Q Ships and Their Story 22

Q Ships and Their Story 22

On June 12, 1917—that is, six weeks after the previous incident, just

time enough to give leave to all the crew, get the ship refitted and

sailed to her new area—_Prize_ left Killybegs (Ireland) to cruise

to the westward of the Irish coast. At 11 a.m. on this day she was

under all sail on a N.N. W. course, doing not more than a knot through

the water, when she sighted a submarine 1-1/2 miles to the E.S.E.

proceeding slowly on the same course as _Prize_. The movements of

this submarine thereafter are worth noting. It is only reasonable to

suppose that on his return to Germany in U 93 Ziegler would give a

full description of the trap-ship which had so nearly destroyed him.

This information would, of course, be passed on to the other submarine

captains who frequented this Irish area, and we may be quite certain

that they would be on the look-out for her, anxious to revenge their

service. Now, in these modern times, and in any twenty-four hours, you

will see far more steamers of all sorts than 200-ton sailing craft: it

certainly was so during the war off the west and south-west coast of

Ireland. During the years I was on patrol there, with the exception

of quite small local fishing craft and an occasional full-rigged ship

making the land after her voyage across the Atlantic, one scarcely

ever sighted a sailing vessel of any kind. Ziegler would have reported

in effect: ‘Look out for a three-masted topsail schooner of about

200 tons. She has a bow like this..., her stern is like this..., and

her sheer is so.... You will probably find she has a dummy deckhouse

placed here...;’ and a rough sketch would afford his comrades a pretty

accurate idea. You cannot ever disguise the appearance of such a

sailing ship altogether, no matter what name you give her, nor what

colour you paint her hull. A three-masted topsail schooner is that

and nothing else, and would henceforth be regarded with the utmost

suspicion. Then, on comparing her with the sketch and examining her

with the eye of seamanlike experience, no astute submarine officer

could have had much doubt in his mind. A British officer who knew this

ship well has told me that in his opinion there was one small detail,

in respect of the wireless, which, to a careful observer, would always

give her character away. This may be so: at any rate, the following

incidents seem to indicate that the enemy were on the look-out for her

during the rest of her career, and persistently attacked her.

 

On the occasion of June 12, as soon as the submarine came to the

surface and opened fire, _Prize_ as usual, after the necessary

intentional bungling, sent away her boat, which took up a position half

a mile away on the starboard bow. The enemy kept on firing, and at

11.30 the schooner was hit twice, so three minutes later, as the enemy

was turning away to increase the range, Sanders ordered the screens to

be lowered, and opened fire from both starboard guns at 1,800 yards.

One shell seemed to hit, and the enemy immediately dived. But two hours

later a submarine was seen on the surface 4 miles away on the starboard

quarter, and remained in sight for a quarter of an hour. Then next

morning at 6.30 a submarine was sighted stopped, 1-1/2 miles ahead

on the surface. Five minutes later he dived, but came up after four

minutes 1,500 yards off on the starboard bow. At 6.43 he again dived,

and was not seen again. Probably each of these three appearances was

the same submarine. On the first he was repulsed, on the second he

would have a perfect opportunity of making a detailed sketch, on the

third he may have been intending to attack by torpedo, but the westerly

swell from the Atlantic possibly interfered with accurate firing. But,

apart from all surmise, it is absolutely evident that the enemy was

able to obtain a picture of the schooner, which beyond all doubt would

establish her identity on a future occasion. The importance of this

will presently be seen.

 

For this action of June 12 Lieut.-Commander Sanders was given a D.S.O.

to wear with his V.C. He had had a very trying time. When, at 11.30,

the German shells had hit, the falls of the port davit had been shot

away, and another shot had struck the ship on the starboard side

amidships just on the top of the sheer strake plate. This shell had

exploded and caused the ship to leak. Lieut.-Commander Sanders, who

was lying concealed between the mast and the hatch, put up his arms

to shield his face from the burst fragments and so received a piece

of shell in his right arm above the wrist. In addition, the force

of the explosion knocked him over and hurled him to the other side

of the deck, where he was picked up by Skipper Mead. In spite of the

pain and the shock, Sanders was just sufficiently conscious to give

the order ‘Action’ at 11.33, when screens were downed, White Ensign

run up, and fire was returned. The schooner came back to her base,

her gallant captain recovered from his wound, and two months later we

find her operating in the Atlantic again to the north-west of the N.W.

Irish coast. On this occasion she was cruising with one of our D-class

submarines, the idea being that when the enemy came along _Prize_ would

be attacked and heave-to in the customary manner, while the British

submarine would stealthily make for the enemy and torpedo him whilst,

so to speak, he was not looking.

 

On the forenoon of August 13, imagine this schooner with her

newly-painted black topsides and red boot-topping, flying the Swedish

flag and heading east. Suddenly UB 48 was sighted to the north, so

Sanders hove-to and signalled the British submarine that there was a

German submarine to port. Shells began to be fired from the enemy, who

closed. The British submarine saw the shots falling but could not see

the enemy until 4.10 p.m., when the German was descried to starboard of

the _Prize_. There was a considerable lop on at the time, and _Prize_

was seen with White Ensign flying at the peak, and her guns manned.

Five hours later the British submarine came to the surface and spoke

_Prize_, who stated that she had opened fire on the enemy at 200 yards,

and had hit him. This we now know from another source was perfectly

true, but the hits were not in a vital part of the German. During the

dark hours UB 48 bided his time, and at midnight fired two torpedoes,

the second of which hit, causing a terrific explosion, so that nothing

more was seen, and the good ship _Prize_, with her gallant captain and

all his brave men, ended her career after one of the most brilliant

periods that can be found in the records of sea achievement. UB 48 was

on her maiden voyage from Germany via the north of Scotland and N.W.

of Ireland to Cattaro in the Adriatic, where she arrived on September

2, sinking merchantmen on the way. This modern type of submarine, with

her 4·1-inch gun and her ten torpedoes, was a difficult craft to sink.

Her second officer had been taken from the German Mercantile Marine,

so we can assume that his critical eye would scrutinize the schooner

and detect something which convinced his captain that this was really

a trap-ship. That the submarine should have been content, whilst on a

long passage, to waste so many hours over a mere sailing craft of quite

small tonnage would have been doubtful; but the _Prize_ having once

shown her White Ensign and used her guns to effect decided the German

that she must be settled with after dark, when she would be a good

target in that August night. It was a fair fight, but the chances were

all in favour of the German, since it is practically impossible to see

a periscope at night, whereas the Q-ship’s sails would loom up and show

in which direction the target was heading; and, further, the submarine

had the advantage of mobility all the time.

 

The facts which have just been stated are authentic, and it is as well

that they should now be made known. Ignorance always breeds falsehood,

and after the loss of _Prize_ there were all sorts of wild stories

going about both in the Service and in the Mercantile Marine. Some of

them are too ghastly to be related, but a favourite version was that

the brave Sanders had been taken prisoner and lashed to the submarine’s

periscope, which then submerged and so drowned him. Another story,

which was very prevalent, was that he had been cruelly murdered. There

is not a word of truth in these suggestions. Lieut.-Commander Sanders

died as he would have wished, aboard his ship with his men. His body

rests in the Atlantic where the remains of his glorious _Prize_ sank:

but his memorial, unveiled by Lord Jellicoe as Governor of New Zealand,

will inspire generations who come after.

 

For dogged devotion to dangerous duty, for coolness in peril, for real

leadership of men, for tenacity in ‘sticking it,’ this hero among

those great and gallant gentlemen of the Q-ship service will remain

as a model of what a true British sailor should be. Had he lived, his

influence would have been tremendous, but by his refusing a safe billet

when he was fully entitled to it, and preferring deliberately to court

death because that way duty and honour pointed, his example should be a

great source of strength to every young apprentice beginning his life

in the Merchant Service, every midshipman of His Majesty’s Navy, and

every young man content to learn the lessons which are taught only by

the sea. On land, for their historic exploits at the Dardanelles and

in France we gratefully remember the Australians and New Zealanders.

It is fitting that one of the latter should have bequeathed to us such

distinction on the sea: it is characteristic of the great co-operation

when the children of the Empire flocked to help their mother in her

throes of the World War.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII

 

SHIPS AND ADVENTURES

 

 

Independence of character is a great asset in any leader of men, but it

is an essential, basic virtue when a man finds himself in command of a

ship: without such an attribute he is dominated either by his officers,

his own emotions, or the vagaries of chance. In the case of a Q-ship

captain, this aloofness was raised to a greater degree of importance

by reason of the special nature of the work. Can you think of any

situation more solitary and lonely than this? There are, of course,

all kinds and conditions of loneliness. There is the loneliness of

the airman gliding through celestial heights; there is the loneliness

of the man in the crowd; there is the loneliness of the sentry, of

the hermit, of the administrator in the desert. But I can conceive of

nothing so solitary as the Q-ship captain lying alone on the planking

of his bridge, patiently waiting and watching through a slit in the

canvas the manœuvres of an artful U-boat.

 

Such a figure is morally and physically alone. He is the great brain

of the ship; at his word she is transformed from a tramp to a warship.

It is he who has to take the fateful, and perhaps fatal, decision;

and to none other can he depute this responsibility as long as life

lasts. Only a big character, strong and independent, can tackle such a

proposition. Alone, too, he is physically. Most of his men have left

the ship and are over there in the boats, sometimes visible on the

top of the wave, sometimes obliterated in the trough. The rest of his

crew are somewhere below the bridge, under the bulwarks, at their guns,

crouching out of sight. His officers are at their respective stations,

forward, aft, and amidships, connected to him by speaking-tubes, but

otherwise apart. He himself, arbiter of his own fate, his men, and his

ship, has to fight against a dozen contending impulses, and refuse

to be panic-stricken, hasty, or impetuous. This much is expected of

him; his crew are relying on him blindly, absolutely. However, by

long years of experience and moulding of character he has learnt the

power of concentration and of omitting from his imagination the awful

possibilities of failure. Before putting to sea, and whilst on patrol,

he has envisaged every conceivable circumstance and condition likely

to occur. He has mentally allowed for every move of the submarine, for

the wounding of his own ship: and he has had the ship’s action stations

thus worked out. Accidents will, of course, occur to spoil any routine,

though some of these, such as the breakdown of the wireless and the

bursting of a gun, or the jamming of a screen, may be foreseen and allowed for.