Submarine Warfare of To-day Part 20

THE piratical warfare of German submarines produced many sea mysteries.

Some were solved after the lapse of months and even years, while others will, in all probability, remain unknown until the sea gives up its dead.

Among the latter may be numbered the curious discovery in the North Atlantic of a nameless sailing ship, without cargo, identifying papers or crew, but sound from truck to kelson, and with her two life-boats stowed neatly inboard and a half-finished meal on the cabin table.

Experts examined this vessel when brought into port, but so far have been utterly unable to offer any solution or discover any clue, beyond the fact that she was built and fitted out in some American port and carried an unusually large crew.

Another similar mystery was the disappearance of a French vessel while on a voyage to New Orleans and the discovery eleven months afterwards that she had called for water and food at a small port on the Pacific coast of South America. No further trace has so far come to light, nor the reason for her changing course and rounding Cape Horn.

A mystery which remains a mystery to the end of the chapter is likely to be irritating to the imaginative mind, but to the following occurrence there came a solution after the lapse of a few weeks.

THE SPECTRE OF THE GOODWINS

It was a pitch-black night, with fine rain driving up from the south-west. The summer gale which had raged for the past twenty-four hours had blown itself out, and although the steep seas still retained their night-caps, the wind came only in fitful gusts. Away to starboard an indistinct blur of white foam stretched athwart the sea and the dull roar from the maelstrom of the Goodwins rolled across the miles of intervening water.

The armed trawler _Curlew_ bravely shouldered her way through each green comber as it rose to meet her, lurching over the seas in a smother of spray. Oilskinned figures moved warily along the life-lines, for when a wave struck her tons of water swept across her slanting decks, submerging the bulwarks and causing the st.u.r.dy ship to groan and tremble from stem to stern.

In the little bridge-house the dim light from the binnacle shone on the hard wet face of the commanding officer, who watched the seas as they rose up ahead, giving directions to the man at the wheel, and all the while keeping a watchful eye on the distant blur of foam covering the treacherous shoals.

Few except sailormen can realise the dangers and anxieties of navigation in times of war. The absence not only of the warning lights which in days of peace flash their signals far out over the seas, marking the innumerable dangers which lie along treacherous coasts, but also of warships and merchantmen rushing through the night with not even the flicker from a port-hole to denote their coming--perhaps at a speed of nearly three-quarters of a mile a minute; a second's indecision on the part of the brain and nerve directing each ship, a momentary forgetfulness of that elusive "right thing to do"--some second danger to attract a flash of attention from the first--even a blinding cloud of spray at the psychological moment and, well, two more ships have gone, with perhaps hundreds of lives. Yet these things but seldom happened, and the reason was that all that tireless energy, skill and nerve could do was done on the sea in those years of storm and stress.

Some two hours later, and just before dawn broke over the tumbling sea, an exceptionally heavy wave struck the trawler full on the port-bow. The hammer-like blows of the water as it poured on board and struck the base of the wheel-house and superstructure momentarily drowned all other sound. When the air had cleared of flying spume a big black hull loomed out of the darkness ahead and seemed suddenly to grow to an immense size, towering high above the trawler's forecastle-head. A blast on the whistle, a sharp order and the trawler swung off to starboard, with the great black ma.s.s perilously near. It was a close shave, and the watch held their breath while waiting for the crash and shock which for a brief second seemed inevitable.

There was no time for action or signal. The great ship slid past like some black phantom framed in the white of flying scud. It faded into the misty darkness of sea and sky almost as quickly as it had appeared, and, curiously, no sound of throbbing engines accompanied its pa.s.sage.

It took the captain of the patrol but a minute to make up his mind what to do. He gave a quick order to the helmsman and a warning shout to the watch below on deck. The little ship, as she came about, lurched into the trough of a sea and rose shivering from end to end. The next moment an avalanche of white and green water poured over her, flooding the decks and sending clouds of spray high over the funnel and masts. Then commenced an exciting chase, with the seas racing up astern and all eyes trying to penetrate the darkness ahead.

The faint misty light of a new day had brightened the eastern horizon before the mysterious ship again loomed up ahead. The heavy sea still running made it difficult, however, to distinguish any national or local characteristics which might give a clue to her ident.i.ty or intentions, and the suspense was keen.

The two guns of the patrol vessel were manned, and a three-flag signal fluttered from the jumper-stay but received no immediate reply from the ship ahead. Then, after a few minutes' pause, during which time the trawler manoeuvred for the advantage of the light from the breaking dawn, a yellow flash belched from her side and a sh.e.l.l ricochetted off the water just ahead of the mysterious steamer. Still there was no response; but it could now be plainly seen that the engines were not working and that she was drifting before the wind and sea.

Was it merely a _ruse de guerre_ to gain the advantage in the event of an attack, or was she a vessel disabled by the storm which had raged during the past forty-eight hours? Neither of these suppositions, however, satisfactorily explained the total disregard of signals and the warning shot which had been fired across her bows.

Again a line of flags were hoisted on the trawler's halyards, this time a well-known signal from the _International Code_, but still no notice was taken of the peremptory order it conveyed.

After the chase had been on for over an hour another shot was fired from the trawler. The report echoed across the still boisterous sea and the splash of the sh.e.l.l just cleared the ship's bow. Still there was no response, and the trawler's course was altered so that she would soon close in on her quarry. As the light increased it was seen that a stout wire hawser was trailing in the water from the starboard bow, and suspicion of some new evidence of sea _kultur_ increased. When the range had closed to about 1000 yards she slowly swung round until almost broadside-on to the trawler, whose guns instantly opened fire in earnest. The third sh.e.l.l struck the large wheel-house of the mystery ship, demolishing it completely. When it became evident that the fire was not going to be returned, the guns of the trawler again ceased, and the two vessels drew close to each other. A partly defaced name, which was rendered indecipherable by the splash of the seas as they struck the counter, could be distinguished with the aid of binoculars in the quickening light of early morning, but neither officers nor crew could be seen, the bridge and decks appearing deserted.

Not to be misled by this ruse, however--for on similar occasions ships had been blown to pieces at close range by concealed batteries--the _Curlew_ approached cautiously, bows-on, offering the smallest possible target, and with her guns trained on the quarry. This sea-stalking is nervy work and must be played slowly. Twice the trawler circled round the mysterious ship, and the sun had mounted high, penetrating the banks of cloud which scudded across the summer sky and tingeing the still boisterous sea with flecks of golden light, before it was considered safe to relax all precautions. Even then the sea prevented any attempt being made to board the curious craft, and for six hours the trawler clung to the heels of her quarry, which was rapidly drifting far out into the North Sea.

The danger of attack from hostile submarines was great, and the gunners stood by their weapons although drenched every few seconds by the floods of heavy spray which still poured over the bows. At last patience and endurance were rewarded. The sea calmed sufficiently to enable a boat to be lowered and with difficulty brought up under the lee of the mysterious ship.

An armed guard, headed by the sub-lieutenant, eagerly scrambled up the lofty rolling sides. They had scarcely reached the deck before their only means of retreat was cut off. The two men left in the life-boat were unable to keep her off the iron sides of the big ship. She rose like a cork on the crest of a wave until almost level with the top line of port-holes and then dropped back, catching the edges of the rolling-stocks. There was a crash of splintering wood and the next minute two half-drowned men were being hauled up the sides by their comrades on deck.

It was an anxious moment, for although the decks seemed deserted there was that curious, uncanny feeling which is ever present when facing an unknown peril. After all it _might_ prove to be a _ruse de guerre_ or some new form of frightfulness. There were only six men from the trawler--a small enough party, however well armed, if it came to a fight--and great caution was observed while exploring the ship. A signal had been arranged in the event of treachery, and the _Curlew_, with her guns _and wireless_, would prove a dangerous antagonist.

All was well, however, for the ship was deserted. A careful inspection of the cabins showed that the departure of officers and crew had been a hasty one, but all the ship's papers had been carefully removed. The forepeak or bow water-tight compartment was full of water, but the bulk-head had held and kept the vessel afloat. Beyond this no damage was visible above the water-line and the condition of both hull and engines was good. She proved to be a Spanish ship, and to make the mystery deeper her four life-boats were still on the davits, although swung outboard ready for lowering.

In those troublous days the fact of the life-boats being hoisted out in readiness for eventualities conveyed little or nothing, but when a careful search proved that many of the life-belts had gone with the crew the problem became an interesting one. Had they been taken on to the deck of a German submarine which had subsequently dived and left them to drown, as was the case with the crew of a British fishing vessel, or had they been conveyed as prisoners of war to Germany? Against both of these surmises was the fact that _all_ the ship's boats remained, and a German submarine would scarcely be likely to come close alongside even a neutral ship, especially during the bad weather that had prevailed for the past few days. Would it remain one of the many mysteries of the great sea war?

Some few hours later the trawler, with her big "prize"--under her own steam--entered an eastern naval base and berthed her capture with the aid of tugs.

The explanation came from headquarters several weeks later. The s.s.

----, of Barcelona, had grounded on the Goodwins about three hours before she nearly ran down the trawler. Her crew, thinking that she would rapidly break up in the surf, had fired distress signals and been taken safely ash.o.r.e in a life-boat. The rising tide and south-westerly wind had done the rest, freeing her from the dangerous sands.

CHAPTER XXV

FROM OUT THE CLOUDS AND UNDER-SEAS

IT has already been shown that the science of aerial warfare is closely allied with that of under-sea fighting. Airships and seaplanes play important parts in all anti-submarine operations. They make very efficient patrols and can detect the presence of both submarines and mines under the surface.

During the Great War there were stations for armed aircraft all round the British coast, and the patrols of the sea and air acted in close co-operation. It often happened that one was able to render important service to the other. An occasion such as this took place off an east coast base in November, 1916.

SALVING AN AIRSHIP

A big car dashed up the wooden pier of a small seaport regardless of the violent jolting from the uneven planking. It was pulled up with a jerk when level with one of the little grey patrol boats known by the generic name of M.L.'s, which was lying in the calm water alongside with its air compressor pumping vigorously.

Two officers of the Royal Naval Air Service, with a P.O., carrying a powerful Morse signalling lamp, jumped from the car and scrambled down the wooden piles on to the deck of the M.L.

A nod from the commanding officer and the mooring ropes were cast off as the telegraph was jammed over to "half ahead." Instantly the powerful engines responded to the order and the little ship began rapidly to gather way. When the harbour bar had been crossed the order for full speed was given and the engines settled down to a low staccato roar as they drove the M.L. over the heaving swell.

No word had yet been spoken between the officers of the sea and air. A brief telephone message to the little hut on the quayside from the adjacent naval base to the effect that M.L.A6 was to be ready to embark two officers from the air station and was to proceed in search of an airship which was foundering about twenty miles seawards was all that had been told, and yet not a single second of time was lost in getting under way. All recognised that it was a race to save the lives of men.

The little ship cleft the seas, smothering herself with foam, and bluish fumes poured out of the engine-room ventilators. The first half-hour seemed interminably long, and the horizon was continually searched with the aid of powerful gla.s.ses for a sign of the wrecked airship. At last a faint speck became visible away to the south-west, and as the distance slowly lessened--terribly slowly, notwithstanding the speed of nearly half-a-mile a minute--the crumpled envelope settling on the water could be distinguished.

It was a question of minutes. Again the order was shouted down the speaking-tube for more speed, but this time there was no reply. The C.O.

rang the telegraph viciously, but without result. The c.o.xswain at the wheel looked up quickly and then shouted an order to a deck hand, who lowered himself down the tiny man-hole in the deck leading to the engine-room. A few seconds later the second engineer appeared at the top of the fo'c'sle hatch and, ducking to avoid a heavy shower of spray, scrambled aft and peered down the man-hole, from which blue fumes, somewhat thicker and more pungent than usual, were rising. The next instant he too disappeared below.

The air officers were trying to get into communication with the rapidly sinking airship by means of the powerful Morse lamp, but without result, and one of them put his head into the wheel-house and asked anxiously if more speed was possible.

Just then the second engineer and one of the crew crawled out of the man-hole, pulling a limp figure behind them. The C.O. turned to ascertain what had happened, and the men, very white and shaky, explained in a few gasps that they had found the chief engineer senseless at the bottom of the iron ladder leading up to the deck, and had themselves been nearly ga.s.sed by the petrol fumes.

Glancing at the blue vapour now pouring up the hatchway and out of the ventilators, the C.O. realised the risk of fire and explosion he ran by carrying on at such high speed, but he also knew that men were drowning in the sea some eight miles ahead, and that the few extra knots might make the difference between life and death for them.

That the risk must be taken was a foregone conclusion, but how to keep the engines running at that high speed without attention--for it was evident that no man could live for many minutes in the poisonous fumes--was a more difficult problem. This was solved, however, by the second engineer volunteering to go below with a life-line attached, so that he could be hauled up to the deck when giddiness came on. More than once this gallant petty officer had to be pulled up choking and exhausted. He risked instant death from the explosion of the gas from the leaking and overheated pipes and engines, as well as suffocation from the fumes, but he stuck to his post, returning again and again into the poisonous atmosphere.

Darkness was gradually settling over the sea, and the flickering light of the Morse lamp--still asking for a reply--made yellow streaks on the wet fore-deck. Presently a faint speck of light blinked amid the dark ma.s.s of the airship, but almost instantly went out, and for some time nothing further was seen.

Barely three miles of heaving sea separated the two ships when the bright glare of a Very's light, fired from a pistol, soared into the air. A cheer broke from the dark figures on the deck of the M.L., and a message of hope was eagerly flashed back.

The last knot seemed a voyage in itself, but eventually the great dark ma.s.s of the still floating envelope loomed up ahead, and almost instantly the clang of the engine-room telegraph, shutting off the leaky engine, gave relief to the plucky second engineer, who had retained consciousness and control through that dreadful twenty minutes by frequently filling his aching lungs above the hatchway.

The sea around was a ma.s.s of tangled wires, in which the mast and rigging of the M.L. was the first to become entangled. Near approach was impossible, so orders were given to lower away the boat. The st.u.r.dy little steel-built life-boat splashed into the sea alongside, one minute rising on a wave high above the deck-line and the next disappearing into the dark void below. Figures slid down the miniature falls to man her and the next minute were pulling through the tangled wreckage to where the beam of the M.L.'s searchlight showed six airmen clinging to a floating but upturned cupola.