Q Ships and Their Story 24

Q Ships and Their Story 24

Cullist’s_ next adventure was on August 20 in the English Channel,

when she was shelled for most of two and a half hours at long range,

during which the submarine expended over eighty rounds with only one

hit. This, however, had penetrated the waterline of the stokehold,

injuring both firemen who happened to be on watch, and causing a large

rush of water into the stokehold. By plugging the hole and shoring it

up this defect was for the present made good. At 7.25 p.m., inasmuch as

the light was fading and the enemy declined to come nearer than 4,000

yards, _Cullist_ started shelling and seemed to make two direct hits on

the base of the conning-tower. This was enough for the German, who then

dived very rapidly and made off. _Cullist_ was practically uninjured,

for the only other hits on her had been that the port depth charge had

been struck with shell splinters and the patent log-line had been shot

away.

 

But on the eleventh of the following February a much more serious

attack was made, and this illustrates the statement that suddenly

without the slightest warning a Q-ship might find herself in the

twinkling of an eye changed from an efficient man-of-war into a mere

wreck. _Cullist_ at the time was steaming on a southerly course

down the Irish Sea, Kingstown Harbour being to the westward. The

officer of the watch and the look-out men were at their posts,

and Lieut.-Commander Simpson was walking up and down the deck.

Suddenly, from nowhere, the track of a torpedo was seen approaching,

and this struck the ship between the engine-room and No. 3 hold.

Lieut.-Commander Simpson was hurled into the air and came down on to

the edge of the deck with a very painful arm. Realizing the condition

of the _Cullist_, he ordered his men to abandon ship, but such was the

zeal of the crew in remaining at action stations until the last moment

that many of them were drowned: for in less than two minutes _Cullist_

had gone to the bottom. This part of the Irish Sea then consisted of

a number of Englishmen swimming about or keeping alive on a small

Carley float. The submarine when half a mile astern of where _Cullist_

sank, came to the surface and rapidly approached. Then she stopped,

picked up two men, inquired for the captain, examined survivors through

glasses, and having abused them by words and gestures, made off to

the southward. After swimming about for some time, Lieut.-Commander

Simpson was then pulled on to the Carley float, which is a special

kind of raft, very shallow, painted Navy grey, and usually supplied

with a paddle such as you find in a Canadian canoe. It was a bleak

February afternoon, and here were a few men able to keep from death by

joining hands on this crowded raft. As the hours went on, the usual

trying thirst assailed them and the fatal temptation to drink the

sea-water, but the captain wisely and sternly prevented this. How long

they would be left crowded in this ridiculous raft, cold and miserable,

no one knew: it was obvious that human strength could not last out

indefinitely.

 

But just as it was getting dusk, about 6 p.m., a trawler was seen.

Relief at last! Someone who held the Canadian paddle kept it high to

make it more easy for the trawler to recognize them. It was a patrol

trawler, for the gun was visible; in a few moments they would be

rescued. But just then these sopping-wet survivors were horrified to

see the trawler manning her gun and laying it on to the raft. What

hideous mistake was this? ‘Sing at the top of your voices.’ So they

sang ‘Tipperary’ with all the strength they had left. Then a slight

pause was followed by the trawler dismissing the gun’s crew and coming

towards them as quickly as her engines would go round. The survivors

were picked up and taken into Kingstown, where they landed about 10

p.m., and none too soon for some of them. By the time they were in

hospital they were almost done. But what was the trawler’s explanation?

She had sighted something in the half-light which resembled a

submarine, and on examining it again it still more resembled such a

craft. There was the conning-tower painted grey, and there was the

periscope too. It was only when the unmistakable sound of British

voices chanting ‘Tipperary’ reached their ears that they looked again

and found that the ‘periscope’ was the Canadian paddle, and the

‘conning-tower’ was the men linked together imposed on the grey Carley

float.

 

But it had been a near thing!

 

Even more varied was the career of the _Privet_ (alias _Island Queen_,

Q 19, _Swisher_, and _Alcala_). This was a small steamer of 803 tons,

which had begun her service in December, 1916, her captain being

Lieut.-Commander C. G. Matheson, R.N.R. On the following twelfth of

March she was on passage from Land’s End to Alderney, and was steaming

at 9 knots, when just before three in the afternoon a torpedo was seen

to pass under the ship at the engine-room. _Privet_ was presently

shelled by the submarine, who rose to the surface on the starboard

side aft, the first nine rounds hitting _Privet_ five times. One

of these rounds burst among the ‘abandon ship’ party, causing many

casualties and destroying the falls of both boats. _Privet’s_ hull

had been badly holed, and she was compelled to send out a wireless

S.O.S. signal, stating that her engines were disabled, but two minutes

later she opened fire with her port battery—she was armed with four

12-pounders—and during the first seven rounds the enemy received

punishment, being hit abreast the fore part of the conning-tower, and

twice well abaft the conning-tower. The German now tried to escape

by submerging, but evidently he found his hull leaking so badly that

he was seen trying to reach the surface again by using his engines

and hydroplanes. Thus _Privet_ managed to get in a couple more hits

and then the U-boat disappeared stern first at an angle of forty-five

degrees. _Privet_ in this manner had definitely sunk U 85, belonging to

the biggest U-class submarines, 230 feet long, armed with two guns and

twelve torpedoes. The whole incident, from the moment the torpedo was

fired to the destruction of the attacker, had covered forty minutes;

but now, ten minutes later, _Privet’s_ engine-room was reported to be

filling up with water owing to one of the enemy’s shells getting home.

Twenty minutes later the chief engineer reported that the water was now

over the plates and rising. Efforts were made to plug the hole with

hammocks and timber, but this was found impossible, and this small

ship, in spite of her victory, was in great peril. After another few

minutes the men and wounded were ordered into the lifeboat and skiff,

for the engine-room was full of water and the after bulkhead might give

way suddenly any minute. Half an hour later this actually happened, but

by this time the two British destroyers _Christopher_ and _Orestes_ had

arrived on the scene.

 

_Privet_ was in a pitiable condition, and, after throwing overboard

confidential books and rendering the depth charges safe, she was

finally abandoned, though she did not at once sink. In fact, an hour

and a half later she was still afloat; so Lieut.-Commander Matheson,

his officers, a seaman, and a working party from _Orestes_ went back

on board her, and within an hour _Orestes_ had begun to tow her

under great difficulties. However, everything went fairly well until

they were approaching Plymouth Sound, when _Privet’s_ last bulkheads

collapsed, and she started now to settle down quickly. This was rather

hard luck, having regard to what she had gone through, but there was no

mistake about it, she was sinking fast. Those in charge of her are to

be congratulated, for they were able just in time to get her into shoal

water, and she sank in only 4-1/2 fathoms opposite the Picklecomb Fort,

and that closed chapter one in her not uninteresting career.

 

From this position she was very soon raised, taken into Devonport, and

recommissioned at the end of April. Thus, having sunk a submarine and

herself being sunk, she returned to the same kind of work, and actually

succeeded in sinking another submarine on the night of November 8-9,

1918, this being the last to be destroyed before Armistice. The

incident occurred in the Mediterranean and the submarine was U 34.

Truly a remarkable career for such a small steamer, but a great tribute

to all those brains and hands who in the first instance fitted her out,

fought in her, got her into Plymouth Sound, salved her, fitted her out

again, took her to sea, and undauntedly vanquished the enemy once more!

In the whole realm of naval history there are not many ships that can

claim such a record against an enemy.

 

Another trying incident was that which occurred to the 1,295-ton

steamer _Mavis_ (alias Q 26 and _Nyroca_), armed with a 4-inch and two

12-pounders. This vessel had been fitted out at Devonport, her Merchant

Service cranes being landed and replaced by dummy derricks. The hatches

to her holds were plated over, access to the same being provided by

manholes. In order to give her the maximum chance should she ever be

torpedoed, she was ballasted with closely packed firewood; and only

those who have seen torpedoed ships carrying a cargo of timber can

realize for what a long time such an apparently sinking ship will keep

afloat, though necessarily deep in the water. I remember, during the

war, the case of a steamer torpedoed off Brow Head (south-west Ireland)

after she had just arrived from across the Atlantic. She was deserted

by her crew, the sea was over the floors of her upper-deck cabins, and

she was obviously a brute to steer in such an unseaworthy condition,

but with great difficulty and some patience we managed to tow her

into port, where, owing to her sinking condition, she drew so much

water that she touched the ground every low tide. But she was salved

and eventually patched up. It was her timber cargo which had kept her

afloat just long enough, and inasmuch as ship and freight were worth

no less than £250,000, this was more than worth while. So it was with

_Mavis_.

 

On the last day of May, 1917, under command of Commander Adrian Keyes,

R.N., this Q-ship had left Devonport to cruise in the Atlantic. At

6.45 a.m. on June 2 she sighted a ship’s lifeboat coming along under

sail and found it contained three men who were in a very exhausted

condition. These were the survivors from the Greek S.S. _N. Hadziaka_,

which had been torpedoed and sunk a little further to the westward.

This torpedoing had occurred in a heavy sea, and in lowering away the

boats, one of them had been smashed and the other swamped. The captain

and twenty-two men had clung to the wreckage when the German submarine

broke surface, approached, but made no attempt at rescue, and then went

away. For forty-eight hours these wretched men kept more or less alive

in the water and then gradually dropped off one by one until only three

remained. These then managed to patch one boat, upright her, bale her

out, and make sail. They had been sailing for ten hours during the

night when they had the good luck to be picked up by _Mavis_, having

been fifty-eight hours without food or water.

 

Having rescued them, _Mavis_ continued on her western course, but

after dark turned east, setting a course to pass 10 miles south of

the Lizard. During the following day she passed through considerable

wreckage. At 9.45 p.m. she was 20 miles south of the Wolf Rock when

a torpedo was seen to break surface 40 yards from the ship on the

starboard beam. It struck _Mavis_ abreast of the engine-room and

penetrated the side, so that the ship stopped at once, and both

engine-room and boiler-room were flooded. It was impossible to send out

a wireless call, as the emergency apparatus had been wrecked too, but

three rockets were fired and eventually the destroyer _Christopher_

came up, followed later by the trawler _Whitefriars_ and several tugs.

Then began the difficult and slow process of towing, and they got her

just inside Plymouth Sound, but by this time she was in such a crank

condition that it was feared she might capsize, so they managed to

beach her in Cawsand Bay on the west side of the Sound. It was her

ballast of firewood that had saved her from total loss, and for this

both British and Greeks must have felt more than thankful.