By the end of July all the superstructure had been blasted away. The ship was turned upside-down by the method employed in the case of the destroyers, and the compressors were brought into action. They were within measurable distance of lifting her when she toppled over on her side, and during the night shift she heeled over gradually and perched on the rocks close inshore. As she was unstable it took two days to raise her. Attracted by the barnacles and mussels on her, immense shoals of sillocks surrounded the cruiser. Thousands were killed by the oil and were left floating. Seagulls were attracted by them in tremendous numbers, as were seals which came close to the salvage boats. Bremse’s oil-fuel tanks were being cleaned out and the oil had been lit as the easiest way of getting rid of it; but the fire spread and, though it was brought under control, the wreck provided a striking spectacle with dense smoke pouring through the many holes on the port side and on the starboard side near the keel, and even through the joints of the steel plates. finally she was considered to be so unsafe that, instead of being towed to Rosyth, she was taken to Lyness on 30 November 1929 and broken up there.
On 10 December 1928, while work at Scapa Flow was proceeding, the White Star liner Celtic went ashore on Roche’s Point while entering Queenstown harbour in Ireland. No lives were lost, but tugs failed to move her, and Cox lent some of his men from Scapa Flow in an attempt to refloat the wreck. Among them was Malcolm Carmichael, one of his most reliable divers. By 27 November 1930 the holes had been patched, and air was pumped in to test their efficiency. But grain in the cargo had fermented, giving off a gas which converted the water into a poisonous liquid, filling the engine room and saturating the hold as the result of a fracture in a suction pipe. A man entering the hold was overcome, fell off the ladder and died. Carmichael went down to rescue him and died also. This one operation cost the lives of two other men in addition to these two, and 16 others were gassed.
Before Hindenburg had left Scapa Flow, work had begun on the battlecruiser von der Tann which had been completed in 1910 in less than two years, the shortest time for any German capital ship. She was the first German battlecruiser and first large German ship to have turbines and quadruple screws, and she had much better protection than any contemporary British battlecruiser. Now she lay bottom up in 90 feet of water with a list of 17 degrees. At low tide, 24 feet of water came over her port side. In general, work was of the same pattern as on Kaiser but, as the weather deteriorated, it became too rough for the docks to be held alongside and the work was done from the tugs. Even so, several hours sometimes elapsed before tugs could get alongside to take off the workmen who had often to wait in cold and darkness most of the night.
Inside von der Tann the air was foul, and explosive gases arose from decaying matter in the hull. Small fires started by oxyacetylene cutting were common until chemists provided a liquid spray which eliminated the risk of fire. For six weeks this work continued. Then the bow was raised to check the balance, to enable some bulkheads to be sealed and the ship to be blown out by expelling the air before she was lowered again. Some days later, three men – Sutherland, McKenzie (no relation to the salvage officer) and Keldie were in wading-suits working knee-deep in slush in a small cabin. It had not been sprayed with the chemical which had proved so effective elsewhere. McKenzie was descending a ladder, and had reached the bottom rung just as Keldie’s flame-cutter sliced through a pipe. A violent explosion blew McKenzie back up the ladder with such force that he was knocked unconscious when his head struck the hatch-coaming. The slush rose rapidly in the shattered cabin, and McKenzie came round after gulping in water. Keldie said he thought McKenzie’s back was broken. The cabin doorway was blocked and the water reached Sutherland’s armpits. He helped the other two into the highest corner of the tilted cabin. They could hear men tapping on the deck above them, but had nothing with which to tap a reply. When water reached their shoulders escape seemed hopeless. But Thomson on the deck above saw a hose connection move. It led from the blocked door, and when he shook the hose, there was an answering jerk, evidence that someone was alive. If they used a flame-cutter to get through to the cabin it might cause an explosion, but there was no alternative. Luckily the gas in the cabin had been consumed. They found the three men high up in a corner with water lapping their chins, the trapped air having preserved them from suffocation. They were rushed to hospital where their burns and bad bruises were treated. Amazingly no one had been seriously hurt and even McKenzie, whose head injury was the most dangerous of their wounds, was back at work again eight weeks later to learn that von der Tann had been beached on Cava on 5 February 1931. When the weather improved she was towed to Lyness.
Midshipman Martin Keith-Roach who climbed over her there, found several numbers of a temperance periodical in a watertight locker, still readable after 15 years. Many Orcadians still have salvaged objects in their homes: shaving-mugs, vases, ash-trays, plates, decanters, cups and saucers, even musical instruments and telescopes. It is not surprising that little of a personal nature found had any great value, for the maintenance crews had not expected to be aboard long and it is unlikely they would have taken anything precious into hostile territory under such conditions. One memento, however, prized by Mr McCrone, the then chairman of Metal Industries Ltd, the firm which continued lifting the battleships after Cox & Danks had ceased work in Scapa Flow, is an ornate silver-plated punchbowl. This was not in the ship, but was found alongside it by a diver. The assumption is that either it was taken by a German sailor who dropped it at the moment of abandoning ship, or that someone had dropped it during the salvage work – in what circumstances one can only guess. Several wads of notes in tight bundles were found in Emden’s safe; these were in excellent condition apart from the edges being discoloured by salt water. This money was, of course, at that time quite worthless because of the huge German post-war devaluation and the consequent changing of their currency. There were also some small coins, corroded after immersion. A gramophone record of Dame Nellie Melba was easily recognisable when played. A brass desk reading lamp, after rewiring and being fitted with a new bulb, is still in use, as is a pair of cut-class decanters with silver-plated tops from König Albert’s wardroom. The inscription with the date 1913–16 was legible when found.
Several ships’ bells were recovered. König Albert’s hangs outside the 11th-century home of Mr McCrone; Derfflinger’s ship’s seal and bell and the bell of Friedrich der Grosse were returned as a goodwill gesture to Germany with considerable ceremony in the late 1960s at Metal Industries’ premises, Faslane Port, when a German frigate serving with NATO forces, dressed overall, paid a special visit to receive it. But perhaps the most spectacular memento is the great red flag with its black German eagle which Mr McCrone intends to have passed down as a family heirloom. It was brought to the surface so tightly packed that the water had not penetrated its folds through the long years of submersion, and its condition is as good as when it was last flown. This flag, at least, was not worn in a gesture of defiance when its ship went down. It was displayed prominently at reunions on what at first was termed Surrender Day, but later changed to Trafalgar Day lest the former name should offend an old enemy. The participants in that first reunion diminish with each meeting, but once a year the flag still evokes memories in the minds of the survivors of the memorable surrender. An item salved of greater practical value was a diesel engine of several hundred horsepower. Although it had been many years under the sea, it needed little attention to make it serviceable. The main item which needed attention was the valve gear. After rewinding the electrical generator and giving the engine a general overhaul it became a prime mover in the oxygen-producing plant with which Metal Industries made its own electricity. For many years it continued to provide power, and it doubtless strengthened the company chairman’s belief that German equipment and armour plating were better than the British and that the Germans put more thought into their designs.
10
Cox Bows Out
COX’S SALVAGE OP
ERATIONS AT Scapa Flow were reaching their end, He had lost several thousands of pounds on this aspect of his firm’s business, and he had probably persisted so long with it because he was stubbornly determined at least to break even and to be able to refute the prophets who had foretold that he would make a loss and be unable to raise the ships.
He now turned to Prinzregent Luitpold. The keel of this splendid battleship had been laid in Germania Yard, Kiel, in January 1911 and she had been completed in December 1913. She had capsized when she sank, and lay upside-down in 105 feet of water with a list of 20 degrees and with 36 feet of water over her keel.
Air-locks were therefore again necessary, and 14 in all were placed in position. Men cut their way to the bottom of the ship with oxy-acetylene burners. Each section of an air-lock was ten feet high. The first section was bolted to the bottom of the ship by divers, then another section bolted to that, and so on, until finally it reached the surface forming a kind of ‘chimney’ tapering from eight feet at the base to four feet at the surface. The ‘chimney’ was then braced by so many wire stays that the whole resembled a monstrous spider’s web. The ship was divided into sections to make it more controllable. Each section was provided with an air-lock, and on the port side these were 60 feet high in order to be above the water level. The problems encountered were much the same as before.
Foul air soon belched from the air-lock, but no one was worried as orders had been given that no flame-cutters or naked lights of any kind were to be used in the hull until the ship had been blown out twice and the air tested. However, she had full bunkers of coal and the water inside the hull was like ink. When the flame-cutters were first used, the resulting smoke caused no concern, and though a few small fires started they were easily quenched. As soon as men were inside the ship, compressed air forced down the water, and it was possible to begin patching and stopping leaks as they appeared. When necessary, divers worked inside the ship. A new man at first found it an eerie and unpleasant experience to work by electric light on the bottom of a capsized vessel fathoms deep at a pressure which caused nose-bleeding, aching ear-drums and a sensation that one’s head was swelling like a balloon. Smoke was still a problem. One diver said they became so accustomed to ignited gas, which resembled will-o’-the-wisps, that they were more amused than scared until a nasty explosion occurred. In one particularly bad section, men had to wear smoke-helmets.
On 27 May 1931 Prinzregent Luitpold was blown out again and the air retested. A gang of four men went down to complete the sealing of the bulkhead in the forward end of the torpedo flat. The air was clean and they were provided with electric light by a generator from a tug along-side. The first indication that there was anything wrong was a vibration and a heavy ‘blow’ in the water on the starboard side which suggested an escape of air. McKenzie and his chief assistant McAusland had just come up from another compartment when the explosion occurred. They went immediately to the air-lock and saw that the pressure had fallen by two and a half to three pounds per square inch. The four men in the forward end were suddenly plunged into darkness, a terrific explosion blew them off their feet and water swirled about them. A bulkhead had collapsed, thus releasing the air pressure so that the level of water automatically rose. Scores of rivets had been blown out of the side plates and the sea poured in. Fortunately, the men had pocket torches, but the air was thick with smoke and the water was soon more than five feet deep. Water was also pouring into the air-lock up which they had to struggle as best they could. Tait, a carpenter, did not get out. An emergency signal warned the rest of the men in the ship to leave as quickly as possible. Extra air-pipes and compression power were rushed into the section. Divers and volunteers went down. Hunt and Mowat were both badly burned and dazed. It was impossible to go more than a few paces inside the ship because of the dense volume of smoke, so the rescue party went up to fetch gear. When they returned, pressure had fallen from 25 to 20¼ pounds, indicating that water must have risen 11 feet in a section which had formerly been dry. Three hours later, when the rescue party went down for the third time, they found Tait’s body in the middle of the explosion. He had been knocked unconscious and then drowned. His job had been simply to check the water level when the foul air was becoming exhausted through a hole, about seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, which he had drilled. Hunt had been blown six feet along a passage before falling into the torpedo room. In a way he was lucky, for had he been on the other side where the bulkhead closed in he would have been squeezed to death or locked in. Peterson, the diver who found Tait’s body. had gone down to search for him without stopping to obtain a smoke helmet, knowing full well the risk he was taking. The cause of the explosion was never known with certainty. At the enquiry, a jury blamed a short circuit in the lighting system, but McKenzie suggested that it could equally have been caused either by spontaneous combustion or a lighted cigarette, though smoking was strictly forbidden.
Except for sections forward and aft, the airtightness of bulkheads was not made good below the armoured deck. When there was any danger of the ship becoming buoyant, certain sections were flooded, and Cox issued orders that all hands were to be out of the ship and its air-locks before the surfacing took place. On the morning of 11 June 1931 when the ship was raised, the wind freshened and rain began to fall in sheets. Cox suspended work so that it would not have to be continued later throughout the night in miserable weather. It was still grey and misty on the following morning when pumping began at 06.30 hrs. Soon after noon the bows began to lift, and row after row of rivets slowly appeared above the water, then barnacles and long festoons of seaweed. At about 12.40 hrs there was an uprush of water and air bubbles, the air-locks rose higher and higher and in a violent swirl of water the underside of the rusty bows broke surface. In ten minutes, 100 feet of the ship’s bottom could be seen, red with rust and covered with streamers of kelp. The Orcadian reporter was impressed by the unconcerned air of the hands as they stood by waiting for the heavy after-end to show. He noticed that they were busy with odd jobs. Diver Peterson, who wanted a new knife for underwater work, chalked out the shape on the blade of an old, rusty, two-handed saw. Burner Sutherland burnt it out with an oxy-acetylene flame. Fitter Wilson fixed the blade into a much-used brass handle, and Peterson had the knife while he waited. During this time, also, a hole was stoved into the side of a row-boat, and it was repaired and made ready for further work. A replacement boiler was fitted in Sidonia. Hundreds of small jobs were completed.
Now that the ship was afloat, upside-down, divers working outside the ship blasted off in deep water the remains of the funnels. The turrets were in position and there was sufficient draught to dock the ship without removing them. But the conning tower was higher than the turrets and prevented docking, so the wreck was towed into shallower water where there was a rocky bottom, and partially sunk again until she was supported only by the conning tower, which was forced by the weight over her well up into the hull until the ship was resting on her turrets.
When the attempt would be made to float her again the conning tower would tend to drop, so it was decided to make it secure. Three direct access holes were cut through all the decks from the bottom of the ship to the conning tower. The top block of a six-fold three and a half-inch wire with 100 tons purchase was secured by a large toggle bar resting on a hole cut in the upturned bottom. To support the toggle bar, the double bottom below was filled with cement. To secure the lower block, a hole was burnt through the ten-inch armour on the outside wall of the conning tower to take the pin of a five and a half-inch shackle, frames and plating being burnt away as necessary.
Three such purchases were used and set up while the ship was still resting on her conning tower. The burning of a hole for the pin of the lower shackle had to be carried out under compressed air as the position was well below sea level.
The King’s Harbour Master who visited the ship at Lyness stated in his report, ‘The forward conning tower would have dropped out had there been sufficient dep
th, but the ship had to be let down over it again, and it was then slung with a large wire purchase. The forward conning tower was thus hanging on the ship like a pendulum.’
To provide fairleads for the towing, four ten-inch tubes were sunk right forward through the keel into the double bottoms which were then filled with cement, and the tubes themselves were filled with railway lines and cement poured in to strengthen them. About 50 feet abaft the fairleads, two large bollards were bolted to the bottom on either side, and two more were bolted on about 150 feet abaft these. Two two-ton hand-winches were secured abaft the bollards so that the wires could be handled as required.
Two huts were then built amidships on the upturned bottom. The foremost was a power-house containing two petrol-driven compressors, an electric dynamo to provide lighting, and an alternating current generator for the pumps supplying circulating water for the oil engines of the compressors. The other hut was fitted with wooden bunks to accommodate the 14 men taking passage on her. The crew had their photographs taken with their cook posing at the back in a clean white jacket and chef’s tall hat. Two short masts were erected for signalling purposes and to carry an aerial, and on the side was a large tank eight feet in diameter and 15 feet in length to hold water for cooling the compressors and motors.
A permanent air-line ran fore and aft along the keel with connections to each section so that air could be supplied to any part at a moment’s notice. As protection for the huts in bad weather, a breakwater of steel girders was built forward. Two boats and a raft, lashed to the upturned keel, completed the equipment. Oxy-acetylene burners and all tools likely to be required in an emergency were placed aboard.
From Jutland to Junkyard: The raising of the scuttled German High Seas Fleet from Scapa Flow - the greatest salvage operation of all time Page 11