With the building of the Krab at Nicolaev the Russian naval engineers aimed to build the largest submarine mine layer in the world. Before the Great War the use and value of such vessels was more or less an unknown factor, owing to the lack of experience under modern active service conditions. As often happens with a new enterprise, the building met with all kinds of unexpected setbacks. New inventions appeared, new improvements were introduced, to embody all of which meant endless alterations. In short, when at last the Krab was ready she did not look herself, as she differed considerably from the original plans. However, the engineers and ship-shipbuilders had reached their goal and the Russian Navy possessed the largest submarine mine layer (she carried sixty mines while the capacity of the largest German craft was only twenty-five).
At her trials a number of important defects were discovered which the outbreak of the Great War did not allow time to rectify. The chief defect consisted in the superstructure where the mines were kept. Situated on the upper deck it could not be filled with water quickly enough as the boat was submerging. With the slightest list tons of water streamed in the direction of the list, increasing it to such an extent that the crew could not keep their feet. When submerged she rolled heavily and gave the impression that at any moment she might turn turtle. Under such conditions it took not less than twenty minutes to submerge, which meant a tremendous disadvantage in the event of unexpectedly meeting enemy craft. There were also frequent fires caused by short circuits and other mishaps which earned for her the nickname of the "box of surprises."
After Bulgaria entered the war it was considered necessary to block up the port of Varna. Owing to its proximity to Constantinople enemy ships by following the coast closely had very little difficulty, in spite of the vigilance of our destroyers, in breaking through our blockade at nighttime. To stop this state of things Admiral Koltchak, then in command of the Black Sea Fleet, had given orders to sow a mine field round the entrance to the port.
The Krab was ordered to carry out this duty, but before she could do it a very careful reconnoitering was necessary in order to chart and verify enemy batteries, observation posts, and local conditions generally. This dangerous and responsible task was given to the submarine Tulen commanded by Lieutenant Kitizine.
As the sun was setting, the Tulen approached Cape Kaliakria in preparation to penetrate right into the port. Lieutenant Craft, the navigating officer, calculated that taking into consideration the enemy mine fields surrounding Varna at least fifteen hours would have to be spent under water, in consequence of which the captain decided to start the operation at daybreak.
As soon as dawn began to break the navigating officer took his position accurately, after which the boat submerged. Accuracy, of course, was very necessary to avoid coming into contact with enemy mines.
The previous evening the crew on dog watch noticed a rat moving along the deck. It looked around and springing into water swam to the coast. It looked bad: an ill omen! And sailors are very superstitious!
After submerging, the Tulen cautiously felt her way into the narrow North Channel between the enemy mine fields and an underwater reef, three miles long.
Occasionally, but only for a second, the periscope appeared above the water. A pair of sharp eyes quickly scrutinized the shore, spotting here a battery and there an observation post which were immediately and accurately placed on the map. The channel gradually became narrower and more dangerous. On the starboard—underwater rocks; on the port—mines. The navigating officer, tense at his post, conned the ship preferring if disaster came to strike a mine rather than the rocks (professional ambition, of course!). The captain, on the contrary, preferred to avoid the mines and an observer could see a silent struggle going on between them.
The Tulen, proceeding slowly and cautiously, from time to time exposed her periscope and new circles appeared on the map. She was now near the cape and made for the harbor entrance—a moment full of risk and danger as she had to pass a signaling post which was on the cape.
The depth was only twenty feet, less water than she needed to conceal her presence. There was only one foot of water between her keel and the bottom. The periscope had to be lowered and the boat brought nearer the surface, which was a dangerous maneuver as at any moment a scouting seaplane might spot her.
Like a shadow under the water she entered the port. The periscope came up for a moment, revealing brilliant sunshine and a breakwater quite near, on which were crowds of promenaders. The periscope appeared and disappeared as the boat cautiously approached nearer the breakwater. Nobody seemed to be paying us any attention. Men were walking carelessly on the shore, others were sitting on the breakwater itself.
The reconnaissance by this time had been completed and the map filled with useful information. The Tulen turned and started to make her way out of the port and into the channel. For the last time the periscope was shown and we discovered night had fallen.
The boat had passed seventeen hours under water and her supply of oxygen was almost exhausted. Twice the air had been changed from the reserve tanks. She came to the surface and the crew went on deck. All mouths were open, inhaling the fresh air. Smokers, covered by the conning tower, were enjoying a surreptitious cigarette.
The captain decided that the following day he would reconnoiter the southern entrance.
After rounding the Cape of Kaliakria the Tulen followed the very edge of the mine field, looking for the channel. Everything of importance had been mapped, but the port itself had not been visited as on this side the anti-submarine nets were laid very near the Cape of Galata. The Bulgarians thought the northern channel was impassible without a pilot.
The Tulen returned to Sevastopol after her successful reconnaissance and made her report.
Extraordinary animation now prevailed at the submarine base. The "box of surprises" was made ready for sea and mines loaded. The meteorological forecast was favorable, and cheered by other units the Krab left the port on her way to fulfill her mission.
The oil motors were working smoothly and the log counted steadily knot after knot, the course laid for Varna in brilliant sunshine and calm.
The flag navigating officer of the submarine brigade was bending over the map on the mess table, studying the enemy mine field which was marked in red. He was surrounded by officers, interested in the details of the coming operation.
Contrary to the forecast the wind creased towards evening and at midnight the weather became rough. The crew had to put on their oilskins.
Heavy waves were breaking over the conning tower, drenching the men. Some waves were covering completely the boat and it seemed doubtful whether the small craft would be able to weather the storm. Three lookout men were clinging to the railing gazing attentively into the impenetrable darkness. Their clothes did not protect them any more. Cold and drenched with water (even their sea boots were full of it), they stuck to their post.
The storm increased in violence. The propellers were more out of the water than in. In consequence, one after the other the motors broke down, the last at 2:00 A.M. The rolling became awful. The ship was rolling fifty-five degrees, at the rate of twenty-seven to the minute. The mess table was torn off and the crew began to feel seasick. The engineers at the motors worked green-faced trying to repair the damage, but it was impossible owing to the storm. The smell of burnt oil and the foul air caused by it soon made them violently sick.
The Commander, Lieutenant Monastirev, remained the only active man. Performing extraordinary evolutions to keep his balance, he managed to walk around the boat, encouraging everybody.
When the captain saw that under the conditions it was impossible to repair the motors he decided to use the electric motors which are only used in an emergency. He realized clearly that until his motors were properly repaired he could not carry out the operation and chose to make for the friendly Rumanian port of Constanta where he could get the necessary repairs effected. The damages would take two or three days' work to put right. After anchoring in Constanta Harbor, the first thing to do was to find quarters for the crew. Everybody on board was in need of rest after the fearful night. The officers installed themselves in the nearest hotel, except one who remained on board on duty.
It is difficult to express the pleasure of clean sheets and a comfortable bed when one is dead tired as we were. In the morning we started feverishly to repair the engines. Suddenly the loud pealing of church bells made us all run up on deck, wondering what was the matter. We saw a squadron of German airplanes flying over the town. To submerge was useless; they had obviously seen us as they started to fly over us in circles and commenced dropping bombs. Fortunately, although they fell in the harbor all around us, they did no damage and after a few minutes the German planes disappeared, evidently on their way home to report.
At the hotel in which we were staying we met several Russian officers who were on secret-service work. As naturally follows, the papers showed them to be of any nationality but Russian. One of them in particular was a naval officer, Captain B. He also was on secret service and his sphere of operations was in Germany.
Once, he told us, he had just left the railway station in Berlin and had made a few paces down the Friedrichstrasse when he was accosted by a stranger who showed him a detective’s badge and asked to see his passport.
Captain B., utterly undisturbed, produced his false passport and showed it.
This passport doesn’t belong to you. You are not the person you are declared to be on it. You are an officer of the Imperial Russian Navy, Captain B.!”
With these words the German took a photograph from his breast pocket and presenting it to Captain B. said: “Do you recognize this?”
The photograph was one showing Captain B. leaving the Admiralty in Petrograd.
The Captain was immediately arrested, charged with being a spy, and put in prison.
The third day of his confinement he was taken out of his cell and without a word escorted to a carriage and taken to a railway station under guard. At the station, still under guard, he was put into a special compartment. After several hours journey the train arrived at the frontier and, as it happened—freedom.
By an extraordinary piece of luck almost simultaneously with his arrest, a German spy had been caught in Russia and an exchange had been arranged.
We were still talking late in the night when the pealing of the bells, intermingled with bomb explosions, announced another German air raid. All the town’s people were panic-stricken with these raids and the merchant steamers lying in the harbor were regarding the Krab with an unfriendly eye.
One can, therefore, easily imagine the general enthusiasm of the population when in the afternoon a Russian seaplane carrier entered the harbor and four Russian planes took off from her decks and began to patrol the sky above the town.
The repairs of the Krab by this time had been finished and we were expecting a destroyer to arrive to tow us to Varna.
At last the destroyer Bespokoiny came. While she was entering the port and nearing the Krab an immense column of water rose over her. She began to sink rapidly.
Fortunately, her captain did not lose his head and grounded her on a sand bank. The disaster was due to her hitting a Rumanian mine.
We consequently had to wait for another destroyer and the next day the Gnievny arrived and took us in tow for Varna.
Approaching Cape Kaliakria we could see the bluish outlines of the Bulgarian coast and straight ahead the graceful form of the Varna Lighthouse.
In glorious sunshine the crew on deck were enjoying the beautiful weather when suddenly we noticed a commotion on the deck of the Gnievny.
The destroyer turned abruptly and dropped the tow, firing from her stern. There were two seaplanes hovering over us. The destroyer at full speed cruised in circles around the Krab, firing at them.
The 200-fathom hawser was hanging on to our bows and had cut deeply into the superstructure as a consequence of being released so precipitately. It had to be removed as soon as possible.
One of the seaplanes on seeing we had stopped, glided down, and opened fire on us with a machine gun, then dropped bombs, seven of which exploded quite near but did not hit us.
Suddenly, a white cloud of shrapnel burst near the seaplane; banking sharply she turned and flattening out climbed for height and flew away for a fresh supply of bombs. When they returned the Krab was free of the hawser and cruising under water. The only target for the seaplanes was the Gnievny which by furious firing and steering a zigzag course managed to avoid being hit. The attack had failed, but our operation had to be delayed some more days.
Four days later the Krab reached the point from which the operation was to start. Her escort, the Gnievny, after having fixed a rendezvous left her.
Evening came and also rain. Conditions were very favorable. The Krab submerged to commence her perilous task. Nearer and nearer to her goal. According to the navigating officer's calculations she was very near the mine field.
To save time the captain decided not to sail around it, but to try and slip underneath. This decision at the time was known only to the commander and the navigating officer. The boat was now in the mine field moving slowly ahead. Underneath—the sea bottom, and overhead—the mines.
The silence inside the boat was tense. One could hear only the soft drone of the motors and the bubbling water. Abrupt orders. Everybody's nerves were at highest tension, especially of those who were in the secret. Suddenly all shivered and felt cold. A scratching sound was coming from outside.
The mine anchoring!
All hearts sank, while the scratching continued. Would the chain catch or slip?
If it caught it meant bringing the mine into contact with the hull and all would be over.
Even those who did not know felt the deadly danger. We prayed.
The scratching ceased. We had come through and were now at Cape Galata. Taking our bearings we made for the coast and started laying the mines.
In the middle of the operation a suspicious crack was heard coming from the new elevator which stopped for a second, then continued and mine laying went on.
The navigating officer was methodically charting the position of each mine. The last mine laid, the Krab turned and left the danger zone.
A sigh of relief rose from all. The dangerous operation had been successfully carried out. We came to the surface in full darkness and a list of 8 degrees was noticed on the Krab.
What was the matter and why?
We ran to the superstructure and found that the twenty-ninth mine, the same that had produced the suspicious crack and had broken the elevator's cylinder, was there hanging in the door.
The list was made good after a special compartment had been flooded with water, which added another 20 minutes to the time necessary for submerging.
This, however, was a matter of secondary importance as we were all looking with awe at the mine. To show a light meant to be discovered. To touch the mine in the darkness meant blowing the boat up. It was decided to leave the matter till morning.
The situation was critical; the waves entering the open door were beating on the mine and from the west came a menacing cloud gradually covering all the sky.
We waited for dawn in deadly anxiety. The night seemed endless. With the dawn and taking all possible precautions we succeeded in freeing the mine and closed the door.
In due time the Gnievny met us at the rendezvous and took us in tow for Sevastopol.
Tired with the night’s work, all who were not on duty fell asleep. A sudden wild cry, “We are sinking!” aroused the sleepers and the captain ran up on deck. He had time only to close the hatch before the boat submerged.
The Gnievny took no notice of what had happened. She had not heard the desperate cries, but continued to tow the boat which was sinking lower and lower.
When at last the officer of the watch on the destroyer turned his head he grew cold: there was no sign of the Krab. Only three heads sticking out of the water behind.
Immediately he ordered the engines to be stopped and the Krab came slowly to the surface with three thoroughly soaked sailors standing on her deck.
On investigation it was discovered that something had choked a bow ballast system valve and had caused the cistern to fill slowly with water. The bow became heavy and the boat went under. We cleared the valve with compressed air, pumped the water out of the cistern, and continued our way. After this episode the lieutenant of the watch never let his tow out of his sight.
Back in Sevastopol we examined the remaining mines and discovered that one of them had been turned over by the waves. The clock mechanism had stopped and a slightest push was sufficient to blow the boat to pieces.
All the crew were removed at once and the torpedo officer climbed to the superstructure to neutralize the mine. With the greatest care and strength he slowly turned it over and drew out the percussion cap.
Our expedition was finished. The “box of surprises” this time also had lived up to its name.