The hunter knows little, and cares little, about the feelings of the hunted; and if he is hunting for food, or to exterminate vermin, his indifference is not unreasonable. The submarine may be classed with savage beasts, and is even less deserving of pity; but it is not actually an animal, and the difference is important. It is controlled by beings with human intelligence, speech, nerves and faculties; and since they are our enemies, seeking our destruction while we seek theirs, it must be of interest to us, and may be of advantage, to know what are their feelings during the chase.
Information of this kind is not easy to obtain; but the enemy have thought fit to publish, for their own people, a certain number of accounts by submarine officers, and they have not been able to prevent all of them from finding their way to this country. Here, for instance, is an extract from the ‘War Diary of U. 202,’ by Lieut.-Commander Freiherr Spiegel von und zu Peckelsheim.
‘At 4 o’clock I again came up to have a look through the periscope.... On our starboard bow was a large French torpedo-boat with 4 funnels, on the watch. There was no land in sight.
‘I should much have liked to sink the smart-looking273 Frenchman. But the considerable probability, that in such a position I should then have the whole pack hunting me, induced me to refrain. I must admit that I found it very hard not to utilise this opportunity for a shot, and very reluctantly I lowered the periscope and gave orders to dive. This was our salvation. If we had continued a few minutes longer at the level at which here one uses the periscope, I should not be sitting to-day smoking cigarettes and writing my experiences.
‘We were still diving, and the depth-gauge showed 17 metres (56 feet). Suddenly we all had the sensation of having been struck on the head with a hammer. For a second we lost consciousness; then we picked ourselves up from the deck, or from the corners into which we had been thrown, feeling pains in our heads, shoulders, and other parts of our bodies. The whole boat throbbed and trembled. Were we still alive? What had happened? Why was it so dark, black as night? Ah! the light was out!
‘“Examine the fuse!”
‘“Fuse gone!”
‘“Put in spare fuse!”
‘Suddenly we had light again. This was all a matter of seconds, happening in far less time than it takes to describe it.
‘What had happened? Was it really not the end of us? Was not the water rushing into the boat somewhere, and carrying us down to the bottom? It must have been a mine—a tremendous mine detonation close to the boat. Reports were made automatically from all compartments. “Bow compartment not making water; stern compartment all right; engine-room no water.” No water anywhere!
274 ‘Then the boat inclined itself at a peculiar angle—the bow went down and the stern rose up. The boat was unaccountably trimmed by the bow, although the hydroplanes were hard over in the opposite direction.
‘“There is something wrong, sir,” reported the man at the diving-wheel. “The boat won’t answer to her helm. We must be hung up somewhere, by a rope, or perhaps a net!”
‘The devil! We are in a net, of course, and above us there are mines secured to the net. It is enough to drive one out of one’s mind.
‘“Pay attention!” I shouted from the conning-tower. “We have got to get through! Hydroplanes hard up and hard down, utmost speed ahead with both engines! Don’t let her rise! Whatever happens, keep down! There are mines above us!”
‘The engines started, revolving at their highest revolutions. The boat shot forward, caught in the net, strained against it, bored itself a way downwards, tugged, tore, and finally left the wire net all ripped apart.
‘“Hurrah! We are free! The boat answers to her helm!” cried the helmsman from below.
‘“Go deeper, dive to 50 metres (164 feet),” I ordered. “This is an evil spot hereabouts—it is hell itself.”
‘I sat down on the life-saving apparatus and buried my head in my hands. Everything was going round with me like a mill-wheel. Above my eyes I had a pain as though needles were sticking into my forehead, and I had such a humming in my ears that I stopped them up with my fingers.
‘“This is certainly an evil spot,” I repeated to myself, “but what luck we had, most extraordinary luck, which has saved us!”
275 ‘Some time elapsed before the pains in my head allowed me to fit things together and understand what had happened. Yes, it was pure luck that we had dived just in time. We were at a depth of 17 metres when the explosion occurred, our bows touching the net. Things grew clearer and clearer to me as I thought them over.
‘When we hit against the net we stretched it taut and thus actuated the mine detonators, the mines being attached to the net at the depth at which a submarine usually proceeds. If we had attempted to attack the torpedo-boat, or for any other reasons had remained a little longer at the depth at which the periscope can be used, we should have run into the net in just the way that the enemy would have wished—viz., so that the mines would have exploded alongside or underneath us. What actually happened was that the mine exploded above us, and the main force was expended in the line of least resistance (viz., upwards), and we suffered nothing more than a fearful fright, and perhaps a few disfigurements to the thin plating of the superstructure.’
U. 202 was certainly lucky this time. And though she was saved by sheer luck and nothing else, it is not unnatural, considering the ever-growing roll of those which fail to escape, that Lieut.-Commander Freiherr Spiegel von und zu Peckelsheim should enlarge upon his terror at the moment and his self-congratulation afterwards. But he is mistaken if he thinks that he has come through the worst that can happen to a submarine commander. His struggle in the net was short and easy, when compared with the feats of a Bruce or a Cochrane in passing and repassing the barrage276 off Kilid Bahr; and the jar he got from his mine seems to have affected his head more than his boat. In older navies, and among less excitable nations, these things are reported more quietly—more from a professional than a sensational point of view. ‘I think,’ writes Commander Courtney Boyle of a very similar accident, ‘I must have caught the moorings of a mine with my tail as I was turning, and exploded it ... the whole boat was very badly shaken.’ Not a word more about it, though his cruise continued for more than ten days afterwards. Without disparaging the German officer (who no doubt shares the national temperament, and knows how to move his audience), we may take pleasure in noting that the steadiness of nerve and the scientific view are in our favour. Given anything like a fair fight, and a reasonable time for play, it will not be the Peckelsheims who will win against our men.
An experience of another kind is described in a number of the Illustrierte Zeitung of July 12, 1917. The date of the engagement was February 22, in the same year.
‘Just at dinner time the watch reports a tank steamer in an E.N.E. direction, steering a course approximately towards the boat. Masts, bridge and funnel are visible above the horizon. Tank steamers are very hard to sink, as they have stray bulkheads fitted to keep their volatile cargo in check. The torpedo must hit the aftermost engine to stop the tank steamer. The periscope must only be shown occasionally for a very short time, so as not to alarm her. The torpedo is fired at 700 metres (765 yards) away, the submarine comes to the surface and fires a shot from her forward277 gun, as a signal to stop. The steamer understands, lowers two boats, and the crew abandon ship. Steam is blown off in a high white column. The master appears to be a sensible man, who does not intend to expose himself to shell fire for no purpose. The submarine approaches submerged and takes stock of the vessel—a black tank steamer, grey superstructure, no guns—the naval patent log hanging over the stern. The submarine then makes for the boats. As soon as they see her periscope, they hastily pull away. At length the submarine finds a favourable position to come to the surface, outside the boats, so that the latter are in the line of fire. She rises to the surface, with compressed air in her midship diving-tanks, the conning-tower hatch is opened and the process of blowing out the tanks begins. The boats have pulled away a little further, and just as they are being hailed there is a flash from the steamer.
‘A submarine trap! Alarm. Flood tanks, dive rapidly! The seconds seem interminable. The superstructure abaft the conning-tower is penetrated, and hardly has the hatch been closed when there is a sharp report in the conning-tower, a yellow flash, and explosive gases fill the air. A shell has penetrated the side of the conning-tower and exploded inside. All the fittings are shattered by splinters; there is a sound of breaking glass. Another shell will fall directly and that will be the end of the war for us. Water is splashing in through the shot hole; the boat is sinking into the shelter of the deep. The conning-tower is cleared, the inner hatch and voice-pipe cock are closed, and the leads laid into the control room.
‘“Anyone injured in the conning-tower?” Only one,278 very slightly; but their faces are black and their clothes look as though they had seen service.
‘At 20 metres (65 feet) there are two sharp explosions, and the boat trembles. The “poor shipwrecked men” have thrown depth-charges after us. A few of the lights go out, and further damage to the main switchboard is averted by timely action. The conning-tower is filling. In theory the boat can still remain afloat, but no one has yet survived to tell us how. The increasing weight causes the boat to sink to 40 metres (131 feet) in spite of her being down by the stern and with the engines at utmost speed. Water spurts through the leaky places, and, owing to short circuits, half the lights and important machinery break down successively—gyro compass, main rudder, forward hydroplane (which, to make matters worse, jams at ‘hard down’), trimming pumps, and all control apparatus. The tricolour captured from the full-rigged ship La Bayonne is pressed into service to plug the leak. The boat must be lightened by compressed air in the after and amidship diving tanks, and brought on to an even keel. She rises, certainly, but is more down by the stern than ever. The after compressed air service breaks down. We must avoid coming to the surface, whatever happens, for up above the enemy is lying in wait to fire at us. At 20 metres (65 feet) the diving-tank valves are opened, and all available men sent forward, in order that their weight may cause the bow to sink. The boat sinks by the bow, and the man?uvre is repeated. In another twenty minutes it becomes impossible to proceed submerged. There is now only one, not very promising, alternative—to come to the surface suddenly and run away, firing as we go.
279 ‘“Compressed air in all the tanks, open galley ventilator, man the guns, Diesel engines ready, and put to utmost speed as soon as possible.”
‘The boat comes to the surface, the galley hatch is opened. A torrent of water rushes down; never mind, we shall have to swim for it directly, anyhow. Now the way is clear to the surface. The steamer is about 25 hms. (2734 yards) away, and firing as fast as she can. “You haven’t got us yet—not by a long way!” The guns quickly reply. Any result? The telescopic sights are still in the flooded conning-tower. The M.A.N. motors are quickly started—much more quickly than is permissible, but when all is staked on one card there is no help for it. All the men who are not occupied below are bringing up supply ammunition. The sub-lieutenant suddenly feels his feet blown away from under him, and staggers through a cloud of smoke against the gun. Poor fellow, he has probably had both legs shot away. But no, only a few small splinters—nothing more! The shell passed between the legs of the foremost gunlayer, the drum of his ear was perforated by the report, and there are some lumps and holes in the ready ammunition. The shells pass through, close to the men; they look like black specks in the air just before they fall. One of the railing supports is shattered. A Leipzig man is standing in the stern at the hand-wheel, steering calmly by the verbal directions of the navigating warrant-officer—the compasses can no longer be used.
‘The telescopic sights can now be recovered from the conning-tower. There is a report, “Destroyer to starboard.” Quite right. She is proceeding on a parallel course at 80 hms. (8750 yards) and the fire of280 her four guns mingles with that of the tank steamer. A destroyer like that has a speed of over 30 knots, and carries 4-inch guns.
‘“On lifebelts!” Below the horizon, in a S.S.E. direction, there must be a sailing-vessel; we sighted one this morning. Perhaps the boat may be able to reach her, so as to save the crew from a Baralong fate.
‘The guns’ crews have become so deaf from the noise of their own guns that it is only possible to direct one gun by verbal orders. The decoy ship is now so far away that there is no further need to fire at her. Open fire on the new foe then! This is not a destroyer, however, but a “submarine-destroyer” of the Foxglove class, about twice the size of the submarine, but no faster. At the same moment the second-engineer reports that he can repair the damaged conning-tower, and our hopes soar as far as neutral Spain.
‘“Open fire at 70 hms. (7655 yards)!” Soon the columns of water from the shells, as high as the funnels, mark the fall of the shots, and the enemy begins to zigzag to avoid the troublesome shells, thereby interfering with the aim of her own guns. Suddenly the superstructure is enveloped in black smoke. A hit! Another! Several shells do not throw up a column of water; they must have buried themselves in her hull. Now she turns away, escapes from the zone of fire, and then follows in our wake.
‘The damage caused by the short circuit is repaired, ammunition put ready beside the guns, and, like Wellington at Waterloo, we await the coming of night. Our pursuer must have reported the engagement by wireless, with position and course. Soon destroyers will appear and compel the submarine to submerge. The leaking281 oil supply will leave a track of oil on the surface, and indicate where depth-charges should be dropped.
‘The wireless aerial, which has been shot away, is repaired in order to keep an eye on the enemy’s signals. Nothing to be heard. A lucky shot must have destroyed our pursuer’s wireless, and she cannot report. All the men who are not occupied below are on deck smoking, discussing their impressions, experiences, and premonitions; dreams, uncomfortable forebodings, fortune-telling from cards, and all the means—such as green frogs—by which old fortune-tellers and ancient augurs used to foretell the future.
‘The sun is sinking below the horizon; the chase has already lasted more than three hours. The decoy ship has long passed out of sight, and no new enemies have appeared. Suddenly shells begin falling close by. The Foxglove means to have another try as long as the light holds, and we feel that this is an impertinence. “Man the guns!”
‘Again the after gun carries off the honours of the engagement. The rounds follow close on one another: sometimes three shells are in the air at once. They will soon reach their target; the enemy again tries to zigzag. Range and deflection are quickly adjusted, and the shells leave her no peace. Once again that beautiful cloud of black smoke envelopes her superstructure and several others fail to raise the expected column of water. The enemy has ceased firing; she turns sharply away at 92 hms. (10,000 yards), and follows us only at a respectful distance. An hour later she disappears in the darkness.’
The deliberately false German communiqués, and282 even the more craftily composed stories in their press, are, as a rule, distinguished only for their clumsiness and bad psychology. But this is a vivid and quite possible account, and, if the details are accurate, the commander of the submarine had a most trying experience and brought his boat home by great luck. It is hard to imagine a moment more desperate than that in which, after struggling to the surface and escaping from the Q-boat’s guns, he heard the report of ‘Destroyer to starboard,’ and knew that he could neither dive nor run from such an enemy. A good deal might have been made of this by a more inventive writer; the simple comment &............