_ after gun also hit so that she stopped, and as she sank shell

after shell hit, and the glare was seen as of a fire inside the hull.

At 9.9 p.m., after the _Prize_ had fired thirty-six rounds, the enemy

disappeared stern first. Lieutenant Sanders could not use his engines

as they were already out of action, and there was practically no wind,

so he could not go to the spot where she had last been seen.

 

The darkness was fast falling, and the panic party in the boat rowed

over the scene to search for any survivors, and picked up three. These

were Von Spiegel, the submarine’s captain, the navigating warrant

officer, and a stoker petty officer. Covered by Skipper Brewer’s

pistol, these were now taken on board the schooner. But _Prize_ herself

was in a bad way. Water was pouring through the shell-holes, and, in

spite of efforts to stop it, the sea was gaining all the time. Had it

not been calm, the vessel would certainly have gone to the bottom.

Von Spiegel, on coming aboard, offered his word of honour to make no

attempt to escape, and undertook that he and his men would render all

assistance. His parole being accepted, captors and captives set to work

to save the ship. There was a possibility that another submarine known

to be in the area would come along and finish off the sinking _Prize_,

so all had more than an interest in the proceedings.

 

As the ship was leaking so badly, the only thing to do was to list her.

This was done by swinging out the small boat on the davits filled with

water; by passing up from below both cables on deck and ranging them

on the starboard side; by shifting coal from port to starboard and by

emptying the port fresh-water tanks. By this means the shot-holes were

almost clear of the water, though the crew had to continue baling night

and day. Troubles never come singly. Here was this gallant little ship

lying out in the Atlantic night, crippled and becalmed. An attempt was

made to start the engines, but owing to sparks from the motor igniting

the oil which had escaped from a damaged tank, a fire broke out in the

engine-room. This was prevented from reaching the living quarters and

magazine, and was eventually put out. Meanwhile, the German navigating

warrant officer had dressed the wounds of _Prize’s_ wounded crew, and

now, at 11.45 p.m., _Prize’s_ wounded stoker petty officer, assisted by

the second motor-man and the German stoker petty officer, succeeded in

starting one engine, and course was shaped for the Irish coast, all

sail being set; but the nearest land was 120 miles to the north-east.

 

That night passed, and the next day, and the forenoon of the day

following; but on the afternoon of May 2 the Irish coast was sighted,

and _Prize_ was picked up 5 miles west of the Old Head of Kinsale by

H.M.M.L. 161 (Lieutenant Hannah, R.N.V.R.), who towed her into Kinsale,

where the wounded were disembarked. On May 4—that notable sunny

day when the first United States destroyers reached Queenstown from

America—_Prize_, still with her three German prisoners on board, left

Kinsale Harbour, towed by H.M. Drifter _Rival II._, who took her to

Milford. But on the way _Prize_ sighted a German mine-laying submarine

on the surface 2 miles away to the southward. The crew therefore went

to action stations, and for an hour the enemy steered on a parallel

course, but finally the latter drew ahead and disappeared. Arrived in

Milford the prisoners were taken ashore, and the _Prize_ at length came

to rest.

 

It has been told me by one who ought to know, that when Von Spiegel

came aboard _Prize_, after being picked up out of the water, he

remarked to Sanders: ‘The discipline in the German Navy is wonderful,

but that your men could have quietly endured our shelling without

reply is beyond all belief.’ Before leaving the _Prize_ he said

good-bye to Sanders and extended an invitation to stay with him on

his Schleswig-Holstein estate after the war. No one will deny the

extraordinary gallantry of _Prize’s_ crew and the heroic patience in

withholding their fire until the psychological moment, though the

temptation was very trying. To Lieutenant W. E. Sanders was awarded

the Victoria Cross, and he was promoted to the rank of Temporary

Lieut.-Commander, R.N.R. To Lieutenant W. D. Beaton, R.N.R., was

awarded a D.S.O.; the two skippers each received a D.S.C., and the rest

of the brave ship’s company the D.S.M.

 

But the ending of this story is yet to be told. U 93 was not sunk,

but got safely back to Germany! Von Spiegel had thought she was sunk,

and the crew of _Prize_ were not less certain. She had been holed

in her starboard ballast tank, in her starboard fuel tank, and her

conning-tower, and she was assuredly in a very bad way. If it had been

daylight she would most certainly have been finally destroyed; as it

was she was unable to dive, and escaped in the darkness deprived of

her wireless. Sub-Lieutenant Ziegler took over the command, with one

of his crew killed, three wounded, and three already taken prisoners.

With the utmost difficulty, and compelled to navigate all the time

on the surface, he managed to get his craft home. It was certainly a

fine achievement; the Kaiser was much impressed, and promoted him to

lieutenant. But, at the time, we in this country had never supposed

that any submarine could stand so much battering. It is interesting to

bear this incident in mind when reading other accounts in this book,

where it seemed so sure that the submarine must have been sunk: yet

the greatest care has been taken to verify every enemy submarine sunk,

and in each case the number has been given. But U 93 was doomed, and

had not much longer to live after her refit. Early in the following

January, one fine clear morning at a quarter past four, the time when

human nature is at its weakest and most collisions occur at sea, this

submarine was rammed by a steamer and sunk for the last time.

 

After her very necessary refit, Lieut.-Commander Sanders still remained

in the _Prize_. Admiral Jellicoe, First Sea Lord, had sent for him and

offered him command of another ship: he could have had a destroyer, a

P-boat, or any ship within reason, but his undaunted spirit, to which

Lord Jellicoe on arriving in New Zealand after the war paid such high

tribute, refused a safer appointment, and preferred to carry on. I have

been told by an officer who enjoyed Sanders’ friendship and confidence

at this time, that he went out to sea again with the consciousness that

before long he would have played the live-bait game too far, and that

the fish would get away with the bait. If that is true, then we must

admire Sanders still more for his heroism in his devotion to duty. It

is surely of this stuff that the great martyrs of Christendom have been made.