The Rainbow. A World War One on Canada's West Coast Timeline
- Thread starter YYJ
- Start date
Can one of you change your timeline's title please? I'm too lazy to distinguish between stories (or anything at all) at more than first glance.
Yes. I have had some correspondence with the author. We are writing about the same time and events, but differently. "Remember the Rainbow" is a slogan that appears in history books as a hinted ATL, so it makes an obvious title that we both though of a the same time.
Marc Milner, the author of this article, may be the one who coined the phrase.
https://legionmagazine.com/en/2004/05/the-original-rainbow-warrior/
I did change the sub title to something more distinctive. I kind of like the main title.
Cool, but the point about the laziness of the average reader still stands, and spending more than half a second working out what you're reading just by looking at the title is too much like hard work.
I can’t really change mine, my entire timeline hinges on Rainbow herself. I’ve had the idea since last November kicking around, it just turns out I was beat to putting pen to paper by like three days lmao.
Best Possible Terms
Aug 4, 2200 HMCS Rainbow, Pacific Ocean off Washington State
NSHQ TO RAINBOW REPORT TO VANCOUVER TO MEET AMMUNITION TRAIN STOP EXPECTED TRAIN ARRIVAL AUG SIX STOP
For the third time in less than two hours the Rainbow reversed course.
Commander Hose and the navigator were bent over the charts. If he timed things right, the Rainbow could arrive in Esquimalt during daylight and coal, and then proceed to Vancouver at first light and rendezvous with the ammunition train from Halifax.
Hose walked several steps forward into the wheelhouse.
“All ahead three quarters.”
“All ahead three quarters!” repeated the rating at the brass engine telegraph. The telegraph bell rang twice, and rang twice again as answer from the engine room.
Hose felt the vibration change under his feet. Things were looking up. Once Rainbow had loaded her magazines with modern Lyditte high explosive shells she could at least land some damaging blows on a German cruiser. If she managed to hit it. He was reconciled to sacrifice himself and his ship, if necessary, but he would rather do it on the best possible terms.
NSHQ TO RAINBOW REPORT TO VANCOUVER TO MEET AMMUNITION TRAIN STOP EXPECTED TRAIN ARRIVAL AUG SIX STOP
For the third time in less than two hours the Rainbow reversed course.
Commander Hose and the navigator were bent over the charts. If he timed things right, the Rainbow could arrive in Esquimalt during daylight and coal, and then proceed to Vancouver at first light and rendezvous with the ammunition train from Halifax.
Hose walked several steps forward into the wheelhouse.
“All ahead three quarters.”
“All ahead three quarters!” repeated the rating at the brass engine telegraph. The telegraph bell rang twice, and rang twice again as answer from the engine room.
Hose felt the vibration change under his feet. Things were looking up. Once Rainbow had loaded her magazines with modern Lyditte high explosive shells she could at least land some damaging blows on a German cruiser. If she managed to hit it. He was reconciled to sacrifice himself and his ship, if necessary, but he would rather do it on the best possible terms.
The weakness of the German Navy was the lack of anyplace to make repairs. Sure they could pull in to a neutral port, but had to be out in 24 hours, although that could be stretched a little, but the only repairs allowed were to make a vessel seaworthy. To the extent any damage diminished combat power you had to live with that. Enough damage, or damage in the right place, will be a mission kill.
Triangle of Fire
Aug 4, 2230. Submarines Antofagasta and Iquique, Seattle Harbour.
The boats travelled on their electric motors through the harbour and up Puget Sound. A light fog rose from the water to cover their passage. The city light of Seattle was just a glow in their wake. When they were well past the narrows between Bainbridge Island and West Point, Paterson risked starting the diesels and bringing the boats up to their full speed of 13 knots. The clatter of the diesels starting was a shock, but it seemed to bring no response from shore. Brown found the travel by engine power to be not so otherworldly. Now he just felt like he was on any regular boat. But the breeze was still in his hair, and they were headed for Canada.
At around 0200, Paterson ordered the boats to be switched back to electric drive. “The military types call this stretch of water the Triangle of Fire.” Paterson said to Logan. “Fort Wordon by Port Townsend, Fort Casey on Whidbey Island, and Fort Flagger on Marrowstone Island. There must be fifty guns covering us right now. And dozens of electric searchlights. I would put good money that the whole Royal Navy couldn’t force this straight.” Logan made no argument. The two submarines slunk past the darkened shores and their darkened forts.
Once the boats were well past Point Partridge and Fort Ebey they switched back to the diesels and headed almost due West to the rendezvous point. There was open ocean between here and Victoria, and the submarines tossed and rolled in the swells. Around 0330 the first streaks of dawn started painting the sky. The sea turned from black to grey to green. The sky lightened to a pale blue with high wisps of cloud. It promised to be another hot day.
Just after 0400 Brown spotted smoke coming from the west, and soon a passenger liner appeared headed for Seattle. They must have presented a curious sight, but Brown noticed no passengers at the rail at this early hour. The submarines steered on a parallel course to the international boundary inside American waters until the ship was out of sight. Then they turned north for the rendezvous.
At 0445 they spotted the single funnel and tall derrick of the Salvor, and in short order were within hailing distance. An officer on the Salvor in a dark naval uniform called across and invited the two submarines to follow into Canadian waters. That accomplished, the submarines were quickly brought alongside the Salvor and lashed raft fashion.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMCS_CC-1
The boats travelled on their electric motors through the harbour and up Puget Sound. A light fog rose from the water to cover their passage. The city light of Seattle was just a glow in their wake. When they were well past the narrows between Bainbridge Island and West Point, Paterson risked starting the diesels and bringing the boats up to their full speed of 13 knots. The clatter of the diesels starting was a shock, but it seemed to bring no response from shore. Brown found the travel by engine power to be not so otherworldly. Now he just felt like he was on any regular boat. But the breeze was still in his hair, and they were headed for Canada.
At around 0200, Paterson ordered the boats to be switched back to electric drive. “The military types call this stretch of water the Triangle of Fire.” Paterson said to Logan. “Fort Wordon by Port Townsend, Fort Casey on Whidbey Island, and Fort Flagger on Marrowstone Island. There must be fifty guns covering us right now. And dozens of electric searchlights. I would put good money that the whole Royal Navy couldn’t force this straight.” Logan made no argument. The two submarines slunk past the darkened shores and their darkened forts.
Once the boats were well past Point Partridge and Fort Ebey they switched back to the diesels and headed almost due West to the rendezvous point. There was open ocean between here and Victoria, and the submarines tossed and rolled in the swells. Around 0330 the first streaks of dawn started painting the sky. The sea turned from black to grey to green. The sky lightened to a pale blue with high wisps of cloud. It promised to be another hot day.
Just after 0400 Brown spotted smoke coming from the west, and soon a passenger liner appeared headed for Seattle. They must have presented a curious sight, but Brown noticed no passengers at the rail at this early hour. The submarines steered on a parallel course to the international boundary inside American waters until the ship was out of sight. Then they turned north for the rendezvous.
At 0445 they spotted the single funnel and tall derrick of the Salvor, and in short order were within hailing distance. An officer on the Salvor in a dark naval uniform called across and invited the two submarines to follow into Canadian waters. That accomplished, the submarines were quickly brought alongside the Salvor and lashed raft fashion.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMCS_CC-1
Will you please issue me a receipt
Aug 5, 0500. SS Salvor, 5 miles south of Trial Islands, Straight of Juan de Fuca,
Royal Canadian Navy Lieutenant-Commander Bertram Jones was the first to swung down from the tug Salvor onto the deck of the Antofagasta, looking very much like he was used to submarines. Lieutenant WH Wood followed, looking less so. The American trials captain of the Iquique hopped over to the other boat, and led the team up the Antofagasta’s conning tower ladder and down below. Brown watched from the conning tower of the Iquique, and waited
The inspection party seemed to stay below decks forever. The disk of the sun rose over the Cascade Mountains and lit the sea silver. Paterson emerged from the hatch several times and paced the long skinny deck. He was forced to make use of the railing lifeline as the subs bobbed in the swells. After a whole hour Jones and Wood emerged from the Antofagasta.
“All is well. I am impressed,” said Jones.
“As I expected,” said Paterson impatiently, “Now if you will…”
“Mr., Paterson, as I have already told you, we have been instructed to evaluate these boats, and that is exactly what I intend to do. When we are done, and only then, will we make payment.”
Jones grabbed the rail and jumped across the gap to Iquique, followed by Wood and the American Captain. Left behind, Paterson seemed to almost be hopping from one foot to the other with apprehension. After the inspection party went below on the Iquique, Brown followed them down, if only to relieve his boredom. Logan followed, and Brown heard him offering recruitment pitches to the American trials crewmen. There were no takers.
The boat was cramped inside, almost every surface of every compartment covered with gauges or controls. Jones went from the forward torpedo room to the engine/machinery spaces, patiently looking at all the equipment and evaluating, while Wood occasionally commented and took notes. Jones even had the battery covers, which formed the floors of the two center compartments lifted so they could inspect the cells beneath.
Brown recognized pieces like the periscopes and the diving plane control wheels, and the diesel engines, but most of the workings of the boats were a mystery to him. The one submarine part Brown expected to see but didn’t were torpedoes, but he did not see fit to mention this to Jones. Like Paterson, Brown was of a mind that they should get on with it, and get the boats into Esquimalt. Wasn’t there a war on? Wasn’t everyone south of the border about to collectively blow their tops about these submarines and come chasing after them?
Brown was relieved when Jones seemed to have finally completed his checklist, and ushered the inspection party back topside. Once on deck, Jones approached Paterson, and produced a cheque from his jacket pocket.
“All seems to be in order,” said Jones, and handed the cheque to Paterson. Brown noticed the Paterson’s shoulders lower as tension left his stance. “Will you please issue me a receipt.”
“I should think these boats are receipt enough” replied Paterson. But when Jones remained insistent, Paterson said, “Oh, very well…” He patted himself down for a piece of paper, found an old envelope in his jacket pocket, and hand wrote a receipt using the side of the Antofagasta’s conning tower as a writing surface.
Canadian sailors clambered down from the Salvor. The American trials crews exchanged places and all boarded the tug, much to Logan’s dismay. Paterson and the American trials captain stayed aboard Antofagasta. Lieutenant Wood, with a flourish, produced two small white Naval Ensigns and ran them up the after mast on each submarine. With Jones now captaining Antofagasta, and Wood captaining Iquique, the boats cast off and headed west towards Esquimalt. As Brown had anticipated, the sun was becoming hot, and waves of heat rose off the water in a haze.
https://www.hazegray.org/navhist/canada/ww1/cc/cc.jpg
Royal Canadian Navy Lieutenant-Commander Bertram Jones was the first to swung down from the tug Salvor onto the deck of the Antofagasta, looking very much like he was used to submarines. Lieutenant WH Wood followed, looking less so. The American trials captain of the Iquique hopped over to the other boat, and led the team up the Antofagasta’s conning tower ladder and down below. Brown watched from the conning tower of the Iquique, and waited
The inspection party seemed to stay below decks forever. The disk of the sun rose over the Cascade Mountains and lit the sea silver. Paterson emerged from the hatch several times and paced the long skinny deck. He was forced to make use of the railing lifeline as the subs bobbed in the swells. After a whole hour Jones and Wood emerged from the Antofagasta.
“All is well. I am impressed,” said Jones.
“As I expected,” said Paterson impatiently, “Now if you will…”
“Mr., Paterson, as I have already told you, we have been instructed to evaluate these boats, and that is exactly what I intend to do. When we are done, and only then, will we make payment.”
Jones grabbed the rail and jumped across the gap to Iquique, followed by Wood and the American Captain. Left behind, Paterson seemed to almost be hopping from one foot to the other with apprehension. After the inspection party went below on the Iquique, Brown followed them down, if only to relieve his boredom. Logan followed, and Brown heard him offering recruitment pitches to the American trials crewmen. There were no takers.
The boat was cramped inside, almost every surface of every compartment covered with gauges or controls. Jones went from the forward torpedo room to the engine/machinery spaces, patiently looking at all the equipment and evaluating, while Wood occasionally commented and took notes. Jones even had the battery covers, which formed the floors of the two center compartments lifted so they could inspect the cells beneath.
Brown recognized pieces like the periscopes and the diving plane control wheels, and the diesel engines, but most of the workings of the boats were a mystery to him. The one submarine part Brown expected to see but didn’t were torpedoes, but he did not see fit to mention this to Jones. Like Paterson, Brown was of a mind that they should get on with it, and get the boats into Esquimalt. Wasn’t there a war on? Wasn’t everyone south of the border about to collectively blow their tops about these submarines and come chasing after them?
Brown was relieved when Jones seemed to have finally completed his checklist, and ushered the inspection party back topside. Once on deck, Jones approached Paterson, and produced a cheque from his jacket pocket.
“All seems to be in order,” said Jones, and handed the cheque to Paterson. Brown noticed the Paterson’s shoulders lower as tension left his stance. “Will you please issue me a receipt.”
“I should think these boats are receipt enough” replied Paterson. But when Jones remained insistent, Paterson said, “Oh, very well…” He patted himself down for a piece of paper, found an old envelope in his jacket pocket, and hand wrote a receipt using the side of the Antofagasta’s conning tower as a writing surface.
Canadian sailors clambered down from the Salvor. The American trials crews exchanged places and all boarded the tug, much to Logan’s dismay. Paterson and the American trials captain stayed aboard Antofagasta. Lieutenant Wood, with a flourish, produced two small white Naval Ensigns and ran them up the after mast on each submarine. With Jones now captaining Antofagasta, and Wood captaining Iquique, the boats cast off and headed west towards Esquimalt. As Brown had anticipated, the sun was becoming hot, and waves of heat rose off the water in a haze.
https://www.hazegray.org/navhist/canada/ww1/cc/cc.jpg
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How dire our situation
August 5, 0700 Duntze Head, Esquimalt Naval Dockyard
Premier McBride and Lieutenant Pilcher stood side by side on a cobbled square overlooking the entrance to Esquimalt Harbour, waiting for the arrival of their submarines. To their right was a brick Edwardian tower, built for an obsolete mechanical semaphore communication system, that almost everyone thought was a lighthouse. Across the harbor mouth was the slender white tower of Fisgard Light, an actual lighthouse, and behind it Fort Rodd Hill, with its anti-torpedo boat battery on the cliff top, and main battery of three 6 inch disappearing guns retracted inside their emplacements. Just below where the men stood, down a steep bank on the waterfront, the two 12 pounder guns of Duntze Head Battery looked over their concrete parapet at the harbor entrance, one of the three anti-torpedo boat batteries defending the harbor.
McBride and Pilcher watched the gunners doing their drills on this first morning of the war. McBride had one hand tucked into the front of his coat, like Napoleon. Pilcher was almost beside himself with worry.
“Why do you suppose the National Service Headquarters has not replied?” He pleaded to McBride. “Don’t they understand how dire our situation is? We could just as soon be greeting a German cruiser this morning as our submarines.”
“As I have said before,” McBride replied in a soothing voice. “I am not accustomed to our Federal institutions acting with dexterity. The Canadian military leadership is too timorous to act on their own. I expect they had to ask the Admiralty. And the Admiralty has their own war on their hands. It doesn’t matter. We have acted decisively. They will see that we did the right thing when they get around to it. And thank us.”
“I have no orders,” said Pilcher. “I have exceeded my authority.”
“They will give you a medal.”
“What they will give me is a court martial.”
“Pity we could not have a band to play the boats into harbor,” said McBride, trying to change the subject. “But I must say, we did a splendid job of keeping this purchase under wraps. We must be two of a scant dozen men in Victoria that know what is happening here this morning.”
McBride was distracted by the sound of a steam siren. It was nearby and shrill, but the odd thing was, the whistle did not stop, it just went on in one continuous note, getting louder. The men at the guns took notice and formed up at their stations. The siren got louder for several moments. Then the inspection vessel Malaspina came racing into the harbor at full speed, rounding the point, as someone described it later, like a rodeo horse going round a barrel. Pilcher noticed, with rising alarm, that the lanyard for the boat’s siren was lashed to the rail. A seaman stood on the bridge signaling towards shore in unreadable semaphore. The man looked like he was attempting to take flight, using the semaphore flags as wings.
“What the devil is he up to? Can you make any sense of that?” McBride hollered at Pilcher.
Pilcher stared at the flagger and tried to concentrate. “something boats… tor-pe-do boats. Torpedo Boats! My God!” Pilcher grabbed his hat with both hands. “We never warned the coastal defence batteries!”
Now McBride looked considerably less smug.
The pair of 12 pounder guns below traversed to cover the eastern approach to the harbor. The loaders rammed a shell into the breech of each gun.
http://www.fortwiki.com/File:Fort_Rodd_Hill_Battery_Belmont_12_pounder_-_1.jpg
Premier McBride and Lieutenant Pilcher stood side by side on a cobbled square overlooking the entrance to Esquimalt Harbour, waiting for the arrival of their submarines. To their right was a brick Edwardian tower, built for an obsolete mechanical semaphore communication system, that almost everyone thought was a lighthouse. Across the harbor mouth was the slender white tower of Fisgard Light, an actual lighthouse, and behind it Fort Rodd Hill, with its anti-torpedo boat battery on the cliff top, and main battery of three 6 inch disappearing guns retracted inside their emplacements. Just below where the men stood, down a steep bank on the waterfront, the two 12 pounder guns of Duntze Head Battery looked over their concrete parapet at the harbor entrance, one of the three anti-torpedo boat batteries defending the harbor.
McBride and Pilcher watched the gunners doing their drills on this first morning of the war. McBride had one hand tucked into the front of his coat, like Napoleon. Pilcher was almost beside himself with worry.
“Why do you suppose the National Service Headquarters has not replied?” He pleaded to McBride. “Don’t they understand how dire our situation is? We could just as soon be greeting a German cruiser this morning as our submarines.”
“As I have said before,” McBride replied in a soothing voice. “I am not accustomed to our Federal institutions acting with dexterity. The Canadian military leadership is too timorous to act on their own. I expect they had to ask the Admiralty. And the Admiralty has their own war on their hands. It doesn’t matter. We have acted decisively. They will see that we did the right thing when they get around to it. And thank us.”
“I have no orders,” said Pilcher. “I have exceeded my authority.”
“They will give you a medal.”
“What they will give me is a court martial.”
“Pity we could not have a band to play the boats into harbor,” said McBride, trying to change the subject. “But I must say, we did a splendid job of keeping this purchase under wraps. We must be two of a scant dozen men in Victoria that know what is happening here this morning.”
McBride was distracted by the sound of a steam siren. It was nearby and shrill, but the odd thing was, the whistle did not stop, it just went on in one continuous note, getting louder. The men at the guns took notice and formed up at their stations. The siren got louder for several moments. Then the inspection vessel Malaspina came racing into the harbor at full speed, rounding the point, as someone described it later, like a rodeo horse going round a barrel. Pilcher noticed, with rising alarm, that the lanyard for the boat’s siren was lashed to the rail. A seaman stood on the bridge signaling towards shore in unreadable semaphore. The man looked like he was attempting to take flight, using the semaphore flags as wings.
“What the devil is he up to? Can you make any sense of that?” McBride hollered at Pilcher.
Pilcher stared at the flagger and tried to concentrate. “something boats… tor-pe-do boats. Torpedo Boats! My God!” Pilcher grabbed his hat with both hands. “We never warned the coastal defence batteries!”
Now McBride looked considerably less smug.
The pair of 12 pounder guns below traversed to cover the eastern approach to the harbor. The loaders rammed a shell into the breech of each gun.
http://www.fortwiki.com/File:Fort_Rodd_Hill_Battery_Belmont_12_pounder_-_1.jpg
