The Heroic Record of the British Navy: A Short History of the Naval War, 1914-1918
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Title: The Heroic Record of the British Navy: A Short History of the Naval War, 1914-1918
Author: Archibald Hurd
Sir H. H. Bashford
Release date: October 31, 2014 [eBook #47248]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47248
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEROIC RECORD OF THE BRITISH NAVY: A SHORT HISTORY OF THE NAVAL WAR, 1914-1918 ***
THE HEROIC RECORD
of the
BRITISH NAVY
A Short History of
the Naval War
1914-1918
BY
ARCHIBALD HURD
AND
H. H. BASHFORD
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
To the generous help and criticisms of many participants in the events
hereafter recorded, and particularly to Admirals Viscount Jellicoe of
Scapa Flow and W. S. Sims of the United States Navy; to Vice-Admirals
Sir F. Doveton Sturdee and Sir Reginald H. Bacon; and to
Lieutenaut-Commander A. D. Turnbull of the United States Navy, the
authors desire to express their most grateful acknowledgment.
CONTENTS
Foreword
CHAPTER
I. August 4, 1914
II. The Battle of the Bight
III. Coronel
IV. The Battle of the Falkland Islands
V. Back to the North Sea
VI. The Seamen at Gallipoli
VII. Sub-mariners of England
VIII. The Battle of Jutland
IX. The Dover Patrol
X. The Sealing of Zeebrugge and Ostend
XI. The Coming of the Americans
XII. The Harvest of Sea Power
Index
{ix}
FOREWORD
In the years immediately preceding the Great War, already so hard to
reconstruct, it was not uncommonly suggested that the British seafaring
instinct had begun to decline. In our professional navy most thinkers
had confidence, as in a splendid machine ably manned; but, as regarded
the population as a whole, it was feared that modern industrialism was
sapping the old sea-love. That this has been disproved we hope to make
clear in the following pages--a first attempt, as we believe, to give,
in narrative form, a reasonably complete and consecutive history of the
naval war. We have indeed gone further, for we have tried to show not
only that the spirit of admiralty has survived undiminished, but that
we have witnessed such a re-awakening of it, both in Great Britain and
America, as has had no parallel since the days of Elizabeth. We have
also tried to make clear that, in a thousand embodiments, in men and
boys fallen or still living, it has shone with a spiritual even more
than any material significance; and that it has again declared itself
to be the peculiar expression in world-affairs of the English-speaking
races.
Nor was the little apparent interest shown, just before the war, in the
navy and the navy's exercises very remarkable. Our attitude, as a
people, toward {x} it had always been a curious union of apathy and
adventure. We had been sea-worshippers so long that our reverence had
often been dulled by much familiarity, and to such an extent, at times,
that, only by the supremest efforts, had we, as a nation, escaped
catastrophe. But if, on the one hand, we had lost the neophyte's fire,
we had perhaps gained a little in tolerance. The seas had not found in
us jealous masters. Our harbours and ships had been at the world's
disposal. No empire in history had been so leisurely or less
designedly built up, as none was to prove, perhaps, to have been so
apparently loosely but yet so organically knit--probably because the
idea of empire had always meant less to us than the growing idea of
admiralty. Nor is that so obscure as it may at first seem, since, in
spite of so much outward indifference, the call of the sea, as closer
examination will show, was still among the most insistent to which we
responded. There was scarcely a cottage, for instance, even in the
remotest highlands, in which the picture of a ship did not hang upon
the walls, or that had failed to send a son or a brother or a cousin to
serve either in the navy or the mercantile marine. Even in the greyest
and most smoke-laden of our central industrial cities, wherever there
was a pond, the children sailed their little boats upon it; and, once a
year, as to some lustral rite, the town-bred inhabitant took his family
to the coast.
That these were indications of any racial significance the non-seagoing
Briton had seldom, perhaps, realized. That, because of them, his
language had become a familiar tongue in the uttermost parts of the
{xi} earth; that because of them every would-be world-tyrant, since
Philip of Spain, had been frustrated; that because of them the freedom
of nations, no less than that of individuals, had slowly become
humanity's gospel--this had been as little present to him as to the
inhabitant of Turnham Green that he was living in the greatest harbour
of the world; and yet that it was so was but a matter of fact, and
indeed the natural outcome of our origin. Since Britain had become an
island every wave of invaders had necessarily come to it in ships and
with experience of the sea. However various may have been their other
contributions to the ultimate nation into which they were to be merged,
this had been common to them, they had all been seamen, of whatever
temperament or complexion; and, while of the earliest inhabitants of
what are now the British Islands, no boat-lore can definitely
postulated, the discovery of the famous barge in the Carse of Stirling
shows that, 3,000 years before Christ, there must have been some
knowledge of navigation; while, of the first Celtic immigrants enough
must be assumed, at any rate, to have enabled them successfully to
cross the Channel.
Of these the Gaelic Celts, landing from Spain upon the coasts of Devon
and Cornwall and in Ireland, seem to have been the pioneers, followed
by a stronger invasion of Cymric Celts, who landed in Kent and Essex,
and afterward drove the Gaels before them into the northern and western
fastnesses. Of later Aryans, the first members of the great Teutonic
family to land on these shores were, almost certainly, the Belgae, who
settled on the south and east coasts; {xii} while the Scillies and
Cornwall appear to have been regularly visited by Phoenician traders
and Greek merchants from Marseilles--a sea-borne commerce that
continued for many years after the first Roman expedition.
This took place under Julius Cæsar, first in B.C. 55, and its
ostensible purpose seems to prove the existence of some kind of
pre-Roman British fleet--Cæsar's declared object being to punish the
Britons for having sent assistance in ships and men to the Veneti, a
kindred Celtic tribe, with which he was at war on the mainland. He
appears to have encountered no opposition from it, however, for when he
set sail from the coast of France, somewhere between the present ports
of Calais and Boulogne, his fleet of war-galleys and transports crossed
unchallenged, as far as the sea was concerned.
Achieving little more on his first visit than a demonstration of the
power of Rome, on his return, a few months later, with 30,000 men,
including cavalry, he penetrated deeply inland, although it was not
until nearly a century later that Britain became definitely a Roman
province; and it was not until the reign of Vespasian at Rome and his
deputy Julius Agricola in Britain that Roman vessels for the first time
circumnavigated Great Britain and Scotland. The father-in-law of
Tacitus, and himself an extremely able and far-sighted administrator,
it was by Agricola that the earliest definite foundations of what was
to become the British nation may be said to have been laid. Securing
the confidence of the islanders, he not only encouraged amongst them
the absorption of Roman {xiii} culture, but protected them against any
excess of official exploitation; and, although he was presently
recalled by the Emperor Domitian, the principles of administration that
he had laid down were generally adopted and developed by his successors
in office--forming, in many respects, those of that greater empire
whose foundations were already being laid.
It would be hard to exaggerate, indeed, the debt of the nations of
British origin to the three and a half centuries of Roman rule, during
which period the Christian religion was first preached in these
islands. And, though it failed, if that had been its design, to create
a strong and independent and self-governing colony--so that when the
Roman power was finally withdrawn, owing to impending disasters at the
core of the Empire, the Islanders became a prey, if not an easy one, to
the next Saxon invaders--its legend of equity as between man and man,
its perception and methods of development of natural resources, and its
patient thoroughness of execution appealed to the minds and survived in
the practice of every succeeding race of immigrants.
That together with these qualities and those to be infused with the
next current of invasion there was a real love of the sea among this
early population has sometimes been doubted; and Ruskin in one of his
essays seems definitely to deny this, adducing Chaucer as an argument.
In this great poet of a later period, the first representative voice of
emerging England, he finds no expression of it and indeed a positive
aversion from all that the sea and sea-travel stood for. {xiv} But
whether or not that be the case, and though there were undoubtedly
periods, notably just before the rise of Alfred, wherein the nation as
a whole, if it may so be spoken of, had largely forgotten the
importance of sea-power, each of the three great tribes, who had then
overrun the land, had depended for their success upon their maritime
skill.
Saxons and Jutes and Angles, they had all been coast-dwellers upon the
Weser, the Elbe, and the Ems, the sea-banks between them, and the
tongue of land dividing the Baltic from the North Sea; and, while a
certain number of them had already become settlers in Britain,
attracted by its prosperity under Roman rule, the majority had been
pirates, with an established reputation as amongst the bravest and
fiercest of ocean-adventurers. Bold as they were, however, and
disorganized as the Romanized Britons had become, upon the withdrawal
of the tutelage of their governors, it was nearly two centuries before
Great Britain could be said to have become definitely Anglo-Saxon, and
yet another two before the newcomers themselves had established any
sort of unity; and already, by that time, fresh bodies of invaders had
begun to make their presence felt.
These were the Wikings or Vikings, men of the Scandinavian fiords,
racially allied with the original Saxon conquerors, but whose
subsequent conversion, both to Christianity and what seemed to them the
tamer life of agriculture, they affected to regard with indignation,
not unmixed with contempt. Carrying their arms into every known sea,
and believed to have been the first discoverers of America, these
Vikings {xv} saw in Great Britain, with its increasing fertility, an
ideal and convenient theatre of war.
As early as the later years of the eighth century, they were making
sporadic raids upon the Northumbrian coast, and, in 832, they sailed up
the Thames, ravaged the Isle of Sheppey, and escaped unscathed. A year
later, they attacked the coast of Dorset, and, in 834, they joined the
Cornish Celts, when they were defeated, however, by Egbert, King of
Wessex--the first, in any real sense, King of England.
But this was little more than a local defeat, and almost every
succeeding year saw further raids, until, in 855, a squadron actually
entrenched in Sheppey and proceeded to spend the whiter there--the
first indication in the minds of the Northmen of serious ideas of
invasion. From 866 to 870, they made attacks in such force and with
such ferocity that, by the beginning of 871, the whole of England,
north of the Thames, lay at their mercy; while, several years before
this, permanent settlements of Danes had taken place in Ireland, the
Shetland Islands, the Hebrides, and the Orkneys.
This was the situation when, at the age of twenty-two, Alfred,
afterward to be called the Great, ascended to the throne. Nor could he
well have become king at a less propitious moment. For, with the whole
of the north and east now firmly in their grasp, the Danes were already
pressing upon Wessex. A battle fought almost immediately after his
accession to the throne was rather in the nature of a draw than a
victory; and, although the enemy withdrew for a time, a few years later
found Alfred at bay in the {xvi} marshes of West Somerset, with the
Danes overrunning and apparently in secure possession of some of the
most fertile parts of his kingdom.
Fortunately for his people, however, Alfred, for all his refinement,
his love of culture, and cosmopolitan boyhood, had inherited in full
measure the stubborn Saxon refusal to accept either slavery or defeat;
and, a few months later, rallying to his standard an army of Hampshire,
Wiltshire, and Somersetshire men, he inflicted upon the Danes, at the
battle of Ethandun, the severest defeat that they had yet sustained.
By the treaty of Wedmore in 878, he secured the integrity of the south
and west, recognizing that, in the north and east, the Danish element
was not only too strong to be expelled, but was already becoming
welded, not wholly to its disadvantage, with the national life. He
agreed, therefore, for his own part, to recognize the Danish influence
upon the other side of Watling Street, at the same time persuading its
representative leaders to forsake their paganism and embrace
Christianity.
Against further aggression, however, from abroad, he determined at all
costs to protect the Island; and he was the earliest of his line to
realize that his country's first defense was the sea that washed its
shores. Already, in 875, he had been the victor in Swanage Bay over a
small but strong fleet of pirates; and, after the peace of Wedmore, he
set himself to the serious construction and effective distribution of a
fleet of war. With no lack of raw material, with good craftsmen, and
with a maritime population needing nothing but initiative, he built a
navy that, in respect of {xvii} _personnel_ no less than in technical
equipment, soon outclassed that of the Danes. Distributed round the
coast, he had, according to varying accounts, from 120 to 300 warships;
and, behind this bulwark, for the next fifteen years, England achieved
an almost miraculous degree of progress. In 896, after a considerable
struggle, another attempted invasion was crushed, and Alfred's fleet,
grown in strength and experience, extinguished the recurrence of piracy
that had accompanied it. Merciful in character and tolerant in
statesmanship, toward these pirates he showed no clemency, and, when he
died in 901, he left a country prosperous and at peace and with its
sea-boards inviolate.
To what extent his son and grandson, Edward the Elder and Athelstan,
appreciated the full significance of sea-power we do not know; but it
is interesting that Athelstan, during whose brilliant reign the Danish
portions of England were largely reabsorbed, conferred the dignity of
thane-ship upon any merchant who had made three voyages of length in
his own trading vessel--thereby fostering, and even perhaps founding,
the dynasty of those merchant-adventurers, upon whom in years to come,
and on seas then unknown, Britain was to climb to a destiny beyond his
imaginings. Nor can the work of Alfred and Athelstan, in these
respects, be discounted because of the eclipse that followed in the
reign of Ethelred, and that led to the passing of England,
predominantly Saxon, under Danish sovereignty for a quarter of a
century, and then, after a further period of twenty-four years, under
the permanent rule of the Normans.
{xviii}
Tenacious of its rights, impossible to dragoon, there has always been a
strain of inertia in the Saxon character--the reflex of that tolerance,
perhaps, which has in so many respects been the secret of its influence
throughout the world; and it was probably inevitable that there should
have been phases in our national growth, and especially in its
adolescence, when this should have seemed to be uppermost. To the
minority Celt, with his quicker wits, this has often and justly been a
subject of annoyance. In it the Normans, conscious in their persons of
the latest current of oversea adventure, avid of culture, and
contemptuous of ignorance, saw, and at once seized, their opportunity.
For men of their enterprise, intellectual subtlety, and disciplined
military energy, the prosperous island, with its clannish dissensions
and lack of organization, seemed an obvious prey. And if, in the
immediate moment, they were largely successful owing to the flank
attack upon Harold by his brother Tostig, it was to a lack of vision,
curiously Anglo-Saxon, that they were hardly less indebted for their
victory.
Gathering for the defense of the realm, both by land and sea, the
largest forces that had ever been collected in England, had William and
his armies tried to land a month or two earlier they might well have
done so in vain. But with August and September came the demands of the
harvest, the autumn ploughing, and the neglected farms. As so often
before and since in English history, the parochial and individual
obscured the national. William had not come. Perhaps he would never
come. The discontented soldiery {xix} could not be kept together. The
ships of the Fleet, or many of them, had to return for re-fitting, and,
when on September 28th, William arrived at Pevensey, three days after
Harold had defeated his brother at Stamford Bridge, it was to land
unopposed both on shore and at sea. Moreover, there was yet another
factor, and one also that was to recur again and again in English
history--a failure, fresh from military victory, to appreciate the
value of sea-power--that contributed not a little to Harold's defeat.
By October 14th, the date of the Battle of Hastings, the English Fleet
had again been mobilized, and held the Channel. Between their position
in Sussex and their base in France, the Normans' connections had been
cut; and, just as in later years it was Nelson's "storm-tossed ships
upon which the Grand Army never looked" that stood between Napoleon and
the dominion of the world, so might Harold's, had he trusted them more
fully, have stood between William of Normandy and the conquest of
England.
With William's forces dependent for their supplies upon the rapidly
dwindling stores of the surrounding country; with that silent pressure
behind him of England's naval power--there would have been time and
plenty, had Harold been content to wait, for the English armies to have
consolidated themselves in overwhelming strength. But it was not to
be. Dazzled by his recent success, and thinking in terms of armies
rather than navies, he forced the issue and was defeated, and England
passed under Norman power; and yet so incompletely that there are few
Englishmen of to-day who, on reading the story of the Battle {xx} of
Hastings, do not instinctively associate themselves with the defeated
Harold rather than with the conquering William.
Nor is that as remarkable as it might superficially appear, since,
within a very few decades of the Battle of Hastings, the same
absorptive process that had been so characteristic a reaction of these
islands to their previous conquerors was again in full swing. Even the
Romans, although in Gaul and Spain they had succeeded in replacing the
original dialects with their own stately language, had never succeeded
in Latinizing Britain to any appreciable extent; and, while it is true
that many Roman contributions remain as permanent features of our laws
and customs, their four hundred years' sojourn left a scarcely
perceptible impress upon the tongue of the supposedly defeated. Just
as in Roman times, too, there was a considerable and real mingling,
both in municipal life and in actual marriage, between the original
inhabitants and the Roman colonists, so, in Saxon times, we find a
similar process always at work in varying degrees, and indeed
officially encouraged by several of the most far-sighted of the
Anglo-Saxon kings and administrators. A similar absorptive phenomenon
became observable in the later relations of Saxon and Dane; and, with
the loss of Normandy, in the reign of King John, and the common cause
then made between the French-derived barons and the English hitherto so
despised by them, the world was to hear in Magna Charta the first
authentic word of the England that we know to-day.
Nor was this process, unique though it was, as far {xxi} as recorded
history can inform us, altogether inexplicable when the position of
Great Britain and its succeeding invaders is considered. To each group
of these, in the then world, it was an _Ultima Thule_. Beyond it, as
far as they knew, there was no other--it was the verge of all things.
To each its occupation had been an adventure, presumably undertaken by
the most daring of the represented race. Each was at bay there to
those that followed and of a spirit and fibre that could not easily be
obliterated; and, in each, despite the ferocity of the times, was the
respect of brave men for each other. Centuries later, on the other
side of the Atlantic, similar conditions were to come into being; and
it may well be that, in the larger island of America, we are witnessing
a similar process on an extended scale.
But America was then in the womb of time, though it is a curious and
significant fact that its discovery largely coincided with that great
renaissance of the sea-instinct of England, embodied in the persons of
the Elizabethan sailors. Up to then, the English national purview had
been almost wholly insular and focussed on the Continent. The
Anglo-Continental dreams of the Norman and Plantagenet kings had
scarcely died; and they had died hard. The loss of Calais, perhaps the
culminating factor in bringing about the new vision so soon to dawn,
had seemed, at the time, nothing but a disgrace and a disaster, and far
from the beginning of a greater epoch.
Yet it was no less than this, and, thence onward, we see the England,
that had been on the world's edge, looking toward the New World, and
perceiving, {xxii} by right of its position and history, a wider
destiny opening overseas. Fighting more stubbornly than ever against
every attempt to make it an appanage of Europe, the eyes of England
began to turn more and more constantly to those just-discovered realms
with their incalculable future. In the imagination of the Celt, the
organizing power of the Roman, the tenacity of the Saxon, the daring of
the Norman, and in the sea-lore of them all, it seemed that Fate had
been slowly forging a new instrument for the new task. It was only the
realization of it that was to seek in the composite race that had thus
been built up; and it is not too much to say, perhaps, that the loss of
Calais was the right-about-turn that brought this about. Not Europe
but the West was the new watchword. But the corollary to that was a
new conception of the sea. It was no longer the means of defense,
insulating Britain from her foes. It was the highway of her full and
peculiar national expression. As never before and not often perhaps
since, the sense of what admiralty meant flooded through the nation;
and though, as in all the enterprises of human society, the motives in
this one were no doubt mixed--though the desire for gold and the lust
of fighting for fighting's sake were dominant in the minds of many of
those sailors--it is equally clear that, for the best and finest of
them, the idea of admiralty had a definite spiritual meaning.
As we gather from their letters and records, they had begun to realize
in themselves the upholders and missionaries of a nobler life. They
were in true succession to the best of those Norman knights, whose
{xxiii} spiritual contribution to England they had inherited; and, in
admiralty, as they dreamed of it, we may trace the reincarnation, with
a fuller and wider outlook, of that older chivalry.
These then were their objects, and the means was the navy, whose first
foundations, as we now know it, had already been laid in the reign of
Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII. Up to that time, though the Government
had possessed the right, in times of war, to employ merchant shipping,
there had been no definite navy, permanently established, in the modern
sense of the word. In return for certain privileges, merchant
ship-owners--and especially, in earlier days, those of the Cinque
Ports--were under contract, on demand of the king, to supply a
specified number of vessels, manned and equipped for war. It was with
fleets so assembled that, in 1212, the English had raided Fécamp and
prevented a French invasion; that, two years later, in a similar action
under William Longsword, they had again destroyed the French Fleet; and
that, in 1334, one of the greatest British naval victories had been won
at Sluys over vastly superior numbers. And, though the Cinque Ports
had, by this time, already dwindled from their earlier importance,
similar arrangements were in force, when Henry VIII came to the throne,
with the merchant shippers of Bristol, Plymouth, Newcastle, and many
other quickly growing ports.
Under Henry VIII, however, we find coming into being the important
Government dockyards of Portsmouth, Deptford, and Woolwich, and every
provision made for the regular supply of the timber requisite {xxiv}
for their needs. The same reign witnessed the establishment of the
Navy Office, out of which our present Admiralty has grown, and the
granting of a charter to Trinity House--that corporation of "godly
disposed men who, for the actual suppression of evil disposed persons
bringing ships to destruction by the shewing forth of false beacons, do
bind themselves together in the love of our Lord Christ, in the name of
the Master and Fellows of the Trinity Guild, to succour from the
dangers of the sea all who are beset upon the coasts of England, to
feed them when a-hungered, to bind up their wounds, and to build and
light proper beacons for the guidance of mariners." And, although at
the time of the Armada, as indeed ever since in moments of maritime
urgency, a large bulk of the British Fleet consisted of transformed
merchantmen belonging to private owners, the Elizabethan admirals found
at their disposal the rudiments, at any rate, of a specialized navy.
How gloriously, and to what purpose, against what was then the greatest
Power in the world, they used their inferior instrument, with its
improvised auxiliaries, is the birth-story of British admiralty.
Pitted not only for life, but, as it was to turn out, for the common
freedom of the seas, they showed the world a spectacle of such a
victory against odds as it had scarcely beheld since the Homeric ages.
On the one hand, it saw an empire, one of the greatest ever known,
under the ablest of statesmen and soldiers--an empire including Spain
and Portugal, most of the Netherlands, and nearly the whole of Italy;
Tunis, Oran, Cape Verde, and the Canary Islands in Africa; {xxv}
Mexico, Chile, Peru, and Cuba in America; the mastery of the
Mediterranean and the Atlantic; and a yearly revenue ten times that of
England--and on the other a little island, of which Wales and Scotland
were still largely independent, containing a population less by two
million than that of London and its suburbs to-day, and possessing
beyond its own coast not a yard of territory overseas.
Such were the odds, and the issue was but one more instance of the
inevitable decisiveness of the human factor--a factor that to-day,
perhaps, such has been the extravagant growth in the weight and
precision of modern weapons, has tended to become once more a little
obscured. That history has revealed it again, just as it revealed it
for us in the case of the Elizabethans, we hope to show; and, if
fortune fought for them, it was not until they had proved themselves
superior to it in skill, courage, and equanimity.
"Touching my poor opinion," wrote Sir Francis Drake to Queen Elizabeth
on April 15, 1588, _how strong your Majesty's Fleet should be to
encounter this great force of the enemy, God increase your most
excellent Majesty's forces both by sea and land daily; for this I
surely think there was never any force so strong as there is now ready
or making ready against your Majesty and true religion, but that the
Lord of all strength is stronger and will defend the truth of His word,
for His own name's sake, unto the which be God all glory given. Thus
all humble duty, I continually will pray to the Almighty to bless and
give you victory over all His, and your enemies._
"We met with this fleet," wrote Hawkins to Sir {xxvi} Francis
Walsyngham on July 31st in the same year, "somewhat to the westward of
Plymouth upon Sunday in the morning, being the 21st of July, where we
had some small fight with them in the afternoon. By the coming aboard
one of the other of the Spaniards, a great ship, a Biscayan, spent her
foremast and bowsprit; which was left by the fleet in the sea, and so
taken up by Sir Francis Drake the next morning. The same Sunday there
was, by a fire chancing by a barrel of powder, a great Biscayan spoiled
and abandoned, which my Lord took up and sent away. The Tuesday
following, athwart of Portland, we had a sharp and long fight with
them, wherein we spent a great part of our powder and shot, so as it
was not thought good to deal with them any more till that was relieved.
The Thursday following, by the occasion of the scattering of one of the
great ships from the fleet, which we hoped to have cut off, there grew
a hot fray, wherein some store of powder was spent, and after that,
little done till we came near to Calais, where the fleet of Spain
anchored, and our fleet by them; and because they should not be in
peace there, to refresh their water or to have conference with those of
the Duke of Parma's party, my Lord Admiral, with firing of ships,
determined to remove them; as he did, and put them to the seas; in
which broil the chief galleass spoiled her rudder and so rode ashore
near the town of Calais, where she was possessed of our men, but so
aground as she could not be brought away. That morning, being Monday,
the 29th of July, we followed the Spaniards, and all that day had with
them a long and great fight, wherein {xxvii} there was great valour
shown generally of our company."
A few days later, Admiral Howard, also writing to Sir Francis
Walsyngham, said, "In our last fight with the enemy, before Gravelines,
the 29th of July, we sunk three of their ships, and made some go near
the shore, leaking so they were not able to live at sea. After that
fight, notwithstanding that our powder and shot was well near all
spent, we set on a brag countenance and gave them chase, as though we
had wanted nothing, until we had cleared our own coast, and some part
of Scotland of them."
Such were the Fathers of admiralty as to-day we envisage it; and, dark
as some of our naval pages have since been, their tradition has never
died, or lacked among us sons to sustain and adorn it in larger issues.
There have been times when the country in general and its statesmen in
particular have lost or under-valued their sea-vision. In 1667, less
than eighty years after the defeat of the Armada, and scarcely ten
after the death of Blake, one of the greatest figures in English naval
history, to such a pass had our naval administration come that the
Dutch were able to sail almost unchallenged up the Medway; to destroy
the booms and half-equipped battleships; to capture the _Royal Charles_
as a trophy; for several weeks to blockade London; and, in the end, to
compel the English Government to a disadvantageous peace.
Fortunately that was a lesson that England never forgot, and, though
there were to follow lapses, not a few, in the struggles that followed
against the lust for world-power, first of Louis XVI, and, a hundred
{xxviii} later, of Napoleon, the navy of England played a not unworthy
and probably a decisive part. In Hawke and Rodney and Hood, and
supremely in Nelson, in their unremembered captains and too-often
ill-requited men, the spirit of the great Elizabethans lived again and
ultimately prevailed, as it was bound to do. Not less for peoples in
the comity of nations than for individuals in smaller societies, the
highest task is to put at the disposal of human progress their
characteristic genius. In military capacity, never the equal of
France; behind many other nations in certain of the arts and sciences;
lacking the spiritual insight of the East and the buoyant versatility
of the West, this maritime adequacy, this gift of admiralty, seems, by
virtue of her history, to have been allotted to Britain--and she has
always been at her greatest, both for herself and for mankind, when she
and her statesmen have realized this most fully.
That among her seamen this conception was as strong as ever, the
history of the Great War has abundantly made clear, little as most of
them dreamed, on that July morning, to be described in our first
chapter, that they were on the verge of an ordeal, in which humanity's
fate would lie in their hands as never in history. And yet, had they
been gifted with a vision of what was to come, certain doubts might
well have been pardoned in them. Colossal as the machinery was, it was
largely untried. New methods and engines, with unforeseeable
possibilities, were already in embryo or in actual being. The
submarine, the airship, the mine--in less than half an hour, a fleet
might be at the bottom. Recent {xxix} naval campaigns had shown that,
whereas a century before, it had been the exception for a stricken ship
to sink, it was now the exception for it to float; and what of the men
in a modern naval battle?
For it would have to be remembered that, while on the one hand the
terrors of naval warfare had immeasurably increased, the men who had to
endure them had become, on the other, the educated products of a more
sensitive civilization. Whereas, even in Nelson's time, the majority
of British seamen were quite unable to read or write, and were too
often, for all their courage, little better than human animals--many
had been impressed by slum raids in seaport towns, and disciplined by a
brutality now scarcely imaginable--the sailors of to-day, if of the
same fibre, were men of a wholly different upbringing. They were the
brothers of the shop-attendants, the men in the counting-house, the
skilled workmen with their trade unions. They were even better
educated than these, with a mellower, deeper, and more humorous
philosophy of life. For them the navy was a career, from boyhood to
old age, with solid rewards--and not a last resort. How would their
new refinement weather the storm?
In the following pages we have tried to answer this, as often as
possible, in their own words.
{3}
THE HEROIC RECORD OF THE BRITISH NAVY
CHAPTER I
THE FOURTH OF AUGUST, 1914
Roman, Phoenician, Saxon, Dane,
From these white shores turned not again.
Save to the sea that bore them hence,
For their delight or their defense,
Judgment, persuasion, daring, thrift,
Each to the others lent his gift,
To whom, when all had shared, the sea
Added her own of admiralty.
It was early on the morning of July 20, 1914, that a couple of guests,
who had courteously been invited to be present in the gunboat _Niger_
for the King's inspection of the Fleet, made their way through the
sleeping streets toward Portsmouth Dockyard. There were to be no
manoeuvres this year since, as had already been announced in March, a
test mobilization of the Third Fleet was to take their place. This
Third Fleet consisted of the older ships of the navy, and depended for
a large proportion of its _personnel_ upon the Royal Fleet Reserve--a
body of ex-naval seamen and other ratings, brought into being under
Lord Goschen, and afterward strengthened and reorganized by the
Selborne administration {4} of 1902 onward. To man this fleet had
necessitated the calling of about 10,000 seamen and 1,500 marines--all
of them volunteers from civil life; and its assemblage at Spithead with
the First and Second Fleets had secured, between the Hampshire coast
and the Isle of Wight, the greatest exhibition of naval power that the
world had then seen.
Since Wednesday, July 10th, the various units and squadrons had been
gathering to their appointed stations, in some places eleven lines
deep; while, upon the same occasion, and for the first time, there had
been a full mobilization of the naval air forces. Less dramatic than
the usual manoeuvres, and unaccompanied by any of the splendour that
had attended most previous Royal reviews, this test mobilization--this
bringing into being of the full fighting power of our naval
reserves--was so valuable an exercise that, as Mr. Winston Churchill,
the First Lord of the Admiralty, had said in his announcement of it, it
was a matter for some surprise that it had never before been
undertaken. Nevertheless, as a national spectacle, it had attracted
but little public attention, as the blinded windows and empty streets
of Southsea and Portsmouth testified.
Grey as steel from vault to horizon but for a single wavering streak of
blue, there seemed little prospect in the sky overhead of the fine day
that the sailors had foretold; and nothing could have been more sombre
than the early morning scene when, without ceremony and almost
unnoticed, the Royal Yacht, with the King on board, left her berth in
the Dockyard. Picking her course slowly past the Sally Port, {5} so
beloved by Marryat, she steamed through the choppy waters to her place
at the head of the great fleet; and it was not until she reached
Spithead, unsaluted by flag or gun, that the clouds up above began to
break, and the sun to shine down on that floating city, now beginning
briskly to awake to life.
Long before the little _Niger_, indeed, was herself out in the Solent,
all the long lines were fully astir. Trim picket-boats, scattering
spray, were plying up and down with mails and provisions. Cables were
rattling till only a single anchor held each of the great ships in her
proper position. Flags and semaphores were busy with final
instructions. Veils of smoke began to wreathe in the air; and then, at
the Admiral's signal, and with no other pageantry than that inherent in
its own latent might, the vast assembly, with deliberate precision,
began to get under way and out to sea.
Led by the Royal Yacht, the _Victoria and Albert_, her graceful black
hull streaked with gold--preceded, according to custom, by the state
vessel of the Elder Brethren of Trinity House--by the time the _Iron
Duke_, at the head of the First Fleet's battleships, came abreast of
the Nab Lightship, the Royal Yacht was already at anchor to receive the
salutes of the departing navy. For two whole hours the King stood on
the bridge, while ship after ship filed before him, each of the larger
battleships an embodiment of greater strength than was represented by
the whole fleet that had destroyed the Armada, and each of the
battle-cruisers capable of a speed and striking-power that, a century
before, would have seemed but the {6} wildest of dreams. These were
led by the _Lion_, flying the flag of a then comparatively unknown
officer, Sir David Beatty, who, only the evening before, had received
the honour of knighthood on board the Royal Yacht.
Following the _Lion_ and her consorts came the light cruisers, and
after these the destroyers and submarines, each of the latter
submerging and rising to the surface again as she came abreast of the
_Victoria and Albert_, while, to complete the picture, and to
foreshadow the enormous development of aerial power in the years
immediately to follow, each accompanying aeroplane and seaplane dipped
in the air by way of salute.
So the Fleet passed out, great though it was, still only a portion of
the total British sea forces, and producing scarcely a ripple upon the
national attention, fixed on what seemed to it then a thousand more
important matters. Had it been known that, as it then was, no eye
would ever behold it again; that, in less than three weeks, stripped at
its war stations, the fate of the world would visibly depend upon
it--with what other eyes would the whole Empire have watched Spithead
on that July morning! But, for the vast mass of Englishmen the world
over, the incident passed without notice. Politically, the affairs of
Ireland, the readjustment of the House of Lords, and the aspirations of
Labour apparently held the field. For the anxious few, to whom the
position in Europe seemed already ominously uneasy, it may have been
otherwise. But none of them had publicly spoken; and it is now clear,
with so sinister a rapidity {7} did the events leading to war follow
each other, that the test mobilization designed, not without criticism,
to supercede the usual manoeuvres, was coincident with, rather than the
outcome of, the hardening of the general diplomatic position.
That was on July 20, 1914, and, upon the political events that ensued,
it would be quite impossible, in the present volume, to dwell for more
than a moment or two. Very briefly, they succeeded one another as
follows. On July 23d, the Austrian memorandum to Serbia, relative to
the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand, the heir to the throne, by a
Serbian anarchist at Sarajevo on June 28th, was formally submitted. So
drastic were the terms of this that its warlike significance was
immediately apparent to the whole of Europe: and a reply from Serbia
was demanded in forty-eight hours. This was given within the specified
time, all the Austrian demands being acceded to, with two exceptions.
These were that Austrian representatives should collaborate with Serbia
in the suppression of anti-Austrian agitation and also in the judicial
proceedings that were demanded against all connected with the Serajevo
murder.
The acceptance of these demands would, of course, have been tantamount
to an admission by Serbia that she had ceased to be an independent
nation. Nevertheless she was ready to refer them to the Hague
Tribunal. The Austrian ambassador, however, acting on instructions
from his Government, refused to accept anything but an unqualified
assent, and left Belgrade on June 25th.
It was clear that, as regarded Serbia at any rate, {8} Austria had
determined upon war; but Sir Edward, afterward Viscount, Grey, then in
charge of the British Foreign Office, took instant and most strenuous
steps to prevent this. He first proposed a conference in London, in
which Germany, France, and Italy should participate, to mediate in the
issues between the two countries. To this Germany disagreed, stating
that discussions were taking place between Austria and Russia, from
which she had hopes of a successful issue. So fraught, however, was
the whole European atmosphere with dark and immeasurable possibilities,
that, in common with every other great Power, Great Britain had been
obliged to take certain precautions; and, in the most immediately
important of these, the navy was, of course, concerned.
Owing to the illness of his wife, Mr. Winston Churchill had left London
for Cromer on the evening of July 24th--Prince Louis of Battenburg,
afterward the Marquis of Milford Haven, being, as First Sea Lord, left
in charge. About lunch time on Sunday, July 26th, the day after the
Austrian Ambassador had left Belgrade, Mr. Churchill telephoned Prince
Louis, and, in view of this serious development, told him to take what
steps seemed to him advisable, at the same time informing him that he
was returning to town that evening instead of on Monday, as he had
originally designed.
In ordinary circumstances, the demobilization, following upon the naval
exercises, was to have begun on this Monday morning. But Prince Louis,
having made himself acquainted with all the telegrams received at the
Foreign Office, had an order telegraphed {9} to Admiral Sir George
Callaghan, then Commander-in-Chief of the Home Fleets at Portland--the
newest and most powerful units of which were afterward to form the
nucleus of what was to become known as the Grand Fleet--to the effect
that no ship was to leave anchorage until further orders, and that all
vessels of the Second Fleet were to remain at their home ports near
their balance crews. Throughout Monday, July 27th, by telegrams all
over Europe to our various representatives, by interviews at home with
foreign ambassadors in London, the British Foreign Office, under Sir
Edward Grey, ceaselessly worked to avoid the impending collision, or,
if that might not be averted, at least to limit its extent.
On Tuesday, July 28th, Austria declared war on Serbia, and, by the next
day, was bombarding the Serbian capital. On this day, both Russia and
Belgium were mobilizing their armies, Belgium as a precautionary
measure of self-defense, and Russia, as regarded her southern armies
only, on account of Austria's invasion of Serbia. It was early on
Wednesday morning, July 29th, that the German Chancellor, then Herr von
Bethmann-Hollweg, suggested to Sir Edward Goschen, our ambassador at
Berlin, that if Britain remained neutral in the event of France joining
Russia against an Austro-German combination, Germany would guarantee to
make no territorial demands of France; would respect the neutrality of
Holland; but might be forced to enter Belgium, whose integrity she
would preserve, however, after the war. In respect of the French
colonies, she would make no promises.
{10}
This meant the tearing up, of course, of the treaty, in which we as
well as Germany had guaranteed Belgium's inviolability, and was an
unmistakable index of the line of action that Germany was prepared to
take, should it suit her purpose; and it was on this morning,
unreported by the papers, and entirely unknown to the nation, that the
First Fleet, under Sir George Callaghan, sailed out of Portland to its
war-stations.
Peace was still possible, however, or so Sir Edward Grey hoped; and,
while immediately rejecting, as he was in honour bound to do, Germany's
proposal with regard to Belgium, he made the new suggestion of a
European Council--a Council to which these problems, even at the
eleventh hour, might be submitted to avert disaster. This plan was
also destined to be fruitless. On July 31st, Germany sent a note to
Russia demanding the instant dispersal of her armies, and requesting a
favourable answer by eleven o'clock on Saturday, August 1st; and it was
on the same day that Sir Edward Grey asked both Germany and France if
they would guarantee the integrity of Belgium, always provided that
this was not infringed by any other Power. To this France assented at
once, but Germany made no reply.
Such was the position on Friday, and, on the Saturday afternoon, August
1st, Germany declared war on Russia, following this up, early on Sunday
morning, with the invasion of Luxembourg by part of her advanced
armies. This was the day on which the remainder of our naval
reservists, including all naval and marine pensioners up to the age of
fifty-five, {11} were called to the colours--the plans for their
mobilization, reception, and embarkment, in any such event as had now
arisen, having been carefully prepared and coördinated with the
preliminary steps required of all other Government Departments, and
included in the War Book, compiled by the Committee of Imperial
Defense, under the presidency of Mr. Asquith, then Prime Minister.
Simultaneously, or rather on the previous Saturday afternoon, an order
to mobilize had been received at Dartmouth--the Royal Naval College in
which, and in the _Britannia_ before it, so many generations of
officers had received their first training. Already, on the preceding
Tuesday, the cadets had been summoned to the Quarter Deck, as the big
recreation hall was called, and told by the Captain that, in the event
of war, they would certainly be mobilized--the six "terms" into which
the cadets were divided, being ordered to report in three groups at
Chatham, Portsmouth, and Devonport, in this order of departure.
Of the thrill produced by this, anybody who has been a schoolboy of
fifteen will have little difficulty in forming an idea; and it may be
doubted if any of the boys who heard it--many of them, alas, never to
see another birthday--will ever again live through such a moment as
when the summons actually came on the following Saturday afternoon. It
came with added force, because, since Tuesday, the excitement had
naturally died down, while most of the boys, in common with their
fathers, and indeed the majority of English men and women, had found it
difficult to believe that so huge a convulsion would not in some {12}
manner be prevented. By what now seems, too, in retrospect, to have
been almost the acme of ironical circumstance, they were due to start
their holidays on August 4th, and to these their minds had already
begun to turn again.
But the summons came, and with it in each boy, as hardly less in the
college itself, the death of an era so instantaneous that it was only a
little later that it could be realized. A moment before, and the
normal Saturday afternoon life had been swinging along, as for so many
years past--on the cricket field, in the swimming baths, in the
Devonshire countryside surrounding the college; and the moment after,
the cricket field was empty, with the stumps still standing there
undrawn, and the lanes and river banks were being everywhere searched
for such boys as were not in college. Long before nightfall half the
cadets--scarcely more than children--had left the place forever; and it
was not until then that the sense of what lay before them fell upon the
officers and masters left behind. For a little while this was almost
intolerable, and the more so because it would have seemed indecent to
them to put it into words. Characteristically enough, perhaps--most of
them being products of the same kind of system that had produced the
boys--it was finally decided, dusk though it was, and tired as they
were, to turn out the beagles.
By the evening of August 3d, therefore, August Bank Holiday, and a day
of serene and cloudless beauty, the Admiralty was able to announce that
the entire navy had been placed upon a war footing, the mobilization
having been completed in all respects by {13} 4 o'clock in the morning.
This was the position when, in a House of Commons charged with emotions
tenser than any man remembered, Sir Edward Grey rose to explain the
situation and the attitude of the Government, for which he desired the
country's mandate. Beginning by assuring the House that the Government
and himself had worked "with all the earnestness in our power to
preserve peace," he went on to deal with the British obligations toward
her friends in the Entente--making it clear that the country was not
bound, by any secret treaty, to provide armed assistance. That was but
a small matter, however, and what had to be determined was our moral
position in the circumstances that had arisen.
Dealing first with naval matters, Sir Edward Grey pointed out that, the
French Fleet being in the Mediterranean, her northern and western
coasts--a tribute to her confidence in ourselves--were left absolutely
unprotected; while, in the Mediterranean, should the French Fleet have
to be withdrawn for vital purposes elsewhere, we ourselves had not then
a fleet strong enough to meet all possible hostile combinations. Under
those conditions, and with a German declaration of war upon her
probably the question of a few hours, it had obviously been our bounden
duty to make our position clear toward France; and this had been done
on the previous afternoon. Subject to the support of Parliament, the
British Government had promised that, if the German Fleet should come
into the Channel, or through the North Sea, to undertake hostile
operations against the French coast or shipping, the British Fleet
would give to the {14} French all the protection in its power. Just
before coming to the House, Sir Edward Grey added, he had learned that,
if we would pledge ourselves to neutrality, Germany would be prepared
to agree that its fleet should not attack the northern coast of France.
But that, as he said, was a far too narrow engagement.
Even more vital, however, was the question of Belgium's integrity, not
only to France and ourselves, but to the whole basis upon which the
relations of all civilized Powers had come to rest. In connection with
this, Sir Edward Grey told the House that a personal telegram had just
been received by the King, in which the King of Belgium had made a
supreme appeal for the diplomatic intervention of Great Britain.
Should Belgium be compelled, Sir Edward Grey pointed out, to compromise
her neutrality by allowing the passage of foreign troops, whatever
might ultimately happen to her, her independence would have gone. To
stand by and see that would, in his opinion--and this was
overwhelmingly endorsed both by the House and the country--be "to
sacrifice our respect and good sense and reputation before the world."
On the same day, Germany declared war on France, and, on Tuesday,
August 4th, Great Britain asked for a definite assurance from Germany
that Belgium's refusal to allow the passage of troops through her
territory should be respected. An answer was desired before midnight,
but the only German reply was to present our ambassador with his
passports, and, before the day ended, Great Britain was at war not only
for her life but for the life of civilization.
{15}
And now, as regarded the navy, there occurred a little incident, not
without an element in it of the deepest pathos, but demonstrating, at
the outset, that one at least of our great naval traditions shone as
brightly as ever. For eight years--longer than any other living
admiral--Sir George Callaghan had been afloat in various responsible
commands; and, in 1911, he had become Commander-in-Chief of the Home
Fleet. Its efficiency as an instrument was due in no small measure to
his personal thoroughness and enthusiasm; and the mingled feelings of
pride, confidence, and anxiety, with which he had led it to its war
stations, can readily be imagined. At last he was to see in action,
under his very eyes, that splendid weapon, for which he had so long
been responsible. But it was not to be. Just as in most recent naval
campaigns conducted by other countries, it had been considered
advisable for the leader in war to have come fresh from staff work at
headquarters, so it had been felt in England that the admiral
commanding the Fleet in action must be not only a sea-officer of high
standing, but one with a more intimate knowledge of the general
strategical position than it had been possible for an officer so long
afloat to acquire. It was for such reasons that Admiral Sampson had
been placed in charge of the American Fleet in the Spanish-American
War, and Admiral Togo by the Japanese Government in the Japanese War
with Russia, and, for similar considerations, it had been decided to
appoint Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, still young as admirals went, to the
command of the Grand Fleet.
{16}
As a former Director of Ordnance and Torpedoes, and thus familiar with
every branch of munitionment; as a former Third Sea Lord in control of
ship-building and equipment; and, as Second Sea Lord, responsible not
only for _personnel_ but familiar, as Deputy for the First Sea Lord,
with all questions of strategy, Admiral Jellicoe, apart from his
personal qualities, had had unique opportunities of studying the whole
naval problem from every possible standpoint. He had proved himself in
addition, during naval manoeuvres, a tactical leader of the highest
order; and he was already due, later in the year, to succeed Sir George
Callaghan in command of the Home Fleets. It was therefore decided--not
without considerable personal reluctance on the part of Admiral
Jellicoe himself--that he should at once replace Sir George Callaghan
on board the fleet-flagship _Iron Duke_; and nothing could have been
more typical of naval _esprit de corps_ and the subservience of even
the most illustrious officer to the interests of the whole service than
that this incident took place without a trace of bitterness or the
slightest personal jealousy. Even so, five years after Trafalgar,
having never been allowed to set foot again on English soil,
Collingwood had died in his cabin, content that in his long sea-exile
he had served his country; and even so, having carried upon his
shoulders perhaps the heaviest individual responsibilities of the war,
Jellicoe himself, at the end of 1917, walked quietly out of the
Admiralty to hang pictures at home.
Born on December 5, 1859, Sir John Jellicoe was in his fifty-fifth year
when he stepped on board the {17} _Iron Duke_ as admiralissimo of the
Grand Fleet. The son of a well-known captain in the mercantile marine,
who lived long enough, as it is pleasant to remember, to witness his
son's success, he was also related ancestrally to that Admiral Patton,
who had been Second Sea Lord at the time of Trafalgar; while, in Lady
Jellicoe, daughter of the late Sir Charles Cayzer, one of the Directors
of the Clan Line of Steamships, he had formed, on his marriage, yet
further connections with the sea. After a few years at a private
school at Rottingdean, he had entered the _Britannia_ as a cadet in
1872, and, from the first, seems without effort to have made the
fullest use of his opportunities.
Passing out of the _Britannia_, the head of his year, with every
possible prize that could be taken, he had qualified--again with three
first prizes--as sub-lieutenant in 1878, being appointed a full
lieutenant three years later, with three first-class certificates. Two
years after this, he had taken part in the Egyptian campaign, obtaining
the silver medal for the expedition, and also the Khedive's Bronze
Star. Returning to Greenwich for a course in gunnery, he had obtained
the £80 prize for gunnery lieutenants, and, soon afterward, had been
appointed a Junior Staff Officer at the _Excellent_ School of Gunnery
at Portsmouth; and it was here that he had come into contact, and begun
a lifelong friendship, with the greatest naval genius of modern times,
then plain Captain Fisher, and scarcely known outside the service.
It was while still a lieutenant that, in 1886, he had received the
Board of Trade Medal for gallantry {18} in a forlorn attempt--during
which he was himself shipwrecked--to save a stranded crew near
Gibraltar. Becoming a commander in 1891, he had been appointed to Sir
George Tryon's flagship, the ill-fated _Victoria_, afterward to be sunk
during manoeuvres--Commander Jellicoe himself, ill in his cabin at the
moment, having the narrowest escape from drowning. Six years later, he
had become a captain, joining Sir Edward Seymour's flagship, the
_Centurion_, on the China Station; and it was in China that, three
years afterward, he had seen his next active service during the Boxer
Rebellion. In this he had been Chief Staff Officer to Sir Edward
Seymour, who commanded the Naval Brigade; and, at the Battle of
Pietsang, on June 21, 1900, he had been very severely wounded. Happily
he had recovered, receiving for his services the Companionship of the
Bath, and, four years later, had found himself at the Admiralty as
Director of Naval Ordnance--a position that he had held during the
revolution produced by the appearance of the first British
_dreadnought_. He had also been largely responsible for the immense
improvement in our gunnery, associated with the name of Admiral Sir
Percy Scott. In 1907 Captain Jellicoe had been promoted to the rank of
Rear-Admiral, being appointed to a command in the Atlantic Fleet a
little later in the same year. In 1908 he had become one of the Lords
Commissioners of the Admiralty and Controller of the Navy, and, two
years afterward, he had reached the vice-admirals' list and had
succeeded to the command of the Atlantic Fleet. In 1911, having
already been made a K.C.V.O., he had been {19} honoured with a K.C.B.
at the coronation of King George V, and, in 1912, after a short spell
of service in command of the Second Battle Squadron of the Home Fleet,
he had become Second Sea Lord, the position he was holding on the
outbreak of war.
Such were the qualifications of the man in whose hands, on that fateful
fourth of August, rested more heavily than in those of any other the
destiny of our empire and of mankind. Had they proved inadequate, it
is no exaggeration to say that the sun of freedom would have set for
both. That they were not so is common knowledge, and the fullest
justification of those who had believed in them--chief among whom was
that masterful administrator, who had changed the whole aspect of our
naval strategy.
Rugged of face, with hosts of detractors, and, at this time, well over
seventy years of age; a prey to moods, with some defects of his
qualities, and a mind too often intolerant of the weaknesses of others,
it was to Lord Fisher of Kilverstone, more than to any single living
man, that the navy of August 4th owed its strength. Lacking the
hereditary sea-influences so strong in Sir John Jellicoe, and with none
of the powerful encouragement that he himself had bestowed upon the
younger admiral, Lord Fisher had risen to power by sheer mental ability
united with an extraordinary force of character; although full credit
must be given to Mr. Balfour who, as Prime Minister in 1902, gave Sir
John Fisher, as he then was, the fullest scope for his genius.
These had included changes so radical and far-reaching, in almost every
branch of naval {20} administration, that it would be impossible here
to recapitulate them; and they are already familiar to most people.
Briefly, they had amounted, first, to a drastic redistribution of our
whole naval forces, including the partial absorption of the
Mediterranean Fleet, hitherto our strongest command, into an enormously
powerful force in the home seas always ready for war; the
disestablishment of overseas squadrons of no strategical importance;
the remorseless scrapping of many old ships that were doing little else
than eating up money; and the reduction of distant dockyards that had
long ceased to have any potential significance. Hand in hand with all
this, a revision of the entire system of naval education had been
undertaken; the Royal Fleet Reserve had been strengthened by the
inclusion of a number of seamen who had had five or more years'
training; and from these were to be drawn the balance crews that, in
time of war, were to bring the vessels of the Second Fleet up to their
full complement.
It had further become clear, both from the lessons learned in the naval
actions between Russia and Japan, and in the strong bid for an
overpowering fleet then being made by Germany, that new developments in
the matter of design were a problem of the most serious urgency. It
had accordingly been decided to replace the very large number of
differing vessels, of which the navy then consisted, by a few definite
classes, each designed to fulfil in war some clearly thought-out
tactical purpose; and, at the same time, in absolute secrecy, the first
of the great British dreadnoughts had been laid down.
{21}
This had not only compelled an immediate response in every navy
throughout the world, but had once more secured for us the margin of
vital security that had seriously been encroached upon before these
reforms were initiated. That in spite of changes of Government and the
natural reluctance of the nation, in view of social necessities, to
increase its naval expenditure, Lord Fisher had succeeded in carrying
through his programme, was the best evidence of his strength; and men
of all parties had become increasingly united in endorsing the general
wisdom of his attitude.
So swift, even since then, however, had been the advance in naval
construction that, when Sir John Jellicoe stepped on board the _Iron
Duke_, the first of the dreadnoughts was almost obsolete. Itself since
outstripped by the ships of the _Queen Elizabeth_ class, when war was
declared on August 4th, the _Iron Duke_, as regarded battleships, was
perhaps the flower of the British Navy. In full commission displacing
27,000 tons, and costing more than £2,000,000 to build, she had
attained on trial, in spite of her enormous armament, a speed of no
less than 22 knots. Each of her large guns, of which she carried ten,
so arranged as to be able to fire on each broadside, was capable of
hurling a shell from twenty to twenty-five miles, during which it would
rise far higher than Mont Blanc; and, besides these, she had a dozen
6-inch guns with which to repel possible destroyer attacks. Her armour
at the water-line was twelve inches thick; she was fitted with four
submerged torpedo-tubes, and carried on board three thousand tons of
fuel {22} and a complement of over a thousand officers and men.
No less powerful, though not so heavily armoured, and capable of a
speed when pressed, of about thirty knots an hour, was the _Lion_, the
flagship of the battle-cruisers, of whom Sir David Beatty was in
command. She, too, carried ten 13.5-inch guns, with sixteen smaller
quick-firing guns, and two submerged torpedo-tubes. Typical of yet
another class was the since famous _Arethusa_ flying the pennant of
Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt, as he then was--a light armoured cruiser,
or, in Mr. Churchill's phrase, "a destroyer of destroyers," displacing
a little less than 4,000 tons, but capable of a speed, when pressed,
approaching forty knots. Lastly should be mentioned the _L_ class,
then the latest of our destroyers, consuming oil fuel only--those
antennæ of the Fleet, as fast as an express train, and the very
incarnation of vigilance and daring.
Such then was the navy in which on August 3d, speaking in that
breathless House of Commons, Sir Edward Grey had said that those
responsible for it had the completest confidence. To it had been
added, on the outbreak of war, a couple of battleships that had just
been completed for Turkey and two destroyer-leaders, built for Chile,
that had been purchased from her by arrangement. As the child of the
cockle-ships that Alfred had beaten the Danes with, that had won the
Battle of Sluys for Edward III; as the offspring of the fleets of Drake
or even of Nelson, its least unit would have defied belief. But it was
of the same family, legitimately descended, and with the {23} old names
scattered amongst its children. _Bellerophon_, _St. George_,
_Téméraire_, its history was implicit in its roll call; while the dead
animals stood re-invoked upon the prows that bore their legends.
Collingwood, Benbow, St. Vincent; Albemarle, Cochrane, Hawke--they were
at war for England if only as words. But did they live again in the
men that hailed them? Well, the nation believed so, and, in that dark
hour, this was the sheet-anchor of its hope. In the words of the King
to Sir John Jellicoe, it sent them the full assurance of its confidence
that they would "prove once again the true shield of Britain and of her
Empire in the hour of trial."
{24}
CHAPTER II
THE BATTLE OF THE BIGHT
In his speech of August 3d in the House of Commons, Sir Edward Grey
told his listeners that we had incurred no obligations to help France
either by land or sea. In view not less, however, of the increasing
difficulties of our diplomatic relations with Germany than of the
spontaneous friendship that had been growing between ourselves and our
French neighbours, the question of coöperation with the latter, in
certain eventualities, had inevitably arisen and been discussed. It
had also been pointed out that unless some conversations were to take
place between the naval and military experts of both countries--unless
some definite lines were laid down as to the methods by which each
country was to help the other--such coöperation, even if desired, would
almost certainly be fruitless. At the same time, in a letter written
on November 22, 1912, to the French ambassador, Sir Edward Grey had
made it clear that these discussions between their respective experts
did not commit either Government to a specified course of action "in a
contingency which has not yet arisen and may never arise."
When the contingency arose, however, the plans were there; and the
mobilization and transport to {25} France of our Expeditionary Force
will remain on record as one of the most efficient military operations
ever undertaken by any country. Second only to the rapidity and
completeness with which the navy took command of the sea, were the
speed and secrecy with which those first divisions were conveyed across
the Channel. That in mere numbers they seem in retrospect to have been
almost ridiculously inadequate is merely a measure of the colossal
proportions that the war on land afterward assumed. Small as that army
was, however, it was the largest force that we had ever sent oversea as
a single undertaking; and it must be borne in mind that, in all
probability, it was the most highly trained then in existence, and that
its presence in France had both moral and material effects of almost
incalculable importance.
Nobody who lived, or was staying, near any of our great southern
railway lines during those early days of August will ever forget the
emotions roused by that endless series of troop trains, passing with
such precision day and night; and of the feelings produced in France by
this visible pledge of our friendship there was instant and abundant
evidence. Between August 9th and August 23d five Divisions of Infantry
and two Cavalry Divisions were safely landed in France; and when it is
remembered what a single division consists of some idea may be obtained
of what that accomplishment meant.
Apart from the Headquarters' Staff with a _personnel_ of 82, requiring
54 horses, 2 wagons, and 5 motor-cars, it embraced three Infantry
Brigades, Headquarters' divisional artillery, three brigades of {26}
Field Artillery, one Howitzer Brigade, one heavy battery, a divisional
ammunition column, the Headquarters' division of engineers, two Field
companies, one Signal company, one Cavalry squadron, one Divisional
train, and three Field ambulances--comprising a total _personnel_ of
over 18,000 men, 5,500 horses, 870 wagons, 9 motor-cars, and 280
cycles, the number of guns, including machine guns, amounting to 100;
and with a base establishment for each division of 1,750 men and 10
horses.
Such was the task performed by the transport officers, every kind of
vessel being assembled for the purpose, from the cross-channel packet
boat accommodating not more than three hundred at a time to the giant
Atlantic liner carrying as many thousands. Chiefly from _Southampton_,
but also from Dover, Folkestone, Newhaven, Avonmouth, and many other
ports, that constant stream of men, horses, provisions, and equipment
poured ceaselessly for nearly a fortnight, screened by
destroyer-escorts, and with aeroplanes and seaplanes keeping watch over
them from the sky. Without a single casualty as the result of enemy
action, they were mustered and marched into line of the French left
flank; and that this great achievement should have been possible within
so short a period from the declaration of war is perhaps the completest
tribute that could be paid to the consummate skill of our naval
dispositions.
Scarcely realized by those splendid battalions, whistling "Tipperary"
on the way to Mons, and even now, perhaps, hardly appreciated by the
bulk of their countrymen at home, it was the navy and the navy {27}
alone that made that glorious epic possible. With their eyes on Europe
and the impending clash of the armies; hearing in imagination, under
the unsuspected force of the heavy German artillery, the crumpling up
of those iron-clad cupolas of the Brialmont forts at Liège--few would
have thought twice, perhaps, even if they had known what they were
doing, of those tiny submarines _E6_ and _E8_ creeping, the first of
their kind, into the Bight of Heligoland. Yet but for them and their
gallant crews and officers, Lieutenant-Commanders Talbot and Goodhart;
but for the presiding destroyers, _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ and the
submarines of the Eighth Flotilla--the passage of the Expeditionary
Force might well have been impossible and the first battle of the Marne
fought with another issue.
Within three hours of the first outbreak of the war, _E6_ and _E8_
stole out on their perilous errands; and it was upon the information
brought back by them from those mined and fortified waters that the
later dispositions were made. From August 7th onward, until the
Expeditionary Force had been safely landed, the submarines kept their
watch. In the lee of islands, at the mouths of channels, in hourly
danger of detection and death, day and night, without relief, those
cautious periscopes maintained their vigil. Farther to the south,
guarding the approaches to the Channel, between the North Goodwins and
the Ruytingen, were the two destroyers _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_, with
the main covering submarine flotilla; while to the northeast of these,
the _Amethyst_ and _Fearless_, each with a flotilla of destroyers, took
{28} turns about on patrol duty during the passage of the army.
Nor must it be forgotten, so swift was the subsequent progress both in
the range and effectiveness of submarine activity, that this was, at
that time, a branch of the service scarcely tried and of unknown
possibilities. The submarines used were of a type soon so outclassed
as to become almost obsolete, the easiest of prey to net and torpedo,
and working at a distance from their bases then unprecedented.
Nevertheless, after the Expeditionary Force had been safely transported
to France, they were, in the words of Commodore, afterward
Vice-Admiral, Roger Keyes, "incessantly employed on the enemy's coast
in the Heligoland Bight and elsewhere, and have obtained much valuable
information regarding the composition and movement of his patrols.
They have occupied his waters and reconnoitred his anchorages, and,
while so engaged, have been subjected to skilful and well-executed
anti-submarine tactics; hunted for hours at a time by torpedo craft,
and attacked by gunfire and torpedoes."
That was written on October 17, 1914, when the action, now about to be
described, had already made the Bight of Heligoland a familiar term to
most people, but without conveying, perhaps, to more than a very few
all that it meant from a strategical standpoint. Between three and
four hundred miles from the nearest of our naval bases, and from some
of the chief of them more than six hundred miles distant, it was in
this small area that there was concentrated practically the whole of
Germany's naval forces, the {29} Kiel Canal connecting it with the
Baltic, rendering these available in either sea.
Nor would it be easy to imagine, from the point of view of defense,
either a bay of littoral with greater natural advantages. Bounded on
the east by the low-lying shores of Schleswig-Holstein, with their
fringe of protecting islands, and on the south by the deeply indented
coast-line between the Dutch frontier and the mouth of the Kiel Canal,
each of the four great estuaries, from west to east, of the Ems, the
Jade, the Weser, and the Elbe, had been subdivided by sandbanks into a
meshwork of channels than which nothing could have been easier to make
impregnable. These were further guarded by the continuation of the
scimitar curve of the Frisian Islands, beginning opposite Helder in
Holland with the Dutch island of Texel, becoming German in the island
of Borkum just beyond the Memmert Sands, opposite the mouth of the Ems,
and continued, as a natural screen, in the successive islands of Juist,
Nordeney, Baltrum, Langeoog, Spiekeroog, and Wangeroog as far as the
entrance of Jade Bay, covering the approach to Wilhelmshaven.
Situated on the western lip of this channel, and connected by locks
with the Ems and Jade Canal, this was one of the largest of Germany's
naval bases and a town of about 35,000 inhabitants. In the next
estuary, that of the Weser, and on the eastern coast of it, lay
Bremerhaven, another naval base and important dockyard; and, on the
same stretch of coast, at the point of the tongue of land between the
Weser and the Elbe, lay Cuxhaven, yet a third and {30} immensely
powerful naval port. This, with the attendant batteries of Döse, was
flanked at sea by the Roter and Knecht sandbanks and the little island
of Sharhorn, and was only about forty miles distant from Heligoland,
lying in the centre of the Bight and commanding the hole.
Probably, from an offensive standpoint, of less value, under modern
conditions, than was generally supposed, the possession of Heligoland,
as a fortified outpost, was, if only psychologically, one of Germany's
greatest assets. Of rocky formation and rising, at its highest point,
to about 200 feet, it was not only a useful observation post but a
fortress of the utmost strength. With wide views extending to the
mouth of the Elbe and the coast of the neighbouring estuaries, it also
protected a roadstead capable of sheltering and concealing a fleet of
considerable strength; and, in addition, it possessed a wireless
station of the greatest strategical importance.
From an early period, indeed, the peculiar advantages of the island had
been obvious to many observers. In the seventeenth century, it had
been used as a convenient station by the traders in contraband between
France and Hamburg, and, for the same purposes, toward the end of the
eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth centuries, by British
smugglers. During the Danish blockade of the German ports in the
Schleswig-Holstein War of 1848, its advantages had become so manifest
to the then British Governor that he made a special report about it to
the Colonial Office. "Possessing pilots of all the surrounding coasts
and rivers and with its {31} roadstead sufficient for a steam fleet,"
it would in an emergency, he had pointed out, "amply repay the small
cost of its retention in time of peace." Other considerations had
supervened, however, and, in 1890, after having been in British
possession for more than eighty years, Heligoland had been ceded to
Germany, to become, in due course, the keystone of her naval defenses.
Such then was the Bight of Heligoland, commanded at its centre by the
rocky island itself; flanked on each side by the sentinel islands of
the Frisian and Schleswig coasts; and with its tributary river-mouths
each an intricate meshwork of shallow and treacherous sandbanks.
Subject to fogs, and responding to its prevalent winds with short steep
seas of peculiar violence, it had been mined and protected since the
outbreak of war with every means that ingenuity could suggest. As for
the island itself, from which all women and civilians, with the
exception of five nurses, had been removed, new guns had been mounted
there, houses pulled down, and trees felled to assist the gunners; and
it is only when this is remembered that some idea becomes possible of
all that was involved in those first patrols, and in the affair of
outposts, as one officer has described it, afterward to be known as the
Battle of the Bight.
This was brought about as the result of the detailed information
afforded by our scouting submarines, who had obtained an accurate
knowledge of the procedure of the enemy's day and night patrols, and
had reported that they could always collect a large force of destroyers
round them whenever they showed {32} themselves in the Bight. From
this it became evident that a force, approaching at dawn from the
direction of Horn Reef, would have every prospect of being able to cut
off the enemy's returning night patrols; and an operation was
accordingly decided upon, of which the following were the broad
outlines. On the morning of August 28, 1914, the day appointed for the
action, some submarines, with a couple of destroyers in attendance,
were to penetrate into the Bight and expose themselves to the enemy,
and were then to lure them, if possible, into contact with other forces
that would be waiting. In close proximity, therefore, to the
submarines it was arranged for two light cruisers, the _Arethusa_ and
_Fearless_, to rendezvous with two flotillas of destroyers, while,
behind these, were to lie ambushed out at sea the Light Cruiser and
Battle-Cruiser Squadrons. The general design, with full details as to
the meeting-places, was communicated to each of the responsible
commanders and, in absolute secrecy, from their various bases, the
forces to be engaged put to sea.
Of these the first were the submarines under Commodore Roger Keyes, who
accompanied them on board the destroyer _Lurcher_, with the _Firedrake_
in attendance--those stout little vessels that had already made
themselves familiar, during the passage of the armies, with the
proposed scene of action. Setting out at midnight on August 26th, they
escorted the eight submarines chosen for this hazardous duty, _D2_,
_D8_, _E4_, _E5_, _E6_, _E7_, _E8_, and _E9_; and, while these were
kept in the background throughout the next day, the _Lurcher_ and
_Firedrake_ acted as their {33} scouts. To the perils in store for
them, in the way of detection, the fine weather and calm sea naturally
added; but, at nightfall of August 27th, each submarine crept to its
appointed station in close proximity to the German coast.
Meanwhile, at five in the morning of the same day, the _Arethusa_,
under Commodore Tyrwhitt, had set out in her turn, with two flotillas
of destroyers, meeting the _Fearless_ at sea during the afternoon; and,
farther north, at the same early hour, Vice-Admiral Beatty, in the
_Lion_, had departed with the First Battle-Cruiser and First Light
Cruiser Squadrons to be at hand in case of necessity. By the evening
of August 27th, therefore, all were in their places; the submarines
were feeling their way into the heart of the Bight; and the excitement
of all engaged, during those hushed hours of darkness, can be readily
imagined and perhaps envied. The night passed uneventfully, however,
and, upon the flotillas and squadrons at sea, the day broke clear and
sunny, but with a good deal of mist--in some places almost amounting to
fog--veiling the entrance of the Bight and the neighbourhood of
Heligoland.
The time was now come for the first open movement to be made; and,
while the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ began to search the waters, through
which the battle-cruisers were to come, for possible hostile
submarines, three of our own, _E6_, _E7_, and _E8_, designedly exposing
themselves, proceeded toward Heligoland. Finding the sea clear,
Commodore Keyes with the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ then followed up the
three submarines; and there we may leave {34} them for the moment,
turning our attention to the forces assembled in their rear under
Commodore Tyrwhitt.
These consisted, as we have seen, of the Light Cruiser _Arethusa_,
flying Commodore Tyrwhitt's broad pennant, the Light Cruiser
_Fearless_, under Captain W. F. Blunt, and most of the destroyers of
the First and Third Flotillas, and, at daybreak, they, too, began to
push their way into the misty Bight. Nor had they long to wait for the
enemy. Though the visibility was poor, seldom at first extending to
more than three miles, and though the fighting in consequence afterward
became confused, the general strategical plan soon proved itself to
have been sound. Issuing apparently from berths between the Frisian
Islands and the coast-line, a patrol of German destroyers, setting out
toward Heligoland, suddenly discovered our forces on the east, or
Bight, side of them. Previous to this, at about ten minutes to seven,
a solitary German destroyer had already been sighted and chased, but
now, for forty minutes, from twenty minutes past seven, a general
action ensued--the _Arethusa_ and Third Flotilla engaging the German
destroyers, and steering northwest to cut them off from Heligoland.
So far the presence of the _Arethusa_, whose armament has already been
described, had given us the advantage in this particular attack; but,
just before eight o'clock, two German cruisers loomed out of the mist,
one with four funnels and one with two. Whether these had come from
Heligoland or had followed up the destroyer-patrol was not apparent,
but {35} they immediately joined action, and, for a quarter of an hour,
the little _Arethusa_ found herself being bombarded by both of them as
well as by various destroyers.
Firing with every gun, the _Arethusa_, then only forty-eight hours out
of the builders' hands, was already in as tight a corner as she could
have asked for and beginning to suffer pretty heavily.
Twice she was hit below the water-line, but saved by the skill and
promptitude of her engineers; shrapnel shells were bursting over her
deck, and men were already dropping as the result of them; Lieutenant
Westmacott was killed at Commodore Tyrwhitt's side; the foremost port
gun was shot out of action, the gunlayer being blown out of his seat;
gun after gun was wrecked and the torpedo tubes disabled, till only one
6-inch gun remained effective; and a bursting shell, exploding some
ammunition, started a furious fire on the _Arethusa's_ deck.
Fortunately, at a quarter past eight, Captain Blunt in the
_Fearless_--of which a destroyer officer afterward wrote that "to see
the old _Fearless_ charging round the field of fight, seeking fresh
foes, was most inspiriting"--and appeared on the scene, and attracted
to herself the guns of the four-funnelled German cruiser. Thus
relieved a little, for ten minutes longer, the _Arethusa_ fought the
other on a converging course, till a splendidly directed shot wrecked
the German's forebridge, and she broke off toward Heligoland, which was
just in sight.
Heavily as the _Arethusa_ had suffered, the little destroyer _Laurel_,
who, with one of her consorts, had {36} first sighted the oncoming
cruisers, had been punished, as was only to be expected, with even
greater severity. For some little time engaging single-handed a German
light cruiser and two destroyers, on every calculation of the chances
of war, she should have been sunk a dozen times over. Struck first in
the boiler-room, the after funnel was blown in, and the main steam-pipe
damaged, four men being killed, but the remainder sticking to their
posts with the utmost coolness and heroism. Next she was struck
forward, three more men being killed and a gun being put out of action;
and a few moments later her captain, Commander F. Rose, was wounded in
the leg, but continued to direct the action. Soon afterward he was
again hit, dropping on the bridge with the other leg wounded, but
remained where he was, after a period of unconsciousness, until six
o'clock in the evening.
Meanwhile the _Laurel_ herself, while responding as best she could to
the superior gunfire of the cruiser, was vigorously attacking the two
destroyers, one of whom she succeeded in sinking and, when Commander
Rose was no longer able to take charge, his "Number One," Lieutenant C.
R. Peploe, continued the action, bringing his destroyer out, in the
words of Commodore Tyrwhitt, "in an able and gallant manner under most
trying conditions." Few on board, indeed, would have given much for
her chances of ever coming out at all; and, when a final shell struck
her near the centre gun, causing a violent explosion and setting her on
fire, the likelihood of the _Laurel_ making port must have seemed
remote to the last degree. Thanks in a great measure, however, {37} to
the gallantry and promptitude of Alfred Britten, Stoker Petty Officer,
who put out the fire, in spite of the close neighbourhood of several
lyddite shells, no further damage resulted; while the mass of fumes, in
which the disabled _Laurel_ now lay heavily wreathed, served in some
degree as a screen against further attack from the cruiser.
It was now nearly nine o'clock; fighting had died down; and, when
Commodore Tyrwhitt called his flotillas together, it was found that the
First Flotilla had also been in action and sunk _V187_, the German
commodore's destroyer. Unfortunately two boats' crews from the
destroyers _Goshawk_ and _Defender_, lowered to pick up survivors from
the sunk destroyer, had had to be left behind owing to an attack by a
German cruiser during this work of mercy--a self-revealing act on the
part of the second navy in the world. Apart from this, though many of
our vessels, especially the _Laurel_ and _Arethusa_, had been heavily
battered, all the flotillas were intact; while, unknown to Commodore
Tyrwhitt and his command, even the abandoned boats' crews were being
rescued. For, peeping through her periscope, Submarine _E4_ had
witnessed the whole occurrence--the sinking of _V187_, the subsequent
work of rescue, and the approach of the hostile cruiser. Under her
resourceful captain, Commander E. W. Leir, she had at once proceeded to
attack the enemy; and, though she had not managed to torpedo her, she
had driven her from the scene of action, returning, at the greatest
risk, to the two boats. Coming to the surface, she had taken on board
the whole of the abandoned British crews, as {38} well as a German
officer and two men. Being unable to embark the rest--eighteen wounded
Germans--she had left them with a German officer and six unwounded men,
provided them with water, biscuits, and a compass, and allowed them to
navigate their way back to Heligoland.
While this unique action was in progress, and while the _Arethusa_ was
busy repairing her guns and replenishing her ammunition, let us return
again to the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_, whom we had last seen heading
for Heligoland in the wake of the decoy submarines. These also had
been successful in getting into touch with the enemy forces, and, at
ten o'clock, the _Arethusa_, with most of her guns now in working order
again, received a message from them that they were being chased by
light cruisers, and at once proceeded to their assistance.
Having joined up with them, and being now close to Heligoland,
Commodore Tyrwhitt thought it wiser to retreat a little to the
westward, but, a few minutes later, sighted a four-funnelled German
cruiser, which opened a very heavy fire upon the British force about
eleven o'clock. The position being somewhat critical, Commodore
Tyrwhitt ordered the _Fearless_ to attack and the First Flotilla to
launch torpedoes; but, though they did so with immense spirit, the
cruiser evaded the onslaught and vanished in the mist. Ten minutes
later she appeared again from another direction, to be attacked both by
the _Arethusa_ and the _Fearless_, the former especially escaping
destruction from her only by the slenderest of margins. Salvo after
salvo of shells plunged into the water, some of {39} them barely thirty
feet short of the _Arethusa_, while two torpedoes were also launched at
her, but fortunately also fell short, leaving her unharmed.
Meanwhile both Commodore Tyrwhitt and Commodore Keyes had been
communicating by wireless with Admiral Beatty, who, just after eleven,
having evaded three submarines, ordered the Light Cruiser Squadron to
the support of the light forces. While this was hurrying to their
assistance, however, the _Arethusa's_ 6-inch guns had proved too
accurate for the German cruiser, who had broken off action,
disappearing into the mist again in the direction of the Island. How
badly she was damaged could only be guessed, but, four minutes later,
yet another cruiser was sighted, the three-funnelled _Mainz_, which was
immediately attacked both by the _Arethusa_ and the _Fearless_. The
blood of everybody was up now as never before, and, for twenty-five
minutes, the assault was so fiercely pressed that, at the end of that
time, the _Mainz_, in spite of her powerful resistance, was seen to be
on fire and sinking by the head. Her engines had stopped, and it was
just at this moment that the Light Cruiser Squadron appeared on the
scene, reducing her, in a very few minutes, to a condition that, as
Commodore Tyrwhitt put it, must have been indescribable.
How bad it was let a single quotation from a cruiser officer's diary
suffice to indicate. Watching the deck of the _Mainz_ through his
powerful glasses, he was at first completely puzzled by two things--the
absence of corpses and the enormous profusion of deck-sponges soaked in
blood. It was not for some time {40} that he began to realize that the
one accounted for the other. "Enough said," he wrote, "a six-inch
projectile does not kill a man nor even dismember him; it simply
scatters him."
It was now a quarter past twelve, and, by this time, Admiral Beatty was
himself on the spot. From the reports received by him from the various
squadron and flotilla commanders, and the obvious presence now of many
enemy ships, he had come to the conclusion that, in an action where
speed was essential--the main German bases being so close at hand--the
lighter forces might not be able to deal with the situation
sufficiently rapidly. Bearing in mind the possibilities of a concerted
submarine attack, and the conceivable sortie in force of a German
battle squadron, he decided that his speed would probably baffle the
first, and that the latter, if he were prompt enough, could not arrive
in time; while, for anything less in the way of enemy attack, he had
ample forces at his disposal.
Working up his engines, therefore, to full speed, he overtook the light
cruisers just as they were finishing the _Mainz_, and, a quarter of an
hour afterward, sighted the _Arethusa_ fighting a rearguard action with
a cruiser of the _Kolberg_ class--recognized as the _Köln_. Following
the general plan, he at once steered to cut the latter off from
Heligoland, and, seven minutes later, opened fire, chasing her at full
speed out to sea. While pursuing the _Köln_, another German cruiser,
apparently the _Ariadne_, was seen right ahead, steering at high speed
and at right angles to the _Lion_, who was herself now travelling at 28
knots. In spite of {41} this, and that, before losing her in the mist,
the _Lion_ had only time for a couple of salvoes, she was set on fire,
reduced to a sinking condition, and was soon afterward lost, as the
Germans themselves admitted. This was just before one; mines had been
reported eastward; it was essential that the squadrons should not be
too far dispersed; and therefore Admiral Beatty, desisting from
pursuit, ordered a withdrawal, and returned to the _Köln_. She was
sighted at 1:25, with her ensign still flying; the _Lion_ opened fire
upon her from two turrets; a couple of salvoes sufficed to sink her;
and, within ten minutes, she had disappeared. By this time, the
_Arethusa_, the _Fearless_, and the advanced destroyer flotillas had
been in action almost continuously for more than six hours; the
_Arethusa's_ speed, owing to her injuries, was slowly diminishing knot
by knot; upon the bridge of the little _Laurel_, Commander Frank Rose,
with both his legs crippled, still kept his post; three German cruisers
and two destroyers, including the commodore in command, were known to
have been sunk; and, behind the mists in the Bight, nothing was more
likely than that overwhelming reinforcements were hurrying to the spot.
Under these circumstances, Admiral Beatty decided to withdraw his
forces, covering their retirement with his powerful battle-cruisers;
and it was while doing so that Captain Reginald Hall of the _Queen
Mary_ executed one of the smartest manoeuvres of the day. Watching
from his bridge, and travelling at the time something approaching
thirty knots an hour, he saw an enemy torpedo, ten knots faster, that,
in a matter of moments, {42} would strike him amidships. The
destruction of the _Queen Mary_, had the submarine achieved it, would
have more than outbalanced all the German losses, but, by very sharply
turning full helm, the impact was just avoided in time--the
battle-cruiser and torpedo, till the latter sunk, actually travelling
side by side.
This was the last sign of hostile reaction to one of the most brilliant
little raids in our naval history; and, for the closing picture, we
must turn to Admiral Christian, who, with yet another squadron, had
been waiting out at sea. To him and Rear-Admiral Campbell had been
allotted the task of intercepting any vessels that might have escaped
in this direction; and, at about half-past four, some of Admiral
Campbell's cruisers met Commodore Keyes in the returning _Lurcher_.
Limping along in company with him were the destroyers _Laurel_ and
Liberty, and on board her were 220 of the crew of the _Mainz_,
Commodore Keyes having laid himself alongside the burning cruiser with
the greatest chivalry and skill.
The _Laurel_ was by this time quite unable to proceed farther under her
own steam, and she was accordingly taken in tow by the cruiser
_Amethyst_, the _Bacchante_ and _Cressy_ relieving the _Lurcher_ of her
prisoners, and sailing with them to the Nore. Meanwhile, the
_Arethusa_, after her fiery ordeals, was in hardly better case than the
_Laurel_, and, at seven o'clock, after struggling along homeward at
about six knots an hour, found herself unable to proceed farther, and
signalled for assistance. Two and a half hours later it was then pitch
dark--and with no lights, of course, permissible, the _Hogue_ took her
in tow, the {43} necessary arrangements being carried out with the aid
of a couple of hand lanterns.
So the day ended without the loss to ourselves of a single vessel of
any description; and when, many hours afterward, the news having
preceded her, the _Arethusa_ returned to harbour, scarred and
lopsided--with her eleven dead and seventeen wounded officers and
men--it was little wonder that every ship's syren of all that were
assembled there blew her a welcome, and that every seaman who could
scramble on deck cheered and cheered her again till he was hoarse.
{44}
CHAPTER III
CORONEL
The blood-red sun betrayed our spars,
Fate doomed us ere we started,
Out-gunned, out-manned, out-steamed, we sank,
But not, thank God, out-hearted.
Inevitably the chief interest of the naval story clusters about the
waters of the North Sea; and most of its dramatic moments have had this
ocean for their setting. But, behind the Grand Fleet and its thousand
auxiliaries, watching all the outlets of the German bases, lesser
squadrons and detached cruisers were keeping guard throughout the
world. Similarly, though the vigour and promptitude with which the
Expeditionary Force was rushed across the Channel before the end of
August, have held, and rightly held, the first place in the popular
conception of our armies' movements, it must be remembered that, during
those weeks, many other thousands of men were elsewhere transported
across the waters. It must be remembered that from India alone, before
the end of August, two Divisions and a Cavalry Brigade sailed for Egypt
en route for France; that, during September and October, yet another
Brigade was sent from India to East Africa, in time to avert an
invasion of the British Colony there that might {45} have had most
serious results; that, during October and November, twenty batteries of
Horse, Field, and Heavy artillery, and thirty-two battalions of regular
infantry were relieved by the transport from England to the East of an
equivalent force of Territorials; and that a force of native infantry
was despatched to assist Japan in the successful occupation of Kiao
Chao.
That represented but a small proportion of the continual military
movement that was going on from end to end of our scattered empire; and
it was only one aspect of the tremendous problem that faced our navy in
the outer seas. What this amounted to can best be comprehended,
perhaps, by a brief consideration of what was actually accomplished.
After the first week of August, the mercantile marine activities of the
Central Empires ceased to operate. Six and a half million tons of
shipping in all the seas of the world were thus almost instantly
immobilized. Further, every German colony, but for its wireless, was
isolated from its centre and prepared for capture; while of the two
million men of enemy origin who might otherwise have returned home to
join the armies, scarcely a handful--such was the navy's mastery--was,
in fact, able to do so. Lastly, not a single Dominion, Colony, or
Dependency of Great Britain or her Allies was invaded or seriously
molested by an enemy naval force.
Now to have achieved all this, while at the same time containing the
German High Seas Fleet in the North Sea--and so containing it that not
even a single squadron was able to break through on to our lines {46}
of commerce--is the best witness to the fundamental rightness of our
initial naval strategy; although the test of war immediately emphasized
what was then our chief need--an even larger number, such were our
manifold requirements, of fast battle-cruisers. It was our shortness
in this respect that, in the last analysis, led to the disaster of
Coronel, arguable as the wisdom of certain of our oversea dispositions
may not unjustly now seem to have been. And, while in our treatment of
both the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, as regarded the Mediterranean, and the
command of von Spee in the Far East and subsequently in the South
Pacific, there are many points to be reasonably debated before the bar
of naval judgment, neither problem can be fairly considered apart from
the whole situation. In the present and following chapters we are
concerned only with von Spee and the five vessels under his command.
To consider the vessels first, these consisted of two armoured
cruisers, the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_, and three light
cruisers, the _Nürnberg_, the _Dresden_, and the _Leipzig_. Both the
_Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_ were most efficient units, each with
a speed of over 22 knots, each with a displacement of over 11,000 tons,
a belt of 6-inch armour amidships, and each carrying eight 8.2-inch
guns, six 6-inch guns, eighteen 24-pounders, and four torpedo-tubes.
The three light cruisers were each capable of a speed of about
twenty-five knots, carried ten 4.1-inch, eight 5-pounder, and four
machine-guns, with two submerged torpedo-tubes, and displaced between
3,000 and 4,000 tons. It will be seen at once, therefore, {47} that
they formed a homogeneous and easily manoeuvred squadron, and it may be
readily admitted that they were not only gallantly but very skilfully
handled; while their concentration--since, at the outbreak of war, they
had been scattered over half the world--was a feat of no mean order,
however open to criticism may have been the larger policy involved in
it.
As for von Spee himself, he seems to have been of a type apparently all
too rare in the German naval service, a chivalrous, modest, and
efficient seaman, reticent in victory, and brave in defeat. Under his
command, the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_ had attained an
extremely high standard of gunnery, and it is probable that in this
respect they were second to none flying the German flag.
Leaving Kiao Chao during July, the war had found von Spee and the two
larger cruisers many leagues distant among the Western Pacific islands
and separated by thousands of miles from the other three cruisers, the
_Dresden_, the _Nürnberg_, and the _Leipzig_. Of these the _Dresden_
was in the Atlantic, divided from the other two by the American
continent, and narrowly escaped capture at the hand of the British West
Atlantic Squadron, of which Admiral Cradock was then in command. She
successfully evaded him, however, and, making her way south, entered
South American waters off the coast of Brazil, where her only possible
antagonist at the time was the British cruiser _Glasgow_--a light
cruiser of the _Bristol_ class, displacing about 4,800 tons, capable of
a speed of 25 knots, and carrying two 6-inch and ten 4-inch guns.
{48}
Meanwhile, on August 11th, with all her lights out, there had crept out
of the port of Pernambuco a German steamer, the _Baden_, carrying 5,000
tons of coal, which met and supplied the _Dresden_ at the Rocas
Islands. Three days afterward, the latter sank the _Hyades_, homeward
bound from the River Plate to Holland with a load of grain, and, on
August 26th, she sank the British steamer _Holmwood_, also off the
coast of South America. A fortnight later, on her way to the Pacific,
the _Dresden_ and her collier were creeping round Tierra del Fuego, and
here they met a second collier, the _Santa Isabel_, which had left
Buenos Aires on the 6th of August, nominally bound for Togo.
That was in the middle of September, and, about a fortnight later, with
her name effaced, her masts altered, and her funnels repainted, the
_Santa Isabel_ entered Valparaiso, remaining there until the end of the
month, when she cleared, nominally for Hamburg, but in reality to join
von Spee. In the meantime the _Dresden_ had announced her arrival in
the Pacific by attacking the liner _Ortega_ near the western entrance
of the Magellan Straits; and it was only by the resource and seamanship
of the latter's captain that the British ship succeeded in escaping.
Bound for Valparaiso with 300 French reservists on board, she had a
normal speed of no more than 14 knots, while the _Dresden_, as we have
seen, was at least half as fast again. But the Master of the _Ortega_
was not to be beaten. Calling for volunteers to assist the stokers, he
succeeded in working his old liner up to 18 knots an hour, and at the
same time headed for {49} Nelson's Strait--a perilous and uncharted
passage. Chased by the _Dresden_, and with her shells plunging on each
side of him, he made the dangerous channel in safety. The _Dresden_
turned on her heel, afraid to follow him; and he successfully
navigated, probably for the first time in history, an 8,000-ton liner
through Nelson's Strait.
With the _Dresden_ in the Pacific, all von Spee's future squadron was
now at least in the same ocean, and both the _Nürnberg_ and _Leipzig_,
by stealthy degrees, were approaching the German admiral--the former,
during September, having cut the cable between Bamfield in British
Columbia and the Fanning Islands, and the latter having sunk the
British steamer _Bankfield_ off Peru, while en route to England with
6,000 tons of sugar; the oil tank _Elsinore_; and the steamer _Vine
Branch_, outward bound from England to Guayaquil.
Whether, in the long run, it would not have been to Germany's advantage
for these cruisers to have played their lone hands on the commercial
trade routes; to have followed the example of the _Emden_ and
_Karlsrühe_ rather than to have formed a fighting squadron, is a matter
for argument. Coronel was their justification. The Falkland Islands
saw their end. It was finally in the neighbourhood of Easter Island
that they united with von Spee, who had in his turn eluded both the
China and Australian squadrons, sinking a small French gunboat off
Papeete, and bombarding the town on September 22d.
By this time, the _Glasgow_ had been reinforced in {50} Brazilian
waters by Sir Christopher Cradock in the _Good Hope_ and Captain Brandt
in the _Monmouth_, with the armed liner _Otranto_ in attendance; and
they, too, after similar secret coaling, were making their way round
Cape Horn into the Pacific. Time after time they had heard, faint and
far, the wireless calls of the _Dresden_ and her colliers--they had
even, on more than one occasion, quite unsuspectingly, been within a
comparatively few miles of her--but they had never found her and were
but slowly able to divine her intention of joining von Spee.
That this admiral, with the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_, was
making his way eastward was now probable, and the old battleship
_Canopus_ was in consequence on her way to strengthen Cradock with her
12-inch guns. Up to the last, however, all were uncertain of the
enemy's exact whereabouts and strength; and this was the position when,
on the last day of October, 1914, the _Glasgow_ was detached to run
into Coronel--not unknown to von Spee, who had instantly ordered the
_Nürnberg_ to hover outside and watch her movements.
Such had been the steps whereby, across so many leagues of water, the
opposing squadrons had been collected; had felt their way tentatively,
and, as it were, half blindfold, into the neighbourhood of each other;
and were now, off the coast of Chile, each so far from home, on the
verge of their fatal collision. With the character and strength of von
Spee and his forces we have already briefly dealt; and, in Admiral
Cradock, he had an opponent of an essentially British and traditional
type. A lover of sport, particular as {51} to his wines, of medium
stature, bearded and swarthy, Sir Christopher Cradock was less
identified with the modern and scientific school of naval officer than
with those light-hearted adventurers, of whom Sir Richard Grenville in
his little _Revenge_ stands as an historic example.
Entering the navy in 1875, he had been attached in 1891 to the East
Soudan Field Force, had acted as A.D.C. to the Governor of the Red Sea,
and been present at the Battle of Tokar. For his services in that
campaign, he had received the Khedive's Bronze Star and the fourth
class of the Medjidieh. Nine years later saw him with the British
Naval Brigade in China at the capture of the Taku Forts and the relief
of Tientsin, and for this he had received the China Medal with clasps,
and, in 1902, the C.B. In 1904 he was given the testimonial of the
Royal Humane Society for saving the life of a midshipman in Palmas Bay,
Sardinia; in 1909 he was A.D.C. to the King, and received the K.C.V.O.
in 1912. At the outbreak of the war, as we have seen, he was in charge
of the West Atlantic Squadron.
Such was von Spee's opponent--a man perhaps, if anything, too ready to
fight, whatever the odds though it must not be forgotten that, until
retreat was impossible, he could hardly have been certain of the forces
against him. Whether or not he should have deduced these--whether he
had in fact done so--must remain a matter of opinion; the captain of
the _Canopus_ seems to have entreated him not to join issue without
him; but it is equally clear that, if he had waited for the slow old
battleship, von Spee, {52} had he so desired, could have avoided action
indefinitely.
Considered in the light of after events, indeed, no action of the war
seems to have depended less on human prevision, or to have been so
determined by natural forces and a leisurely and inscrutable destiny.
From the beginning, the odds were against Cradock, just as, six weeks
later, they were against von Spee; and when the _Glasgow_, the first to
sight the enemy, saw the four funnels of the _Scharnhorst_ and the
_Gneisenau_, there could have been little doubt, save for extraordinary
good luck, of the final issue of the battle.
Opposed to these two cruisers, each faster than the _Good Hope_ or the
_Monmouth_, the _Good Hope_ had an armament of two 9.2-inch guns as
against the eight 8.2-inch guns of the _Scharnhorst_, while the
_Monmouth_ in reply to the _Gneisenau_, with an equal armament to the
_Scharnhorst_, could oppose nothing more powerful than 6-inch guns
which were therefore completely outranged. The _Good Hope_ herself,
indeed, owing to faulty construction and the heavy seas, was but little
better off; the _Otranto_, an unarmoured liner, was wholly useless in
such an emergency; the middle-aged _Canopus_, with her superior
gun-power, was still plunging along 200 miles away; while the
_Glasgow_, speedy and efficient as she was, was no match for the
combined _Dresden_ and _Leipzig_--to say nothing of the _Nürnberg_, who
came up later to complete the destruction of the _Monmouth_.
It was about a quarter past four on the afternoon of November 1, 1914,
Admiral von Spee being then some forty miles north of the Bay of Arauco
on the {53} Chilian coast, and the _Nürnberg_, which had returned after
her vigil, having been once more detached on a scouting cruise, that
the _Glasgow_ and _Monmouth_, _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ first
sighted and identified each other. It had been a day of strong
sunshine, sudden showers, high wind and a rough sea, and all the ships,
especially the smaller cruisers, were rolling heavily and shipping a
lot of water. When first sighted, the _Glasgow_ and _Monmouth_, soon
to be joined by the _Otranto_, were to the southwest of the German
admiral, fifteen miles distant and pursuing a southerly course--obeying
the order of Admiral Cradock to join up with the _Good Hope_. This was
still invisible to the German squadron, but was sighted about forty
minutes later, when Admiral Cradock took the head of the British line
and both sides moved into battle formation.
The position at this moment--with the long prologue over and the
curtain rising upon the first act was as follows: a little to the north
and nearer to the land, that is to say somewhat east of the British
line, the Germans were steaming south, the _Scharnhorst_ leading,
followed by the _Gneisenau_ and the _Leipzig_. The _Dresden_ was some
miles astern, and the _Nürnberg_ not yet in sight, though she had been
recalled from her second patrol. On the British side, also steaming
south, farther to sea, Admiral Cradock was leading, followed by the
_Monmouth_ and the _Glasgow_, the _Otranto_ bringing up the rear, and
with the _Canopus_ far to the south, steaming north, but of course out
of the picture.
This was at about half-past five, both sides being {54} fully aware now
of the strength and disposition of the other; both suffering severely
from the strong head wind and high seas that were continually burying
them, and both with their eyes upon the setting sun now dropping
rapidly toward the horizon. How vital that sun was each had instantly
perceived. For the moment, protected by the glare of it, it advantaged
Sir Christopher Cradock, von Spee's squadron being brightly
illuminated. But the distance was far too great for the British guns,
and, in less than an hour, the conditions would be reversed. In less
than an hour, himself in half darkness, von Spee would have the British
silhouetted against the after-glow; and, in consequence, there had
begun a race, which could have but one ending, for the inside or
landward position.
Already nearer to the land than Admiral Cradock, and perceiving
Cradock's manoeuvre to try and reverse this, von Spee had crammed full
speed on, and was racing to forestall him, in the teeth of the wind, at
20 knots an hour. To do so was essential, and to secure this position
he outraced the _Leipzig_ and _Dresden_, his superior speed enabling
him to draw parallel with Cradock, while ten miles of sea still parted
the squadrons. Here, while keeping pace with the slower British
vessels, he was able to slacken down and await the _Leipzig_ and
_Dresden_; and when, at ten minutes past six, these had joined him, he
began to draw nearer to the doomed British squadron. This, as all had
foreseen, was now a series of dark targets, tossing clearly outlined
against the sunset, with the rising moon in the east to render a chance
of escape {55} even less possible; and, at a distance of a little over
five miles, von Spee ordered the first shot.
The battle was now joined, and with every circumstance conspiring
against the indomitable Cradock and his men. Handicapped by the seas
as both sides were, the British, farther out, suffered more severely;
while, to the expert gunners of the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_,
discounting this one factor, they formed an ideal objective. Within
five minutes the _Good Hope_ was hit, and, though she replied at once,
her fire was ineffective; while, during the next quarter of an hour,
the _Scharnhorst's_ gunners were finding her time after time.
Meanwhile the _Otranto_ had been ordered out of action; the
_Gneisenau_. was pouring shell into the _Monmouth_; and the _Leipzig_
and _Dresden_ were engaging the _Glasgow_, who was gallantly spending
to the best of her ability.
So the fight went on through the brief twilight and into the early
moonlit darkness. Thirty-five hits upon the ill-fated _Good Hope_ were
counted by the _Scharnhorst's_ gunners. One of her turrets was
destroyed and a fire started, followed presently by an explosion that
shook the whole air--the white flames mingling, in von Spee's own
words, "with the bright green stars," like some dreadful firework.
That as von Spee believed, was the end of her. But Cradock was not yet
finished, though his guns were out of action. The opposing vessels
were now only two miles apart and the _Good Hope_ was trying to
manoeuvre to let off her torpedoes. It was but an expiring effort,
however; von Spee stood away a little; the _Monmouth_, totally
outgunned, had already been silenced; a {56} hurrying rain-cloud had
added to the darkness; and, though the German gunners, sighting by the
red reflection of the fires that they had kindled on the two British
vessels, still continued to fire a round or two, their adversaries were
powerless to respond.
It was now nearly eight o'clock. To the watching von Spee, the fires
on the horizon had died down, the _Good Hope's_ quenched by the seas
that covered her, and the _Monmouth's_ put out by the efforts of her
crew. Though both vessels must, he knew, have been badly crippled, von
Spee was unaware, of course, of their real condition, and had ordered
his light cruisers to chase and attack them, himself crossing the
British line, and turning his course northward.
Meanwhile the _Monmouth_, staggering along in the darkness, and slowly
sinking by the head, was in touch with the _Glasgow_--the neighbourhood
of the enemy and the state of the sea rendering any assistance from the
latter impossible. The _Glasgow_ herself had had an almost miraculous
escape, not only from destruction, but even from serious damage. "I
cannot understand," wrote one of her officers, "the miracle of our
deliverance; none will ever. We were struck at the water-line by, in
all, five shells out of about 600 directed at us, but strangely not in
vulnerable places, our coal saving us on three occasions--as we are not
armoured and should not be in battle line against armoured vessels. We
had only two guns that would pierce their armour--the _Good Hope's_ old
two 9.2's, one of which was out of action ten minutes after the start.
A shell entered the captain's pantry and continued on, bursting in a
{57} passage, the fragments going through the steel wall of the
captain's cabin, wrecking it completely. Again no fire resulted."
Such was the position, with the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ hunting
them through the darkness up from the south, the _Dresden_ and
_Leipzig_ between them and the land, and the _Nürnberg_ steaming down
from the north. To remain together would be to sacrifice both; the
_Canopus_, still in ignorance, had to be warned; and the _Monmouth_
seems to have signalled to the _Glasgow_, advising her to part company
and make her escape as best she could. As senior officer, however, the
decision rested with the _Glasgow's_ captain; and it would be difficult
to conceive a more poignant situation. Every instinct not only of
himself but of all on board bade him stay with the _Monmouth_. But the
reasons for not doing so were remorseless, and had, in the event, to be
obeyed. Moreover, the enemy had already been sighted steaming abreast,
about four miles away, morsing with an oil lamp; and the reluctant
order to depart at full speed could no longer be delayed. Half an hour
later, far behind them, the watchers on the _Glasgow_ counted
seventy-five flashes. On her way to rejoin von Spee, and almost by
accident, the _Nürnberg_ had run across the _Monmouth_ and sunk her
with point-blank fire.
Sir Christopher Cradock was a Yorkshireman, and, upon the monument to
his honour, unveiled two years later in York Minster, were inscribed
these words from the Book of Maccabees, than which none could have more
fully expressed him--
{58}
God forbid that I should do this thing,
To flee away from them;
If our time be come, let us die manfully for our brethren,
And let us not stain our honour.
So ended the first act of this outer-sea epic. That another was to
follow none knew better than von Spee.
{59}
CHAPTER IV
THE BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS
Situated off the southeast coast of South America the group of islands,
known as the Falklands, had definitely belonged to Great Britain since
1833. It consisted of about a hundred larger and smaller islands, the
two chief being East and West Falkland, separated by a narrow channel
of water known as the Falkland Sound. About 250 miles, at the nearest
point, from Tierra del Fuego in the extreme south of the continent,
they were some 300 miles distant from the Atlantic entrance of the
Magellan Straits. Their climate was healthful but not attractive.
Rain fell on more than half the days of the year. The seas surrounding
them, even in their December midsummer, were of an arctic coldness and
more often than not shrouded with mists that made navigation difficult
and unpleasant. The chief industry was sheep farming, most of the
farmers and shepherds being of Scottish descent; but there was a
certain amount of business done at Port Stanley in the way of
ship-repairing and the provision of marine stores.
Until 1904, when it was abandoned as such, Port Stanley had been a
naval station, and it still remained the principal town of the islands
and the headquarters {60} of the Government. Situated on the
easternmost projection of the eastern of the two chief islands, it had
a population of about a thousand, and stood on a tongue of land between
the ocean on the south and the innermost of two natural and connected
harbours on the north. Of these, the outer and larger was known as
Port William, with its entrance to the east, the inner recess, on the
shore of which stands the town, being known as Port Stanley.
In 1914 the Governor was the Hon. W. L. Allardyce, and it was toward
the middle of October that he heard from the Admiralty that a raid on
the islands was to be expected and that suitable precautions should be
taken. Accordingly, on October 19th, a notice was posted that all
women and children were to leave Port Stanley; and this was promptly
obeyed, camps being formed inland, and provisions stored in various
places. All Government documents, books, and monies were removed from
the town and conveyed to a safe hiding-place; while, at the same time,
a defense force was organized under the Governor, mustering, all told,
about 130 men. All were good shots, and, with their two machine-guns,
were fully prepared to fight to the last. On advice from the
Admiralty, they were to adopt retiring tactics, should the Germans
land; horses and emergency rations were provided for everybody; and,
with their knowledge of the terrain, and their island hardihood, there
can be little doubt that they would have put up a strong resistance.
This was the position in the island when, on November 3d, a wireless
message was received, {61} announcing the disaster at Coronel; and,
five days later, this was followed by the arrival of the _Glasgow_ and
_Canopus_. A raid by the enemy now amounted to a certainty; both the
British vessels believed the Germans to be on their heels; and when, a
few hours afterward, they received orders to sail for Monte Video, the
feelings of the defenders naturally sank a little. They kept up a
stout heart, however; the strictest watch was maintained; for several
days and nights the Governor never had his clothes off; and, when the
_Canopus_ reappeared, having been turned back before reaching Monte
Video, in order to help the islanders with her guns, there was a
general conviction that they would be able to give von Spee a somewhat
difficult problem to solve on his arrival.
Laying a chain of mines at the entrance to Port William, the _Canopus_
was put aground in the inner harbour, whence, protected by the land,
she would be able to fire her big shells out to sea; her smaller guns
were converted into batteries, mounted in strategic positions among the
surrounding hills. Meanwhile in England, under Lord Fisher, who had
been recalled to the Admiralty as First Sea Lord, secret and decisive
measures had been instantly adopted. Within ten days of the Battle of
Coronel, by an act of the same genius that had created them, the
_Invincible_ and _Inflexible_--two of our earlier, but still very
powerful battle-cruisers, each capable of a speed of 27 knots and
carrying eight 12-inch guns--had been detached from the Grand Fleet,
coaled and munitioned, and, under Vice-Admiral Sir Doveton Sturdee,
were steaming toward the equator, unknown {62} to the world, to avenge
Sir Christopher Cradock and his lost crew.
Ten days later, at a rendezvous in the South Atlantic, they met their
assigned consorts under Rear-Admiral Stoddart; and here the fleet
assembled that was to proceed, first to the Falkland Islands, and
thence, round Cape Horn, to engage von Spee. Apart from its colliers,
of which there were about fourteen, several of these being out-steamed
on the way to Port Stanley, it consisted of the _Carnarvon_, with
Rear-Admiral Stoddart, the _Kent_, _Glasgow_, _Bristol_, and the armed
merchantman _Macedonia_, including, of course, the two battle-cruisers
from England, Sir Doveton Sturdee flying his flag on the _Invincible_.
The _Glasgow_ had been in Rio as recently as November 16th, but every
precaution against discovery had been taken; all communication by
wireless had been strictly forbidden by Admiral Sturdee; and, at about
eleven o'clock on the morning of December 7th, the squadron slipped
quietly into Port William. For the anxious defense force on the
islands the long vigil was now at an end. For such of the officers as
could be spared ashore, and for those whose vessels had to wait their
turn for coaling it was a welcome opportunity to touch land again, and
they were sufficiently prompt to make characteristic use of it. One of
them tells us that, sallying out with his gun, he shot two geese and
six hares for the wardroom larder--as ignorant as everybody else of the
larger game that was even then heading for the islands.
For the most part, however, all on board every {63} vessel were hard at
work getting ready for the search--a search that was still believed, of
course, to be inevitable, no news of von Spee having reached the
island. The _Glasgow_ and _Bristol_, in the inner harbour, were the
first to coal, followed by the _Carnarvon_, who only finished at four
o'clock the next morning, her collier, the _Trelawney_, then going to
the _Invincible_. This was berthed beside her in the outer harbour of
Port William, the _Inflexible_ keeping them company, with the _Kent_
and _Cornwall_ lying a little to the south, the _Kent_, with her steam
up, acting as guardship. Further to seaward, beyond the mine barrage,
was anchored the _Macedonia_, serving as a look-out vessel; while in
the inner harbour were the _Bristol_ and _Glasgow_, with the old
_Canopus_ still aground there. So the night passed. At various points
in the islands, the volunteer sentries kept their watch; and it was
from one of these, stationed on Sapper's Hill, above Port Stanley, that
the first news of the approach of enemy vessels was received between
seven and eight the next morning.
The day had dawned clear, with a calm sea and a light breeze blowing
from the northwest. From horizon to horizon, in the glowing sunlight,
the sea stretched blue as the Mediterranean. It was such a day as, in
the Falkland Islands, might for weeks together have been prayed for in
vain; and, hidden in the harbour, lay such a fleet as von Spee, in his
most depressed moments, was unlikely to have pictured. That he would
find the _Canopus_ there he may have thought probable. That the
_Glasgow_ and _Bristol_ might be there he had deduced from their
wireless. {64} But that the giant battle-cruisers, _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_, lay quiet as death behind those painted hills--that this
December morning was the last morning that he would ever look upon on
earth--none had told him, and, for all his forebodings, he himself
could never have guessed. But the stage was set again; the curtain had
risen; the watcher on Sapper's Hill had heralded the last act. Let us
look down for a moment with impartial eyes upon the chosen scene. Far
to the south, resolved at last on action, but soon to pay the price of
its strange hesitation, steamed the German squadron with its two
colliers, the _Santa Isabel_ and the _Baden_. To the watcher on
Sapper's Hill, at that early hour, only the foremost cruisers were as
yet observable, faint smudges on the southern horizon--the _Gneisenau_
and the _Nürnberg_. Equally faint, but clear and at their mercy, must
have seemed that spit of land to the observers on the _Gneisenau_,
wholly unconscious, as they then were, of the brisk activities that lay
behind it. Nor were the cruisers in the hidden harbour any more aware
of what the day heralded for them. With the prospect before them of a
voyage round Cape Horn, they were stirring with preparations, but not
for immediate action. The _Kent_ alone of them, acting as guard-ship
at the mouth of Port William, had her steam up. Only the _Glasgow_ and
_Bristol_ in the inner harbour had finished coaling and lay with full
bunkers; and the latter had her fires out in order that her boilers
might be cleaned. Beside the flagship _Invincible_, the colliers were
still busy; the flag-lieutenant was yawning in his dressing-gown over a
cup of tea. The _Inflexible_, {65} on one side of her, was in similar
case, while, upon the other, the _Cornwall_ was busy repairing her
engines. Over them all arched a sky of serene and cloudless beauty.
The air was so limpid that, through powerful glasses, the events of
fifteen miles away might be happening almost at hand.
The flag-lieutenant went on yawning. He had had a long day yesterday,
had been working most of the night, and was short of sleep. There came
a knock at the door. A signalman entered. The smudges on the horizon
had revealed themselves as men-of-war. They could only be von Spee's,
and yet it was hardly believable. To tell the admiral was the work of
an instant; and soon the amazing tidings were known throughout the
fleet. The _Kent_ was at once ordered to weigh anchor, and every ship
in the squadron to raise steam for full speed. Colliers were shoved
off. Sailors who were in their "land rig" scrambled out of it like
quick-change artists. Down in the engine-rooms, grimed men worked
miracles, of which, for the moment, let the _Cornwall_ give an example.
At eight o'clock, as we have said, she had her starboard engine down,
with one cylinder opened for repairs at six hours' notice; and yet,
before ten o'clock, she was under way, and, by a quarter past eleven,
making more than twenty knots.
Meanwhile, at twenty minutes past eight, the Sapper's Hill signaller
had reported more smoke on the horizon; and, a quarter of an hour
later, as the _Kent_ steamed to the harbour entrance, the captain of
the _Canopus_ reported this to be proceeding from two ships about
twenty miles off, the two first sighted {66} being now little more than
eight miles away. Three minutes afterward yet another column of smoke
was signalled from Sapper's Hill; and the _Macedonia_ was ordered to
weigh anchor on the inner side of the other cruisers. It was now
evident that von Spee was arriving in force, probably with the whole of
his squadron; and, at twenty minutes past nine, the _Gneisenau_ and
_Nürnberg_ were seen, broadside on, training their guns on the wireless
station. By this time, however, at less than seven miles distance,
they were well within range of the _Canopus_, who anticipated them by
firing a salvo over the low-lying tongue of land that sheltered her.
None of this first shower of 12-inch shells seems to have been
effective in damaging the enemy; but it no doubt confirmed for the
German admiral the presence of the _Canopus_ in the harbour; and both
the _Gneisenau_ and _Nürnberg_ were at once observed to alter their
course. For a moment it appeared as if they intended to approach the
_Kent_ at the harbour entrance, but, a few minutes later, they wore
away with the evident intention of joining their comrades.
Both cruisers were now visible from the upper bridge of the
_Invincible_; and the tops of the _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_ must
have been equally apparent to them; though it still seems uncertain
whether they had positively identified yet the two great cruisers that
spelt their doom. Meanwhile, in the harbour, every preparation was
being pushed forward with the utmost speed. At twenty minutes to ten
the _Glasgow_ weighed anchor and steamed down the harbour to join the
_Kent_. Next to the two battle-cruisers, she {67} was the speediest
vessel in the squadron, and her orders were to observe the enemy. Five
minutes later, the _Carnarvon_ put out, followed by the _Inflexible_,
_Invincible_, and _Cornwall_, the two big battle-cruisers burning their
oil fuel, prudently spared for the occasion that had arrived.
It was now twenty minutes past ten, and the character of the future
action was already determined. For the Germans it had become instantly
clear that their only hope--if such it might be called--lay in flight;
and, on the British side, the order had been signalled for a general
chase at full speed. Gathering pace, the two battle-cruisers from the
north soon overtook and outstripped the _Carnarvon_ and _Kent_, the
position at eleven o'clock, with the squadron as a whole making about
20 knots, being as follows--the _Glasgow_ was still leading, but had
been ordered to remain within two miles of the flagship _Invincible_;
next came the _Invincible_ herself, with her decks flooded by hoses to
prevent fire and wash away the last of the coal-dust; the _Inflexible_
followed behind her, on her starboard quarter, with the _Kent_ falling
away from her astern and aport, followed by the _Carnarvon_, with the
faster _Cornwall_ reluctantly obeying orders to remain upon her
quarter. Left behind in the harbour were the _Bristol_ and
_Macedonia_; but, just at this moment, on the other side of the island,
a lady watcher at Fitz Roy, Mrs. Roy Felton, had seen and reported
three other German vessels. Two of these--the third made its
escape--were the colliers, already familiar to us, the _Santa Isabel_
and _Baden_. The coal on board these vessels {68} had been obtained
from various sources since the action off Coronel, some from the
_Valentino_, a French prize, and some from the British vessel
_Drummuir_, captured on December 2d; and the _Bristol_ and _Macedonia_
were at once ordered by Admiral Sturdee to deal with them. Between
nine and ten miles to the south, on a course east-north-east, von Spee
in the _Scharnhorst_ was travelling at full speed, followed by the
_Dresden_, the _Gneisenau_, the _Nürnberg_, and the _Leipzig_, in the
order named.
This was the situation then, and, before considering in detail one of
the completest naval victories in our history, let us examine it for a
moment as it presented itself to Admiral Sturdee, a remarkably
cool-brained and deliberate tactician. With a long day in front of
him, with nothing to fear in the way of destroyer or submarine-attack,
with the whole of the enemy squadron now before his eyes, and with
perfect visibility, he possessed under his command, in his own
flagship, in the _Inflexible_, and in the _Glasgow_, three vessels at
least that, in the matter of speed, were considerably superior to the
enemy. Further, although the enemy's gunnery was known to be excellent
both in speed and accuracy, the 12-inch guns of the _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_ enabled him to dictate a long-range action; and there were
two other weighty considerations that suggested the wisdom of such a
course. For, while in gun-power the two battle-cruisers were far ahead
of the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, in armour they were not so
strong; and the nearest repairing yard was at Gibraltar. There were no
obligations, therefore, to run {69} any risk. There was every reason
for not doing so. So long as, in the end, the Germans were sunk, a few
hours would make no difference. Sailors fight best when well fed.
Tobacco is an excellent solvent for undue excitement; and the British
admiral therefore gave orders that dinner was to be served as usual,
and that the men were to be allowed a few minutes for a quiet smoke.
As one of the officers on the flagship afterward observed, they might
almost have been at manoeuvres off Spithead--precisely the atmosphere
that Admiral Sturdee had wisely designed to create.
It was at five minutes to one, at a range of about nine miles, that the
first shot was fired by the _Inflexible_, taking for her target the
light cruiser _Leipzig_, the last vessel of von Spee's line. Five
minutes afterward the _Invincible_ followed suit, also taking the
_Leipzig_ for her target; and soon afterward the battle resolved itself
into three separate encounters--that between the _Invincible_,
_Inflexible_, and _Carnarvon_, and the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_;
that between the _Glasgow_ and _Cornwall_, and the _Leipzig_; and
finally, after an epic chase, that in which the _Kent_ overtook and
sank the _Nürnberg_.
These conditions were first brought about when, at twenty minutes past
one, the _Leipzig_ turned away toward the southwest, soon to be
followed by the _Nürnberg_ and _Dresden_, with the _Glasgow_, _Kent_,
and _Cornwall_ in pursuit. With them had started the _Carnarvon_, but
the rear-admiral in command of her, finding his speed insufficient to
keep up with the light cruisers, had to give up the chase, and joined
the _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_ in engaging the {70} _Scharnhorst_
and _Gneisenau_. Leaving the action of the smaller cruisers in the
capable hands of Captain Luce of the _Glasgow_, let us follow the
fortunes of the other three in the most immediate and important task.
Of these the ten-year-old _Carnarvon_, pushing on as stoutly as she
could, was still trying vainly to keep up with her swifter sisters; and
the first encounter was reduced, therefore, to a four-cornered fight
lasting for about fifty minutes.
Beginning at twenty minutes past one, the _Scharnhorst_ and
_Gneisenau_, after five minutes of a running battle, turned a little to
port, began to close the range, and accepted the challenge; and, five
minutes later, opened fire themselves. Though of smaller calibre,
their guns, firing very rapidly, were as usual handled with extreme
ability; and, in the words of the flag-lieutenant--half-way up the
_Invincible's_ foremast, in the director-tower with Admiral
Sturdee--they shot indeed "fiendishly well." "We went on hammering
away," he wrote, "for some time, getting closer and closer, and they
were hitting us pretty badly. I thought that our foremast had gone
once. The Admiral and I were half-way up so as to get a good view.
One of the legs of the mast was shot away. Shell fire is unpleasant,
to put it mildly. Exploding shells, when they hit the ship, are worse,
as one wonders how many she will stand. The Admiral was wonderfully
cool and collected, and I bobbed my head at every shell, and got a
stiff neck from doing it!"
At a quarter to two the _Invincible_ was being straddled--the
_Scharnhorst's_ shells, that is to say, were exploding on both sides of
her--and Admiral {71} Sturdee, consistently with his plan of action,
drew away a little to avoid undue risks. The _Scharnhorst_ had by this
time been hit on several occasions, but had not been disabled, though
she broke off the action; and, at ten minutes past two, the fight
became a chase again, the _Invincible_ reopening fire at a quarter to
three. For eight minutes, again out-ranging them, the _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_ hammered the two German cruisers, forcing them round to
port once more to reply as best they could. The heavier British guns
had now begun definitely to tell, however, and the _Scharnhorst_ was
already on fire forward. "We hit again and again," wrote Midshipman
John Esmonde in a letter to his father after the action. "First our
left gun sent her big crane spinning over the side. Then our right gun
blew her funnel to atoms, and then another shot from the left gun sent
her bridge and part of the forecastle sky-high. We were not escaping
free, however. Shots were hitting us repeatedly, and the spray from
the splashes of their shells was hiding the _Scharnhorst_ from us....
Down came the range--11,000, 10,000, 9,000, to 8,800. We were hitting
the _Scharnhorst_ very nearly every time. One beauty from our right
gun got one of her turrets fair and square and sent it whistling over
the side. Suddenly our right gun misfired--we had got a jamb and one
gun was out of action. The breech had caught against one of the cages
and would neither open nor shut. We opened up the trap hatch, and I
jumped out, and down the ladder with two men to try and find a crowbar.
The 12-inch guns were firing all round us, and our left gun was {72}
doing work for two now that the right was jambed. The German shells
were whistling unpleasantly close and there were splinters flying all
over the place. The _Scharnhorst_ was firing heavily, but I could see
she was in a bad way. She was down by the bows and badly on fire
amidships. I got the crowbar and brought it in, but they wanted a
hacksaw as well, so I jumped out again, and just as I was coming back I
saw the _Scharnhorst's_ ensign dip (never knew whether it came down or
not, because just then one of the lyddite shells hit her and there was
a dense cloud of smoke all over her).[1] When it cleared she was on
her side, and her propellers were lashing the water round into foam.
Then she capsized altogether, going to the bottom."
[1] As a matter of fact, the _Scharnhorst's_ ensign was not lowered,
but, as Admiral Sturdee afterward remarked, "Von Spee met his fate like
a brave Admiral, though our foe."
That was at a quarter past four; her consort the _Gneisenau_ was still
firing with all her guns; and, by this time, the old _Carnarvon_ had at
last arrived upon the scene--she had in fact fired a couple of shots at
the _Scharnhorst_. The three cruisers, therefore, now turned their
attention to the _Gneisenau_, who, after a moment's hesitation, turned
and stood at bay. Nothing in the whole day, indeed, was more gallant
than her vain but desperate resistance. At half-past four she was
still straddling the _Invincible_, though without causing casualties or
serious damage. A few minutes after five, her forward funnel was
knocked out and remained lolling against the second. Seven minutes
later, just as she hit the _Invincible_ {73} for the last time, she was
herself badly damaged again between the third and fourth funnels; and
how accurate the British fire had become can be gathered from the
notebook of one of her officers, afterward rescued. "Five ten," he
wrote, "hit, hit; 5.12, hit; 5:14, hit, hit, hit again; 5:20,
after-turret gone; 5:40, hit, hit--on fire everywhere; 5:41, hit,
hit--burning everywhere and sinking; 5:45, hit--men lying everywhere;
5:46, hit, hit."
Listing heavily to starboard, and with her engines stopped, Admiral
Sturdee had ordered the "Cease Fire" signal at about half-past five.
But, before it could be hoisted, the _Gneisenau_ began to shoot again,
though now only spasmodically and with a single gun. She seems to have
fired, indeed, until her ammunition was exhausted, when, at ten minutes
to six, Admiral Sturdee ordered the "Cease Fire" again and, twelve
minutes later, she turned on her side. "Then at last," wrote another
officer, "away first and second cutters, man sea-boat. For the
_Gneisenau_ is heeling right over on her side in the water. The
beggars are done for. All our efforts will now be to save life, having
done our utmost for five hours to destroy it.... Three of our boats
are away picking up survivors. The _Inflexible's_ boats are doing the
same, and so are the _Carnarvon's_. The sea, which, so different from
its state at noonday, is now quite angry, is strewn with floating
wreckage supporting drowning men. To add to the misery, a drizzling
rain is falling. We cast overboard every rope's end we can, and try
our hands at casting to some wretch feebly struggling within a few
yards of {74} the ship's side. Missed him! Another shot. He's
farther off now! Ah! The rope isn't long enough. No good, try
someone else. He's sunk now.... Many such do we see. Now we lend a
hand hauling at a rope, pulling some poor devil out of the water. As
they are hauled on deck they are taken below into the wardroom
ante-room, or the Admiral's spare cabin. Here with knives we tear off
their dripping clothing. Then with towels we try to start a little
warmth in their ice-cold bodies. They are trembling, violently
trembling from the iciness of their immersion. Some of them had stuck
it for thirty minutes in a temperature of 35 degrees Fahrenheit!"
"The _Invincible_ alone," reported Admiral Sturdee, "rescued 108 men,
fourteen of whom were found to be dead after being brought on board.
These men were buried at sea the following day with full military
honours." Few will say that they were undeserved.
By now the battle had been distributed over many leagues of sea; the
units engaged were not only out of sight of each other, but even beyond
the sound of each other's guns; and it is time to return to Captain
Luce in his war-scarred _Glasgow_, who, with the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_,
was pursuing the three light cruisers. More perhaps than to any others
of the officers and crews engaged did their part in this struggle mean
to those of the _Glasgow_. The sole survivors of Coronel, they had
lived, as none of their comrades had done, for a bitter five weeks,
with the picture of it before them. When all would fain have stayed
and fought to the last, they had been compelled, in the interests of
their service, to take the harder way. {75} They had a peculiar debt
to discharge, and now, if they could but seize it, their hour had come
to repay it with interest.
It was at about twenty minutes past one when the three German cruisers
had broken away toward the southwest, the _Dresden_ leading with the
_Nürnberg_ and _Leipzig_ following her on each quarter. The distance
then separating them from the _Glasgow_, _Kent_, and _Cornwall_, was
from nine to eleven miles; all were speedy, the _Dresden_ being the
fastest; and a long, stern chase therefore ensued. Of the three
British cruisers, the _Glasgow_, in spite of her late experiences, was
still considerably the swiftest; and she soon drew away from them,
overhauling the _Leipzig_ and _Nürnberg_, until at three o'clock she
was within seven miles of the former. Her idea was now, if possible,
so to outrange the _Leipzig_ as to turn and delay her until the arrival
of the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_, far slower vessels even than the
_Leipzig_, but carrying fourteen 6-inch guns to the _Glasgow's_ two.
At three o'clock, therefore, she opened fire with her 6-inch guns, and,
for more than an hour, engaged the _Leipzig_ until the arrival of the
_Cornwall_. By that time she had already hit her many times over, but
had had to draw away on several occasions, owing to the accuracy of the
_Leipzig's_ gunners. With time and speed and the range on his side,
Captain Luce, like his admiral, could afford to be deliberate; and yet
even so, with a little more luck, the _Leipzig_ might have damaged the
_Glasgow_ rather severely. Two of her officers stationed in the
control-top had a very narrow escape from losing their lives, a shell
passing between them, {76} and carrying away the hand of a
signalman--three other men being wounded and one killed at about the
same time. After an hour and a quarter, and having had an early tea,
the _Cornwall_ arrived on the scene, and was soon, as one of the
_Glasgow's_ seamen, admitted, "shooting very well."
We have last seen the _Cornwall_, not wholly to her liking, upon the
quarter of the even slower _Carnarvon_; but, a little after noon, to
her great satisfaction, she had received orders to go ahead. When the
three light cruisers had broken to the south in their endeavour to
escape, she had turned after them, as we have said, with her sister
ship, the _Kent_, in the wake of the nimbler _Glasgow_. Now, thanks to
the _Glasgow_ and the superhuman efforts of their two engine-room
staffs, both the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_ were at last in action, the
former being ordered in pursuit of the _Nürnberg_--where we may leave
her for a moment performing imperishable conjuring-tricks in the way of
stoking and engine-driving, while her luckier consorts, already at
close grips, were battering the _Leipzig_ to pieces.
At twenty minutes to five, a shot from the _Cornwall_, at a range of
between four and five miles, carried away her foremast; but, ten
minutes later, after delivering a broadside, and as she was being hit
herself, the _Cornwall_ drew away a little. The _Leipzig_ had now lost
one of her funnels as well as being on fire aft, many of her guns being
already silenced; but at six o'clock she was still firing well enough
to hit the _Cornwall_ severely and once more to force the latter away a
little. This was only for a moment, {77} however, the _Cornwall_
reopening with lyddite shell at a quarter past six, and now pressing
her attack home with tremendous force and accuracy to a range of less
than three miles. In this the _Glasgow_ joined her--it being obviously
useless now to hunt for the _Dresden_ miles away in the mist--and, by
ten minutes to seven, the _Leipzig_ was on fire everywhere, though her
flag was still flying and her guns occasionally responding. The two
British cruisers then stopped firing for a little, but dared not draw
near for fear of a torpedo-attack. Blazing in every corner, with her
sides red hot, and with great gaps in her torn by the lyddite, it
seemed now that every moment must be the _Leipzig's_ last; but still
she floated and would not strike her colours. Fire was again reopened,
therefore, although, as one of the _Cornwall's_ officers said, "We all
hated doing it," and, half an hour later, she sent up a couple of
rockets signifying that she surrendered and asking for help.
What her condition was then has been vividly described by Private
Whittaker of the Royal Marine Light Infantry. "When we went right
close," he wrote to his mother, "she looked just like a
night-watchman's fire bucket, all holes and fire." Searchlights were
now playing upon her through the rain and darkness, but, in view of
possible explosions, the boats could not approach too near; out of her
crew of over three hundred, less than a score were saved; and, at just
about nine o'clock, she rolled over to port, seemed to recover a
moment, and then slipped out of sight.
So perished the _Leipzig_, not less gallantly, but as condignly as the
_Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, news of {78} whose destruction had been
wirelessed to the _Cornwall_ and _Glasgow_. Whatever might happen now,
victory was assured; the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ had been amply
avenged; and to the _Cornwall_ and _Glasgow_, buffeting home to Port
Stanley, few happier moments were likely to come. Into the feelings of
Captain Luce it would be impertinent to pry; but a little may be
guessed, perhaps, from what follows. "About half an hour ago," said
one of his crew, writing home on December 11th, "the Captain made a
speech, or rather tried to, but failed. He first of all read out the
King's message to the Fleet, and then tried to say a few words himself;
'I have seen the _Glasgow's_ ship's company fight twice, and I thank
you for the way in which you fought. I couldn't have a better ship's
company.' Then he said, 'I can't say any more.'"
That is to leap forward, however, three days and to leave the _Kent_
still ploughing after the _Nürnberg_--out of sight of everybody now and
with the impossible task of making a doubtful 20-knot vessel catch one
five knots faster; and not only overtake her, but bring her to action,
with the weather changing and darkness not far off. But to the
engine-room staff of the _Kent_ and to her stokers no less than to
Captain Allen--"Sink-her" Allen, they called him--the word impossible,
for to-night at least, might not be whispered with impunity. There was
the _Nürnberg_ flushed from Coronel, and here was the _Kent_ with her
fourteen good guns; coal might be short and the engines in their second
childhood, but if those guns did not find the _Nürnberg_, it would not
be the fault of the engine-room. First out of harbour in the {79}
early morning, a spirit of extreme cheerfulness seems to have reigned
in the _Kent_ from the beginning of the action. Thus, at half-past
ten, we find her officers drinking the toast of _Deutschland unter
Alles_ in sloe-gin. Soon afterward they lunched; and then--as many of
them as could be spared--established themselves on the top of the
forward gun-turret to watch the fun.
This was christened "the stalls" and seems to have been well patronized
till half-past one when they went to Action Stations again. Falling
out at twenty minutes past two, watch was resumed from the bridge,
which then became known as "the upper circle." At five minutes to four
tea was served in the gun-room, and, twenty minutes later, Action
Stations were taken up again. At that time the _Leipzig_ and
_Nürnberg_ were well in view, with the _Dresden_ almost out of sight on
the horizon--the _Leipzig_ on the starboard bow, nearer at hand, and
being engaged by the _Glasgow_, and a moment afterward by the
_Cornwall_, and the _Nürnberg_ away to port and considerably more
distant. Then came the order to pursue the latter, the _Leipzig_ being
given a salvo or two in passing; and it was then that there began the
race that was destined to become traditional in every engine-room of
the navy. With no coal to spare, everything combustible was crammed
into her long-suffering furnaces. Tables and chairs, officers'
furniture, wooden companion-ladders, even planks from the deck, were
knocked to pieces and thrust into the flames for the ultimate
destruction of the _Nürnberg_.
"The entire staff," afterward wrote one of her {80} engineer officers,
"was doing its best, and, my word it was a best. We pushed her along,
more, more, more. The revolutions of the engines at the first time of
starting were more than the revolutions the dockyard could get out of
her, and she was worked up gently bit by bit, easying down occasionally
when things looked as if they were not going quite right, or when they
threatened to do so. An anxious moment was reached when we got on
every ounce of steam that the engines could take. We were just then
going some sixteen revolutions a minute faster than the Admiralty full
power, and also the designed power of 22,000 horse-power, some 5,000
horse-power more than we ought to have done. In times of peace we
should have been court-martialled for this, but we came out top.... We
were doing from 2-½ to 3 knots faster than the old _Kent_ had ever done
before. We were doing over 25 knots 'full speed,' the highest ever
attained being 22 knots."
Fortunately for the _Kent_, too, the _Nürnberg_ had her own boiler
troubles, but they were of a different order, and she was unable to
make her usual speed; and, after about an hour, the _Kent_ was near
enough to open fire at a range of a little over six miles. It was now
the gunners' opportunity, and though they were reservists, drawn, as
one of the officers put it, "from all sorts of weird places," they rose
to the occasion, like first-class experts, and found their target
almost at once. Nor could Captain Allen afford himself the license
that had been the right policy for the other commanders. It was now
past five; rain was falling; his supply of combustible bric-à-brac was
{81} strictly limited. It was a case of now or never, and the _Kent_,
taking her punishment as it came, pushed the action for all she was
worth.
With her foretop shot away down to the crows' nest, and her silk ensign
cut to ribbons; with her wireless knocked out, so that she could no
longer send, though she was still able to receive, messages; with half
a dozen holes through her funnels and several more in her side--she
gained a quarter of a mile with every salvo until she was pounding the
_Nürnberg_ at less than three miles distance. Struck in all thirty-six
times, and with five men killed and eleven wounded, the behaviour of
all on board was, in their captain's own words, "perfectly
magnificent"--a typical example being that of Sergeant Mayes, whose
courage and presence of mind probably saved the ship.
A bursting shell had started a fire among some cordite charges in the
casemate. A tongue of flame had leaped down the hoist and into the
ammunition passage, endangering the magazine. Without an instant's
pause, and although severely burned, Sergeant Mayes picked up a cordite
charge and threw it away, afterward flooding the compartment and
putting out a fire that had started in some neighbouring empty shell
bags. No wonder that Captain Allen, writing afterward to the
Association of Men at _Kent_, should have said that "though the enemy
fought bravely to the very end, against such men as I have the honour
to command, they never could have had a chance."
By half-past six, the _Nürnberg_ was on fire forward, {82} all her guns
being apparently silenced, and the _Kent_ ceased shelling her, and drew
up within two miles. Her flag was still flying, however, and the
_Kent_ opened fire again, but only for a few minutes longer, when the
_Nürnberg_ hauled her flag down and made signs of surrender. She was
now blazing furiously, and listing heavily to starboard; and the _Kent_
began to take measures to save life. Unfortunately all her boats had
been holed by the _Nürnberg's_ fire, and, before she could launch them,
they had to be repaired. Two were quickly patched up, but the crews
were only successful in saving a dozen men, five of whom afterward died
on board from the effects of wounds and exposure.
To complete the victory of this single-ship action everyone on board
had contributed his utmost, but it seems probable that in history the
larger share of the credit will be given unstintingly to the engineers
and stokers. It was certainly bestowed on them by their comrades in
the _Kent_. "The captain," we are told, "nearly fell on the
engineer-commander's neck and kissed him when he 'blew up' after the
action to see him and to advise as to the best speed to go back to
harbour. He nearly shouted at him for some time: 'My dear fellow, my
dear engineer-commander! You won the action, you did it splendid!
Without your speed we should have lost everything.'"
Meanwhile, at Port Stanley, now in wireless communication with all the
rest of Admiral Sturdee's squadron, the silence of the _Kent_, owing to
her broken wireless, had begun to give rise to some alarm. "_Kent,
Kent, Kent_" rang the invisible call, but there was no {83} reply, and
it was feared that she had been lost. It was perhaps characteristic
that, in spite of this, she was the first of them all to reach port the
next day. Of von Spee's squadron only the _Dresden_ remained, to be
run to earth three months later. The _Bristol_ and _Macedonia_, after
capturing their crews, had sunk the _Santa Isabel_ and the _Baden_; and
the total British casualties in killed and wounded amounted to less
than thirty.
{84}
CHAPTER V
BACK TO THE NORTH SEA
"Our trawlers mined the fairway.
Our cruisers spread the bait,
We shelled the Briton's seaside towns
To lure him to his fate,
We set the trap twice over.
We left him with his dead--"
"But now we'll play another game,"
The British sailor said.
With the destruction of von Spee's squadron nothing of Germany's navy
was left at large in the outer seas save one or two cruisers and armed
merchantmen, whose days of freedom were already numbered. Of these the
survivor of the Falkland Islands' Battle, the _Dresden_, was destroyed
in the following March at Juan Fernandez; the _Königsberg_, bottled up
in the Rufiji River in Africa, was finally disposed of a few months
later; while the _Kronprinz Wilhelm_, the _Prinz Eitel Friedrick_, and
the _Karlsrühe_ met with various fates during the same summer. That in
spite of the enormous calls upon the navy in the way of convoying
transports they were joined by no others from their home waters is the
best tribute to the efficiency of our floating cordon in the North Sea.
And yet its very success in this respect was largely responsible,
perhaps, for a {85} somewhat distorted picture of the actual
position--that of a sulky and immobilized German Fleet confronted with
an impenetrable British barrier.
That would have been hardly true even of each side's surface ships; but
it was as far as possible from the complete reality. For what had in
fact begun with the outbreak of war--what had never ceased day or
night--was a desperate and unceasing battle, none the less crucial
because it was so often silent. Some hint of its real nature might
have been gathered from the laconic Admiralty announcement, a day or
two after war had been declared, that the German passenger steamer,
_Königin Luise_, had been sunk, while mine-laying, by one of our
destroyer patrols; and this vessel had been at work, fortunately with
very little result, upon a subtle and long-prepared scheme of action.
It is true that after she had been sunk, the cruiser _Amphion_--the
leader of the Harwich Patrol that sank her--herself went down on one of
the _Königin Luise's_ mines; but the larger end aimed at remained
unachieved.
This was no less than the mining in of Harwich, and was part of a
deliberate and extensive plan, not only to cripple the northward
progress of our larger squadrons to their war-stations, but to block
the entrances of as many as possible of our chief naval bases. That
some such policy would be attempted had, of course, long been foreseen.
Germany's recalcitrant attitude at the Hague Conference toward the
question of mine-laying had pointedly suggested this; and it was known
that, prior to the outbreak of war, she had accumulated a store of at
least ten thousand {86} mines. To counter such measures steps had
already been taken in the formation, a few years previously, of a
trawler section of the Royal Naval Reserve, whose business it would be
to keep the channels clear; while a group of old gun-boats had been
assembled for the same purpose to act in conjunction with the Grand
Fleet.
It had become instantly clear, however, that the original provision of
eighty-two trawlers would be insufficient; and, by the end of August,
this had been increased to 250--to be yet further and immensely added
to as the busy months went by. Nothing in our naval record, indeed,
was more dramatic or so signal an evidence of the national sense of
admiralty than the gathering together of that vast auxiliary service of
fishermen, pilots, and amateur yachtsmen, and the enormous
responsibilities thrust into their hands to be so efficiently and
light-heartedly carried. Time after time, by the resource of our
fishermen, of sea-loving undergraduates, of amateurs of all sorts, what
might have been disasters of the first magnitude were averted or
overcome. Between the navy proper, with its thousands of other
problems, and these new and insidious dangers--the laying of minefields
by apparently innocent neutrals, the ever-present activities of enemy
submarines--the courage, the cunning, the native sea-instinct of these
otherwise untrained forces was the buffer. The fishermen of Galilee
became fishers of men. The fishermen of Britain became fishers of
mines. And the debt of human freedom to the latter is not immeasurably
less, perhaps, than to their predecessors.
{87}
This was the true picture then of the North Sea--an area nearly three
times the size of Great Britain--a Grand Fleet holding the exits and
entrances against every possible sortie in force, but itself so
threatened by submarines and minefields that at one time its
war-stations were actually changed, and so nearly paralyzed that there
were not a few hours when considerable units of it were practically
embayed. Thus, definite minefields were laid by the enemy at
Southwold, the mouth of the Tyne, and near Flamborough Head, and not
only there but off the north of Ireland, where it was hoped to destroy
or disorganize the Canadian transports. Nor were our most vital
waters, such as those of the Firth of Forth, free from the repeated
visits of those early submarines; and it is primarily as trapping
expeditions, leading us into prepared minefields, and only secondarily
as baby-killing bombardments, that such raids as those on Lowestoft,
Gorleston, and Yarmouth must in reality be considered.
The first of these took place on November 3, 1914, the day following
the Admiralty proclamation in which it had been announced that from
November 5th the North Sea was to be considered a closed area. This
had become necessary, as was then publicly indicated, owing to the
persistent and indiscriminate sowing of mines; because peaceful
merchant-ships had already been destroyed by these on the main
trade-route between Liverpool and America; because these mines had been
laid by vessels flying neutral flags; and because exceptional measures
had in consequence now become imperative. For these reasons it was
{88} announced, therefore, that all vessels passing, from the fifth of
November onward, a line drawn from the northernmost point of the
Hebrides through the Faroe Islands to Iceland would do so at their own
peril. Traders to and from Norway, the Baltic, Denmark, and Holland,
were advised to use the English Channel and the Straits of Dover, and
were then assured that they would receive full sailing directions, and,
as far as Great Britain could secure it, a safe passage.
Meanwhile, in every dockyard, work was being pushed forward upon all
sorts of naval construction, and each new problem, as it arose, was
being considered and vigorously dealt with. To guarantee, however, in
all circumstances and at any given moment, the integrity of our whole
coast-line was plainly impossible, though every month saw its increase
of patrols and _personnel_; and, on December 16th, the enemy again
bombarded three of our seaside towns.
These were Hartlepool, Whitby, and Scarborough, casualties being
inflicted in every case. It was a foggy winter morning when three
hostile cruisers were sighted off Hartlepool about 8 o'clock; and, a
quarter of an hour later, the bombardment began, lasting till ten
minutes to nine. The enemy agents in this case seem to have been two
battle-cruisers and one armoured cruiser; and, though Hartlepool itself
was an open town, land batteries in the neighbourhood endeavoured to
reply. Their fire was ineffective, however; several soldiers attached
to the Durham Light Infantry and Royal Engineers were killed and
wounded; the gasworks were set on fire; and the civilian casualties
amounted to nearly a hundred. {89} Almost at the same time, a
battle-cruiser and armoured cruiser approached and shelled Scarborough,
firing about sixty shots, while two battle-cruisers attacked Whitby,
civilians in both towns being killed and wounded.
Owing to the objectives chosen, the conditions of the weather, the
brevity of their visit, and their power and speed, the enemy squadrons
made port intact again, though a patrol of destroyers very pluckily
attacked them. In all nearly one hundred civilians were killed in
these three towns, about five hundred being wounded; the military
casualties amounted to thirty-four, and those on the three destroyers
to twenty-eight. The German battle-cruisers, employed in this
expedition were identified as the _Derfflinger_, _Seydlitz_, _Moltke_,
_von der Tann_, and _Blücher_, the three latter, it was believed,
having been also engaged in the previous raid upon the Norfolk coast.
Though, as we have said, it was quite impossible to give an absolute
guarantee against such incidents as these, they were certainly not
soothing to the feelings of the Grand Fleet and least of all to those
of its cruiser squadrons. In spite of the elaborate justifications
voiced in the German Press by such writers as Count Reventlow, they had
outraged every canon not only of international law but of decent
seaman-like feeling, and were an early indication of the horrible
license that German sea-policy was prepared to allow itself. That had
not yet staggered the world, as the sinking of the _Lusitania_ was to
stagger it, or such incredible atrocities as that to be associated with
the _Belgian Prince_; but it had opened up a vista to {90} every
clean-hearted sailor sufficiently dark as to have changed the character
of the war. It was now plain, for example, that such naval leaders as
Admiral von Spee and the captain of the _Emden_ were no longer to be
regarded as typical of the directing minds of Germany's navy. How
completely they were in the end to be disregarded was not yet manifest;
but it was already clear that the old and peculiar amenities, the
traditional chivalry of sea-warfare, were but poorly respected, even if
they were understood, by this latest aspirant to sea-power. It was
with a special satisfaction, therefore, that early on January 24, 1915,
a strong patrolling fleet, under Sir David Beatty, received news of a
powerful enemy squadron not far away to the south-south-east.
This consisted, as soon became clear, of the _Derfflinger_, _Seydlitz_,
_Moltke_, and _Blücher_, with six light cruisers and a strong force of
destroyers; and there was little doubt that they were once more en
route for a bombardment of some part of our coast. With Admiral
Beatty, who was flying his flag on the _Lion_, were the _Princess
Royal_, the _Tiger_, the _New Zealand_, and _Indomitable_, all powerful
vessels, the three former each carrying eight 13.5-inch guns, while the
_New Zealand_ and _Indomitable_ carried the same number of 12-inch
guns. In company with these, disposed on their port beam, were the
light cruisers _Southampton_, _Nottingham_, _Birmingham_, and
_Lowestoft_, and, scouting ahead--the two squadrons having met at
sea--were Commodore Tyrwhitt in the _Arethusa_, commanding three
flotillas of destroyers, and the two light cruisers _Aurora_ and
_Undaunted_.
{91}
It was Sunday morning; the day had broken clear at about a quarter to
seven, and it was a few minutes after this hour that the _Aurora_, then
travelling at twenty knots, sighted a two-masted, four-funnelled
cruiser accompanied by some destroyers. Half concealed by her smoke,
in the uncertain light, and at about four miles distance, the _Aurora_,
for a few moments, had been unable to determine her nationality; and it
was for these reasons that the enemy cruiser--afterward known to be the
_Kolberg_--was the first to open fire. No appreciable damage was
caused to the _Aurora_, however, who replied immediately and with such
good effect that, five minutes later, the _Kolberg_ changed course and
retired upon the stronger enemy forces that had now become visible.
The presence of these had at once been signalled to Admiral Beatty and
his cruisers, and the whole squadron at once worked up to its full
speed of 28-½ knots. When first sighted, the enemy vessels had been
steering northwest, but they immediately changed their course to the
southeast, the distance separating the two squadrons being then about
fourteen miles, and their position, at half-past seven, being about
thirty miles from the English coast.
From the outset it had been evident that the enemy did not mean to
engage, and that, if he were to be brought to action, it would only be
after a chase; and, although as a squadron we had the advantage in
speed, our superiority was not very great. Nor was Admiral Beatty's
problem in any other respect so simple as had been Sir Doveton
Sturdee's. Not only had Admiral Beatty always to bear in mind {92}
that he might be being led into some recently laid minefield, but he
knew that with every hour he would be nearly forty miles nearer to the
heavily guarded waters on the other side. Moreover, he had at all
times to be prepared for a torpedo-attack from the accompanying fleet
of enemy destroyers, while it was practically certain that, before the
action ended, he would find himself in the presence of hostile
submarines. He was further at a disadvantage in that, though he was
stronger in gun power, he was forced to rely upon bow fire only, and
this while travelling at full speed. That meant that, for the greater
part of the action, his leading battle-cruisers, the _Lion_, _Tiger_,
and _Princess Royal_ could only bring to bear four of their 13.5-inch
guns, while the _Seydlitz_ and _Moltke_, firing astern, could each use
eight of their 11-inch guns, the _Derfflinger_ four of her 12-inch
guns, and the _Blücher_ six of her 8.2's. It became a matter of
margins, therefore--and not very extensive ones--both in speed and
range, and of the British capacity to use these in the limited time
before the German cruisers could reach their own waters.
Some idea of what this meant can best be gathered, perhaps, from the
fact that, though travelling at thirty knots, it was almost an hour and
a half--during which time more than fifty miles of sea had been
covered--before the fourteen miles that separated the two squadrons had
been reduced to ten. This was just before nine o'clock, the enemy
being still on Admiral Beatty's port bow, his light cruisers ahead,
followed by the _Derfflinger_, _Moltke_, _Seydlitz_, and _Blücher_ in
single line, with a large number of {93} destroyers on their starboard
beam. Leading in the _Lion_, Sir David Beatty was followed by the
_Tiger_, the _Princess Royal_, and the _New Zealand_, the latter and
the _Indomitable_--both slower vessels--having broken all records,
thanks to their engine-room staffs.
Already a shot or two had been fired from the _Lion's_ forward guns,
taking the _Blücher_ as her target, and, a few minutes after nine, she
made her first hit on this cruiser, carrying away her bridge, according
to the prisoners afterward taken. At this range, with her 13.5's
tilted at an angle of some sixteen degrees and her big shells dropping
steeply, the fire of the _Lion_ seems, under the circumstances, to have
been remarkably accurate. About ten minutes later, the _Tiger_ came
into range and took up the attack on the _Blücher_, the _Lion_
transferring her attentions to the _Seydlitz_, the next ahead.
Meanwhile the enemy had begun to respond but without inflicting any
damage, and, a quarter of an hour later, the _Princess Royal_ was able
to join in the chorus, also taking the _Blücher_ for her first target.
The _Blücher_, slower than her consorts, and already heavily damaged,
was now dropping astern and came under the guns of the _New Zealand_,
the _Princess Royal_ transferring her fire to the _Seydlitz_ with
immediate and visible results. The enemy's destroyers were now
throwing up dense columns of smoke to screen his wounded
battle-cruisers; but, by a quarter to ten, not only the _Blücher_, but
the _Derfflinger_ and _Seydlitz_ were on fire. Our own light cruisers
and destroyer flotillas had fallen back to port a little so as not to
obscure the range; and the position just {94} before ten exhibited the
_Lion_ confining her attentions to the _Derfflinger_, the _Tiger_
attacking the _Derfflinger_, and, when this was hidden from her by
smoke, the doomed and swiftly-flagging _Blücher_, the _Princess Royal_
shelling the _Seydlitz_, and the _New Zealand_ engaging the
_Blücher_--the _Indomitable_, in spite of her efforts, not having yet
drawn within effective range.
The condition of the _Blücher_, as was afterward learned from
prisoners, though it was to become worse, was already terrible enough.
Early in the action her electric plant had been destroyed, and her men
down below crept in darkness. Still too far to be raked, her decks
were being excavated by half-ton shells dropping from the sky. In the
narrow spaces below, apart from the shattering shell fragments, the
enormous air-displacement wrought destruction and death. Iron plates
were moulded by it as if they had been wax, and men tossed like apples
and crushed to pulp against them. Later, as the range narrowed, the
_Blücher_ became more helpless, and, as she came under the full force
of the British broadside fire, she staggered at each salvo, scarcely
recovering before another hurled her again on her side.
But the main battle had now swept on; and the fact that the _Blücher_
was left to her fate is the best indication, perhaps, of the injuries
already sustained by her speedier and stronger consorts. It was not
until a quarter to eleven, however, that the _Blücher_, then far
astern, definitely turned north out of the line; and, before this had
happened, the German light cruisers and destroyers had closed in from
the starboard and were threatening a torpedo attack. The {95} British
light forces were accordingly ordered up to prevent this, the _Lion_
and _Tiger_ also opening upon the enemy destroyers. The attack never
materialized, however; was possibly only a feint; and would in any case
have been checkmated by the admirable handling of the _M_ division of
destroyers under Captain the Hon H. Meade, and particularly, perhaps,
of the destroyer _Meteor_ under Lieutenant Frederick Peters.
This destroyer, with the _Lion_ and _Tiger_, was the only British
vessel to suffer material damage; and her position at one time, in the
full field of bombardment, was one that her crew are never likely to
forget. This was soon after eleven, when the _Lion_, who had drawn
more than her namesake's share of the German fire, had been struck by a
chance shot that reduced her speed to ten knots an hour. The rest of
the destroyers and light cruisers had by this time dropped astern
again, the majority on the starboard or disengaged side, while others,
on the port side, had turned northward after the _Blücher_. After the
_Lion_ had been hit, however, the _Meteor_ was ordered up to cover her,
thereby steaming under the salvos from both sides; and it is possible
to glean an idea or two of what this meant from the account of it
afterward written by one of her officers.
"We were absolutely in the line of fire," he said, "shells whistling
over and all around us, and now and again an enemy's broadside aimed
directly at us. Try and imagine a frail destroyer steaming thirty
knots, with four battle-cruisers on either side belching forth flame
and smoke continually, the screech of the {96} projectiles flying
overhead seeming to tear the very air into ribbons, 12-inch shells
dropping perilously near, and raising columns of water a hundred feet
into the air, a few yards away, the spray washing our decks and
drenching all hands. Picture the awful crashing noise, the explosions
and flashes, as shots took effect, the massive tongues of fire shooting
up, and the dense clouds of yellow and black smoke which obliterated
the whole ship from view as the shells burst on striking. And this, if
you can imagine it, will give you some idea of the _Meteor's_ position
in a glorious action. Its terrible imposing grandeur made one forget
personal danger. Of course, something had to happen. It was simply
inevitable. About eleven o'clock, the _Lion_ drew out of the line
temporarily, the _Princess Royal_ taking the lead, and it was not till
then that the _Indomitable_ opened fire and took her part in the
engagement. We had already been hit a couple of times, but without
doing any material damage, and half of us missed death by inches; but
it seemed as if we possessed a charmed life; it is truly miraculous,
nothing less, that we continued so long without being disabled; but
Providence must have been with us that day. Just about this time, the
_Blücher_ was in a terrible state; one funnel gone, the other two like
scrap-iron and tottering, both fore and main topmasts shot away, fore
turret carried clean over the side, and only part of her mainmast and
fore tripod mast left standing, and even these in a very shaky
condition. So she fell out of the line--a raging furnace amidships,
helpless, unable to steam; and her sister ships left her to her {97}
fate. The battering she had undergone was something incredible, and
she was in her death agony now, so we began to close her, and found she
was settling down, though still on an even keel. Now was our chance.
We approached her, circling around, but even then she was not dead,
for, at precisely 12.5 p.m., with the very last round she ever fired,
she sent an 8.2-inch shell into us, which killed four men and wounded
another. But what a sweet revenge was to come! Two minutes later, we
discharged our torpedo. It hit her nearly amidships. There was a
tremendously violent shock. She heeled completely over and sank in
eight and a half minutes, hundreds of men clambering over her sides and
standing there, just as if it were the upper deck, waiting for the
final plunge."
Not to be outdone, and consistent with her reputation, the _Arethusa_
was also in at the death, and had in her turn loosed a couple of
torpedoes at the _Blücher_ with terrific effect--one striking her aft
and one forward, reaching her magazine and causing a violent explosion.
It was the _Arethusa_, too, who subsequently embarked and brought home
to port the majority of the _Blücher's_ survivors, the rescuers and
rescued being alike bombed from the air by a German aeroplane that had
appeared on the scene.
Meanwhile the _Lion_, having pulled out of the line, not vitally
injured, but unfit for further action, the _Tiger_, _Princess Royal_,
and _New Zealand_ had continued the chase of the flying enemy, the
_Indomitable_ having been detailed to attend to the _Blücher_. Round
the wounded _Lion_, to protect her from submarine {98}
attack--submarines had already been sighted a few minutes before--had
closed one of our light cruisers and six destroyers, and, at half-past
eleven, Admiral Beatty called the destroyer _Attack_ alongside, boarded
her, and raced at full speed after his other three battle-cruisers.
So fast was the pace at which the action was being fought that not only
were these out of sight, but the _Blücher_, now in her death throes,
was also below the horizon. With her guns tilted, as she listed there
to port, and the "Engage the enemy more closely" signal still flying
from her mast, the _Lion_ had been suddenly wiped off the slate, as it
were, with what chagrin to those on board can be readily imagined. But
for that unlucky shot, the Battle of the Dogger Bank might have been as
complete a victory of its kind as that of the Falkland Islands, and it
was only by a hair's breadth that the other three German
battle-cruisers, lame and heavily damaged, contrived to reach harbour.
Headlong as he was travelling, it was not till noon that Sir David
Beatty met his returning cruisers, and, twenty minutes later, having
shifted his flag from the _Attack_ to the _Princess Royal_, he heard
from Captain Osmond de B. Brock of what had subsequently happened; that
the _Blücher_ had been sunk near Borkum Reef, a Zeppelin and aeroplane
bombing the vessels rescuing survivors; and that the other cruisers had
made their escape in an eastward direction. It was owing to the
increasing danger from mines thrown out of the fleeing vessels, and the
growing proximity of the German minefields, that the {99} action had in
the end been broken off; and whether it should, under those
circumstances, have been pressed further must remain an open question.
That quite apart, however, from its material advantages in the sinking
of the _Blücher_ and the disabling of her consorts, the victory of the
Dogger Bank had important moral results there is not a shadow of doubt.
It had once more re-affirmed the value of the battle-cruiser for which
the navy was chiefly indebted to Lord Fisher, and it proved to be the
grave of the big-scale raids upon our open east coast towns. More than
all that, however, it was a triumphant example of an instantly seized
opportunity; it demonstrated to the enemy that, in spite of his mines
and submarines, we maintained our full tactical liberty; and it was
further evidence that in Admiral Beatty we had found a naval leader of
the highest class.
Those were the recognitions behind the "Well done, David" of the
_Princess Royal's_ coal-blackened stokers as the Admiral climbed in
mid-sea from the little _Attack_ into the famous cruiser; and they
spoke again, on the following Tuesday morning, when the _Lion_ limped
up the Firth to her anchorage. Three miles away, in the Fifeshire
valleys, ploughman and farmboy heard those welcoming syrens.
{100}
CHAPTER VI
THE SEAMEN AT GALLIPOLI
At the outbreak of war, Germany was represented in the Mediterranean by
two vessels, the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, more likely, perhaps, to
become historical than any two that she will ever build. Both were
modern vessels, the _Goeben_, a first-class battle-cruiser, carrying
ten 11-inch guns and capable of 28 knots, and the _Breslau_, a light
cruiser of about the same speed and with twelve 4.1-inch guns. Outside
the Adriatic, these were the only hostile men-of-war with which the
Allies in the Mediterranean had to reckon; and, though full allowance
must be made for the responsibilities entailed in preventing a sortie
of the Austrian Navy, in convoying troops from Algeria to France, and
in avoiding the least infringement of neutral waters, the escape of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ must still be regarded as a disaster to our arms.
On August 4th, before the declaration of war between Germany and Great
Britain, but after France and Germany had already begun hostilities,
the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ had shelled Phillippeville and Bona, two
Algerian ports belonging to France, and had returned to Messina in
Sicily on August 5th. Here they obtained coal from vessels in the
harbour, {101} the Italian authorities refusing, under the laws of
neutrality, to allow them facilities for coaling ashore, and, by the
same rule, they had to leave territorial waters within twenty-four
hours. Their movements and whereabouts had, of course, been known
throughout to Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne in command of the British
Mediterranean Fleet; and now, being free to attack them, he was
awaiting their departure, together with a subsidiary squadron under
Rear-Admiral E. C. T. Troubridge. The German admiral and his officers
had no illusions as to the destiny that awaited them when they put to
sea; made their wills; and steamed out of harbour on the evening of
August 6th. Their design, it was believed, was to rush the Straits of
Otranto and join up with the Austrian Fleet in the Adriatic. The
paramount importance of not affording Italy the least pretext of
complaint seems to have weighed heavily on the British admirals. The
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_, heading apparently for the Straits, suddenly
changed course for the southeast; and, though the light cruiser
_Gloucester_, which had kept in touch with them, immediately notified
this and went gallantly in pursuit, the superior power and speed of the
two German cruisers enabled them to fight her off and make good their
escape.
They passed through the Dardanelles on August 10th, and, three days
later, were said to have been bought by the Turkish Government, by
whose officers and crews they were in future to be manned. Sir
Berkeley Milne was recalled for an inquiry, the senior French officer,
Admiral Boué de Lapeyrère, taking his place as Commander of the
combined British and {102} French forces, on August 30th; and, on
September 20th, Rear-Admiral Troubridge also returned home. At his own
request, he was court-martialled on November 5th, Admirals Sir Hedworth
Meux and Sir George Callaghan conducting the inquiry, and, on November
12th, it was announced that he had been acquitted of all blame. Sir
Berkeley Milne was also exonerated as the result of an Admiralty
investigation.
So ended an episode in which, from the strictly naval standpoint, and
though our leaders in the Mediterranean were held free from blame, it
must be admitted that the honours rested with the German admiral and
the perspicacity of his advisers in Berlin. Whether or no the arrival
at Constantinople of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ was the determining
factor in the Turkish Government's policy; how, if they had been sunk
by us, that Government might have acted; and the effect on the
situation that they had created of a prompter and more drastic action
on our own part--these matters can never probably be accurately
determined. On the other hand, it is clear that, both in material and
moral effect, their presence was an enormous asset to German diplomacy;
and that, indirectly at any rate, our campaign in Gallipoli, with all
its consequences, derived from them. On September 27th, Turkey closed
the Dardanelles; on October 31st, she declared war; and, three days
later, on instructions from the Admiralty, but without reference to the
War Council, certain units of the Mediterranean Fleet shelled the outer
forts of the Dardanelles. In the light of after events, this was {103}
undoubtedly an error, but it was undertaken at the time with the
purpose of ascertaining the effective range of the protecting Turkish
guns.
Now to obtain a fair picture of the operations at Gallipoli that were
afterward undertaken--operations in the first place wholly naval, but
finally predominantly military--it is necessary to return for a moment
to London and to study the general background against which they must
be viewed. Here, after all, were the two or three brains upon which,
as a whole, our strategy depended; and it is interesting to note how
the mechanism through which they acted had become moulded and modified
by the stress of war. For it must be remembered that, after those
admirable dispositions, long considered and provided for by the
Committee of Imperial Defence, had been undertaken--after not only the
navy and army, but every affected department had gone, as it were, to
its war-stations--an era followed that is best to be described as the
era of improvisation.
No such war had been fought upon the earth's surface, and each
succeeding day opened a new prospect. With every branch of both
services discovering strange and imperative needs; with no section of
our national life that was failing to experience some fresh
dislocation--it was little wonder that, in the various higher
executives, changes and experiments in change should have been found
necessary. Many, perhaps most of these, were proved to be inadequate,
and replaced by others as the war went on. Others were doomed from the
first and should never have been embarked upon. It had been so
arranged, for {104} example, at the War Office, that most of the
General Staff officers should take commands in the field; and, when
Lord Kitchener became Secretary for War, the General Staff practically
ceased to exist.
Accustomed to self-reliance, to centralization even in the minutest
details, Lord Kitchener assumed powers so various and important, as it
was impossible for any one man to wield; and, to some extent, though
not to such an extreme, a similar process had set in at the Admiralty.
Instead of the Board of Admiralty, consisting of the First Lord, the
four Sea Lords, the two Civil Lords, the Parliamentary and Permanent
Secretaries, there had come into being a War Staff Group, including the
First Lord and the First Sea Lordd (but none of the other Sea Lords),
the Chief of Staff, the Permanent Secretary, a Naval Secretary, and Sir
Arthur Wilson--the latter, "Tug" Wilson, as he was called, although
retired, being regarded as one of our greatest naval strategists. That
was the composition in November, 1914, of the real directorate of the
navy, Lord Fisher, who succeeded Prince Louis of Battenburg, on October
30th, being First Sea Lord.
As in the War Office and Admiralty, a similar kind of change had become
observable in the Cabinet. Theoretically the direction of the war
rested, of course, in the hands of this body, assisted in their
deliberations by the Committee of Imperial Defense. Practically both
the Cabinet and the Committee of Imperial Defense fell more and more
into abeyance, the conduct of the war passing into the hands of a new
and smaller body, known as the War Council. {105} This consisted of
the Prime Minister, then Mr. Asquith, the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
Mr. Lloyd George, the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, the Secretary
of State for India, the Marquis of Crewe, the Secretary for War, Lord
Kitchener, and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill.
Of these, however, the main responsibility rested upon Mr. Asquith, Mr.
Churchill, and Lord Kitchener. This was in practice the triumvirate
then conducting the war, as far as the British Empire was concerned,
and each of the three was a man of strong and outstanding personality.
In Mr. Asquith the country was being served by a statesman of very
typical English qualities, imperturbable, perhaps a little slow-moving,
magnanimous, shrewd, and of great intellectual capacity. In Mr.
Churchill the Admiralty had at its head a man of brilliant and
impulsive mentality, complete physical and moral fearlessness, and a
somewhat headstrong initiative. In Lord Kitchener there had come to
the War Office the foremost soldier of the Empire, the man who had been
recalled by an irresistible popular appeal from the governorship of
Egypt, in whose name the new armies, voluntarily recruited from every
social rank, had outrun equipment, ammunition, even places to be lodged
in--a man who already, in his sixty-fourth year, had become an almost
legendary figure, the liberator of the Sudan, Roberts' successor in
South Africa, the administrator of India and Egypt, omnivorous of work,
relentless, silent, and the public's beau-ideal of personal efficiency.
But, while of these three, it was little wonder that, {106} politics
apart, Lord Kitchener predominated, another figure, scarcely less
powerful, and hardly second as a national idol, stood, as it were, at
the elbow of this inner triumvirate in the person of Lord Fisher. The
maker of the modern navy, and, in an even more vital sphere, as
authoritative an influence as Lord Kitchener, at the age of seventy he
had returned to the Admiralty with an almost equal popular approval.
He had not, however, as had Lord Kitchener, an actual place in the War
Council; and he was not, of course, present at many of its meetings.
This was the position at home, then, when, at a gathering of the War
Council, held on November 25th, it was suggested by Mr. Churchill that
the best way to defend Egypt was to attack some part of Turkey's
Asiatic coast, and that an occupation of the Gallipoli Peninsula would
give us the control of the Dardanelles and put Constantinople at our
mercy--the idea in Mr. Churchill's mind being evidently that of a
combined naval and military movement on a big scale. That some such
attack on the Turkish lines of communication might eventually become
desirable Lord Kitchener agreed. He did not consider, however, that
the time had arrived for it; and when, a few days later, Mr. Churchill
suggested to the War Office the advisability of collecting enough
transport for 40,000 men--such transport to be assembled in Egypt--Lord
Kitchener again replied that he did not think this was yet necessary,
and that he would give the Admiralty full notice. The precaution was
taken, however, in spite of this, to send horse-boats to Egypt whenever
convenient, in view of the possible {107} occasion of some such
expedition as had already now become adumbrated.
Meanwhile the navy was playing its part in various operations already
necessitated by the war with Turkey. Thus, on November 2nd, the
_Minerva_, a sixteen-year-old protected cruiser, had shelled the forts
and barracks of Akaba in the Red Sea; and, on November 8th, the town of
Fao, at the head of the Persian Gulf, had been bombarded to cover the
landing of troops from India, whence they captured Basra on November
21st. Simultaneously, of course, between Russia and Turkey, the
struggle for the mastery of the Black Sea had been progressing. On
November 10th, the Russians had sunk four Turkish transports; and, on
November 18th, the _Goeben_, had been materially damaged in an
engagement off Sebastopol. Two days later, the Turkish _Hamidieh_ had
bombarded Tuapse. On December 10th, the _Goeben_ having been repaired,
with the _Berk-i-Satvet_, shelled Batum; and, on December 12th, the
_Hamidieh_ was damaged by a mine in the Bosphorus. The first notable
Turkish loss, however, was in the torpedoing of the battleship
_Messudiyeh_ in the Dardanelles, on December 13th, by the British
submarine _B11_, under circumstances that will be referred to later.
On December 17th, the Russian cruiser _Askold_ sank a couple of Turkish
steamers off Beyrout, and, on December 26th, the _Goeben_ was again
damaged, this time, like the _Hamidieh_, by a mine in the Bosphorus.
Later, having been once more repaired, she was again to figure in
desultory raiding actions on Black Sea ports; but, by the end of the
year, it may be said that {108} the Russian Navy was practically in
unchallenged command of the Black Sea.
Russia's position in the land campaign against Turkey was not, however,
quite so satisfactory, and it was on January 2nd that there was
received in London a telegram from Sir George Buchanan, our ambassador
in Petrograd, destined to have a profound effect upon our Near East
policy. In this it was stated that the Russian armies were being
rather severely pressed in the Caucasus, and that the Russian
Government hoped it might be found possible for a demonstration to be
made against Turkey elsewhere. On this same day, Lord Kitchener wrote
to Mr. Churchill that he did not think we could do anything that would
seriously help the Russians in the Caucasus; that we had no troops to
land anywhere; that the only place where a demonstration might check
the sending eastward of Turkey's reinforcements was the Dardanelles;
but that we should not be ready for anything big for some months.
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