The Custom of the Trade

by Shaun Lewis

  He was laid on his front and he felt the welcome solidity of the casing. Somebody pumped his back to expel any water he might have swallowed. He heard a voice he couldn’t place in his tiredness pipe, ‘Blimey, Coxswain. That swim was all of a thousand yards, an’ in this temperature. The new Jimmy’s a ruddy super hero.’

  He was home.

  Chapter 21

  April 1915

  Steele read the letter from his mother one more time. It had been posted almost six weeks ago, in late February 1915, but had only just caught up with E9 after their short notice deployment to the Eastern Mediterranean. His mother’s letter enclosed another, from his grandfather, the Earl of Storrs. Steele had known something was wrong as soon as he had read the address on the outer envelope, ‘Lieutenant The Viscount Algernon Steele, Royal Navy.’ The title had belonged to his father, but now his grandfather was dead and Steele had suddenly become a Viscount. It was typically tactless and careless of Mother to have broken the news this way. How quickly would the news spread round the depot ship Adamant and then E9, he wondered. Should he inform Miller? He didn’t want his new title to make any difference to the way he was treated and certainly did not want potentially to undermine his captain’s authority by being addressed as, ‘My Lord’. Over the last few months, since the episode with the seaplane and Zeppelin in fact, Steele had started to feel more comfortable with the men of E9. From the moment he had been dragged out of the sea, cold and exhausted after his long swim, he had been treated with kindness and compassion. That had been the moment when he had ceased to feel quite so awkward with the men under his orders.

  It was stupid, he now recognised, but ever since joining the Navy he had felt a need to distance himself from the common sailor. It wasn’t just a case of discipline, although he clung to that as an excuse. It was more that he could not relate to these men of a different class. They were common, they swore, drank too much and broke wind, but they knew more about their trade than he and he had always feared looking foolish before them. Hence, he had taken leave to join the MCC tour and been reluctant to return to the submarine service afterwards, but grandfather had insisted, citing the opportunities the war would create to distinguish himself and to maintain the family honour. Grandfather had even used his influence to gain him this appointment. He knew Admiral Miller and felt confident that the younger Miller would prove a good commanding officer. The old man had been right on that score.

  Steele could not think of one occasion on which Miller had expressed impatience at his new First Lieutenant’s lack of preparedness for the role. In all the many tasks and duties he had delegated to his second-in-command, Miller had appeared to express full confidence in him. Looking back, Steele recognised the efficacy of the approach as he had responded by trying ever harder to merit the trust placed in him. Whilst he had shared his captain’s frustration in not reaching the Baltic, the four months E9 had since spent patrolling the Heligo Bight had turned out to be a useful proving ground to her new First Lieutenant and several other new members of the crew.

  After landing Flight Commander Adams, his observer, camera and photographic plates back in England, the CO had been keen to have another crack at heading for the Baltic, but Keyes had cancelled the deployment. The other two E-boats had succeeded in meeting up with the Russians, but in penetrating the Sound, had stirred up the Germans to be ready for more incursions and Keyes had decided it prudent to let matters lie for the present.

  Since then, the war had continued past Christmas 1914, as everyone in uniform knew it would, and Steele’s only excitement had been in December when two German battlecruisers had shelled the towns of Hartlepool and Scarborough. On learning of the raid, Keyes had immediately set sail in his ship, HMS Lurcher, leading seven British and one French submarine off the coast of Germany to await the enemy’s return home. E9 had been patrolling at periscope depth off the River Jade estuary in rough weather when Steele had sighted the leading ships of Admiral Hipper’s squadron. Ducking under the protective screen of the destroyers, the captain had launched his first torpedo at the leading ship from a range of only 400 yards, but the short, snappy waves close inshore had caused the torpedo to buck like an unbroken horse and it had passed too deep beneath the target. Steele had been amazed by Miller’s coolness as he had then attacked the third ship, but the trail of the first torpedo had already given the alarm and the target had altered course sharply, increased speed and attempted to ram E9. For several hours Miller had feverishly manoeuvred his command amidst the dashing destroyers, narrowly avoiding several attempts to ram the submarine, but even so, failed to make a successful attack on the retreating battlecruisers. The offensive operation had been one of Keyes’s last acts in command of the submarine service as in February he had been reappointed. Steele had not known him long, but even so, regretted his departure.

  He glanced once more at the spidery writing filling half a sheet of parchment. To his dying moment grandfather had continued to use a quill and his mother had explained that the unfinished letter was his last act on earth. Grandfather had pushed the parchment away, laid down his quill and fallen asleep, without recovering, before dying thirty-six hours later. Steele wiped away a tear. His grandfather had died only a day after E9, in company with another two E-boats and their depot ship, HMS Adamant, had left England. The ship’s company had received the news of the deployment with real pleasure.

  He folded the two letters and put them away in a drawer with his other personal effects. The captain should be back soon, he thought. Miller and the other E-boat COs had been summoned to a conference on board the flagship. Perhaps the captain might bring back news as to their future employment. He made his way up to the waist of the depot ship to look out for signs of the barge returning.

  *

  Commodore Roger Keyes could not help feeling rather disappointed by his new appointment as Chief of Staff to the Commander of the Combined Fleet at Mudros in the Eastern Mediterranean. In his eyes it was a less prestigious and exciting appointment than flying his own broad pennant in HMS Lurcher as the Commander of the Submarine Service. He had relished the thrill of leading his flotilla into action at the Battle of Heligoland the previous year, but now he considered himself a mere understudy of the Commander-in-Chief, Vice Admiral de Roebuck. He knew he had the new First Sea Lord, Admiral Jacky Fisher, to thank for this apparent demotion. It was no secret that the two men did not see eye to eye. However, as he surveyed the assembled officers in his cabin on board the flagship HMS Queen Elizabeth, Keyes saw an opportunity to make his mark once more. Indeed, had it not been for his success in deploying his submarines to penetrate the Skagerrak into the Baltic, thus proving to the First Lord of the Admiralty that submarines could go where surface ships could not, then the little flotilla of submarines would not now be based off the entrance to the Dardanelles.

  Keyes brought the meeting to order and addressed the four submarine commanding officers present.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have been reviewing the employment to date of our submarines and concluded that we could be making a greater contribution to the war effort. Until recently, their lordships at the Admiralty have regarded our activities here as a mere sideshow. Happily, they have now been persuaded that our little force might succeed where the Fleet has failed and, hence, why you and your E-class boats have been sent here. Unfortunately, it has become painfully clear that the Fleet is not going to be able to clear the forts and minefields barring the Dardanelles Narrows. Instead, it is intended to land an allied army ashore on the Gallipoli Peninsula and the soldiers will capture and destroy the forts. I, therefore, intend that a British submarine should pass through the Narrows and enter the Sea of Marmara.’

  Keyes noted that the commanding officers did not appear to receive the news with enthusiasm and merely exchanged knowing glances with each other. This struck him as strange. Normally his COs were extremely keen on demonstrating the utility of the submarine.

  He continued, nonetheless. ‘As you well know, Turk
ish rail and road communications between Constantinople and this part of the world are poor. They lack motor transport and must rely on the camel. So their only practical means of reinforcing the peninsular is by sea through the Marmara. I intend that Allied submarines sever this vital supply route. The French are bursting to have a go, but I want the honour of leading the way to fall to the Royal Navy, or at the very least, to a submarine from the empire. So far, Holbrook in B11 has led the way in showing what can be achieved with pluck and he damned well deserved his VC for the attempt, but the B-boats are not up to the job of going all the way up the Narrows. The E-boats are much more suited to the task, as they showed in penetrating into the Baltic. Charles, what are your thoughts, first?’

  Lieutenant Commander Charles Brodie was an experienced submarine commanding officer and was now also serving on Keyes’s staff.

  ‘I don’t think anyone should under estimate the difficulties of what you are asking, sir. If I might draw everyone’s attention to the chart here, you will see that the full distance from the entrance to the Dardanelles at Kum Kale to the relatively open waters of the Marmara is thirty-five miles. The width of the Lower Dardanelles varies from just two to a maximum of four miles. After twelve miles, one enters the Narrows, aptly named as they are only 1400 yards wide. It really calls for some extraordinarily accurate navigation. Just to make matters worse, the current is against one and it varies from two to four knots. As if that’s not bad enough, the Turks have laid mines in ten successive lines, from four miles short of the Narrows, right up to them.’

  Keyes was pleased to see the avid attention the other three COs were giving to Brodie’s brief. He wondered who would be the first to volunteer to make the mad dash through the Narrows. He looked at each one in turn and decided it would probably be Miller. Brodie was continuing his brief.

  ‘Although these mines have been laid near the surface to catch the surface ships, that’s just the depth we would need to be at to use the periscope for fixing. Moreover, there are plenty of rivers running into the passage, so there will be a shallow layer of less dense water to play havoc with the trim. The obvious answer might be a surface transit, perhaps at night. But I should warn you, gentlemen, that anyone contemplating such a feat should first consider that there are eleven forts guarding the Narrows and their approaches. There are numerous searchlights and heavy guns just waiting to catch the unwary intruder and even a series of torpedo tubes. I would say that any attempt to breach the passage would be fraught with interest.’

  The under-statement, typical of submariners, evoked a chuckle from Brodie’s fellow officers, but his pessimistic message had sunk in and Keyes noted that nobody seemed keen to follow him in speaking. He was disappointed by the absence of a positive response and gazed at each officer intensely, trying to judge their thoughts. Richard Miller eventually broke the silence.

  ‘Sir, we’ve seen from the experience of the French submarine Saphir that if one runs aground, then there is no chance of rescue. On the other hand, Norman Holbrook has demonstrated that if one can overcome the hazards of navigation, then the minefields can be breached with skill and care. My concern is what happens if a submarine does make it to the open sea. There is no chance of resupply and we would be out of wireless range. Completely alone in fact. It goes without saying that any form of offensive action will make the return passage that bit more difficult. The Turks will be alerted and waiting for us.’

  Keyes sighed with dismay at the response. This was turning into a gloomy meeting. He expected Miller of all people to display a little more élan. Even so, he had come to respect Miller and could see that there was something in what he said. In his ardour to take offensive action, Keyes knew he had not given any thought to the logistics of the operation. However, this was not a fact he cared to admit.

  ‘Gentlemen, these are mere details that can be worked out in very quick time. Where there’s a will there’s a way. Is not one of you prepared to take the risk for the sake of your country and the Service?’ He fixed on Richard expectantly.

  All four submarine COs smarted at the potential insult, but it was Richard who responded. ‘Sir, were it just myself, I would happily volunteer for such an undertaking, but I am not prepared to speak on behalf of my ship’s company until I am satisfied that all necessary preparations have been made to reduce the risk to their lives.’

  There was an embarrassing silence for a few moments. Keyes was stung by the response. He’s back to his priggish self, he thought. Johnson warned me about that long ago. He started to feel the anger rise within him, but fortunately it was cut short by the commanding officer of E15, Lieutenant Commander Theodore Brodie, the brother of Charles, who broke the awkwardness of the occasion.

  ‘I’ll do it, sir.’

  Keyes promptly responded with obvious relief, ‘Well it’s got to be tried and you shall do it.’

  *

  After the meeting had broken up, Richard returned in a sombre mood to the submarine depot ship. He immediately called together his two officers for a discussion in his cabin. The first to arrive was Steele. At six feet six inches in height, the fair-haired and blue-eyed officer was unusually tall for service in submarines. Even in the relative comfort of a cabin of the depot ship he could not stand straight and Richard had noticed that he tended to bend his lithe, athletic frame against the bulkhead whenever standing. It reminded Richard of a new moon. Steele’s height was not the only characteristic that seemed out of place in submarines. Richard found his languid manner quite irritating. Initially, he had mistaken this for laziness, but he now readily admitted his error. Steele had the makings of a first class submarine officer and one who might well deserve his own command over time. Richard couldn’t explain his irritation. Was it that he detected an air of superiority in Steele’s insouciance? Or could it be, he wondered, that knowing his aristocratic background, Richard was looking for such a trait? Steele was quickly joined by the Third Hand. He, by contrast, was a reserve officer, called up from the Merchant Navy for his navigation skills. Sub Lieutenant ‘Paddy’ O’Connell was a short, stocky red-haired Ulsterman whose earthy sense of humour helped him rub along very easily with the ship’s company.

  Richard invited both officers to take a seat on his bunk and debriefed them on the meeting he had just left.

  ‘So there you have it. E15 has been given less than seventy-two hours to prepare for the passage. Frankly, I don’t hold out much prospect for success. However, the Commodore is right. At least one of us has to get through to cut the Turks’ supply lines. My cousin will be one of those landing ashore and I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes if the Turks are well dug in. Whether or not Brodie succeeds, I want E9 to be the next boat to have a crack at the Narrows, but we have to plan to succeed. So, any ideas?’

  O’Connell was the first to reply. ‘As far as I can make out, sir, we’re scuppered if we haven’t a clue where we are. Those waters aren’t just narrow, but shallow, and I don’t fancy being high and dry under those guns. I had a good chin wag with the Navigator of B1, but he couldn’t say what lay beyond Chanak.’

  ‘I’m not disagreeing, Paddy, but it has to be done nonetheless,’ Richard replied. ‘I have had an idea, however. As you may already know, my younger brother is a pilot in the Air Service and I’ve heard on the grapevine that his former CO, Charles Samson, is over here with that detachment of seaplanes. I thought I might ask if he could take me up for a recce.’

  ‘That sounds a jolly good idea, sir,’ Steele responded. ‘But may I be so bold as to proffer another suggestion, sir? The last thing we want in confined waters is the bally gyro compass toppling on us again. I propose that young Pilot here takes personal responsibility for cherishing it as if it were an ancient Greek painted vase, and doesn’t let any ham-fisted tiff get his oil-soaked hands on it.’

  ‘That’s a fair point, First Lieutenant. Navigator, make it so. Now if we do break through into the Marmara, we will operate entirely without support. If we have a mechanical breakd
own, it will be up to us to fix it. I might be able to impose on Commander Samson to fly us out some spares in an emergency, but prevention is better than cure. I want you to inspect every inch of the boat with the engine room staff and triple check every pipe, hose and valve for any sign of wear or defect. Then I’m going to do it, too. I’m taking no chances. Is that clear?’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ Steele replied. ‘But how might we communicate with anyone, whether to call for emergency spares or otherwise. The range will be too far for our W/T set.’

  ‘The Commodore’s staff has thought of that. They plan on stationing one of our surface friends in the Gulf of Xeros. That will put them in range of any submarine transmitting from the western end of the Sea and the ship can then relay the message on. My bigger concern is resupply of torpedoes. Even if Commander Samson could drop us some engineering spares, he cannot bring us a torpedo. I imagine there will be plenty of targets and so torpedoes will be at a premium.’

  ‘There are plenty of ways to skin a cat, sir.’ This time it was O’Connell’s turn to make a suggestion. ‘Do we need to use a torpedo to sink them, sir?’

  ‘And what troubles your Celtic mind, dear Pontius?’ Steele asked.

  ‘Well, sir. If we come across a nice juicy battleship or cruiser, then fair enough. We use a torpedo. But I would imagine we could board some of the smaller craft and simply blow them up or set fire to them the same way our ancestors did last century. Of course what we could really do with is a few bloody fat cannons and we could sink them with a broadside.’