ORDERED TO THE DARDANELLES
WE left the Cape about the 16th of February 1915. For several days
previous to our departure we were busy taking in a quantity of stores
suggestive of a land campaign.
These included hand-grenades, entrenching tools, water troughs and
tanks, provisions of every description, and a whole lot of empty
biscuit-tins, the eventual usefulness of which I, for one, failed to
fathom. When finally we weighed anchor and steamed out, having the
Vice-Admiral and his staff on board, we encountered some very heavy
weather. A stiff south-easter had been blowing for some days past, and
off Cape Agulhas and in False Bay it was very rough indeed; but, save
for the general discomfort which such weather always brings in its
train, our voyage was without accident or incident, and a week later we
dropped anchor in Port Natal—the port of Durban.
Leave was given in the afternoon, but as half of us had to stay on
board, and as it was improbable that we should get leave again in this
particular place, we cast lots in the gun-room to determine who should
go ashore. Baker and I were among the lucky ones, and we went off
together and took the tram into Durban.
We got down at the town station and walked along the main street,
looking into all the shops. It was jolly being in such a very European
place again. The quaintest feature of Durban seemed to us the native
rickshaw-boys, who paint their faces and wear head-dresses of enormous
many-coloured feathers, gaudy dresses sown with beads, and huge copper
rings on their wrists and ankles.
Presently we took another tram, and were looking out for an attractive
tea-shop as we went along, when a lady and gentleman got into the
tram, and the lady at once introduced herself to us, saying that she
had a son at Osborne, so could not help being interested in us. After a
little conversation she very kindly asked us to have tea with her. We
very gladly accepted the invitation, and a little later we all got out
of the tram and went to a hotel by the sea. Here we had a ripping tea,
and at 6 o’clock said “good-bye” to our kind hosts, and then did some
shopping in the town until 7 o’clock, when we were due to return on
board.
Next day we still remained in harbour, so the others got their leave
after all. During the day, much to our curiosity, we took on board
three rickshaws. No one could imagine what they could be wanted for!
Further, we accumulated some more biscuit-boxes and some tins of petrol.
That evening we weighed anchor and proceeded out to sea. Just at the
mouth of the harbour we were confronted by a big bar which—as the tide
was running the same way as the river, _i.e._ ebbing—had not been
there when we came in, and consequently it took us unawares. It was
nearly dark, so the bar was not noticed until we were almost on top
of it. The Captain yelled a warning to the first part of the watch on
deck, who were still on the fo’c’sle securing the anchor, telling them
to hang on tight, and the next moment we dipped our bow and shipped an
enormous sea. Messengers had been hurriedly dispatched to give orders
for all scuttles and dead-lights to be closed immediately, and for the
crockery in the pantries and messes to be secured firmly; but some of
the scuttles could not be closed in time, and many cabins were flooded
as the sea passed aft. The lieutenant-commander in charge of the party
on the fo’c’sle just grabbed one man in time to prevent his being
washed overboard. Four of these huge rollers came before we were safely
out in the open sea, but no real damage was done, although the owners
of the flooded cabins were mightily indignant and disgusted.
We now discovered that we were under orders to blockade the
_Koenigsberg_, that German commerce raider which had been trapped in
the Rufigi river some two or three months before, and whose crew,
entrenched on the banks, had hitherto defied capture. It was now
rumoured that in all probability troops would try and attack her by
land, and that there would also be a landing-party of seamen and
marines from our ship. The petrol we had taken on board would be needed
for a seaplane which was to assist in the operations; but the use of
those fantastic rickshaws was still “wropped in mystery”!
During the voyage up the coast, the Admiral had us all in turn to
breakfast with him. This was a great treat to us, for not only was
Vice-Admiral—— a most kindly and genial host, but the fare at his
table, though not, perhaps, luxurious according to shore and _peace_
standards, was a vast improvement on the bully beef, liquefied
margarine, and very nasty bread which was all that was to be had in
the gun-room. Perhaps this sounds rather greedy, but it is really
extraordinary how awfully important quite ordinarily nice food becomes
when it is no longer an every-day matter-of-course!
Ten days after leaving Durban we sighted Mafia Island, and stopped
for two hours to communicate with various ships stationed there,
after which we went on to Zanzibar. Here we stayed for twenty-four
hours; were allowed to go ashore, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. The
following day, the 1st of March, we put to sea again, and proceeded to
the mouth of the Rufigi river, where we anchored.
For reasons, naturally not confided to junior “snotties,” we got under
way again a few hours later, and went back to Mafia Island. Here the
cutter was lowered, and Fane took the captain of marines, who was
our intelligence officer, in to the beach to try and obtain from the
natives information of the _Koenigsberg_. On their return we found that
Fane had managed to procure a quantity of fresh coconuts and mangoes,
which were greatly appreciated in the gun-room.
A curious optical illusion, caused by heat and the vibration of the
atmosphere, was very noticeable in these latitudes. The horizon line
seemed completely obliterated, and ships and islands appeared as though
floating in the air.
Some days later _H.M.S. “——”_ made the discovery that a German
officer, accompanied by ten native German infantry, were encamped on
an outlying island; so she lowered her cutter, and landed a party of
marines on the island in question. The Germans surrendered after a
half-hearted opposition, and the following day the officer was sent to
our ship as a prisoner, and we took him to Zanzibar and handed him over
to the military authorities.
When we returned, the Admiral having decided to hoist his flag in
his former flagship, he and his staff were transferred to _H.M.S.
“——.”_ Carey, our senior mid, was appointed to that ship, and two
sub-lieutenants came to us in his stead. All boats were lowered to
convey the Admiral and his party, and a consignment of small arms,
which we had on board, was transhipped at the same time.
A few days later we went down the coast to Lindi, a German town, and
threatened them with a bombardment unless they surrendered 400 black
and 200 white troops. They refused to comply with our demand, and so at
2 p.m. we went to action stations and commenced fire.
At 6 o’clock, the town being on fire in several places, we considered
we had “strafed” them sufficiently, and also the light was beginning
to fail, so we ceased the bombardment and weighed anchor. Just at this
moment a cruiser appeared in the offing, and for some minutes it was
thought she might be a hostile craft; however, on being challenged in
code by searchlight, she proved by her reply to be British, so we went
back to Mafia.
Three days later we learned that we were not after all to be “in at
the death” of the _Koenigsberg_. Bigger, far bigger work was in store
for us. We had received orders to proceed at once to the Dardanelles.
Immense excitement prevailed in the gun-room, for we guessed this
new move predicted action which would throw all we had hitherto
experienced into the shade—and subsequent events more than justified
our conjecture.
First we went to Zanzibar, where we arrived in the morning. All that
day was spent in disembarking the extraneous ammunition, petrol,
and so on and so forth (not forgetting those mysterious rickshaws),
which we had taken on board for the purposes of the _Koenigsberg_
operations. Then in the evening we weighed anchor, and as we passed
slowly out the Flagship gave us a right royal send-off. Her band
played _Tipperary_—that pretty music-hall tune which, by the curious
psychology of the British soldier, has been raised to the dignity of a
battle hymn, and then followed it up with _Auld Lang Syne_, while the
Admiral from the stern-walk wished us “Good luck,” and waved a parting
farewell; and the old ship steamed away on what for her, and most of
her ship’s company, was to prove the last long voyage.