Steam and smoke came up between the two last funnels, and almost immediately there was a second report, probably due to the bursting of the main steam pipe. "I at once gave the order," said Captain Turner at the inquest, "to lower the boats down to the rails, and I directed that the women and children should be got into them. The moment the vessel was struck she listed to starboard. I stood on the bridge as she sank, and the Lusitania went down under me. She floated about eighteen minutes after the torpedo struck her." An English passenger thus described the scene as the Lusitania sank:—

There was no ship of any kind in sight when the Lusitania was torpedoed, except a Peel trawler which was lying inshore. She started at once to the rescue; but the wind was light, and she was slow in arriving. Nevertheless she managed to pick up over a hundred persons from lifeboats or rafts. So crowded was the trawler with rescued people that some had to sit with their legs dangling over the side. Other trawlers and boats from Kinsale came to the rescue, and later on the Indian Prince, a steamer from Queenstown, arrived, and began to pick up survivors. When the death-roll was finally made up, it was discovered that 1,134 persons had been killed by the explosion or drowned. Over a hundred American citizens went down that day.

On the Face of the Waters—after the Sinking of the "Lusitania."

(By permission of the Illustrated London News.)
We can never know all the acts of heroism and self-sacrifice which were performed when the passengers and crew of the Lusitania were struggling for life in the water, but we know that Mr. Vanderbilt, the American millionaire, though unable to swim, gave his life-belt to a woman, and remained steadfastly on the deck awaiting his end. One of the drowned sailors was found with a little child strapped to his back, and no doubt its weight cost the swimmer his life.

No incident of the war provoked more terrible indignation against the Huns. It is said that two wealthy American citizens who were saved in a lifeboat stood up amidst the scene of horror, and pledged themselves that, if the United States did not go to war with Germany within seven days, they would forswear their country for ever. The news was received with bitter anger in Great Britain, and in New York there was a hush of horror, broken only by "the sniggers of German-Americans." A coroner's jury which sat at Kinsale brought in a verdict of wilful murder against the Emperor of Germany and his Government. "Remember the Lusitania" became a watchword at recruiting meetings, and thousands of men flocked to the colours, eager to avenge this foul and cowardly crime.

America had declared that she would hold Germany to strict account for every American life lost as a result of the submarine "blockade." Seven days after the sinking of the Lusitania, President Wilson sent a very calm and moderate Note to Germany, declaring that American citizens had the right to travel wherever their business called them on the high seas, without their lives being endangered by warships, and that their Government would do everything to maintain this right. At the same time the Note suggested that the sinking of American ships and the Lusitania was due to mistakes on the part of the commanders of submarines, and it called upon the German Government to disavow these acts, and prevent them from taking place in the future. Germany replied in a shuffling fashion; and on 21st July President Wilson sent another Note which practically threatened war if the Germans did not cease their blockade.

How did Germany reply to this Note? On 19th August one of her submarines, without warning, torpedoed the White Star liner Arabic off Cape Clear. The loss of life was small, for the vessel remained afloat for ten minutes, and there was time to lower the boats. When it became known that the Arabic had twenty-six American citizens on board, anger flamed up anew. The wrath of Americans was raised almost to war pitch, especially when the Germans put forward a series of falsehoods in excuse. The German Minister at Washington now saw that his Government had gone too far. He begged the United States Government to wait for a report, and a little later he promised that full amends should be made. On 1st September he gave a written pledge that thenceforward passenger liners would not be sunk by submarines without warning, and without ensuring the safety of the lives of those on board, provided that the liners did not try to escape or show fight. He also declared that Germany had decided to make this change in her policy before the sinking of the Arabic.

The Americans were delighted with this very doubtful promise, and they believed that they had forced Germany to give up the worst features of the blockade. If you read the promise carefully, you will see that the Germans had so worded it that they could still proceed in the old way. A submarine might give passengers time to get into small boats in mid-ocean, but how could it ensure their safety? There was a case during the "blockade" of men who had escaped in a boat being afloat for four days without food and water, and some of them dying from exposure. Then, again, the promise only applied to passenger liners, and not to merchant ships. It was quite easy for a submarine commander to sink a liner, and then pretend that it had resisted or tried to escape. Above all, nothing was said about the right of Americans to sail the seas without their lives being endangered by warships. Nevertheless, the Americans were delighted with the promise, and plumed themselves greatly on having done a great service to mankind.

Three days later came a rude awakening. On the night of 4th September the Allan liner Hesperian was torpedoed by a German submarine without warning. The liner was then 130 miles west of Queenstown She kept afloat for some time, and was towed towards port, but went down at seven o'clock on the morning of 6th September. There was a small loss of life, and there were two Americans on board. It was now clear to everybody that the German promise was a mere "scrap of paper." Wrath surged up again in the United States, but it led to nothing. The Germans untruthfully declared that the vessel was sunk by a mine and not by a submarine.

During the last three weeks of August and the first week of September ships of all sorts were sunk at the rate of about sixteen a week. Then came a rapid falling off, and during the week ending 10th October only two ships were sent to the bottom. The submarine blockade was fizzling out. The Germans had changed their policy, not because of the protests of the Americans, but because they had discovered that the game was not worth the candle. Mr. Balfour, in a letter to a correspondent, gave the true reason why the Germans were bringing the blockade to an end. He said that while the losses of German submarines had been very great, the British merchant navy was stronger than when the blockade began. Though many innocent persons, women and children as well as men, had been robbed and killed, the criminals had paid a heavy toll. The reason why the Germans had changed their policy was not because the United States had protested, not because the Germans had revolted against lawless cruelty. "No. The reason is to be found elsewhere. It is to be found in the fact that the authors of the submarine policy have had time to measure its effects, and that deeds which were merely crimes in May, in September were seen to be blunders."

By the month of June the British navy had learnt the art of capturing the submarines of the enemy; and so expert had it become in this work that a U boat, once discovered, had but little chance of escape. Submarine-hunting became the great sport of the navy, and every young officer and bluejacket was eager to engage in it. We do not know how many German submarines were destroyed, but we were informed, through America, that seventy-eight of them had been seized or sunk, and that in December 1915 at least five of the Kaiser's submarines, manned by British seamen, were doing splendid work against his ships in the Baltic. The British only rarely announced their successes, and the German submarine crews were always in doubt as to the fate of their fellows. Before long their nerve failed them, and even at the beginning of their voyages they were disheartened and hopeless.

The methods by which the enemy's submarines were captured or destroyed were not revealed, but we know that fast motor boats, each armed with a powerful gun, were employed in the hunt, and that steel nets were sometimes used. When a big fish was caught the floats of the nets gave warning, and destroyers promptly arrived to deal with it. Innocent-looking patrol boats were sometimes attacked, and, too late, the biter discovered that he was bitten. There is a story that a submarine commander, approaching one of these patrols, called out, "I give you ten minutes to take to your boats;" whereupon the skipper, whipping a concealed gun round and preparing to fire, returned answer, "And I give you three minutes to go to the bottom."

No submarine loss caused such bitter chagrin in Germany as the sinking of the famous U29 late in March. You will remember that it was this boat which had sunk the Hogue, Cressy, Aboukir, and Hawke. Captain Weddigen, who commanded U29, had become a popular hero in Germany, and the Kaiser had showered honours on him. He was a good type of sailor, both skilful and brave, and it is to his credit that he was known in this country as "the polite pirate." He not only expressed his regret at having to sink merchant ships, but gave food and comforts to their crews, and towed their boats some distance towards the land. When it was known that Weddigen had gone down with all his crew in U29, the Germans put forth an absurd story that the submarine had been sunk while she was engaged in life-saving, and was unable to defend herself. One German newspaper demanded "revenge for Weddigen," and declared that no more sacrifices must be made to "the German system of humanity in war"!

I will conclude this chapter with a brief account of the troubles and trials which the Americans had to endure because of the attempts of German agents to stir up all sorts of strife in their country. Almost from the beginning of the year there were explosions and fires in the factories which were making munitions for the Allies, and there was little doubt that these outrages, which frequently led to loss of life, were the work of German hirelings. During August the New York World published evidence proving that German money was lavished amongst newspapers for the purpose of getting them to publish articles in favour of Germany. It also proved that men were paid to bring about strikes in engineering shops, to blow up ships laden with munitions, and to interfere in every possible way with American affairs, so as to cause trouble between Britain and the United States.

On 6th September matters came to a head. Papers taken from an American journalist at Falmouth showed that Dr. Dumba, the Austro-Hungarian ambassador, was at the bottom of a series of attempts to prevent factories from making munitions for the Allies, and to stir up American exporters against Britain. Amongst these papers was a private letter from Captain von Papen, a German soldier attached to the German Embassy. In it he spoke of "these idiotic Yankees." The Americans were indignant at these exposures and insults, and the Government demanded that Dr. Dumba should be recalled. He was handed his passports, and he left America—for America's good.

On 10th November the Italian liner Ancona, bound from Naples to New York, was fired at and torpedoed in the Mediterranean Sea by two large submarines, probably German, but carrying the Austrian flag. Some 500 persons were on board, and only some 260 were saved. Amongst those who perished were about 20 American citizens. At once President Wilson sent a sharp Note, demanding that Austria should disavow the crime, punish the captains of the submarines, and promise to safeguard American passengers in the future. To this Note Austria replied in a very defiant fashion, and by so doing again strained the patience of the American people almost to the breaking point. At the close it looked as though America was about to break off all relations with Austria.

In December the German Government was obliged to recall Captain von Papen and another member of the Embassy. These two men had set the American Government at defiance, and had encouraged plots throughout the length and breadth of the country. Some of their agents were brought to trial, and were punished, and President Wilson announced that the men who were plotting to destroy property and to undermine the Government must be "crushed out." Thus, at the close of the year America seemed to be ready to put an end to the German mischief-makers who had done so much to disturb the peace of the country, and to foster lawlessness and strife.

A German Submarine half submerged.

CHAPTER XII.

"The business of the submarines," says Mr. Kipling, "is to run monstrous risks from the earth, air, and water, in what, to be of any use, must be the coldest of blood." Submarine officers, he continues, "play hourly for each other's lives, with Death, the umpire, always at their elbow on tiptoe, to give them 'out.'" And consider the bowling and fielding in this nightmare game, where there is rarely a second innings. A bomb from a Zeppelin or an aeroplane, a shot from a 4-inch gun, a bump against a mine, a collision with a reef or the bows of a destroyer, trawler, or tramp, an accident to the complicated gear—and all is over. Nevertheless, the officers and crews of submarines soon lose the sense of imminent peril, and go about their business quite unconcerned.

The following story shows how a submarine was trapped, but managed to free herself and turn the tables on her enemy. A British boat, which was cruising under water in the North Sea, ran her nose into a net and became entangled. She rose to the surface, meaning to cut away the net and get clear. No sooner did her conning tower appear above the water than her commander saw a Zeppelin hovering right above him, and in a moment a bomb plumped into the sea unpleasantly near. He had no alternative but to go below again; but this he had to do as gingerly as possible, for otherwise the submarine would have wrapped herself up in the net still more. Steadily she sank, and by slow working and wriggling managed to get clear of the entanglement. Then she lay on the bottom, and her commander began to think out the next move in the perilous game. Should he go back to warn the other submarines, or should he wait and try to "bag" something? He knew that the Zeppelin believed him to be entangled in the net, and that it was sure to signal for destroyers to come and finish him off, so he sat tight and waited. In a few minutes he heard the screws of the destroyers churning above him. Then he rose, and at the critical moment gave the signal to let loose a torpedo. The shot went home: the destroyer crumpled up, and was taken in tow by a consort. Unhappily, as the commander had no more torpedoes, he was balked of a second victim.

Since the war began, British submarines have penetrated into every harbour and river mouth on the coast of Germany. One day a British boat in the mouth of a German river was seen by the enemy. At once she went under; but though she lay on the silt at the bottom, she had not more than five feet of water above her. Almost any patrol boat could have hit her and destroyed her had her whereabouts been known; but somehow the Germans missed her. They meant to catch her, however, and began to sweep the river with a wire trawl. Before long the commander of the submarine heard the trawl rasping along his hull. He sat and listened, expecting every moment that it would catch on something, and reveal him to the Germans working above. The suspense was enough to turn a man's hair gray. Happily, the trawl slid off the hull, and the danger passed. At nightfall the submarine made her way into the open sea, and finally reached harbour safely.

The following story has been told of a fight between a British submarine and a Zeppelin. One day a boat came to the surface, and found herself right underneath a Zeppelin that was flying only a few yards above the sea. The commander could not see the sky, only the shining bulge of the airship. Luckily he was not under the "stinging end" of the monster. Immediately he sank till his decks were awash, and went away to windward, so that the Zeppelin had to follow him with the wind in its teeth. Then he sent a man to the gun on deck. The waves were washing over the submarine, and the man was nearly drowned; but he hung on, and whenever he saw a chance, fired a shot at the airship, which by this time was dropping bombs. One of his shots got home, and the Zeppelin was obliged to steer to leeward and give up the chase. A fortnight later she was seen with a patch on the place where she had been hit.

On page 283 of our third volume I told you how Lieutenant Holbrook won the Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery while in command of a submarine which was scouting in the Dardanelles during December 1914. In these narrow waters, and in the Sea of Marmora, some extraordinary feats were performed by our submarines during the year 1915. An American correspondent tells us that our under-water boats created a reign of terror amongst the peasants and villagers living on the shores of that sea. Turkish warships and gunboats and large numbers of transports and supply ships were sunk, and navigation was almost entirely suspended. On April 27, 1915, Submarine E14 dived under the enemy mine fields and entered the Sea of Marmora. In spite of strong currents, the presence of hostile patrols, and the hourly danger of attack from the enemy, she succeeded in sinking two Turkish gunboats and two transports, one of them large and full of troops; and after cruising in the enemy's waters for twenty-two days, returned in safety. For this remarkable exploit, which the admiral at the Dardanelles declared himself unable to do justice to, Lieutenant-Commander Edward Courtney Boyle received the Victoria Cross.

Late in May the British submarine E11 had an extraordinary "bag." She succeeded in destroying one large Turkish gunboat, two transports, one ammunition ship, and three storeships, and drove another storeship ashore. Then she passed through the minefield on her homeward way; but, on sighting another Turkish transport, returned, and managed to torpedo it. In the course of her cruise she entered the Golden Horn, and actually discharged a torpedo at a transport lying alongside the arsenal. The Turks declared that the torpedo struck the quay and blew up two hundred yards of masonry. Lieutenant-Commander Martin Eric Nasmith, who was the heart and soul of these intrepid feats, was rightly awarded the highest token of valour.

Getting into and out of the Sea of Marmora is a terribly difficult business, as the "Narrows,"[18] through which all ships must pass, was strewn with mines; the shores were studded with batteries and concealed torpedo tubes. Lieutenant Holbrook, you will remember, had to dive under five rows of mines before he could torpedo the Turkish battleship Messudiyeh. Mr. Kipling tells us that "one boat went down the straits, and found herself rather canted over to one side. A mine and chain had jammed under her forward diving-plane. So far as I made out, she shook it off by standing on her head and jerking backwards; or it may have been, for the thing has occurred more than once, she merely rose as much as she could, when she could, and then 'released it by hand,' as the official phrase goes."

Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly Hughes starting off with his Raft.

(Photo, Central News.)

Perhaps the most thrilling feat of daring ever associated with submarine warfare was performed by Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly Hughes on August 21, 1915. Lieutenant Hughes had already distinguished himself during the operations of E11 which I have described above. He volunteered to make a single-handed attempt to blow up a Turkish railway. A raft was prepared, and on it were placed the charge, his clothes, a revolver, a bayonet, and an electric torch. Round his neck he carried a whistle. Towards dusk the submarine ventured within sixty yards of the land, and then Lieutenant Hughes, stripped to the skin, went overboard, and pushing his raft before him, swam to the shore. When he touched bottom he found that the cliffs were too high to scale. He therefore started off again, and swam along the shore until he reached a less precipitous landing-place. Having dressed, he clambered up the rocks, carrying his charge with him. After a stiff climb he reached the top of the cliffs, and proceeding with great caution, made his way to the railway line, which he followed towards a viaduct.

He had only advanced about five or six hundred yards when he heard voices, and shortly afterwards caught a glimpse of three Turkish soldiers sitting by the side of the line and talking loudly. After watching them for some time he decided to leave the charge, which was heavy and cumbersome, and make a wide circuit inland, so as to get to the viaduct unseen. This he did, the only incident by the way being an unfortunate fall from a wall into a farmyard, where his sudden appearance startled the poultry and disturbed the household. He was not, however, detected. When he came in sight of the viaduct he found that it was guarded. A fire was burning at one end of it, and there were men close at hand. It was impossible to destroy the viaduct, so he returned to the place from which he had started, picked up his charge, revolver, bayonet, and electric torch, and looked for a spot where he might do as much damage as possible to the line.

Searching about, he found a low brickwork support over a small hollow, and there he placed his charge. He was only 150 yards from the three soldiers, who were still sitting by the line. He muffled the fuse pistol as tightly as possible with a piece of rag; but when he pulled it the noise was sufficiently loud to be heard by the soldiers, who stood up, looked around them, and catching sight of the lieutenant, ran towards him. He fired two shots at them, but missed, and hotly pursued, beat a hasty retreat along the line to the eastward. A few shots were fired at him, but he was not hit, and after running about a mile he found himself close to the shore.

At once, without discarding his clothes, he plunged into the water, and as he did so the charge exploded. Fragments of brick and earth fell around him, and even near the submarine, which was then in a small bay behind the cliffs about six hundred yards from the shore. After swimming for four or five hundred yards the lieutenant blew a long blast on his whistle, but the submarine did not hear it. Day was now rapidly breaking, so he turned back to the shore and rested for a short time. Then he threw away his revolver, bayonet, and electric torch, and entering the water once more, swam towards the bay in which the submarine was lying. Not until he had rounded the last point was his whistle heard.

As his comrades prepared to come to his assistance he heard shouts from the cliffs above, and saw Turkish soldiers firing on the submarine, which now came out of the bay stern first. In the morning mist he mistook the bow, the gun, and the conning tower for three small rowing boats. Thinking that these boats were manned by his enemies, he swam ashore again and began to climb up to a hollow of the cliffs some distance above him. He had not climbed more than a few feet before he saw the submarine, realized his mistake, and began shouting to his comrades. Once more he entered the water, and about forty yards from the rocks was picked up in an exhausted condition. He had swum the best part of a mile in his clothes.

Thus happily ended Lieutenant Hughes's daring adventure. I think you will agree with me that as a story of pluck, endurance, and resource it is hard to beat.

CHAPTER XIII.

You must not suppose that our submarines carried out their raids in the Dardanelles and in the Sea of Marmora without loss. Several of our under-water boats came to grief. E15, for example, while trying to torpedo a Turkish ship at the Narrows,[19] ran ashore on the Asiatic side. She was undamaged, and a Turkish destroyer speedily appeared on the scene. The admiral on the station was anxious that she should not fall into the enemy's hands, so he gave orders that she was to be destroyed. The story of how she was finally blown up is worth telling. Five different methods of destroying her were tried, but all in vain. Aeroplanes endeavoured to drop bombs on her, but without success; submarines tried to torpedo her, but failed; destroyers attempted to sink her, but could not manage to do so; and two battleships fired at her, but did not hit her. The battleships aimed their turret guns from a distance of 5¼ miles, and found that the conning tower of the submarine was too small a target. As a last resort the admiral gave the following order: "Two picket boats from Triumph and Majestic are to attack E15 to-night (April 18) with torpedoes fitted to dropping gear. . . . Only volunteer crews to be sent."

An officer in charge of the Triumph's boat tells us[20] that he was joined by the boat from the Majestic at 10 p.m.

"We steamed about eight knots, as the current was strong, and until we reached the beginning of the dangerous area we chatted—to keep up our courage, perhaps! As a matter of fact, I wasn't in much of a funk, and felt fairly cool, for I have been under fire a good many times, and I recognized that I had got a chance that does not often come in a man's life. It was a bit eerie, though, steaming along in the pitch dark, with all lights out in the boat, towards the distant searchlights, not knowing whether death or life awaited us. . . .

"We kept nearly in the centre of the channel, to avoid being spotted by the No. 7 searchlight, which was not a very high one. We had come along quite unobserved until we were abeam of it, passing the smaller searchlights without much trouble. Unfortunately the men stationed near the No. 7 searchlight saw us, and started firing 6 or 12 pounder shrapnel at us.

"Thus the ball opened. We still had three to four miles to go. We continued our way and approached the other searchlights. The alarm having been given, all the other searchlights came on and sent their beams searching round to pick us up, and as each beam struck us, bang would go another gun. A few seconds later we would hear a ping as the projectile whizzed past us, or a sharp metallic crack as a shrapnel burst just over our heads."

By the time they arrived near the stranded submarine eight searchlights were trained on them, and guns were firing at them from six different points. Presently they saw a dark mass which they thought to be the submarine, and fired a torpedo at it, but missed.

The End of a Submarine.

The cruiser has fired at the submarine and hit her, but to make assurance doubly sure, is now crashing down upon her at full speed.

"Suddenly we saw the Majestic's boat in trouble and the crew calling for help. It appeared that coming up behind us, and whilst the searchlights were focussed on us, one of the beams passed us and shone right on E15; and the Majestic's boat was luckily only two hundred yards away, and saw it. Lieutenant Godwin immediately fired one torpedo, which did not strike the object. At that moment his boat was struck by a shell under the water-line aft, and commenced to take in water rapidly. He gallantly turned his boat towards E15 again, steamed in a bit, and fired his second torpedo, which caught E15 just in front of the conning tower and on the forward whale-back of the hull, making a fine explosion. I consider this was a very brave deed, as Godwin knew he was in imminent danger of sinking, but ran in again to have a second shot.

"When we saw them their stern-sheets were awash, and it looked as if they might have to swim for it. We manoeuvred the boat to go alongside; but the current was terrible, and it made the handling a very difficult matter. The enemy saw the disaster, and redoubled their efforts. The sea all round us was a mass of splashes from projectiles, some of them fifteen to twenty feet high, whilst the water where the shrapnel burst was pitted as if by heavy rain. How it was we were not hit I cannot say; one would imagine it was impossible to come out of such a hail alive. All I can say is that God preserved us, and not a shot actually hit us, though we were one and all wet with the splashes.

"As we steamed round again before heading out, we saw a man crawling out of the other boat's stern-sheets. He had been forgotten in the hurry of the moment. It looked like suicide to go back, but of course we could not leave him there, so manoeuvred close again and shouted to him to get into the water and swim towards us, which he did, and we hauled him into the boat unconscious. . . .

"By this time we thought we had better clear out, so turned our nose towards home and steamed away at half speed, still under heavy fire. We did not like to go full speed, as we thought it would shake up the wounded man too much."

The officer who relates the story tells us that when he reached the Majestic the commander, "with the true old Navy touch, instead of congratulating us on the success of the expedition, and our people on their lives being saved, only asked them if they had saved any of the boat's gear!" Congratulations, however, came later, when the Vice-Admiral signalled that he had read with much pride the report of the torpedo attack on the wreck of E15, and that he considered the service which had been rendered of the greatest value.

During the early months of the war the Baltic Sea was Germany's own domain. Her merchant vessels went to and fro across its waters without molestation from the British. By July 1915, however, our submarines had got through the dangerous channels, and were busily engaged in destroying German shipping. It was no easy matter for our submarines to enter the Baltic. The Germans had laid mines in the narrow waters by which alone entrance could be gained, and had established a patrol service. They felt sure that they could keep out the British submarines, but they had underestimated British skill, courage, and caution. From that time onward German vessels were sunk at the rate of about two a day. A battleship and at least two cruisers were sunk before the end of November, and a state of panic reigned. It was all-important that the Germans should maintain sea communication with Sweden, from which they drew vast quantities of iron ore and other raw materials, and also with Denmark. You can imagine their consternation when they found that none of their merchant ships dare leave port without the risk of being sent to the bottom. I need not tell you that in every case the British were most careful to save the lives of the crews.

One of the most successful of our submarine officers was Commander Max K. Horton. He was present during the Battle of Heligoland Bight, and you have already read (page 168, Vol. II.) how on September 13, 1915, he sank the light cruiser Hela, and was playfully dubbed by his comrades "The Double-toothed Pirate." The next day, at great risk, he examined the outer anchorage of Heligoland, and on 6th October sank a German destroyer off the mouth of the Ems. When or how he got into the Baltic Sea we do not know, but we do know that on July 2, 1915, he torpedoed the German battleship Pommern, and that shortly afterwards the Tsar recognized this important service by conferring on him the Order of St. George. At the same time the cross of the same order was awarded to the members of his crew. During the Battle of the Gulf of Riga, which I shall describe in a later chapter, Commander Noel Laurence torpedoed the German cruiser Moltke, which, you will remember, took part in the East Coast raids and in the Battle of the Dogger Bank. She was badly disabled, and was towed away, probably towards Kiel. The Tsar awarded Commander Laurence and his crew similar distinctions to those conferred upon Commander Max Horton and his comrades.

One of our submarines, E13, ran aground early in the morning of 19th August on the Danish island of Saltholm, which lies in the Sound between Copenhagen and the Swedish town of Malmö. At 5 a.m. a Danish torpedo boat saw her, and signalled to her that she would be allowed twenty-four hours in which to try to get off. At the same time a German destroyer arrived, and remained close to the submarine until two other Danish torpedo boats came up, when she withdrew. The submarine, you must remember, was in Danish waters, and if the Germans should attack her they would commit an act of war against Denmark, which, as you know, is neutral. Nevertheless, at 9 a.m., two German destroyers appeared, launched a torpedo at the submarine, and fired at her with all their guns. The British commander ordered his men to abandon the vessel; but while they were doing so machine guns were turned on them, and shrapnel was burst above them. Fourteen of the poor fellows were killed, and not a soul of the crew would have remained alive had not a Danish torpedo boat gallantly steamed in between the submarine and the German destroyer, and thus covered the stranded vessel. This cowardly and murderous act caused great indignation not only in Britain but in Denmark. Once more German sailors had covered themselves with infamy.

Russian submarines were also active in the Baltic. The following story tells us how a Russian submarine collided with a German warship which she had just torpedoed.

Having picked up the smoke of enemy vessels on the horizon, the submarine approached them, and by means of her periscope discovered that they consisted of ten ships of the line and several torpedo boats. To prevent the enemy from seeing his periscope, the commander of the submarine steered to the port side of the squadron, where he was between the ships and the light. With his periscope six inches above the water, he approached the squadron, and then dived. When he rose again he sighted on his starboard the ram of the leading warship, which was cutting across his course at a distance of not more than sixty yards.

Again he dived, and gave the order to fire a torpedo. The order was obeyed, and was immediately followed by a collision. A terrible crash was heard. The whole submarine trembled; the electric bulbs burst; crockery and all kinds of articles flew about; something above cracked, broke, and gave way. The submarine took a list to starboard, and the crew were unable to keep their feet. What had happened? The hull of the warship had struck the centre of the submarine. The men hung on to anything within reach, and fortunately kept their heads. "Full speed ahead" was the order, and soon the submarine regained her balance.

She was 75 feet below the surface when a loud explosion was heard. The torpedo had got home. The noise was so great that the commander thought the shell of his boat had been damaged by the collision, and that it was collapsing under the pressure of the water. He therefore rose to 60 feet, but the sound of the approaching screw of a large ship forced him to dive to 80 feet. Again and again he tried to rise, but every time he heard the screws of battleships and torpedo boats above him. He now discovered that his periscope was damaged, and that his boat was leaking and losing its buoyancy. Water had to be blown out of the tanks from time to time, and this revealed the presence of the submarine to the ships above. It was not until near midnight that she dared come to the surface. She rose carefully, and, thanks to the darkness, was not seen. Soon she was making her way to the shore, having been under water for four hours without a break.

About the second week of May German submarines were reported in the Mediterranean. During the month of February the Germans completed the first of their big submarines which were capable of making the journey from Zeebrugge to the Dardanelles within three weeks. Secret bases had been established in Eastern waters, and the British Government offered a large reward for their discovery. Several of them were found on Greek islands. Before long the German submarines made their presence felt. We shall learn in a later chapter how, on 26th May, one of them managed to torpedo the Triumph, and the next day sent the Majestic to the bottom. The submarines practically put an end to the bombardment of the Dardanelles forts by our ships of war. While firing at the forts the ships were obliged to move slowly, and thus were at the mercy of an enemy under water.

Germany's new submarines in the Mediterranean mounted bigger and more effective guns than had formerly been employed on under-water craft, and they were able to destroy several vessels by shell fire. Not only British, French, and Italian vessels were sent to the bottom, but one if not two American ships. I have already told you of the sinking of the Ancona. Dastardly as it was, it was outdone on 30th December, when the Peninsular and Oriental liner Persia was sent to her doom. She was on her outward voyage, and at lunch time was off the island of Crete, when, without warning of any kind, a torpedo was launched against her. Five minutes after she received her death-blow she had vanished utterly. More than 330 out of the 501 passengers and crew were lost, and amongst the victims were a large number of women and children. Lord Montagu, who was saved, cabled home as follows:—