CHAPTER I

German Submarines in American Waters

In the last six months of the first World War Germany sent six submarines to America at intervals starting in April, to lay mines along our shipping lanes, attack merchantmen, drive the fishing fleet ashore, try to force this country to call back part of its European fleet for home defense—and in any case to give America, geographically aloof from the war, a taste of what war was like.

These activities were overshadowed at the time by graver events, or hidden by military secrecy. Few people even today know that ships were sunk and men killed by German U-boats within sight of our coast.[1]

It was in no sense an all-out effort. Only a handful of submarines were used. The attack was launched late in the war, in fact one of the six didn’t even reach American waters, was called back by news of the Armistice. Submarines of that day had a cruising range of some three months, could spend only three weeks in our coastal waters, used the rest of the time getting over and back.

But in those few weeks these six submarines destroyed exactly 100 ships, of all sizes, types and registry, killed 435 people. Most of the ships were peaceful unarmed merchantmen, coastwise ships from the West Indies and South America, tankers from Galveston, fishing ships heading back from the Grand Banks, supply ships carrying guns and war materials to England, a few stragglers from convoys.

The subs’ biggest catch was the USS San Diego, a cruiser, sunk by mine off Fire Island, just outside New York harbor, July 19, 1918, with 1,180 officers and men aboard. Only six lives, fortunately, were lost. The battleship Minnesota, escorted by a destroyer, struck a mine off Fenwick shoals light ship, early in the morning of September 29, but made temporary repairs and limped back into Philadelphia Navy Yard 18 hours later. A fragment of the mine was found imbedded in her frame work.

Mines were laid at strategic points. One field, with its mines 500 to 1,000 yards apart was laid off Cape Hatteras, one at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, one across Delaware Bay, two in between these key inlets, another off Barnegat, and the last off Fire Island. Some of the mines drifted ashore, others were found and destroyed—the last ones not till the following January. But mines accounted for six of the ships lost.

One of the submarines, the U-117, built as a mine layer, planted 46 of the 58 mines laid along our shores; four others were merchant subs of the Deutschland type, including the Deutschland itself, which had twice previously visited this country on ostensibly friendly missions.

Though the subs encountered a few victims on the way over or back, most of the ships were destroyed in the shallower waters within 200 miles of the American and Canadian coast. The fishing was better close in.

Naval Intelligence knew, through Admiral Sims’ office in London, just when each submarine left Kiel, what its probable destination was, and its approximate arrival date. The Navy could not broadcast this information, lest U-boat captains learn they were expected, but took appropriate defense measures. Even so, each submarine traveled directly to its destination, carried out its mission.

U-boats operated almost with immunity from Newfoundland to the Virginia capes. Twice American men of war passed over submerging craft so close as almost to ram them. The U-151 worked at cutting cables for three days, near enough to New York City that the crew could see the lights of Broadway at night. The U-115, lying off the Virginia capes, came to the surface one afternoon just in time for its periscope to disclose a cruiser, two destroyers and a Navy tug a mile away, peacefully returning from routine target practice, entirely unaware that the U-boat was lurking in the vicinity.

The submarines got a poor press that summer, not only for reasons of military secrecy, but because more stirring news held the attention of the public. The AEF was beginning to see action in France.

Still headlines flashed occasionally as censorship was raised, or survivors brought in stories. From the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin during this period:

“Hun U-boats Raid New Jersey coast—Schooner Edward H. Cole Attacked by two Submarines, Destroyed—Two Attacked Off New England—Atlantic Ports Closed”—and the story, under New York date line: “Germany has carried her unrestricted submarine warfare to this side of the ocean—at least five vessels sunk—submarine chasers ordered out from Cape May—Coast Guard stations on special lookout—marine insurance companies announce sharp increase in rates.”

News Flash—“Wireless report from passenger steamer Carolina says she is under attack”—The Carolina is sunk, 300 survivors are landed at Barnegat Bay, 19 at Lewes Del., 30 at Atlantic City, others picked up in open boats.

Then: “Navy mine sweepers sent out to destroy mines and floating torpedoes which had missed target—tanker Herbert L. Pratt strikes mine in shallow water on maiden voyage—War Department asks Congress for $10,000,000 to set up balloon and plane stations along the coast to combat sub menace—British steamer Harpathian torpedoed off Virginia capes—American vessel, name withheld, puts back to ‘an Atlantic port’ after being chased by U-boat.”

The record continues: “San Diego sunk by mine—tug and four barges sunk—British freighter attacked—sub sends landing crew on board lumber schooner off Maine coast, set her afire—Steamer Merak sunk off Hatteras—tanker torpedoed off Barnegat Bay, beaches blanketed with oil—Norwegian steamer Vinland—British steamer Peniston and Swedish steamer Sydland off Nantucket—nine U. S. fishing vessels off Massachusetts coast—British tanker Mirlo—U.S. Schooner Dorothy Barrett—tanker Frederick R. Kellogg” and so on and on.

Events of the time and since have swept these happenings out of the minds of most Americans—even if they knew of it at the time. But somewhere, half forgotten in Naval files, is an official report, painstakingly compiled after the war, from ship logs, from stories by merchant captains and crews, even by officers of surrendered German submarines, to make up as complete a record as possible of one of the amazing operations of the war—and one whose magnitude, in territory covered and damage done, few suspected, even within the Navy, at the time.

Only two subs had so much as a brush with American ships. The transport von Steuben, former German liner, proceeding to the rescue of men in life boats from a merchant ship, dropped depth bombs which the U-boat escaped by diving to 83 meters, lying low till the enemy had gone.

Closer call had the U-140, largest and most modern of the fleet, which after sinking several ships off Diamond Shoals, including the light ship itself, almost caught a tartar when the Brazilian passenger liner, Uberabe, zigzagging furiously to escape, sent out S.O.S. messages which brought four U.S. destroyers hurrying to the rescue. Nearest was the USS Stringham, which proceeding under full speed, using the Uberabe as a screen, charged on the U-boat, dropped 15 depth charges when the U-boat dived, timed to explode at different levels.

The U-boat captain, one of the best in the German navy, drove his craft at a sharp angle to 400 feet. One charge exploding underneath the sub turned it stern upward till it stood almost perpendicular. He managed to level out finally at 415 feet, lay there as long as he dared, finally reached the surface. His ship was so badly crippled it had to abandon its mission and set out for home—though it sunk a couple more ships in the mid-Atlantic on the way back.

The only U-boat casualty was the U-156 which after getting 34 victims in American waters, getting eight in one day, was itself sunk by mines—but off Faroe Island as it was almost home.

This then is the story of submarine operations in U. S. waters in 1918—a half hearted effort of short duration started late in the day—but which destroyed 100 ships, totalling 200,000 tons, most of them close to our shores.

No one could doubt but that in the event of another war submarines would be used again, and in more vigorous fashion. The American fleet might easily keep major enemy ships at a safe distance, and bombing attack from any part of Europe or over the Pacific would have little military value. But certainly submarines would find their way past the screen of Navy craft, bob up off American harbors, again to lay mines in the path of coastwise steamers, deliver hit-and-run attack by torpedo and gunfire at American craft.

We could be equally sure that these ugly motorized sharks, churning the muddy sub-surface waters, would not be satisfied to attack merchantmen only, would be looking for bigger prey.

On the map showing the operations of German submarines in 1918 let us superimpose, as an example, the patrol area which two blimps, basing at Boston, Lakehurst, Cape May and Norfolk might effectively cover in a 12 hour period.

A patrol area of 2,000 square miles per ship is conservative. It assumes the ship flying at no faster than 35 knots, having visibility of five miles in all directions. As a matter of fact, allowing a little more than 40 knots speed—and the airship cruises considerably faster than that—we might say that a modern blimp could patrol an area 10 miles wide and 500 miles long in the 12 hours, or an area of 5,000 square miles. But by criss-crossing back and forth in accordance with a progressive plan, an area of 2,000 square miles could be made reasonably secure—except under extremely adverse conditions of visibility.

Laying these patrol areas down over the map of submarine operations of 1918 it is apparent that such patrols would cover much of the territory where ship sinkings were achieved, cover all of the areas where mines were laid.

With blimps operating from such bases, in addition to the patrols being executed by other naval craft, we might conclude that no submarine could venture within 100 miles of the American coast during daylight hours without considerable risk of detection, and that blimps should be able to make contribution to the safety of coastwise shipping and harbor cities.

The patrol areas assigned to the blimps would have their flanks exposed, but airship patrol would be co-ordinated with that of airplanes and surface craft, guarding the areas farther out.

That this conclusion is reasonable is indicated by the fact that from 1939 on, Lakehurst Naval Air Station, under command of Commander G. H. Mills had been doing just this, patroling areas all the way from Nantucket to Cape Hatteras.