THE FIRST ATTEMPT. THE RETURN TO HARBOUR
The first period, during which the tidal and astronomical conditions
would be favourable, approached. The period was limited to about half
a dozen days for the reasons stated in a previous chapter. The weather
looked ominous; none of us were very hopeful of an early start. Those
last few days of waiting were rather trying. So many things might
happen to prevent the operation from taking place. Some of us were
inclined to be apprehensive, not of the result if we once came to grips
with the enemy, but of the operation being cancelled, or of its being
indefinitely postponed, which generally means the same thing. Another
great attack on the Belgian coast had previously been planned and
prepared, but had never come off. I hesitate to think of the effect on
the general morale of the personnel if our enterprise had suffered the
same fate. Disappointment is hard enough to bear at any time, but on
such an occasion as this it would have just about broken one's heart.
On the eve of the first day of the first period our anxiety about the
weather was tremendous. The wind blew hard that night. The morning
had nearly dawned before some of us could make ourselves realise that
looking at the weather would not do any good. We endeavoured not to
offend it by saying unkind words. We touched wood many times when we
gave {142} vent to our hopes bred of optimism. Patience is a virtue
indeed. But the first day was obviously unfavourable, so we commenced
to wait for the second.
[Sidenote: Carry On]
At last there was a decided improvement. A state of readiness was
ordered. The wind had fallen very light and we were as hopeful as we
were anxious to be "up and doing." The order to raise steam was next
received and followed shortly after by the order to "carry on" as
previously laid down in the time table. All was bustle then.
Unnecessary baggage was transhipped to a harbour vessel against the day
when some of us might require it. In due course the final arrangements
were made and we shortened in our cables. Then we weighed anchors and
started off. The officers and men of _Hindustan_ cheered us
vigorously; answering cheers were given as we steamed close past her.
_Vindictive_ and the blockships all cheered each other, enthusiasm was
in the air. Thank goodness we were off at last. Thank goodness, also,
that nothing had occurred to prevent our showing what we could do.
Those were the thoughts uppermost in our minds.
_Iris_ and _Daffodil_ were sent on ahead so that _Vindictive_ could
take them in tow when we were clear of the shoals. It will be
remembered that _Iris_ and _Daffodil_ did not possess a high degree of
steaming power, either in the way of speed or reliability.
It had, therefore, been decided that _Vindictive_ should tow both these
vessels across the sea until in the near vicinity of Zeebrugge Mole;
that would help to ensure their arrival. I read afterwards in one
account of this affair that _Iris_ and _Daffodil_ towed _Vindictive_
into action!
The squadron formed into "line ahead" in the order {143} _Vindictive,
Thetis, Intrepid, Iphigenia, Brilliant_, and _Sirius_. The wind was
blowing rather weakly, but from a favourable direction. The sea was
very calm and, altogether, conditions appeared to be most promising.
There were no glum faces in our little community just then. As soon as
we had cleared the shoals we all stopped for a few minutes while
_Vindictive_ took _Iris_ and _Daffodil_ in tow; that accomplished, we
set course for Rendezvous A, where we had to meet the Vice-Admiral and
the remaining vessels from Dover. During our passage through the
various channels between sandbanks we passed a large number of
homeward-bound merchant ships. The contrast between them and our
vessels was not merely confined to the matter of appearance.
Each of these merchant ships was just completing a successful
operation, namely, that of bringing necessities of life to this country
after running the gantlet of the enemy submarines and mines. On the
other hand, we were just setting out for the purpose of reducing such
risks in the future. One could not help realising the fact that these
mercantile mariners had risked their lives over and over again without
ostentation, with small hope of glory, with practically no reward.
Fine fellows indeed! What a debt of gratitude we all owed them! Some
of them, doubtless, had been torpedoed three and four times, losing all
their effects each time, but here they were again with yet another
voyage to their credit. We overtook a few vessels outward bound with
their troubles to come. Some of these ships were neutrals. We
wondered what they thought of us and how they would describe us when
they arrived at their destinations. We could {144} reckon on the enemy
having agents at all the neutral ports with their "ears well trimmed to
the wind" when in the presence of neutral mariners from British ports.
We also wondered if these neutrals could fail to recognise the
difference between British and German treatment of merchantmen at sea,
and whether such recognition would not make them chary of talking too
much.
Presently we sighted a large number of small craft. They seemed to be
dashing up from every direction, at first in an apparently aimless
fashion, but presently one recognised the method in their madness. At
schedule time we stopped, heading towards our goal. The crowd soon
sorted themselves out.
The Vice-Admiral with his flag flying in the destroyer _Warwick_ took
up a position of advantage. Destroyers and blockships took small motor
craft in tow. Other vessels acted as tugs for the submarines. Motor
launches, puffing for all the world as if they lacked training, thus
acting an untruth, assembled according to their ultimate duties.
Somebody remarked that we resembled a sea-circus, there were so many
turns taking place simultaneously. One hardly knew which to admire
most. The destroyers throbbing with latent energy, some of them
shouting through their safety valves that they were in a hurry to get
to business. The motor launches, pretending the sea was rough and
often rolling heavily in their pretence, producing a similar impression
to that of a certain famous automobile which, though cheap, always
"gets there" even if some parts are missing at the end of the journey.
The C.M.B.'s (which, being interpreted, signifies Coastal Motor Boats,
though {145} the word "coastal" hardly seems appropriate) were tearing
through the water and almost leaping into the other element as if to
emulate the flying-fish. Perhaps the word "crowd" was most suited to
the appearance of this heterogeneous collection of craft, but they were
very different from a crowd in their behaviour.
[Sidenote: The Signal to Proceed]
Punctually at the scheduled hour the signal was hoisted to proceed.
The expedition, making its debut as such, set course for the eastward.
Enthusiasm was at its highest pitch. Final preparations were then the
order of the day. In _Vindictive_ emergency rations and field
dressings were distributed. Small arms were inspected, ammunition was
stowed ready for use. Demolition charges were placed in a handy
position for rapid removal to the Mole, gangways were triced up, bombs
were fused, howitzers and flame-throwers were prepared. Hoses were
flaked down for fire brigade uses, fire extinguishers were provided in
specially dangerous corners, duplicate charts were placed in the
conning tower. To guard against the eventuality of all the navigating
personnel being rendered _hors de combat_ during the fight or the
charts being destroyed, the retirement courses were painted up on the
armour inside the conning tower. A year later I found this painting
untouched, although the ship had been in the Germans' hands (after
being sunk by us at Ostende in May, 1918) for many months--I wondered
if they understood its signification. All the other craft in company
were equally busy.
We passed through further rendezvous, B and C and D, etc., carefully
checking our progress at each so as to ensure working to the time table.
{146}
The bombarding and supporting squadrons had proceeded independently.
We were accompanied by aircraft during the daylight hours of our
passage; their special duty was that of scouting for German aircraft
and preventing those that might have seen us from giving any warning of
our approach.
The wind gradually became very fitful and made us rather apprehensive
of its changing to an unsuitable direction. Surely we were not to be
robbed of our long-awaited opportunity at the eleventh hour. Daylight
faded into twilight and the latter gave way to darkness. It was a
clear night, but as black as india ink. Presently a distant flash of
light was seen away to starboard. Then another and another. A compass
bearing laid from our charted position gave evidence of something
happening at Ostende. Then searchlight beams were seen searching the
heavens in an uneasy manner. What could it mean? A hurried glance at
the time table explained everything.
[Sidenote: A Difficult Decision]
Our aircraft had opened the ball. The booming of guns was heard quite
plainly and the glare of the flashes was distinctly visible. Zeebrugge
then joined in the game. In a little while we could make out the trail
of the "flaming onions," rushing heavenwards, hanging stationary for a
few seconds, and then slowly falling in their curiously serpentine
manner, for all the world like colossal snakes writhing in their death
agony. The firing became more intense and we were more anxious than
ever to get to work. It was obvious enough that our aircraft--the 65th
Wing of the Royal Air Force from Dunkerque--were setting about the
enemy in determined fashion. Our turn was to come shortly, according
to plan. Alas, "the best laid {147} schemes of mice and men gang aft
agley." We had stopped to disembark the surplus blockship crews--_if
they could be found_, and to slip the small craft from their towing
hawsers in readiness to penetrate the danger zone. The wind seemed to
have died away for a moment and then commenced to blow from a
_southerly_ direction.
Seldom has an admiral been faced with such a difficult situation. A
decision had to be given, and quickly. The nature of the operation
admitted of no delay. The wind at the moment was hopelessly
unfavourable for our use of artificial fog. The latter was essential.
It would mean sheer slaughter if there were no cover from the shore
batteries during the approach. On the other hand, the wind might
change again. Here was the whole expedition within a short distance of
our objectives. The major part of the passage had been completed in
spite of all the difficulties and practically without incident. The
aerial attack had commenced. The monitors were shortly to send their
messages of destruction hurtling on their way to the enemy. We had
been seen by all sorts of neutral vessels. Most of the conditions were
favourable--the wind alone was seriously against us. Another chance
might never come. He who risks nothing attains nothing. Discretion is
the better part of valour. What was it to be?
In all the pages of naval history I cannot remember having come across
any occasion where a more difficult decision had to be made. After
Teneriffe Nelson had realised his mistake of allowing impetuosity to
influence sound reasoning to the extent of attacking when the
conditions were unfavourable. Not only {148} was that first attack a
failure, but it had foredoomed the second attempt to failure also. The
Vice-Admiral avoided the same mistake--he ordered the operation to be
cancelled for that night. Much has been written of the attack which
eventually took place. References to the Nelson touch have not been
unknown. But this latter comparison, as I have shown, was curiously
inapt if intended to cover the whole direction of the enterprise.
There was no time for feelings of disappointment. We had to return at
utmost speed so as to be ready to start again next day if the
conditions allowed. Our bases lay many miles to the westward, but we
were heading in an easterly direction. "Course West" was signalled
immediately. _Vindictive_ held the honoured post of "Guide of the
Fleet." Complete instructions had been laid down for turning round at
night. It must be remembered that we had seventy-seven craft in close,
very close, company. We duly turned round, hoping that all craft had
received the signal. Our hopes were not entirely realised. In a few
moments the close company became too close for comfort. Small craft
shaved across our bows so narrowly that they left the impression of
having gone through us. Shouts were heard, mingled with the puffing
and spluttering of internal-combustion engines. We wondered which
particular vessel we should sink first. But out of chaos came some
semblance of order and presently we were homeward bound without any
very serious casualties.
Away in the distance there were occasional gun and searchlight flashes,
but the monitors had received the cancellation news in time to preserve
their silence. {149} During the turn to the westward one of the small
craft, in imminent danger of collision, had momentarily switched on her
navigation lights. Others followed suit until our force resembled
Brighton Esplanade indulging in a Venetian fete as viewed from the sea.
"Out Lights" was immediately ordered and passed from one craft to
another by megaphone or flash-lamp; darkness reigned once more as we
sped homeward. Although we had shown a blaze of lights, the enemy
patrols, we heard afterwards, failed to see us; this was scarcely a
token of their efficiency.
[Sidenote: Value of the Attempt]
So it was a case of "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
This abortive attempt was by no means without value. We had rehearsed
the concentration and the oversea passage of the main force; the other
vessels had practised reaching their various destinations; the aircraft
had carried out their attack; the routes and navigational aids had been
severely tested. Naturally enough much valuable experience had been
gained and, after all, no harm had resulted provided that the enemy
remained ignorant of our efforts and intentions. But certain incidents
had occurred to increase our reliance on the small craft. During the
turn to the westward disentanglement without serious accident was only
achieved as a result of fine seamanship and initiative on the part of
those in command; these qualities had thus been evidenced under most
realistic and difficult conditions. We felt that, if they could deal
successfully with such a situation as _that_, they could be relied upon
to tackle any situation, however difficult or unexpected.
A couple of incidents that occurred may illustrate the point. During
the turning manoeuvre one of the {150} coastal motor boats received a
heavy blow in the bows from another craft. A hole resulted and the
water commenced to pour through it. She would probably have sunk in a
minute or two but for the resource of her commanding officer. He
ordered one of the men to sit in the hole. This reduced the inflow of
water, but can hardly have been a comfortable proceeding for the
individual concerned. The boat was then worked up to high speed. The
reader probably knows that the bow of one of these fast motor boats
gradually raises itself as speed is increased until the fore part of
the boat is completely clear of the water. In this case the hole was
above the sea when twenty-seven knots had been attained. The man who
had found a new use for his anatomy then withdrew himself. Whether the
commanding officer of the boat desired to remain with the guide of the
fleet out of sheer friendship or whether he was uncertain of his
geographical position, I know not. But he evidently decided to remain
in company. _Vindictive_ was steaming at a modest ten knots or so; the
motor boat could not afford to proceed at less than twenty-seven knots;
so he steamed round and round the remaining seventy-six vessels until
daylight, when he was detached to his base.
[Sidenote: A Belated Motor Boat]
Another coastal motor boat, soon after leaving Dover on the outward
trip, developed some defect which put the engines out of action. The
young officer in command obtained the services of a trawler to tow him
back to Dover, where, on arrival, he had the matter put right. All
that took time. He started off again about five hours late. Now, the
occupants of this boat had no intention of missing the affair for which
they {151} had prepared so long. They decided to get to Zeebrugge as
soon as possible--at full speed they might yet be in time. So at full
speed they went, straight as a die for their goal, right across nets,
mines, and shoals. The sixty miles were covered in less than two
hours. The aerial attack was in full swing. Searchlight beams were
passing dangerously near them, the heavens were filled with bursting
shell and flaming onions. Suddenly out of the darkness loomed some
black shapes--"Houses ahead!" shouted somebody. "Hard-a-starboard and
stop her!" As she turned round to seaward they made out the town of
Blankenberghe; they had escaped running ashore by the narrowest of
margins.
On they went again for Zeebrugge Mole. Things were quieter now. That
was strange in itself. What had happened to the long-range
bombardment? Where were the smoke screens and why was nothing
happening at the Mole? Our ships must be much overdue. Whatever could
it mean? Presently some strange craft were seen and a moment later the
motor boat was under fire. So she sheered off and the commanding
officer did some hard thinking. There was only one possible
explanation--the operation must have been postponed. So the next item
on her programme was to return to Dover. It wouldn't do to be late
getting back, so away they went--hell for leather--straight across
everything once more. And they arrived back at Dover, after having
completed the whole voyage both ways, before their confrères who were
with the main force!
At dawn we had completed most of the open-sea passage on the return
journey. The force split up--the various units deconcentrated.
{152}
_Vindictive_ and her old friends returned to her home of the last few
weeks. The _Hindustan's_ enthusiasm of the day before gave place to
curiosity. The former positions in the anchorage were reoccupied.
Coaling was then the order of the day; not a moment was to be wasted;
with luck we might start again before nightfall.
But it was not to be. The conditions were hopeless and perhaps that
was all for the best. We needed some rest. As soon as everything was
in readiness for the second attempt, we piped down and then, for the
first time, we had a chance to talk things over.
It would be untrue to say that we were not disappointed. The fear of
indefinite postponement was now much stronger. But everybody realised
to the full that the chances of success under adverse conditions were
practically nil. Discussion paved the way to many suggestions of
improvement--at any rate, we intended to derive what benefit we could
from the abortive attempt.
{153}