World War, 1914-1918 -- Naval operations -- Submarine
From the height at which it is accustomed to travel, the blimp, given
fair weather conditions, is able to see the shadowy form of a ‘dip
chick’ when not so much as her periscope is showing, and it can cover a
fairly wide area of observation. If you stand on the bank of a broad and
deep brook you will not be able to see so far into the water as if you
were standing on a bridge that spans it and leaning over the parapet.
That is why a gull looks for its food above the sea, and having glimpsed
a toothsome, or rather beaksome, morsel, dives after it. This is also
the secret of the spotter’s sight. Many a German and Austrian U-boat
disappeared in a welter of oil and bubbles by reason of the fact.
It was during Lord Jellicoe’s term of office as First Sea Lord that
increasing attention was paid to aircraft as an ally of the Senior
Service. At the same time it is only fair to mention that when the
British Expeditionary Force crossed to France in 1914, aircraft
patrolled the marches of the sea between the French, Belgian, and
English coasts.
The Navy and the Army have their own schemes of warfare, but in one
particular plan of operations there is marked similarity. Just as the
land is divided into sectors for fighting purposes, so the sea is
divided into sections for the purpose of patrol. Destroyers and
hydroplanes, auxiliaries and trawlers, airships and seaplanes have their
beats mapped out for them like a City policeman. This does not mean that
every square yard of salt water is covered—an obvious impossibility—but
it does mean that as many square yards are watched as is humanly and
practicably possible. In one month 90,000 miles were travelled by
seaplanes on patrol, and 80,000 miles by airships.
When the war was very young, a seaplane containing an officer and a
petty officer was scouting. Without any preliminary warning the engine
broke down, and they were compelled to descend and drift on the surface
with a heavy sea running. Of rescue there seemed to be little hope. Fog
completely enveloped them. A survey of the damage proved that patching
up was altogether out of the question. Nothing short of a lathe would
suffice. The airmen fell back on tobacco, “the lonely man’s friend.”
Even this comfort speedily failed them. Cigarettes and sea-sickness do
not go well together. The poor fellows held on and watched their machine
gradually break up. They were horribly ill, and on the verge of despair,
when the throb of machinery suddenly fell on their ears, and a destroyer
peered in through the opaque surroundings of their little world. They
were no longer face to face with death. Other men have not always been
so fortunate. One does not necessarily have to be washed overboard to be
“lost at sea.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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