The war record of our destroyers is unsurpassed. We know that to the Grand Fleet we owe, as to a vast and solid foundation, the unshaken fabric of our sea power, and that in the day of battle it has always proved itself incomparable. But we hardly, perhaps, realised that in our destroyer force we have a second Grand Fleet, equal to the other in spirit and seamanship, greater in numbers, and counting its days of battle not by twos or by twenties, but by the thousand. The work of the destroyers has been unceasing. Setting apart such service as their whirlwind attacks at Jutland, they have done perhaps nine-tenths of the hard work of the War, cruising and reconnoitring, convoying or rescuing our ships, and hunting the pirate submarine. The strain has been great, for they have been called upon incessantly to do the work of twice their number; they have answered the call, not with a dogged or defensive courage, but with unfailing readiness and dash. They have shown themselves the true successors of the frigates and ships that were the pride of our proudest days in the old time; their commanders are the right heirs of the Brookes and Blackwoods, Parkers and Pellews.

In considering the Anti-Submarine work of the destroyers, it must be remembered that hunting is not, generally speaking, their first object. They are out, not for sport, but for ‘business as usual.’ They have a large number of U-boats to their credit, but in most of these cases the kill was incidental; it resulted from the perfection of skill and smartness with which some professional duty was being performed, at the moment when the opportunity occurred. A few typical examples will make this clear.

In August 1917, an upward sweep of the Norwegian coast was being carried out by a light squadron, consisting of three cruisers and six destroyers, the whole under the orders of H.M.S. Yarmouth, Captain Thomas D. Pratt, R.N., with Commander Geoffrey Corbett, R.N., as Senior Officer of Destroyers. The light cruisers were in line abreast, visibility distance apart—anything from five to ten miles—and each was screened by two destroyers. The cruiser on the port wing was Birkenhead, and the destroyer on her port bow was the Oracle, which was therefore outside ship of the whole squadron.

Just before dark, Lieutenant-Commander A. Grendon Tippet, R.N., commanding Oracle, was informed that very strong German wireless from two different sources was being intercepted; and as one of the sources was evidently near by, he decided to keep all hands closed up to their quarters throughout the night. Nothing, however, happened until broad daylight, when, at about 6 A.M., Lieutenant Claude Butlin, officer of the watch, sighted a vessel on the horizon. No one else on the bridge could see it, but Mr. Butlin reported it, and his captain, who knew his exceptional alertness and powers of vision, ordered him to continue the look-out and report again. Shortly afterwards the vessel was sighted by the midshipman and the signalman of the watch, and was pronounced to be a trawler.

But a few minutes after this Mr. Butlin saw a bow and stern lift out of the water, well to left and right of the vessel’s sail, and decided that she was a submarine. He at once informed his commander, who ordered full speed, course to be altered, and the proper signals to be made. The sail then disappeared, and the submarine’s conning-tower became clearly visible, at a distance of something under seven miles.

At 6.7 the U-boat dived. The alarm had evidently been given, and it was not likely that she would be seen again on the surface; so at 6.10 Lieutenant-Commander Tippet slowed down. But at 6.13 the submarine unexpectedly broke surface less than three miles away on the port bow; her conning-tower, or part of it, could be seen moving fast through the water in a cloud of spray. She submerged again in 10 seconds, and Oracle’s course was at once altered to cut her off. At 6.15 the enemy reappeared once more. Her bows shot up out of the water at a steep angle, about half a mile ahead. Oracle’s course was instantly altered one point to port, telegraphs were put to full speed, and the forecastle gun was ordered to fire common shell at the conning-tower, which was then the only object visible. The U-boat just then lifted her stern out of water, showing a large vertical rudder on top of it, and the gunner’s point of aim was shifted accordingly. Four rounds were fired, but the target was a very difficult one and was not hit.

At 6.15 events happened and orders were given in very rapid succession. The U-boat was apparently not inclined to dive and risk paravanes or depth-charges. Lieutenant-Commander Tippet no sooner grasped this than he changed his tactics, and determined to ram. It was, of course, desirable to strike the enemy at right angles, and he endeavoured to con his ship so as to secure this position. He gave the orders ‘Prepare to ram’ and ‘Secure the depth-charge,’ and steadied the ship on a point midway between the submarine’s conning-tower (the top of which was just showing) and the stern, which was about four feet out of water. Then, at 27 knots, he drove Oracle straight at her.

The crash came with lightning speed. At 6.17 Oracle cut into the submarine’s back, exactly in the desired spot. It was, at the moment, inclined downwards at an angle of 15°, with the top of the conning-tower showing on the port side of the destroyer, and on the starboard side about three feet of the freeboard at the stern. The impact was heavy, and two officers on Oracle’s deck, who had not ‘prepared to ram’ by taking a completely prone position, were flung forward several feet. At the same moment an explosion was heard astern. It leaped into the Commander’s mind that this was either a paravane detonating, or his own depth-charge, which he had ordered to be secured, with the object of avoiding any chance of a disaster from the shock. It was, in fact, the depth-charge that exploded; but in the right way, and not by shock. The order had been misreported to the sub-lieutenant in charge of the after-quarters—as it reached him, it was ‘Let go the depth-charge.’ This he did personally and with great accuracy, a few seconds before ramming, so that when the explosion came, Oracle’s stern was well clear and no one was injured, except possibly the enemy.

Oracle, having cut through the U-boat, drifted on for about 150 yards. The bows of the dying submarine appeared momentarily above water, projecting some 3 feet at an angle of 45°. Then she sank, stern first, in 137 fathoms. For half a minute the surface showed a big bubbling brown disturbance, and in the oil patch appeared a quantity of debris, mainly large pieces of unpainted cork, whose curved shape suggested that they formed part of the lining of the hull. Oracle herself was not undamaged, as may be imagined; her bows were smashed from the water-line downwards, and a considerable quantity of naval stores were floating around her. She reported accordingly by searchlight to the Birkenhead, who could just be discerned at a distance of ten miles, and then returned to her base to refit.

For this fine piece of work Lieutenant-Commander Tippet received the D.S.O., and Acting-Lieutenant Butlin the D.S.C. Nine of the crew were also decorated or mentioned.

Here the destroyers were screening a line of war-ships, who formed in themselves a fast and powerful force. The convoying of slow and unarmed or lightly armed ships is a very different business, but it is done every day by our destroyers with amazing efficiency and success. A good example is the case of the Racoon, who destroyed an enemy submarine in the Mediterranean while on escort duty.

In March 1917, the ss. Osmanieh, 4,440 tons gross, owned by the Khedivial Mail Company, but chartered by the Admiralty, was on passage from Malta to Madras when, at about 5.40 P.M., a hostile submarine was sighted. The ship was commanded by Lieutenant Mason, R.N.R., and was flying the White Ensign; she was zigzagging, and was escorted by a single destroyer, the Racoon, Lieutenant-Commander Kenneth F. Sworder, R.N. The weather was fine, the sea calm, and visibility good—about eight or nine miles.

The submarine when sighted was about 1,500 yards distant, and two or three points on the Osmanieh’s starboard bow. Only six feet of her length was visible, and she appeared to be drifting; puffs of blue-grey vapour were coming from her, which seemed to hang in the air and float away without disappearing. When nearer—at 800 to 1,000 yards—she was seen to be moving, for a ‘feather’ was visible as well as the vapour.

The Osmanieh’s head was put two points to starboard to steer for the submarine; but as it changed position rapidly, helm was put hard a-port, the whistle was blown to draw the escort’s attention, and the alarm gong was sounded. The ship then opened fire with her two guns. The second round from the after gun appeared to score a hit; but the U-boat was at that time almost astern and shining brightly in the sun, so that it was not possible to observe with certainty. Racoon, when Osmanieh opened fire, was ahead of her, on the port bow and going 16½ knots; but the moment the guns were heard, Lieutenant-Commander Sworder increased speed to 23 knots, put his helm hard a-port, and sighted the U-boat. It had at first ‘the appearance of a calcium light giving off intermittent puffs of smoke’; but when the ship’s head was turned towards it, a periscope and distinct feather were seen, as the submarine came out of the trough of the swell. The manoeuvre which followed was a very skilful and effective one. Racoon came to meet Osmanieh, who had now turned sixteen points to starboard and was on the other side of the submarine and overhauling her. Osmanieh continued firing till she saw her escort only 400 yards from the target. She had intended to try a depth-charge herself, and as soon as she passed the U-boat she had stopped her port propeller for this purpose, hoping to get the ship’s stern back into or near the enemy’s course; but she now gave this up and turned sharply away to port. As she did so, Racoon crossed her stern at full speed, and immediately saw the submarine on her own starboard side, the periscope just showing about five yards off and moving almost directly to meet her. Those on the destroyer’s deck had a glimpse of about ten feet of a grey hull with green and rust-coloured marks showing; then, as the ship passed over this, she dropped her starboard depth-charge, set to eighty feet, turned swiftly to port and dropped her port depth-charge, four seconds after the first.

Eight or nine seconds passed while Racoon swung round on her circle; then came the two explosions in quick succession, throwing up columns of water with bits of black debris in them. The ship continued to turn to port, and completed nearly two circles round the spot, ready to attack again. But nothing more was needed, and she may even be said to have witnessed the dying breath of her enemy. Some twenty or thirty seconds after the explosions, the men stationed in the after part of the destroyer, looking over the stern, saw a fresh upheaval twenty-five yards or more to the right of where the first columns of water had risen. This ‘seemed to come from below as if being pumped up,’ and it rose to about a foot above the level of the water, making a ripple where the surface had been very calm. On examination, it proved to be a fountain of dark and very thick brown oil. Racoon and Osmanieh proceeded accordingly, leaving that dark and evil-smelling blot of oil upon the bright sea to give the ‘all clear’ to every passing ship.

Lieutenant-Commander Sworder received the D.S.O. on this occasion, Lieutenant Berthon the D.S.C., and three men the D.S.M.

It may be noted that in neither of these two cases did the submarine attempt to escape by submerging entirely. We can only guess at the reasons. Possibly the U-boat which attacked Osmanieh thought she could win in a single fight against a lightly armed ship, and was too much preoccupied to see Racoon’s deadly onset until it was too late to avoid it. But Oracle’s enemy had certainty sufficient time to make her choice between the ram and the depth-charge; and the fact that she decided to keep near the surface is very suggestive. The combination of the hydrophone and the depth-charge is a terrible one to contend against. The submarine which dives is under the double disability of being both blind and audible. The depths of the sea are no safe hiding-place for the assassin flying from justice; given a sufficient patrol, his undersea refuge is gone.

On the other hand, the surface is hardly better, when it is covered by an adequate number of destroyers, manned by British seamen. The vigilance and decision with which they mark and seize their opportunities are well shown in the following case of the destruction of a submarine in the dead of night.

Early in May 1917, three destroyers—Miranda, Lance and Milne—were patrolling a well-known area, where the enemy has once or twice attempted runaway raids under cover of night. This was a likely enough evening for him; for there was a moon only two days past the full, and from time to time a drift of rainy cloud across it. To-night, however, it was not with a flurry of destroyers that he came, but with a creep of mine-layers—U.C.-boats stealing in across the black and silver water to lay their deadly eggs close to our barrage.

One of these was sighted by Lance, and killed by her, in the belief of the look-out who were watching from Miranda; but with that one we have nothing to do. Another, U.C.26, is our concern, and about her we know all that there is to know. She was travelling on the surface about an hour after midnight—she had finished laying her mines, and was heading about east—when she suddenly sighted the dark form of an English destroyer within a dangerously short distance of her. At the same moment Milne—or rather the perfectly trained team of men who were the eyes, the brain and the heart of her—sighted their enemy. Lieutenant Leonard Pearson and leading signalman William Smith were the first, and their Commanding Officer, Commander V.L.A. Campbell, reports that it was only by reason of their exceptional vigilance that the attack could be so timed as to achieve success. The submarine, without losing a moment, dived—or rather attempted to dive. But Commander Campbell was as quick as his look-out, and his helmsman and engine-room watch were as quick as their Commander. A trace of hesitation—an order not caught, or misheard, or obeyed with less than absolute precision—and U.C.26 would have been in hiding. But she was hardly sighted and reported before the fatal orders were sharply and clearly given. Commander Campbell’s voice had hardly reached his chief petty officer, Frederick Robinson, before the helm had brought the ship upon her altered course; and even as she turned Ernest Pike and John Reason down below were repeating the call for full speed to the chief engineer.

No greater tension can be imagined than that on board the two boats during the few interminable seconds of the onset. This submarine, at any rate, was not unconscious of her danger. She was wide awake, with a possible margin of one second between safety and destruction. Her deck was already awash; only her conning-tower was still clear above the surface when the destroyer struck her just before it, and cut clean through her hull. She took in water in an overwhelming rush, and went straight to the bottom. Scarcely had she reached it when the pressure of air, increasing as the water rose inside her, seemed to give her unhappy crew a last forlorn chance of escape. The Captain was in the engine-room, so that the exit by the conning-tower hatch, which would have been his prerogative, was left to the second officer, who succeeded in reaching the surface. Of the remaining 26 members of the crew, 7 got the engine-room hatch open, and 5 at least escaped by it; but only one of the whole number was picked up alive. He was a Dane from Schleswig-Holstein, and had been pressed for submarine service.

For this smart piece of work, in every way characteristic of our Destroyer Service, Commander V.L.A. Campbell received a bar to his D.S.O. Lieutenant L. Pearson was awarded the D.S.C., and the other four men already mentioned received the D.S.M. The next case is also typical, being a patrol action; but it differs from the last in that the success was due to combined work by three destroyers, and not only by a single crew. There are also one or two exceptional circumstances which distinguish it from other actions of a similar kind—the presence of the Rear-Admiral commanding the local force, and the additional evidence which eventually settled the classification of the result.

It was on the morning of a day in March 1918 that a light-cruiser squadron was cruising in the North Sea; and at 9.25 A.M. three destroyers—Thruster, Commander A.D. Gibbs; Retriever, Commander E.W. Taylor; and Sturgeon, Lieutenant-Commander Henry Coombs—were ordered to take up a screening position ahead of the force. As they were in the act of moving to their stations an object was sighted, two points on Sturgeon’s port bow, and about one mile distant. A moment afterwards it was recognised as the conning-tower of a submarine. In order to understand what followed, it is necessary to have the positions clearly before the mind’s eye. Thruster and Retriever were immediately ahead of the squadron, to starboard and port respectively, and Sturgeon was ahead of the flotilla, in the act of crossing from starboard to port. She had just passed Thruster and was on her port bow, going towards a point ahead of Retriever, when she sighted the submarine on her own port bow and therefore almost enclosed in the triangle formed by the three destroyers. The U-boat dived immediately, and Sturgeon fired as she did so, but without effect—a late shot at a disappearing target. Lieutenant-Commander Coombs at once increased to full speed, and altered course to pass over the position. He arrived accurately, and in time to sight the track of the submarine as she tried to bolt through the only opening left to her, between her pursuer and the advancing Retriever. Her under-water speed was quite unequal to this effort, and in a moment Sturgeon was passing along her track and overhauling her. Another moment and the destroyer’s depth-charges, set to forty feet only, were dropped—one on either side of the track and a little ahead of it.

Sturgeon put her helm over in the usual way to avoid the explosion area, but turned again on hearing the detonations and had the satisfaction of seeing the U-boat shortly afterwards break surface with her bows up at an ominously high angle. She was by this time near closing Retriever, but Lieutenant-Commander Coombs considered her as still his hare. He turned again and raced for her like a greyhound. She tried to submerge, but could not get down quickly enough. Every one of the three destroyers could have rammed her, for as they came up to her in succession they could all see some thirty feet of her bows, with hydrophones and net-cutters, lying almost under them. But there was no need to take the risks of a concussion—this was a plain case for more depth-charges. Sturgeon, as she passed over a second time, dropped the remainder of hers. Then came Retriever an instant later, with two more; and she also dropped a Dan buoy, to mark the exact spot for Thruster, who was coming across from a greater distance. By the time Thruster arrived, she found the U-boat entirely submerged, but she methodically added her two depth-charges and both of them exploded within five yards of Retriever’s buoy, and probably not more from the submarine, which they followed down to eighty feet. So far, no one had thought of doubting the success of this very well executed triple attack; and indeed the evidence was both strong and plentiful. The U-boat was clearly seen to have been damaged by the Sturgeon’s first two charges, for she reappeared almost at once and at an unmistakable angle. The six other charges dropped over her were none of them blind shots—Sturgeon and Retriever both saw their target plainly, and Thruster had the Dan buoy to guide her. The Rear-Admiral, in reporting the case, added that he was himself a witness of the attack and was of opinion that the submarine was destroyed. As corroborative evidence, he named the following articles, which were picked up near the spot: 1 wooden ladder, 1 red kisbie lifebuoy, 1 calcium float, and 1 steel buoy with fractured wire pendant attached. The lifebuoy and calcium float were not of British make, and the former was marked with letters and numbers not used in our Service. Finally, the area round the Dan buoy was thick with oil, which came gradually up during the two hours succeeding the chase.

Notwithstanding this evidence, and the opinion of so many competent witnesses, the Admiralty rule held good. There were no survivors or dead bodies, no debris which might not have come from the submarine’s deck, no certainty that she could not have righted herself and crawled home to the repairing yard. The report was marked ‘Probably sunk,’ and a letter of appreciation was directed to be forwarded to each of the three commanders, with an intimation that if any subsequent information should be received which would cause any revision of the classification, the case should be resubmitted. Less than seven weeks afterwards the ‘subsequent information’ was forthcoming and thereupon Lieutenant-Commander Coombs was awarded the D.S.O., and ‘Mentions’ were given to Commanders Taylor and Gibbs, as well as to two ratings from Sturgeon, and one rating each from Retriever and Thruster. So ends the plain story of what is, to the Destroyer Service, a day’s work in the ordinary routine. But any other Service in the world will tell you that there is nothing ordinary about it.