Other sinkings during May were, however, so few that a feeling of complacency overcame the Admiralty, and Churchill boasted that ‘the failure of the German submarine campaign’(12) was evident to the whole world. Defensive measures – nets, patrols, sweeps carrying explosive charges – were taking – their toll of the small force of U-boats, and early experiments with submerged acoustics and depth charges were already showing favourable results by May 1915. Seven U-boats had been lost before the unrestricted campaign opened. Then March 1915 turned out to be a good month for U -boat killings. U-8 was caught and sunk in the Dover nets. On 18 March the Fourth Battle Squadron, exercising off the Pentland Firth spotted a hostile submarine, and by brilliant manoeuvring the Dreadnought herself succeeded in ramming her. She revealed her identity when her bows rose high out of the water before her fatal plunge. It was U-12, commanded by Korvetten-Kapitän Weddigen, who had sunk the Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy. The Dreadnought wore the f1ag of Doveton Sturdee, the luckiest admiral of the war. Another U-Boat was rammed and sunk by HMS Ariel.
There is no evidence that the Germans were discouraged by these losses, or that they could not have been made good by new construction, which was going ahead so fast in German yards that sixty-one new craft had been completed by the end of 1915. The reason for cancelling this first unrestricted campaign was not military but diplomatic. On 19 August U-24 sighted and torpedoed the liner Arabic off Ireland. Again there was heavy loss of life, including three Americans. The United States protest was so sharp that the German Navy was ordered to modify its campaign. From 30 August U-boats were prohibited from attacking passenger liners of any nationality without giving prior warning and ensuring the safety of the passengers. This virtually ruled out as too risky any attacks on liners; and, still fearful of offending American opinion and bringing that country onto the side of the Allies, Germany later withdrew all her U-boats from western waters. For a time she concentrated on minelaying in the North Sea and a campaign in the Mediterranean where few American ships plied.
Unknown to the Allies, the U-boat war had now deteriorated into internecine conflict involving the Naval High Command, the German Chancellor, the Foreign Minister, and the Kaiser. It was a contest the ‘hawks’ were certain to win, but it was a long and anxious one in which American neutrality figured most prominently. By this time (winter 1915-16) the confidence of the naval high command in the effectiveness of the U -boat knew no bounds. The force was now an enthusiastic, substantial one, and it was straining at the leash. ‘If after the Winter season, that is to say under suitable weather conditions,’ claimed the German Chief of Naval Staff ‘the economic war by submarines be begun again with every means available and without restrictions which from the outset must cripple its effectiveness, a definite prospect may be held out that, judged by previous experience, British resistance will be broken in six months at the outside.’(13)
Admiral Henning von Holtzendorff failed to get his way at once. Still terrified of American intervention, the new campaign announced on 11 February 1916 was a conditional one, only enemy merchantmen inside the war zone bring fair game without restriction. Outside the zone they could only be sunk without warning if they were armed, and passenger steamers were not to be touched. As many senior German naval officers predicted, including Admiral Reinhard Scheer, the new C.-in-C. of the High Seas Fleet, the campaign could not be successfu with restrictions. Either U-Boat commanders would be carried away by zeal or excitement when a vessel came into the sights and fail to check the target in detail, or, over-anxious to stay within the rules, would allow the enemy to escape.
On 24 March 1916 U (B)-29 torpedoed the French passenger steamer Sussex, en route from Dieppe to Folkestone. She was carrying 380 passengers, and although the ship remained afloat a number of people, including Americans, were killed or injured. This time Washington issued an ultimatum with its protest: Germany must abandon ‘its present methods of submarine warfare against passenger and freight-carrying vessels’ or face a break in diplomatic relations.
The German alarm was so great that the Government ordered the Naval Staff to prohibit all attacks outside the prize law regulations, which provided a code of conduct – warning the ship to stop, examining papers and cargo, ensuring the safety of the crew, etc.
Angry and exasperated, the two naval commanders operating the flotillas, Scheer and the C.-in-C. Flanders Flotilla, recalled all their U-boats. This marked the end of the second and very brief campaign. Neutral revulsion and threat had won again. The U-boats would be back, but for the present trade flowed freely to and from Allied ports and the Admiralty relaxed its counter measures.
Fisher’s prophetic eye had led to the founding of a British submarine service before Tirpitz had been converted to its cause. Its first inspecting captain of submarines was Fisher’s friend and ally Captain Reginald H. Bacon, with his headquarters in HMS Dolphin, a hulk at Fort Blockhouse Gosport, the submarine depot. Keyes’s appointment in 1910 was a surprise one, for this valiant and dashing figure was not renowned for his outstanding intellect nor technical facility, both qualities that were essential in these formative years. But Keyes did have sound common sense and an ability to impart enthusiasm to those serving under him.
British submarine development stemmed from the American Holland design built under licence by the huge shipbuilding firm of Vickers Maxim at Barrow-in-Furness. The early British Hollands were indistinguishable from the American vessels, but in subsequent classes improvements were made until in 1907, with the D-class, the Royal Navy possessed a true ocean-going vessel of 500 tons, diesel-powered and with a surface speed close to 15 knots. The E-class which followed formed the basis on which most of the subsequent wartime submarines were designed. They had broadside as well as bow torpedo tubes. The submarine had become a potent ocean-going man o’war capable of working with the fleet and at long distances from its base. It was superior in all respects to the contemporary U-boats except in its fuel capacity and range of operation, and proved its potential in early operations, notably at the Heligoland Bight skirmish.
One of Keyes’s early tasks in 1910 was to break the Vickers monopoly which that company had legitimately acquired from the Admiralty. He also made himself more widely unpopular by going abroad for some experimental vessels, and for periscopes which were superior to the home product. The British service, like the German, attracted the young enthusiast, the natural risk-taker, and a fair proportion of eccentrics. Morale was high, dress standards shocking. The typical 1914 submariner was depicted with oil-stained hands, a mad gleam in his eye, and the appearance of a Grimsby trawlerman who has been at sea too long.
The total number of British submarines at the outbreak of war was seventy-four, the great majority old coastal operating vessels. By contrast, the smaller German force, because of Tirpitz’s late start, was more modern. There were three British submarines each at Malta, Gibraltar and in China. The cream of Keyes’s force based at Harwich was the 8th Flotilla of D – and E-class boats. He also had five flotillas of older B – and C-class and three more flotillas of the small and now obsolete A-class which were attached to the Local Defence Flotillas. The whole force was nominally under the overall command of Jellicoe, but like Tyrwhitt’s 1st and 3rd Destroyer Flotillas also at Harwich, led a somewhat rakish life of its own for much of the time.
Owing to the submarine’s inherent restricted range of vision, even in clear weather, Keyes acquired two modern fast (32-knot) destroyers to scout ahead of his flotillas. With his commodore’s pennant flying in the Lurcher, Keyes personally led a number of early operations, much to Admiralty disapproval. The first of these was a scouting operation deep into the Heligoland Bight while thirteen of his submarines covered the passage of the BEF to France spread out on a line from the North Goodwin Sands to Ruytingen Shoals. On 18 August Keyes borrowed four of Tyrwhitt’s destroyers, and towing three of his submarines to save their fuel, made another, deeper penetration into the Bight with the Lurcher and the Firedrake. He return
ed safely, without having drawn blood but with much useful information which led to his issuing a warning to withdraw the old armoured cruiser patrol. No one acted in time to prevent the destruction of the Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy.
Keyes maintained his aggressive policy which culminated in the Heligoland Bight battle. One of his E-class boats scored the force’s first major success on 12 September when Lieutenant-Commander Max Horton fired two torpedoes at a range of 600 yards at the German cruiser Hela. Horton was forced to submerge speedily when fire was opened on him, but when he later ventured to surface he saw only some trawlers apparently searching for survivors.
Although the results were abortive, there was no clearer example of how the bigger submarines now had a tactical role to play in fleet operations than in the December Scarborough raid. With his pennant in the Lurcher again, and with the Firedrake and submarines E2, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, and the French Archimède, Keyes spread his force off Terschelling ready to pounce on Hipper if he attempted a southerly raid. When it became clear that this was not going to take place, Keyes received at 10.30 a.m. on 16 December a W/T order from the Admiralty to take his force into the Heligoland Bight in the hope of intercepting the German force on its return to base.
Unfortunately, most of his craft were submerged and unable to pick up the new orders. By 5 p.m. he had managed to collect only four, including the Archimède. In spite of the worsening weather and a reduction in numbers, the correctness of the dispositions was shown early the following morning. At 7 a.m. Lieutenant-Commander Martin Nasmith in E11, the southernmost of the line, observed first a number of destroyers and then two heavy ships proceeding towards the Jade and zig-zagging defensively. He had intercepted the head of the High Seas Fleet’s 2nd Division of dreadnoughts and succeeded in manoeuvring himself so that he was within range of the flagship Posen. He fired at 400 yards at 8.10 a.m. His aim was perfect, but the torpedo under-ran the battleship. Nasmith now turned to get within range of the third ship, the Nassau, but her zig-zagging saved her as she turned and steered straight towards the E11 as if to ram her. Nasmith carried out a rapid dive, unfortunately disturbing the submarine’s trim so that when she again came up to periscope depth, she unwittingly surfaced. This should have been her end, but her sudden appearance seemed to strike panic in the German force, which scattered and made off before Nasmith could follow up his attack.
In these early months of war, the alarm and destruction which one or two submarines could cause was demonstrated just as forcefully by the British as the Germans. Their most effective hunting-grounds were the Baltic and (in connection with the Dardanelles operation) the Sea of Marmora. At a meeting with Jellicoe in October 1914, Keyes discussed the possibility of sending one or two of his E-class boats into the Baltic. The High Seas Fleet frequently used this sea for exercises and manoeuvres, usually between Bornholm Island and the southern entrance to the Sound. The passage through the Belts was certain to be hazardous and was probably mined, but for the advantage of a sunk dreadnought or two this seemed a small risk to take.
Three submarines were selected, commanded by Keyes’s most daring and able commanders, Noel Laurence in E1, Max Horton in E9, and Martin Nasmith in E1I. They were to pass through at night to give them a better chance of escaping the German patrol between Rugen and the Swedish coast, search for and attack the High Seas Fleet, and then head for the Russian port of Libau.
E1 got through on the night of 17-18 October, almost at once sighted a German cruiser and fired at a range of 500 yards. The torpedo ran under the ship. This under-running was a perennial problem in the Royal Navy and, according to one ex-submariner, ‘was probably caused by the initial dive that all torpedoes make on firing before the hydrostatic valve can operate to bring them up to their set depth.’(14) If this was the case, as seems likely, it was the consequence of the age-old Navy tradition of closing the range to hit the enemy harder and with greater accuracy – and to demonstrate fighting zeal.
The E9, too, got through safely, although Horton could not make it in one night and was forced to lie on the bottom all of one day before proceeding again at nightfall. He, too, had immediate evidence of the rich pickings to be had in the Baltic. Both submarines were escorted into Libau, which was intended to be their base. But the Russians, in anticipation of a German attack, had virtually destroyed the dockyard facilities, and Horton and Laurence eventually proceeded to an anchorage in the Gulf of Finland where they placed themselves under the command of the Russian d.-in-C., an officer who proved to be both amiable and able.
The E11 did not share the same luck. Her presence was already suspected when she mistook a Danish boat for a German submarine, and fired a torpedo. Later, while on the surface recharging her batteries, she was spotted by a seaplane. Next she was harried by destroyers, in daylight and through the hours of darkness, ‘and on the 22nd [October] she decided to return to her base and wait for the hue and cry to die clown’.(15)
All through that winter of 1914-15 Noel Laurence and Max Horton with their two small submarines performed the part of indestructible killer sharks in the confines of the Baltic, and in conditions which froze conning tower hatches, torpedo tube caps, and periscopes alike. There were two main German forces operating against them. Both German squadrons were made up of cruisers and destroyers, one from Kiel and the second from Neufahrwasser. Rear-Admiral Jasper with the Kiel squadron, unaware that the Russians had evacuated Libau, made a strong attack on the base, losing his flagship on a mine. The Russians had learned a lot about mines in the war with Japan, in which they had once claimed two of four modern Japanese battleships on one small field. They claimed another modern 4,350-ton German cruiser off Bornholm that winter and a number of patrol vessels. The Germans suspected that the British submarines were the real culprits. Then Horton torpedoed a destroyer, the first of eight, oil’ the Danish coast. ‘I consider the destruction of a Russian submarine will be a great success’, proclaimed Grand Admiral Prince Heinrich. ‘But I regard the destruction of a British submarine as being at least as valuable as that of a Russian armoured cruiser.’
With periods for rest, replenishment, and relit, the two submarines continued to survive and operate through the spring and early summer. Horton fell in with a convoy of transports, heavily escorted, and with two torpedoes, while under heavy attack, sent one of the transports to the bottom. A collier and destroyer fell to him on 4 June. A month later the redoubtable and tireless Horton found himself involved in an intense battle between Russian and German cruisers and destroyers. He succeeded in intercepting two reinforcing German battleships and sent two torpedoes into one of them, disabling it.
The Russians were now being hard-pressed and appealed to their ally for further submarine support. E8 and E13 were despatched from Harwich on 14 August 1915. E13 was soon in trouble. Compass failure led to her running aground on one of the numerous sandbanks between Malmö and Copenhagen. At daybreak she was still there, and now a Danish torpedo boat was in attendance, to inform Lieutenant-Commander Geoffrey Layton that he had twenty-four hours in which to leave and that no assistance could be given under international law. A few hours later several German destroyers appeared, and with rather less concern for the law torpedoed and opened fire on the submarine and her crew with shrapnel and machine guns, killing fifteen men and wounding many more as they leapt from the submarine’s deck and sought protection under the sea. A steady fire was kept up until the Danish torpedo boat steamed between the German ships and their victim.
During this unpleasant business and at some distance to the east, Noel Laurence in E1 was observing the richest target any submarine commander could pray for – the entire German battle-cruiser squadron steaming in line abreast at the perfect angle for imminent attack. In ten minutes the nearest big ship was within easy range. Laurence fired once amidst a flurry of maddened destroyers, and was forced to crash-dive within seconds of seeing an explosion forward on his target, now identified as the Moltke, a part of the German force in the combined a
ttack on Riga. Thickening fog, and the defensive efforts of the destroyer screen precluded another attack. But to Laurence, who was to be awarded a DSO and bar, there also was now accorded the honour of being the first to torpedo a dreadnought. This same attack was believed to have led to the calling off of the assault, thus ‘saving Riga and probably Russia too’.(16)
As for Max Horton, he became a popular submarine legend, the Baltic became known as ‘Horton’s Sea’, and the Germans actually put a price on his head. When he was at last ordered home at the end of 1915 the Russians, who adored him, were grief stricken.
There was a curious similarity between the operations of British submarines in the Baltic and the Dardanelles. Both had as their first purpose to establish contact with the Russians and to commit as much damage to the enemy as a handful of small submarines could hope to do. The straits of the Dardanelles and the Belts between Sweden and Denmark were both necks of the richly rewarding – bottles of the Baltic and Marmora Seas. The commanders and men who succeeded, or who tried and failed to negotiate these narrow, hazard-strewn bottle-necks, proved a fundamental truth. It was this: no matter how incompetent, misguided, and unimaginative the naval high command could be; no matter how dependent on orders and guidance from above most commanders had now become: whenever initiative was granted, the British sailor’s old cunning and daring remained as powerful as ever.
Any submariner would accept that the dangers and difficulties of the Dardanelles straits were even greater than those of the northern passage into the Baltic. The passage from the Aegean to the Sea of Marmora is twenty-seven miles long. For three and a half miles the width is less than a mile. The currents run up to 4 knots and there is a 10-fathom-deep stratum of fresh water pouring down at a varying – depth and unpredictable course which has the power to throw any submarine about like a twig in a mill race.
The Great War at Sea: 1914-1918 Page 24