It was on February 17, 1917, that Commander Gordon Campbell, still in command of Farnborough, now named Q 5, again sank a submarine, but in circumstances which, hid from publication at the time, sent a thrill through the British Navy and especially among those who had the good fortune to be serving in that area. The scene was again off the south-west Irish coast, and the enemy at the beginning of the month had commenced the unrestricted warfare portion of their submarine campaign. The Germans, as we have since learned, possessed at this date ninety-five submarines in addition to eight in the Baltic and thirty-one in the Mediterranean. The orders to their submarine captains were very drastic and left no uncertainty, and one of these commanding officers informed one of my friends after the war that unless they were successful in sinking plenty of shipping they soon were removed from their command.

Every Allied merchant ship was to be attacked without delay. ‘This form of warfare is to force England to make peace and thereby to decide the whole war. Energetic action is required, but above all rapidity of action.’ ‘Our object is to cut England off from traffic by sea, and not to achieve occasional results at far-distant points. As far as possible, therefore, stations must be taken up near the English coast, where routes converge and where divergence becomes impossible.’ If ever there was a chance of attacking by night, this was to be done. When a ship had been abandoned by her crew the submarine was to sink her by gunfire, and approach the ship from aft. Owing to the activity of the British Q-ships, every ship, even sailing vessels, should be suspected, and both captain and engineer of merchant ships were to be taken prisoners.

Of the above numbers of submarines available this month not less than twenty-five and not more than forty-four could actually be at work on any given date, for the reasons given in another chapter. The first stages of this unrestricted warfare were most marked, for whereas the number of merchant ships sunk by submarines in all waters during December and January had been respectively thirty-six and thirty-five, in February the total suddenly rose to eighty-six—these sinkings occurring in the western approaches, especially off the south coast of Ireland. On February 14 the sailing ship Eudora (1,991 tons) had been sunk 30 miles S.S.W. of the Fastnet, and three days later the S.S. Iolo 40 miles S. by W. of the Fastnet, so orders from Germany were being carried out to the letter. The seventeenth of February was the Saturday before Ash Wednesday, and Captain Campbell had taken Farnborough into the locality just mentioned, the exact position being Lat. 51.34 N., Long. 11.23 W. It was a quarter to ten in the forenoon and the steamer was steering an easterly course at 7 knots, when a torpedo was seen approaching. And then occurred a supreme instance of Q-ship bravery. In his Order Book Captain Campbell had laid it down that ‘Should the Officer of the Watch see a torpedo coming, he is to increase or decrease speed as necessary to ensure it hitting.’ This order was read and signed by all his officers, so that there could be no misunderstanding. The intention was deliberate, premeditated self-immolation for the greater object of fooling the submarine and then sinking him. The Q-ship’s company had all been warned that the intention would be thus, and every man was given an opportunity to leave the ship before sailing. Not one man left. Therefore to-day, when a long way off the torpedo was seen approaching, it could easily have been avoided, but instead, the helm was put hard aport only at the last minute, and only so that it should strike the ship elsewhere than in the engine-room. On came the steel fish and struck the ship abreast of No. 3 hold, wounding an Engineer Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.R., causing a terrific explosion, and making a huge hole in the ship’s side.

In the meantime ‘Action’ had been sounded and all hands went to their stations, the ship being abandoned by every available man with the exception of those required on board. Thus two lifeboats and one dinghy full of men were sent to row about, and the fourth boat was partially lowered. Captain Campbell was lying concealed at one end of the bridge, watching and waiting in his great isolation. Up through the voice-pipe came the chief engineer’s report that the engine-room was filling: back came the captain’s orders that he was to hang on as long as possible and then hide. This was done. In the meantime Farnborough’s captain saw the submarine appear on the starboard quarter a couple of hundred yards away, submerged, but cautiously making a thorough scrutiny of the ship through his periscope. Then the German—U 83 was her name—came past the ship on the starboard side only 13 yards away and about 5 yards from the boats. She was so close, in fact, that Captain Campbell, looking down, could see the whole shape of the submarine below the water quite distinctly.

Here was the big crisis. Was this the psychological moment? Was this the right time to make the final gamble? For Captain Campbell the temptation to open fire was almost unbearable, yet the opportunity was not yet: he must wait a little longer and live minutes which were like days. The submarine passed along, then close round Farnborough’s bows, finally breaking surface about 300 yards on the port bow. It was now five minutes past ten and U 83 motoring along the surface came past the port side, continuing the scrutiny with less caution born of satisfaction. The concealed figure on Farnborough’s bridge was waiting only until all his guns would bear, and as soon as the enemy thus bore came the great onslaught. It was point-blank range, and the 6-pounder opened the battle, whose first shot hit the conning-tower and beheaded the German captain.

The surprise had been instant and effective, for the submarine never recovered from the shock, but remained on the surface whilst Farnborough’s guns shattered the hull to pieces, the conning-tower being continually hit, and some of the shells going clean through. Over forty rounds had thus been fired, to say nothing of the Maxim gun. U 83 was beaten, finished, smashed: and she finally sank with her conning-tower open and her crew pouring out. About eight of her crew were seen in the water, and one of Farnborough’s lifeboats went to their assistance and was in time to pick up one officer and one man, and then rowed back to the ship through sea thick with oil and blood and bubbles. U 83 was satisfactorily disposed of, but what about the decoy ship herself? It was now time to inspect her, and she was clearly in a stricken state. The engine-room and boiler-rooms and both Nos. 3 and 4 after holds were all filling rapidly, and she was sinking by the stern: the end could not be far away. Captain Campbell therefore sent a wireless signal for assistance and placed nearly all his hands in the boats, keeping only a few men on board, and destroying all confidential books and charts. His signal was picked up, and before noon a British destroyer arrived, and as by this time Farnborough was in a critical condition most of the crew were transferred to her.5 Presently H.M. sloop Buttercup steamed up, and as there seemed a chance of saving the ship Captain Campbell with twelve officers and men then went back on board his ship. She seemed now to have settled to a definite position, and the water, though rising, was gaining but slowly.

At length Buttercup got her in tow, but there is nothing so hard to steer as a sinking ship, and the tow parted. At 5 p.m. the sloop again got her in tow, but it was a disappointing business with the water steadily gaining below and the Atlantic swell breaking over the after deck, and thus the ships went on through the night. At 2 a.m. on the Sunday Farnborough suddenly took an alarming list and the water gained rapidly, so the crew had to be ordered into the boats once again. The sloop Laburnum, which had also arrived, was ordered to close her an hour and a half later, but just as Captain Campbell was walking aft off went one of the depth charges with such an explosion that Buttercup, thinking it was a submarine’s torpedo, slipped her tow. After remaining aboard Laburnum until daylight, Captain Campbell went back to his ship, and then Laburnum got her in tow. A course had been set for Bantry Bay, and as she approached she was an amazing spectacle, listing over to the extent of twenty degrees and her stern nearly 8 feet under water. However, the armed trawler Luneda and the tug Flying Sportsman had been sent out to her, and by their assistance she was brought up the fjord and beached at Mill Cove, Berehaven, by half-past nine that Sunday night. Next morning, and for long after, this very ordinary-looking steamer lay among a number of other wounded ships, a strange and impressive sight. Farnborough had fought both submarine and adversity, and had won both times: still, had it not been for sound seamanship and her holds being packed with timber she would never have been saved.

There was much work to be done and there were too few salvage experts and men to cope with the results of the submarines’ attacks: so for the present Farnborough had to remain idle. Months later she was repaired temporarily, refloated, taken away from Berehaven and properly reconditioned, but she had ended her days as a warship. She has now gone back to the Merchant Service as a cargo carrier, and if you ever go aboard her you will find a suitable inscription commemorating her truly wonderful career. As for Commander Campbell, as soon as he had got his ship safely into Berehaven he was summoned to see his Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly. After that he was received by the King, who conferred on him the highest of all awards for heroes. No details appeared in the Press; only this announcement from the London Gazette:

‘The King has been graciously pleased to approve of the grant of the Victoria Cross to Commander Gordon Campbell, D.S.O., R.N., in recognition of his conspicuous gallantry, consummate coolness and skill in command of one of His Majesty’s ships in action.’

Press and public were greatly puzzled, but secrecy was at this time essential. ‘This,’ commented a well-known London daily, ‘is probably the first time since the institution of the V.C. that the bestowal of this coveted honour has been announced without details of the deed for which it was awarded.’ The popular press named him ‘the Mystery V.C.,’ and the usual crop of rumours and fantastic stories went round. And while these were being told the gallant commander was busy fitting out another Q-ship in which to go forth and make his greatest of all achievements.

This ship was the S.S. Vittoria, a collier of 2,817 gross tons. She was selected whilst lying at Cardiff, whence she was sent to Devonport to be fitted out as a decoy. Commander Campbell superintended her alteration, and she began her special service on March 28, 1917. She was armed with one 4-inch, four 12-pounders, two Maxim guns, and a couple of 14-inch torpedo tubes. She was a slow creature, 7½ knots being her speed, but she looked the part she was intended to play. When Commander Campbell took over the command he was accompanied by his gallant crew from Farnborough. She had been fitted with wireless, and down in her holds the useful timber had been stowed. On leaving Devonport she changed her name to Pargust, but she was variously known also as the Snail, Friswell, and Pangloss at later dates.

She again came under the orders of Sir Lewis Bayly at Queenstown, and then, being in all respects ready to fight another submarine, Pargust went cruising. She had not long to wait, and on June 7 we find her out in the Atlantic again, not very far from the scene of her last encounter. The month of April had been a terrible one for British shipping; no fewer than 155 of our merchant craft had been sunk by submarines, representing a loss of over half a million of tonnage. In May these figures had dropped slightly, but in June they were up again, though in no month of the war did our losses ever reach the peak of April again. Nor was it only British ships that so suffered, and I recollect the U.S.S. Cushing two days previously bringing into Bantry Bay thirteen survivors, including three wounded, from an Italian barque. At this time, too, the enemy submarines were laying a number of dangerous minefields off this part of the world, and as one patrolled along the south-west Irish coast pieces of wreckage, a meat-safe or a seaman’s chest, would be seen floating from some victimized steamer.

On the morning, then, of the seventh, picture Pargust in Lat. 51.50 N., Long. 11.50 W., jogging along at her slow speed. At that time there was scarcely a steamer that was not armed with some sort of a gun; therefore, if a Q-ship did not display one aft, she would have looked suspicious. Pargust kept up appearances by having a dummy gun mounted aft with a man in uniform standing by. I well remember that day. There was a nasty sea running, and the atmosphere varied from the typical Irish damp mist to heavy rain. At 8 a.m. out of this thickness Pargust descried a torpedo, apparently fired at close range, racing towards her starboard beam. When about 100 yards off it jumped out of the water and struck the engine-room near the waterline, making a large tear in the ship’s side, filling the boiler-room, engine-room, and No. 5 hold, and blowing the starboard lifeboat into the air.

Captain Campbell then gave the order to abandon ship, and the panic party went away in three boats, and just as the last boat was pushing off a periscope was sighted 400 yards on the port side forward of the beam. It then turned and made for the ship, and submerged when close to the lifeboat’s stern, then came on the starboard quarter, turned towards the ship and, when 50 yards away, partially broke surface, heading on a course parallel, but opposite, to that of Pargust, the lifeboat meanwhile pulling away round the steamer’s stern. The submarine followed, and a man was seen on the conning-tower shouting directions. The lifeboat then rowed towards the ship, and this apparently annoyed the Hun, who now began semaphoring the boats; but at 8.36 a.m. the submarine was only 50 yards off, and was bearing one point before the beam, so all Pargust’s guns were able to bear nicely. Fire was therefore opened, the first shot from the 4-inch gun hitting the base of the conning-tower and removing the two periscopes. Nearly forty more shells followed, most of them being hits in the conning-tower, so that the submarine quickly listed to port, and several men came out of the hatch abaft the conning-tower. She was already obviously in a bad way, with her heavy list and her stern almost submerged, and oil squirting from her sides.

The Germans now came on deck, held up their hands, and waved; so Captain Campbell ordered ‘Cease Fire.’ Then a typically unsportsmanlike trick was played, for as soon as Pargust stopped firing the enemy began to make off at a fair speed. So there was nothing for it but to resume shelling her, and this was kept up until 8.40 a.m., when an explosion occurred in the forward part of the submarine. She sank for the last time, falling over on her side, and 3 feet of her sharp bow end up in the air, 300 yards off, was the last that was ever seen of her. So perished UC 29, and thus one more submarine was added to the score of this gallant captain and crew. One officer (a sub-lieutenant of Reserve) and an engine-room petty officer were picked up. The former had come on to the submarine’s deck with a couple of men to fire the 22-pounder, but owing to the heavy sea knocked up by the fresh southerly wind they had been all washed overboard before reaching the gun.

The captain of UC 29 had been killed by Pargust’s fire. This class of submarine carried besides her 22-pounder and machine-gun eighteen mines and three torpedoes. She had left BrunsbÜttel on May 25, calling at Heligoland, and the routine was usually first to lay the mines and then operate, sinking ships with gun or torpedo. As to her mines, it is quite possible that she laid the three mines I recollect sinking on June 12 in the approach to Valentia Harbour, Dingle Bay, and she may have laid three others off Brow Head, one of which I remember on June 4, for it was customary for these craft to lay their ‘eggs’ in threes. With regard to her three torpedoes we know that one had penetrated Pargust, another had sunk a sailing ship—probably the Italian barque already mentioned—and the third had been fired at a destroyer, but passed underneath.

As to Pargust, she fortunately did not sink, thanks to her cargo of timber. At 12.30 p.m. another of Admiral Bayly’s alert sloops, who always seemed to be at hand when wanted, arrived. This was H.M.S. Crocus, who took Pargust in tow. The sloop Zinnia and the United States destroyer Cushing arrived also, and escorted her to Queenstown, which she reached next afternoon. The prisoners had been already transferred to Zinnia, and in Pargust the only casualties had been one stoker petty officer killed and the engineer sub-lieutenant wounded. For Pargust’s splendid victory further honours were awarded. Captain Campbell, already the possessor of the V.C. and D.S.O., now received a bar to his D.S.O. To Lieutenant R. N. Stuart, D.S.O., R.N.R., was given the V.C., and Seaman W. Williams, R.N.R., also received this highest of all decorations. These two, one officer and one man, were selected by ballot to receive this distinction, but every officer and every man had earned it.

Before Pargust could be ready for sea again much would have to be done to her at Devonport, so Captain Campbell proceeded to look for a new ship, and this was found in the collier Dunraven. She was fitted out at Devonport under his supervision, just like her predecessor, and her crew turned over en bloc from Pargust. She was commissioned on July 28, and within a fortnight Captain Campbell, now already promoted to post-captain at an age which must certainly be a record, was engaged in the most heroic Q-ship fight of all the long series of duels only a few days after leaving Devonport.

Just before eleven on the forenoon of August 8 Dunraven was in the Bay of Biscay, about 130 miles west of Ushant, doing her 8 knots and disguised as a defensively armed British merchantman, for which reason she had a small gun aft. In order to conform further with merchant-ship practice of this time, she was keeping a zigzag course. On the horizon appeared a submarine, about two points forward of Dunraven’s starboard beam. The German was waiting, you see, in a likely position for catching homeward-bound steamers making for the western British ports, and on sighting this ‘tramp’ he must have felt pretty sure she was bringing home a cargo of commodities useful for winning the war. Pursuing the more cautious tactics of the time, the enemy, having apparently ascertained the ‘tramp’s’ speed and mean course, submerged, but at 11.43 she broke surface 5,000 yards off the starboard quarter and opened fire. In order to maintain the bluff, Captain Campbell replied with his defensive gun, made as much smoke as possible, reduced to 7 knots, and made an occasional zigzag in order to give the enemy a chance of closing. Dunraven was now steaming head to sea, and the enemy’s shots were falling over, but after about half an hour of this the submarine ceased firing, came on at full speed, and a quarter of an hour later turned broadside on, and reopened fire.

In the meantime the decoy was intentionally firing short, and sent wireless signals en clair so that the enemy could still further be deceived. Such messages as ‘Submarine chasing and shelling me,’ ‘Submarine overtaking me, help, come quickly ... am abandoning ship,’ were flashed forth just as were sent almost daily by stricken ships in those strenuous days. Dunraven’s next bluff was to pretend his engines had been hit; so Captain Campbell stopped his ship, which now made a cloud of steam. The next step was to ‘abandon ship,’ and the ‘tramp’ had enough way on to allow of her being turned broadside on and let the enemy see that the vessel was being abandoned. Then, to simulate real panic, one of the boats was let go by the foremost fall, an incident that somehow seems to happen in every disaster to steamers. Thus, so far, everything had been carried out just as a submarine would have expected a genuine ‘tramp’ to behave. Not a thing had been omitted which ought to have been seen by the enemy, who had already closed and continued his shelling. From now ensued a most trying time. To receive punishment with serene stoicism, to be hit and not reply, is the supreme test; but these officers and men were no novices in the Q-ship art, and none had had greater or more bitter experience. However, not all the tactics and devices could prevent the enemy’s shells hitting if the German insisted, and this had to be endured in order that at length the submarine might be tempted inside the desired range and bearing.

Thus it happened that one shell penetrated Dunraven’s poop, exploding a depth charge and blowing Lieutenant C. G. Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R., out of his control position. This was rather bad luck, and two more shells followed, the poop became on fire, dense clouds of black smoke issued forth, and the situation was perilous; for in the poop were the magazine and depth charges, and it was obvious that as the fire increased an explosion of some magnitude must soon occur. But the main consideration was to sink the submarine, and it mattered little if the Q-ship were lost; so Captain Campbell decided to wait until the submarine got in a suitable position. It was exactly two hours to the minute since the submarine had been first sighted when, just as he was passing close to Dunraven’s stern, a terrific explosion took place in the poop, caused probably by a couple of depth charges and some cordite. The result was that the 4-inch gun and the whole of its crew were blown up into the air, the gun vaulting the bridge and alighting on the well deck forward, while the crew came down in various places, one man falling into the water, and 4-inch projectiles being blown about the ship in the most unpleasant manner.

That this explosion should have happened at this moment was a misfortune of the greatest magnitude, for it spoilt the whole tactics. Captain Campbell was watching the enemy closely, and the latter was coming on so nicely that he had only to proceed a little further and Dunraven’s guns would have been bearing at a range of not more than 400 yards. As it was, the explosion gave the whole game away, for firstly it frightened the submarine so that he dived, secondly it set going the ‘open fire’ buzzers at the guns. Thus the time had come to attack. The only gun in the ship that would bear was the one on the after bridge, and this began to bark just as the White Ensign was hoisted. One shot was thought to have succeeded in hitting the conning-tower just as the enemy was submerging, but if he was damaged it was not seriously, and Captain Campbell realized that the next thing to expect was a torpedo. He therefore ordered the doctor to remove all the wounded, and hoses were turned on to the poop, which was now one mass of flames, the deck being red-hot. So gallant had been this well-disciplined crew that even when it was so hot that they had to lift the boxes of cordite from off the deck the men still had remained at their posts.6

The position now was this: a ship seriously on fire, the magazine still intact but likely to explode before long with terrible effects, a torpedo attack imminent, and the White Ensign showing that this was a ‘trap-ship’ after all. The submarine would certainly fight now like the expert duellist, and it would be a fight to the finish, undoubtedly. Realizing all this, and full well knowing what was inevitable, Captain Campbell made a decision which could have been made only by a man of consummate moral courage. To a man-of-war who had answered his call for assistance when the explosion occurred he now sent a wireless signal requesting him to keep away, as he was already preparing for the next phase, still concentrating as he was on sinking the submarine.7

It was now twenty minutes since that big explosion, and the expected torpedo arrived, striking Dunraven abaft the engine-room. The enemy was aware of two facts: he had seen the first ‘abandon ship’ party and this he now knew was mere bluff, and that there were others still remaining on board. In order, therefore, to deceive the German, Captain Campbell now sent away some more of his crew in boats and a raft. It would then look as if the last man had left the ship. From 1.40 to 2.30 p.m. followed a period of the utmost suspense, during which the periscope could be seen circling around scrutinizing the ship to make quite sure, whilst the fire on the poop was still burning fiercely, and boxes of cordite and 4-inch shells were going off every few minutes. To control yourself and your men under these circumstances and to continue thinking coolly of what the next move shall be, this, surely, is a very wonderful achievement: more than this could be asked of no captain.

In conveying to you this message of the War Cabinet, which expresses the high esteem with which the conduct of your officers and men is regarded by His Majesty’s Government, I wish to add on behalf of the Board of Admiralty, that they warmly endorse this commendation.

Will you please convey this message to all ranks and ratings under your command?

Fig. 16.—Letter of Appreciation from the First Lord of the Admiralty to Captain Gordon Campbell after the Historic Action fought by Q-Ship ‘Dunraven.’

At half-past two the submarine came to the surface directly astern (where Dunraven’s guns would not bear) and resumed shelling the steamer at short range, and used her Maxim gun on the men in the boats. This went on for twenty minutes, and then she dived once more. Captain Campbell next decided to use his torpedoes, so five minutes later one was fired which passed just ahead of the submarine’s periscope as the enemy was motoring 150 yards off on the port side; and seven minutes afterwards Dunraven fired a second torpedo which passed just astern of the periscope. The enemy had failed to see the first torpedo, but evidently he noticed the second. It was obvious that by now it was useless to continue the contest any further, for the submarine would go on torpedoing and shelling Dunraven until she sank: so Captain Campbell signalled for urgent assistance,8 and almost immediately the U.S.S. Noma arrived and fired at a periscope seen a few hundred yards astern of Dunraven. Then came the two British destroyers Attack and Christopher. Dunraven then recalled her boats and the fire was extinguished, but it was found that the poop had been completely gutted and that all depth charges and ammunition had been exploded. From Noma and Christopher doctors came over and assisted in tending the wounded, a couple of the most dangerously injured being taken on board Noma to be operated on and then landed at Brest.

At 6.45 p.m. Christopher began towing Dunraven, but this was no easy matter, for there was a nasty sea running, the damaged ship would not steer; her stern went down, the sea broke over it and worked its way forward. In this way the night passed, and at 10.15 the next morning Christopher was able to report that she was now only 60 miles west of Ushant and bringing Dunraven towards Plymouth at 4 knots. By six that evening the ship was in so bad a condition that she might sink any moment, so Captain Campbell transferred sixty of his crew to the trawler Foss. About 9 p.m. two tugs arrived, took over the towing, and carried on during the night until 1.30 a.m. of August 10. It was time then for the last handful of men to abandon her in all true earnestness, so the Christopher came alongside, in spite of the heavy sea running, and the last man was taken off. It was only just in time, for almost immediately she capsized, and was finally sunk by Christopher dropping a depth charge and shelling her as a dangerous derelict soon after 3 a.m. Thus the life of Dunraven as a man-of-war had been both brief and distinguished.

As to the officers and men, it is difficult to imagine greater and more persistent bravery under such adverse circumstances, and the King made the following awards: Captain Gordon Campbell, V.C., D.S.O., received a second bar to his D.S.O.; Lieutenant C. G. Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R., received a V.C., as also did Petty Officer E. Pitcher. To Assistant-Paymaster R. A. Nunn, D.S.C., R.N.R., was awarded a D.S.O. Three other officers received a D.S.C., whilst Lieutenant P. R. Hereford, D.S.O., D.S.C., and two engineer officers, all received a bar to their D.S.C.

Such is the story of Captain Campbell’s last and greatest Q-ship fight, for after this he was appointed to command a light cruiser at Queenstown. In these duels we reach the high-water mark of sea gallantry, and the incidents themselves are so impressive that no further words are necessary. Let us leave it at that.