The trawler is a fishing-boat by birth, and a mine-sweeper by necessity; the destroyer is first of all a fighting ship, and a protector of the weak. They will both kill a submarine when it comes their way; but we have ships—classes of ships—whose whole profession and occupation it is to hunt the pirate. Their methods differ as the methods of two kinds of hound. The Q-boat hunts slowly and craftily, the P-boat and the Yacht Patrol by speed, the ram, and the dreaded depth-charge. It is unnecessary to give the technical description of either class. A yacht is a yacht, and for a P-boat you may imagine a long slim boat, with fine lines and a rather low freeboard, three officers, a surgeon, and some fifty-five men—depth-charges round the stern and a gun or two, but no torpedoes.
In September 1917, H.M.S. P. 61 received orders to pick up in a certain roadstead the oiler San Zeferino and escort her to her destination. It was no easy job; the San Zeferino’s steering gear was defective, she could not zigzag; and in the misty showers and very dark weather prevailing, her course was embarrassingly original. But she was a valuable ship, and P. 61 meant to get her in if it could be done.
The sea was moderate, but visibility was no more217 than three-quarters of a mile. P. 61 kept on the convoy’s starboard bow and only about two cables ahead, zigzagging at seventeen knots. At three minutes to six in the morning, the oiler was suddenly observed to be settling by the stern. Lieut.-Commander Frank Arthur Worsley, R.N.R., on the bridge of P. 61, had heard no sound of explosion, and no one in the ship had sighted a submarine. The Commander knew, however, that in the thick mist and with a head wind and wash against him, this was natural enough. He immediately circled twice round the convoy, signalling to her: ‘Have you been torpedoed?’ With some difficulty she replied ‘Yes,’ and also that she had sighted the submarine.
Lieut.-Commander Worsley ascertained that the San Zeferino had her boats swung out and was in no immediate danger. He then reduced speed, in order not to betray his presence to the enemy, and started off north-west on the chase. Inevitably he soon lost sight of the oiler in the fog, and was obliged to turn in order to regain touch. He found the convoy still heading on her course, though her engines were wrecked; crossed her bows, and passed down her port side and under her stern. Directly P. 61 was clear, Lieutenant J. R. Stenhouse, R.N.R., on her bridge, sighted the enemy about half a mile away on the starboard beam, heading westward at nine knots.
Action stations had already been sounded, and fire was now opened from the port 12-pounder gun. One round of common shell was sent into the submarine, striking her just before the conning-tower. But a gun action was not the final object of P. 61. Lieut.-Commander Worsley had got his engines up to full speed218 as he came on, and saw that the enemy could not escape his ram. So sure was he that, after three minutes’ run, he deliberately stopped both engines, so as to let the ship’s bows drop deeper in the water and make a better hit.
The engines stopped, the bows sank two feet, the order ‘Stand by to ram’ was heard, and P. 61 struck the enemy stem on, on the port side, just abaft the conning-tower. Her speed at the moment was fully 20 knots, and the impact was severe; the submarine rolled over as the stem cut into her; and when P. 61’s stern was just above her, a very violent explosion took place, giving Lieut.-Commander Worsley, for an instant, the nightmare that he had been torpedoed by another U-boat in the moment of victory. He was quickly reassured. P. 61 had suffered no damage. But round the place of collision the sea was boiling with foam; immense air-bubbles were coming to the surface in rushes, and continued for some minutes after the explosion. There was oil upon the surface, and in it two men struggling. Lifebelts were thrown to them, and boats put out. One of the two was rescued and proved to be Ober-Leutnant Alfred Arnold, the commanding officer of the U-boat—the fifth upon the list of 150 published by the British Admiralty. The submarine was U.C. 49 and lies at the bottom in forty-seven fathoms. The San Zeferino was taken in tow by P.61 and came safely in after an arduous twelve hours—an admirable piece of work. Lieutenant-Commander Worsley received the D.S.O., Lieutenant Stenhouse the D.S.C., and two petty officers the D.S.M. for excellent steering and gun-laying.
On this occasion the P-boat had left her patrol duty for the moment, to act as escort. This was not the case219 with P. 57, who had a similar success in November of the same year. In the dark of early morning, about 6 o’clock, she had just challenged and examined by searchlight a vessel which turned out to be a friend, when the forward look-out reported ‘Buoy on the port bow!’ Course was altered to examine this buoy, and on approaching it both Lieut.-Commander H. C. Birnie, R.N.R., in command of P. 57, and Lieutenant Isdale, R.N.R., his officer of the watch, simultaneously perceived it to be a large U-boat heading due west and only 200 yards distant.
There was less than no time to be lost. Orders were given and obeyed instantaneously. The engines leaped to full speed as the ship came round sharply to port and steered straight for the enemy. In less than fifteen seconds the crash came—a heavy impact, at seventeen knots, on a point just before the U-boat’s conning-tower, very nearly at right angles. P. 57 cut her way right through, and as she did so the order for the depth-charges reached the officer of the watch. The first charge was released with great promptitude and precision as the damaged submarine passed under the ship’s stern. P. 57 turned sixteen points and came back over the spot, when a second charge was immediately dropped and a buoy put down.
An hour and a half afterwards Lieut.-Commander Birnie returned, after verifying his position, and found very large quantities of oil rising about fifty yards from his buoy. He dropped a third depth-charge and another buoy, and patrolled the neighbourhood all night. Sweepers arrived next day, located the U-boat with a bottom sweep in thirty fathoms, lowered a depth-charge on the sweep wire and blew the wreck up.220 For this ‘speedy and faultless attack’ Lieut.-Commander Birnie received the D.S.O., Lieutenant Isdale the D.S.C., and two A.B.’s the D.S.M.
This feat was a remarkable one, for it was performed in almost total darkness; but success was achieved in even more difficult circumstances by P. 51 towards the end of March 1918. It was 8.30 in the evening; the sea was calm under the moonlight, but great spaces of it were darkened by cloud shadows. The commander, Lieutenant William Murray, R.N.R., was in the chart-house, and Mr. Whittel, the gunner, on watch, when the signalman on the bridge reported a submarine on the surface, about one point before the port beam and less than 300 yards away. Orders were at once given to increase to full speed, and starboard the helm to ram. As the ship swung, the commander reached the bridge and took charge. He could see the enemy’s wash and bow wave. Then she appeared more distinctly as a large U-boat, 350 feet long, with a huge conning-tower and about two feet of freeboard showing. P. 51 continued to swing into the desired position and the moment for a successful ram seemed to have arrived. Then occurred one of those sudden and unforeseen accidents which try a commander’s presence of mind and decision to the utmost. To strike the U-boat fair it was, of course, necessary to put the helm over as soon as P. 51’s head had swung far enough to be pointing for her, and so steady the ship on her course. But this order could not be obeyed—the helm had jammed. Lieutenant Murray knew that to struggle with it could only at best result in a bungling collision which would injure his own ship rather than the enemy. He made a lightning act of renunciation, kept his helm a-starboard and swung221 completely round, passing close along the submarine’s side and then turning altogether away from her. The helm was soon afterwards found to be acting again; but in the meantime P. 51 had lost sight of the enemy.
She dashed westwards, and in two minutes sighted the U-boat again, a mile away on the port quarter. A new ramming attack was immediately planned, and the guns were ordered to open fire; but the submarine dived completely before they could pick her up in the uncertain light. In ten seconds Lieutenant Murray had brought P. 51 over a patch of oil which betrayed the spot where the U-boat was submerging. Three depth-charges followed her down. The first two produced the usual upheaval of water, but the third blew a quantity of wreckage into the air, of many shapes and sizes. P. 51 continued to circle around, and ten minutes later three shocks were felt below in rapid succession. Nothing more was seen, nor could any movement be heard on the hydrophone.
The official verdict was one of ‘Probably sunk,’ the evidence being considered good but inconclusive. It was, however, afterwards supplemented by final proof, and the case was re-marked ‘Known.’ Lieutenant Murray accordingly received the D.S.C. and two of his men the D.S.M.
Very little information has been given to the public about the Yacht Patrol; but it is certain that, when all is known, the history of this service will be eagerly read. There is a fine Elizabethan air about the gift of a ship to the Navy by a private owner, and we can imagine how keenly the giver would follow the career of his own boat, longing to command her himself, and glorying to catch her name now and then through the gales and222 rumours and gunfire of the seas, where she is at last flying the white ensign. Such a gift was the Prize, who with the heroic Sanders, her Commander, lies fathoms deep, and still unknown to many; but in time to come she will be remembered with Farnborough, Pargust and Dunraven, and her owner’s name will stand in a unique and honourable list.
Among the victories of the Yacht Patrol, one of the most timely and decisive was that of May 26, 1918. H.M. Yacht 024, Lorna, Lieutenant C. L. Tottenham, R.N.R., was on patrol that day in Lyme Bay, intercepting east-bound traffic, and keeping an eye at the same time on the activities of a U-boat off Portland Bill, whom she intended to deal with when opportunity should offer. Soon after 8.0 in the evening, she spoke two ships in succession, the Jabiru and War Cross, and ordered them both into Weymouth Bay, warning them at the same time of the enemy submarine. At 8.50 P.M. a lamentable signal came back by wireless—‘S.O.S., S.S.S.S., 2 miles S.W. of Portland Bill, ss. Jabiru, torpedoed.’
Lorna immediately proceeded at full speed, to look for the sinking ship and give what assistance might be possible. But, at 9.14 P.M., she intercepted the reassuring message—‘Proceeding to port, torpedo missed fire.’ Lieutenant Tottenham at the same moment saw that War Cross, which had parted only twenty-five minutes before, had now turned and was steering westward, having evidently also received the S.O.S. signal from Jabiru. He altered course and spoke her accordingly, advising her captain to lay the land, and endeavour to round the Bill inside the U-boat’s operating radius. He also offered to............