HUNTING THE SUBMARINE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XXXVII, Issue 7912, 28 July 1917, Page 2 (Supplement)

HUNTING THE SUBMARINE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN.

By H. J. GREENWALL.

1 suppose it has not fallen to the lot of many civilians to fly above the blue waters of the Mediterranean, to dive beneath them in a 400-ton bujmarine, and to rock on the surface in an armed tug. I have done these things all crowded into a few busy days. As our vessel darted out of tno harbour to encounter the waters of the Mediterranean in angry mood the latest devices in harbour defences were visible on every side. Ugly little destroyers were escorting submarines to sea. We were entering the “trades” own domain. I stood on the bridge of the good ship Travailieur while Captain Terisse explained the functions tof the two guns and told how for eight months he had been patrolling, scanning the seas for German periscopes; once, for eight days and nights, he never left the bridge. TORPEDOED! With marine glasses I saw two rods, one black and one white, cutting through the waves. The rods became visible to the naked eye, and then out of the broken waters came a black mass—a submarine. She darted towards us; a flag appeared; a figure, then two, climbed out of the turret. I saw a gun, and as 1 saw it there was a flash, then a puff of rmoke: three seconds later a report. We were being shelled. “That’s how It’s done,” said the captain, but I should explain that the submarine was French and the shells were blank. The submarine stopped and danced up and down the waves. A few seconds later a small boat was lowered and two sailors in white drill took the oars. The captain showed me how to board a dinghy in dirty weather —an 'uncomfortable experience—and we boarded the bobbing submarine. One can walk upright aboard a submarine, but that is about all the freedom of movement one has; not a fraction of an inch of space is wasted. There are shining levers and bolts and screws and nuts and all sorts of strange things that a layman cannot describe. There were dials that I vaguely understood, there were others incomprehensible; but there were eight torpedo tubes which were grim reality. The officers’ “quarters” are shelf beds curtained ofT from the main passage, and a living “room” where cat-swinging must be an unknown sport. Presently the turret closed and we dived. I knew we were diving, because I was told so. but there was not the slightest sensation. To be in touch with the outer world one must look through the periscope. Tiny ships were dotted about the ocean. A passing hospital ship on her way home from Salonika recalled tragic tales of German infamy, of cowardly outrages, on the wounded, of ruthless savagery.

GREEN FAIRYLAND. We were journeying far with our periscope still above the waves; we were going to dive deeper, and our periscope was drawn in. We were blind then, but not deaf. Scientists have invented instruments which give aural warning of the presence of strange craft. I looked through a small sheet of plate-glass and gazed into fairyland. It is astonishing how light it is below the sea. The Mediterranean —and perhaps other seas—is truly wonderful below the surface. Blue on top, the Mediterranean is light green below: it is as if one were looking into an empty room with glass walls; only the ceiling moves, rolling past like an endless hand of green fabric. There was a noise like the rushing of many waters—compressed air driving the liquid ballast from the tanks—and then we were rising to the surface. For the first time I remembered that the air in the submarine should bo stuffy, but, as a matter of fact I never noticed the slightest change in the atmosphere during our trip. One more glance through the periscope and I saw a vessel steaming towards us, apparently unaware of our presence. As we came to the surface we torpedoed her in theory; then the turret opened, and men rushed to the gun, which barked noisily. We were now in sight of land, ana a vessel was waiting to take me to the headquarters of the Eyes of the Fleet. The chief, who was to take me under his wing—later on the wing—told me he had only had for-ty-eight hours’ leave since the war began! Taking me to his private office and locking the door, the chief showed me his map of the Mediterranean. Landsmen who only know this sea from the Promenade des Anglais would be astonished by the map. The whole of the Mediterranean Is divided up Into squares, just like a draught-board, and the whereabouts of every submarine in the Mediterranean is known. Every square on the board has something looking after it. IN A SEAPLANE. There are seven hundred vessels of various kinds on duty in the Mediterranean. and as soon as a German submarine is sighted its presence is at onre telegraphed to the chief. Everv weapon known to the public—and several that are unknown—is employed against submarines. Somei they sink a skip, but if the public knew the number of German submarines sunk in the Mediterranean it would be astonished. 1 r hcTore I arrived at the bend- ; quarters of the Eyes of the Fleet, a telegram arrived stating that a submarine had appeared in a certain square. There was just time to bring the hydroplane out of its shed, and the airman was off on his mission. A youth—despite his heard—who had just returned from SalMcika. after dropping bombs for two years on the Turks in Egypt, was instructed to fake me for a flight in Ills machine. Held fast on the seashore by sunburnt sailors, the hydroplane quivers like a bird ready for flight: the motor is set in motion, and with a roar we rush out to sea. Dancing ever the waves, we hug the shore for shelter from a high wind. Then with a sharp turn of the wheel we put on top speed and rise. The safety pins are removed from tlie bombs. All is ready; if we see the shadow we can dive with safety to within seventyfive feet of the waves. There is no shadow in our “square,” however, so we rise liigner. then turn and spiral down, and alight almost without a bump.—“ Daily Express.”