For two days after the departure of all her consorts on the evening of the 9th the St. Apollo faithfully stood by the Empire Cloud. As the expected tug had not turned up, and the weather was then deteriorating still further, Marchington decided to try and tow in the helpless merchantman himself. He got a party of his men on board, veered the Empire Cloud’s cable, and managed to get the end of it on board his own ship. He then towed her towards Iceland for another two days, after which he met the corvette Anemone and the rescue tug Thames, which had sailed from Reykjavik on the evening of 13th. Marchington then transferred his tow to the tug, and escorted her and the Empire Cloud all the way to Greenock, where they arrived safely on 20th May. The St. Apollo had by that time been at sea for over a fortnight, and as she still had a score of the Bengore Head’s survivors on board, very little by way of fuel or food remained in the trawler; but her whole exploit had been a fine feat of seamanship. Six months later, to be precise on 22nd November, 1941, the St. Apollo herself was sunk in collision while escorting a convoy whose Commodore was, by a remarkable coincidence, sailing in the repaired Empire Cloud. It was then the turn of Marchington and his men to take the part of survivors in the presence of the ship which they had so recently helped to salvage.
The attacks on the convoy on 9th May made a deep impression on the young clergyman travelling in the Burma, who, of course, knew nothing about the capture of U.110 which had followed so quickly on Lemp’s noonday attack, but had only seen the Esmond and Bengore Head, and then the Empire Cloud and Gregalia, hit by torpedoes; and he believed them all to have been sunk. He headed the entry in his “ log ” “ Black Day ” and described the events he had witnessed in the following words :—
“ The appalling happenings of to-day place even those of Wednesday in the background. We are in mid-ocean; the weather is still a bit dismal with a cold north-west wind and rather a choppy sea. The first ‘bang’ came at 2 p.m. (noon G.M.T.) when the ship on our starboard bow was hit amidships by a torpedo. She crumpled up, her back was broken, but we could see one boat getting away from her. We had not reached our ‘action stations’ before a second torpedo sent up another big tramp steamer in a cloud of smoke and steam. This vessel was the first to sink, and it was terrible to see her going down with her stern high in the air. Then an ominous quarter of an hour passed before a second attack came. This time the victims (two big vessels) were on our port side, only 500 yards away. We felt that we ourselves might be struck at any moment, and have to take to the boats in the heaving waters of the mid-Atlantic; but if we were afraid no one showed it. The spirit of the passengers, women and children, and of the crew, was wonderful. Destroyers dropped depth charges, but four more of the convoy went down before our eyes—making six in all lost so far. It was sickening and dreadful, and I will write no more about it … the rest of the day and the following night passed in great tension.”
We must now return to the prize, and see how Balme and his men had meanwhile fared. After searching the control room and officers’ quarters, and removing from them every book, document or piece of movable equipment they could find, they ransacked the rest of the submarine equally thoroughly. Among the trophies recovered were diaries kept both by Lemp and Eichelborn, which told us a good deal not only about U.110’s movements but about Lemp’s previous command, U.30. Balme later described the prize as “ a fine new ship spotlessly clean throughout,” and equipped with a “ magnificent galley.” All our men seem to have been greatly impressed with the quality of the U-boat sailors’ food. They found several cameras, and with one of them the enterprising Sub-Lieutenant took cinematograph pictures of the inside of the prize.
Soon after the boarding party first disappeared down the conning tower hatch Baker-Cresswell received a signal saying that there was no one onboard. Through his binoculars he next saw things being passed up on deck and handed down into the Broadway’s motor boat. Balme’s second message made it plain that what they were finding might be of immense value, and his Captain now became anxious lest the motor boat should be swamped in the steadily rising sea. However the first load soon came safely across to the Bulldog, and as the captured material was passed inboard the report came that U.110 had a slight list, but appeared to be in no danger of sinking. Baker-Cresswell therefore sent his Engineer Officer, Lieutenant-Commander G. E. Dodds, R.N.R., his Torpedo Gunner, Mr. W. J. Gray, and two Engine Room Artificers back in the boat to see if they could increase the submarine’s buoyancy. With them he sent across a White Ensign, with an order to Balme to hoist it above the German colours, but as no specimen of the flag with the crooked cross could be found in the submarine he was deprived of the pleasure of seeing his prize adorned in the traditional manner with “ the King’s colours flying and the enemy’s hanging.”
When Dodds and his assistants, none of whom had been trained in submarine machinery nor could read German well enough to translate tallies and instructions in that language, got onboard they went straight to the machinery spaces to see if they could discover how things worked. As Dodds went aft he had to pass through a watertight door, which swung to and trapped him. Balme happened to see the Engineer Officer’s predicament, and wrote later that he “ would never forget the sight of the Chief stuck in the watertight door. It must have been very painful to him, but it was extremely funny to see the look on his face, with the depth charges exploding all around and he firmly stuck in the doorway.” The humour of the situation might not have been apparent to anyone except a Sub-Lieutenant aged twenty. Dodds’s own recollection is that during the few minutes (or were they only seconds?) that passed before he could get the door open again he really knew what fear was. He and his assistants then tried to make out which of the innumerable valves and levers controlled what; but it was really a forlorn hope. They dared not turn valves or pull levers indiscriminately, because it might produce the opposite to the desired result; and all the time they could not get rid of the thought that there were probably scuttling charges somewhere in the boat, and that a false movement might set them off.
Dodds found the pressure hull of the U-boat dry, but in the after compartments it had been buckled and water was seeping in from a leak somewhere. As she rolled the outer plates creaked ominously, and he could hear a slight bubbling noise, probably caused by air escaping from the high pressure bottles, or from the inside of the boat into the sea; but he could not trace its source, nor guess how to stop it. While still searching the machinery compartments our ships began to drop depth charges in the vicinity, and Dodds found the pressure waves which hit the hull “ as if with a huge hammer,” “ rather distracting ”; but he persisted with his inspection until he was convinced that he could do nothing to improve the U-boat’s seaworthiness. Then he joined up with Balme’s party in collecting charts and books and passing them into the waiting motor boat, where willing hands took them. Not one of the items recovered was lost or damaged.
Balme and Dodds now signalled to the Bulldog by lamp and semaphore reporting the condition of the prize, and Baker-Cresswell racked his brains to find the best way of getting her into port. In none of the three ships present was there a single officer or man with submarine experience. Should he put one or two Germans back on board and try and force them to work their ship? No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than he discarded it as hopeless; for he knew that they would never carry out such orders, except perhaps under a degree of duress which he could not dream of applying. At last came a report from Balme that he had sent across every piece of movable equipment he could find, and Baker-Cresswell passed the word to “ Batten down and prepare to be taken in tow.” It was now 4 p.m., about three hours after the boarding party had first been sent across.
But for a destroyer to take a submarine in tow, especially in a rising sea, is not as easy as it sounds; since a submarine’s deck is extremely narrow, and in the bows there is only room for one or two men to stand in order to take the heavy wire and secure it to her bollards. Thus the Bulldogs stern had to be manoe
uvred as close as possible to her prize, whose sharp bow could do serious damage to a destroyer’s thin plating—as the Broadway very recent experience had shown only too convincingly. Dodds and one or two men worked their way forward, and finally succeeded in passing the end of the Bulldog’s 3½-inch wire through the U-boat’s towing eye, and successfully securing it. As there was now no point in leaving anyone onboard the U-boat, Baker-Cresswell recalled the last of his men in the Broadways boat, which he then hoisted into his own ship; but his troubles were by no means yet ended.
U.110’s rudder was jammed with port wheel on, and no sooner had the Bulldog gone gently ahead to take the strain on the tow than she began to sheer off to port. To get her to ride easily Baker-Cresswell had to use a long tow, and to prevent the wire being parted by a sudden surge it was essential to give it as much “ spring ” as possible. He therefore shackled his kedge anchor to the towing wire, and paid them out together; but a wave hit the anchor, spun it several times round the towing wire and jammed the two together. This prevented the tow being lengthened to the desired degree; but none the less the prize rode reasonably comfortably on the port quarter of the towing ship. Just when everything seemed set as well as could be expected, a look-out reported “ Periscope on the starboard bow.” The Bulldog had no contact on her own Asdic; but Baker-Cresswell could not afford to risk getting a torpedo into his ship while she was virtually a sitting duck. He therefore slipped the tow, and carried out a search. The Broadway and Aubrietia both reported Asdic contacts, and the latter dropped a single depth charge. But the contacts could not be verified, and after searching carefully around the prize they were assumed to have been false. It is tempting to suggest that the periscope belonged to Schnee’s U.201, which was certainly lurking in the depths not very far away at the time; but according to his log it was 7 p.m. when he cautiously raised it, and that does not correspond with the time of the contacts reported by the Broadway and Aubrietia. Moreover if Schnee really did glimpse the Bulldog and her consorts it is hard to believe that he could have failed to see that the British destroyer had some object in tow.
Baker-Cresswell waited for half an hour, and at 5 p.m. decided to pick up the tow; but his wire was, of course, now hanging uselessly from U.110’s bow, and he first had to recover it. Having successfully accomplished that first step he then had to repeat the anxious manœuvre of placing his own stern as close as possible to the U-boat’s bow. This time they just touched, and the Bulldog received a slight dent in her plating. Months later, when the ship was refitting on the Clyde, and dockyard workmen wished to repair the damaged plate the Captain flatly refused to have it touched! This greatly puzzled the refitting yard, since destroyer Captains are generally only too anxious to have all traces of damage, especially from collisions, obliterated; but for Baker-Cresswell the dent had special significance.
By 6.50 p.m. U.110 was safely in tow again, and the Bulldog set course for Iceland with the damaged Broadway as escort. Baker-Cresswell now told Smith of the Aubrietia, who had done such excellent work that day, to transfer the prisoners to the Amazon, take the Nigella under his wing and make for the rendezvous with the east-bound convoy (HX.124), which was the 3rd Escort Group’s next responsibility. We have already seen how they set out on that duty, and need only note that they successfully met the new convoy two nights later—both ships very short of depth charges.
Once he was well clear of the position where he had seized his prize Baker-Cresswell felt it safe to break wireless silence, and tell the Admiralty that he had captured U.110, that all her books, logs, charts and movable equipment were onboard his ship, that he was towing her towards Iceland and that he urgently needed help from submarine experts.
In Whitehall the message caused no little stir. It was at once taken to the Director of Intelligence and the First Sea Lord, and the latter ordered that the circulation of the news was to be restricted to a very few selected officers. He replied to the Bulldog that the operation of recovering the U-boat was to be given the code-name “ Primrose,” and that all mention of it was to be graded “ Top Secret.”1 To that message Admiral Noble added another a short while later, saying that a Sunderland flying boat was taking off immediately with submarine experts on board. At the time when Baker-Cresswell received this message, about midnight, it might still have been possible for a flying boat to alight on the open sea; but it would have been a risky business, and so rapidly were wind and sea rising that there seemed little prospect of doing so next morning.
Before turning in Baker-Cresswell had another look at his prize. She was riding quite easily, though perhaps a little more down by the stern. He had gradually worked up speed from 4 to 5, then 6, and finally to 7½ knots. Yet he was still nearly 400 miles from his destination—at least 50 hours’ steaming. Two whole days? Could she possibly stay afloat that length of time? Nor was that the only doubt and anxiety to assail his mind. The Broadway, many of whose fuel tanks had been damaged when she rammed U.110, reported that she could only just reach Iceland; and, still worse, was the inevitable doubt as to whether he had done the right thing. The convoy, which was his primary responsibility, had taken several nasty knocks before he had left it; and he suspected that it had since been attacked again. As he stretched out on the charthouse settee the explicit wording of the Admiralty’s instructions to Escort Commanders rang in his tired brain. “ The safe and timely arrival of the convoy … is the primary object, and nothing relieves the escort commander of his responsibility in this respect.”Nothing ? Not even the capture of a U-boat? Baker-Cresswell wondered how his disregard of that ancient principle would be taken—especially if he failed to get the prize in. “ Well,” he thought, “ other officers have disobeyed orders, and been abundantly justified for doing so. Perhaps …”; and for a few hours he dropped into the deep sleep of exhaustion.
1 See p. 85.
2 See Map 3 (p. 107).
3 See p. 146.
1 See p. 59.
1 Schnee actually said “ the 2nd column from the left,” presumably as viewed from ahead of the convoy, i.e., Column 8 on the British diagram. See Map 5 (p. 123).
1 See p. 120.
1 See Marine Rundschau, for October 1957.
1 The fact that the corvette Primrose took part in the defence of OB.318 in the 7th Escort Group, and that Group Captain Primrose was in command of the Iceland-based aircraft of Coastal Command which co-operated in the protection of the convoy, makes the choice of code-name appear rather a curious coincidence; but it is likely that it was only a coincidence.
CHAPTER IX
Disaster—and Triumph
As DUSK started to close down on the convoy on 9th May Commodore Mackenzie was reviewing the dilemma that faced him as anxiously as Baker-Cresswell, then about 70 miles away to the north-east, was considering his own quite different predicament. Only two escorts, the Hollyhock and the Daneman, were still with the merchantmen. The Aubrietia and Nigella, after taking part in the hunts for U.110 and 201, had been detached to make for the rendezvous with their next convoy; the Amazon (which was short of fuel and out of depth charges) was on her way to Iceland with the prisoners, the Angle had long since had to leave because of fuel shortage, the St. Apollo was standing by the Empire Cloud, and the damaged Broadway was struggling towards her base whilst providing what protection she could to the Bulldog. Mackenzie had now reached the meridian of 34° West, which was little short of the position which the Admiralty had originally laid down as the convoy’s dispersal point; and that morning a signal had come through from Admiral Noble ordering the convoy to disperse at daylight on 10th, the escorts remaining “ in loose company ” for the rest of that day. But the Commander-in-Chief could hardly have known that only two small escort vessels were actually still with the convoy. Might it not therefore be better for the Commodore to use his discretionary powers and disperse the convoy at dusk that evening, so giving the merchantmen the benefit of the shield of darkness for the first few hours of their lonely voyages towards their various
destinations? On the other hand the night was not likely to be very dark, for a nearly full moon would shed a good deal of light on the sea, even though the sky was now mostly overcast and the horizon misty. Other U-boats might well be shadowing the convoy, and with the visibility as great as three or four miles dispersal might help them to find easy targets. Mackenzie therefore decided that on balance it was better to keep the convoy in formation; but if any other attack took place he would at once order it to disperse. This latter decision certainly seems open to question, since all our recent experience had proved that, even if the escort was very weak, it was far better for merchant ships to remain in convoy. Mackenzie now had only 33 ships under his charge, and after the many alarms of the previous afternoon they had settled down on course South 60° West (true) with the Ranpura still in position between Columns 5 and 6. At midnight the Commodore altered 50 degrees to port as an evasive measure, and maintained that course until 2.20 a.m. on the 10th, when he wheeled the convoy to South 40° West (true). These measures were not, however, to save his charges from another enemy who, quite unknown to him, had overtaken his convoy and was now poised and ready to strike new blows.
The Secret Capture Page 14