Looking back to pre-World War I days, 1910-14, it is hard to realize how little was known about the offensive potential and capabilities of the submarines of any navy by the senior seagoing officers of that period. The high command of both the British and U. S. naval forces looked upon the submarine with mild contempt, although admitting they might be of some use for purely local defense.
In the summer of 1912, I participated in some large-scale naval maneuvers in the North Sea. My ship, an 8,000-ton armored cruiser was blissfully patrolling at about 10 knots, 40 miles east of the Humber estuary. The sea was calm and visibility excellent. Suddenly, to the astonishment of all on the bridge, a dark grey whale-shaped object popped to the surface 500 yards on the port beam. A man emerged quickly from the object and semaphored a message to the effect that his British C-class submarine had fired two torpedoes at us at point-blank range and claimed to have sunk us.
Our captain was not only astonished, but indignant, and appealed to the umpire, stating that the submarine’s claim was preposterous! Nevertheless, the umpire upheld the submarine’s claim, and off we went, back to Sheerness, gaining an extra three days of leave. No torpedoes were actually fired, but the submarine had made a perfect approach and attack without being observed.
In 1912, the majority of British naval officers at sea had never seen a submarine, because the training of personnel and the activities of undersea craft were kept quite secret and were restricted to a small area around Portsmouth, on England’s southern coast. In the Royal Navy submarine service, only the elite were accepted for service, and few other officers had any knowledge of the C-, D-, and E-class boats which composed our undersea squadrons.
Even after war was declared on 4 August 1914, the Grand Fleet was confident that no enemy U-boat could possibly travel as far as the Orkney Islands and back to her base, a distance of approximately 1,200 miles. Several weeks later, however, a German submarine was rammed and sunk by a light cruiser only a short distance from Sea pa Flow in the Orkneys. This created some little consternation and was a grave warning of events to come.
In the early days of the war, I actually received written instructions that if I should discover an enemy submarine trying to penetrate the light net at the entrance of the small harbor I was guarding, I was to proceed against her in a whaler and throw lance bombs at the craft. Lance bombs consisted of a 5-pound charge of explosive attached to a 5-foot pole. They were supposed to be hurled like a javelin at a sub when sighted. There was also the suggestion that on sighting a periscope, it should be approached by boat and struck heavy blows with a sledgehammer!
For a long period the only successful offensive action against submarines was ramming, and the ramming vessel quite often came off second-best. Indicator nets with mines attached had some success, but could be used effectively only in narrow channels and shallow water. There were a few instances of surfaced submarines being attacked by naval gunfire at long range, but few were sunk by this means.
By the end of 1914, the real menace of the submarine was beginning to be realized, and active steps were being taken to discover some new and dependable weapon or method of combatting and destroying the U-boats. At this time, the British fishing fleets operating out of east coast ports were being harassed and frequently dispersed by gunfire from hostile submarines on the surface. It was decided to try using an ordinary North Sea trawler as a decoy, with a stinger—a submerged C-class submarine attached by a wire towing cable. Communication between the trawler’s skipper and the submarine was to be by means of an ordinary waterproof telephone cable and two phones. The cable was so arranged that it could be slipped from either end.
After some experiments the idea was put into operation. The submarine C-24 left Aberdeen before dawn in tow of a trawler and proceeded slowly to the fishing grounds. The submarine maintained a depth of 40 feet, and frequent telephone calls were made to check the circuit.
Two hours later the trawler skipper called up to say his ship was being fired at by an enemy submarine on the surface. Orders were given to slip the tow line at C-24’s bow, but the slipping device jammed and could not be budged. The trawler was ordered to slip her end of the tow. This had the immediate effect of upsetting the submarine’s trim, giving her a down-angle until it could be corrected. Bow tubes were reported ready and a quick look through the periscope disclosed the German U-40 lying motionless at short range, a perfect sitting shot. Two torpedoes were fired. The target was hit and sank quickly. A few survivors, including the German captain, were rescued, and both the trawler and the British submarine headed back to port.
On the way, unfortunately, the wire tow hawser fouled the submarine’s propellers, and the victorious C-24 had to be towed to harbor. The German captain of U-40 stated afterwards that he didn’t think for a moment he had been torpedoed because the explosion was so “small”; he thought it was an explosion within his boat. This was probably because the old British Mark V torpedoes were not very powerful.
This trawler-submarine procedure was tried again several times, without much success. Rumors circulated that one C-class submarine had been lost when she was accidentally towed into an enemy minefield.
Early in 1915, it was decided to use another method to decoy submarines. Several small commercial vessels were fitted out in great secrecy at northern naval bases. Suitable men were recruited and trained to handle them. These vessels were the “Mystery” or “Q-ships,” which caused a good deal of trouble for the U-boats.
The first successful Q-ship was Prince Charles. She was a small collier, fitted to carry two 6- pounder and two 3-pounder guns, carefully hidden. The ship was commanded by Lieutenant M. Wardlaw, Royal Navy. On 12 July 1915, this vessel, with her popgun armament, sighted a U-boat on the surface about 120 miles west of the Orkney Islands. The submarine was alongside a British vessel, preparing to board. On sighting Prince Charles, the U-boat turned and pursued at full speed, opening fire from her deck gun at 6,000 yards. The Q-ship thereupon stopped and lowered two boats, manned by those of her crew not needed to service the guns.
These men were known as the “panic party,” and were trained to act and look like ordinary merchant seamen fearfully leaving their ship in a great hurry. This was done to trick the approaching U-boat into thinking that the vessel had been completely abandoned. In this particular case, the deception worked perfectly. The U-boat closed to 600 yards and opened fire again. Lieutenant Wardlaw, recognizing that he must act at once, unmasked his guns, hoisted the White Ensign, and poured a rapid and accurate fire into the enemy at point-blank range.
It was all over in a few minutes. The German submarine, hit frequently, caught fire and dove. She came up again shortly, however, and surrendered to Prince Charles. Then she sank. Four officers and 11 men survived and were rescued. The U-boat was a new one, U-36. This success was very encouraging, and many other Q-ships were fitted out and sent into action.
The Q-ships usually were ordered to cruise the normal trade routes and the Western Approaches, to mix with the regular inbound and outbound traffic, and to remain in areas where the U-boats were usually concentrated. In operations of this kind, exceptional qualities of leadership, the highest discipline, sheer courage, and good fortune were essential for success.
A typical Q-ship was Baralong, an ordinary tramp steamer of about 4,200 gross tons with a speed of 9 knots. She was commanded by Lieutenant Commander G. Herbert, and had a mixed crew of Royal Navy ratings, Royal Marines, and merchant seamen. Baralong was equipped with three 12-pounder guns and two submerged torpedo tubes. The bridge was protected by armor plate and mattresses, and the wheelhouse had an observation periscope. There was a fire control and communication system between bridge and gun positions. The guns were so well disguised that even at 50 yards no sign of them could be detected. This was most important, because some U-boats had developed a habit of circling a prospective victim under water and observing her at close range by periscope to see if there was anything suspicious before surfacing and boarding. This, of course, was usually after the panic party had cleared out in their boats and were lying off, hoping for the best. It is apparent why every detail of the ship had to look 100 per cent merchant vessel. Frequently extra buoyancy was obtained by fitting the cargo holds with steel drums, wooden casks, and lumber. When in port for brief refuelings, the men were kept on board.
In August 1915, liar along gained the attention of the world through a dramatic engagement with a submarine. She had been sent out to cruise the Western Approaches and, after some days of fruitless searching in the vicinity of the Scilly Islands, Captain Herbert sighted a surfaced U-boat leisurely firing at a freighter, later identified as the British merchant ship Nicosian of 6,000 tons. Shortly afterwards Nicosian stopped and her people began to abandon ship. The U-boat closed and continued to fire on the British vessel.
Baralong approached the scene cautiously, hoping to close the range without arousing suspicion. Meantime the U-boat ceased fire and went alongside the now-abandoned freighter to put on a boarding party and sink the ship with high explosive charges, thus saving precious torpedoes. Captain Herbert thereupon maneuvered Baralong to approach Nicosian from astern and prepared for immediate action. When within close range, he steamed round the stern of the freighter, hoisted the White Ensign, and opened fire on the German. He fired 34 rounds, most of which hit the U-boat, which quickly sank.
Many of the Germans jumped overboard with life belts and swam towards Nicosian. Some succeeded in reaching the freighter and climbed up the rope ladders and lines left overside by the crew when they abandoned ship. Others were trapped in the U-boat and drowned.
Herbert took Baralong alongside Nicosian and signaled to her crew, lying off in their lifeboats, to return to their ship. A party of ten well-armed Marines boarded Nicosian, and a strange man hunt began. The German survivors and demolition party were still full of fight and armed themselves with crowbars, axes, and any other handy object that could be used as a weapon. They scattered all over Nicosian. Some even tried to hide in the shaft tunnel and engine room. Others fled up the rigging and refused to come down when ordered to surrender. That was a mistake, for Baralong's crew had recently passed through hundreds of floating corpses and the debris of the particularly brutal sinking of the British passenger liner Arabic. They were in no mood to coddle Germans.
After a running fight all over the ship, in which the crew of Nicosian joined with enthusiasm, the U-boat survivors were wiped out to a man. The freighter was towed back to port. There were some Americans in the crew, and these men were paid off and returned to the United States. Unfortunately the stories of the engagement told by them when they got home were greatly distorted and exaggerated as published in American and other neutral newspapers. The German government was highly outraged and demanded the arrest and trial of Baralong’s officers for murder. This was a preposterous charge in view of the U-boat attacks on unarmed Allied merchant ships involving great loss of civilian lives. No action was taken by the Admiralty, but the publicity given Baralong's attack impaired the future usefulness of Q-ships.
By the end of 1915, a new weapon, the depth charge, with a firing mechanism adjustable for varying depths, had been developed and was being produced in fairly large quantities. This weapon and the increase in destroyers and patrol vessels brought the serious U-boat menace under control late in 1917. But in the summer of that year another Q-ship engagement of note took place.
On 17 June, in Latitude 51 degrees North, Longitude 11 degrees West, Captain Gordon Campbell, Royal Navy, commanding the Q-ship Pargust, was torpedoed by an undetected U-boat. Pargust was armed with a 4-inch gun, four 12-pounders, and two torpedo tubes. The explosion did considerable damage to the engine and boiler rooms. The panic party was immediately sent away, and shortly afterwards a periscope was seen circling Pargust at close range. All gun crews were ordered to stand by for immediate action. The U-boat surfaced 100 yards off. The guns of the Q-ship poured a hail of fire into the submarine, scoring many hits and sinking the U-boat almost before the Germans could realize what was going on. Two survivors were rescued. Pargust suffered one killed and one wounded. Her damage proved not to be serious, and the Q-ship returned to port. This was an outstanding example of a successful Q-ship action and of the complete deception of a submarine’s crew, who paid for a faulty assumption with their lives.
Some two months later, Captain Campbell was in another engagement, but this one did not come off so well. He was now in command of the Q-ship Dunraven, which carried four 12- pounders, two torpedo tubes, and depth charges. In Latitude 48 degrees North, Longitude 7 degrees 37 minutes West, he sighted a large U-boat, about seven miles away.
The submarine submerged soon after the sighting. She later surfaced two miles away and opened fire on Dunraven. As was customary with all merchant ships, Dunraven was defensively armed with a small gun at the stern. Campbell ordered this gun to be fired in reply. Smoke floats were dropped and funnel smoke made in an attempt to screen the Q-ship from the enemy gunners.
Shortly, Campbell stopped his engines and ordered the aftergun crew to cease firing. The panic party was sent off as soon as the way was off the ship. The party left in the prescribed “frightened” fashion and lay close to the ship, waiting for the next move on the part of the U-boat. The submarine, however, continued to shell Dunraven, scoring several hits, one of which detonated a depth-charge and blew up the after magazine. The entire after-gun crew was blasted overboard and the gun mount damaged.
Captain Campbell was well aware of his precarious situation. It was obvious that this time the U-boat had not been deceived. He hoisted the White Ensign and opened fire with one 12-pounder, the only gun he could bring to bear on the enemy. The submarine withdrew some distance, but 15 minutes later fired a torpedo, which hit and further damaged Dunraven. A second panic party was ordered off, leaving only a minimum complement on board.
At this point, the U-boat submerged again and circled the Q-ship at close range with periscope raised to take a really good look. Once more she surfaced, this time close astern. She reopened fire for a few rounds, and dove again. By this time Dunraven was on fire in several places and was sinking. Campbell radioed for immediate assistance. Two destroyers arrived in time to rescue the crew and try to save the battered Q-ship, but she sank in deep water very shortly. In this case, the German U-boat captain had refused to be drawn into the trap.
Although only 13 U-boats of 190 destroyed by the Allies during the war were sunk by Q-ships, the operations of these vessels had a very demoralizing effect on the Germans and eventually dissuaded the U-boat skippers from attacking merchantmen with gunfire, forcing them instead to expend torpedoes. The intrepid little (I-ships played a unique and effective role in the conflict. In the end, however, it was the system of herding merchant ships into convoys, escorted by a few warships armed with guns and depth charges, which overcame the U-boat menace.
Commander Mercer, though American by birth, entered the Royal Navy as a midshipman in 1913 and served until 1924, including a period in Russia. He returned to active duty in 1939 as British Naval Control Officer at Philadelphia and later served as liaison officer to the Port Director at that city. Presently he is an assistant professor at Bloomfield College, Bloomfield, New Jersey. Author of several previous articles in the Proceedings, he has also written for the Fortnightly Review of London and the Penn State University Monthly Review.