by Shaun Lewis
Nervously, he ordered E9 to fifty feet and a speed of two knots. The whole ship’s company listened intently for the throb and swish of propeller blades on the surface. The only sounds were those of the men’s laboured breathing. He eased the boat to thirty feet and apprehensively raised the attack periscope. Even before it broke the surface, he could see it was a brilliantly sunny afternoon. When the water cleared the periscope lens, he could see no sign of Turkish surface forces. He ordered a depth of twenty-six feet and conducted a full sweep on the search periscope. He saw that the Strait was well behind and they lay about four miles off both the Asiatic and European shores. The view was beautifully peaceful and he was tempted to surface the submarine to ease his men’s discomfort. Instead, he ordered the submarine to fifty feet and altered course south-easterly, towards the European shore. He could see the strained and disappointed looks on his men’s faces. Steele looked at him questioningly.
‘It’s all clear, Number One. We’ve done it. Well done, Pilot. We’re well into the Sea of Marmara, about here.’ He pointed to a position on the chart and then marked a cross in the shallows of the southern coast. For the benefit of the listening sailors he addressed Steele again.
‘First Lieutenant, I want you to bottom the boat in the position I have marked on the chart. When you have done that, fall out from Diving Stations. I intend staying on the bottom until it gets dark tonight. If we surface before then, we risk being spotted by coastal watchers and I’m not minded to have my precious sleep disturbed by a bunch of excitable destroyer captains. In the meantime, everyone, bar a single watchkeeper in the control room, is to get their head down. I want minimum movement throughout the boat. Carry on.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Steele replied. ‘But with your leave, sir, I think I’ll take the Coxswain with me to tour the submarine and check for any leaks after the excitement of grounding, mines and shell fire.’
In the two minutes he lay conscious on his bunk before falling into an exhausted stupor, Richard reflected that his First Lieutenant was showing promise.
*
The following morning, a working party was organised under Steele’s supervision to mount the gun in position on the casing and bring up its ammunition. The gun had been stowed below during the transit of the Strait for fear that it might snag on a mine. Richard was conscious that the length of their patrol was limited, not by food, but by the number of torpedoes carried. E9 only carried five reloads, one for each tube, and he had already expended three torpedoes during the attack on the battleship and destroyer off Nagara Point. Food was already rationed, but in the intense heat of the submarine interior, the men’s appetites were low. In any case, he reasoned he might be able to obtain food from one of the many small craft known to ply the Sea. Where possible, he hoped to sink his targets by gunfire. The submarine was well stocked with three-inch shells. The Coxswain, Petty Officer Haines, had also managed to borrow a gunlayer, Leading Seaman Dodds, and a seaman gunner, Seaman McIntyre, from the depot ship. Dodds seemed to be competent and had fitted in well with the other sailors, Richard thought, but he had not taken a liking to McIntyre.
Richard and Dodds had agreed to stow the shells, or ‘bricks’ as they were known by the ship’s company, beneath the fore-hatch. Speed would be essential in any form of gun action. The gun had to be brought into action to disable the enemy before the target could retaliate. To this end, they had rehearsed that the layer would exit the submarine though the conning tower immediately as the tower broached the surface and the fore-hatch then opened when full buoyancy was achieved. The gun barrel would be flooded with water and so one round would be stored in the barrel on diving, to be fired immediately as a clearing round. By this time, fresh ammunition would be passed through the hatch by a designated ammunition party. Richard had also instructed the signalman to order dozens of ensigns for the bridge staff. Unusually, E9 would dive with the staff rigged and the ensign flying. The ensign would become shredded over time, but it would save any delay in showing colours before opening fire.
O’Connell had the watch on the bridge and looking up through the conning tower, Richard could see a clear blue sky above. It seemed a pity to wage war on a day such as this.
‘Excuse me, my lord. Where d’ye want this stowing, then?’
Richard swung round, seething. McIntyre was being insolent and he could see Steele blushing. ‘Coxswain,’ he called, ‘I’ll see that man at my table.’
‘But whit fer, sir?’ McIntyre remonstrated.
‘You know very well, McIntyre. Insubordination. You will address all officers with respect.’
‘But I wisna bein’ insubordinate, sir. I wis addressin’ the First Lootenant by ’is praper title.’
‘Sir, if I might explain,’ Steele cut in. ‘I need to speak to you privately.’
The two officers retired to the relative privacy of the wardroom and Richard drew the curtain behind them.
‘Very well, First Lieutenant. Explain.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I should have told you. I only found out just before this patrol. By virtue of my grandfather passing away recently, I have inherited the title of Viscount. Technically, McIntyre was correct in the way he addressed me.’
Richard felt his blood rise and he replied quietly, but with venom. ‘Don’t presume to lecture me on etiquette, Steele. We’ll discuss this on the bridge.’
He swiftly clambered up the conning tower ladder, followed by Steele.
‘I have the submarine, Officer of the Watch,’ he addressed O’Connell. ‘Go below with the lookouts until I call you back. I want a private word with the First Lieutenant.’
O’Connell stared at him incredulously and then at Steele, but Steele cocked his head sideways and O’Connell quickly cleared the bridge.
Richard swept the horizon once with his glasses and then turned to Steele in a fury.
‘And why was I the last to hear of your elevation to the peerage, my lord? Or was it beneath you to confide in me?’
‘Heaven forfend, sir. I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t think it of anybody’s business but my own. I am mightily sorry to have embarrassed you, sir.’
‘Let’s get this straight, Steele, Viscount Storrs or however else you are known. This is my submarine and anything and everything is my business. Do you understand?’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Understand this, too. I’ve had enough of your condescending ways. Your father may now be an earl. Your late grandfather may well have been an admiral. You may well speak your fancy language and look down your nose at me, but I’m the Captain and just because you’ve been on board half a dogwatch doesn’t mean you will be superseding me anytime soon. You remain my subordinate, even if you are indeed given a dukedom. Is that clear?’
‘Indubitably, sir. I heartily apologise for any offence I may have offered, sir. Believe me when I say that it pains me to mortification that you should think so low of me. I only …’
‘Spare me your dandy speeches, Steele. Get off my bridge. I’m sick of the sight of you.’ He turned his back on Steele and opened the cover to the voice pipe. ‘Control room, Captain. The First Lieutenant is coming below. Send up the Navigator and lookouts once he’s clear of the conning tower.’
Two minutes later, the control room called, ‘Captain, sir. Permission for the Coxswain to come to the bridge? He wants to speak to you.’
‘Negative. Tell him I will see him when I come below.’
‘He says it’s urgent, sir.’
Richard sighed and tried to calm his temper. ‘Very well then,’ he responded resignedly.
Coxswain Haines was slightly built, short, bearded and hailed originally from Barnstaple. Unusually, in Richard’s opinion, he was quietly spoken and mildly mannered for his position. By the usual naval standards, one might have thought he lacked what was known as ‘power of command’, but Haines seemed to achieve good results quietly and unobtrusively. He was also, unusually experienced. It was compulsory in submarines for ratings to return
to the surface fleet after five years and then to re-volunteer for further service in submarines. This was one of the means employed to maintain standards and build an elite body of men for service in the submarine fleet. Haines was on his third stint in submarines.
‘Yes, Coxswain. What’s up?’
‘Begging yer pardon, sir, it’s you what’s up. It ain’t right the way yer treating the First Lieutenant.’
Richard was shocked. ‘I beg your pardon, ’swain. This is sheer impudence. Are you looking to lose your rate?’
‘Threaten me all ye like, sir. Makes no difference. If I don’t speak my mind, then I have no business bein’ a cox’n anyway. I ’eard ye ballin’ out the Jimmy, tellin’ ’im all that goes on this boat be yer business.’
‘You listened in to my private conversation, Coxswain?’
‘Weren’t that private, sir, the way you were ballin’ and yellin’. I just stood at the bottom of the hatch and could ’ear ye, even above the roar of the intakes. Nobody else could ’ear, though, sir.’
For a moment Richard was too stunned by the Coxswain’s directness to reply.
‘As far as I be concerned, sir, what goes on ’tween decks is rightly my business as Cox’n. I be responsible for discipline and morale and the lads are worried yer turnin’ into some kind of martinet, sir.’
‘Are they now?’ Richard was in two minds how to respond next. His natural instinct was to dismiss Haines from the bridge and have a charge of insubordination brought against him, too, on return from patrol. However, Haines was widely respected throughout the submarine service and common sense suggested to him that he should swallow his pride and hear out his coxswain.
‘I can tell you plan on speaking your mind, Coxswain. Go on then. Have your say and be on your way.’
‘Aye, right enough. Thank ’ee, sir. You’ve a good ’n’ there, sir, in the Jimmy. I’ve been in boats nigh on twelve years now. Started on the Holland. I’ve seen a few officers in my time. He may be a toff and don’t get on with the men as well as Paddy, but the lads have come to like and respect him, sir. Yer running ’im too hard. You leave ’im be and mark my words ’e’ll turn out a first class submarine officer. An’ if he says he didn’t tell nobody he was a Viscount, then you should believe ’im, sir.’
‘Oh, really? So just how did McIntyre find out then ’swain?’
‘Some letter came addressed to him with the title, sir. You know boats, sir. As soon as one of the plate-lifters inboard saw it in his mail rack, then the whole world gets to know.’
‘Except me it seems. So that’s why some call him the Duke then.’
‘Reckon’s yer right there, sir, but the men don’t mean no ’arm by it. You could call it affection. It’s the same with the Navigator. No man has the right to call him ‘Paddy’ to his face, but we all does, behind his back.’
‘I begin to wonder what they call me behind my back, Coxswain.’
‘Arr, not my business to say, sir. But don’t you fret about it. Yer respected well enough. Just ye keep killin’ those Huns and Turks and the men’ll follow you to Hades itself.’
‘Thank you,’ swain, for your frankness. I will, of course, apologise to the First Lieutenant. Perhaps I should in future consult with my ship’s company before submitting the confidential reports on my officers, ’swain.’
‘Mebbez ye should. We’re the poor buggers as ’ave t’ follow yer orders, I reckons. But thanks for the chat, sir. I’m glad we un’erstan’ each other better, now. But hang on a minute! Look yonder, to starboard, sir.’
Richard swivelled round in response to Haines’s urgent appeal to look in the direction of his coxswain’s outstretched hand. He flipped open the lid to the voice pipe and ordered the submarine to Diving Stations. Haines had spotted smoke and the superstructure of a small steamer was already visible.
Chapter 24
June 1915
Eleven days into her patrol and E9 was on the surface, nestled in the shelter of Marmara Island. During his air reconnaissance Richard had marked the spot as being a relatively safe place to rest the ship’s company, as it was off the main shipping routes and the surrounding islands masked them from watchers on the Asian shore. He was now sitting at the chart table updating his diary and writing up his patrol report. So far they had sunk a steamer by torpedo and another by gunfire. They had also sunk a sailing vessel with explosive charges. Unfortunately, they had missed out on sinking a gunboat and destroyer through the torpedoes, or ‘mouldies’ as the crew named them, failing to run properly. He had, therefore, decided that it would be good for morale to break up the usually tense patrol routine by allowing the hands to bathe with a ‘make and mend’.
Today the sea was covered by a light mist, reducing visibility and the prospect of sighting a target, so it seemed a perfect opportunity to rest the crew whilst waiting for the mist to burn off. The normally languid Steele had surprised them all by turning out to be a fitness fanatic and was using the break to exercise the men in Swedish Drill, before allowing them to mess about in the water. He had even built them a raft out of old timbers and oil drums salvaged from a dhow they had destroyed by fire a few days earlier. Richard could hear the splashing and laughter of the men diving from the casing or raft and swimming in the warm water. Rather ingeniously, Steele had constructed a dummy periscope on the raft so that it could act as a decoy if they were surprised by enemy aircraft. Richard was beginning to consider himself very lucky to have such an able officer as his second-in-command and regretted his intemperate words to him a week or so earlier.
He rubbed his smoothly shaven jaw with pleasure. Owing to the shortage of fresh water, it was not usual for submariners to shave on patrol. Now the fresh-water inland sea provided an ample supply, but even so, most of the ship’s company were not bothering. Some were competing to see who could grow the best beard before the reassertion of normal discipline at the end of the patrol. Others were experimenting with leaving the upper lip unshaved to experience the novelty, for a sailor, of a moustache. Richard was content to allow the men their fun, but he had insisted on the men bathing whenever the opportunity had arisen, such as today. The atmosphere of a submarine was fetid enough without the added odours of unwashed bodies in close proximity. His thoughts were interrupted by O’Connell, already sporting the makings of a fine red beard.
‘Begging your pardon, sir. The First Lieutenant has asked me to tell you that the forward hatch is now shut and clipped and the casing is clear of swimmers. He requests you join him on the bridge as he wants you to see something.’
Richard sprang from his camp chair, grabbed his binoculars and, donning his reefer jacket, headed up the conning tower ladder to the bridge. Reaching the top of the ladder, he noted Steele and the lookout were gazing intently through binoculars towards the north-west.
‘What’s up, Number One?’
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I think there’s a sail out there, just to the left of the headland, crossing right to left, perhaps eight or ten thousand yards away. It’s difficult to see in the mist.’
Richard had a look for himself. He could appreciate Steele’s difficulty. Normally the coast was visible from here, ten miles distant, but today the mist still obscured the coast and moreover played tricks with the eyes. After two frustrated minutes, his patience was rewarded when the dancing vapours on the sea surface opened momentarily for him to see a definite shape emerge. It was a large twin-masted ketch under full sail in the light winds. Just as the curtains of cloud closed on the view once more, he noted smoke rising from the stern of the vessel. He had no doubt that the ketch was large enough to be carrying cargo and, hence, potentially a viable target.
‘You’re right. Well done. Diving Stations, First Lieutenant. We’ll run in dived to avoid alerting her until it’s too late.’
Richard skilfully manoeuvred E9 to within half a mile of the ketch’s stern before returning to periscope depth to observe her. She was on a port tack in the light north-easterly wind and he judged he
r speed to be only about a knot. On his next look he found himself 300 yards on the port quarter. Painted on the transom of her light-blue painted hull was the name Alondra. Her superstructure was manufactured from teak or mahogany and Richard admired her handsome lines. Unlike many of the Turkish sailing vessels E9 had come across so far, this one was plainly well maintained. On the poop deck he observed the source of the smoke. The five crew members were seated around a brazier on which they appeared to be cooking their lunch. He noted that the boat was well down in the water and that meant she was probably carrying cargo. Judging by the course, she was bound for Gallipoli. She was worth boarding.
‘Surface,’ he ordered and lowered the periscope.
A few minutes later, the feasting Turks were disturbed from their meal by the scene astern. The water appeared to be boiling, a phenomenon caused by air being forced into the main ballast tanks of E9 to expel fountains of water. As the Turks gazed intently at the disturbance, their interest suddenly turned to alarm as a huge, black sea creature burst through the bubbling waters. Watching them through the ports of the conning tower, Richard chuckled to himself as the look of fear on their faces turned to relief once they recognised the monster as man-made, and then alarm once again as they realised the implications. Within seconds, he unclipped and opened the upper hatch and climbed up to the bridge. He was followed by the two lookouts, both carrying rifles.
By now the Turkish crew were alive with activity, heaving on the sheets to try to coax out a little more speed and the helmsman had altered course to starboard. A little man on the poop deck, wearing a red fez, a short red jacket and white baggy trousers, was gesticulating and shouting wildly. Richard hailed him with the megaphone and called for him to heave to as he positioned the submarine fifty yards off the port beam to steal the ketch’s wind. His hail was answered by more shouting, gesticulation and a further sharp alteration of course to starboard. Another change of course of this nature would result in the boat gybing, Richard thought. It was time to bring about some co-operation. He turned to the two lookouts.
