The Dardanelles: Colour Sketches From Gallipoli

CHAPTER VI
SUBMARINES

It is, of course, a debatable point in this war, the first in which submarines have played a large part, to what extent they have justified their existence. Certain it is that as a moral force they are in a very strong position. Our own main battle-fleets have had to take very complete measures for protection against this form of attack. Any excursions to sea must always be done at high speed with an advance guard of destroyers and other light craft, though there is consolation in the fact that the fleet of the enemy have chosen to remain in more or less land-locked harbours with elaborate boomed defences. At the same time it is certain that the war at sea cannot be brought to a final end by the submarine, but must eventually be settled by the Capital ship.

The German submarines have had greater opportunities of paring down our Navy than we theirs. This applies especially to the early days of the war, when, owing to the total unexpectedness of the upheaval, before experience had taught us how to deal with these unseen craft, they failed entirely to achieve anything that caused us alarm from a military standpoint. A few ancient cruisers fell to them, three of which, the Aboukir, the Hogue, and the Cressy, were so destroyed while indulging in a perfectly human desire to save life. All the ships so sunk were easy targets owing to slow speed. So far not one really fast modern vessel has been sunk by this form of attack.

If it could ever be known, which I fear is impossible, how many torpedoes have been fired at warships without taking effect (and the number is large), it would only go to show the difficulties encountered by the submarine and the immunity of the fast vessel. Add to this the large number of enemy submarines destroyed, nearly all by means evolved since war began (a period notoriously difficult in which to carry out experiments), and it is only reasonable to presume that, when times of peace come again, it will not be long before means are arrived at which will render surface vessels almost entirely immune from this form of attack.

Everyone is agreed that one of the brightest spots in our campaign in the Dardanelles has been supplied by the British submarines. If there are still people at home who ask what the Navy is doing, one can point to these vessels as an example of what the whole Navy would do had they any scope in which to exercise their activities.

But we are dealing with an enemy who feels that he has nothing to gain and everything to lose by seeking an engagement. The impossibility of forcing his stronghold must be obvious to the least enlightened.

Our submarines out here have penetrated what most naval men would have declared to be an impassable barrier until it became an achieved fact. Think of the obstacles their crews have surmounted: rows of mines susceptible to the lightest touch, nets completely across the Narrows, and last, but not least, a strong current flowing seawards. Only then can you begin to realise the difficulties and dangers in endeavouring to gain an entrance into the Sea of Marmora and the main sea route for the Turkish water-borne supplies. The following signal, typical of many others, "E— arrived in Sea of Marmora without trouble, torpedoed a steamer in False Bay on her way," furnishes an indication that these desperate ventures are undertaken as a matter of course.

I met Commander Nasmith one afternoon at Kephalo. He had just returned from an aeroplane flight up the Narrows after an investigation of the net defence placed across at that point to prevent submarines from penetrating into the Sea of Marmora. He did not seem very much impressed, and his judgment was justified next day when he took E11 through the defences and arrived in Marmora without mishap. The train-like regularity with which our submarines have accomplished this task is apt to make the venture appear commonplace to the newspaper reader, who may imagine that there is some easy road which, when once found, is plain-sailing. Nothing could be further from the truth. Every submarine that goes up does so with the full knowledge of the dangers to be faced, and the occasional loss of one of them shows the perils incurred.

In the early stages of the operations the net across the Narrows could be negotiated by diving under it; but, on a subsequent occasion, a submarine returning to the open sea found that the Turks had placed a deeper net in position. This particular submarine fouled the net at a depth of over one hundred feet, and was actually hung up by stout wire for upwards of fifteen minutes. It is impossible to imagine anything more likely to unnerve men than to be caught like herrings in a net below the surface, and actually to hear, as they did, hydrostatic bombs exploding around them. The Turks would know, of course, by the agitation of the net above, that a submarine was caught; however, by going astern and then ahead, and allowing her whole weight to come on the net, the vessel broke through and returned in safety.

Many of our submarines after penetrating to the Sea of Marmora have made protracted stays of twenty-eight to thirty days, which is the more astonishing when one realises the cramped conditions and general discomfort when living on one of these boats for any length of time. I think it may be said that the Turks have ceased to regard the sea route as a means of supplying their troops with any degree of safety, the number of transports sunk being very large, including war vessels. One of the most successful pieces of work accomplished at the time of the Suvla Bay landing was the sinking of the Kaiserin Barbarossa by a British submarine. This ship had formerly belonged to Germany, but was purchased from them by Turkey. She was sent down from Constantinople to take position off Gallipoli or thereabouts with a view to indirect fire over the land with her 11-inch guns, of which she possessed eight. She was also reported to be carrying large quantities of ammunition for the land forces. One can well imagine, therefore, the enthusiasm with which the signal of her sinking was received. Undoubtedly our ships and land-force thus escaped what might have been a severe menace, while the effect on the enemy was evidently salutary, as no further attempt was made to dispatch a war vessel with guns of heavy calibre to co-operate with their army.

Possibly at some future time a fuller description may be written when all the facts become known of the adventures of our submarines in this inland sea. These should certainly supply the historian with some of the most romantic episodes of the war.

CHAPTER VII
WOUNDED

The handling of wounded in the Dardanelles has been a difficult proposition, which the nature of the country has not tended to lessen. The injured men have to be taken off the shore by small boats and then transferred to hospital ships.

These ships are obliged to lie off some distance clear of rifle-bullets and shell-fire. Even then, several cases have occurred of men already wounded receiving further injury through stray shots reaching the ships.

A patient was sitting on his cot preparatory to turning in, when a bullet entered the open port and passing through two thicknesses of his pyjamas, buried itself in the deck. A nursing sister standing near at the time was relieved to see the man laughing and holding out his coat for her to examine. These occasional missiles were not fired intentionally at the hospital ships, but came over from trenches running parallel to the shore.

In most cases the ships lay out a mile or more. The first batch of wounded I saw came off after the landing at Suvla Bay. They arrived alongside us in a ship's barge towed by a picket-boat. They had been wounded during the night, and presented a sad spectacle, lying in the boat in every conceivable attitude with bandages through which the blood was soaking. Some of them were oblivious of everything, and wore a pathetically dazed look. Others not so badly injured seemed mildly interested in events around them, while the still lighter cases waved to us and appeared quite cheerful. The lightly wounded soldier is probably the happiest of all. He is out of the inferno of battle and is fairly certain of return to health and strength.

Those wounded among the first parties landed on an enemy's coast are, generally speaking, bound to undergo the greatest hardships. This specially applies to the Dardanelles. At Suvla Bay the suffering caused was added to by the shortage of water. The shore to which the wounded were brought was entirely devoid of shade, and the blazing sand was intensified by the heat of the sun. Operations on serious cases were performed with the greatest difficulty, and the shallow water close inshore made it impossible for the steam-cutters to bring their tows of boats very near. The tows had, therefore, to be rowed to the beach by three or four sailors; the wounded were placed in them and rowed off again to the cutters.

An undertaking of this kind takes some considerable time when large numbers of sufferers are continually arriving. Consequently the dressing stations rapidly became congested, and it was some days before matters could be reduced to smooth working.

As soon as sufficient material had arrived, pontoon piers were built to allow the steam cutters to come right alongside.

The drinking-water difficulty was remedied to a large extent a day or two after the landing. War vessels in the harbour using their distilling plants were able to cope with the demand. Lighters, boats with canvas tanks, and in fact anything that would hold water were requisitioned.

These were towed as close inshore as the depth would allow, and connected with the beach by pipes. Each lighter carried a portable fire-engine for pumping purposes. This supply greatly alleviated the sufferings of the wounded. A severely injured man may be deadened to a sense of bodily pain, but thirst, which is scarcely ever absent, is the hardest to bear.

The amount of sickness among the troops in the Dardanelles far exceeds in proportion that of any other theatre of war. The reasons are not far to seek: want of proper rest, lack of really good water, and, worst of all, innumerable flies. This latter pest is the cause of much sickness, and is a most difficult problem to deal with. One must also take into account the intermittent shell-fire on the bases. This, while it tries the strongest nerves, at the same time tends, through custom, to make men regardless of danger.

A large number of hospital ships are naturally required to carry the sick and wounded. As far as can possibly be arranged, one of them is always lying off each base, so that immediately a ship is filled and proceeds to her destination her place is taken by another.

The carrying capacity of each vessel varies, though the smaller ones can accommodate even between two and three hundred; the mighty Aquitania, however, takes as many as four thousand.

Most of the light cases are conveyed to the islands of Mudros and Lemnos, while the serious ones are taken to England.

The most touching sights are the small cemeteries dotted about near the shore. On each grave is a rough wooden cross, erected by loving comrades, and bearing the name and regiment of the dead hero. There seemed to me to be something infinitely sad at the thought of these men, who had given their all, sleeping a last sleep so far from the country they loved.