THE YANKEE MINING
SQUADRON

Transcriber’s Note:
Image is clickable for a larger version, if the device you are using supports this.

The North Sea Mine Barrage.

Showing also Foul Ground East of Dogger Bank due to Irregular Minefields.

The 1st to 13th Minefields were American.

THE YANKEE MINING
SQUADRON

OR

LAYING THE NORTH SEA
MINE BARRAGE

BY
CAPTAIN REGINALD R. BELKNAP, U.S.N.
The Squadron Commander

ANNAPOLIS, MD.
THE UNITED STATES NAVAL INSTITUTE
1920

Copyright, 1919
Copyright, 1920
by
J. W. CONROY
Trustee for U.S. Naval Institute

PREFACE

In writing of the “biggest ‘mine planting stunt’ in the world’s history”—to quote a Christmas greeting from Rear Admiral Clinton-Baker, head of the British minelaying force—I have endeavored to make an account that would be readable enough for general interest, largely for the reason that, compared to other operations, our undertaking received scant mention at the time. Its very nature required preparation in quiet and precluded discussion of its progress. Unnecessary technical detail has therefore been suppressed, although much could be written that would be welcomed by those versed in it.

The whole account is based on data obtained at first hand. The description of assembling the squadron for a mining excursion fits the third excursion rather than the first, but the difference is a minor one, affecting only the numbers present—six ships on the first excursion, ten on the third. All the rest is correct, in substance and details.

Besides influencing an early armistice, this great minelaying operation marks an epoch in the use of submarine mines in warfare. It was an event in military history, as well as a prominent operation, and the credit for it belongs not alone to the officers and men who were actually present but also to those of the old mine force, to whose services in developing, in our navy, the art of handling and laying mines in large numbers, the success of the great operation was so largely due.

Details of the mechanical development of the new mine itself have not been gone into, for obvious reasons. Justice to that part could be done only by those who were directly concerned in it, but I am glad of the opportunity to express appreciation of the valuable service which was rendered to our cause in the war by Commander S. P. Fullinwider, U.S.N., in seizing upon and developing the long-sought means for such an undertaking, and by Lieut. Commander T. S. Wilkinson, U.S.N., and the officers and designing engineers in the Bureau of Ordnance and at the Naval Torpedo Station, Newport, R.I., by their skill and ingenuity in designing mechanical features, when normal experimenting was impossible.

As for the ships—the personal study which Captain J. D. Beuret (C.C.), U.S.N., made of the mine elevator problem was the foundation of its brilliant success, and the fact that, in the whole period of service, few alterations or improvements in the minelayers were found desirable, although suggestions were called for, is the best tribute to those who planned and carried out their conversion.

Only very inadequate expression can be given here to my appreciation of the services of my staff, in particular Captain H. V. Butler, U.S.N., whose excellent conduct of the flagship, supported by the indefatigable care of his navigator, Lieut. Commander J. C. Cunningham, U.S.N., made it possible to approach and navigate close to unmarked minefields in the open sea. And I was fortunate to have one so thoroughly loyal and capable as Commander B. L. Canaga, without whose unremitting attentiveness, and tactful management of countless details under difficulties, our performance would have been far less creditable.

Inseparable from our recollections will always be the excellent and friendly official and personal relations with the destroyer escort, especially when H.M.S. Vampire led. Captain H. R. Godfrey, C.B., D.S.O., writes, “It was the determination of every officer and man in the 14th Flotilla, who had the honor of being entrusted with the screening of the U.S. Minelaying Force, that no preventable attack by enemy submarine or surface vessel should inflict damage on any ship of the Force.” It is but speaking for all of us to say, that is what we felt, from the first moment of that grey morning’s meeting on the day of arrival.

Newport, 15 June, 1919.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE YANKEE MINING SQUADRON

CHAPTER ONE
The Mine Force Ready

The national anthem at morning colors woke me, and I arose and looked out. What a glorious sight! Green slopes in all freshness, radiant with broom and yellow gorse, the rocky shore mirrored in the Firth, which stretched, smooth and cool, wide away to the east and south, and in the distance snow-capped Ben Wyvis. Lying off the entrance to Munlochy Bay, we had a view along its sloping shores into the interior of Black Isle, of noted fertility. Farther out were Avoch, a whitewashed fishing village, and the ancient town of Fortrose, with its ruined 12th century cathedral. Across the Firth lay Culloden House, where Bonnie Prince Charlie slept before the battle. Substantial, but softened in outline by the morning haze, the Royal Burgh of Inverness covered the banks and heights along the Ness River, gleaming in the bright sunshine. And how peaceful everywhere! Canandaigua and Sonoma lay near by, the Canonicus farther out—but no movement, no signal, no beat of the engines, no throbbing pumps. All seemed resting from those last four days of our passage overseas, which had all but done away with sleep. My responsibility for the safe conduct of the squadron had ended at 1 a.m., when it dispersed at the buoy, whence the routes to our bases at Inverness and Invergordon diverged. The captains taking the ships to their berths singly, Captain Butler was up until 5 o’clock, needing daylight to take the San Francisco all the way in. Turned in at last, his servant and orderly at 8 o’clock were 45 minutes waking him.

The Senior British Naval officer, Captain H. F. J. Rowley, R.N., came on board early, to give us welcome, and then we went to our own chief, Rear Admiral Joseph Strauss, U.S.N., commander of the Mine Force, whose headquarters were here at Inverness, U.S. Naval Base 18. After taking a look over the base itself, Captain Murfin’s work and province, we stayed to lunch at Kingsmills, a handsome place amid beautiful surroundings, bordering on the golf links, with gardens, tennis court, croquet lawn, and fishing brook, which Admiral Strauss, Captain Murfin, and some of the headquarters staff had rented. It was a satisfaction to everyone to see our chief so befittingly established, and this came out very effectively later, at a picturesque and enjoyable garden party given there on the 4th of July, an occasion which was being celebrated locally with unaffected cordiality. Altogether, we could feel ourselves fortunate in the beauty and attractiveness of our surroundings and also, as we soon found, in the hospitality and kindliness of the people.

The American Mine Force had come to Scotland, arriving May 26, 1918, to coöperate with the British in laying a great barrier of mines, from the Orkney Islands across the North Sea to Norway. To provide for doing our share, the small minelaying force which our navy possessed on entering the war, consisting principally of the old cruisers San Francisco and Baltimore, had been augmented by eight converted merchantmen. Only six weeks before, five of them had joined the San Francisco, the squadron flagship, at Hampton Roads, Virginia, fresh from the shipyards.

The program for the newly organized squadron contemplated the ships being in Scotland, ready for a minelaying operation, in 45 days from the time they left the shipyards. The work of conversion having been extensive and hardly finished, the new ships were very raw, having had but a few days to shake down. Troubles with engines and steering gear, lost anchors, fogs, and missing stores repeatedly interfered with training. Up to May 5, 1918, not a day had passed without a mishap or some forced alteration of plan. Instead of progressing to the rehearsal of a minelaying operation by the squadron, we had been unable even to keep all together for a single whole day. Yet we were preparing for an operation in which, with the ships steaming close together, all must go like clock-work, for hours without interruption.

Another week of training before going across would, therefore, have been amply justified, but the sense of urgency was too strong. Besides, our mine bases in Scotland needed the 500 men we were to bring them. So, after four hustling days and nights of final preparation, we had stolen away from Newport, Rhode Island, just after midnight of Saturday, May 11, 1918.

Started at last! And, thanks to coöperation far and near, better prepared than expected. There were a few quiet hours that Sunday morning—then fog shut in thick until next day. This was trying, so early on the voyage, but as we kept together all through it, the experience only gave more confidence. Next, one ship’s steering gear broke down, and she just escaped a fatal collision. The third morning, the same vessel broke down altogether. Through lucky foresight, a powerful tug, Sonoma, was with us, which towed the disabled ship 150 miles until next morning, when the break was repaired.

The submarines that soon afterwards appeared on our coast were known to be crossing the Atlantic now, so we had target practice next afternoon, to be ready for them. Then I felt we could give a good account of any surface attack. Torpedoes, fire, and collision were what we had to fear. All the ships had mines on board and, since we steamed only 500 yards apart, an explosion in one ship would have involved the others.

Crossing in our company was the big collier Jason, loaded with an aviation station outfit for Killingholme, England, which afterwards did good work. On the tenth day, heavy weather came on, and Jason disappeared in a black squall, rolling heavily and steering far off the course. She being a sister of the ill-fated Cyclops, and no trace of her showing in four days, added considerably to the anxiety felt as we entered the active submarine zone. Radio calls brought no response. We had all but given her up, when, at early daylight, just before the appointed rendezvous with the destroyers, she came lumbering up astern. And so, notwithstanding the many vicissitudes in 3000 miles steaming, we met the escort with our number complete and right on the dot, in time and place.

Our arrival off Inverness the following midnight, May 25-26, 1918, made the Mine Force complete as to constituent parts necessary for the operation in hand. The Baltimore and Roanoke had preceded the others, making us seven. Three more were still in shipyard hands, but there was no need to wait for them before beginning the minelaying.

Between operations the squadron was divided for loading, half at Inverness (Base 18), and half at Invergordon (Base 17), 30 miles away. Being intended for the storage and assembly of mines—all that we used came from America—these bases had scant means at first for assisting the ships. Their needs could be supplied from the Royal Naval Dockyard and two depots, under Rear Admiral E. R. Pears, R.N., and Captain Tancred at Invergordon, and Captain Rowley at Inverness, who were always cordially responsive to our requests.

The motto for all American naval forces abroad, however, was to be self-supporting, and thanks to our provident first supply and to regular replenishment by the mine carriers, we had to draw on the British stocks for very little. After a month, the repair ship Black Hawk arrived. She took no part in minelaying, being always moored off Inverness, separate from the Mine Squadron and flying Rear Admiral Strauss’ flag, but her equipment of machine tools and repair material made the Mine Force normally independent in regard to upkeep. Except for docking, we asked very little of the British in the way of repairs.

Upon one occasion, the soluble salt washers for the principal safety device of the mines nearly ran out, the local atmospheric conditions having caused many more to be used than estimated. No washers of the right size and kind were obtainable anywhere inside three weeks, and thus a shortage of these atoms—the size of a peppermint “Life Saver”—threatened to hold up the laying of 5000 mines. The Black Hawk had a steam press, however, and could make a die—and by the time they were needed, washers in plenty were ready—incidentally of better quality than before.

While the ships were unloading the mines they had brought, for overhaul on shore, and were coaling and otherwise preparing for minelaying, the larger preliminaries were taken up at a conference of Rear Admiral Strauss and myself with Admiral Sir David Beatty, Commander-in-Chief of H.B.M. Grand Fleet. Vice Admiral Brock, his Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral Clinton-Baker, the British Rear Admiral of Mines, Captain Lockhart-Leith, the head of his Staff, and Captain R. A. Pound, of the Admiralty, attended this conference, which was held on board the flagship Queen Elizabeth, at Rosyth, Thursday, 30 May, 1918.

First came the subject of tactics, and I explained my plan, to lay the mines with the squadron steaming in line abreast, ships 500 yards apart, making a trace on the chart like a music score. Three vessels (later five) would be laying mines simultaneously. When a ship had emptied herself of mines, her neighbor, ready and waiting while steaming alongside, would begin. At the end of the minefield, some temporary small buoys would be planted, by which to pick the field up later, to continue it. This plan was accepted without comment.

The area to be mined having been publicly notified two months before, the enemy might have placed some mines there, on the random chance of damaging our force. The only arrangement practicable to meet such a contingency was for some of the destroyer escort to explore for mines ahead of the minelaying formation as it proceeded. Only those ships would be fully protected that might be following directly in the wake of the searching destroyers, the main purpose being to discover the existence of an enemy minefield in time for the squadron to maneuver aside.

A clear understanding was reached at the conference of the relation of the mine squadron and its escort to the supporting force. The mine squadron being lightly armed and of moderate speed, it would have been at great disadvantage against even a numerically weaker force of light cruisers, with their superior batteries and speed. Hence the need of the support, which would consist of a battleship or battle cruiser squadron, or both, and of light cruisers, according to the estimated risk of attack at the time. If attack threatened, the mine squadron and its destroyer escort would seek safety in the direction ordered by the Support Commander; otherwise they would proceed on their mission and return to base afterwards, according to the program for that occasion. The destroyer escort would be of strength sufficient to ward off any probable attack by submarines or by surface vessels that might elude the supporting force and the regular patrols.

The location of the first minefield was decided upon; then further details were settled with Vice Admiral Brock and Rear Admiral Clinton-Baker, for the first mining excursion, which was to be done by the American and British squadrons at the same time. Preparatory notice was to be given by the Commander Mine Force to the Admiral of the Grand Fleet at least four days before the time the mine squadron was expected to be loaded and ready for an excursion. Upon a second, definite notice, not less than 48 hours in advance, when it was certain that the squadron would be ready, a combined operation order would be issued by the Admiral, naming all the forces concerned and containing the instructions and intelligence necessary for all.

After lunching on board with Admiral Beatty, Rear Admiral Strauss and I took our leave. We had a look at Holyrood Palace and a walk through Canongate Street that afternoon, returning to Inverness next day. Not enough material had yet been accumulated to assemble mines to fill all seven minelayers present, but 3400 would be ready in a few days, sufficient to lay a field 47 miles long, consisting of one row of mines at each of the three levels prescribed. A mine embarking schedule was made out accordingly, to include San Francisco, Baltimore, Roanoke, Canandaigua, Canonicus, and Housatonic, for a start on June 7.

CHAPTER TWO
The Need and the Means

A barrier of high explosive across the North Sea—10,000 tons of TNT, 150 shiploads of it, spread over an area 230 miles long by 25 miles wide and reaching from near the surface to 240 feet below—70,000 anchored mines each containing 300 pounds of explosive, sensitive to a touch, barring the passage of German submarines between the Orkneys and Norway—this was the final five months’ contribution of the American and British mining forces towards bringing the war to a close.

To stop the enemy submarines near their bases, before they could scatter on the trade routes, would obviously defeat their campaign more surely than merely hunting them at large. That was the purpose of the Northern Mine Barrage, which, with the barrage at Dover, made it not impossible but extremely hazardous to enter or leave the North Sea. That many a submarine came to grief in attempting these barriers is now a certainty, and the establishment of the Northern Barrage, which many had thought impossible, insured the early finish of the submarine campaign.

The resumption of ruthless submarine warfare became a serious threat to the cause of the Allies, and at the time of our entry into the war their situation was critical—how much more critical than the world was allowed to know at the time, Admiral Sims has disclosed in his “The Victory at Sea.” The relief brought about through the convoy system, in which our destroyers, the navy’s first participants, had a large share, was immediate and important. But the submarine menace was far from ended and—according to the best information—would soon be greatly augmented, while the increasing number of transports would offer the enemy more opportunities, with the added horror of troopship sinkings in prospect.

Of further measures, the most effective would be such a blockade as would keep the submarines in or from their bases. The British had already mined a large area north and west from Heligoland, but this obstruction was not insurmountable, for the Germans from nearby could always clear a passage through when wanted. In any case, until the Skagerrack passage were closed, the submarines might use that route without hindrance. Two weighty reasons kept the Skagerrack open—unwillingness to violate neutral waters, and the ease with which German forces could raid any barrier near their bases. It may be recalled with what sudden damage a small German cruiser detachment raided a convoy just outside the Skagerrack, in October, 1917.

To be effective, therefore, any barrier must be beyond easy reach of a raiding force and cover the Skagerrack, and must also be far enough to the northward of the British bases not to hamper the battle fleet’s engaging with the enemy. Hence, the anti-submarine barriers should be, one near Dover Strait, the other across the North Sea, from Scotland to Norway.

The closing of Dover Strait, undertaken by the British Navy alone, needs no further mention here. Although the strong tidal currents there, frequent rough seas, and hard, smooth bottom were unfavorable for minefields, other means—such as a line of guard vessels moored not far apart and equipped with powerful searchlights, together with numerous active patrollers—were employed with a considerable degree of success.

The Northern Barrage would be too long a front, and much of it too far from base, for effective patrol without a great number of vessels. A wide, thickly sown minefield, however, would watch night and day in all weathers without relief, and would be even more effective against passage submerged than against passage on the surface, because of the less wear and disturbance of the mines by wave action, deep down under water.

Currents were not strong in the northern location, but the bottom lay as deep as 900 feet, whereas 300 feet had heretofore been the deepest water ever mined. Merely to provide the mines meant a large undertaking, besides involving an enormous quantity of the same high explosive which was likewise in heavy demand for shells and bombs. Supposing the mines ready, the planting of so many would be a long and dangerous operation, employing all the Allies’ existing minelayers indefinitely. And neither the British nor ourselves yet had a mine that was quite satisfactory for the prospective requirements.

Our Naval Bureau of Ordnance, however, was intent on finding the means for such a barrier, so that when, in May, 1917, among the many contrivances offered for winning the war, Mr. Ralph E. Browne, an electrical engineer of Salem, Massachusetts, presented his submarine gun for consideration, Commander S. P. Fullinwider, U.S.N., in charge of the Bureau’s mining affairs, saw that, although the invention was not suitable for naval purposes in the form offered, a new electrical device which it contained, if applied to the firing mechanism of a submarine mine, would result in just what we were looking for—a mine at once sensitive and far reaching. Mr. Browne collaborated with the Bureau of Ordnance in developing the new mine-firing device. By July, 1917, all doubt as to its practicability had been dispelled and the Bureau of Ordnance was able to give assurance that, in urging the closing of the German bases, our navy might offer the means.

Extravagant claims were common in the field of mining inventions, and three years of war lessons in the perversity of mines made the British naturally skeptical of this American find. An experienced officer in mining was sent over to see, Lieutenant R. H. DeSalis, R.N., who had received the D.S.O. for some minelaying on the Belgian coast. As the new device was put through its paces before him, the chill thawed out and in two hours he had become almost an enthusiast. Upon his report the British Admiralty took up the plan with active interest.

Upon returning from London in mid-October, 1917, Admiral Mayo, of our Atlantic Fleet, brought back the outline of a proposed minelaying operation. The paper was quite informal—unsigned, undated, bearing in pencil across the top, “Admiralty would be glad to learn whether Navy Department concur in the plans as shewn.”

The field was to be 230 miles long—the distance from Washington to New York—divided into three parts, the middle section, of 135 miles, called Area A, allotted to us, because the reach of the new American mines was greater than ordinary—three of them covering the same extent as eight mines of other types. Thus numbers and effort were saved.

There would be three “systems,” each consisting of one or more rows of mines just below the surface, dangerous to any craft, and other rows at intermediate and extreme depths, so that, whether running on the surface or at ordinary submergence or as deep as 240 feet, a submarine had the odds against her. In the absence of patrol vessels to drive them down, submarines would naturally run on the surface, and so the rows of upper level mines were made more numerous than those at deeper levels. The stroke of a mine is sudden and powerful, and while a vessel on the surface may survive it, to a submerged submarine it is usually fatal. All classes of vessels shy at a minefield, and that the Germans shared this aversion was shown by captured papers, which made it clear that the submarines dreaded nothing so much as mines.

The scheme was unprecedented, and that its great magnitude would involve a mass of detail requiring very careful adjustment was evident on the most cursory examination. Some who heard of it regarded it as impossible, and foolish to attempt. As to the new mines, the very basis of the whole project—since a complete unit would not exist for several months, the statement of Rear Admiral Ralph Earle, Chief of the Naval Bureau of Ordnance, that the mines would be forthcoming in season, had to be based upon tests of the mine only by parts, with the assumption that all would function properly when assembled. Action upon that assurance would at once involve upward of forty million dollars, which made his stand a bold one, inviting unmeasured odium, should the mine after all fail. To await the mine’s final proving, however, would have been fatal to any possibility of beginning the barrage before 1919.

The task of laying the barrier would be hazardous in itself, with constant danger of interruption by the enemy. A single minefield in the open sea, or widely separated ones, presented no extreme difficulties, but to lay a series of them so close together as to leave no considerable gaps between, made a problem for which no really practical solution was yet visible.

For four days the project was under consideration by the Naval General Board at Washington. Time pressed, the need was great, the new mine very promising. The attitude of our officers was favorable. My own expressed view, based on three years’ experience in mining, was that, though much greater difficulties and magnitude would develop even than yet foreseen, the scheme was nevertheless feasible, was within our minelaying experience in principle, and, though it could hardly be more than half or a quarter effective, it was well worth doing. The British Admiralty’s approval and belief in the practicability of the scheme was implied in the original paper, but an explicit confirmation was asked and obtained by cable, on the basis of their three years’ war experience and knowledge of North Sea conditions. And so the plan went to the Secretary of the Navy bearing the General Board’s approval, as promising a sufficient degree of success to warrant undertaking it.

CHAPTER THREE
The Bases in Scotland

The British Minelaying Squadron was to operate from Grangemouth, near Rosyth, on the Firth of Forth. As a mine assembling and operating base for the American Squadron, the British naval authorities decided on Inverness and Invergordon, in the Scottish Highlands, situated on Inverness Firth and Cromarty Firth, respectively, which empty into Moray Firth about eight miles apart. One base would have been enough and in some respects more convenient, but the limited transportation means across Scotland necessitated two. To require the slow mine carriers to navigate the difficult passages around the north of Scotland would prolong their exposure to submarines and cause more escort duty for destroyers, so it was decided to discharge their cargoes on the west side, at points which gave a short haul across Scotland—Fort William, at the western terminus of the Caledonian Canal, and Kyle of Loch Alsh, where one crosses to the Isle of Skye. The cargoes were transported by canal motor-barge and by the Highland Railway.

Mine Assembly and Storage Sheds.

U.S. Naval Base 18, Inverness.

In order to issue mines to the ships ready in all respects for planting, the bases needed a large number of men for shop work, besides others for transportation, police, clerical work, messmen, and sanitation. The entire establishment on shore was under Captain O. G. Murfin, U.S.N., who had 20 American naval officers and 1000 enlisted men at each base, 3 officers and 60 men at each of the unloading points, Fort William (actually at Corpach village) and Kyle. Headquarters was at Inverness, because of its superior communications and more central location. Captain Murfin had sailed November 13, for England, to supervise the preparation of the bases. With him had gone Commander T. L. Johnson, then commanding the small minelayer Dubuque, who was to inform himself fully on the situation and return to Washington as soon as practicable with answers to a long list of questions—everything we could then think of as useful to know for intelligent coöperation in the preparations.

The large, substantial, stone buildings of two idle distilleries, Dalmore, three miles out from Invergordon, and Glen Albyn, at Muirtown, where the Caledonian Canal locks out to Inverness Firth—clean, dry, and well ventilated—gave excellent living accommodations for the men. The smaller buildings made suitable offices, but considerable additions were made for messing, cooking, and washing arrangements. A Y.M.C.A. hut was established in each base, and at Inverness the little Muirtown Hotel was transformed into a small hospital. This, and similar provision at Dalmore, all under Captain E. J. Grow (M.C.), were for mild or emergency cases. The main dependence for hospital care was Strathpeffer—a “hydro” cure in peace time—20 miles from either base. There a U.S. Naval Base Hospital of 1000 beds had been established, under Captain E. S. Bogert, Medical Corps, with the Leland Stanford unit.

The buildings for mine assembly and storage were erected on adjacent vacant land, spur tracks being brought in from the main railway line, thus making good communication between the two bases, as well as with their receiving sources and shipping out points. Most of the machine tools and other shop and office equipment, as well as furnishings for the men’s use, came from the United States.

Some dredging was done in Inverness Firth to admit our minelayers into Beauly Basin, near the canal entrance. The navigation marks for entering the Firth were improved, because ordinarily vessels of our size seldom came in there, and then only by day. In addition, the whole length of the Caledonian Canal was lighted, for night navigation by the mine carrying lighters.

Labor was scarce in the Highlands and the weather that winter was severe. The work went slowly, delayed considerably beyond expectation. Captain Murfin had many discouragements, and disappointments in deliveries from the United States. In spite of the kindness of all about him, he must often have felt very far away from home; but afterwards, the frank admiration repeatedly expressed by all visitors to the bases must have repaid his six long months of effort. In the end, the bases were ready in time, and their capacity, and the rate of transportation as well, were twice the original estimate, the two bases together being capable of assembling 1000 mines a day ready for planting.

Sending over the base personnel began with small drafts in December, but as accommodations for the full number were not ready soon enough, and the demand to use all transportation for troops became pressing during the Germans’ great drive in March, 1918, the base complements were not more than about two-thirds full when the mine squadron sailed from the United States coast in May. The greater part, 750, of the number then lacking had therefore to be brought over by the squadron. Though this retarded the proper organizing of the base personnel, it did not delay the minelaying.

CHAPTER FOUR
The Supply of Mines

In the same past six months other preparations, too, had been pushing ahead, both at home and abroad. Providing the mines—the task of our Naval Bureau of Ordnance—would alone make a story of great interest. Considering how long it had taken to develop previous types of mines, to have made a success of an invention that was new since our entering the war was indeed remarkable, the more so from inability to test a single mine complete before ordering 100,000.

A Mine in Mid-Air, Being Hoisted in.

The Plummet is at the Lower Left Corner.

Mines for the open sea in great numbers, moored “flying”—that is, by ships steaming at considerable speed—need anchors with automatic depth regulation. Such mechanism had undergone important changes during the war, and the new American mines needed all the improvements, to make them sure to plant at the intended level. They were to be much deeper than ever attempted before, and also in deeper water.

Launching a Mine Through the Stern Port.

There is a Nine-Foot Drop, from Rails to Water.

Three British officers of considerable mine experience assisted here, Lieut. Commander H. O. Mock, R.N.R., Lieutenant R. H. DeSalis, R.N., and Lieut. Commander Harold Isherwood, R.N.V.R. The last was an expert designer, and had an important part in planning our new mine anchor, which was similar to a late model British mine anchor.

A submarine mine of to-day consists of a mine case, shaped like a ball or egg, about one yard in diameter, mounted on an anchor in the form of an iron box about 30 inches square, connected by a wire rope mooring cable, about ⅜ inch in diameter. The mine case contains the charge of high explosive—300 pounds of TNT in our mines—and the firing mechanism. The combination stands about 5 feet high and weighs 1400 pounds. Four small car wheels on the anchor run on steel tracks, allowing the mines to be easily moved along the decks to the launching point.

The Sequence of Operations After a Mine is Launched.

When the mine dives overboard, the mine and anchor come to the surface and float for a time, still held together, part of the mine case above water. Outside the anchor is a 90-pound plummet, containing a reel of ⅛-inch diameter steel wire “plummet cord,” made the same length that the mine is to be below the surface. Thus, if the mine is to be 160 feet beneath the surface, the cord is made 160 feet long. The plummet drops off when the mine goes overboard, unreels its cord, coming to the end with a jerk that trips the slip hook which holds the mine and anchor together. The pull on the cord also lifts the latch on the reel inside the anchor, allowing the mooring wire to unwind. The nearly solid plummet tends to sink faster than the more bulky anchor, thus keeping the cord taut until the plummet strikes bottom. The cord then at once slackens, releasing the latch, locking the reel, and preventing any more mooring wire unwinding. The anchor, continuing to sink, pulls the mine under until the anchor strikes bottom. The mine is thus finally moored always at the desired depth beneath the surface, no matter how irregular the ocean bed may be. The mine cases are buoyant enough to pull straight up from their anchors ordinarily, but in a current they are swayed away from the vertical, which dips them down somewhat deeper than intended. For this reason, any locality where the currents are strong is unfavorable for a minefield—one of the difficulties the British Navy had to contend with in closing the Dover Strait.

The new mine having, by October, been carried past the experimental stage as to its principal features, by the Naval Torpedo Station at Newport, R.I., some important mechanical details of the mine yet remaining were now worked out by the Baltimore, Captain A. W. Marshall, working directly under the Bureau of Ordnance. By the time complete units were ready, the Baltimore had been sent abroad, so the proof testing devolved upon the San Francisco, Captain H. V. Butler. This came in March and April.

No throw of the dice was ever watched more intently than those first proof tests. Upwards of forty million dollars had been staked on them and were already half spent. Results on the first day made us feel easy, but it was two days more—from various delays—before we succeeded in exploding a full loaded mine. This had been planted in Chesapeake Bay, well marked and guarded, in the very same deep hole where a whirlpool effect troubled the German submarine Deutschland on her first return trip. It was not possible to place the mine far from the fairway, however, since the water elsewhere was not deep enough for our purpose. Early the second morning, the battleship Arizona came along, heading too near it. The signal “You are standing into a minefield!” sent her rudder hard over and engines full speed astern. We could see the mud stirred up, from two miles away. Since we could not get the mine up, what a relief it was when it was set off at last by sweeping!

The final proving of the mine as a whole, which was completed in April, off Cape Ann, did not take place until after several cargoes of mine parts had been shipped abroad, but the mine’s success, from its first trials, showed how careful and observant had been all those who were concerned in its designing and testing.

The prospect in October was that the shipment of mines would begin in January, but through delay in completing the detailed plans and from the abnormal industrial conditions prevailing, these shipments did not attain a regular flow until May, so that the ships and the mines were ready together.

Secrecy, as well as timely delivery, caused the manufacturing to be partitioned among 500 contractors and sub-contractors, some of them as far west as the Mississippi. Certain mine parts from different makers were put together by still others, and all parts flowed toward Norfolk, Virginia, the trans-Atlantic shipping point. Planning this dividing up, placing the contracts, and arranging for the inspection of all—taking into account the transportation involved and the many different kinds of firms—wire rope makers, automobile concerns, foundries, machine shops, electricians, die-presses, and even candymakers—it was indeed a complex web. What tireless industry and what endless patience under pressure went into this work, only Commander Fullinwider and his assistants can fully appreciate.

A large plant to charge the mines with explosive was built alongside the Naval Magazine at St. Julien’s Creek, near the Norfolk Navy Yard. This plant was of capacity larger than any other of the kind, ample for handling 1000 mines a day. The high explosive was melted in steam kettles to about the consistency of hasty pudding, and drawn off, 300 pounds of TNT at a time, into the mine spheres. An automatic device shut the flow off at the right weight, and a mechanical conveyer carried the mines along slowly, to the pier end, by which time they would be cool enough to load into the waiting ship. Hot work around those steam kettles through the long summer! A quiet but important corner, handling 25,000,000 pounds of TNT, with constant risk from fire. Several of the sailors were overcome by the kettles’ poisonous fumes, and one died. The duty was monotonous and inconspicuous but was done with praiseworthy faithfulness.

CHAPTER FIVE
General Supplies and Transportation

Under the extraordinary demand prevailing abroad for food and all kinds of military material, it was only fitting that ordinary supplies for our part of the Northern Barrage operation should come from America, British sources to be used only for fuel and fresh provisions. Details are needless here, except to mention their completeness—largely due to the efforts of Captain G. C. Schafer of the Pay Corps. After starting things fair at home, he sailed about mid-December for England, where the needs of the bases could be best determined. With him went Assistant Paymaster R. N. Smither, U.S.N.R.F., who later became his successor, and Lieutenant Thomas Newhall, U.S.N.R.F., who had been enrolled for duty principally in connection with transporting the mine carriers’ cargoes across Scotland. His experience in railroading and his tactful energy made a valuable asset. After their departure, purchases and deliveries were followed up indefatigably by Assistant Paymaster A. B. Peacock, U.S.N.R.F., who was quite successful in bringing pressure to bear effectively. One morning, after a certain freight car had been missing for two weeks, he reported that eight railroad presidents were now interested personally in the search—and the car was then found.

A Mine Carrier Steamer.

Twenty-Four of These were Constantly Employed to Transport the Mine Parts Over to Scotland for Assembly and Laying.

For transportation beyond the seaboard, cargoes of mines must go in special ships, which could carry also the general supplies for the operation. The mine carriers should be small rather than large, to minimize the effect on the progress of the operation in the event of losing one. About 60,000 tons in constant employment being needed, 24 of the so-called “Lake” steamers were selected, built on the Great Lakes for coastwise service, of 2500 tons average capacity. They were armed against submarines, manned by naval crews, and would sail in convoy, two or three every eight days, beginning in February. Their fitting out and management came under the Naval Overseas Transport Service, which furnished them according to schedule. Slow speed, due to their small size and cheap build, made them good prey for submarines, which sank one of these carriers in April, the Lake Moor, with 41 of her crew—almost our only loss of life in the whole operation. This was another part of the whole operation that was obscure, though all-important, which would yet have been very conspicuous had it not been so well done.

The great amount and the dangerous nature of these cargoes needed special arrangements for embarking them, for which Southern Railway Pier No. 4. at Pinner’s Point, opposite Norfolk, Virginia, was taken exclusively. This pier being large enough to assemble several cargoes at once, the entire cargoes could be loaded there, and that was the plan, until the great disaster at Halifax aroused strong local opposition concerning the place of loading the mines on board. It was too late then to relocate the plant for charging the mines with TNT, and as the ground of local opposition was undeniably well taken, a real problem was presented. To take the loaded mines in lighters from the magazine 17 miles to the Explosives Anchorage, as first proposed, would have been very slow—almost impossible in bad weather—even had ample towage, lighterage, and labor been available, besides involving an extra handling for every mine, with attendant damage and risk. Thanks to the timely exertions of Captain W. J. Maxwell, U.S.N., who was in general charge of the loading and despatch of mines, a channel was dredged up to the magazine pier, where the steamers could embark the mines directly, after loading the unobjectionable part of their cargoes at Pier 4. Thus local interests were quieted with the greatest measure of safety.

Several ingenious arrangements were devised for handling the mine material quickly. Two mine anchors fastened together, 1600 pounds, could be trundled about by one man, making a considerable labor saving on loading 2000 in one cargo. The pier became also the sub-assembly point for some mine parts, requiring a shop, as well as shipping organization. All was done by naval enlisted men, under the supervision of Lieutenant A. J. Love and Lieut. Commander R. E. Corcoran (P.C.). It was not long before these steamers began to take supplies also for our Battle Squadron with the Grand Fleet, 500 tons at a time.

CHAPTER SIX
A Sample of Quality

While details were shaping for proving the mine early in March, an urgent request came from the British Admiralty for one or more minelayers to help lay a field in the North Irish Channel. This passage was used by slow convoys to the west coast, making port first at Lamlash in the island of Arran, and submarine activity here needed to be checked. The sinking of the Tuscania had taken place in this vicinity.

At that time, only the San Francisco and Baltimore could be considered for this duty, and as the former was flagship, the Baltimore was sent. To “How soon can you go?” over long distance wire, Captain Marshall answered “Right away,” guessing at the destination, and on March 4 he sailed from New York to join H.M.S. Leviathan as escort for a fast convoy out of Halifax.

By popular standards, the Baltimore was a musty back number—years older than many of her officers and crew—but she had been at Manila Bay with Dewey and had otherwise distinguished herself in a long and varied career. Though classed as a poor steamer, the ease with which, time after time, she produced extra speed at a pinch was a standing joke. Thanks to a good overhaul early in the war and to the ability and contagious enthusiasm of her engineer, Lieutenant R. P. Molten, U.S.N., she now topped a 9-day transatlantic run at 13 knots, for the most part in rough weather, with a three-hour spurt at 18.6 knots—2 knots faster than was supposed to be safe for her engines—just to keep pace with the Leviathan.

She arrived at Greenock, Scotland, March 17, ready for work, but was so much earlier than expected that her first mines were not delivered until April 13. Without any preparatory trials, though the mines were British, of a type new to the Baltimore, she went out at once, beginning the deep minefield between the island of Islay and the Irish coast, which was to prevent submerged but not surface passage.

More mines in excess of her reported capacity having been sent to her, 10 had to be carried on the upper deck, and the last one of these mines, in going down the elevator, was jambed, due to the roll of the ship, and held suspended in the elevator shaft. William J. Powers, gunner’s mate, 1st class, promptly of his own initiative, at imminent risk of the 1800-pound weight falling or one of the mine’s firing horns breaking, removed the detonator and with it the great menace to the ship. Before the Baltimore’s next trip, her own mechanics extended the launching deck tracks, to accommodate 180 instead of 170 mines, since the British naval authorities wished her to plant the larger number each time. Four times more she planted 180 mines, April 18, 21, 28 and May 2, planting always at night, in an area infested with submarines.

Extra careful navigation was required, both to lay the mines just where intended, as their anchor cables had been cut to fit (anchors not automatic), and to approach close to the minefields previously laid, yet avoid them. In one such operation, the gyro-compass went wrong at a critical moment. The navigator, Lieut. Commander George W. Hewlett, U.S.N., kept his head and held his peace, applying the corrections to the magnetic compass with coolness and accuracy, as if maneuvering to avoid a sand bank, instead of to clear a minefield by only 500 yards.

The Baltimore laid this whole minefield unassisted, 899 mines in all. She worked directly under Rear Admiral Clinton-Baker, R.N., who wired his congratulations upon the successful completion of the first three operations, and when, at the end of May, she was recalled to our squadron, he wrote to Captain Marshall:

Once more I wish to thank you for all that you have done and for the very willing help which you, your officers and ship’s company have always given. It is much to be regretted that the work which you commenced and so admirably carried out is not to be completed, at any rate for the present, though doubtless you will be doing equally useful work elsewhere in the near future. Good luck to you and your ship.

This minefield accounted for two enemy submarines and there was little further submarine activity in that vicinity, which should be credited largely as an achievement of our squadron. And as a sample of quality before the North Sea mining began, the Baltimore’s work gave our colleagues confidence that we could do our part—by far the largest portion—in that great, open sea operation. As immortalized in our song:

“The Baltimore was the first away.

She traveled a thousand miles a day,

To show the Allies the lively way

Of the Yankee Mining Squadron.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
Mine Assembling and Embarking

Following the conference on board the Queen Elizabeth, our bases worked full blast on the mines for the first operation. One group assembled and tested the anchors, another the mines, a third the plummet, a fourth the plummet and anchor together, and a fifth, the final assembly, of mine and anchor complete—called a unit. A section of mine track of standard gauge sufficed to test the anchor wheels and thus obviate trouble on board from their binding or dropping between the ship’s tracks during minelaying, possibly causing an interrupted string. It speaks well for the manufacture, for the testing at the bases, and for the ship’s mine track installations, that no such interruption ever occurred in the whole series of operations.

Mines and Mine Anchors Awaiting Assembly.

The Anchors were Shipped in Pairs, for Convenience in Handling.

The adjustment of firing mechanism was done in a locked room, the secret entrusted only to a few. It was delicate work, to be done patiently and methodically, for its accuracy determined whether the mine would be alive—or a dud. Fidelity in such adjustments is hard enough to maintain when the repetitions are numbered only by tens. Where hundreds and thousands are involved the tax on attention becomes severe.

Before loading the mines into the cars, for transfer to the lighters, each mine was primed with a mealed TNT “booster” charge and the firing detonator was put in place—all ready for the laying—and five safety devices were seen in place and in order. These devices would prevent the firing mechanism working until the mine had reached a certain minimum depth under water and had been in the water about 20 minutes, and would also prevent exploding in case of loss overboard during embarking. Such devices usually function properly, and dependence is not placed on one alone but on several together, any one of which will make the mine safe to handle—by experienced men. At an early stage in the training in mines, one learns to treat them with respect always—no liberties. Even the safest explosives, the surest mechanism, have an occasional, inexplicable aberration.

Loading Mines into Lighters.

At Base 18, on the Caledonian Canal, at Inverness.

The ready mines are swung up into open freight cars, for hauling to the water side, whence they go, 40 to 80 together, in lighters out to the ships. After being landed on the tracks of the minelayer, one safety pin is removed—leaving four—and the mine is then examined for any derangement during the three handlings in transit from the store shed.

The north of Scotland was a barred area, yet it was reported possible for information to get through to the enemy in 18 to 20 hours—time enough for interference to hatch out. With so much activity at the bases, lighters going to the ships loaded and returning empty, and a large destroyer escort coming in on 5 June, the fact that an operation was in early prospect was obvious. The hour of departure at least could be kept secret, and the start was fixed for midnight. The two detachments of the mine squadron and the destroyer escort would assemble at 1 o’clock a.m., 7 June, just outside the Sutors, the high rocky headlands at the mouth of Cromarty Firth. On this first occasion the preparations continued until one hour before the ships weighed anchor.

Squadron Flagship “San Francisco.”

Receiving Mine Lighters Alongside in Inverness Firth.

Rehearsal of this operation had been impossible except on paper, but careful study of it had produced instructions that were comprehensive, yet elastic enough for emergency. The order for the operation gave a complete program, including a mining schedule showing the time when each ship was to begin laying and how many mines to plant. This was gone over with the captains, and then Captain H. R. Godfrey, R.N., and I had a conference with Rear Admiral Strauss, on the general features of the excursion. Captain Godfrey, commanding H.M.S. Vampire and the 14th Destroyer Flotilla, was our first escort leader.

Our operation was to be no “captains’ fight.” Teamwork was indispensable. Every ship must keep in her station throughout and do her allotted stint exactly on time. The instructions said, “Once begun, keep strictly to schedule times, regardless of the omission of signals or delay in them.” Otherwise there would be gaps in the barrier, impossible to fill without waste of time and space, and mines would be brought back that should have been planted. Teamwork in the high degree wanted meant every man alive to his interest in the general result and sensible to his responsibility for his part in it. All would learn this in time, but it must be driven home beforehand. It was of utmost importance that the first operation should be an unquestionable success.

Accordingly, after making the preliminary inspection of each new ship, I spoke to each ship’s company, partly to comment on their work so far, but chiefly to enlist the best efforts of each individual. Rumor and conjecture were the sources of all they had learned hitherto of the work ahead of them. Now they were told something of its magnitude and importance—that it had been regarded as doubtful of accomplishment, but their squadron commander had promised success in their name, promised the kind of success that comes only with the best teamwork throughout the ship and by all ships in the squadron. Every man should realize that now, in war, his utmost was called for, as never before in his life; that however simple and unimportant his duty might seem, it was his to do, and he was counted on not to be content that any other man’s work should be better done, and that, in our work, prolonged through hours, the attention must never slacken—the 600th mine must be as carefully tended as the first. The men gave the closest attention—not an eye wavered, hardly a muscle moved—giving back such confidence that, on board the Canonicus, which I had found in fine condition, I could wind up with, “And when the last mine is out, the only signal I expect to send to you is ‘Canonicus well done’!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
The First Minelaying Excursion

The eve of our first departure was drizzling and misty. Attempts for some advance sleep were of no avail—too much pressure had directly preceded. When 11 o’clock came without sign of the two ships due from the inner anchorage in Beauly Basin, we in the flagship wondered why. The tide was falling, another half hour passed—would they never come? Signals and radio failed to get through. Very soon, if not already, they would be unable to pass through the new dredged channel. At last, near midnight, they appeared. The pilots had been delayed through a misunderstanding on shore, in itself slight—but it was a narrow escape from being 10 hours late, which, on our first operation, would have made a bad impression, without and within.

The start is made without signals, all dark and noiseless on board, except for the rumbling chain as the ship gets underway. As the San Francisco heads out slowly, one after another the signal quartermaster reports the other ships underway and following. We take two-thirds speed now. The full number of lookouts are at their stations and warned to be alert, and the men are now sent to the battery, making a little stir for the moment, then quiet falls again. Fort George shows the signal for an open gate, we increase to standard speed, and as the second ship passes out through the submarine net, they all form single column astern and close up—to 500 yards apart. The rocky shore looms high and black on the left, not a single house light showing. On the off-shore side, small patrol craft can be dimly seen, on watch against lurking danger. Fifteen minutes more and we see long, low forms slinking against the dark background of North Sutor. Those are the escort destroyers, going out to form a screen. Close following them we make out larger, higher, moving shadows—our detachment from the other base—one, two, three, four—five! All there! The detachments are so timed that they reach the junction buoy at the same moment, and the whole squadron stands on, without pause, together, 10 ships in two parallel columns, 500 yards apart. Ahead and on either side are four destroyers, 12 in all. No signals, no lights, no sound but quiet tones on the bridge and the swash of the water overside. Three miles along, the water deepens to 60 feet. A screened flash from the flagship to the opposite leader and the squadron, all together, slackens speed, to get out paravanes—those underwater, outrigger-like affairs which guard against anchored mines in one’s path. Only a few minutes, then up each column comes the sign “yes,” passed by ships in succession—another flash from the flagship, and we resume standard speed again, keeping on, out Moray Firth, through the one-mile wide channel, which is swept daily for mines.

The Mine Squadron at Sea.

Returning to Base After Laying the Ninth Minefield.

Off Pentland Skerries, near John O’Groat’s House, we turn east, and here as we pass, the supporting force files out of Scapa Flow—six light cruisers, then a squadron of battle cruisers and another of four battleships, each squadron screened by six destroyers. Very impressive are these great ships, majestic in movement, as they sweep off to the southward and eastward, disappearing in the morning haze, which magnifies their towering bulk. We see them no more until next day but know they are there, on guard against raiders.

The British Minelaying Squadron is out, too, four ships with a joint capacity of 1300 mines, but we do not meet. Though protected by the same heavy squadrons, we work independently, in different areas. They are bound this time for the section near the Norway coast, Area C it is called, while we are to begin at the southeastern corner of the middle section, Area A, and work to the westward.

Straight over to Udsire we go, a small island off the Norway coast, the nearest good landmark from which to take a departure for the minelaying start point. We make Udsire Light near 11.30 p.m., close in to about 11 miles distance, turn north for a sufficient run to give a good fix, and then head off-shore. Accurate determination of the minefield’s position is necessary for use in laying another field close by subsequently, and also for the safety of the vessels sweeping the mines up after the war. There must be steady steaming and steering, with a minimum of changing course—no hesitation, no trial moves, for neither the time at disposal nor the submarine risk will permit.

All goes smoothly until the turn to head off-shore, when one destroyer crosses too close under San Francisco’s stern and cuts her “taut wire.” This is fine piano wire, furnished in spools of 140 miles of wire, the whole weighing one ton. A small weight would anchor the end to the bottom, and then a mile of wire meant a mile over the ground without question.

The wire is soon started again, and as the Baltimore is running her wire on the other flank, and the weather is clear enough for good navigational bearings and star sights, no harm is done. We head for a position seven miles in advance of the start point, so that the squadron may turn together to the minelaying course and have still a half-hour in which to settle down.

It is a busy night and early morning, keeping the ships in formation, verifying the navigation, keeping a keen lookout in every direction for submarines—we are now in their regular route—going over the mines for final touches and making other preparations necessarily left to the last. About 4 o’clock, Lieut. Commander Cunningham, the flagship’s navigator, reports that we shall reach the start point at 5.27 a.m. Captain Butler and I check his figures, and at 4.27 the signal is made that minelaying will begin in one hour. The crews go to mining stations, to see all clear and then stand by. In the flagship we watch for the reports of readiness. Ship by ship they signal in the affirmative. They are ready, every one.

Now the last turn has been made and the signal is flying to begin laying in seven minutes. The ships are formed in a single line abreast, speeding towards the start point—like race horses when the starter’s flag is up. It is a stirring sight. How will it go, after all these months—for some of us years—of preparation? Our work to-day will mean much to those in Washington.

No ship is off the line by so much as a quarter length. Commander Canaga stands with watch in hand—“two minutes, one minute, thirty seconds, fifteen?” He looks up inquiringly. A nod—all right. “Five seconds—haul down!” Up go the red flags on the first ships to plant, the sign that their minelaying has begun, and word comes from the flagship’s launching station at the stern, “First mine over.” All well so far.

The minelaying now runs entirely by the time table. Each ship gives her successor five minutes warning and, as her last mine dives overboard, shows the signal “Begin minelaying at once; I have suspended.” The successor begins accordingly, showing her red flag. The staff officers on board the San Francisco watch for these signals, comparing the times with what they should be, and counting also the seconds elapsed between the launching of successive mines, from the ships whose sterns we can see. A few seconds out now and then—otherwise all goes according to schedule, just as planned before leaving the United States.

The hardest task is on board the Housatonic—a new ship, with a new mining installation, of type untried in service, and a crew inexperienced in minelaying—dropping 675 mines without intermission, 1 every 11½ seconds, during 2 hours and 10 minutes. Her mate is standing by, ready for any interruption, but the Housatonic completes the task without a break—making a world record, a continuous line of mines, 28 miles long. On a later occasion, the Canonicus planted 860 mines in 3 hours 35 minutes, an unbroken line of 43 miles.

About 20 minutes after planting began, an explosion was felt and a geyser seen astern. A few minutes later the same occurred again, and other explosions followed, at varying intervals and distances, some just visible on the horizon. Others which were nearer, as evidenced by the sharpness of the shock, threw up no geyser, indicating that they were at the middle or lowest depth.

In the proof tests held off Cape Ann in April, it had been observed that a mine at the middle level, 160 feet submergence, made no surface disturbance when detonated, until 8 seconds had elapsed, and then only as much as the wash of a light swell over a submerged rock. At the deepest level, 240 feet submergence, a detonation produced no more surface upheaval than there is in a glass of well iced champagne. The ship being about 800 yards away, the shock was heavy and sharp. The water surface all over could be seen to tremble with the shock, but directly over the mine itself, when, after 27 seconds, the gas came up, there was no more surface disturbance than a pleasure canoe could have ridden with safety. A slick on the water would follow, but this could not be distinguished at much over a mile distance nor at all if there were a white cap sea running.

Observers recorded the number, times, and approximate positions of all explosions and, on board the San Francisco and Baltimore, there were listeners stationed at the submarine signal receivers, so as to get a full count. All observers did not agree, as the indications from sounds and shocks varied according to distance and depth. Some explosions gave a prolonged reverberation, at times sounding to the unassisted ear like two or three explosions in rapid succession, but in the submarine signal receiver each explosion made a distinct sound, unmistakable.

The count by the San Francisco and Baltimore, differing by only 2, practically agreed on 100 explosions, or about 3 per cent of all mines planted. Although a perfect record was desirable, the detonations showed the minefield to be alive and sensitive, and their number was not large for a new mine, not yet long enough in service to refine out the minor defects.

Surprising enough on deck, where one could see, that first explosion must have startled the men in the engine room, in the coal bunkers, and on the lower mine decks. The blow rings sharper down there, where resulting damage, in broken pipe joints or started boiler tubes, might be expected first. Whether gun, torpedo, or mine, however, it is all one—the duties go on just the same.

As the mines on the launching deck move slowly aft, those on lower decks move forward, to the elevators and up. Working spaces are cramped, passages narrow, bulkhead doors closed wherever possible. At the right time, a door will be opened, the portable section of mine track adjusted, the mines in that compartment hauled out, and the door closed again water-tight, all as quickly as possible. Close, hot, foul with oily steam and seasickness—it is sweating, disagreeable work below decks. But complaint is nowhere in the ships. The feeling is well expressed by one man, writing home:

When the first mine went over, I had a curious feeling of exultation. The fear, the perils, the uncertainties that surround our work, slipped from me like the foolish fancies of a nightmare. There, at last, was a nail in the Kaiser’s coffin. Come what might, I had justified my existence. Had the whole German High Seas Fleet appeared in the offing, I am sure I should have gone to my battle station with a shout of glee.

Prolonged activity, in preparing the squadron and bringing it out, makes it trying now for me, to look on, hands folded—nothing to do while everything goes well—yet constantly alert, for instant decision in case of mishap. After nearly four hours, the schedule is finished. Some marker buoys are dropped, for later use in beginning another minefield. The line of ships then takes the narrower route formation, and we head back for the base. Butler, Canaga, and I exchange quiet congratulations. Our work together has been to good purpose.

The men clean up the decks, get a wash for themselves, and those off duty drop asleep—anywhere—the deck is covered with them. On top of the duties common to all men-of-war, to move the 400-ton masses of mines, in slow but steady time, is very fatiguing, even with steam winches to help.

We are not finished yet. Expectation of a quiet afternoon doze, handy to the bridge, is rudely dispelled by a smoke screen started by the destroyers. Unaware it is only an exercise, all hands tumble up to battle stations. Then one minelayer must stop, to tighten a nut working loose. Two destroyers are left to guard her, all three overtaking us in a few hours. Next a dirigible balloon heaves in sight, and then a widespread smoke covers the horizon, developing into a convoy of 50 vessels. Finally, in the midst of dinner, the siren of our next astern shrieks “Submarine to port!”

While the minelayers, upon signal, swing together away from the danger quarter, the Vampire swoops by at 30 knots, to drop two depth charges on the spot indicated. Captain Godfrey signals, “Whatever was there, those charges will keep him down for a considerable time.” All quiet again, we return to our cold provender, remarking that, as a name, mine squadron is ill chosen. It should be “Crowded Hour Club.”

Reports had now come in from all the ships that there had been no casualties. All were prepared to undertake another operation upon receiving the mines, and without further incident we returned to our former anchorages, arriving at 3.30 next morning. But ere that day closed, so memorable in our lives, I signaled the squadron:

The operation to-day was an excellent performance by each ship and by the squadron as a whole. The fact of some premature explosions does not detract from the highly creditable mine handling and steady steaming. Confidence in the personnel and faith in the undertaking are well justified, and captains may well be proud of their commands, as the squadron commander is of the squadron.

SQUADRON ORGANIZATION AND SHIPS’ DATA

Mine Squadron One, U.S. Atlantic Fleet

(Designated in H.B.M. Grand Fleet, Second Minelaying Squadron)

Captain Reginald R. Belknap, U.S.N., Squadron Commander

Flagship—U.S.S. San Francisco

San Francisco (flagship)—Captain H. V. Butler, U.S.N.

Launched at Union Iron Works, San Francisco, October 26, 1889, as a protected cruiser; commissioned as a mine ship August 21, 1911; length 324 feet, beam 49 feet, extreme draft 24 feet, full load displacement 4583 tons; twin screw, 18 knots; four 5-inch 51-caliber guns, two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, 170 mines; officers 22, crew 350; additional for flagship, officers 5, enlisted men 47; total on board 424.

Baltimore—Captain A. W. Marshall, U.S.N.

Launched at Cramp’s Shipyard, Philadelphia, October 26, 1888, as a protected cruiser; commissioned as a mine ship March 8, 1915; length 335 feet, beam 48½ feet, extreme draft 24 feet, 5482 tons; twin screw, 18 knots; four 5-inch 51-caliber guns, two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, 180 mines; officers 21, crew 339; total 360.

Roanoke—Captain C. D. Stearns, U.S.N.

Launched August 30, 1911, named El Dia; commissioned as a minelayer January 25, 1918, at Tietjen and Lang’s Shipyard, Hoboken, N.J.

Housatonic—Captain J. W. Greenslade, U.S.N.

Launched November 14, 1899, named El Rio; commissioned January 25, 1918, at Tietjen and Lang’s.

Canandaigua—Captain W. H. Reynolds, U.S.N.

Launched in May, 1901, named El Siglo; commissioned March 2, 1918, at the Morse Dry Dock and Repair Company, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Canonicus—Captain T. L. Johnson, U.S.N.

Launched November 14, 1899, named El Cid; commissioned March 2, 1918, at the Morse Yard.

All four preceding were built at the Newport News Ship and Engine Building Company, Newport News, Va., as freight liners for the Southern Pacific Steamship Company (Morgan Line). Length 405 feet, beam 48 feet, draft 20 feet, displacement 7000 tons; single screw, 15 knots; one 5-inch 51-caliber gun aft, two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns forward; 830 mines normally, 900 maximum, carried on three decks; officers 21, crew 400; total 421.

Quinnebaug—Commander D. Pratt Mannix, U.S.N.

Launched October 14, 1898, named Jefferson; commissioned as minelayer March 23, 1918, at Robins’ Dry Dock and Repair Company, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Saranac—Captain Sinclair Gannon, U.S.N.

Launched in 1899, named Hamilton; commissioned April 9, 1918, at James Shewan & Sons, Inc., Brooklyn.

Both were built by John Roach & Sons, Chester, Pa., as coastwise passenger and freight liners for the Old Dominion Steamship Company; length 375 feet, beam 42 feet, draft 18½ feet, displacement 5150 tons; single screw, 16 knots; one 5-inch 51-caliber gun aft, two 3-inch anti-aircraft guns forward; mines 612 normally, 642 maximum, carried on two decks; officers 18, crew 392; total 410.

Shawmut—Captain W. T. Cluverius, U.S.N.

Aroostook—Captain J. Harvey Tomb, U.S.N.

Both vessels were launched in 1907 at Cramp’s Shipyard, Philadelphia, named Massachusetts and Bunker Hill respectively; commissioned as minelayers at Navy Yard, Boston, Mass., December 7, 1917; length 387 feet, beam 52 feet, draft 17½ feet, displacement 3800 tons; twin screw, oil fuel, 20 knots; one 5-inch 51-caliber and one 3-inch anti-aircraft gun on the middle line aft, one 3-inch anti-aircraft gun forward; 320 mines normally, 352 maximum, all carried on one deck; officers 20, crew 346; total 366.

Totals of Squadron:

Tonnage, 54,000 tons.

Mines, normal 5530, maximum 5834.

Officers 208, men 3839; total 4047.

In addition, four seagoing tugs belonged to the squadron, as described in [Chapter 22].

CHAPTER NINE
Athletics

A shortage of some mine parts that had encountered difficulty in manufacture now delayed the preparation for a second excursion, and the respite came opportunely, for we had been driving hard for some time.

Though the minelayers were comfortable enough to live in when empty, it was quite different with mines on board. Then only a few of the men could swing their hammocks, the others having to lie on the decks. Crowding the mess tables together, horns and sharp corners ever ready to tear the clothes, mines were constantly at one’s elbow, and everywhere were mine tracks, half-knee high, or turntables, to trip the unwary or bark his shin. No smoking was allowed below decks, and the space above decks was very limited for crews so numerous. The men made no complaint—such men will not complain of discomfort which seems temporary and unavoidable, when incident to an undertaking that interests them—but since the discomfort could not be alleviated but, on the contrary, would increase with the frequency of excursions and with inclement weather, sufficient diversion was imperative to maintain the fine, cheerful spirit which had characterized the work so far.

Let the report on squadron athletics, written at the end of September by Ensign Walter P. Hanson, U.S.N.R.F., editor of our Athletic Bulletin, tell what was done, in true sporting page style:

The situation was new, practically unparalleled, and called for immediate action. With the exception of the San Francisco and Baltimore, none of the ships had the traditional atmosphere of a man-of-war, so essential to the building up of esprit de corps. It was a new squadron, manned largely by new men, performing a new operation in strange waters. Something was needed to weld this war-sprouted organization into a solid, indissoluble unit, to build up ship spirit and a high squadron spirit, recalling old traditions and laying the foundation for new ones, to fire the men’s enthusiasm to a pitch that would insure the success of the gigantic operation in hand and spell defeat for the German submarine forces.

There were other just as important reasons why an athletic organization was necessary. Minelaying in contested waters is not the easiest nor the least dangerous of duties. To eat, sleep and work in close proximity to tons of the deadliest explosive known, and then to cruise day and night in submarine infested waters with this same explosive for cargo—knowing that one well-aimed torpedo, a well-placed mine, or a few enemy shells, would wipe out an entire ship’s company, and possibly the whole squadron—is not exactly the sort of recreation a worn-out business man would seek as a cure for “nerves.” And blue-jackets, despite a common fallacy in America, are no more than human. Numerous mining excursions, with no intervening periods of recreation, were bound to tell on the men.

Relaxation and amusement they would get in one form or another. Where were they to turn for it? To the theaters and amusement centers of two Scotch, war-stricken villages? They were almost a myth and couldn’t hold a man-sized blue-jacket’s attention for half an hour a week. What then—the Y.M.C.A.? Yes, to some extent, but even those faithful workers couldn’t solve the problem. Active amusement the men wanted, excitement, thrills, anything to take their minds off their work for a few hours several times a week when they went ashore.

Obviously there was but one answer to the question and that was the healthful recreation of organized, competitive athletics. Athletics of all sorts and forms, teams organized on each ship, and an officially recognized and governed organization to direct the activities of the entire squadron. Spirited competition and clean sportsmanship was to be the keynote of the movement, with one directing head, under the supervision of the Squadron Commander.

The official “season” was formally opened on July 4, at both bases, with eight teams competing. The initial success was most gratifying. The spirit shown by the townspeople gave the day all the ear-marks of a regular league opening in the states. The games were closely contested and the players, cheered on by the rooting of hundreds of loyal “fans,” displayed an excellent brand of ball. Business houses had declared a holiday in honor of our Independence Day and apparently the natives decided to attend the festivities in a body, for at Inverness more than three thousand of them were present, eagerly attempting to learn the intricacies of the game.

From then on, the success of athletics in the squadron was assured. When the ships were in port and the weather permitted, not a day passed without one or more games played. Each team was loyally supported by its own ship’s company, even the officers forgetting their dignity long enough to root long and loudly. In these demonstrations the men were moderate, considerate of the neighbors, realizing that local custom did not favor such noise, though indulged now with perfect good humor, since we appeared to need it.

Athletic activities were not confined to baseball. Boat-racing, track, tug-of-war teams, boxing and wrestling, were all taken up and encouraged. On July 4, the entire morning was given over to boat racing. Excellent time was made over the mile course and good seamanlike qualities were displayed. The afternoon track events developed into a spirited contest, in which the marks made would have done justice to any first-class American university. Again on Labor Day a similar athletic meet was arranged and once more the same measure of success was attained, thousands of townspeople in attendance.

Boxing and wrestling were taken up by the individual ships and, generally speaking, one evening each week was given over to “happy hours,” for bouts in the ring and on the mat. Ambitious youngsters would send forth bristling challenges, which were immediately snapped up by rivals in other ships and the resulting encounter was the equivalent—seldom bloodless—of a naval engagement in building up esprit de corps.

Excellent golf courses and tennis courts lay convenient to both bases, and many a day the Squadron Commander returned from the Nigg links with 18 officers crowding the barge. The squadron surgeon, Dr. Rhoades, secured many recruits for the ancient and honorable game, with the result that upward of 50 officers out of 200 entered the tournament played in September.

From the start the good effect on the men was noticeable. A consistently winning baseball team made that ship’s company the envy of all others, and fostered a spirit that could not confine itself to athletics alone but was injected into drills, mining excursions and all forms of ship’s work. Indeed, it would not be overshooting the mark to state that the success of the operation as a whole was due in large part to the spirit of enthusiasm aroused among the men by organized competitive athletics.

The men and officers were benefited from a mental and moral, as well as physical, standpoint. They had something really interesting to go to see on shore and to talk about on returning aboard. Their minds were taken absolutely away from war while the games were in progress, their nerves relaxed and the tension removed. Their activities were directed into healthful channels, whereas, thrown upon their own resources, they might have sought amusement in some harmful form.

Not only did athletics benefit the men, it also played its part from an international aspect, especially baseball. Essentially an American sport, it typifies everything American—rapid thinking, quickness of action, and purely American individualism, coupled with the keenest alertness in teamwork. These traits the British admire in the “Yanks.” At any of our baseball games, hundreds of British soldiers and sailors could always be seen, wearing broad grins of appreciation and admiration of the cleverness of their comrades in arms. So much were they taken up with the sport that on some British ships they began to organize baseball teams, with the hope in the near future to compete with their American cousins. And the small boys in the towns were quick to take up playing ball with a stick and an old string ball. All this helped in creating a spirit of coöperation and good feeling between the British and the Americans, so important to both present and future common aims.

Transcriber’s Note:
Image is clickable for a larger version, if the device you are using supports this.

Arrangement of Mine Tracks, Elevators, and Turntables, in “Roanoke” Class of Minelayers.

CHAPTER TEN
The Squadron Complete

After a conference with the commanding officers with the various incidents of the first excursion fresh in mind, revised instructions applying equally to every excursion were drawn up, to be supplemented by the particulars for each successive occasion issued at the appropriate time. The term excursion met with ready adoption, for its cheerful suggestion of a return—weary no doubt, but content.

A navigation memorandum of the intended courses, speeds, and principal incidents, for the information of the escort leader and each ship, accompanied the excursion order. An excellent understanding, as well as good feeling, grew up between the squadron and its escort. The escort commander would often dine on board the San Francisco and discuss the coming excursion and the two bodies soon came to move as one, changing course, night or day, or changing formation, frequently with only a whistle blast—a whole excursion sometimes without any tactical signal at all between the two bodies, except for some unforeseen change of course or speed.

Preparations had begun at once for the second excursion to continue the first minefield, but change had become necessary, and a line across Area C was ordered—not, however, until Roanoke had been loaded with 830 mines of an adjustment not suited to the changed plan, and these remained on board 33 days, the crew living around, but keeping up cleanliness and order the same as usual. So long a period fully loaded had not been contemplated, but it showed one more thing these vessels could do when well manned and commanded.

As before, assembly was at night 30 June, and Udsire the point of final departure. The supporting force was the 6th Battle Squadron of five American battleships under Rear Admiral Hugh Rodman, U.S.N. Needless to say, every one came on deck to see our handsome battle squadron, as it filed out past Pentland Skerries and formed line, disappearing to the southeastward. Twice during the afternoon submarine periscopes were seen by the battleships and their destroyer screen, which opened fire and dropped depth bombs, but without known effect.

Considerable current was found near the Norwegian coast, but visibility was good until we passed to the northward of Udsire; then it became increasingly hazy. The run of the flagship, guiding, was accurately determined notwithstanding, by other marks to the northward before they too became indistinct. At 4.26 a.m., minelaying began—great care taken not to lay any mines inside Norwegian waters, yet to begin just outside them. Despite the unexpected strong current at the critical moment, the first mines were dropped within 250 yards of the intended spot, just outside the three-mile limit.

Overcast sky prevented obtaining good observations to check the run during the minelaying, and as there was no check on latitude and the current was variable, the course was changed slightly for the last third of the run, to be sure of clearing our first field, towards which we were heading. This accounts for the bend in that line on the chart. We were crossing the 150-fathom deep water which skirts the Norway coast, three large ships, Canonicus, Canandaigua, and Housatonic, led by San Francisco, laying 2200 mines in two rows on a line 46 miles long. In spite of repeated breaking of the distance-measuring taut wire, the speed over ground was estimated closely enough to end the line within one-half mile of the point intended, which was correct within 1 per cent.

There were again no casualties and all the mines were planted. Two ships planted 710 each in continuous strings, fully establishing the success of the mining installations. There was no longer any doubt of the ability of one of these ships to plant her entire load of 860 mines without break. All vessels returned to base ready for further duty.

The explosions of defective mines on this excursion amounted to between 4 and 5 per cent, and reports received from British trawlers watching the first minefield indicated that enough more had gone off in that field since the first day, to bring the total there up to between 5 and 6 per cent. Despite all remedy, these explosions increased in number up to the 5th excursion. Then the cause was found to be due not to unskilful, negligent, or otherwise faulty procedure in either the ships or the bases, but to lie partly in supersensitiveness in the mines’ adjustment, partly in imperfection in manufacture—inevitable in such large numbers made under prevailing industrial conditions, especially of a new design.

On June 29, just before departure on the second excursion, the minelayers Shawmut, Captain W. T. Cluverius, Aroostook, Commander J. H. Tomb, and Saranac, Commander Sinclair Gannon, and the repair ship Black Hawk, Captain R. C. Bulmer, had arrived from the United States. Uncompleted work had not delayed them like the others, but the trial runs of the Shawmut and Aroostook showed their fuel consumption to be much larger than had been estimated—no data having been available when their conversion was planned—making their fuel capacity insufficient for the passage over. Indefinite delay, until a tanker could accompany them, was averted by the captains hunting up enough oil hose to fuel the ships at sea. Their departure on June 16 took place during the German submarines’ activity on the New England coast—not a favorable condition for ships just out of a navy yard. Twice during the crossing, the Black Hawk took the Shawmut and Aroostook in tow, to give them fuel oil. Though a new operation to all hands—likewise new ships, new crews, half a gale of wind, and oil hose twice as heavy as proper—it was done well, without mishap, and all four arrived at our bases ready for service.

The third excursion could therefore be made by the full squadron of ten. It was to continue the first minefield, and as some of our mark buoys were known to have broken adrift—we had passed two on the second excursion—the flagship’s navigator, Lieut. Commander Cunningham, was sent out in the squadron tugs Patuxent and Patapsco, to verify what might remain of the buoyfield. Finding half the buoys in place, he planted two new ones as a precaution. Then he passed along both our minefields, listening for further explosions, but heard none. The necessary improvement in the buoy moorings was now made, so effectively that they could be counted on thereafter. Each ship carried four buoys on her quarters, ready to drop on the instant. One stroke of an axe, or pull on a slip would release a buoy and its 1000-lb. sinker together, the mooring wire cable being so looped up around the buoy as to pay out clear. Thus the ship had no need to reduce speed nor any fear of getting her screw foul of the buoy.

Embarking mines for the third excursion had already begun when a message came that no mines were to be placed west of zero longitude for the present, a restriction that shortened the intended line by 30 miles, quite upsetting the embarking arrangements then in progress.

Meantime, the original plan had, in London, undergone considerable modification as to the constitution of the barrage. Originally of three systems, each comprising three lines of mines—upper, middle, and lower levels—the necessity which had developed for wider spacing between mines, to avoid structural damage to neighboring mines when one was detonated—300 feet instead of 150, as originally planned—made it seem desirable to increase the number of lines of mines, so as to maintain the same density of the mine barrage as a whole. The revision aimed to increase the risk to surface passage considerably. No effective patrol being maintained along the barrage, submarines would naturally prefer the surface. The revised plan, in brief, made 10 upper level rows instead of 3, and 4 middle and 4 lower level, instead of 3 each, or a total of 18 rows instead of 9.

Rather than shorten our line and again employ only part of the squadron, the Commander of the Mine Force took up the revised scheme at once, ordering 5400 mines prepared, for a field of 5 parallel lines 54 miles long. All 10 ships were loaded nearly to full capacity, Housatonic taking 840 mines. Departure was taken at 2 p.m., Sunday 14 July, hauling down, as we got underway, the dress bunting which had been hoisted in honor of the French Bastille Day.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tactics

Ten ships laden with high explosive, navigating in mine-swept channels, in submarine thoroughfares, and near minefields beyond sight of fixed marks—compactness of the minefield demanding that the layers steam as near together as safe—necessity for keeping together in fog, darkness, or submarine attack—these were the conditions governing our tactics.

Thus, the mining excursions were not merely arduous in preparation and execution. Precision and quickness of action while at sea were imperative, from start to finish. To foster these, a steady tension was kept up throughout the squadron, a tension which likewise helped the individual ships to maintain a careful habit among the men, without making them jumpy or fearful. To sustain attention and prevent over-confidence growing with familiarity, unremitting pains were exercised to note and correct any irregularity or apparent slackness—not to find fault but to keep things taut everywhere. Only in this way could compliance with all details be insured—so very important in our work.

From assembly at the buoy until the return to it after the excursion, the San Francisco, leading the squadron, would maintain a steady pace, sometimes increasing to make up for adverse current, but rarely slackening speed for anything. The squadron’s position was frequently compared with the time schedule, and no effort was spared to carry through the excursion with precision. There was time enough, we had speed enough, but none too much of either, and the whole body felt a constant urge towards a direct and clean-cut movement out to the field, over it, and back to the base.

Stretched in two mile-long columns while in mine-searched waters, which were comparatively narrow, the formation would widen and shorten upon reaching the 50-fathom line, so as to diminish the depth of the target offered to a submarine. Approaching the mine start point, the vessels would take the relative positions which they would occupy when the mining was begun—not too soon, because such a formation was unwieldy, and if maneuvering into position involved much turning, the formation would become disordered. The 10 vessels were of 5 different types, with different handling qualities and having very small speed reserve with which to regain lost position. On the other hand, the change had to be made early enough for all vessels to get settled in station, at standard speed, before the minelaying began.

As the planting progressed, we had to make use of large, lighted, navigation buoys, planted in the open sea, obviously for our use. The British had warned us, from their own experience, of the enemy’s habit of moving all such buoys whenever seen, or planting mines near them—sometimes doing both. Working far away from the nearest landmark, we would pass close to these buoys in order to determine the position of the mine start point accurately. Against enemy mines which might be around the buoys, our paravanes were counted upon for protection, but here came in a complication. While paravanes would protect against ordinary mines, they actually increased the risk from any of our own mines which they might touch. To keep the paravanes out until after clearing the buoy, then take them in before approaching one of our fields, would have been simple enough, but for the necessity of maintaining steady speed and course from the buoy to the mining start point, which precluded slowing down to take the paravanes in. Since the risk could be measured from our own mines but not from the enemy’s, the paravanes were always kept in use.

Pressure of time and division of the ships between two bases while in port limited the tactical training of the squadron to what could be done while crossing the Atlantic and while going to and from the minefields. The special equipment to facilitate accurate station keeping which is usually found in men-of-war was lacking in these ex-merchant vessels. They had comparatively small rudders, and the nice regulation of steam to the engines, necessary for steady steaming in company, was very difficult with their deficient means for that purpose. Moreover, on the first excursion by the complete squadron of 10 vessels, 4 of them took part for the first time. The excellent performance of the squadron as a whole was all the more remarkable.

Passing through the mark buoys, which the sloop H.M.S. Laburnum pointed out, the squadron, formed in three lines abreast, stood on beyond, to allow distance in which to steady down on the reverse course, then turned ships 90 degrees right together, by divisions in succession. This evolution formed the squadron in a single column which steered about SSW, until within two miles of the previous minefield. Two of the 10 vessels were on the right flank, so that a second, simultaneous turn, ships right, brought the squadron into the planting formation, consisting of a line of 8 ships abreast, stretching a mile and three-quarters, the remaining two in an advance line, 500 yards ahead, with three miles still to go, allowing 15 minutes time in which to settle down, before the order to begin planting. The execution of the operation was seamanlike to a degree, and the alignment, distance keeping, and handling of the vessels, in approaching and on the planting line, were excellent throughout.

The Squadron in Minelaying Formation.

Two Ships of British Minelaying Squadron in the Left Background.

It would have widened the field unnecessarily to dispose all 10 ships abreast. The advanced ships would ease back into the main line as soon as two of the 8 ships directly astern had finished their minelaying and speeded ahead, leaving vacancies. Ample time was allowed to do this slowly, before their time came to plant, so as to avoid the extra demand on their engines which might be caused by dropping back too fast. The ships were neither new nor decrepit, but there was no excuse for taking unnecessary chances of spoiling a good performance by the squadron as a whole. Steady steaming and steering were important for safety—as well as for regularity of the mine-spacing. God help a ship whose engine broke down or rudder jammed during the minelaying! With a strong head wind, she would drift into the minefield, before even a destroyer could tow her clear. It was partly for such an emergency that the sweepers originally included with our force were wanted—powerful, handy, seagoing tugs, able to assist in any circumstances. The tugs that we had were not fast enough to keep up with the squadron. Fortunately, engine or steering disablement never occurred during planting, but two did occur just afterward, and once, in Fair Island Channel, on the way to plant, a ship had to stop for a disabled feed pump. It was 11 o’clock at night, pitch dark, with the tide turning strong towards the 9th minefield, and in the submarines’ thoroughfare. As I slowed the squadron and waited for report of the probable length of delay, I felt what a reliance a good tender would have been!

The support force on the third excursion, the 4th Battle Squadron, came close enough to observe the minelaying, steaming along parallel, four miles distant, for an hour. Its commander, in H.M.S. Hercules, was Vice Admiral Sir Montague E. Browning, who, with the French Rear Admiral Grasset, had come from Bermuda in the earliest days of our entering the war, to attend the first conference on our naval participation, and as their flagships, H.M.S. Leviathan and the Jeanne d’Arc, stood in to Hampton Roads, the San Francisco had been the vessel to salute their flags. Now, in the same ship, it was a pleasure to lead a large, new mine squadron, performing so creditably before such an observer, the more so as Admiral Browning had sent a special message of welcome upon our arrival from America.

After this excursion was over and all the reports were in from the several ships, showing that all mines had been planted, with no mishaps of any kind, and that the vessels were ready to undertake another excursion, the following signal was sent:

The squadron commander extends sincere congratulations upon the completion of to-day’s mining operation by the whole squadron. It was a handsome performance that would have done credit to a squadron of long experience. The squadron commander, the captains, the officers, and every man may rightly feel deep pride in having earned a success worthy of our navy’s best traditions. 7.45 p.m., 15 July, 1918.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Some Incidents

By consensus of opinion, the limit of safe approach to a minefield in the open sea was five miles. Where appreciable current exists, a heavy sea may cause mines to step along, or “migrate”—there is no telling how far—and the danger from mines adrift is naturally greater near a minefield than elsewhere. Mines are designed to become safe on breaking adrift and many of them are, but far from all. Submergence in salt water may derange the mechanism for that safety purpose. There was very little current across Area A, however, and the fine tactical qualities shown by the squadron lent confidence that it could be safely conducted much nearer to our minefields than five miles. Since the barrage plan had been revised, this closer approach had become necessary, if we were to get the whole barrage in between the southernmost line, already laid, and the northern limit, which had been publicly proclaimed. There was some aversion to proclaiming a new limit and we had no mind to say it was necessary. So, instead of lapping the ends of adjacent minefields, the practice was adopted of “butting” the new field close to the end of its neighbor, thus continuing the same line with only a small gap between adjacent ends.

Our first news of damage inflicted on the enemy came in mid-July, soon after the second excursion, though the barrier was then hardly more than begun. The information was authentic but not very circumstantial—the standing policy was against that. Four submarines were mentioned. One of them lost nearly all her fuel and called by wireless for help, so loudly that it was overheard and a British force was sent out to capture or destroy her—but too late. Another German submarine had come to her aid, and the two got safely back. Further details are lacking.

The third excursion, together with the British minefields in Area C, completed the equivalent of one system, extending from the Norway coast as far west as 0 degrees longitude. The prohibition against laying any mines farther westward than that was still in force—although the enemy submarines had changed their route so as to pass clear to the westward of the partial barrier. So our fourth excursion began a second “system,” parallel to and five miles distant from the first.

Leaving the bases during the night of 28 July, and taking final departure from Buoy No. 2, which marked the north end of the division between Areas A and C, we ran south, clearing the ends of three British deep minefields by three miles—quite safe to do if they were all in their intended places. Then, by an “isodromic” maneuver—not easy and little favored, on account of the precision that is requisite, but necessary on this occasion—our three columns, with San Francisco making a fourth on the left, formed a single line to the right, of eight ships, with two more in an advanced line, all steering about WSW. Being on the outside of the turn, the old San Francisco had to spring from 12 to 16½ knots within a few minutes, to gain her station on the southern flank in time, but no parade ground evolution could have been done more smoothly, and the quickness with which all ships steadied into accurate distance and bearing showed that, in future, the steadying interval could be safely reduced. Originally a half hour, it was cut down to 75 seconds.

Commander Moir, a new escort leader, in H.M.S. Valhalla, smiled slightly as he read over the mining order for the first time and I asked whether it were about this isodromic movement. He replied, No; he was wondering how they could execute one of the intermediate changes which the order prescribed to be made en route, to sort the ships out from the assembling order to the arrangement which they would be in preparatory to swinging into minelaying formation. It did look mixed at first glance, there was no denying, but I said, “Watch them do it, the Rules of the Road will govern”—and when the time came, I felt quite willing for any one to be a witness.

Transcriber’s Note:
Image is clickable for a larger version, if the device you are using supports this.

Approaching and Laying the Fourth Mine Field.

Excursion 4: Formations Before, During, and After Planting.

At the end of a minefield, the wing and the center ships simultaneously would drop mark buoys, 250 yards from the last mines, and again one mile farther on, making in all six buoys in two lines. When we came back after 10 days or so, to continue that field, a destroyer would go well ahead, to sight and stand by the outermost buoy, and the flagship would lead for it, but not steer towards the minefield side of it until the inner line of buoys had been sighted—those which were only 250 yards from the mines. The outer buoys were regarded with suspicion until some of the inner ones were seen to be in place. It was then deemed safe to lead between the two lines of buoys, for as long as there were any between the ships and the minefield, ships would be at least 250 yards clear. Passing in column midway between the lines of buoys to make the start, and allowing for the simultaneous turn into line abreast, the squadron could begin mining by the time the outer buoys were passed, thus leaving a gap of but little more than a mile between the mines in the old field and those in its continuation.

An early care while fitting out had been to organize and train a good lookout service. This duty is a severe tax on the men, and when, time after time, they see nothing suspicious, they tend to relax. Fearing this, as we had yet seen no submarines, barring an alarm on the first excursion, a special warning to lookouts was issued, which, fortunately was well supported on our next trip. A beautiful, peaceful evening off the Orkneys was rudely interrupted by messages from three different sources within the space of a minute, reporting a submarine estimated to be a half-hour ahead of us, outbound, making for Fair Island Channel. Taking no chances on its having innocent intentions towards us, Captain Godfrey turned his flank destroyers outward and bang! bang! went four depth charges, and four more on the other side—just to let the sub know he might except a hearty reception. The Aroostook’s siren then shrieked for “torpedo to starboard!” the ship charging ahead across another’s bows, and the Housatonic’s steering chain took that occasion to break. Serenity was gone, for a time at least, but being in a swept channel, there was small choice for maneuvering. All we could do was to shorten up our formation before dark shut in and trust to our escort and a good lookout.

In the event of a submarine appearing, our rôle was to make off, leaving the attack to the destroyers and being careful not to harm them by our own fire. The escort was prepared to engage its own kind, as well as submarines, and even to make a sacrifice attack on light cruisers, to assist our escape under cover of a smoke screen, but our moderate speed—15 knots at best when keeping together—and the small number and caliber of our guns, made us rather helpless against an enemy cruiser’s long-range, 6-inch gunfire and high speed.

Upon returning from an Allied conference in Malta on mining the Mediterranean, Rear Admiral Strauss came out with the squadron, on the seventh excursion, 26 August, hoisting his flag in the San Francisco. This was the first time our program was interfered with by fog, which shut in thick soon after assembly. Incidentally, our tug Patuxent, going out ahead with her sister Patapsco to observe, found herself in the midst of a large convoy from Norway that night and had a collision, which fortunately was not serious to either vessel.

After four hours’ delay by fog, we made our departure buoy and steered for the end of the 5th minefield, 13 miles distant. Fog shut in again when we were half way, but fortunately lifted just before we should have had to turn back, and minelaying began, although the weather was still far from settled. Twice during the schedule, dense fog enveloped us, but the planting went on without interruption. It was rather ghostly to hear and feel the explosions of the defective mines, yet see nothing—not even the neighboring ship. Several times Admiral Strauss expressed admiration for the steady alignment of the formation, and upon leaving the San Francisco when we had returned to port, he signalled, “The Commander Mine Force congratulates Mine Squadron One on the seamanlike manner in which the seventh excursion was accomplished by all ships.”

On this occasion, for the first and only time, one ship had to drop out from an excursion, the Saranac having a smash inside the cylinder of her main circulating pump shortly after the squadron had assembled. Temporary repairs being impossible soon enough, she returned to base. The absence of her 580 mines left the 7th minefield incomplete, and to make good the defect a special excursion was ordered for the Shawmut, Captain Cluverius, and Aroostook, Captain Tomb, the two fast minelayers.

Met off Cromarty buoy at 6 a.m., 31 August, by Commander Lowry in H.M.S. Wrestler, with three other destroyers, the detachment proceeded, first at 15 then at 17 knots, by the usual route to the end buoys of the seventh field, then close along the northern side of the field. The Baltimore had been on that flank, and after planting all her mines had dropped a buoy and again, at about 9-mile intervals, two other buoys, while steaming 500 yards abeam of the nearest planting vessel. A fresh breeze was now blowing, making the buoys none too easy to pick up. Fog had prevailed while the Baltimore was dropping the buoys, making uncertainty as to their position and also as to whether they were there at all. Accordingly, the detachment first ran parallel to the minefield, from 1000 to 2000 yards outside the line of buoys, so as to sight them all; then it turned back and began planting, Shawmut first. The mines were laid in one line averaging 600 yards outside the line of buoys, or about 1100 yards from the nearest line of mines, thus completing the original field neatly without wasting space. The mining installations of these fast ships worked as well at 17 knots as they had at 12, and altogether the excursion gave the two a good try out. They were back in their berths 26 hours after leaving them, in ample time to embark their mines for the squadron’s next excursion, and with a record to their credit for laying 580 mines on the closest parallel to a deep-sea minefield that had ever been run.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Signals

Signals had come well to the front in the course of the first excursions, not only for tactics but also for assembling data quickly, so that a fairly comprehensive report of the excursion might go to headquarters by the first boat to shore after arrival. Spelling out messages by Morse or semaphore proved too slow and inaccurate for reports from nine ships in one afternoon, often in hazy weather, so a collection of phrases, and questions to be answered by reference number, was established, to be signaled by hoists of flags.

As we had expected to use the British signal system, a special training class was formed at Newport in January, while the minelayers were fitting out. In consequence, from first falling in with British destroyers, the San Francisco communicated easily, and British flags could be used on the first excursion. But neither the British system nor our own was found to suit our needs, and to combine British flags with American meanings made a risk of misinterpretation at a critical time. So the American flags were restored to use and the British ones discontinued, except a few retained by each ship for calls and other routine uses, while the flagship kept a full set, for communicating with the escort by the British code. A new system, embodying several of the British features, was devised, mainly by Lieut. Commander E. S. R. Brandt, then flag lieutenant, and was put into effect on the second excursion. The main feature was that the meaning of tactical signals—those which required immediate action, affecting the ships’ movements—was self-evident to anyone who knew the names of the flags.

Flags and associations already familiar having been utilized, the signalmen quickly learned. Separation among three anchorages prevented signal practice by the squadron as a whole in port, but drills several times daily at each anchorage and on the way out to the mining ground enabled the new code to be used on the full squadron’s first trip. Great interest was evident among the signal forces of all ships. Signals were habitually hoisted only just long enough, as determined by experience, for the average vessel to repeat the hoist. Competition became keen not to be the cause of delay, and very soon the signaling attained an accuracy, rapidity, and style comparing favorably with the best performance of any type of vessel. Once or twice the Quinnebaug—whose mast was not high—beat the flagship in getting her own signal up to the yardarm. Less than a minute by day, and often only 30 seconds, would suffice between giving an order for a tactical signal and beginning its execution by the squadron—without a glance at a key book or card at either end. Most efficient telephone service would hardly equal that.