If it was appalling below deck it was more than appalling above.
The _Bluecher_ was under the fire of so many ships. Even the little
destroyers peppered her. "It was one continuous explosion," said a
gunner. The ship heeled over as the broadsides struck her, then righted
herself, rocking like a cradle.
Gun crews were so destroyed that stokers had to be requisitioned to
carry ammunition. Men lay flat for safety. The decks presented a
tangled mass of scrap iron.
In one casement, the only one, as they thought, undestroyed, two men
continued to serve their guns. They fired it as the ship listed,
adapting the elevation to the new situation. The _Bluecher_ had run
her course. She was lagging, lame, and with the steering gear gone was
beginning slowly to circle. It was seen that she was doomed, but still
the gunfire from the British kept up with relentless, incessant fury.
Some of the men on board were rendered deaf. The ship quivered and
rocked under the recoil of her own guns. The deadly British broadsides
made her reel. The guns were torn from their settings and whole gun
crews hurled to destruction. Men hurtled down from aloft, bruised,
bleeding, dead.
Men were swept from the deck like flies from a tablecloth. Everywhere
blood trickled and flowed. It was a fever of excitement. Men found
blood pouring down their legs, but could not locate their wounds. Men
in authority lost their heads and confusion reigned. Their nerves could
not stand the strain.
A shell would burst in the interior of the ship in a halo of flame and
fire would arise from the deck, though there was nothing on the deck
apparently that could burn. During the fight one of the sailors noticed
the captain pull up his trousers and search for a wound; no one could
then say whether he was wounded or not.
It has been generally believed that a ship fighting end-on stands the
smallest chance of being hit. That is what our naval textbooks teach
us. But that is no longer the case.
The effective target presented by an armored ship end-on is really much
greater than when she is broadside-on, besides, in the former position,
losing whatever protection might be afforded by her vertical side
armor. This is one of the unexpected lessons taught by the ill-fated
_Bluecher_.
We knew we had more than a hundred miles to go before we would reach
the protection of our mine fields, and we knew that the _Bluecher_
had the poorest chance of any of the German ships, as she was the
slowest. Desperate efforts were made to keep the _Bluecher_ at her
maximum speed, but no matter how hard we tried to get away we saw the
big English ships steadily overhauling us.
We knew what was in store for us as soon as our officers were able to
make out the outlines of the approaching ships. We knew the armament
and the gun equipment we had to face. We knew that each of those
oncoming British battle cruisers could throw a weight of metal 10,000
pounds twice every minute--a total of fifty tons of projectiles every
minute. Yet through it all some never despaired of their lives; others
from the beginning gave themselves up as lost.
As the nearest of the English ships drew closer, the angle of their gun
fire became flatter, but still from far off on the horizon came the
shells it seemed to drop from the skies. After a time we were receiving
literally a hailstorm of shells--some falling from overhead down
through our decks, some penetrating through the stern and travelling
half way the length of the ship, and still others coming straight
through the sides.
And this was not all. The big British battle cruiser that led the
British line thundered on past us and then began to rake us with her
stern batteries. The gunners in the stern turrets of the British ship
had been standing idle and restless, impatient to have a hand in the
fight. As this ship drew on past us the rear guns for the first time
had a chance at the _Bluecher_, and they tore our bow and forward
works with their heavy shells, while the after guns of the secondary
batteries raked our decks at point-blank range.
We were the first under fire in the action and we were the last under
fire. Practically every English ship poured projectiles into us. I
have never seen such gunnery, and there has never been the like of it
before in the history of the world. We could not fight such guns as the
English ships had, and before long we had no guns of any kind to fight
with. Our decks were swept by shot, our guns were smashed and the gun
crews wiped out.
One particular shell from a thirteen-and-a-half-inch gun I remember
well. I saw it coming and watched it burst in the heart of the ship.
This single projectile probably killed and wounded not less than fifty
men. We had our floating equipment handy and soon began to put it on.
Many of the men leaped into the water, preferring to trust to getting
picked up by the British rather than remain for certain destruction on
the doomed and helpless _Bluecher_.
It was early in the action that the concentrated fire of the British
guns on the _Bluecher_ landed a shell directly over our engine room.
This slowed up the ship and we began to drop back. Very soon a second
shell reached the engine room, and we signalled the rest of the fleet,
"All engines useless." In another half hour the _Bluecher_ was a mass
of flame from fore bridge to stern. One shell pierced the foundation of
a turret and set off some ammunition, causing a deafening explosion and
great loss of life within the turret.
In the midst of the infernal noise and carnage a strange incident
happened. A reserve sailor who stood unoccupied near one of the gun
crews followed the details of the battle as they were telephoned to the
turret from time to time by the commander. Finally, unable to keep back
his feelings, the sailor produced a violin. While the guns roared in
the turrets and pillars of water were thrown up by the falling shells
he played "The Watch on the Rhine," and from all sides the men joined
in the song.
Battered above decks, the vitals torn and twisted, and with many holes
in her sides, the _Bluecher_ reeled and stumbled like a drunken sailor.
But it was the torpedo from the _Arethusa_ that was the final death
blow. She drew alongside, and one of the British officers shouted
through a megaphone a warning in German that they were about to launch
a torpedo. Our men understood, and many of them took headers into the
water.
Steaming within 200 yards of the reeling _Bluecher_, the British
warship discharged her torpedo, which went home. The explosion had an
appalling result, and none would have survived if they had remained
clinging to the wreck.
The wounded _Bluecher_ finally settled down, turned wearily over and
disappeared in a swirl of water.
"TODGER" JONES, V. C.
_The Man Who Captured a Hundred Germans Single-Handed_
_His Story as told by Himself, set down by A. E. Littler_
"How the dickens did you do it, Jones?" asked King George, when
he invested Private Jones with the well-earned Cross; and our
readers will echo the question. Here is the answer--"Todger's" own
modest account of his amazing feat, as told to our representative
at a special interview. It is a story that will live, a record of
dauntless pluck and unfailing cheerfulness in the face of death
that has no parallel even in the glorious annals of the Victoria
Cross. Told in _Wide World Magazine_.