It will be seen from the above that the mine will not remain vertically above its sinker when there is a tide, but will incline at an angle determined by the strength of the current, which, if considerable, will press the weapon down much deeper than the keel of any ship (see Fig. 24). When the tide turns the mine will first regain its true perpendicular position and then incline in the opposite direction, accommodating itself to the ebb and flow. From this it will be apparent that in places where there is a strong current or tide a mine-field is only dangerous to passing ships of shallow or medium draft for a few hours (during slack water) out of the twenty-four. Between the ebb and the flow of a tide there is a short period when the water is almost still. Then the movement begins to set in from the opposite direction and gradually gains in speed until about one hour before high or low tide. This period of what is known as "slack water" varies considerably in different places and different weather conditions, but plays an important part in all minesweeping operations.

In this way many a ship has passed over a mine-field all unconscious of the fate which would have befallen her had she traversed the same area of sea an hour or so earlier or later.

Mines which break adrift, or are laid without moorings of any kind, are called floating mines. The latter are a direct violation of International Law, as they cannot be recovered when once they have been laid, and become a danger to neutral as well as to enemy shipping. The laws of civilised warfare also require even a moored mine to be fitted with some mechanical device which renders it safe when once it has broken adrift from the wire and heavy sinker which holds it in a stated position. The reason for this humanitarian rule is that neutrals can be warned not to approach a given area of sea in which there are moored mines, but if these weapons break adrift—as they frequently do in heavy weather—and float all over the oceans, they would seriously endanger the lives and property of neutral states unless something were done to render them innocuous.

The total disregard of all the laws and customs of civilised warfare by the Germans in 1914-1919 has now been so well established that it seems almost unnecessary to give yet another instance of this callousness. In the case about to be quoted, however, there is, as the reader will observe, an almost superlative cunning.

Any cursory examination of a German moored mine will show that there is a device fitted ostensibly to ensure the weapon becoming safe when it breaks adrift from its moorings and thus complying with The Hague Convention. For several months after the outbreak of war it puzzled many minesweeping officers and men why, with this device fitted, every German floating or drifting mine was dangerous. A few, relying on these weapons being safe when adrift, had endeavoured to salve one and had paid for the experiment with the lives of themselves and their comrades. This caused every mine, whether moored or adrift, to be regarded by seamen as dangerous, notwithstanding the oft-repeated assurances that German mines fulfilled all International requirements in this respect. Then a mine which had broken away from its moorings was successfully salved, in face of the great danger involved, and the truth came out.

A device was fitted to render it safe, but, with truly Hunnish ingenuity, the metal out of which an essential part of this appliance was made was quite unable to bear the strain imposed by its work, and, to make doubly sure, another part was half filed through. The result was that, instead of rendering the mine safe when torn from its moorings by rough seas, the essential parts broke and left the mine fully alive.

Any discovery such as this—only made at the great risk of salving a live mine—could be easily explained away by German diplomacy as faulty workmanship in a particular weapon, reliance being placed on the fact that not many mines could be salved in this way without heavy loss of life; but numbers were recovered in spite of the dangers and extraordinary difficulties of such operations, and the guilt was for ever established in the minds of those who sail the seas.

Little need be said here regarding the method of laying mines from surface ships like the Wolfe and Moewe. The weapons were arranged to run along the decks on railway lines and roll off the stern, or through a large port-hole, into the sea as the vessel steamed along.

With submarine mine-layers or U-C boats the method was, however, much more complicated and needs full description. Each vessel was fitted with large expulsion tubes in the stern and carried some eighteen to twenty mines. These weapons, although similar in their internal mechanism to the ordinary mine, were specially designed for expulsion from submerged tubes or chambers.

The mines were stored in the stern compartment of the submarine, between guide-rails fitted with rollers. They were in two rows and moved easily on the well-greased wheels. The loading was accomplished through water-tight hatchways in the deck above. In order to expel these mines from the interior of the submarine when travelling under the surface each weapon had to be moved into a short expulsion tube or chamber, the inner cap of which was closed when a mine was inside, and the outer or sea-cap opened. A supply of compressed air was then admitted into the back of the tube and the mine forced out into the open sea, in the same way as a torpedo is now expelled from a submerged tube.

Before another mine could be launched the sea-cap had to be closed, the water blown from the tube, the inner cap opened and a second mine placed ready in the chamber. This, however, did not end the difficulty of laying mines from submarines. The increase in the buoyancy of the boat, due to the loss of weight as each mine was discharged into the sea, had to be instantly and automatically compensated by the admission of quantities of sea-water of equal weight into special tanks, hitherto empty, situated below the mine-tubes. If this had been neglected the submarine would have come quickly to the surface, stern uppermost, owing to the lightening of the hull by the expulsion therefrom of some fifteen weapons weighing many hundreds of pounds each.

When the mine was clear of the submarine it sank to the bottom, owing to the weight of the sinker or anchor. After a short immersion, however, a special device enabled the top half, containing the charge of explosive and the contact firing horns, to part company with the heavy lower half, composed of the iron sinker and the reel of mooring wire. The explosive section then floated up towards the surface, unwinding the wire from the sinker.

Each mine being set, before discharge, to a certain prearranged depth (obtained by the captain of the U-C boat either by sounding wires or from special charts showing the depth of water in feet), the weapon could not rise quite up to the surface, being checked in its ascent, when ten feet from the top, by the mooring wire refusing to unwind farther.

This may sound a little involved, but a careful study of the accompanying diagrams will make the various movements of the mine and its sinker, after leaving the submarine, quite clear to the lay reader.

There were also other types of mines employed. Some were fitted with an automatic device which was actuated by the pressure of the water at a set depth. These weapons could be expelled from submarines without the necessity of knowing and adjusting the depth at which they were to float below the surface. A mine of this pattern rose up, after discharge from the tube, until the pressure of water on its casing was reduced to 4 1/2 lb. per square inch (the pressure which obtains at a depth of ten feet below the surface[8]), and there the weapon stopped, waiting patiently for its prey.

Another kind of mine was of the floating variety—tabooed by The Hague Convention—which drifted along under the surface with no moorings to hold it in one position.

Now that the reader is familiar with the mines themselves and the actual methods of laying them, we can pass on to a brief review of the German mine-laying policy during the Great War.

The submarine offensive reached its maximum intensity in 1916-1917, during which period no less than 7000 mines were destroyed by the British navy alone.[9] Of this number about 2000 were drifting when discovered. There was, with one small exception, no portion of the coast of the United Kingdom which was not mined at least once during those eventful two years, the unmined area being undoubtedly left clear to facilitate a raid or invasion. About 200 minesweeping vessels were blown up or seriously damaged, but the losses among the Mercantile Marine were kept down to less than 300 ships out of the 5000 sailings which, on an average, took place weekly.

The heavy losses inflicted on the enemy's submarine fleets in 1917 marked the turning of the tide, and from that date onwards there was a steady but sure reduction in the number of mines laid.

During the first twelve months of the intensified submarine war the Germans concentrated their mine-laying on the food routes from the United States, the sea communications of the Grand Fleet off the east coast of Scotland and the line of supply to France. Then, when they commenced to realise the impossibility of starving the sea-girt island, and the weight of the ever-increasing British armies began to tell in the land war, the submarine policy changed to conform with the general strategy of the High Command, and the troop convoy bases and routes were the objects of special attack.

The arrival in Europe of the advance guard of the United States army caused another change in the submarine strategy. From that time onwards the Atlantic routes assumed a fresh importance and became the major zone of operations.

In the first year of the war the U-C boats discharged their cargoes of mines as soon as they could reach their respective areas of operation. The mines were usually laid close together in one field, frequently situated off some prominent headland, or at a point where trade routes converged. Then the enemy learned to respect the British minesweeping and patrol organisation, and endeavoured to lay their "sea-gulls' eggs" in waters which had been recently swept, or where sweeping forces appeared to be weak in numbers.

When this failed they played their last card, scattering the mines in twos and threes over wide areas of sea. To meet this new mode of attack large numbers of shallow-draught M.L.'s were employed to scout for the mines at low water.

It was about this time that the great Allied mine barriers across the entrances and exits to and from the North Sea were completed and the losses among the U and U-C boats became heavy. A rapid abatement in the submarine offensive soon became apparent, and utter failure was only a matter of time.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] The question of water pressures and many other problems of submarine engineering relating to under-water fighting are fully treated in Submarine Engineering of To-day, by the Author.

[9] A few of the 7000 were British mines no longer required in the positions in which they had been laid.



CHAPTER XII

THE MYSTERIES OF MINESWEEPING EXPLAINED

THE task which confronted the naval minesweeping organisations in the years succeeding 4th August 1914 was an appalling one. Any square yard of sea around the 1500 miles of coast-line of the British Isles might be mined at any moment of any day or night. There were, in addition, the widely scattered fields laid by surface raiders like the Wolfe and the Moewe, which, as described in a previous chapter, extended their operations to the uttermost ends of the earth. A wonderfully efficient patrol of the danger zones had its effect in reducing the number of submarine mine-layers available to the enemy and in rendering both difficult and hazardous the successful execution of their work, but neither a predominant and subsequently victorious fleet, nor an equally skilful and alert patrol, could guarantee the immunity of any considerable area of sea from mines.

The Germans laid many thousands of these deadly and invisible weapons in the 140,000 square miles of sea around the British Isles alone in the face of over 2000 warships. To search for these patches of death in the wastes of water may well be likened to exploring for the proverbial "needle in a haystack." Yet the sweepers, whose sole duty it was to fill this breach in the gigantic system of Allied naval defence, explored daily and almost hourly, for over four years, the vast ocean depths, discovering and destroying some 7000 German mines, with a loss of 200 vessels of their number. The result of this silent victory over one of the greatest perils that ever threatened the Sea Empire was that some 5000 food, munition and troop ships were able to enter and leave the ports of the United Kingdom weekly with a remarkably small percentage of loss from a peril which might easily have proved disastrous to the entire Allied cause.

This, then, in broad outline, was the task which confronted this section of the naval service, and its successful accomplishment forged a big link in the steel chain encompassing the glorious victory.

Before passing on to describe the ships and the appliances used it is first necessary to give a more detailed account of the operations generally included under the heading of minesweeping. As it was impossible to tell exactly where mines would be laid from day to day, an immense area of sea had to be covered by what was known as exploratory sweeping. This consisted of many units of ships emerging from the different anti-submarine bases almost every day throughout the year and proceeding to allotted areas of water, where they commenced sweeping north, south, east or west, in an endeavour to discover if the areas in question were safe for mercantile traffic. If no mines were discovered that particular area would be reported safe, but if only one of these weapons was cut from its mooring by a sweep-wire the area would be closed to merchant ships until the sea around was definitely cleared of the hidden danger. This system of open and closed areas entailed an enormous amount of efficient administrative staff work apart from the actual sweeping, and its success was partly dependent upon the vigilance of the patrols employed to divert shipping from dangerous patches of sea.

When a mine-field was discovered which interfered with the free movement of a large number of ships a big concentration of sweepers from all the adjacent bases was ordered by telegraph and wireless. The area was isolated by patrols and the mines swept up. In one field no less than 300-400 mines were known to have been laid. Finally a further exploratory sweep was made, and if nothing further was discovered the area was again opened to traffic, and the sweepers turned their attention either to routine duties or to the clearance of another field.

The entrance to every important harbour was swept once or twice a day, and all convoys had sweepers ahead of them when they left or entered such confined waters. The seas adjacent to harbours and naval bases were searched at low water for mines which might be showing above the surface. Around the anchorage of the Grand Fleet in Scapa Flow a wide belt of sea was kept clear of mines so that at any moment the fleet could reach blue water without risk from these weapons. The same precautions were taken off the Firth of Forth for the benefit of the battle cruisers, and outside Harwich for Admiral Tyrwhitt's light forces.



A passage known as the "war channel"—about which more will be said later—extending from the Downs to Newcastle, was swept daily by relays of sweepers operating from the anti-submarine bases along this 320 miles of coast-line. This buoyed and guarded channel formed a line of supply for the great fleets in the north.

Each big fighting formation was provided with a special flotilla of fast fleet sweepers, which were capable of clearing the seas ahead of the battleships and cruisers moving at 20 knots. This was a separate organisation to what may be described as the routine sweeping of the trade routes. These vessels were always within call of the fleets they served.

It has been estimated that over 1000 square miles of sea were swept daily by the anti-mine fleets of the British navy during the four years of war. This may not sound a very stupendous figure compared with the area of the danger zone, but in practice it necessitated terribly hard work from dawn to dusk by several thousand ships and many thousands of men in summer heat and winter snow.

There was in addition to all this the clearing of British mine-fields no longer required in the positions in which they had been originally laid. This was not entirely an after-the-war problem, for although the great mine barriers were left until peace was assured, there were fields of minor importance which had to be cleared to meet new situations as the years of war passed swiftly by. A notable instance of this was the destruction of a big field of some 400 mines off the Moray Firth.

The foregoing refers only to the minesweeping in the principal danger zones in British waters, no account being taken of the work carried out by Allied vessels in the Mediterranean, off the coasts of France, Italy, Greece, Gallipoli, and in such distant seas as those washing the shores of New Zealand, Australia, Hong-Kong, Japan, Singapore, Bombay, Aden, the Cape of Good Hope, the United States, Eastern Canada, West Africa and Arctic Russia, in all of which mines were laid by surface raiders like the Wolfe, and afterwards located and cleared by Allied warships.

From the foregoing some idea of the gigantic nature of the task will be obtained, and we can pass on to a more detailed account of the actual work. Minesweeping may be divided into eight well-defined sections, as follows:—

(1) Fleet Sweeping.—Keeping clear the sea routes of the battle fleet.

(2) Exploratory Sweeping.—Searching the sea for isolated groups or fields.

(3) Routine Sweeping.—The daily or weekly sweeping of areas, channels and coastal trade routes, largely used by shipping.

(4) Clearing Large Mine-fields.—Big concentrations of ships to rapidly clear important routes temporarily blocked by large mine-fields.

(5) Special Shallow-Water Sweeping.—Such as that carried out off the Belgian coast by specially constructed shallow-draught ships, frequently with single-ship sweeps.

(6) Convoy Sweeping.—Precautionary sweeping in front of incoming and outgoing convoys. This was regularly done even if the fair-way was covered by routine sweeping.

(7) Harbour Sweeping.—Precautionary sweeping usually carried out by small craft at big naval bases such as Portsmouth (Spithead) and Rosyth (Firth of Forth) inside the submerged defences.

(8) Searching at Low Tide.—This was done by shallow-draught vessels of the M.L. type in order to locate badly laid mines which might project above the surface at low water. Several hundred were discovered in this way.

In order to carry out these duties efficiently the heterogeneous fleet of minesweepers was divided into small fleets stationed at the numerous anti-submarine bases, and these were again subdivided into units of ships especially adapted for the different classes of work. Each pair of vessels had to be more or less alike in size, draught, speed and manoeuvring ability to enable them to work efficiently in dual harness. Consequently there were complete units of vessels specially constructed for dealing rapidly with discovered mine-fields and for use with the battle fleets. Shallow-draught vessels of the motor launch type for work in the shallow water off the Belgian coast. Converted pleasure steamers of the usual Thames, Mersey and Clyde type for convoy sweeping. Motor launches for clearing fair-ways and for searching at low water. Flotillas of trawlers and drifters for the hard and monotonous routine sweeping on the important coastal trade routes. They comprised in all several thousand ships engaged solely on this work.

At each important base there was a Port Minesweeping Officer (P.M.S.O.), with one or more assistants, whose duty it was to administer, under the command of the S.N.O., the fleets in the attached area, and to furnish preliminary telegraphic and detailed reports to the Minesweeping Staff at the Admiralty, who issued a confidential bi-monthly publication to all commanding officers which was a veritable encyclopaedia of valuable information regarding current operations, events and enemy tactics. Attached to this department was a section of the Naval School of Submarine Mining, Portsmouth, where all knotty problems were unravelled and appliances devised to meet all kinds of emergencies.

Each unit of ships was under the command of a senior officer, responsible for the operations of these vessels, and where big fleets were engaged a special minesweeping officer was placed in supreme command. Only by close co-ordination of effort from the staff at Whitehall and elsewhere to the units at sea could this gigantic work have been expeditiously accomplished. It frequently happened that any delay due to very severe weather in clearing a field or area meant complete stoppage or chaotic dislocation of the almost continuous stream of merchant shipping entering and leaving a big harbour, which, in turn, disorganised the adjacent harbours to which ships had often to be diverted. It disturbed the railway facilities for the rapid transport of the food or raw materials from the coast to the manufacturing centres, from the sugar on the breakfast-table to the shells for the batteries in France. One hour's delay in unloading a ship may mean three hours' additional delay on the railways, the loss of a shift at a munition works and a day's delay in a great offensive. It is a curious anomaly, made vividly apparent to those in administrative command during the past years of stress, that the more perfect the organisation the greater the delay in the event of a breakdown in the system.

There were various methods of minesweeping, but in all of them the object was to cut the mooring wire of any mine that came within the area of the sweep and so cause the mine itself to bob up to the surface, where it could be seen and destroyed by gun-fire. In order to encompass this many kinds of minesweeping gear were devised and given practical trial during the war. The one most generally used, however, was the original but vastly improved sweep. This consisted of a special wire extended between two ships and held submerged by a device known as a kite. This apparatus is best described diagrammatically (Fig. 25).

There was, however, another type of sweep used for exploratory work and also for sweeping in shallow water. It was a one-ship sweep (i.e. required only one vessel to drag it), and this can also be best described by a diagram (Fig. 26).



It will be observed that in all cases the object is to drag a submerged wire through the water at an angle from the ship's course until it encounters the mooring wire of a mine. When this takes place it is the purpose of the sweep-wire to cut the mooring wire and allow the buoyant mine to float up to the surface free of its sinker (see Fig. 27). In order to effect this various kinds of hard wire with a cutting capacity were used as sweep-wires, and also numerous mechanical devices, all of which are more or less of a secret character; but the object remained the same—to find and cut the mooring wire.



The introduction of what became known as "delayed action mines"—weapons held down on the sea-bed, after being launched, for varying periods of time, so that sweeping operations might take place above them without their being discovered; then, when the time for which the delay was set had expired, they rose to within ten feet of the surface and became a great danger to shipping in places recently swept and reported clear—caused a new form of sweep to be devised and used in waters where these mines were likely to be sown.



This type of sweep was known as a "bottom sweep," and generally consisted of a chain fitted into the bight of a sweep-wire and dragged along the sea-bed, the idea being to overturn the delayed mine and so upset its mechanism that it would either rise immediately to the surface or else remain for ever harmless at the bottom of the sea. In many cases the heavy chain passing over the horns of the mine would bend and make them useless, so destroying the efficiency of the mine even if it did eventually rise to the correct firing depth.

Into almost every operation carried out on or under the sea there enters the tide difficulty, and in all mining and minesweeping operations it is one of the most important factors to be considered. The effect of the tide on mine-laying has been dealt with in a previous chapter, and the same difficulties in reverse order are experienced when sweeping the sea for these invisible and dangerous weapons. It has already been shown that a vessel may sometimes pass safely over a mine at high water which would touch her sides or keel and explode if she passed over it at low water when the mine was nearer to the surface. All minesweeping vessels, therefore, need to be of comparatively shallow draught in order to reduce the risk of touching mines, but against this is the fact that shallow-draught ships, even if powerfully engined, have but little grip on the water and experience an undue loss of speed when towing a heavy sweep-wire. Such vessels can seldom operate in even moderately heavy weather owing to their rolling and pitching propensities. Therefore a vessel of medium—bordering on shallow—draught, with a fairly broad beam, is the best type. Here, again, is a difficulty. Minesweeping is a type of defensive warfare requiring a vast number of ships successfully to carry on against an enemy well provided with surface and submarine mine-layers, and not even the greatest naval power in the world could seriously contemplate maintaining a peace fleet of, say, 2000 such vessels in constant readiness. Therefore recourse has to be made, when war comes, to mercantile craft, which seldom possess all the desired qualities.

This is what actually occurred in every maritime country at war during the years succeeding August, 1914, and in order to meet the danger attending the use of passenger ships, trawlers and drifters, often with a considerable draught, minesweeping operations were, whenever possible, confined to the three hours before and the three hours after high water. Shallow-draught M.L.'s carried out the scouting for mines at low tide. It is difficult to see what would be the fate of a nation hemmed in by mines and devoid of a mercantile fleet sufficiently numerous to provide powerful sweeping units. The trawlers and pleasure steamers were a godsend to England in those years of intensive submarine warfare. This undeniable fact incidentally provides another example—if such is now needed—of naval power resting not entirely on fleets and dockyards, but on every branch and twig of maritime activity.

It is difficult to describe in small compass and non-technical language the various tactical formations employed in minesweeping operations. They were many and various. The Germans used their vessels in long lines, the ships being connected together by a light wire-sweep plentifully supplied with cutting devices, into which the mooring wire of the mine was expected to obligingly slip. This method suffered from the serious drawback that if any part of the sweep-wire caught on a submerged obstacle, such as a projection of rock, the whole line of ships became disorganised. There were also many other objections to this system, some of which will doubtless be apparent to the thoughtful reader.

The formation usually adopted by British minesweepers was that shown in Fig. 28, in which it will be observed that each pair of ships is actually independent of the others, but is acting in company with them, and that the pathway swept by one pair is slightly overlapped by the following pair. In the event of an accident to one ship the next astern can immediately let go its own end of sweep-wire and go to the rescue of any survivors. It may be apropos to say here that the smaller class of minesweeper is usually blown to pieces if she touches a mine.



The set of the tide is another important factor which has to be taken into serious consideration when plotting a sweep. This complication enters into every operation, and its salient points will be made quite clear by referring to Fig. 29.

The actual speed at which minesweeping operations are carried out depends greatly upon the engine-power of the sweepers themselves. In the case of trawlers and drifters it is seldom possible to drag the 300-600 feet of heavy wire through the water at a greater rate than 4 to 6 knots. M.L.'s can accomplish 8 knots with a lighter wire, while big fleet sweepers with engines of several thousand horse-power can clear the seas at 18-23 knots.



Sufficient has now been said to enable the reader to realise fully the arduous, exciting and often very hazardous nature of the work. Veteran sweepers listen for the loud hum of the wire which proclaims that a mine has been caught. Then comes an interval of a few seconds of suspense. Sometimes the mine bobs up within a few feet of the ship; at other times it is in the middle or bight of the wire, far astern, and half-way between the two sweeping vessels. When a mine is cut up a few shots from a 3-pounder, a shattering roar and the mine is destroyed. All that remains is a column of smoke reaching from sea to sky.

It frequently happened that the mine became entangled in the sweeping gear and was unknowingly hauled on board with the sweep. When this occurred the position was fraught with extreme peril. Any roll of the ship might cause an explosion which would shatter to fragments everything and everyone within range. Safety lay in lowering the sweep gently back into the sea—an extremely difficult operation on a rough day.

THE WAR CHANNEL

This carefully guarded fair-way consisted of a 320-mile stretch of sea, extending along the east coast of England from the Downs to Newcastle, which was marked on the seaward side by a continuous line of gigantic buoys, two miles apart. It was patrolled day and night by hundreds of small warships, and swept from end to end by relays of sweepers acting in conjunction with each other from the different anti-submarine bases along the coast.

The war channel formed a comparatively safe highway for all coastal shipping passing north or south through the danger zone, and vessels from Holland, Denmark, Norway and Sweden were able to cross the North Sea at any point under escort and proceed independently and safely along the British coast to whichever port could most conveniently accommodate them at the time of their arrival. It also relieved the terrible congestion on the railway lines between the north and south of England by enabling a coast-wise traffic to be carried on between the ports of London, Grimsby, Hull and Newcastle, as well as enabling the numerous Iceland fishing fleet to pass up and down the coast in comparative safety on their frequent voyages to and from the fishing grounds of the far north. From the naval or strategic point of view it more or less secured a line of supply for the Grand Fleet assembled in the misty north. Colliers, oilers, ammunition and food ships were able to proceed through the comparatively narrow section of the danger zone with a minimum of risk; and, had it been required, there was available a cleared passage for any squadron from the big fighting formations to come south at high speed to checkmate a bombardment or attempted landing on anything like a grand scale.

It may perhaps be wondered why this channel was not extended up the east coast of Scotland as far as Scapa Flow. In the first place, the North Sea widens considerably as the higher latitudes are approached, the coast of Scotland does not lend itself to a clearly defined channel and the heavy weather which prevails for so many months in the year made the maintenance of gigantic buoys and their moorings almost impossible. Secondly, there were various systems of mine defences in this area, and, although not defined by a chain of buoys, the passage north from Newcastle to the Scottish islands was, in actual fact, maintained by a vast organisation of patrols and sweepers, but over this section of sea supply ships for the Grand Fleet were nearly always under escort. The area from the Scotch to the German coast was looked upon more as a possible battle-ground for the fleets at war than as a route for merchant shipping, owing to the comparatively few big commercial harbours along the eastern shore.

Laying the moorings of over 150 gigantic buoys in fairly deep water, exceptionally prone to sudden and violent storms, was in itself a noteworthy feat of submarine engineering. The chains and anchors had to be of great strength, and the whole work, which occupied many weeks, was carried out in waters infested with submarines and mines.

The task of sweeping this vast stretch of sea almost continuously for four years was by no means either straightforward or without risk. The Germans, when they discovered the existence and purpose of this channel, sought to turn it to their own advantage by systematically laying mines around the moorings of the mark-buoys, where they could only be swept up with great difficulty, owing to the sweep-wires fouling the moorings of the buoys. This strategem had to be answered by the creation of "switch lines," or small sections of false channel marked by buoys, while the real channel was only outlined on secret charts. In this way the preservation of the war channel and its use for misleading and entrapping U and U-C boats became a semi-independent campaign, in the same way as that which surrounded the great mine barrages and other activities of the anti-submarine service.

MINE PROTECTION DEVICES

It is an axiom of war that new weapons of attack are invariably met by new methods of defence. The mine was no exception to this rule, although up to the present time the various antidotes are in all cases only partial remedies. During the years of war, with the brains of a maritime nation focused on the subject, there were naturally many devices suggested and tried for protecting ships from mines. The great majority of these suggestions may be classified in two groups: (1) Those which sought to deflect the mine from the pathway of the ship; and (2) those which sought to minimise the result of the explosion. One method from each of these groups was adopted with various modifications to suit different classes of ships.

In the first group came the Paravane, which had as its basis the suspension of a submerged wire around the bow of a ship, which caught and deflected the mine-mooring wire before the horns of the mine itself could reach the sides of the ship. It also cut the mooring and enabled the mine to rise to the surface and be destroyed by gun-fire.



In order to understand this appliance it is first necessary to know what is the action of the majority of moored mines on coming in contact with a ship. It seldom happens that a vessel strikes a mine dead on the bow or stem-post. The cushion and dislocation of water formed by a big and fast ship around its bows is usually sufficient to cause the mine to swing a few inches away from the bow and to return and strike the ship several feet back on the port or starboard side. A careful study of Fig. 30 will show how this is prevented by the deflecting wires of the paravane.

The paravanes themselves are submerged torpedo-shaped bodies which hold the wires under the surface and away from the ship's side, deriving their ability to do this from the speed at which they are being towed, submerged, by the ship itself. A piece of string through the axle hole of a small wheel, which is then placed on the ground and pulled along, will give a good idea of the action of the paravane against the passing water.

It is not possible to give here the exact details of this highly ingenious device upon which so much scientific and practical attention was wisely bestowed, but sufficient has been said to enable the reader to form a clear conception of how the mine was caught and held away from the ship's side by the deflecting wire of the paravane.

This device, in one of its many forms, was fitted not only to warships, but also to many hundreds of merchantmen, and was known to have saved thousands of tons of valuable shipping and cargo.

[Illustration: FIG. 30.—Plan showing the chief characteristics of the paravane mine defence gear. A. The bow of the ship. B. The paravanes being towed submerged at an outward angle. These appliances maintain a fixed depth below the surface and hold the ends of the deflecting wires C well away from the ship's sides. C. The submerged deflecting wires, held at one end by a short projection from the ship's stem-post below the water-line, and at the outer end by the submerged paravanes. D. A mine and its mooring caught by the deflecting wires and held away from the ship. In such a case it would slide down the deflecting wire towards the paravane, where the mooring would be cut and the mine would float to the surface.]

Among those devices which had for their object the minimising of the result of a mine explosion may be mentioned the "Blister System" so successfully employed in the construction of monitors and other big ships, the idea being to surround the inner hull with an outer casing which received the effect of the explosion of either a mine or torpedo and left the inner or real hull of the ship water-tight. Its one weak feature was that it reduced the speed of the ship and the ease with which she could be manoeuvred. In future types of large and heavily armed ships this drawback will undoubtedly be largely overcome by an increase in engine-power made possible by the development of engineering science.

The "blister," although outwardly forming a continuous structure round the entire vessel, extending well above and below the water-line, tapered off towards the bows and stern, and was subdivided into different compartments. In this way an explosion against one section did not necessarily damage any other part. The British monitors which so successfully bombarded the Belgian coast and the fortifications of the Dardanelles were fitted with blisters, and more than one of them owed their salvation to this means.



CHAPTER XIII

THE MINE BARRAGE

WHAT undoubtedly forms the most effective counter to unrestricted submarine warfare is the explosive mine barrage, as employed against the German U-boats in the North Sea and the Straits of Dover.

The practicability of these barrage systems depends, however, very largely upon the following factors:—(1) the geographical features of the area of operations; (2) the hydrographical peculiarities of the seas in which the mines have to be laid; (3) the number of properly equipped mine-laying vessels available; (4) an adequate and highly trained personnel; and (5) the mechanical skill and manufacturing power of the nation employing the system.

There are several forms of mine barrage. One is simply an elongated mine-field laid across a narrow sea to prevent the safe passage of hostile surface craft. In this case the mines are laid in the ordinary manner and at the ordinary depth below the surface. The anti-submarine barrage, however, consists of an enormous number of mines, laid at a considerable depth below the surface and in such formation as to ensure that a submarine attempting to pass through the cordon while submerged would inevitably collide with one or more of them.

With this latter form of barrage the surface of the sea is quite clear of mines and is comparatively safe for the unrestricted movement of a numerous patrol flotilla, which forms part of the system, the under-seas alone being made dangerous by the mines.

It will be apparent that if a hostile submarine base is enclosed by one or more of these barrages the under-water craft entering and leaving that base have the choice of travelling submerged across the danger zone and thereby risking contact with the mines, or of performing the passage on the surface and encountering the patrolling ships. In either case, the result is more likely than not to be the destruction of the submarine.

In most cases the exact position of the barrage would be unknown to the hostile submarines, which, even if running on the surface, would dive immediately on the approach of a patrol ship. The few lucky ones succeeding in getting safely through the cordon of deep-laid mines, or passing unnoticed the patrol of surface ships on their outward journey—as might be the case in fog—would have the same peril to face on the return to their base, and probably without the aid of thick weather. This double risk would probably have to be taken by every submarine in the active flotilla at least once a month, this being approximately the period they can remain at sea without replenishing supplies of fuel, torpedoes and food.

The object of the flotillas of shallow-draught patrol vessels operating in the vicinity of the deep mine barrier is twofold. Primarily their duty is to prevent the hostile submarines from running the blockade on the surface and, secondly, to prevent enemy surface craft from emerging from the base and sweeping clear a passage through the mine-field, or of laying counter-mines, which, on being exploded, would detonate some of the blockading deep-laid mines and so destroy a section of the barrier.

From this it will be apparent that a force of hostile submarines hemmed in in this way would run a double risk of losing a number of vessels on every occasion on which a sortie was made. This is what actually occurred to the German under-water flotillas in the years 1917-1919, and, in combination with the other methods employed by the Allied navies, was mainly responsible for the failure of the great under-sea offensive.

The only bases of the German navy being situated on the North Sea littoral, it was possible for the Allies to lay a vast mine barrier, stretching from the coast of Norway to the Scottish islands, and another smaller one across the Straits of Dover; also to concentrate in the vicinity of these two submarine "trench systems" a very numerous surface patrolling force, thus enclosing the thousands of square miles of sea forming what was sometimes boastfully referred to as the "German Ocean" in an almost impenetrable ring of steel and T.N.T.

Here let us consider the gigantic nature of the task that was successfully accomplished. The distance from the Norwegian coast to the Orkney Islands is approximately 600 miles. It was over this vast expanse of sea, bent at the eastern end so as to rest on the Heligoland Bight, that the system known as the "Northern Barrages" extended. No exact statistics of the actual number of mines used is at present available, but reckoning at the low rate of one mine to every 750 feet of sea, with five lines stretching from shore to shore, the number required would be 21,000 of these costly and difficult weapons. The number required annually to maintain such a barrage would also be very heavy, and it is safe to assume that considerably over 50,000 mines were employed on the northern barrages alone. From this rough estimate some idea of the work of designing, manufacturing, testing, laying, renewing and watching this one field will be obtained.



There were, of course, in the actual barrage several mine-fields placed strategically, and probably a far greater number of weapons than that given in the above estimate was needed. There were also the smaller fields lying between the northern barrage and the one across the Straits of Dover. These were so placed as to catch hostile submarines operating off the east coast of England, or a surface raiding squadron, such as those which in the earlier years of the war bombarded certain British ports.

Finally, when victory had been achieved, there came the cold-blooded task of clearing these immense areas of sea, not only of German mines, laid haphazardly, but also of the thousands of British mines laid methodically and away from neutral traffic.

The English Channel barrage differed from the northern line in several important respects. Being so much shorter (31 miles against 680), it could more easily be made perfect. The swift-running tide, however, greatly increased the difficulty of laying effective mine-fields.

THE LIGHTED BARRAGE

This southern system consisted, on the surface, of a number of vessels specially built to ride out the heaviest gale at anchor. These were moored at intervals across the Straits of Dover, forming two lines from the English to the French coast. The first line extended from Folkestone to Cape Gris Nez, and the second line about seven miles to the westward of these points (see Fig. 32). Each vessel was fitted with powerful searchlights for use at night, and the dark spaces of sea between were patrolled by large numbers of armed craft.



By this means the only avenues by which hostile submarines could hope to pass on the surface through the barrage at night were the dark lanes of water between the lightships. It was these points which were closely guarded by strong patrol flotillas, whose duty it was to attack submarines attempting to get through and, with the aid of guns and depth charges, to force them to dive below the surface.

Here certain destruction awaited them on the submerged mine-fields. If, however, one line of defence was safely passed by a hostile submarine, there was another to be negotiated seven miles farther on, and once a submarine got between the two lines her chances of escape were indeed small, for whichever way she turned the surface would be covered with fast patrol craft and at night lighted by the rays of many searchlights, while the under-seas were almost impassable with mines.

If, however, notwithstanding these defensive systems, a submarine succeeded in passing through and getting to work on the lines of communication with the armies in France, there were hydrophone organisations and patrols all down the Channel from the lighted barrage to the Scilly Islands. By this means a U-boat would be seldom out of the hearing of these instruments for more than an hour or so at a time.

The success which attended the perfecting of this vast system was such that German submarines based on the Flanders coast gave up attempting to pass down the English Channel. They tried to go to and from their hunting grounds on the Atlantic trade routes round the north coast of Scotland. Here the great northern systems took their toll.

During the first nine months of the year 1918 the German submarine flotillas at Zeebrugge and Ostend lost thirty vessels, and no less than fifteen of these had, at the time of the signing of the Armistice, been discovered lying wrecked under the lighted barrage.



CHAPTER XIV

OFF TO THE ZONES OF WAR

HITHERTO I have dealt with the scientific training of the personnel, the armament and the general organisation of the anti-submarine fleets, leaving it to the imagination of readers to invest the bare recital of facts with the due amount of romance. If, however, a true understanding of this most modern form of naval war is to be obtained, the human aspect must loom large in future pages.

War, whether it be on the sea, under the sea, on the land or in the air, is a science in which the human element is of at least equal importance with that of the purely mechanical. It is a science of both "blood and iron."

The armed motor launches described in earlier pages, after being built in Canada to the number of over 500, and engined by the United States, were transported across the Atlantic on the decks of big ocean-going steamships—more than one of which was torpedoed on the voyage. On their arrival in Portsmouth dockyard the guns and depth charges were placed aboard and the vessels thoroughly equipped and fitted out for active service.

Officers and men were drafted from the training establishments of the new navy at Southampton, Portsmouth, Chatham, Greenwich and elsewhere. Each little vessel was given a number, and within a few weeks of their arrival from the building yards on the St Lawrence they sailed in flotillas out past the fortifications of Spithead, en route for their respective war bases.

Great secrecy had surrounded the construction of these small but powerful craft, and but few naval men, except those directly engaged in the anti-submarine service, had either seen or heard much of them until they commenced arriving at the different rendezvous.

Among the early flotillas to leave Portsmouth dockyard was one of four ships destined for a base on the east coast of Scotland, and as these speedy little craft raced away north the expectations of both officers and men ran high.

It was in the early summer of 1916, and although the air was crisp, the sea sparkled in the bright sunlight and the sky was a cloudless blue. Only a heavy-beam sea off Flamborough Head had marred the maiden voyage, and they were now on the last hundred miles, with the low-lying Farne Islands fading into the mist astern. By nightfall, if the wind remained light, they would make the Scottish port which was to form their base of operations.

Hitherto these four brand-new little warships, all white wood, grey paint and polished metal, had been plodding over the 600 miles of sea from Portsmouth at what was termed "cruising speed"—a mere 10 knots. The engines had not been opened out to "full ahead" because these delicate pieces of mechanism needed time to settle down to their work before it was safe to drive them to the utmost limit of speed and power, but now that pistons and bearings had been given time to "run in" it was considered safe for the flotilla to increase speed in order to make harbour by nightfall.

A hoist of new, bright-coloured flags fluttered from the squat mast of the leading ship. The steady throbbing of the engines grew suddenly to a low staccato roar. The white waves astern rose up almost level with the counters and clouds of fine spray blew across the decks. This rapid movement through the sun-lit water, with the breeze of passage and the tang of the salt sea in every breath, was exhilarating, and the spirits of those aboard rose with the speed.

Running at nearly half-a-mile a minute, the flotilla forged northwards through clouds of fine, stinging spray, until at a late hour, when the sun was dipping below the horizon and the sea was a sheet of golden light, a smoky line appeared far away to the westward. It was that section of the Scottish coast which in future it would be the duty of these boats to patrol, and as the distance lessened those on board gazed in silence at the gigantic cliffs and black rocks, now tinged with the rays of the dying sun and encircled by the endless ripples which alone broke the peaceful surface of the sea, but one and all were picturing this forbidding coast on the stormy winter nights to come.

Slowly the light faded from the western sky. The cliffs rose up black and sombre, and when the little flotilla turned westwards up the broad waterway leading to the base darkness had closed over land and sea. For some time they picked their way up this sheltered loch. No lights were visible, but more than once a destroyer appeared out of the blackness to make sure of their identity, and each time they were inspected very closely before the guard-ships were satisfied. An armed trawler guided them past dangerous obstructions and then faded into the night. Mile after mile of water was then traversed on courses laid down in confidential orders.

Suddenly a searchlight flashed out from close ahead, followed almost instantly by other blinding rays, which swept the sea for a few seconds, and then all the beams concentrated on the little flotilla, showing up with the clearness of daylight the four low-lying submarine-like hulls gliding speedily through the water. There was a moment's silence, during which the Morse signalling lamps of the M.L.'s were being prepared to flash out their message. A searchlight blinked and there followed another brief interval of silence, then, without warning, a tongue of livid flame stabbed the darkness and a shell whistled overhead. It was followed by other flashes and the sharp reports of quick-firing guns. Columns of water spouted into the air close to the M.L.'s, whose engines had, luckily, ceased to throb. The firing stopped as suddenly as it had commenced. Signals began flashing angrily in many directions. Destroyers tore out of the darkness around into the broad circle of light. Armed trawlers nosed their way in and wicked grey tubes were trained on the now stationary flotilla. Presently the angry flashing of mast head-lights subsided into the regular dot and dash of respectable communication. Several destroyers seemed to be having nasty things said to them, which they answered with a feeble wink, and an armed trawler made futile flashes of explanation.

A little twinkling star, more lofty and dignified than the rest, called up the leading M.L. and was answered with an alacrity that evidently unnerved it, for it flickered and died out. Suddenly it came to life again and winked away at an alarming rate, but all to no purpose, for, true to the old axiom that more haste means less speed, it had to stop and go over the message again, this time sufficiently slow for novices to understand. What it said is a State secret. It is rumoured, however, that several officers were "mentioned in dispatches" for the part they played in this local action, caused by mistaken identity, but alas! their skill and bravery remained unrewarded by an unsympathetic Government.



CHAPTER XV

A MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS

NO calling tempers the human steel in so short a period as that of the sea. At all times and in every part of the world the sailorman wages a never-ending fight with Nature in her wildest and most dreaded modes. When to this is added a conflict of nations and their ships, with all the ingenious death-traps of modern naval science, it merely increases the odds against him and serves to steady his hand and brain in order to overcome them.

In a few short weeks the sea had set its stamp on the men of the new navy. Faces became bronzed by the sun, wind and spindrift. Muscles grew hard and eyes and nerves more steady. Each time a vessel went forth on patrol or other duty new difficulties or dangers were met and overcome without advice or assistance, and the confidence of men in themselves and in the ships they worked grew apace.

In many of the principal zones of war, such as the North Sea and the Atlantic, the wind grew colder and the seas more fierce as the short summer passed. Duffel or Arctic clothing was served out to both officers and men. Sea-boots and oilskins became necessary. Balaclava helmets, mufflers and other woollen gear appeared, and men became almost unrecognisable bundles of clothing. The ascent at 4 A.M. from the cabin to the cold, wet deck can be likened only to the first plunge of a cold bathing season. Casualties became more frequent as the enemy intensified his submarine and mining campaign. The news and sight of sudden death no longer blanched the faces of men who knew that it might be their turn at any moment of every day and night. The stir of suppressed excitement when danger threatened no longer manifested itself in every movement, but rather in the cool, deliberate action of self-confidence. In a word, the raw material was being tempered in the furnace of war.

To those in northern seas came the blinding sleet, the slate-grey combers and the innumerable hardships and dangers of winter patrol. A better idea of what these really were will be obtained from the following account of a Christmas spent on a German mine-field.

* * * * *

A bitter wind swept the grey wastes of the North Sea and a fine haze of snow, driven by stinging gusts, obscured all except the long hillocks of water which rose and fell around the tiny M.L.—a lonely thirty tons of nautical humanity in as many square leagues of sub-Arctic sea.

Nineteen degrees of frost during the long winter night had flattened the boisterous, foam-capped waves, and now, in the early December dawn, all within vision was of that colourless grey so familiar to those who kept the North Sea on the winter patrol.

It was one bell in the first watch and three shapeless figures clad in duffel coats with big hoods and wearing heavy sea-boots stood silent in the draughty, canvas-screened wheel-house as M.L.822 wallowed northwards through the seas which came in endless succession out of the snowy mist. It was just the ordinary everyday patrol duty, when nothing was expected but anything might happen, so eyes were strained seawards in a vain endeavour to penetrate the icy curtain blowing down from the Pole. Twelve hours more of half-frozen existence stretched in front of these silent watchers, as they clung with stiffened limbs to ropes stretched purposely handy to keep them upright when the little ship lurched more fiercely in a steeper sea.

Of the three figures in the meagre shelter of the wheel-house there was little to distinguish who or what they were, except, perhaps, a cleaner and more yellowish duffel coat and a big white muffler in which the lieutenant-in-command tried, without success, to keep his teeth from chattering and the icy draught from finding its way into the seemingly endless openings of his woollen clothing. What he had been before the Great War and the North Sea claimed him was a mystery to those on board, but the people of more than one capital knew his name. Near by stood a younger man—a boy before the war—who, although pale and dark-eyed, did not appear to feel the intense cold so much, although the dampness of the long-past summer fogs had chilled him to the bone. He was the sub-lieutenant, and hailed from the Great North-West, where Canadian winters had hardened his skin to the stinging dry cold.



The immense bundle of nondescript clothing at the wheel was "Mac," the coxswain, whose voyages in Arctic seas with the Iceland fishing fleet numbered more than his years of life, and whose deep-voiced Gaelic roar could bring the "watch below" on to the cold, wet deck to their action stations in less time than it would take a new recruit to tumble out of his hammock.

Although the silence of the sea seems to settle on its watchers in those northern marches, there was an unduly long absence of comment on the nature of the weather and the prospects of "something exciting" turning up out of the icy mist. The reason lay in the subconscious mind of all on deck, for it was Christmas morning, 1916, and the thoughts of all were dwelling on past years in the cheery surroundings of English and Colonial homes—in vivid contrast to the dismal grey of the North Sea. To break the spell of memory both officers felt would be blasphemy, and yet a feeble attempt at conversation was made every now and then for the sake of appearances.

To Mac, from the Orkneys, no such sentiment held sway, for Christmas to him meant little compared with New Year's Day; but this was a special Christmas, for a big plum pudding was being boiled on the petrol stove below, and each roll of the little vessel threatened its useful existence. Eventually he could keep silent no longer and tentatively suggested a change of course to ease the violent lurching. The wheel was spun round with alacrity as the telegraph rang out below and the engines slowed down to a slow pulsating throb. The sharp bows of the patrol boat rose dripping from each green-grey mass of sea as it rolled up out of the white haze ahead and then fell gently back into the trough. The violent pitching gave place to a more easy see-saw movement, and in spite of the cold, which seemed to grow keener every minute to the half-numbed figures on deck, a grunt of satisfaction escaped the helmsman, and visions of steaming plum duff—a present from the Admiral's wife—supplanted the more anxious thoughts of war and the dangers of mine and submarine which lay hidden in the white snow-mists and grey seas around.

The four hands in the forecastle, who formed the watch below, were lying on their bunks, for sitting meant holding on, and were discussing orgies on past Christmas days and planning future ones with a nonchalance bred of daily rubbing shoulders with danger and death. Snatches of popular music hall songs penetrated the closed hatchways, but were drowned by the splash of the sea against the ship's side.

This silent battle with monotony, bitter cold and drenching showers of spray, with several numbing hours on deck, followed by an equal time lying on the bunks below—still cold and wet, for fires and dry clothes were almost unknown in the patrol boats during the long winter months in the cruel northern seas—might have lasted all day, until darkness and increasing cold added their quota to the sum of misery, and the day patrol crept silently into harbour, to be relieved by their brethren of the night guard.

But such was not to be, for it was a Christmas Day that will live for ever in the memory of the men on Patrol Launch No. 822, to be recalled in the peaceful years ahead to eager listeners at many a fireside.

Two bells in the afternoon watch had barely struck when from out of the haze ahead came a low reverberating boom! The three figures on the bridge stiffened to alertness and the chilled blood went coursing more warmly through their veins. A few seconds of strained listening, rewarded only by the noise of the sea, then the telegraph was moved forward, a sharp jangle of bells came from the engine-room and forecastle and the slow pulsating of the motors grew to a loud roar. The watch below came tumbling on to the wet deck, to be lashed with clouds of blinding, stinging spray, which now flew high over the little ship as the 400-horse-power engines drove her at 18 knots through the grey, misty seas.

Experience had made that dull roar familiar to all on board, and it needed no order from the now hard-faced C.O. to cause every man to don his "capuc" life-belt in readiness for the hidden dangers which they knew to be strewn in the pathways of the sea ahead.

Mines are moored at a given depth below the surface, usually from six to ten feet. The rise and fall of the tide, therefore, either increases or decreases the stratum of free water above them. This causes these invisible submarine weapons to be more dangerous to shallow-draught vessels, such as motor patrol launches, at low tide, when there is little water between the tops of their horns and the surface, than at high tide. More will, however, be said in a later chapter about mines and the difficulties of laying them.

It so happened that on this occasion the tide was low and the mines consequently extremely dangerous to even the shallowest draught type of warship. The speed of the M.L. was increased until the twin engines were revolving at the rate of 490 a minute.

The snow haze seemed suddenly to grow thicker and all around the flurries of white blotted out the distant view. The minutes of pounding through the slate-grey seas seemed interminably long, and the flying clouds of icy spray stung every exposed part of the human frame.

When about three sea miles had been traversed the engines were stopped and all on board listened for a cry from the sea ahead. The C.O. pulled the peak of his drenched cap farther over his eyes and gazed out into the opaque greyness ahead.

Minutes passed; but little ships cannot rest quietly on the open sea. The lash of the water and the slapping of the meagre rigging drowned any faint sound there might have been, and once more the engines throbbed to the order "Slow ahead!"

Barely had the ship gathered way before a dark object appeared momentarily in the trough of the sea about two degrees on the starboard bow and the next instant seemed swallowed up.

A warning cry from the look-out on the tiny sea-washed fo'c'sle head, a sharp order from the bridge, and, within its own length, the patrol boat swung rapidly to port. At the same moment a dan-buoy splashed overboard to mark the position of the floating mine. A few yards more to the eastward and No. 822 would have appeared in the list of the missing.

Minutes of tense nerve strain followed, for all knew that the ship was in the midst of a mine-field, and the deadly horns which had been momentarily visible on the surface were but a single example of the many which lurked around. Eyes were strained into the grey-green depths, and yet all knew the impossibility of seeing. Again the look-out's warning cry and the engines were reversed, but this time it was not a mine, but the victim of one, holding on to a piece of wreckage.

Willing hands hauled the half-frozen form on board and stanched the blood that still oozed from cuts on the face and neck. Blankets and hot-water bottles were soon forthcoming, and the battered remnant—for both a leg and thigh bone were broken—was placed as carefully as the lurching of the ship would allow in the aft-cabin bunk. Before this could be accomplished, however, a cry again rang out from the watch on the fo'c'sle head and yet another body was hauled aboard, but the shock or the cold had here taken its toll.

The sea around was searched in vain for further survivors. A few planks, a signal locker, a broken life-raft and a meat-safe were all that was left of the trawler Mayflower, homeward bound from Iceland to Grimsby.

A silence seemed to brood over the patrol boat as she slowly picked her way out of the mine-field. The crew went about their tasks without the usual jests and snatches of song, and the pudding, which but a few short hours before had seemed the most important event of the day, lay unheeded on the floor of the galley, where it had been thrown by the cook in the haste for hot water.

In the failing light of the December afternoon the bow of the patrol boat was turned shorewards, and, with a rising sea curling up astern, she raced through the slate-grey water with her burden of living and dead. It was one of those moments which call for a rapid decision on a difficult point, when the order had to be given for the course to be laid for harbour, and the C.O., cold and miserably wet after seven hours on the bridge, wore an anxious look. He knew not which had the greater claim, the desperately wounded man in the cabin or other ships which might bear down on the mine-field during the long bitter night. It was a point on which the rules of war and the dictates of humanity clashed.

Again the ship was turned into the rapidly darkening east, and all through that bitter night the field of death was guarded. Stiffened fingers flashed out the warning signal when black hulls loomed out of the darkness. Numbed limbs clung for dear life when green seas washed the tiny decks, and when dawn broke over the waste of tumbling sea the men on M.L.822 knew that Christmas Day, 1916, would live for ever in their memory.



CHAPTER XVI

THE DERELICT

THERE are few things more heart-breaking than sea patrol, which forms the principal duty of anti-submarine fleets. Hours, days and even months may pass with nothing to relieve the monotony of grey sea and sky, with occasional glimpses of wave-tossed ships.

There are, of course, intervening periods in harbour, when fierce gales howl overhead, and guard duty on rain-swept quaysides, or sentry-go in blinding snowstorms, comes almost as a relief from the sameness of winter days on northern seas.

It is, however, the unexpected which generally occurs in war, and during those terrible winters from 1914-1918 it was the ever-present hope of action that kept the spirits of many a sailorman from sinking below the Plimsoll line of health.

Sometimes the happenings were grave and at other times gay, but always they were welcomed eagerly, as providing excitement or change, with something to talk about in the unknown number of dreary weeks ahead.

An episode of this kind occurred one snowy January night in 1917 on the quayside of a northern seaport. The commanding officer of one of the patrol boats in the harbour was going ashore to stay for the night with some friends. Knowing that his ship was due to proceed to sea early the following morning, he took the precaution to place a small alarm clock in the big pocket of his bridge-coat. Groping his way in the darkness and blinding snow across the gangway leading from the ship to the quay, he succeeded in reaching the dock wall. Almost instantly he was challenged by a military sentry on duty and was about to reply when a loud buzzing noise came from his pocket. He had not thought of ascertaining at what time the alarm clock had been set for and the consequences were distinctly unpleasant.

The sentry, hearing the curious buzzing sound coming from the darkness directly he had given the challenge, and thinking it came from some form of bomb, lunged smartly with his bayonet at the spot from which the sound emanated.

Fortunately the officer was near the edge of the dock wall and did not receive the full effect of the thrust. The bayonet tore his coat and pushed him violently over the edge into the icy water of the harbour. His lusty shouts caused searchlights to be turned on and he was rescued promptly, but the episode, small and unimportant as it was, caused considerable merriment—except to the principal actor—for many days afterwards.

All this may sound much like heresy to those who think that naval war means constant fighting, with all the pomp and circumstance of old-time battles. There are, it is true, never-to-be-forgotten moments when the blood surges and pulses beat rapidly, when the months of weary waiting are atoned for in as many minutes of swift action. Such were Jutland, Zeebrugge, Heligoland, the Falklands and many an unrecorded fight on England's sea frontier in the years just past. Such times pass rapidly, however; they are the milestones of war, leaving the weary leagues between, in which there is so much that is sordid and even ghastly, as will be seen from the following.

* * * * *

The sea offers but few sights more melancholy than the wave-washed derelict—the now desolate, helpless and forlorn thing that was once a ship, the home of men—seen in the half-light of a winter dawn, rising and falling sluggishly on the dirty grey swell—the aftermath of storm—with white water washing through its broken bulwarks, yards and sails adrift, a thing without life on the sad sea waves.

A wireless message from a ship passing the derelict on the previous day had brought an M.L. from the nearest naval base to search the area, and after a night of wandering over shadowy grey slopes of water the dawn had revealed it less than two miles distant.

There could be no doubt as to its nationality, for the white cross of Denmark, on the red ground, was painted on the weather-beaten sides, now showing just above the sea. Deserted and half-waterlogged, it was being kept afloat by a cargo of timber, some of which could be seen in chaos on the deck.

The M.L. approached cautiously, with thick rope fenders over her rubbing-streak to prevent the frail hull from being damaged. This coming alongside other ships in the open sea, except in the very calmest of weather, is a ticklish manoeuvre, and requires considerable skill in the handling of these small and very fragile craft. What would be considered quite a light blow on the stout hull of any ordinary ship would crush in the thin timbers of a patrol launch, for in the construction of these boats speed and shallow draught were the predominant factors considered.

When the M.L. had been made fast on the lee-side of the derelict a boarding party scrambled over the damaged bulwarks on to the sea-washed deck. Here was a scene of chaos—rigging tangled and swinging loosely from masts and yards; sails torn and shreds still clinging to ropes and spars; loose planks of her deck cargo lying all over the place, and a general air of abandon and desolation difficult to describe.

A mass of broken woodwork in the well of the ship was soon discovered to be the remains of a deck-house, and this gave the first clue to the reason for her sorry plight. Pieces of shrapnel were found sticking in the timbers, and further search revealed shell-holes through the hull and cut rigging. A signal was flying from the mizen halyards, and the name on the counter, although spattered with shot, was still, in part, decipherable—Rickivik, Copenhafen.

So the officer in charge of the boarding party commenced his report with the name of the ship and the port from which she hailed, adding thereto the evident fact that she had been heavily shelled—just a brief statement which left to the imagination all the incidents and, alas! tragedies of an unequal fight.

A high-explosive shell had struck the little raised poop, demolishing the hatchway leading to the cabins beneath, and some heavy work with axe and saw would have been necessary to obtain an entry had an easier way not been available through the shattered skylight. In the low-roofed cabin all was disorder. Tables and lockers were smashed, and the shell which had burst overhead had filled the place with heavy broken timbers from the deck above.

So low was the cabin roof of this small three-masted barque, and so dark the interior, that it was difficult to see about. A lantern was procured and a careful search commenced. The yellow light fell on drawers pulled out and their contents—when worthless—flung on the floor; glasses and bottles smashed and a quaint old China figure lying intact on the broken timbers. But of the ship's papers there was no trace, with the single exception of an old Bill of Health, issued six years previously in Baltimore. Then the area of search moved from the cupboards and drawers to the floor—broken by a shell which had evidently penetrated the ship's stern and passed longitudinally through the cabin, exploding near the base of the companion-hatch.

Presently a startled exclamation, followed by a call for the light, came from the gloom around the stairway. Two of the boarding party searching among the debris had stumbled across something which, instinctively, sent a cold shiver through them. The light, when moved in that direction, dimly revealed the body of a man lying face downwards on the floor. Only the lower half of the figure was, however, visible, a mass of shattered timbers having collapsed on the head and shoulders. That life had been extinct for some considerable time was evidenced by the sickly odour which hung heavily in the less ventilated parts of the cabin, and the work of extricating the body was not commenced before the whole ship had been searched for possible survivors.

This work occupied a considerable time, but nothing of importance was discovered until a slight noise, not unlike the feeble, inarticulate cry of a child in pain, came through the timbers from some distant part of the hold. It was repeated several times, and the sailors, without waiting for orders, set hastily to work to find out the cause.

The hatches were carefully removed, but only floating timber could be seen. Then the sound came again. This time it was unmistakable and relieved the tension. A little grim laugh from the searchers was followed by much poking about with a long piece of wood on the surface of the flooded hold under the decking, and some minutes later a large pile of timber floated into the light from the open hatchway, supporting a big tortoiseshell cat, looking very wet and emaciated. "Ricky"—for such is her name now—proved to be the only living thing on that ill-fated ship.

The boarding party returned to the cabin and commenced the objectionable task of extricating the dead body from the mass of wreckage. The work proceeded slowly, for the heavy broken timbers pressed mercilessly on the object beneath, and when at last it lay revealed in the dim lantern light its ghastly appearance caused all to step back in horror. It was a headless corpse!



CHAPTER XVII

MINED-IN

HOW many people realise that, with a single unimportant exception, there was no part of the English or Scottish coast which was not mined-in at least once by German submarines during 1914-1918? Harbour entrances, often less than two miles from the shore, were repeatedly blocked by lines of hostile mines, laid by U-C boats through their stern tubes, in which they seldom carried less than fifteen to twenty of these deadly weapons, without the vessels rising to the surface either when approaching the coast, laying the mines or effecting their escape.

Many important waterways, such as the Straits of Dover, the mouth of the Thames, the approaches to Liverpool, the Firth of Forth, Aberdeen, Lowestoft and Portsmouth, were repeatedly chosen for this form of submarine attack. At one base alone no less than 400 mines were destroyed by the attached anti-submarine flotillas in one year, and round the coasts of the United Kingdom an average of about 3000 of these invisible weapons were located and destroyed annually.

What this meant to the 24,000,000 tons of mercantile shipping passing to and fro through the danger zone every month will be better realised when it is stated that less than 400 merchant ships were blown up by mines during the three years of intensive submarine warfare.

The losses among the minesweeping and patrol flotillas, which were mainly responsible for the crushing defeat of this piratical campaign, were, however, very heavy. They amounted to over 200 ships and several thousand men. Few will therefore deny to those who lived and to those who died a share in the glory of the great victory.

Statistics make but uninteresting reading, and from the following account of what happened off a big Scottish seaport while the inhabitants ashore slept in peace and safety a better idea will be obtained of the arduous nature of the work of minesweeping and patrol in time of war than could possibly be imparted by pages of figures.

* * * * *

The early dusk of a winter evening was settling over a white land and a leaden sea. A mist of sliding snow increased the gloom and blotted out the vessels ahead and astern as the line of patrol boats left the comparative warmth and security of one of the largest northern harbours for twelve hours in the bitter frost on night patrol.

The cold was intense and of that penetrating nature which causes men to shiver even in the thickest of clothing. Although some eighteen degrees of frost had flattened the sea, a freezing spray still blew in showers over the narrow deck and, for just a few minutes, the lead-grey sky gleamed dully red as the sun dipped below the snow-covered land.

The crew of the M.L. moved about the cramped deck stiffly, for they were clad in duffel suits, oilskins and sea-boots, and little but their eyes and hands were visible. The officer on the small canvas-screened bridge was likewise an almost unrecognisable bundle of yellow and white wool and black leather. As a contrast, however, to the whitening deck and snow-clad men, the reflection of a warm yellow light came up through the wardroom hatchway, and more than one longing glance was cast down into the snug interior.

These men were not all hardened by long and severe sea training; many of them formed part of the new navy, gaining experience amid the bitter cold and dangers of the grey North Sea. A call for the signalman came from the bridge, and a boy, who had been swinging his arms to warm his numbed fingers, responded smartly. The lieutenant-in-command wiped the snow from his eyes as he peered round the canvas side-screen and asked tersely what the next ship ahead was trying to signal.

The boy seized his semaphore flags and went out on to the spray-swept fore-deck, steadying himself against the fo'c'sle hatch cover. He flinched at first when the spray stung the exposed parts of his body, and then, with straining eyes and dripping oilskins, he managed, after the words had been repeated several times, to read the signal which was being sent down the line from the leading ship somewhere in the white haze ahead.

"Proceed independently to allotted stations for night patrol" was the order then conveyed to the bridge and afterwards passed on by flag to the next astern. When the last ship had received the signal each unit of the flotilla swung out of line and disappeared in the sliding snow.

As the darkness increased the cold strengthened and a little bitter wind began to moan through the scanty rigging. Men stamped their feet and swung their arms to increase the circulation in numbed limbs, and every now and then during the next three hours one member of the watch on deck would disappear for a few minutes down the galley hatchway to drink a cup of hot cocoa, which, so far, the cook had succeeded in keeping warm on the ill-natured petrol stove.

At 9 P.M. the first watch was over and half-frozen men climbed stiffly down the iron ladder into the tiny fo'c'sle, where the heat and fugg of oil stoves caused their thawing limbs to throb painfully. The starboard watch, fresh from the heat of the tiny cabin, whose four hours on deck now commenced, were shivering in the icy wind and showers of spray.

Glancing at the dimly lit chart on the small table cunningly fitted into the front of the wheel-house, the commander noted the approximate position of the ship in the 140,000 square miles of sea and snow around, and then turning to the coxswain, whose "trick" it was at the wheel, he gave the necessary orders for the course and speed. The duty of this vessel was to patrol certain approaches to the great harbour on which the flotilla was based until relieved at daybreak by another unit, and, as merchant ships had many times been attacked in these waters, a sharp look-out was necessary. To carry this out effectively in the darkness and driving snow was a task calling for all the qualities of dogged endurance inherent in the British sailor.

For over two hours nothing was seen or heard except the moaning of the wind and the lash of the sea, but shortly after midnight one of the look-outs reported the sound of engines away to the starboard.

The M.L.'s propellers were stopped and the watch on deck listened intently. The splash of the sea and the many noises of a rolling ship drowned any other sound there might have been, and the patrol was then continued. Less than half-an-hour later, however, the clank! clank! clank! of engines again became suddenly audible, and the vessel was turned in the direction of the sound.

The engines were put to full speed ahead, and as each comber struck the bows the little ship trembled from stem to stern, and clouds of icy spray swept high over the mast. The big steel hull of some man-o'-war or merchantman might suddenly loom up out of the darkness so close ahead that no skill could avoid a collision, and the eyes of all aboard were gazing alertly into the blackness of the night.

Five minutes' dash through the blinding, stinging spray and the engines were once more shut off to listen. The curious clanking noise had, however, ceased, and although hydrophones were used to again locate the sound, there was no result, only the ceaseless wash of the sea and the low moaning of the wind. Another mile or so of pounding through the waves, followed by an interval of listening, brought the same discouraging result, and the slow, monotonous routine of patrol was continued.

The stinging frost of the night became the numbing cold of early morning, and the long hours in the snow and icy spray had left their mark on all. Limbs were stiff and sore. The edges of wet and half-frozen sleeves rasped swollen wrists. Faces smarted and eyes ached, but little was said in the way of complaint, for men grow hard on northern seas or else succumb to the hardships.

When the first dim light of a winter dawn broke reluctantly over the grey tumbling sea and whirling snow another night patrol was over, and the cheering thought came to all that soon the welcome warmth and shelter of club and recreation room would embrace them for the brief hours of daylight, while others kept watch upon the seas.

It had been snowing hard for the past twenty-four hours, but as the light of a new day strengthened it eased somewhat, and away to the westward the blue outline of the land became visible. The fitful wind of the night rose to a stiff breeze, but no one paid much attention to the increasing volume of bitter spray which swept the deck as the grey-green rollers put on their white caps of foam, for the ship was heading towards the harbour and their vigil was over until darkness again closed down.

Few things are more trying to the temper than to be kept waiting for relief after a bad spell at sea, and but few crimes are more heinous than to leave the watched area before another patrol takes up the never-ceasing duties. Therefore, if peace and quietness and an absence of insulting signals counted for anything, it ill behove any ship in the day patrol to keep her opposite member of the night guard waiting.