Brabant was evacuated by the French during the night of February 22, 1916. At Samogneux, owing to the intensity of the German fire, they remained on the defensive. Several counterattacks to the east were carried out which greatly improved the French positions.

In the Wavrille sector the French had succeeded during the night in connecting their new line with the Herbebois sector, though incessantly bombarded. Wavrille Wood and Hill 351 must be protected, for their capture would enable the Germans to sweep the Beaumont-Hill 344 line.

After repeated attacks the Germans captured Wavrille Wood, where they were kept hemmed in by the French barrage and unable to proceed. Fighting in the Herbebois sector had raged throughout the day, and during the night the French were forced to withdraw.

When February 24, 1916, dawned the French line ran by Beaumont, the northern edge of the Bois des Fosses, and covered La Chaume Wood. The Germans continued to bombard the Woevre front, but did not attempt to attack as the French artillery held them to their trenches.

During the day the Germans, who had been hemmed in at Samogneux, after repeated struggles to debouch from that place, succeeded when night came in capturing Hill 304.

From the southern edge of Caures Wood the Germans slowly advanced through the heavily timbered ravines up the slopes of Anglemont Hill. On the side of Fosses Wood they bombarded French positions all the morning of February 24, 1916. East of Rappe Wood and to the north of Wavrille Wood they assembled strong forces. Two French battalions succeeded in carrying part of the wood, and were then held up by machine-gun fire. Fosses Wood and Beaumont were deluged by German shells of every caliber. An infantry attack gave the Germans the southern edge of Wavrille Wood, where the French clung tenaciously. Fosses Wood, then Beaumont, were captured, then La Chaume Wood. The French situation had become serious. At 2.20 in the afternoon a large force of Germans advanced between Louvemont and Hill 347, and though the French made desperate efforts to stay the advancing waves, Les Chambrettes, Beaumont, and Fosses and Caures Woods were occupied by the enemy.[Back to Contents]

PART IV—THE WAR AT SEA

CHAPTER XV

NAVAL SITUATION AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SECOND YEAR—SUBMARINE EXPLOITS

Naval events such as the world had never known were believed to be impending at the beginning of the war's second year. With the land forces of the belligerents in a fierce deadlock, it seemed that a decision must come upon the sea. Assuredly the Allies were willing, and Germany had accomplished things in her shipyards that for sheer determination and efficiency developed to the last degree, were comparable to her finest deeds of arms. None doubted that she longed with a grim hope for such a meeting. Helgoland and the newly enlarged Kiel Canal were hives where an intensive industry kept every man and vessel fit. And the navy grew while it waited.

It was not the work of a day, though, nor of a generation, to match the sea power that Great Britain had spent centuries in building. Try as she would, strain men, ordnance plants, and shipyards to the breaking point, Germany could not catch up with her great rival. The first half of the new year saw no matching of the grand fleets. It did produce a few gallant combats, and was marked by a melancholy succession of German submarine attacks on defenseless craft. The sacrifice of lives among neutrals and the Allies cast a pall upon the world.

Naval losses up to August 1, 1915, had been considerable on both sides without crippling any one of the belligerents. No sooner was a warship sunk than there were two to replace it. Every country engaged took effective steps to preserve such maritime power as it had, and Great Britain worked harder than any of the others, for her existence depended upon it.

The first year of the conflict cost England thirty-two fighting craft, great and small. France lost thirteen, Russia five, Japan three, a total of fifty-three. The combined tonnage was 297,178. To counterbalance this Germany lost sixty-seven war vessels, Turkey five and Austria four, the seventy-six ships having an aggregate tonnage of 206,100. The difference of 91,078 gross tons in favor of Germany and her partners in war was offset by the number of fast German cruisers which fell victims to the Allies, and by the numerical inferiority of the Central Powers' combined fleets.

On August 1, 1915, the naval situation was identical with that of August 1, 1914. Great Britain, aided materially by France, and her other allies, in a lesser degree, stood ready to do battle with the Teuton sea forces whenever opportunity offered. She had won every important engagement with the exception of the clash off the coast of Chile, and could look calmly forward, despite the gnawing of German submarines at her commerce. With every gun and man primed for the fight, with the greatest collection of armed vessels ever known lying at ports, merely awaiting the word, she felt supremely ready.

The lives of 1,550 persons were lost during the first year of the war through the sinking of merchant ships, nearly all of which were torpedoed. This applied to vessels of the Allies alone, twenty-two persons having been lost with neutral ships. The total of tonnage destroyed between February 18, 1915, when the German edict against commercial vessels went into effect, and August 1, 1915, was 450,000 tons, including 152 steamships of more than 500 tons each. This was the heaviest loss ever inflicted on the shipping of the world by any war. But it did not seriously cripple the commerce of either France or England, Germany's two major opponents. Their vessels continued to sail the seven seas, bringing the products of every land to their aid, while Germany and her allies were effectually cut off from practically all resources except their own. Switzerland and Sweden were the main dependence of Germany for contraband, and the activities of the former were considerably restricted when the Entente Allies really settled down to a blockade of Germany. Austria and impoverished Turkey had no friends to draw upon, but must fight their battles alone except for such assistance as Germany could lend, which did not extend beyond the actual material of war—guns, shells and bullets.

The submarine was Germany's best weapon. She outmatched the Allies on land, but in such a small degree that her most brilliant effort could not win a decisive victory. Meanwhile her opponents grew stronger in an economic way, while the situation in Germany became more strained. By issuing a constantly increasing volume of bank notes against an almost stationary gold reserve she depreciated the value of her mark at home and abroad. In the face of this tangled situation her submarines rendered incalculable aid, destroying and menacing allied commerce. Without them Germany would have been helpless upon the sea, would have ceased to exist as a maritime power. Her first-line ships lay securely in their harbors, unable to venture forth and match the longer-ranged, heavier-gunned vessels of the British, ably supplemented by the French fleet.

Just how many submarines Germany possessed at the beginning of the war cannot be stated. The number probably was in the neighborhood of fifty. That she has lost many of these vessels and built even a larger number is certain. As the conflict grew older Great Britain in particular learned a method of combating them. It was estimated that on August 1, 1915, she had 2,300 small craft specially fitted for running down submarines. Private yachts, trawlers, power boats, destroyers, and torpedo boats hunted night and day for the elusive undersea boats of her enemy. The pleasure and fishing craft which had been impressed into service were equipped with all sorts of guns, some of them very old ones, but thoroughly capable of sinking a submarine. These vessels patrolled the British coast with a zeal that cost Germany dear. Some authorities believed that up to August 1, 1915, upward of fifty German submarines had been sunk and more than a dozen captured. The numbers probably are excessive, but if they had disposed of even twenty-five undersea boats the effort was a distinct success.

In addition to this means of defense Great Britain embarked upon another undertaking that truly was gigantic in its extent and the difficulties imposed. She stretched wire nets for many miles under the surface of the waters washing her shores. The regular channel routes were thus guarded. Once within such a net there was no escape for the submarine. The wire meshes fouled their propellers or became entwined around the vessels in a way that rendered them helpless. The commander must either come to the surface and surrender or end the career of himself and crew beneath the waves. A number of submarines were brought to the surface with their crews dead by their own hands. Others were captured, and it is said that about twenty of these vessels have been commissioned in the British navy.

The hazardous character of the work in which the submarine engaged and the success of British defensive measures undoubtedly made it difficult for Germany to man her new undersea craft. Special training is essential for both crew and officers, and men of particularly robust constitution are required. There have been reports that men assigned to the German submarines regarded their selection as a practical death warrant. Despite the fine courage of German sailors as evidenced in this war, word filtered through the censorship that it was becoming difficult for Germany to secure men for her submarines.

But the venturesome spirit of many German submarine commanders knew no bounds. Previous to the period under consideration at least one submarine had made its way from a German base to the Dardanelles, establishing a record for craft of this sort that had seemed impossible up to that time. During August other submarines made the same trip without any untoward event. The Allies knew full well that reenforcements were being sent to the Mediterranean, but seemed unable to prevent the plan's success. This inability was to result in serious losses to both the allied navies and their merchant shipping.

The first event during the month of August, 1915, that bore any naval significance was the sinking of the British destroyer Lynx on August 9, 1915, in the North Sea. She struck a mine and foundered within a few minutes. Four officers and twenty-two men out of a complement in the neighborhood of 100 were saved. The vicinity had been swept only a day or two before for mines and it was believed that a German undersea boat had strewn new mines which caused the loss.

Another British war vessel was sunk the next day. The auxiliary cruiser India fell prey to a submarine while entering the roads at Restfjord, Sweden, on the steamship lane between England and Archangel, Russia's northernmost port. Eighty of the crew, estimated at more than 300 men, were saved by Swedish craft. The attack came without warning and furnished another illustration of the submarine's deadly effectiveness under certain conditions. The India, a Peninsular and Oriental liner before the war, was well known to many travelers. Built in 1896, she had a registry of 7,900 tons, and was in the eastern service for a number of years.

After many months of idleness a clash came in the North Sea on August 12, 1915. The Ramsay, a small patrol vessel, met and engaged the German auxiliary Meteor. Although outmatched, the British ship closed with her foe and kept up the fight for an hour. The cannonade attracted a flotilla of cruisers, which came up too late to save the Ramsay, but which did succeed in cutting off the Meteor.

Four officers and thirty-nine members of the crew were picked up by the Germans when their antagonist went down and these, together with the crew of the Meteor, took to the German's boats when her commander saw that escape was impossible. He blew up his ship and by a combination of pluck, good seamanship, and a favorable fortune managed to elude the cordon of British cruisers, reaching the German shore with his prisoners. The total crew of the Ramsay was slightly more than 100 men.

Two successful attacks in four days on British war vessels, and the loss of a third by a mine, stirred official circles, and demand was made in the papers that redoubled precautions be taken. It was believed that the adventure of the Meteor into hostile waters heralded further activity by the German fleet, but the days passed without incident, and the British naval forces settled down to the old routine of watching and waiting.

While these events were transpiring in the North Sea the British had not been idle elsewhere. From the beginning of operations in the Dardanelles attempts had been made to penetrate the Bosphorus and sink one of the Turk's capital ships. A number of sailing vessels and one or two transports had been sunk by British submarines in that sea, but efforts to locate the larger warships of the enemy failed until August 9, 1915. On that day the Kheyr-ed Din Barbarossa, a battleship of 9,900 tons and a complement of 600 men, was sent to the bottom. The attack took place within the Golden Horn, at Constantinople, and the event spread consternation in the Turkish capital. It was the first time on record that a hostile warship had penetrated the land-locked waters of the Ottoman city, so favored by nature that attack had seemed impossible there.

The Barbarossa, although an ancient ship as war vessels are rated, carried four 12-inch guns and was a formidable fighting craft, having been overhauled by German engineers about a year before the war started. Along with the Goeben and Breslau, which took refuge at Constantinople on the outbreak of hostilities, and were "sold" to Turkey, she constituted the Turk's chief naval arm.

News of the feat was received with enthusiasm in England, coming as the initial achievement of the sort by a British submarine. It helped salve the wounds to British pride, made by repeated disasters through the medium of German undersea boats. The event was one of the few bright episodes from an Ally standpoint in the campaign to capture Constantinople, and was taken to mean that a new tide had set in for the attackers. It did serve to clear the Sea of Marmora of Turkish shipping, and supplies for the beleaguered forces at the tip of Gallipoli Peninsula were henceforth carried by a single track railway or transport. It also inspired a healthy respect among the Turks for enemy submarines.

A few days later, August 16, 1915, another German submarine was to set a new record. Early in the morning of that day the towns of Whitehaven, Parton, and Harrington, on the western coast of England, were aroused in succession by the boom of guns and the falling of shells in their streets. It was believed for a few frenzied moments that the German fleet had come. But merely one lone submarine had made the attack. This was enough to cause considerable alarm, particularly when it was seen that a gas plant at Whitehaven had caught fire. There were other fires in the same town and at Harrington, none of which did much damage.

Once more the undersea boat of the enemy had scored. Not since 1778 had the towns smelled hostile powder. In that year John Paul Jones surprised the guards at Whitehaven during the night, spiked the guns of its defenses, and prepared to burn a number of ships at anchor there. The arrival of reenforcements frustrated this plan and the American seamen were recalled to their vessels. Whitehaven never forgot, and now it has a new chapter in its martial record.

The Turks were soon to have their revenge for the loss of the Barbarossa through the medium of a German submarine which, after more than a year of war, accomplished one of the cherished plans of the Germans—the sinking of a British troop ship. On August 17, 1915, the Royal Edward, registering 11,117 tons, was hit and sunk in the Ægean Sea. There were thirty-two officers and 1,350 troops aboard, in addition to 220 officers and men of the ship's company. One thousand were lost.

The blow was a hard one, coming after the efforts of the British navy to protect the country's fighting men. It emphasized the new activity by German submarines in the Mediterranean. No one believed for a moment that Austria had ventured upon such an extensive campaign as recent events pointed to. In addition to the one German submarine known to have reached the Dardanelles via Gibraltar, it had been reported that others were being brought overland to Pola and the parts assembled there.

A good deal of mystery surrounds an engagement off the west coast of Jutland on this same August 17th. Berlin announced that a fight began at 2 o'clock in the afternoon between five German torpedo boats and a light British cruiser and eight destroyers. It was alleged that the cruiser and one destroyer foundered, without any loss to the German force.

The British Admiralty was vague in its report of the encounter, saying that the British ships were mine-sweepers, of which one failed to return. Like many other incidents of the war at sea, the real facts cannot now be established. But there is no doubt that a clash did take place, and the German report was the more circumstantial.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVI

THE SINKING OF THE ARABIC—BRITISH SUBMARINE SUCCESSES

While the diplomats were laboring with questions arising from the loss of the Lusitania, at a moment when tension between the United States and Germany was acute, came the sinking of the Arabic, on August 19, 1915, with the death of two Americans and thirty-odd British citizens out of 391 persons aboard. The attack took place near Fastnet Light, not far distant from the spot where the Lusitania was sunk. Like the latter ship the Arabic was struck without warning, two torpedoes penetrating her side. She was a vessel of 15,801 tons and, although in service for a number of years, was rated as one of the first-class Atlantic liners. Previous to the attack she had been chased on several occasions by undersea craft, but had always managed to elude them.

The outcry that followed this event in the United States gave the situation as regarded Germany a graver aspect than before. She had been warned that this country would hold her to strict accountability for the lives of its citizens. Berlin, asked if a submarine sank the vessel, followed by immediate disclaimers of any belligerent intent. It was alleged that a German submarine had been in the act of attacking another British vessel when the Arabic hove into view and attempted to ram the submarine. In defense the latter's captain sank the liner, Berlin explained.

This theory was not in the least acceptable to the United States. Captain Finch of the Arabic and other persons aboard had seen the attack on the second ship, and the Arabic attempted to flee but was overhauled and torpedoed. The facts were attested to by such a number of persons that there could be little doubt of their correctness. But despite this and Germany's oft-repeated assurances of respect for American lives, nothing of a positive character was done by the United States. Negotiations dragged out to a wearisome length and the submarines continued to take their almost daily toll from neutrals and belligerents alike.

The British submarine E-7 was sunk by a Turkish land battery in the Sea of Marmora on September 4, 1915, thirty-two men being lost. She was the first undersea boat of the Allies to meet that fate in the Dardanelles operations.

The combination of care and luck that had kept British transports inviolate for more than a year, which ended with the sinking of the Royal Edward, was to be reversed during the coming months when German submarines inflicted heavy losses on this class of ships. The Mediterranean proved to be the grave of several thousand men lost in this manner. The Ramazan, of 3,477 tons, bringing native troops from India, was torpedoed and sunk on September 19, 1915, in the Ægean Sea. Out of about 1,000 men on board some 300 were landed at Malta. The levy which she had aboard consisted of Sikhs and Gurkhas. The sea was new to these men, drawn from interior provinces, and they had embarked upon their first voyage with all the misgivings which usually accompany that experience. The panic among them when the Ramazan was hit may well be imagined. Hints of it crept into the British press, but it was said that after a few wild minutes the officers got their men in hand and all died together with true British fortitude.

One of the few announcements made by Germany concerning lost submarines was given out on September 27, 1915, whether for diplomatic reasons or otherwise it would be difficult to say. The U-27, it was said, had not been heard from since August 10, 1915, and was deemed to have been sunk or captured. Berlin concluded with the observation that the U-27 might have been destroyed after sinking the Arabic, inasmuch as none of her commanders had reported the torpedoing of the liner up to that date. It was Germany's plea at the time that she knew nothing officially of the Arabic's loss. The disappearance of the U-27, a new and fast submarine having seventeen knots speed on the surface, therefore, was a matter of diplomatic importance. The puzzle never was answered.

For some unexplained reason Great Britain never resorted to submarine attacks upon German shipping in the Baltic Sea until the fall of 1915. While her own vessels were being sunk she spared those of her enemy, either because the navy had not been prepared to undertake an expedition into the Baltic, or because it had been looked upon as a small issue in the face of graver problems. This situation was changed by the German threat against Riga, Russia's important Baltic port, following the fall of Libau and the progress of German troops in Courland within cannon range almost of Riga.

It was determined to send a squadron of submarines into the Baltic as a means of assisting Russia and for the purpose of stopping supplies being sent to Germany from Sweden. Commanders of the undersea boats were specifically directed to see that all passengers and crews were taken off merchant ships before they were sunk. These orders were carried out in detail, not a single noncombatant having lost his life as a result of the operations that ensued.

The E-13, with several other submarines, was bound for the Baltic when she ran aground. This was in Danish waters off the island of Saltholm, between Copenhagen and Malmö. She struck early in the morning and all efforts to gain open water failed. At five a. m. a Danish torpedo boat appeared and informed the commander that twenty-four hours would be given him to leave the three-mile zone. Shortly afterward a German destroyer came up and remained close by until two additional Danish torpedo boats reached the scene. The German withdrew, but reappeared about nine o'clock, accompanied by a second destroyer. The three Danish boats were close at hand, but neither they nor the British crew had an inkling of what was to follow.

One of the German destroyers hoisted a signal, but this was pulled down so quickly that the E-13's commander failed to read it. The German then fired a torpedo at the helpless craft, which struck the bottom near by without doing any damage. This was followed with a broadside from every gun that could be brought to bear.

Realizing that escape was impossible the British commander gave orders to abandon the ship and blow her up. When such of his men as were still on their feet tumbled over the side, the Germans turned machine guns and shrapnel upon them. A dozen men were killed or wounded before a Danish boat of the trio on hand steamed into the line of fire and stopped the slaughter. Both of the German destroyers retired.

This attack inflamed England from end to end. It was pointed out how British sailormen so frequently had risked their lives to rescue Germans in distress, and demand was made for reprisals. No direct steps were taken toward that end, but the German navy soon was to suffer losses from the companion boats of the E-13, which had reached the Baltic safely.

Hard on the heels of the E-13 incident came formal complaint from Germany that the British had pushed overboard survivors from a German submarine sunk by a trawler. Men aboard the transport Narcosian gave the first news of this affair on reaching New Orleans after a trip from England. They said that while the U-27 was parleying with the Narcosian, preparatory to sinking her, an armed trawler came to their aid and rammed the U-27, which sunk almost at once. Several of the German sailors swam to the trawler and climbed over her sides. They were thrown back and drowned, according to the Narcosian crew's testimony.

Representations upon this subject were made to Washington by the German authorities, without any expectation that the United States would take action, but merely to serve as a record and basis for future action. The German press cried for revenge, and it was not long until the Government itself talked broadly of similar treatment for British prisoners. Great Britain suggested that a board of American naval officers hear evidence in the case and render a decision, providing that Germany would defend charges of a similar character. From fighting, the two principal combatants had fallen to quarreling. Germany refused the challenge and nothing came of the matter.

A large German torpedo boat was run down and cut in two by a German ferryboat on October 15, 1915, not far from Trelleborg, Sweden. Both vessels were running with all lights out when the accident took place. Five men were saved and forty drowned.

The first fruits of the undertaking to clear the Baltic of German shipping and interfere with the operations against Riga was the sinking on October 24, 1915, of the Prinz Adalbert, an armored cruiser of 8,858 tons. Of 575 men aboard less than 100 were saved. She was the first big German warship to be blown up by a torpedo. True, the Blücher was so disposed of during the Dogger Bank fight, mentioned in another volume, but she already had been disabled.

The submarine that ended the Prinz Adalbert's career never was identified, but she did her work well. Berlin announced that two torpedoes struck the cruiser, both taking effect, and that she sunk in a few minutes. The attack was made near Libau, according to the German statement.

The British cruiser Argyll stranded off the Scottish coast on October 28, 1915, and broke up a few days later. The mishap occurred during a storm, and all of her crew were rescued by other vessels. She was of 10,850 tons burden, and carried a heavy armament. This same day the Hythe, an auxiliary vessel, was sunk in a collision near Gallipoli Peninsula, with a loss of twenty lives.

Turkish gunners destroyed the French submarine Turquoise in the Dardanelles on November 1, 1915. Her crew of thirty odd men were killed or drowned. The incident took place at the narrowest point of the passage into the Sea of Marmora.

November proved to be a bad month for the kaiser's naval forces. During the first week the U-8 was lost in the North Sea. Berlin reported that the vessel had stranded. Whether this version was correct cannot be learned, the British policy of concealing submarine captures, in order to befog Berlin, cutting off information from that source.

This month also cost the British several ships. Torpedo boat No. 96 collided with another vessel near Gibraltar on November 2, 1915, and sank before all of her crew could escape, eleven men being drowned. The fifth of the month witnessed a successful attack by an enemy submarine upon the armed merchantman Tara of the British navy. She was a vessel of 6,322 tons and carried from four to five hundred men, of whom thirty-four lost their lives. The sinking of the Tara, coupled with numerous attacks on merchant ships, proved that the undersea fleet of Germany in the Mediterranean was becoming formidable. Then began a painstaking search of the many small islands off the Greek, Italian, and Turkish coasts for submarine bases. Several were discovered and destroyed. A number of submarines also were caught or sunk in the Mediterranean.

The Undine, a German cruiser having 2,636 tons registry, and a crew of 275 men, was torpedoed in the Baltic November 7, 1915. She had been convoying a fleet of merchant ships coming from Sweden when a British submarine cut short her days. Nearly all of the crew were lost.

Germany now began to feel the pinch of undersea warfare. Sweden, most friendly of neutral powers on the European continent, and a source of endless supplies, was almost isolated from the Baltic side by the half dozen British submarines in that sea. Unlike the British, the Germans deemed it better to keep their vessels in port than risk destruction, even in the face of conditions that approached starvation for the poor. The string of vessels that had been bringing native Swedish products to Germany, and others from the United States and elsewhere, transshipped by the Swedes, were kept idle.

Search for the submarines that imperiled their last water link with the outside world went zealously on. A number of small, fast patrol boats and cruisers were assigned to the task. Thus it was that the Frauenlob, a cruiser of 2,672 tons and some 300 men, came within the range of a British submarine off the Baltic coast of Sweden on November 7, 1915. She blew up and plunged to the bottom after a single torpedo had been fired. Practically every man aboard was lost.

As may be well imagined these achievements of her own undersea boats filled England with pride. It was almost a joy, except for the loss of life, to see Germany suffer at a business in which she had caused such distress to others. And the Empire was suffering acutely from the suspension of connections with Sweden, as evidenced by the greater haste to run down the elusive submarines that dogged her navy. More vessels were assigned to the hunt. Every mile of shore line within the German reach was searched for a possible base and the vessels in the hunt kept a lookout on all sides for the telltale periscope.

The British lost another destroyer on November 9, 1915, during a storm in the Mediterranean, a half dozen men being saved. And the Turks accounted for a submarine on the 13th, when the E-20 was sunk by land fire in the Sea of Marmora. Although Turkish craft had been compelled to forego trips in those waters they proved to be most unfriendly for allied submarines. With experience on the part of the Turks came less respect for the undersea boats, a number of which were hit by land batteries during the operations there.

Naval operations continued in this way without notable incident until December 18, 1915. Then the cruiser Bremen joined the other German war vessels that had been sunk in the Baltic search. She registered 2,672 tons, and had about 300 men aboard. The attack took place near the Swedish coast, and created such a sensation that the Swedes became convinced the British had a submarine rendezvous on their shores, and took a hand in the hunt. No evidence of a base could be found.

By this time German shipping had practically disappeared from the Baltic and it never reappeared. The British tactics fully served their purpose in this direction. And the few submarines rendered effective aid in the defense of Riga, helping the Russians stem what promised to be a dangerous onslaught. It would not be too much to say that the arrival of the little fleet of undersea boats was a turning point in the German drive along the Baltic, which overwhelmed Libau. The Russian line stiffened before Riga with the aid of the navy and the submarines. Riga was saved, perhaps Petrograd, which it guarded.

There was a considerable loss of life on December 28, 1915, when the Ville de la Ciotat, a French channel steamer, became the mark of a torpedo. Seventy-nine of her passengers and crew were drowned, the survivors suffering severely from bad weather in open boats before they reached land. A number of them afterward died of pneumonia.

The final tragedy of the year at sea took place on December 30, 1915, shortly after one o'clock in the afternoon at a point 300 miles northwest of Alexandria, Egypt, where the Peninsular and Oriental liner Persia was torpedoed. Like so many ships that had gone before she sank immediately. Out of 241 passengers aboard only fifty-nine were saved, while ninety-four men in a crew of 159 reached shore. This aroused some criticism, but there was no evidence to show that the crew had taken advantage of those intrusted to their protection.

No one saw the submarine that sank the Persia. She undoubtedly was torpedoed, as it was scarcely reasonable that a stray mine had floated to such an unfrequented spot. One American citizen, Robert Ney McNeely, appointed consul to Aden, Egypt, lost his life. He was en route to his post at the time and the United States Government found itself facing another serious situation. Here was an American official, bound on official business, killed by a friendly nation. There the problem became more complex. It could not be proved to whom the submarine belonged that attacked the ship; it could not even be shown that she had been torpedoed. Germany flatly denied any hand in the affair and Austria, after delay for reports from her submarines commanders, likewise disclaimed responsibility. Official Washington turned inquiring eyes upon Turkey. There were hints in the German press that a Turkish boat torpedoed the vessel. Both Germany and Austria had pledged themselves to respect the lives of noncombatants, but Turkey, having never sank a passenger ship, was bound by no such pledge. It even was hinted that Bulgaria might be the nation to blame. She had entered hostilities on the side of the Teutonic Powers, and was said to have at least one or two submarines.

Amid this welter of excuses, explanations and possibilities the United States Government floundered for several weeks. Then it gave up the problem and ruled that Mr. McNeely should have asked for a warship if he wanted to reach Aden and there was no other way to go. The Persia had several 4.7-inch guns aboard, which compromised her in the view of Washington.

According to the British Admiralty thirty-nine unarmed steamships and one trawler flying the Union Jack were sunk without warning by submarines up to the end of 1915. Thirteen neutral steamships and one sailing vessel were listed under the same heading. Of these, the Gulflight and Nebraskan were American. The Norwegians lost four steamships and the sailing craft, the Swedes four, the Danes one, the Greeks one, and the Portuguese one. It was stated that several vessels believed to have been sunk by submarines, where proof was lacking, had not been taken into account.

Although this compilation included the Lusitania, the Arabic, and other big vessels on which many lives were lost, the list seems of small consequence in view of later raids upon allied and neutral shipping by the German undersea boats. It was destined to reach an ominous length in the succeeding months.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVII

CRUISE OF THE MOEWE—LOSS OF BRITISH BATTLESHIPS

The cruise of the Moewe stands out as one of the heroic, almost Homeric achievements of the war. She left Bremerhaven on December 20, 1915, according to one of her officers who afterward reached the United States, and calmly threaded her way through the meshes of the British navy's North Sea net. After leaving the shelter of home waters, with the Swedish colors painted on her hull, the Moewe boldly turned her nose down the Channel. She answered the signals of several British cruisers and on one occasion at least was saluted in turn. Having a powerful wireless apparatus aboard, her commander, Count zu Dohna-Schlobitten, a captain-lieutenant in the Imperial navy, was able to keep up with the movements of British patrol vessels. Several intercepted messages told of a strange white liner that refused to answer questions. This was the Moewe, and before passing into the Atlantic she had changed her coat to black. She was sighted by probably a dozen British warships before reaching the North Atlantic. By refusing to heed the signals of distant vessels, which she had a good chance of outdistancing in a race, and showing every courtesy to those close at hand, the raider made her escape.

The Moewe had about three hundred men aboard. They were a picked crew, and her commander a man of daring. Within a period of less than three months he sunk fifteen merchant ships, captured the Appam and sent her to Norfolk, Va., then returned home with 199 prisoners and $250,000 in gold bars. And he may have been responsible for the loss of the British battleship King Edward VII, of 16,500 tons, which struck a mine in the North Sea on January 9, 1916. It is certain that the Moewe left a chain of mines behind her on the outward voyage, some of which undoubtedly caused loss to allied shipping.

Once past the British Channel fleet, the Moewe struck for the steamship lane off the Moroccan, Spanish, and Portuguese coasts. There she was comparatively safe from pursuit, and so skillfully were her operations carried on that it was many weeks before the fact became known that a raider actually was abroad. But one by one overdue steamships failed to reach their ports and suspicion grew. Either the Karlsruhe had returned to life as a plague upon allied shipping, an able successor appeared, or a flotilla of giant submarines was at large that could cruise almost any distance. Several vessels brought tales to England of being chased by a phantom ship near the African coast. But such stories had been repeated so many times without any foundation that the British admiralty was in a quandary. To overlook no clue, a flotilla of cruisers swept the seas under suspicion. They came back empty handed.

At dawn, February 1, 1916, a big steamship passed into Hampton Roads, disregarding pilots and the signals of other craft. She hove to at an isolated spot and waited for daylight. When the skies cleared the German naval flag was seen floating at her prow. Newport News could scarce believe the report. Then the city remembered the Kronprinzessin Cecile and the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, both of which had stolen in under cover of night from a raiding career.

But this was no raider. It was the Appam, a raider's victim. She had sailed across the Atlantic from a point on the South African route, held prisoner thirty-three days by a prize crew of twenty-two men and one officer, Lieutenant Hans Berg, of the Imperial German Naval Reserve. Aboard the Appam were 156 officers and men, 116 of her own passengers, 138 survivors of destroyed vessels, and twenty Germans who had been en route to a prison camp in England when rescued. This large company was cowed by the lieutenant's threat to shoot the first man who made a hostile move, or to blow up the vessel with bombs if he saw defeat was certain. And, like a good stage director, he pointed significantly to rifles, bayonets, and bombs.

There were several notables among the prisoners, including Sir Edward Merewether, Governor of Sierra Leone, and his wife. They were homeward bound from his African post for a vacation when the Moewe took the Appam. All of the persons aboard, save the Germans, were released and the ship interned. Then followed a long wrangle as to the status of the vessel, Germany claiming the right of asylum for a prize by the terms of an old Prussian treaty with the United States. Great Britain protested this claim and demanded that the ship be released. Without actually affirming one or denying the other, the United States allowed the Appam to remain in German hands, enjoying the same privileges as other interned ships.

The Appam was a rich prize indeed. Having a registry of 7,781 tons, she was a modern vessel throughout, having been employed for several years in the trade between South Africa and England. She was worth $1,000,000 stripped, while her cargo sold for $700,000. The $250,000 in gold bars which subsequently went into the Berlin strong box also came from the Appam—a round $2,000,000. Altogether it was a very good day's work for the Moewe.

Not till the Appam arrived in the Virginia harbor was it positively known that a raider had eluded the allied navies. The search that followed was conducted on a broader scale and with more minute care than any similar hunt of the war, but to no avail. On February 20, 1916, the Westburn, a British vessel of 3,300 tons, put into Santa Cruz de Teneriffe, a Spanish port. She, too, had a German captor aboard. One officer and six men brought in 206 prisoners from one Belgian and six British ships. Having landed all of those on board the German lieutenant in command asked for permission to anchor at a different point, and, this being granted, steamed beyond the three-mile limit, where the Westburn was blown up. Long use of sea water in her boilers caused the explosion, her commander said. He was arrested along with his half dozen men, then paroled. It was the fortune of war. Once more the Germans had won, the British lost.

Again word was passed that the Moewe must be found. The British public took her feats much to heart. They rivaled the finest accomplishments of British sailormen in the days when privateers went forth to destroy French commerce. But the Moewe never was caught. On the morning of March 5, 1916, she put into Wilhelmshaven with 4 officers, 29 marines and sailors, and 165 men of enemy crews as her prisoners. And the gold bars were secure in the captain's safe.

Immediately a fervor of enthusiasm ran through Germany. The Moewe was back after a trip of many thousand miles, with prisoners and bullion aboard. She had sunk fifteen allied vessels—thirteen British, one Belgian, and one French—with an aggregate tonnage of nearly 60,000. This had been accomplished in the face of her enemies' combined sea power. The Moewe first sailed through the blockade and then came home again by the long way round. She skirted the whole of Iceland to reach Wilhelmshaven safely, making a perilous voyage into Arctic waters at the worst season of the year. All this and more the German papers recounted with pardonable pride. It was said that Germany had flung the gauntlet in the British face and escaped unscathed.

Count zu Dohna-Schlobitten had the honor paid him of a visit from the kaiser aboard his ship, where he received the Iron Cross. Wilhelm was much pleased, as may be imagined, and the example of the count was held up to the German navy as an illustration of what daring could achieve.

The Moewe's exploits evidently were part of a concerted plan. Whether the raider actually sunk all of the vessels accredited to her is a question that probably never will be answered. The evidence tends to show that it was Germany's aim to create a fleet of auxiliaries in the mid-Atlantic. It seems likely that the naval board in Berlin conceived the idea of having a number of their interned vessels break for the sea on a stated day and meet at a common rendezvous, or undertake raiding upon their own account.

Whatever the plan, it was carried out in part. Two German liners escaped from South American ports on February 12, 1916, and never were heard from again, so far as the records go. They were the Bahrenfeld and the Turpin. As the identity of the Moewe already had been established and allied warships were scouring the seven seas for her, it appears plausible that the Bahrenfeld and Turpin both assumed the same title, and that one or other of the vessels was taken to be the original Moewe by persons on ships which they sunk. Or one or both may have been run down and the fact kept secret.

The Bahrenfeld and Turpin commanders were wily men. They told the authorities at Buenos Aires, where the first named had sought asylum, and Puenta Arenas, Chile, where the second was interned, that the machinery of their ships was suffering from disuse, and requested permission for a day's run in the neighboring waters that the engines might have exercise. This was granted, and they quietly put to sea. That was the last seen of them by the South American folk. But the port officials at Rio de Janeiro were suspicious when the Asuncion tried the same ruse. As she began to edge beyond bounds a shot across her bow cut short the plan.

Both the Bahrenfeld and the Turpin were built in England, the former having a registry of 2,357 tons, and the latter 3,301 tons.

The first day of the new year was marked by the explosion of the British armored cruiser Natal in an east-coast port. Three hundred men of a crew numbering 700 were killed, the others escaping because they had shore leave. Not a man on board lived to tell how the explosion came. It was one of a mysterious chain that had shaken even British nerves in the early days of the war when a half dozen warcraft were blown up in home ports. The explosions were, in every instance, extremely violent, literally blowing the vessels to bits. Several of them were affirmed to have been accidental by the British admiralty, which rendered that verdict upon the Natal, but these official explanations never were convincing.

The Natal, a vessel of 3,600 tons, had but recently returned from sea service and was in good condition throughout. The explosion that rent her apart came in the quiet of the evening when the men either were sleeping or preparing for supper. Suddenly there was a crash, and the Natal was no more. Such of her hull and superstructure as had not been scattered in every direction sank beneath the surface of the water.

Just nine days later the King Edward VII, a pre-dreadnought of 16,500 tons, collided with a mine in the North Sea and soon foundered. She was a second-line ship of heavy battery and carried a crew of 777 men, all of whom were taken off before the big craft sunk. This was one of the few instances in which there was no loss of life from mine or torpedo explosions. The accident occurred at a time when the King Edward VII was accompanied by a number of other vessels, or most of the men aboard probably would have been drowned. On a warship, even more than a passenger vessel, it is impossible to carry enough boats for all. The price of defeat in a naval action inevitably is death. For this reason there was general thanksgiving in England that the crew of the battleship had been saved, even though the ship was lost.

During the month of January, 1916, three British sailing vessels and ten steamships were sunk by enemy warships, with a respective tonnage of 153 and 31,481. Four hundred and ten lives were lost. Three steamships struck mines and foundered in the same month, having a tonnage of 3,357. Two persons died in the trio of accidents.

The Amiral Charner, an old but serviceable French armored cruiser of 4,680 tons, was torpedoed in the Mediterranean near Syria on February 8, 1916. She went down within a few minutes, although about a hundred men managed to reach the lifeboats and rafts. The weather was bitterly cold, and only one survivor lived to bring the news. He was picked up on a raft with fourteen dead companions and told an incoherent story that bore little relation to the truth. But it was only too easy to guess what had happened.

During the early period of the war the French navy escaped the heavy blows that fell upon the British, partly because Germany concentrated on her larger antagonist's navy, and partly due to the fact that the British ships were nearly all engaged in the Atlantic, while the French confined themselves more especially to the Mediterranean. With the opening of operations at the Dardanelles and the coming of German submarines the losses of the French sea forces began to grow rapidly. But they held the Mediterranean against all attacks.

The Arethusa, which torpedoed the Blücher after she had been put out of action by the Lion in that famous fight, collided with a mine near the east coast of England on February 14, 1916. She went down with a loss of ten men, neighboring vessels doing notable rescue work. The Arethusa was a cruiser of 3,600 tons and had taken an active part in all of the work that fell to the British fleet. She was one of the pet ships of the navy, having a reputation for speed and luck that made her name familiar to readers the world over. A half dozen brushes with the enemy had found her well up in the fighting line, and she was said by sailormen to have a charmed existence, never having been hit. But she sunk quickly after striking the mine. The passing of so gallant a ship was one of the chief developments of the month in its naval history.

The Peninsular and Oriental liner Maloja was blown up in the Channel on February 28, 1916, supposedly by a mine. The loss of life was large, 147 persons being drowned.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVIII

CONTINUATION OF WAR ON MERCHANT SHIPPING—ITALIAN AND RUSSIAN NAVAL MOVEMENTS—SINKING OF LA PROVENCE

Throughout the months of January and February, 1916 while negotiations between Germany and the United States were in a critical stage, the submarine war on merchant shipping continued with little abatement. Seeing that her armies could thwart the Allies' offensive efforts, but were unable to crush any one of the larger powers, Germany turned longing eyes to the sea. There was much talk of risking a major engagement. The kaiser's naval advisers worked feverishly with figures and plans. An echo of this scarce suppressed excitement crept into the German press, and was duly noted in London and Paris.

One of the principal German journals came out with a frank discussion of the elements involved and the chances of success. It was said that three possibilities lay open. The first contemplated an attack upon the Allies' flank in Flanders, made from the sea, to coordinate with a drive on land. Another section of the fleet would try to hold off the British until the action was over or, failing that, combine forces with the first squadron and stake the Empire's fortune on the result of a general battle.

The second plan provided for a dash to sea with the purpose of running the blockade and effecting a junction with the Austrians in the Mediterranean, to be followed by an attack upon the Suez Canal. A land attack was to take place at the same time. The third scheme called for minor raids on exposed points by the two fleets and relentless submarine activities.

This estimate was not far short of the actual plans before the German naval authorities. Their realization of the pressing need for action, the tightening blockade, and the desperate possibilities of defeat, made them a trifle unwary. News was flashed abroad many times that revealed this state of mind. For instance, on February 20, 1916, it was announced that cooperative action at sea had been settled upon in accord with the proposals of Archduke Charles Stephen and Prince Henry of Prussia, the kaiser's brother. Such information, whether genuine or not, could only make the Allies redouble their watch.

Early in February, 1916, it was established that 70,000 naval reservists had been gathered at Kiel and Helgoland ready for duty on auxiliary vessels and cruisers of newly-formed squadrons. Many facts that pointed to Germany's resolution in the face of odds never reached America. The Ally censors kept Germany's secret well. But the whole world expected that a big engagement would be fought any day. The intervening hours, almost the minutes, might be counted.