The story of our submarine campaign in the Baltic is the first of two romances of the sea—one Northern and one Southern—the like of which is not to be found in the annals of the last 300 years. War must often make us familiar with obscure or long-forgotten places, the scenes of old voyages, and battles long ago; but to adventure with our submarines into the Baltic, or the Sea of Marmora, is to slip through unimagined dangers into a legendary world beyond all history—sailing the seas of the past, with the captains of the future. The exploration under water of those intricate and perilous channels was alone a discovery of supreme skill and daring; and the brilliant acts of war achieved by the adventurers form only a minor part of the glory of being there at all.
The first of our submarine voyagers in the Baltic was Lieut.-Commander Max Horton, in E. 9. Before the War was a year old his fame had spread far and wide; but the details of his success are not even yet generally known, and cannot be given here. By October 6, 1914, he had sunk a German light cruiser and a destroyer, both in the ‘North Sea,’ and it may perhaps be guessed that he had, at any rate, thought of penetrating into the Baltic. By January, 1915, he was109 a full Commander, and had received the D.S.O. On the 29th of that month, he was not only in the Baltic, but was sinking a destroyer there; on May 11, he bagged a transport; and on June 5, he put to the credit of E. 9 another transport and another destroyer. Finally, on July 2, he torpedoed the Pommern, a 13,000-ton battle-ship of an older type, but armed with 11-inch guns.
On July 29, he slipped again, in company with E. 1 (Commander N. F. Laurence), and after some independent hunting, the two boats both arrived at Reval. E. 9 had attacked a cruiser and a submarine; and, on August 18, had had a covetous look at a squadron of battle-cruisers, detailed for the German attack on the Gulf of Riga. But as they were moving constantly in regular formation, and at high speed over a large area, it was not possible to deal satisfactorily with them. E. 1, however, had had better luck. On August 19, Commander Laurence came to observation depth at 8.0 A.M., and under cover of a fog succeeded in stalking the same squadron. They were man?uvring in line abreast, and within ten minutes came across E. 1’s bows, with destroyers on both flanks. Commander Laurence had, of course, only a single ship to aim at—the battle-cruiser on the wing nearest to him, which was ascertained to have been the Moltke, a 22,600-ton ship. At 8.20, he fired his starboard torpedo, and at the same moment dived to avoid a destroyer which was coming straight for him. His luck was good, both ways. The torpedo got home on the battle-cruiser, and the destroyer missed E. 1 by a few feet. The next day he reported to the Russian Admiral at Reval.
These two boats were followed, on August 15, by110 E. 8 and E. 13. The fate of E. 13 will not be forgotten while there is any rightful indignation left in Europe. On August 19, she got ashore on a neutral coast—the Danish island of Saltholm—and there, with her crew upon her, was deliberately shot to pieces by a German war-ship, in defiance of all humanity and international law. Her officers and men behaved with perfect courage, but many of them were killed before they could get away from the wreck of their boat.
Lieut.-Commander Goodhart’s account of the voyage of E. 8 is a plain and business-like document, but to read it, with a map beside it, is to look far away into a world of historic names and ever-present dangers. It is easy enough to imagine the passage up the Skager-Rak, always remembering that we must keep well out of the central line of traffic, and that in the afternoon we have to dive and pass under a whole fleet of steam trawlers. At 7 P.M. it is possible to come to the surface again. The Commander orders full speed, rounds the Skaw, and enters the Kattegat. In the fading twilight, several merchant-steamers are seen going north. The shore and island lights twinkle out one by one—Hamnskar, Vinga, Skaw, Trindelen, and Anholt. The night is short. By 3.0 A.M. we must dive again, and lie quietly on shoal ground, while the traffic goes over us. At 5.25 A.M. we venture to the surface, but are put down quickly by a steamer. At 7.0 we venture again, and do a scurry of 1? hours in a friendly mist. Then down again, and crawl at 3 knots, till at 1.0 P.M. we are off the entrance to the Sound.
Here Commander Goodhart has to make the choice between going forward submerged, or waiting for darkness and then attempting the channel on the surface.111 He is confident of being able to get to his position under water, and decides accordingly to continue diving into the Sound and wait for night inside. He proceeds at fifty feet, and, by 3.6 P.M., has verified his position, coming up to twenty-one feet to do so. He goes down again to fifty feet, and alters course to pass through the northern narrows. At 4.10 P.M. he is east of Helsing?r Light—‘By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!’ At 5.20, after another observation, he goes to bottom in eleven fathoms, feeling comfortably certain that he has not been detected—so far—on his passage.
At 8.15 P.M. he rises to the surface. The Danish shore is bright with many lights, the Swedish shore is dark—all is exactly as it may have been a century and more ago, when Nelson was there on his way to his great battle. E. 8 goes south-westward on the surface, altering course to avoid being seen by two destroyers, who are going north, along the Danish shore, at a great pace. One of them suddenly turns south, but then stops, as if in doubt. E. 8 runs on into still more dangerous waters; the lights of Copenhagen are blazing brightly, and in Middle Ground Fort a searchlight is working. Now and again it strikes the submarine. Then come several fishing-boats, then two red lights in a small craft going south, close over to the Danish shore. She is on our starboard beam for some time, but luckily not near enough to see us, and we head boldly for Flint Channel.
Off Malmo, the shore lights are dazzling, and it is extremely hard to fix a position. There are many fishing-boats about, each carrying two bright lights. The Commander orders the boat to be trimmed down, with upper deck awash, and proceeds with one engine only,112 at seven knots. He steadies his course through Flint Channel, passing at least twenty vessels towards the western end of it, some carrying two and some three white lights, and one making searchlight signals in the air. The majority of the fishing-boats are no sooner avoided by a change of course, than we run past a small tramp showing a green light, and then three white ones. She seems to have anchored; but two other vessels have to be dodged, and then the ship which has been signalling with searchlight. Immediately afterwards, when just N.E. of the Lightship, with her three vertical red lights, a small torpedo-boat or trawler sights us as we creep by within 200 yards of her. Probably it is the searchlight in Copenhagen which has shown us up. Anyhow it is tally-ho at last!
She lights red and green flares, and alters course in our direction. We dive, and strike bottom—‘very strong bottom’—at nineteen feet on gauge, which immediately decreases to fourteen feet. At fourteen feet, then, we try to proceed on our course; but the ground is fearfully uneven, and a succession of bumps brings us to a dead stop. It is 11.40 P.M. After an anxious quarter of an hour, the Commander rises to the surface. The Drogden Lightship is on our starboard quarter. A large destroyer or small cruiser is ahead of us, showing lights—she is the one who had made searchlight signals. She is only two hundred yards away, but the Commander trims E. 8 deep, and steals past on motors. Four minutes this takes, and we then find a destroyer right ahead, and only one hundred yards from us. There is nothing for it but to dive. Down we go to twenty-three feet on gauge; but at sixteen feet the boat strikes bottom heavily on the starboard side, carrying away all blades113 of the starboard propeller. We lie on the bottom and listen to our pursuers overhead.
Life is now a matter of minutes and feet. At 12.15, the boat goes down to eighteen feet, but is still bumping badly. At 12.19, Commander Goodhart stops her and comes silently to the surface. The destroyer is there, close on our starboard beam. At 12.20, we dive again, as slowly as we dare, and at seventeen feet we glide away on our course, the depth of water mercifully increasing as we go. For a long time we seem to be escaping. Then, at 2.10 A.M., we strike bottom again at eighteen feet. An hour more, and we rise to the surface, only to see the destroyer on our port beam. Happily she is now a mile off, and does not see us. When we come up again, at 7.15, there is nothing in sight. At 8.53 we dive for a steamer, and at 10.40 for a destroyer. E. 8 is nearly out of breath now—her battery is running very low.
Commander Goodhart decides to find a good depth, go to the bottom, and lie there till darkness gives him a chance of recharging. From 10.40 A.M. till 6.40 P.M. we lie like a stone in twenty-three fathoms.
At 6.40 a Swedish steamer is still patrolling ahead. At 8.25 P.M. a patrol of three vessels is close astern, and very slowly moving east. The moon is too bright for us and we dive again. At 9.30 we try once more, but are put down by a shadowy destroyer to the southward. At last, ten minutes before midnight, we find a bit of sea where we and the boat can breathe in peace.
But only for two hours; daylight comes early in northern waters. It is now August 20. At 2.0 A.M. we dive again, and lie in seventeen fathoms, spending114 time and imagination upon the chart. We are well out of the Sound now, and clear of the Swedish coast. On our starboard beam lies the island of Rügen, where we shall never make holiday again; further back, on our quarter, is the channel that leads to Lübeck and to Kiel, which we hope to visit yet. Right ahead is the island of Bornholm, which we must pass unperceived, and beyond it the whole expanse of the Baltic lies open.
Commander Goodhart rises to the surface at 9.0 A.M., but dives again at noon. We are now not far west of R?nne; and as he wishes to make sure of passing Bornholm unobserved, he decides to remain on the bottom till dark, then slip by and recharge his batteries, for a long run north by daylight. By 7.0 P.M. we are on our way, and eight hours later we are passing the east coast of the great island of Gotland. At 9.2 P.M. we dive for a light cruiser, which passes overhead forward; at 10.0 we return to the surface and proceed north-east, running past the entrance to the Gulf of Riga and the island of Oesel. By 1.0 A.M. on August 22, we have to dive for daylight; but by 3.0 we are up again, and going on our course full speed. At 8.30 A.M. we sight Dager?rt ahead and join E. 9 (Commander Max Horton). In company with her and with a Russian destroyer, we pass into the entrance of the Gulf of Finland; and by 9.0 P.M., E. 8 is secured in Reval harbour. Within twenty-four hours, Commander Goodhart has docked and overhauled her, replaced her broken propeller, and reported her ready for sea.
The career of E. 8 in the Baltic was long and successful. It began, so far as sinkings are concerned, with the115 destruction of the steamer Margarette of K?nigsberg by gunfire, on October 5, 1915, and the most exciting day in the record was October 23, when the Prinz Adalbert, a cruiser of nearly 9,000 tons, fell to her first shot. E. 8 was cruising off Libau when, at 8.50 A.M., Commander Goodhart observed smoke on the horizon, and altered course to intercept the ship which was soon seen to be an enemy. She had three funnels and two very high masts, and was going west with two destroyers, zigzagging&mda............