KEEPING THE SEAS. UNTIRING WORK OF THE “AUXILIARIES.” (By Alfred Noyes.)

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Date: 01 September 1916.

Transcript:
KEEPING THE SEAS. UNTIRING WORK OF THE “AUXILIARIES.” (By Alfred Noyes.).

The third of five articles which have been written by Mr. Alfred Noyes, who has been granted special facilities by the Admiralty authorities, is given below. The fourth article will appear on Monday, September 4, and the fifth, and last, on Monday, September 11.

PART III.

The crews of the “auxiliaries’’ must indeed be seamen, for they must keep the seas in all weathers, in craft that, despite their sturdiness, move in rough weather like buck-jumping ponies. Let the great ships that go sailing by on Christmas Day remember the Christmas of the Van Stirum. This yarn also was told to me, in the waters where it happened, while the trawlers were shooting their deadly nets.

On Christmas Day, 1915, the Van Stirum, a steamer of 1,990 tons net, on a voyage from Rouen to Liverpool, was nearing home. She was in ballast, unarmed, and carried a crew of 46 officers and men.

A heavy south-west swell was running, but the weather was fine, and it was possible to see for a distance of at least eight miles. At about 1.35 p.m., without any warning, the Van Stirum was attacked by two German submarines. They were not observed until they had approached to within half-a-mile of the vessel. This may be due the fact that they were painted a curious colour —black and white horizontal stripes.

One submarine then opened fire. Three shots were fired in quick succession, but they all fell short. The Van Stirum immediately altered course and, at the same time, sent out a distress call —“Van Stirum chased by two submarines, position critical, firing shots and gaining us.” After the first attack the engine-room telegraphs were rung up to “full speed.” The vessel increased from 13 to 15 knots, and very slowly drew ahead of her adversaries, who had stopped. The race, a very uneven one, was kept up for three-quarters of an hour, when the submarines which later developed a speed on the surface of about 18 knots, again opened fire. One shell struck the ship on the starboard quarter, and another brought down the wireless aerials. The latter, a lucky shot, cut the vessel entirely off from the outside world.

Realising his helplessness, unable to observe any friendly patrol vessel, and knowing quite well that a few more shots would effectually stop his vessel, the master decided to abandon his ship. At 2.30 p.m. preparations were made to leave. At 2.35 p.m. the vessel was stopped. At this time one submarine was lying right under the port quarter.

Blown to Pieces.

The crew left in the port and starboard lifeboats, two of the men remaining on board to lower away. Whilst they were endeavouring to get the two men off, the submarine fired a torpedo, which passed under the partly lowered boat and struck the ship abreast of the engine-room. One man was blown to pieces by the force of the explosion (W. A. Belanger, a boatswain who hailed from Michigan, U.S.A,) and another man was also killed and fell into the water. There was no excuse for this cowardly act. There was not a ship in sight and the enemy with perfect safety, could have allowed the crew a few more minutes’ grace to abandon their vessel. The submarine was only 200 yards away when the torpedo was fired, and the impact was tremendous. There was no doubt as to the nature of the weapon which caused this explosion, as the wake of the torpedo was seen by the crew.

During this unprovoked attack on an unarmed ship, in which one of the two men killed was a neutral citizen, the second submarine was keeping good look-out for the British patrols.

It must be realised that the Van Stirum was at the time of the attack in large open waters, and, although no patrol vessel was in sight yet, it was not long after the wireless message that a patrol vessel, also fitted with wireless, hove in sight steaming at her utmost speed, and followed by her consorts. Although the Van Stirum never received the answering call to her S.O.S. (her aerials having been shot away) yet a reply “Coming full speed to your assistance” was sent to her by the patrols cruising in the vicinity.

Observing the approach of the British patrols, and the torpedo having failed to sink the Van Stirum, one submarine hastily returned and fired five shells into her.

The noise of the explosions and the rapid interchange of wireless communication between the patrols of trawlers and other craft also brought three British destroyers on the scene, and they were observed coming down at high speed, but by this time both submarines had submerged and bolted.

A Belgian fishing trawler picked up the survivors shortly after they had been set adrift. She had heard the firing and, although fishing at the time with her trawl down, she immediately hauled it in. and hoisting the Belgian colours proceeded with the utmost dispatch towards the sound of the firing. The Belgian skipper did not heed the possibility that he too in turn might be destroyed (for he was entirely unarmed), but was prompted by the desire to save life. The crew were all transferred to his vessel and brought into port.

Meanwhile the patrols continued to search the neighbourhood for the enemy, and although unsuccessful in discovering and destroying them they nevertheless effectually stopped further depredations and thereby rendered invaluable service to the crowd of shipping which continually passes up and down these main routes.

A December Gale.

The approach of the patrols had undoubtedly prevented the enemy from finishing off their prey; for 18 hours afterwards the Van Stirum, still afloat, was observed by a patrol vessel with a heavy list to starboard. Her boats’ falls were hanging outboard, all boats had been washed away, and the vessel was waterlogged. It seemed impossible that she could have lived in the weather then prevailing, which had grown suddenly worse, and developed into gale during the night. This bad weather continued for days afterwards, and reached its height on December 27th, when the vessels on patrol suffered very severe damage.

The force of this gale can be imagined when it is stated that over 60 patrol vessels suffered damage and two were lost with all hands. For ever on ceaseless watch, ready all times to render protection to peaceful merchantmen sailing the high seas, and to attack the enemy at sight, these small craft have kept the sea in calm and storm and shown their supreme value as a fighting unit of the British Navy. During this gale an incredible number of ships were lost, and the loss of life was appalling. Vessels were cast high and dry on the shore a considerable distance inland. Others were hurled and smashed on the rocks.

The story of the attempt to save the Van Stirum and bring her into port is characteristic of the pluck, pertinacity and endurance of the auxiliary crews. On the morning of December 26th one of the patrol vessels which had discovered the Van Stirum lowered a boat with four hands, in order to pass a hawser on board and tow her into port. The undertaking, was fraught with the greatest danger. Enormous seas were breaking over the vessel, and she was lurching heavily. Nothing daunted, these four men pulled to the derelict and clambered on board.

No sooner had the last man hauled himself up on one of the swinging boats’ falls than their little boat was smashed to pieces against the ship’s side and immediately sank. A wild picture met their gaze when they were able to look round. The vessel had been torpedoed abreast of the engineroom. The engines had been blown by the force of the explosion to the starboard side of the vessel. Engine-room and stokeholds were full of water. The chart office on the bridge was then explored. Here everything was found intact—a strange contrast with the desolation outside. There was a chart on the table marked off a position at which the vessel should have arrived at noon on the previous day. A still stranger sight met them on entering the saloon. The tables had all been laid for the Christmas dinner.

The little party of four then set to work in earnest and successfully passed a 5-inch hawser from the port bow to the attendant trawler; but as the derelict’s steering gear had been jammed she became uncontrollable.

Another trawler then closed on the derelict and successfully managed take a wire and keep her in position while the first trawler towed. Shortly after the wire parted, and another effort—again successful —was made to take a rope from the port quarter. This manoeuvre was carried out with great skill, as the trawler had to pass very close to receive her rope. Another trawler closed in, and took second rope from forward, and towing was again recommenced with one vessel steering. The day wore on. Wires and ropes frequently parted; but each time the difficulty was overcome by sheer persistency, and each time new lines were passed to and fro. The afternoon faded and darkness began to shroud the waters. It was inky night, and the wind freshened and continued to blow with ever-increasing violence. The skies seemed to open. Rainstorms swept the seething waters, and lines of foam, discovered by the flickering lights of the patrol vessels as the waves topped their bulwarks, threatened to engulf both the derelict and those trying to save her.

The Gallant Four.

They made little headway, but steadily plugged on towards a haven where they hoped to be able to beach their prize.
The day dawned, revealing the derelict in very serious straits. The situation was practically hopeless. The seas ran mountains high, and it looked as if she would sink at any minute.
At 6.30 a.m. on December 27th the derelict broke adrift from the last wire that held her. It was now impossible to communicate. Seas broke over her from end to end. She began to lurch very heavily, and gave one the impression that her last moments had come. Meanwhile, the gallant little four remained at their posts on board. The trawler Leader warned all vessels to clear, and then steamed right up alongside. In doing she struck her quarter against the counter of the derelict, and started rivets and plates. The Lieutenant in charge had decided that whatever happened he would save the four men who were on board. After clearing his vessel he again closed. His remaining boat was then launched, and a heaving line thrown on board the sinking ship. No sooner had the boat been hauled alongside than the Van Stirum suddenly rolled over to starboard and went down by the head, her stem struck the bottom, and she remained for fully a minute with her stern in the air before falling over and disappearing. The four men managed to slide down the ship’s side just in time, cut the boat adrift, and push clear. In doing so, the boat was nearly swamped. The trawler again closed, and just managed to rescue them: but the boat was swept away from her side and lost.

Mention has already been made of the memorable gale of the 27th December, yet the patrol vessels concerned remained on their beat, and only returned to port to victual and repair at the authorised hour on the 29th December, and were off to sea again two days later.

It is upon such men —not upon modern machinery—that sea-power, in the last resort, depends; and the sea-power of the Island Empire rests secure in her possession of a vast sea going brood, which to-day, as in the days of the Armada, occupies its business, from childhood to old age, in great waters.

Nor have they forgotten to see the ancient works and wonders in the deep. Many of them drink and curse; but more of them are quiet, Godfearing men, with a Bible in their kits, who have fist of iron for the face of the wicked. And not one of them is even remotely like the lurid creatures of modern literature. Battle transfigures them.

Occasionally, in any stir that breaks the monotony of their days and nights—one catches glimpse of what that transfiguration must be. As our patrol boat stole into port at dusk we passed a “mystery ship” making ready to sail. There were men on her deck who walked and looked like panthers. There was an indescribable smouldering in their eyes, a deep fire, which may be seen even in the pictures of the boy Jack Cornwell, the young hero of the Jutland battle. In repose it has touch of sulkiness; but it is the sulkiness of thunder and deep waters; and its secret abides with those who have looked, from birth, into the eyes of their inscrutable mother, the sea.

But the aspect of the whole matter which it seems most desirable to emphasise is just that aspect which has been overlooked by neutrals on almost every side of this world-war. When no immediate sensational food has been provided for the hunger of the daily Press, it might be supposed that rational folk would at least consider two possibilities.

(a) That operations on a great scale, together with the creation of trained hosts and elaborate equipment, require a vast amount of quiet work in order to secure success. Anyone, of course, even the Crown Prince, can make a holocaust. (b) That it is sometimes necessary to conceal, with the greatest care, every single fact that might help to answer so easy a question as “What is England doing?” or “When is England going to wake up?”

Organising Work.

Yet, if there be any capable of imagining the Mastodon, from the one or two dry bones here given, it must occur to them that the work of organising and directing the operations of even the “Auxiliary fleet” is a gigantic one, and that this is nevertheless a very small part indeed in relation to the work of the fleet itself.

At each auxiliary base there are offices, or “Strafe Houses,” manned by officers of the Royal Navy, who control and direct, and are in constant touch with all that is happening in all our seas. They have mapped out all our waters, on which the movements of all reported submarines are recorded and followed up. More than a little disconcerting it would be to our enemies to look at one of these great maps, whereon not only the spots at which submarines have been sighted are neatly marked, but also the exact courses which they have taken, with all their wanderings, for hundreds of miles, traced in thin red lines, till the moment when the signal is given by telephone and wireless for the guns and nets to close in.

It not always mere office-work in these “Strafe Houses” : for one of them had been ventilated by a well-aimed shell from a German battleship in a hurry. The only result, however, was the pleasure taken by the occupants in the fact that the Royal Standard which covered one of the perforated walls had been turned into a shot-rent trophy. But sensationalism is of little account in the “Strafe House”; and the headline is reduced there to the very smallest type. While I was listening to terse tales of the recent bombardment, there was a dull explosion, far out at sea. The telephone immediately began to make inquiries, and, a little later, the news came that one of our trawlers had been lost with all hands. Faces were grave; but there were only three or four remarks on the subject, in the “Strafe House.” The first was, “Traffic must be held up.” The second was, “Her skipper was a good chap.” The third was, “She must be replaced by trawler number and so; not the Stormy Petrel, she had a long spell last week.”

And those three remarks sum up the sailors’ attitude towards this warfare. Duty, sober realisation of the hard facts, and care for the men. From first to last, despite the ironical name of the office, I encountered none of that mere “sporting desire” to kill Germans with which our seamen have been credited. From first to last, through all ranks, they are simply doing their duty.

There is regret, sometimes, when they learn that a submarine has been destroyed and they are unable to get “the scalp” in the form of evidence that will be accepted by the Admiralty. But the symbol of the whole work that they are doing was provided by the beautifully polished brass periscope of a German submarine which I saw in the comfortable room of the Senior Naval Officer. It has been turned into flower-stand, and carried a crown of English roses. Beauty and civilisation sometimes do get forward, even on the top of a German periscope.

[Copyright, 1916, by Alfred Noyes.]

Source: "KEEPING THE SEAS. UNTIRING WORK OF THE “AUXILIARIES.” (By Alfred Noyes.) " Sheffield Daily Telegraph. 01 September. 1916. 4.

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