First Blood
WITHOUT the formality of a declaration of war hostilities were begun.
Taking the precedent of the Russo-Japanese war, when the Japs
delivered what might be termed a treacherous attack upon Port
Arthur--an act that was tolerantly regarded by her ally, Great
Britain--a squadron of Zeppelins, numbering seventeen in all,
proceeded to a rendezvous at the mouth of the Elbe, accompanied by
seventy-two seaplanes. As night fell the whole of the destroyer
flotillas of Heligoland, Borkum, and Westerland Sylt shaped a course
for British waters. Two hours later the aircraft left to deliver
simultaneous surprise attacks upon Sheerness, Harwich, the Tyne,
Rosyth, and Dundee.
At midnight the British and American ambassadors at Berlin were
informed of the outbreak of hostilities. Guards were posted outside
the embassies, and all telephonic and telegraphic communications from
these buildings were interrupted. The ambassadors were informed that
they would be at liberty to leave Germany either via Paris or Vienna
after a lapse of twelve hours.
At 2 a.m. the cables between Borkum and Lowestoft, which, subject to
censorship, had been working normally, suddenly ceased to transmit
messages. From that moment all direct telegraphic communication
between Great Britain and Germany was broken off.
Strangely enough, that very element of chance that the German
Chancellor claimed to have eliminated became most pronounced. For
weeks past the prevailing winds had been from an easterly or
north-easterly direction; now without warning they backed to the
westward. By midnight it was blowing with almost the velocity of a
hurricane. Consequently the German aircraft, especially the
Zeppelins, made a comparatively slow voyage.
Now it happened that the British fishery-protection gunboat _Onyx_
was cruising off the sou'-west tail of the Dogger Bank, and the
attention of the officer of the watch was called to a peculiar
buzzing sound overhead that was plainly audible during a lull in the
wind.
Bringing his night glasses to bear the officer made the discovery
that a number of seaplanes were battling against the wind, their
direction being due west.
Fortunately the lieutenant did not attempt to train a searchlight
upon the aircraft, nor did he offer to enter into communication by
means of a flashing-lamp; but he promptly got in touch with
Scarborough wireless station:--
"From _Onyx_, lat. 54° 17' 20" N., long. 2° 9' 30" E.
Sighted seaplanes, numerous, nationality unknown,
steering due west."
With commendable promptitude this information was transmitted to the
Admirality, and since it was known that none of the British seaplanes
had left their respective bases that night, it was taken for granted
the aircraft were of German nationality. Orders were immediately
given for the east-coast defences to be on the qui vive, and for the
Nore, Harwich, Rosyth, and Dundee flotillas of destroyers and
submarines to put to sea.
Dawn was just breaking when the belated German seaplanes came in
sight of the leading British vidette boats from Harwich. The
aircraft, battling against the furious wind, were rocking and
pitching so much that the attention of their pilots was directed
towards the maintenance of stability.
Presently one of the German seaplanes dropped a bomb. It exploded
harmlessly at a distance of more than two hundred yards from the
British destroyer _Lynx_.
From that moment all doubts as to the intentions of the aerial fleet
were set at rest. The destroyers instantly opened fire, and, in spite
of the high seas that were running, made excellent results. Whether
the seaplanes were two hundred or two thousand feet in the air their
destruction was no less certain; few could resist the explosion of
the highly charged shrapnel. It was, to use the words of a
first-class petty officer, "like knocking over a lot of partridges".
In ten minutes the few aircraft that still escaped damage turned tail
and fled before the wind.
The seaplanes detailed to operate on the Scottish coasts fared no
better, but in the case of those operating against the Tyne ports a
small success fell to their share, though more by accident than by
design.
Within recent years powerful batteries had been erected at
Cullercoats, Tynemouth, North Shields, and Frenchman's Bay for the
defence of the Tyne, and at Roker and Hendon Hill for the protection
of Sunderland. These either superseded the previously ill-armed
batteries or were on entirely new sites. For purposes of mobilization
they were entrusted to the Tynemouth Territorials of the Royal
Garrison Artillery, who held the honour of being first in precedence
of all the several groups of this branch of the Service.
Upon the hasty though not unexpected order for mobilization these men
nobly responded to the call. Many of them, summoned from their work
in the great shipbuilding yards, had no time to don their uniforms,
but they could shoot none the worse on that account.
At exactly a quarter past four, just as the sun was breaking above a
bank of clouds, the first hostile seaplane was sighted by the gunners
of the Cullercoats Battery.
The German airmen had already realized that, owing to the climatic
conditions, all attempt to deliver a surprise attack was hopeless.
But their orders were definite. There was to be no turning back.
To a certain extent their method of attack was better planned than
those of their ill-fated detachments, who were already either
destroyed or in full flight. They flew high and with a great space
between the pairs of units. Moreover, with the sun well behind them,
they offered a difficult target to the British gunners.
The nearest hostile seaplane was actually immediately above the
lighthouse at the end of the North Pier of Tynemouth harbour when a
twelve-pounder shell from the Cullercoats Battery struck her. In the
twinkling of an eye the graceful bird-like machine was literally
blown to atoms, the explosion of her petrol tanks throwing out spurts
of lurid flame out of which fragments of the ill-fated craft fell
with unequal velocity into the sea.
Undeterred by this catastrophe, the second aeroplane, travelling
through the air at a rate of seventy miles an hour, passed over the
South Pier. Several times she swayed ominously in the air currents
set up by the projectiles which screeched within a few feet of the
swiftly-moving target.
Now she was within the line of batteries and immediately above the
most congested quarter of South Shields. It seemed as if nothing
could prevent the seaplane from working havoc upon the crowded
shipping between Tynemouth and Newcastle. Men, women, and children
crowded into the streets, gazing in blank astonishment at the sight
of a hostile aircraft making ready for its work of destruction. Tales
of probable invasion had for years past fallen upon deaf ears; now
that the actual danger was apparent they could not realize it.
They were not long left in doubt. The seaplane slowed down, and,
descending to less than four hundred feet, dropped two bombs in quick
succession. No doubt these were intended for the petroleum tanks
owned by the Tyne Commissioners. Both missiles went wide of the mark.
The first struck and destroyed a Russian timber barque moored at the
jetty; the second demolished the best part of a row of houses, and
started a disastrous fire that, before it was extinguished, laid bare
nearly an eighth of South Shields.
Following the course of the river the seaplane flew onwards. Four
hundred feet beneath her lay the locks of Tyne dock, the great
commercial basin controlled by the North-Eastern Railway Company, and
which, in time of war, would form the principal coaling and oil-fuel
base for British destroyers obliged to replenish their bunkers and
tanks in the Tyne.
At this juncture two companies of the 7th Battalion of the Durham
Light Infantry were on their way from their drill hall. Luckily they
were armed and provided with ball ammunition, and without hesitation
the officer in command ordered them to open fire. It was realized
that the danger of the bullets falling to earth was less than the
peril from the bombs of the modern terror of the skies. Soon the
sharp crackle of musketry began.
Several times the seaplane was struck, but without serious result,
till without warning one of her wings appeared to crumple up. Round
and round spun the stricken craft, dropping rapidly towards the
ground, with her propellers still buzzing at a furious rate. "Cease
fire!" came the order, and with bated breath the Territorials watched
the result of their work.
Presently the downward fall was retarded. One of the crew of the
seaplane had released the umbrella-like parachute. Nose downwards the
stricken craft continued to plunge; only by means of leathern straps
were the ill-fated Germans prevented from being thrown clear of the
wreckage.
Ever so slowly it seemed to the watchers did the seaplane fall, till,
with a dull crash, the framework struck an open space between the
dock office and the buildings of the chemical works.
The crash was instantly followed by the petrol taking fire, while
above the hiss of the flames could be heard the shrieks of the
luckless Germans who were unable to disentangle themselves from the
wreckage.
No longer were they looked upon as enemies; they were human beings in
peril. The "Terriers", dropping their rifles, began to run to the aid
of the burning airmen, but before the foremost got within a hundred
yards of the wreckage a tremendous explosion sent most of the men
over like ninepins. The remaining bombs that had survived the impact
of the fall had exploded, and when the would-be rescuers approached
the scene of the disaster they found a hole nearly twenty feet in
diameter and six feet deep blown out of the ground.
Another seaplane, winged by the gunners of the Spanish battery--where
two seven-pounders of a modern type had only recently been
mounted--fell into the sea off Freestone Point. Her crew were
promptly rescued and captured by the coastguards, and the damaged
seaplane was dragged ashore in triumph.
As for the other hostile aircraft menacing the Tyne ports, not one
came near enough to make use of its powerful means of offence. Many
were destroyed; the rest, realizing the hopelessness of the task,
turned and flew towards the coast of Germany.
Nor did the German submarines and destroyers meet with any better
luck.
Five of the latter succeeded in entering the Firth of Forth, but none
got within striking distance of the four British super-Dreadnoughts
lying with steam up off Rosyth. The vigilant swift third-class
cruisers attached to that base quickly settled the destroyers as they
pitched and plunged against the steep seas off the Bass Rock.
In every other case the detachments of the German destroyers were met
and overmatched by the superior numbers and greater seaworthiness of
the British craft. Had the German seaplanes rallied and supported
their destroyers during the hot conflict that ensued the result might
have been different. But they did not. Once more, as in times past,
the elements came to the aid of Great Britain. The surprise attacks
had signally failed. It was now left to the British Navy to seek out
the German battleships, and once and for all to settle the question
of supremacy on the high seas.