Everyone who has ever thought about war must know that secrecy is one of the first conditions of military success, whether on land or sea. Yet the secrecy practised by our Government and our Higher Command has often been the subject of complaint. The complaint is not the cry of mere sensationalism or curiosity, deprived of its ration of news. Often it is the most patriotic and intelligent who are the most distressed at being kept in the dark. They understand the dangers of a great war, and they desire, above all things, not to live in a fool’s paradise. They know that they can bear to hear the worst, and they feel that they deserve to hear the best. The anti-submarine campaign has especially tried their patience. There has been great anxiety to know the exact figures of our mercantile losses; and on the other hand, when naval honours have been given without the usual account of the actions by which they were earned, there has been a tendency to grumble that we are not being helped to bear the strain of war, even when events are in our favour.

These complaints are not justified. Those who make them have failed to realise the deadly earnestness of the struggle we are carrying on. It is hard on the patriotic student of war that we should go short of facts, and hard on the anxious that they should lack encouraging information; but how much harder would it be for our seamen and submarine crews, if the secret of their tactics were given away to an enemy only too quick to take advantage of what he can succeed in overhearing? When one interesting paragraph in a newspaper may possibly mean the sacrifice of many lives, what statesman or staff officer would take the responsibility of passing it for publication? But the secrets of the Admiralty in this war have not been timidly or unintelligently kept. In spite of the tradition of ‘the Silent Service’—which only means that ‘the Navy doesn’t advertise’—there is no general feeling against telling the truth and the whole truth, when it can be done to the advantage of the country. Those in power have been for the most part in favour of ‘taking the lid off’ when the right time has come; and in this very matter of the mysterious honours, it was the First Lord himself who at last told the public what could no longer be valuable information for the enemy. So long as the use of disguised Special Service ships, or Q-boats, was a new method, indispensable to us and unsuspected by the Germans, or at least unfamiliar to them, so long was it highly undesirable that we should speak or write publicly of their successes. But now that after many losses, and some escapes, from Q-boats, the enemy’s submarine service has found out all their secrets, our own Navy has naturally ceased to rely on this kind of surprise, and has invented new devices, even more deadly and more difficult to evade. Of these we are, very reasonably, forbidden to write; but of the old and well-known hunting methods—of the work of destroyers, patrol-boats, trawlers, submarines, aircraft and Q-boats—we may now give illustrations; for we shall be telling nothing that the enemy does not know to his cost already. The very name, Q-boat, is as familiar in Germany as in this country. The submarine which escaped from the Dunraven carried away a very complete understanding of the work of these Special Service ships, and the Illustrierte Zeitung of July 12, 1917, contained a full description of a fight between a U-boat and a ‘submarine trap,’ which took place on February 22 of that year.

It is evident from this, and other articles of a similar kind, that, in German opinion, it is the U-boats, and not their victims, who have the right to complain of barbarous treatment. This view is amazing; but it is in complete accordance with the principle laid down by Major-General von Disfurth, in the Hamburger Nachrichten, at the beginning of the War: ‘We owe no explanations to anyone: there is nothing for us to justify, and nothing for us to explain away. Every act, of whatever nature, committed by our troops for the purpose of discouraging, defeating and destroying our enemies, is a brave act, a good deed, and fully justified. Germany stands supreme, the arbiter of her own methods, which must in time of war be dictated to the world.’ That is the insolence of unmitigated brutality, and the British Navy took up the challenge with a spirit that will set the standard of the world so long as war remains a possibility in human life. If our men had retaliated on barbarians by methods of barbarism, neither the German Government, as Sir Edward Grey pointed out, nor the German people, would have had any just ground for complaint. ‘It is not in consideration for their deserts that the Admiralty reject such a policy. They reject it because it is inconsistent with the traditions of the Service for which they are responsible; nor do they now propose to alter their methods of warfare merely because they find themselves in conflict with opponents whose views of honour and humanity are different from their own.’ But within the old rules, the rules of law and chivalry, they are right to use every device that native ingenuity and centuries of experience can suggest. There is no German cunning that cannot be matched by British science and discipline, and no German brutality that cannot be overmatched by British daring and endurance. This has been proved a hundred times in the course of the submarine war, and never more brilliantly than by the captains of the Q-boats, of whom the pattern for all time is Gordon Campbell, till yesterday known only as ‘The Mystery Star Captain’ of the British Navy.

In 1915, Gordon Campbell was just one of the many Lieutenant-Commanders who had never had an opportunity for distinguished service. His hopes rose when he was appointed to command the Farnborough, a Special Service ship, formerly a collier, with crew mainly drawn from the mercantile marine and R.N.R. Into these men he infused his own ideas of discipline and training, as well as his own cool and selfless courage. During the whole winter the Farnborough faced the gales without a single fight to cheer her; but never for a moment did her commander waver in his faith that her chance would come, and never did his men cease to give him their whole trust and devotion. In the end, he was able to say of them that they understood every move in the game as well as he himself did, and played it with the same keenness. Even if he had met with no other success, this alone was an achievement, and a proof of invaluable power. But other successes were to be added—the power was to be felt beyond his own ship, as an example and an inspiration.

The Farnborough’s first chance came in the spring of 1916, when she was tramping quietly along at eight knots. Her look-out sighted the enemy at last—a submarine awash, and about five miles distant on the port bow. It remained in view only for a few minutes and then dived, no doubt for the attack. It was the Farnborough’s part to be blind, stupid, and generally mercantile. She maintained her course and speed as if she had observed nothing. Twenty minutes later a torpedo was seen coming up on the starboard quarter. The bubbles rose right under the forecastle, the torpedo having evidently passed just ahead of the ship. The Farnborough maintained her course, as blind and trampish as before.

A few minutes more, and the U-boat, convinced that she had a fool to deal with, broke surface only a thousand yards astern of the ship, passing across her wake from starboard to port. But she was not exactly in a mood of reckless courage—she fired a shot from her gun across Farnborough’s bows, and at the same time partially submerged. Now came the moment for which Lieutenant-Commander Campbell had trained his men. He stopped, blew off steam ostentatiously, and ordered a ‘panic abandon ship’ by his stokers and spare men, under Engineer Sub-Lieutenant John Smith, R.N.R. The U-boat was encouraged by this, closed to 800 yards, and a few seconds later reopened fire with a shell which fell about fifty yards short. Then, in the traditional style of the old Navy, the captain gave the order to hoist the white ensign and open fire.

The surprise was complete and overwhelming; the pirate made no fight of it at all. Farnborough fired twenty-one rounds from her three 12-pounders, one of the guns getting off 13 rounds to her own share; and the Maxims and rifles also expended some 200 cartridges. The range was long, considering the bad light, but several hits were observed before the submarine disappeared. She went down slowly. Lieutenant-Commander Campbell steamed full speed over the spot and dropped a depth-charge. Immediately the U-boat reappeared. She was only ten yards off the ship, and rose in a nearly perpendicular position, being out of the water from the bow to abaft the conning-tower. She had had one periscope hit, and there was a large rent in her bow, through which no doubt the water had penetrated and run down into her stern compartment, giving her her unnatural position. All this was remembered and told afterwards. Her reappearance was instantly greeted with five more rounds from the Farnborough’s after-gun. They all went into the base of the conning-tower at point-blank range, and she sank at once. Oil, not in driblets but in very large quantities, came rapidly to the surface, mixed with pieces of wood, and covered the sea for some distance round. Farnborough collected her boats and stokers, and reported her success—a success insured, as was noted on her report, by ‘good nerve and thorough organisation.’

Three weeks afterwards, she heard of a U-boat operating on a definite pitch of her own, and set out to put temptation in her way. In the evening, as she was going warily along at five knots, on a calm and misty sea, she observed a ship on her starboard quarter, about two miles distant. Then suddenly, between the two vessels, a submarine broke surface. The blind old Farnborough plodded on, taking no notice till the U-boat hoisted a signal, which Commander Campbell could not read. He stopped, however, and blew off steam, with his answering pendant at the dip. He also hoisted the signal ‘Cannot understand your signal,’ but kept jogging ahead, so as to edge in, and to avoid falling into the trough of the heavy swell. The U-boat was lying full length on the surface. She was a large boat and had two guns on deck, but no men visible.

Presently she began to close, and manned her foremost gun. In the meantime Commander Campbell had turned out the bridge boat and given his ‘papers’ to Engineer Sub-Lieutenant John Smith, R.N.R., to take over to the submarine. At this moment the enemy fired a shot, which passed over the ship, and one of the Farnborough’s gunners, thinking that his own ship had opened the engagement, began to fire himself. This forced Commander Campbell’s hand; he ran up the white ensign, gave the general order to open fire, and went full speed ahead to bring his after-gun to bear. The range was a long one for a misty evening—900 to 1,000 yards—but the shooting was good enough. The second shot was seen by the neutral sailors on the other ship to strike the U-boat directly; her bow submerged and her stern came up out of the water so that her propellers were visible, and one of them could be seen to be higher than the other. She lay in this position for a good five minutes, and altogether 20 rounds were fired at her from the Farnborough’s 12-pounders, the last two of which hit either on the conning-tower or just forward of it. Then there appeared to be an explosion on board the U-boat, and she sank suddenly. There was a great commotion on the water, and a cloud of dense steam or vapour covered the surface for some minutes. Farnborough passed over the spot and dropped two depth-charges; but the submarine had gone to the bottom in 81 fathoms and nothing more was seen of her. The neutral ship afterwards observed a large patch of oil upon the surface. She had behaved with strict neutrality, and was good enough to remain some time on the spot, ‘looking for drowneds,’ but she looked in vain.

By the destruction of these two U-boats, Commander Campbell and his ship’s company had done valuable service, and had given remarkable proof of what can be accomplished by discipline and nerve. But the very efficiency and success of their work gave a deceptive appearance to it. The fighting was so smartly done, and so conclusive, that it looked an easier thing than it really was, to trap and sink a brace of pirates in three weeks. The enemy was not long in perceiving that the trade of murder was being rapidly made more difficult and more dangerous for him. Every time a U-boat came home, the need for caution was more strongly impressed upon the directors of the campaign.

The German Press was instructed to complain that the unscrupulous British Navy was using disguised ships and depth-charges against the Power which ‘stands supreme, the arbiter of her own methods,’ and has alone the right to dress her Greifs and Moewes as unarmed neutral trading vessels. At the same time the pirate captains were ordered to be less rash in approaching ships they had torpedoed but had not sunk outright. The result was to make Commander Campbell’s next encounter a much more anxious affair, and it was only by his incredible patience and judgment, and the wonderful discipline of his crew, that their third victory was achieved. As to the courage of every one concerned, it would be waste of time to speak of it. Courage of the finest quality was the very breath which these men breathed—all day, and every day.

One morning, then, early in 1917, the Special Service ship Q.5 was going due east at 7 knots, when a torpedo was seen approaching her starboard beam. This was what Commander Campbell was out for—in the present timid state of the pirates’ nerves, there was no hope of drawing any of them into a fight, except by getting torpedoed outright, to start with. They might approach a sinking ship—they would no longer venture to come near a live one. But, at the same time, one need not make the handicap unnecessarily heavy. Commander Campbell valued his men’s lives at least as much as his own, and he did his best to save his heroic engine-room staff, who faced the worst of the danger with perfect understanding and perfect self-sacrifice. He put his helm hard aport, and was so far successful that he received the torpedo in No. 3 hold; but, to his regret, it burst the bulk-head between that hold and the engine-room and slightly wounded Engineer Sub-Lieutenant John Smith, R.N.R. Help, he knew, was not far off; but no signal was sent out, for fear some zealous ship might arrive before Q.5 had done her work. ‘Action’ was sounded, and all hands went quietly to stations previously arranged for such an emergency. Every man, except those required on board for the fight, then abandoned ship—two lifeboats and one dinghey full were sent away, and a fourth boat was partially lowered with a proper amount of confusion. The chief engineer reported the engine-room filling with water. He was ordered to hang on as long as possible, and then hide.

While all this was going on—and a most masterly piece of acting it was, the whole company playing perfectly together—the U-boat was observed on the starboard quarter watching the proceedings through his periscope. His carcass he was loth to expose, but he came past the ship on the starboard side, only five yards from the lifeboats, and ten from the ship; so close, in fact, that though still submerged, the whole hull of the submarine could be seen distinctly through the water. The temptation to fire was almost unbearable. But the effect upon the U-boat at that depth was very doubtful, and there would be no time for a second shot before he slid down out of reach. Commander Campbell made no sign, and his gunners lay as steady as if his hand were upon them.

Their patience was repaid. Twenty minutes after firing his torpedo, the enemy passed across the ship’s bow and ventured to the surface to finish her off. He was 300 yards away on the port bow when Q.5 made the signal ‘Torpedoed.’ He then came down past the port side on the surface, captain on conning-tower, ready to give sentence of death on his victim. But as he came onto the precise bearing on which all Q.5’s guns could bear, Commander Campbell gave the order to open fire at point-blank range.

The 6-pounder got in first, with a shell which hit the conning-tower and removed the pirate captain’s head. The U-boat never recovered from the surprise but lay on the surface while the British gunners shattered his hull. The conning-tower was naturally the chief mark. It was repeatedly hit, some of the shells going apparently clean through it. When the boat sank, the conning-tower was shattered and lay completely open, with the crew trying to escape by it to the deck. Commander Campbell ordered ‘Cease fire,’ and sent one of his lifeboats to their assistance. But the swirl of the sinking vessel, and the density of the oil which poured out of her, proved immediately fatal to those who had succeeded in reaching the water. One officer was picked up alive, and one man.

Commander Campbell then recalled his boats and inspected his ship, with what feelings only a seaman can imagine. He found that Q.5 was sinking by the stern. The engine- and boiler-rooms were rapidly filling, and the water was also pouring into three holds. After making the signal for assistance, he placed all hands in the boats, except a chosen few whom he kept on board with him; and as the case was desperate, he gave orders for the destruction of all confidential books and charts.

An hour and a half later the Narwhal arrived, and took all the crew on board. Commander Campbell himself—dead set on saving his ship if it could be done—inspected her once more, and then went over to the Narwhal to discuss the possibility of towage. Shortly afterwards the Buttercup came up, and as Q.5 seemed by now to have assumed a more stable position and the water was gaining more slowly, Commander Campbell ordered Buttercup to take her in tow, which was done in the most seamanlike manner. It was a long and difficult business, almost desperate at times. First the tow parted, owing to Q.5’s helm being jammed hard over and immovable—the result of explosion. But her commander was not defeated. He was hard at work raising steam in her donkey-boiler, so as to be able to steer and veer cable. After four hours he got her in tow again, and she towed fairly well. But water was still gaining; the swell was breaking over the decks, and the after gun-house was at times under water.

Another ship, Laburnum, was now standing by, and at dusk suggested that Commander Campbell and his men should come on board for the night; but they refused to give up their ship as long as they could steer her. About two hours after midnight the end seemed to have come; Q.5 suddenly started to list, the water gained rapidly, the donkey boiler-room was flooded, and the helm could no longer be used. At 3.30 Commander Campbell put the helm amidships, and ordered his men aboard Laburnum. He then followed himself, but returned to his own ship at daybreak and resumed towing; then, finding her in a very critical condition, he was compelled to go back to Laburnum for the time.

In the evening, when they were at last nearing port, the trawler Luneta came out to help. Q.5 had by now nearly twenty degrees of list, and her stern was nearly eight feet under water; but she was brought in after all, and we may take her commander’s word for it that her safe arrival in harbour was due to the splendid seamanship of Lieutenant-Commander W.W. Hallwright of the Laburnum. In an achievement like this, there is a romantic touch of the old tradition—it was by just such seamanship that our frigate captains saved the Fleet after Trafalgar.

We may hear, too, what the commander of Q.5 said about his officers and crew. ‘They may almost be said to have passed through the supreme test of discipline. The chief-engineer and the engine-room watch remained at their posts and kept the dynamos going until driven out by water. They then had to hide on top of the engine-room. The guns’ crews had to remain concealed in their gun-houses for nearly half an hour, while we could feel the ship going down by the stern. At that time it appeared touch-and-go whether the ship would sink before we sank the enemy. The officers and men who remained on board during the towing also did splendidly, the conditions at times being most dangerous ... it is difficult to select individuals where all did so well.’ But without selecting, we may name two by their names: Engineer-Lieutenant L.S. Loveless, R.N.R., and Lieutenant Ronald Stuart, R.N.R., First and Gunnery Lieutenant, both now members of the Distinguished Service Order. It is hardly necessary to add that their commander received the Victoria Cross. He was born for it.

It is not often that any man, or any ship’s company, can repeat their best performance and better it; yet Commander Campbell’s third victory was followed by a fourth, of which, as the Admiral on his station said truly, it is difficult to speak in sober terms. Four months after Q.5 had struggled back to port, her men were out again in the Pargust, a merchant vessel on the same Special Service. The ship was going 8 knots in heavy rain and mist, with a fresh southerly breeze and a choppy sea. Like Q.5, she got what she was looking for—what others run fast and far to avoid. A torpedo was seen coming towards her on the starboard beam. It was apparently fired at very close range, for it had not yet settled down to its depth, but jumped out of the water when only a hundred yards from the ship. This time there was no choice, and no manoeuvring; Pargust received the shot in the engine-room and near the water-line. It made a large rent, filled the boiler-room, the engine-room and No. 5 hold with water, killed a stoker, wounded Engineer Sub-Lieutenant John Smith, R.N.R., and blew the starboard lifeboat into the air, landing pieces of it on the aerial.

The alarm had already been sounded and ‘Abandon ship’ ordered. The three remaining boats—one lifeboat and two dinghies—were lowered, full of men, the ship’s helm being put hard a-starboard to get a lee for them. Lieutenant F.R. Hereford, R.N.R., as before, went in charge of them and greatly distinguished himself by the coolness and propriety with which he acted the part of Master of the supposed merchantman.

As the last boat was pushing off, the enemy’s periscope was seen for the first time, just before the port beam, and about 400 yards from the ship. He turned and came straight on; but ten minutes later, when only 50 yards from the ship and close to the stern of the lifeboat, he submerged completely and disappeared. His periscope was sighted again a few minutes later, directly astern; he then steamed to the starboard quarter, turned round and went across to the port beam, turned again towards the ship and lifeboat, and finally, after all this nosing about, broke surface within 50 yards or less. But even now he was extremely cautious, showing only his conning-tower and ends; and when the lifeboat pulled away round the ship’s stern, he followed close behind, with only one man visible on top of the conning-tower, shouting directions to those below. For the next three minutes of this long game of patience, the strain was intense. Commander Campbell was watching the man on the conning-tower carefully, for as long as he saw him perched up there he knew that he could reserve his fire. Lieutenant Hereford was waiting till he was certain that his captain was in a winning position. As soon as that was attained, he pulled deliberately towards the ship. This annoyed the submarine, whose object was evidently, in case of a fight, to keep the boats as much as possible in the line of fire. He came right up to the surface and began to semaphore to the boats, at the same time training a Maxim on them.

But by this time the U-boat was only one point before the ship’s beam, with all guns bearing on him at 50 yards’ range—Commander Campbell’s chance had come. He opened fire with a shot from the 4-inch gun, which struck the base of the conning-tower and also removed the two periscopes. Hit after hit followed, nearly all in the conning-tower, which could no longer be closed. The submarine took a list to port, and several men rushed up, out of the hatch abaft the conning-tower. Then, as the stern began to sink and oil squirted from the boat’s sides, the rest of the crew came out, held up their hands and waved in token of surrender. Commander Campbell, of course, ordered ‘Cease fire’; but no sooner had the order been obeyed, than the pirate started to move off on the surface, hoping, though listing to port and down by the stern, and in honour bound a prisoner, to get away in the mist. The Pargust could not follow, so that she was obliged to open fire again. The U-boat’s breach of faith did not save her. In her quick rush, she got to about 300 yards from her captor, whose guns continued to speak straight to her. Then a shot apparently touched off one of her torpedoes—there was an explosion forward, and she fell over on her side. For a moment her bow was seen jutting up sharply out of the water, and the next she was gone.

In her reckless rush to escape she had washed overboard her men abaft the conning-tower; one man went down clinging to her bow, and some who came up the fore-hatch were left struggling in the thick oil. The boats of the Pargust were sent to the rescue. They had a hard pull to windward in a choppy sea; but they managed to save the only two whom they found alive. The Pargust lay tossing helplessly for nearly four hours. Then H.M.S. Crocus arrived and towed her into port, escorted by another of H.M.’s ships and the U.S.S. Cushing.

‘It is difficult,’ says Commander Campbell, ‘where all did well, to mention individual officers and men, as any one officer or man could easily have spoiled the show. It was a great strain for those on board to have to remain entirely concealed for thirty-five minutes after the ship was torpedoed—especially, for instance, the foremost gun’s crew, who had to remain flat on the deck without moving a muscle.’ And the actual combatants were not the only heroes; for he adds: ‘The men in the boats, especially the lifeboat, ran a great risk of being fired on by me if the submarine closed them.’

It is difficult for a grateful country, difficult even for the most generously sympathetic of sovereigns, to deal adequately with a ship’s company like this. Every man on board had already been mentioned or decorated, most of them more than once, and by the very names of their successive ships they were already marked out for lasting honour. Still, for our sake rather than for theirs, we may be glad to know that what tokens could be given them, were given. First, Commander Campbell became a Captain, and others were promoted in their various ranks. Then the memorable thirteenth clause of the Statutes of the Victoria Cross was put into operation. By this it is ordained that in the event of a gallant and daring act having been performed by a ship’s company, or other body of men, in which the Admiral, General, or other officer commanding such forces may deem that all are equally brave and distinguished, then the officer commanding may direct that one officer shall be selected, by the officers engaged, for the decoration; and in like manner, one man shall be selected by the seamen or private soldiers, for the decoration. Knowing as we do what Captain Campbell felt about his officers and men, we can imagine something of his satisfaction at being able to recommend that the V.C. should be worn on behalf of the whole ship’s company by Lieutenant R.N. Stuart, D.S.O., R.N.R., and by seaman William Williams, D.S.M., R.N.R. The latter, when one of the gun ports was damaged by the shock of the torpedo, saved it from falling down and exposing the whole secret of the ship, by bearing at great personal risk and with great presence of mind the whole weight of the port until assistance could be given him. The former was the Captain’s first-lieutenant and second self. These two crosses, and his high rank, were the Captain’s own reward; but to mark the occasion, a bar was also added to his D.S.O. To these men there was now but one thing wanting—to show their greatness in adversity: and Fortune, that could deny nothing to Gordon Campbell, gave him this too. Less than two months after the Pargust’s action he was at sea in the Special Service ship Dunraven, disguised as an armed British merchant vessel, and zigzagging at eight knots in rough water. A submarine was sighted on the horizon two points before the starboard beam; but the zigzag course was maintained, and the enemy steered towards the ship, submerging about twenty minutes after she was first seen. Twenty-six minutes later she broke surface on the starboard quarter at 5,000 yards, and opened fire. Captain Campbell at once ran up the white ensign, returned the fire with his after-gun, a 2½-pounder, and ordered the remainder of the crew to take ‘shell cover.’ He also gave directions for much smoke to be made, but at the same time reduced speed to seven knots, with an occasional zigzag, to give the U-boat a chance of closing. If he had been the merchantman he seemed, he could in all probability have escaped. He was steaming head to sea, and the submarine’s firing was very poor, the shots nearly all passing over.

After about half an hour the enemy ceased firing and came on at full speed. A quarter of an hour later he turned broadside on, and reopened fire. The Dunraven’s gun kept firing short, intentionally, and signals were made en clair for the U-boat’s benefit, such as ‘Submarine chasing and shelling me’—‘Submarine overtaking me. Help. Come quickly!’—and finally, ‘Am abandoning ship.’ The shells soon began to fall closer. Captain Campbell made a cloud of steam to indicate boiler trouble, and ordered ‘Abandon ship,’ at the same time stopping, blowing off steam, and turning his broadside so that all he did should be visible. To add to the appearance of panic, a boat was let go by the foremost fall on its side. The pirate (thoroughly confident now) closed, and continued his shelling. One shell went through Dunraven’s poop, exploding a depth-charge and blowing Lieutenant Charles Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R., out of his control station. After two more shells into the poop, the U-boat ceased fire again and closed. He was ‘coming along very nicely’ from port to starboard, so as to pass four or five hundred yards away. But in the meantime, the poop was on fire. Clouds of dense black smoke were issuing from it and partially hiding the submarine. It was obvious to Captain Campbell that since the magazine and depth-charges were in the poop, an explosion must soon take place. He was faced with the choice of opening fire through the smoke, with a poor chance of success, or waiting till the enemy should have got on to the weather side. He decided to wait, trusting his men as faithfully as they were trusting him.

The U-boat came on, but all too slowly. She was only just passing across Dunraven’s stern when the dreaded explosion took place in the poop. The 4-inch gun and gun’s crew complete were blown into the air. The gun landed forward on the well deck, and the crew in various places—one man in the water. This was a misfortune that might well have broken their captain’s heart—the submarine had only to steam another 200 yards, and he would have had a clear sight and three guns bearing on her at 400 yards range. Moreover the explosion had started the ‘Open fire’ buzzers at the guns; and the gun on the bridge, which was the only one then bearing, had duly opened fire. The U-boat had already started to submerge, alarmed by the explosion; but it was thought that one hit was obtained on the conning-tower as he disappeared.

Captain Campbell’s heart was not broken, nor was his natural force abated. Realising that a torpedo would probably come next, he ordered the doctor, Surgeon-probationer Alexander Fowler, D.S.C., R.N.V.R., to remove all the wounded and lock them up in cabins or elsewhere, so as not to risk detection in ‘the next part.’ He then turned hoses on to the flaming poop, where, though the deck was red hot, the magazine was apparently still intact and dangerous. At the same time he remembered that a man-of-war had answered his signal for assistance when the explosion took place; and being determined on trying for a second fight, he now signalled to this ship to keep away, as the action was not yet ended. She not only kept away, but kept the ring, by deflecting traffic while these invincibles fought the pirate to a finish.

The torpedo came at last, from a point about 1,000 yards on the starboard side, and it struck abaft the engine-room. Captain Campbell at once ordered a second ‘Abandon ship’ or ‘Q abandon ship,’ as he called it; for by it he was professing to completely abandon a ship whose disguise had been detected. He left his guns visible, and sent a second party of men away on a raft and a damaged boat. The poop continued to burn fiercely, and 4-inch shells exploded every few minutes. The submarine put up her periscope and circled round at various ranges, viewing the position cautiously. After forty minutes she broke surface directly astern, where no gun would bear upon her, and shelled the Dunraven at a range of a few hundred yards. Nearly every shot was a hit, but some fell near the boats. Two burst on the bridge and did much damage.

In another twenty minutes the enemy ceased firing and again submerged. Captain Campbell had now no resource left but his torpedoes, of which he carried two—one on each side. He fired the first as the U-boat steamed past the port side at 150 yards—too short a range for certainty of depth. The bubbles passed just ahead of the periscope, and the enemy failed to notice it. He turned very sharply round the ship’s bow and came slowly down the starboard side at three knots. The second torpedo was then fired, but the bubbles passed a couple of feet abaft the periscope. This was cruelly hard luck, for the maximum depth was on; but there is no doubt that this torpedo, like the other, must have leaped over, from being fired at so close a range.

This time the enemy saw his danger, and instantly submerged. Captain Campbell had now lost his last chance of a kill, and was bound to signal urgently for assistance. He did so; but in case the U-boat reappeared to torpedo or shell again, he arranged for some of his remaining men to be ready to jump overboard in a final panic, leaving still himself and one gun’s crew to fight a forlorn hope. This last extremity was not reached. The U.S.S. Noma arrived almost immediately and fired at a periscope a few hundred yards astern until it disappeared. Then came two King’s ships, the Attack and Christopher. Boats were recalled, the fire extinguished, and everything on board having now exploded, arrangements were made for towing. For twenty-four hours the Christopher bore her burden like a saint. Then the weather began to tell upon the half-dead ship, and sixty of her crew and her wounded were transferred to the trawler Foss. The next night the sea claimed the Dunraven in unmistakable tones. The Christopher came alongside and brought off her captain and the rest of her crew; and when she rolled end up, gave her a gunshot and a depth-charge, to take her to her last berth.

In reporting the action, Captain Campbell brought specially to notice the extreme bravery of Lieutenant Bonner and the 4-inch gun’s crew. ‘Lieutenant Bonner having been blown out of his control by the first explosion, crawled into the gun-hatch with the crew. They there remained at their posts with a fire raging in the poop below, and the deck getting red hot. One man tore up his shirt to give pieces to the gun’s crew, to stop the fumes getting into their throats; others lifted the boxes of cordite off the deck to keep it from exploding, and all the time they knew that they must be blown up, as the secondary supply and magazine were immediately below. They told me afterwards that communication with the main control was cut off, and although they knew they would be blown up, they also knew that they would spoil the show if they moved; so they remained until actually blown up with their gun. Then when, as wounded men, they were ordered to remain quiet in various places during the second action, they had to lie there unattended and bleeding, with explosions continually going on aboard, and splinters from the enemy’s shell-fire penetrating their quarters. Lieutenant Bonner, himself wounded, did what he could for two who were with him in the ward-room. When I visited them after the action, they thought little of their wounds, but only expressed their disgust that the enemy had not been sunk. Surely such bravery is hard to equal.’

Hard to equal—harder far to speak about! The King said all that can be said: ‘Greater bravery than was shown by all officers and men on this occasion can hardly be conceived.’ And again he testified the same by symbols—among them a second bar for Captain Campbell, V.C., D.S.O., R.N.; the Victoria Cross for Lieutenant C.G. Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R.; and another, under Article 13, for the 4-inch gun’s crew, who named Ernest Pitcher, P.O., to wear it to the honour of them all. The whole ship’s company is now starred like a constellation; but the memory of their service will long outshine their stars.