The admiral had all the qualities necessary for success and one gift

more--that of complete and invariable good fortune. He was to

concentrate either off the Panama Canal or the islets known as the

Abrolhos Rocks far down towards Rio, according as he could best guess at

Spee's intentions. He guessed right, and chose the latter rendezvous,

where, on the 26th, he met Admiral Stoddart with the _Carnarvon_,

_Cornwall_, _Defence_, _Kent_, _Bristol_, and _Orama_.

[Illustration: Battle of the Falkland Islands--December 8.

First Phase--8 a.m.]

On the same day, as it happened, Spee was moving south from St. Quentin

Bay for an attack upon the Falklands, and Sturdee was receiving final

orders to base himself upon the Falklands and search for Spee round the

Horn. The meeting was therefore certain; but the fate of Port Stanley

depended on the race between the two opposing squadrons. Fortune again

favoured Sturdee: he was delayed at first by false reports, but Spee

lost four full days in capturing and plundering a British collier. When

he appeared off the Falklands in the early morning of the 8th December,

Sturdee had already been nearly eighteen hours in harbour, and his ships

had been busily coaling all night.

When Spee was sighted from Port Stanley his arrival was a surprise to

the British squadron. The battle-cruisers had not yet received their

full supply of coal. But their oil supply was untouched, and by the

admiral's foresight steam had been ordered at half an hour's notice for

the _Kent_ and the _Inflexible_, and at two hours' for the rest. The

signal to prepare to weigh and to raise steam was made at 8.14 a.m. The

_Gneisenau_ and the _Nuernberg_, after sheering off at a couple of

salvos from the _Canopus_, came on again at 9.30 to attack the _Kent_

and the _Glasgow_, who were already on guard outside the harbour. The

German ships were immediately recalled--their admiral may not have known

yet that the battle-cruisers were there; but the report he received

convinced him that he was in the presence of a superior force, and must

therefore avoid action if possible, in accordance with German naval

orders or tradition. He was a brave and chivalrous commander, and it

was his misfortune that he was not at liberty to stand in to the harbour

mouth and fight his enemy at close range while the squadron was coming

out ship by ship. His own armour was superior to that of the

battle-cruisers, and his guns were effective up to 13,000 yards; he

could not have avoided destruction, but he could certainly have

inflicted serious damage.

Instead of acting thus, he signalled to raise steam and steer east with

all speed. The battle-cruisers were now out of harbour, and visible to

him; the _Glasgow_ and the _Kent_ were ahead, keeping touch, and Admiral

Sturdee made the signal for "General Chase." The five German ships were

hull down on the horizon, but the sky was clear; there was a light

breeze and a calm sea; visibility was at its maximum: a combination

fatal for the pursued. More fatal still was the character of the

pursuer: a scientific seaman and tactician, a commander spirited and

self-confident, cool and decisive. There would be difficulties from wind

and smoke, and from the differences in the speed of his ships; but

Admiral Sturdee had his chance before him, complete though not perfect,

and he would grasp it with no uncertain hand.

[Illustration: Battle of the Falkland Islands--December 8.

Second Phase--11 a.m.]

He began by taking the battle-cruisers ahead at 26-1/2 knots; then

slowed down, cleared for action, and piped the men to dinner at 11.30 as

usual; changing course at the same time to converge upon the enemy. At

12.20 he increased to 25 knots, and opened fire on the _Leipzig_, now

within 15,000 yards. She was soon on fire, and at 1.20 turned away

south-west with the _Nuernberg_ and the _Dresden_. Admiral von Spee was

dividing his squadron, in hope of saving some part of it. But Admiral

Sturdee had foreseen this move. Without any fresh signal, the

_Glasgow_, the _Kent_, and the _Cornwall_ at once followed the light

cruisers; Captain Luce was to have the honour of a separate action to

himself, while the battle-cruisers and the _Carnarvon_ held on after

Spee.

The main action began with an experimental stage; the German ships

concentrated their fire on the _Invincible_, but could not reach her.

On the other hand, her smoke was smothering the _Inflexible_. At 2.5

Sturdee began to close, and Spee, covered by his own smoke, turned to

starboard, and went off at full speed after his light cruisers. By 2.45

he was again overtaken. He then turned to port, and reduced the range;

he had decided that the time was come to do what damage he could before

the inevitable end.

He opened fire with every gun he had; but here, as in the fight of the

_Sydney_ against the _Emden_, and afterwards at Jutland, the German

gunners, though highly trained, could not long keep their accuracy under

British fire. The duel was practically decided in the first ten

minutes: the _Gneisenau_ was badly hit by the _Inflexible_, the

_Scharnhorst_ was set on fire and lost a funnel; both were staggering

and smoking desperately. Sturdee seized his advantage, turned eighteen

points, and crossed their wake; under his raking fire the _Gneisenau_

listed till her 6-inch guns could no longer fire, the _Scharnhorst_ lost

all her funnels and all her port guns. Spee turned gallantly to bring

his fresh broadside to bear, but at 4.0 his flagship ceased fire

suddenly, and lay down on her beam ends; soon she heeled over, her stern

rose steeply, and she went down head foremost. Admiral Sturdee's

chivalrous dispatch records that Admiral von Spee's flag was flying to

the last.

None of the sinking crew could be saved, for the _Gneisenau_ was still

fighting. The three British ships concentrated on her from three sides;

at 5.8 her forward funnel fell, and her fire slackened; at 5.15 she hit

the _Invincible_ with a single shell; at 5.30 she turned round and

stopped dead. At 5.40 she ceased firing, and hauled down one of her two

flags; at 5.50, while her three enemies were rushing in at 20 knots to

save life, she lay down on her beam ends very suddenly and plunged. Of

her complement of 800, some 200 were still alive, and nearly all of

these were rescued: 166 recovered; 14 who died of exhaustion were buried

next day with full military honours.

Sturdee's next thought was for Captain Luce and his ships. He gave them

his own news by wireless, and asked for theirs. The _Glasgow_ replied

that she and the _Cornwall_ were over 70 miles to the south, and the

_Kent_ out of sight and hearing of them. It seemed not impossible that

the _Nuernberg_ had disposed of her by throwing mines overboard during

the chase. But this was not so; Sturdee's good fortune was not to be

broken. The _Dresden_, it is true, evaded him, but only because her

superior speed and 12 miles' start enabled her to abandon her squadron

when she pleased. The other two light cruisers fought gallantly, but

failed to escape destruction. In their flight they separated, and the

two defeats must be separately described.

When the _Dresden_ decided to run out of action at 27 knots, after the

first turn away, Captain Luce wasted no time in chasing her, but laid

himself alongside of the _Leipzig_, the rear ship, in hope of tempting

her consorts to fall back to her support. His manoeuvre was to close

her repeatedly, engaging with his forward 6-inch gun, and forcing her to

turn her broadside to reply. Each time she did so, the _Kent_ and the

_Cornwall_ drew nearer, till at 3.36 they could attack the _Nuernberg_

and the _Leipzig_ respectively. The _Dresden_ refused to turn back: she

disappeared into the mist, not to be seen again till March 1915, when

she surrendered and blew up after a five minutes' action with the _Kent_

and the _Glasgow_, who had caught her at anchor.

The _Nuernberg_ now turned away east, pursued by the _Kent_; the

_Cornwall_ began to hit the _Leipzig_, who was already engaged with the

Glasgow. Captain Luce, having here the superior speed, turned right

round and passed under his enemy's stern, raking her with his fresh

broadside; then circled round the _Cornwall_, and came again into action

ahead of her. At 6.0, after nearly two hours of such tactics, he gave

the order to close; at 6.35 he received the admiral's wireless message

of victory; at 7.17 he saw his own opponent silenced and burning

furiously. He waited half an hour for her surrender, and then opened

fire again. At that she burned green lights, and he at once lowered his

boats. Five officers and thirteen men had been rescued, when the

blazing _Leipzig_ turned over to port and sank.

[Illustration: Battle of the Falkland Islands--December 8.

Last Phase.]

The _Kent's_ success was of a different kind. Normally she had but

23-1/2 knots of speed to the _Nuernberg's_ 25; but her engine-room

department by consummate skill and energy forced their lame duck to a

speed which at the end of nearly four hours brought her within 12,000

yards of her enemy. Both ships opened fire, the _Kent_ receiving one hit

and making two. The _Nuernberg_ then burst two of her boilers, and

dropped to 19 knots, turned eight points to port, and engaged with her

broadside. Captain Allen accepted the challenge, ran on, and placed the

_Kent_ before her beam at 6,000 yards. By 6.10 he had her burning and

almost silenced; he ran on again, and raked her at 3,500 yards,

destroying all her guns forward. At 6.30 she was silent and motionless.

A few more shots, and she hauled down her flag. Captain Allen hastily

repaired and lowered two of his damaged boats; but before they could

reach her the _Nuernberg_ turned over and sank. Twelve of her men were

found, but only seven survived.

Commander Wharton of the _Kent_ has memorably described the final scene.

"It was strange and weird, all this aftermath, the wind rapidly arising

from the westward, darkness closing in, one ship heaving to the swell,

well battered, the foretop-gallant mast gone. Of the other, nothing to

be seen but floating wreckage, with here and there a man clinging, and

the 'molly hawks' (vultures of the sea) swooping by. The wind moaned,

and death was in the air. Then see! Out of the mist loomed a great

four-masted barque under full canvas. A great ghost-ship she seemed.

Slowly, majestically, she sailed by, and vanished in the night." The

battle-cruisers' fight had been visited, earlier in the day, by the same

ghost-ship; manned, it might easily be imagined, by phantom seamen of

the Nelsonian age.

Not since that age, and seldom even then, had so impressive a victory

been won at sea: it was not a defeat of the enemy, it was his

annihilation. Admiral Sturdee had seized all his opportunities,

surmounted all his difficulties, and attained all his objects; he was

even able to return his most valuable ships to the Grand Fleet

practically intact and in the shortest possible time. It may be added

that in a fine dispatch he showed once more how a British admiral writes

of his enemy's fate and of his own achievement.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*

*MYSTERY SHIPS.*

It was towards the end of 1914 that the German Admiralty conceived the

idea of blockading the British Isles by means of a submarine fleet. The

enterprise was a difficult one; for the pursuit and capture of commerce

a submarine is very ill fitted. A frail boat with a small crew cannot

afford to hold up and examine a ship on the surface; still less to put a

prize crew on board and send the captured vessel into port. It was

therefore decided that to carry out the blockade merchant ships must be

sunk without examination and without warning. If crews, passengers, or

even neutrals perished in this process, the "blame," says Admiral

Scheer, "would attach to those who despised our warnings." No civilized

power had ever before threatened to kill non-combatants on logical

principles of this kind, and as soon as it was seen that the German

Admiralty were attempting to carry out their murderous intentions it

became necessary to devise means of destroying their U-boats wherever

they could be found.

They were accordingly hunted by destroyers, by trawlers, by submarines,

and by airships and seaplanes; they were destroyed by gun fire, by

mines, by nets, by torpedoes, and by depth charges, and all these were

used with the greatest skill and success. Of all the hunting methods,

perhaps the most attractive to the English sporting instinct was that of

the Mystery Ships, or Q-boats. This was at first merely the use of a

simple trap, but was developed by the genius of a single man into an

entirely novel campaign of the most heroic kind.

The Special Service ship or Q-boat of 1915 was a tramp or collier with a

concealed armament for the decoying and destruction of submarines. The

first success was achieved on July 25, 1915, when one of them, the

_Prince Charles_ (Lieutenant W. P. Mark-Wardlaw), was pursued and

shelled by U36, near North Rona Island. Her crew abandoned ship,

leaving their gunners concealed on board. The U-boat thereupon closed;

but when she was within five hundred yards of her apparently helpless

prey, the British guns were suddenly unmasked, and the submarine sank

under their fire, leaving fifteen of her crew to be rescued by the

victors.

It was about this same time that a young lieutenant-commander named

Gordon Campbell put to sea in charge of the Special Service ship

_Farnborough_, formerly a collier, and now manned from the Mercantile

Marine and Royal Naval Reserve. For six months the cruise was

unsuccessful, but in the spring of 1916 the _Farnborough's_ look-out at

last sighted a U-boat, which, after firing a torpedo at her, broke

surface within 1,000 yards, and summoned the supposed tramp with a shot

across her bows. Lieutenant-Commander Campbell, who had trained his

crew to a perfect knowledge of the game they had to play, stopped the

ship, blew off steam ostentatiously, and ordered a "panic abandon ship."

The U-boat came nearer, and reopened fire. Lieutenant-Commander

Campbell, who was still concealed aboard his ship, then hoisted the

white ensign and unmasked his guns. With twenty-one shots from her

12-pounders the _Farnborough_ drove the U-boat under water, then steamed

full speed towards her with depth charges, and when she reappeared

mortally wounded, sent her to the bottom with five more rounds at

point-blank range.

Three weeks afterwards the _Farnborough_ had the good fortune to be

attacked by another U-boat, with whom she fought a surface action at a

range of nearly 1,000 yards, disabling her at the second shot, and

finally blowing her up.

The Germans quickly perceived the deadliness of this new method, which

made every attack on a merchant vessel a possible disaster for the

U-boat, and their press was instructed to complain of the

unscrupulousness of an enemy who used disguised ships and took the

attacker by surprise. Commanders of U-boats were instructed to use

greater caution in approaching their victims, and it soon became evident

to Commander Campbell that they would no longer venture to come near a

live ship. He determined to tempt them with a wounded one.

When his new ship, Q5, was attacked by a U-boat early in 1917, he

manoeuvred intentionally to get her torpedoed. The crew then abandoned

ship as before, while Commander Campbell and his gunners lay hidden in

the water-logged vessel, watching until the timid enemy should venture

to the surface to finish her off. It took the U-boat twenty minutes to

make up her mind. She then came up within 300 yards, and approached to

fire a second torpedo, with her captain visible on his conning-tower.

The first shot fired from Q5 took off his head, and the boat was then

completely shattered; one officer and one man were picked up alive. Q5,

with water in her engine-room, boiler-rooms, and holds, then signalled

for help, and was taken in tow by Lieutenant-Commander W. W. Hallwright

of the _Laburnum_, with the assistance of the _Narwhal_, the

_Buttercup_, and the trawler _Luneta_; after a night of heroic exertions

and great danger she was brought safely into port. Commander Campbell

received the Victoria Cross. Of his officers and crew he wrote: "They

may almost be said to have passed through the supreme test of

discipline. The chief engineer and the engine-room watch remained at

their posts and kept the dynamos going until driven out by water. They

then had to hide on top of the engine-room. The guns' crews had to

remain concealed in their gun-houses for nearly half an hour, where we

could feel the ship going down by the stern. At that time it appeared

touch and go whether the ship would sink before we sank the enemy."

Four months afterwards Campbell and his men were out again, in the

Special Service ship _Pargust_, and were again successful in being

torpedoed. This time the U-boat, after some hesitation, came within 50

yards, and was so much injured by the _Pargust's_ fire as to be

incapable of submerging. Her crew made tokens of surrender, but when

Commander Campbell ceased fire, attempted to make away upon the surface.

The _Pargust_, of course, could not follow, but by a lucky shot she

exploded a torpedo aboard the U-boat and destroyed her, saving only two

of her crew. She was then herself towed into port by the _Crocus_.

This time the Victoria Cross was given to Lieutenant R. N. Stuart,

D.S.O., R.N.R., and to Seaman William Williams, D.S.M., R.N.R., to be

worn on behalf of the whole ship's company.

Captain Campbell's next command was the Special Service ship _Dunraven_,

disguised as an armed British merchant vessel. She was zigzagging at

eight knots in rough water, when a U-boat opened fire upon her at 5,000

yards. Captain Campbell ran up the white ensign, and returned the fire

with a 2-1/2-pounder, intentionally firing short, and making terrified

signals for the U-boat's benefit. Then, as the shells fell closer, he

let off a cloud of steam to indicate boiler trouble, and ordered a

"panic abandon ship." The Germans now became more confident, and began

to make hits; one shell exploded a depth charge on the _Dunraven's_

poop, and blew Lieutenant Charles Bonner, D.S.C., R.N.R., out of his

control station. The U-boat then ceased fire, and came past within 500

yards; but she was partly hidden by the smoke from the _Dunraven's_

burning poop, and though Captain Campbell knew that his magazine and

depth charges must explode sooner or later, he decided to trust his men

and wait until the enemy gave him a better chance.

The U-boat kept him waiting just too long. She was passing the

_Dunraven's_ stern, when the poop blew up, hurling the 4-inch gun and

the gun's crew into the air, and starting the "open fire" buzzers at the

guns. The U-boat was hit, but not fatally, and at once submerged.

Captain Campbell hastily collected his wounded, turned hoses on to the

burning poop, where the magazine was still intact, and signalled to an

approaching warship to keep away and deflect traffic, as his action was

not yet ended. The second stage was begun by the enemy torpedoing the

_Dunraven_ abaft the engine-room. Captain Campbell at once ordered a "Q

abandon ship"--that is, he left his guns visible and pretended that the

concealed gunners were now leaving after being detected. The ship

continued to burn, and the submarine circled cautiously round, shelling

her for forty minutes, then submerged again.

Captain Campbell had still two torpedoes left, and both of these he

fired at the submarine. One just missed her head, and the other passed

two feet abaft her periscope. He had now lost his last chance of a

kill, and signalled urgently for assistance, preparing at the same time

for a last fight with a single gun. The American vessel _Noma_ came up

immediately, followed by the _Attack_ and the _Christopher_. The U-boat

was driven off, the fire extinguished, and the ship taken in tow by the

_Christopher_. During the night it was found necessary to take off her

crew and her wounded, and the _Dunraven_ was sunk at last by a British

gunshot.

In reporting this action Captain Campbell brought specially to notice

the extreme bravery of Lieutenant Bonner, who received the Victoria

Cross, and the 4-inch gun's crew, to whom the same honour was given.

"Lieutenant Bonner, having been blown out of his control by the first

explosion, crawled into the gun hatch with the crew. They there

remained at their posts with a fire raging in the poop below, and the

deck getting red hot. One man tore up his shirt to give pieces to the

gun's crew to stop the fumes getting into their throats; others lifted

the boxes of cordite off the deck to keep it from exploding; and all the

time they knew that they must be blown up, as the secondary supply and

magazine was immediately below. They told me afterwards that

communication with the main control was cut off, and although they knew

they would be blown up, they also knew that they would spoil the show if

they moved, so they remained until actually blown up with their gun.

Then when, as wounded men, they were ordered to remain quiet in various

places during the second action, they had to lie there unattended and

bleeding, with explosions continually going an aboard, and splinters

from the enemy's shell-fire penetrating their quarters. Lieutenant

Bonner, himself wounded, did what he could for two who were with him in

the wardroom. When I visited them after the action they thought little

of their wounds, but only expressed their disgust that the enemy had not

been sunk. Surely such bravery is hard to equal."

It may be added that such bravery is still harder to defeat. The

discipline and devotion which the genius of this commander had imparted

to his ship's company, when added to the long-descended seamanship and

enterprise of our Service, proved too much for the unscrupulous courage

and mechanical skill of the enemy. It cannot be doubted that in any

imaginable war at sea the same qualities would produce the same result;

for the mystery, after all, lay rather in the men than in the ships.

*CHAPTER XXV.*

*JUTLAND.*

On May 30, 1916, the Grand Fleet put to sea for one of its periodical

sweeps. Admiral Jellicoe had information which gave him some hope that

the enemy might at last be caught in the North Sea; and in fact, on the

morning of the 31st, the German High Sea Fleet did come out, in

ignorance of Jellicoe's move, but in "hope of meeting with separate

enemy divisions." Admiral Scheer had with him the Battle Fleet of

fifteen dreadnoughts and six older ships, with three divisions of

cruisers, seven torpedo flotillas, and ten zeppelins; and in advance of

these was a squadron of five battle-cruisers, under Admiral Hipper, with

his own cruisers and destroyers. Advancing towards Hipper was the

British Battle-Cruiser Fleet under Admiral Beatty--the _Lion_, _Princess

Royal_, _Tiger_, _Queen Mary_, _Indefatigable_, and _New Zealand_--with

the Fifth Battle Squadron under Rear-Admiral Evan-Thomas--the _Barham_,

_Valiant_, _Malaya_, and _Warspite_; and in front of these were three

light-cruiser squadrons under Commodore Goodenough, with four destroyer

flotillas. Behind, and at a considerable distance, to avoid alarming

the enemy too soon, came Admiral Jellicoe with the main

fleet--twenty-four dreadnoughts in six divisions abreast of each other,

and each in line ahead. He had with him also the Third Battle-Cruiser

Squadron, three squadrons of cruisers, and three destroyer flotillas.

The light cruiser _Galatea_ first sighted enemy ships at 2.20 p.m. Soon

she reported the smoke of a fleet, and at 3.31 Beatty sighted Hipper and

formed his line of battle. At 3.48 the action began at 18,500 yards,

Hipper racing back towards his fleet and Beatty pursuing. The firing on

both sides was rapid and accurate; in twelve minutes the leading ships

on both sides had been seriously hit; six minutes more and a salvo,

which reached her magazine, destroyed the _Indefatigable_.

The Fifth Battle Squadron now drew up and came into action. Immediately

afterwards the enemy sent fifteen destroyers and a light cruiser to

attack with torpedoes. They were met by our twelve destroyers, who

fought with them a most gallant battle within the main battle, repulsing

them and forcing their battle-cruisers to turn. The _Nestor_, the

_Nomad_, and two enemy destroyers were sunk; the battle-cruisers swept

on, and the action was resumed.

The enemy's gunners now seemed to be losing their first accuracy, and at

4.18 the third ship of the German line was burning. But a few minutes

later a salvo struck the _Queen Mary_ in a vital part abreast of a

turret; in one minute the ship was gone, and the _Tiger_, her next

astern, passed over the place where she had been, without seeing any

sign of her but smoke and falling debris. Admiral Beatty had lost two

of his six battle-cruisers, and his flagship was damaged; but his

tactics and his fighting spirit were in no way disturbed.

Twelve minutes later he was cheered by Commodore Goodenough reporting

the German Battle Fleet. He had found the enemy at last in the open,

and his business now was to draw them on towards the Grand Fleet. He

recalled his destroyers and turned his whole force northward. Hipper,

still steering south, fought him for a few minutes as they passed one

another on opposite courses, and then turned north to follow him. The

whole German fleet was now in line; but Beatty, having the superior

speed, was able to overlap their head and keep their tail out of action.

He engaged their five battle-cruisers with his own four, supported by

the _Barham_ and the _New Zealand_, while the _Malaya_ and the

_Warspite_ were hammering their leading battleships.

[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR DAVID BEATTY

(EARL BEATTY OF THE NORTH SEA).]

The Grand Fleet was now rapidly approaching, and Admiral Jellicoe had to

prepare for the extremely difficult manoeuvre of joining battle with an

enemy of whose position he was not fully informed. Gun-flashes were

reported at 6.5 on the starboard bow, but the only ships visible were

the _Lion_ and other battle-cruisers steering east in thick mist. The

admiral lost no time; at 6.8 he ordered two torpedo flotillas to his

port front and one to starboard; then, after receiving a further report

from Admiral Beatty, at 6.16 he ordered his six divisions of battleships

to deploy eastwards, forming on the port wing column. He thus

threatened to cut off the enemy from his base, and in order to close him

the more quickly the deployment was made by divisions instead of in

succession. The movement was entirely successful. At the same time the

battle-cruisers were getting clear to the south and east, and Admiral

Evan-Thomas's four ships were forming astern of the fleet. They did

this under fire, but without serious interference; the _Warspite_, whose

helm jammed, was for a few moments carried over towards the enemy, but

the German gunnery was no longer steady enough to hit her.

[Illustration: Battle of Jutland.--Track Chart.]

For the Germans the horizon was now filled with an unending line of

British ships, and the sight, as their own officers said, "took the

heart out of the men." They were already "utterly crushed" by the

masterly way in which Admiral Jellicoe had brought his huge fleet into

action, and they saw that Admiral Beatty was outflanking them by "a

model manoeuvre, a performance of the highest order."[#] Their line bent

away, first to the east, and then to the south, suffering heavily as it

turned, and making not a hit in return.

[#] Captain von Hase.

They had, however, inflicted some losses on the British cruisers while

the battleships were deploying. Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Arbuthnot, who

had chased the light cruiser _Wiesbaden_ (with the _Defence_, _Warrior_,

and _Black Prince_) and crippled her between the lines, came under fire

from two German battle-cruisers, and was blown up with the _Defence_,

while the _Warrior_ and the _Black Prince_ were badly hit. Rear-Admiral

Hood, too, met his fate; he had been scouting far to the south with the

_Invincible_, _Inflexible_, and _Indomitable_, and was returning north

to take station at the head of Beatty's line. He executed this

manoeuvre in grand style, and at once engaged the gigantic

_Derfflinger_, hitting her repeatedly; but after two minutes of hard

pounding a big shell blew up the _Invincible's_ magazine, and she sank

with her admiral.

But by this time the action between the main fleets had been virtually

lost and won. The German battleships at the head of Admiral Scheer's

line had suffered severely under the fire of the British rear divisions

and were turning away south, while their battle-cruisers were in even

worse plight. Two minutes after the _Invincible_ sank, the _Lutzow_ was

no longer able to keep station, and Admiral Hipper was compelled to

transfer his flag. But his difficulty was to find a sound ship; his

next astern, the _Derfflinger_, had lost her wireless and was gaping

with a hole 20 feet square in her bows; the _Seydlitz_ had also lost her

wireless, and had shipped several thousand tons of water. After being

some time in a destroyer, the admiral went aboard the _Moltke_, and sent

the _Derfflinger_ to lead the line, with only the _Von der Tann_ to

follow.

Half dead though these three remaining ships were, their hardest task

was yet before them. Admiral Scheer was in a desperate position,

outmanoeuvred and outfought, with the Grand Fleet in the act of forming

line between him and his base; and he is entitled to all credit for the

plan which he adopted to secure his escape from total destruction. At

7.12 he ordered Hipper to attack Beatty in hope of breaking his

encircling movement, and three minutes afterwards sent his destroyers to

hold Jellicoe's line with a torpedo attack, while he got away his

crumpled battle fleet to the westward. These tactics cost him dear, but

he was successful in increasing his distance and withdrawing his

battleships from the fire which must speedily have overwhelmed them.

In the torpedo attack not less than twenty of his torpedoes were seen to

cross the British line. All were avoided, for Admiral Jellicoe, acting

on principles adopted by the Admiralty some time before, ordered his

ships to turn away two or more points as soon as the attack was seen.

When it was over they at once turned back towards the enemy, but Admiral

Scheer had by that time disappeared westward into the mist. Of his

twenty-one battleships twelve had been seriously damaged, and their

united fire had made but a single hit on the twenty-six British

battleships which engaged them--a hit which wounded three men in the

_Colossus_.

The gallant Hipper suffered even more severely. He had no sooner

started his attack on Beatty when the _Derfflinger_ met more than her

match in the _Lion_. In eight minutes she is reported by her chief

gunnery officer, Captain von Hase, to have received twenty 15-inch

shells, which destroyed turret after turret, carried away her fire

control and chart-house, and set her on fire fore and aft. With only

two heavy guns left, she drew off and went after her fleet, followed by

the _Von der Tann_ only. The _Seydlitz_ and the _Moltke_ had already

left the line under cover of the smoke from the burning _Lutzow_. The

light was now failing fast; the _Lion_ was still hunting, but could no

longer find her prey. In spite of some heavy hits, her admiral and his

command were insatiable, and even disappointed. But they had, in fact,

achieved a day's fighting which is without a parallel--a battle-cruiser

victory complete in itself.

Touch was now lost between the two fleets, and Admiral Jellicoe had to

consider his dispositions for the night. He had completely succeeded in

interposing between the enemy and their base, and his object was to bar

their retreat and secure a final action next day. He therefore placed

his battleships to the south in four columns a mile apart, his

destroyers 5 miles to their rear, with the battle-cruisers and cruisers

to the west, and two light-cruiser squadrons farther north and south.

Finally, at 9.30, he sent the mine-laying flotilla leader, _Abdiel_, to

lay a minefield towards the Horn Reef--a precaution which resulted in

several explosions among enemy ships during the night.

The German commander-in-chief was well aware that in a daylight action

he could expect nothing but destruction. He resolved on a rush for home

in the dark, and here again he has the credit of a right decision and a

right method. He sent his ships to make their way through in

detachments. Some three or four light cruisers first ran into our

destroyers, slightly damaged the _Castor_, received a torpedo hit, and

vanished. Another group of cruisers attacked our Second Light Cruiser

Squadron at very short range, inflicted heavy casualties on the _Dublin_

and the _Southampton_, and disappeared, but with the loss of the light

cruiser _Frauenlob_. The destroyer _Sparrowhawk_ was sunk in action

with a third group of cruisers, and a little later the _Tipperary_. At

midnight some battleships passed near the same flotilla, and one, the

_Pommern_, was torpedoed and sunk. Another battleship squadron followed

soon after, and sank the destroyer _Ardent_.

At 1.46 a.m. the Twelfth Flotilla, farther north, sighted six Kaiser

battleships and attacked them. Captain Stirling, in the _Faulkner_,

torpedoed one, and some time later Commander Champion, in the _Nomad_,

hit another; but the Germans claim that both the wounded ships reached

port. The Ninth Flotilla lost the _Turbulent_, rammed by a large

unknown vessel; but at 2.35 the destroyer _Moresby_, of the Thirteenth

Flotilla, attacked four _Deutschland_ battleships and torpedoed one.

Lastly, it is believed that the _Black Prince_, who had been crippled

hours before, was seen for a moment under the searchlights and guns of a

number of enemy ships, who sank her at once. All this battle by night

was fought under the most desperate conditions, the horror of darkness

and the glare and crash of sudden death alternating for five hours; but

it was far more ruinous to the German fleet than to the British.

When day broke, Admiral Jellicoe formed his fleet in line ahead and

turned north; at 5.15 he called in the battle-cruisers; at 6 a.m. he

sighted his cruisers, and at 9 the destroyers rejoined. He had now all

his force in hand, except the Sixth Division of six battleships under

Admiral Burney, whose flagship, the _Marlborough_, had been hit by a

torpedo and was now being sent home under escort to be repaired. This,

however, was no cause for delay, and Admiral Jellicoe patrolled the

battle area till noon, in search of the enemy, moving first north, then

south-west, and finally north by west.

It was clear that Admiral Scheer had no intention of further fighting.

He had a zeppelin out scouting, and admits that she reported to him the

position of the British fleet. But he was in no condition to move. He

had inflicted on us a loss of three battle-cruisers, three armoured

cruisers, and eight destroyers; while of his own ships one battleship,

one battle-cruiser, four light cruisers, and five destroyers had been

sunk. But his effective force had been diminished out of all proportion

to ours; his battle-cruisers were in no condition to fight; he had

discovered that the whole squadron of pre-dreadnoughts were unable to

lie in a modern line of battle, while six of the remaining fifteen were

unfit to be anywhere but in dock; of his eleven light cruisers ten had

been hit, and four of them sunk. He had, in short, no fleet to make a

fight with; whereas Admiral Jellicoe had available twenty-six powerful

battleships, all but four of them untouched, six battle-cruisers out of

nine, and all his light forces, except three cruisers sunk and three

hard hit.

More fatal still, then and for ever, was the injury to the moral stamina

and tradition of the German fleet. In that one day they passed from the

militant to the mutinous state of mind, and their commander knew it. As

Captain Persius wrote afterwards in the _Berliner Tageblatt_: "The

losses sustained by our fleet were enormous, in spite of the fact that

luck was on our side; and on June 1, 1916, it was clear to every one of

intelligence that this fight would be, and must be, the only one to take

place. Those in authority have often admitted this openly." The Kaiser

did his best to shout our victory down, and he was seconded, though more

feebly, by German admirals who knew better. But the High Sea Fleet had

failed completely to challenge the control of the sea, and henceforth

degenerated towards the final surrender.

*CHAPTER XXVI.*

*THE BRITISH SUBMARINE SERVICE.*

The war record of the British submarine service is unique; the

difficulties and dangers which our men faced and overcame were such as

no other navy has attempted. The patrol of the shallow Belgian coast

and the hunting down of U-boats was a very different task from

torpedoing merchant vessels or hospital ships without warning; and the

campaigns in the Marmora and the Baltic were conducted under conditions

which had no parallel elsewhere.

A glance at the map will show that the Marmora was not only distant from

the British naval base, but that the only line of approach was of an

uncommonly formidable character. The channel of the Dardanelles is

narrow and winding, with a strong tide perpetually racing down it, and

setting strongly into its many bays. It was, moreover, protected by

forts with powerful guns and searchlights and torpedo tubes, and by

barrages of thick wire and netting; it was also patrolled constantly by

armed ships. Yet all these defences were evaded or broken through with

marvellous courage and ingenuity; for nearly a year a succession of

brilliant commanders took their boats regularly up and down the passage,

and made the transport of Turkish troops and munitions first hazardous

and finally impracticable. Two battleships, a destroyer, and five

gunboats fell to them, besides over thirty steamers, many of which were

armed, nine transports, seven ammunition and store ships, and no less

than 188 sailing ships and dhows with supplies. It is hardly necessary

to add that in no case was violence done to neutrals or non-combatants.

The first officer to take a British submarine up the Dardanelles was

Lieutenant Norman Holbrook. It was in December 1914 that his attempt

was made, and after equipping his boat, B11, with ingenious devices for

jumping obstacles, and running several preliminary trials, he trimmed

and dived for Sedd-el-Bahr at the moment when the searchlights were

extinguished at dawn. Rather more than four hours after his start he

had passed the Straits and was at last able to put his periscope above

water. He found his fortune at the same moment. There, on his

starboard beam, was a large two-funnelled vessel, painted grey, and

flying the Turkish ensign. At 600 yards he fired his starboard torpedo,

and dipped for a few seconds. An explosion was heard. B11 came quietly

to observation depth again of her own motion, and her commander, still

at his periscope, saw the grey ship firing a number of guns. His boat

dipped again, but he got her up once more, and this time saw his enemy,

the battleship _Messudiyeh_, silent, and sinking slowly by the stern.

He turned for home, dived into the channel, and ran along the bottom at

full speed; came up to take his bearings, dived again, and by 2 p.m. had

cleared the exit. In ten hours he had proved all the possibilities of a

novel campaign. He had forced the strongly-barred channel, surprised

and sunk a battleship in broad daylight, and returned to report, though

he had gone up without information and come down with a damaged compass.

Of the boats which followed in the spring and summer of 1915, the most

famous were E14 (Lieutenant-Commander E. Courtney Boyle); E11

(Lieutenant-Commander M. E. Nasmith); E12 (Lieutenant-Commander K. M.

Bruce); E7 (Lieutenant-Commander Cochrane); E2 (Commander David Stocks);

and K1 (Lieutenant Wilfred Pirie). In efficiency all these surpassed

everything which had been thought possible of submarines. Their cruises

lasted from a fortnight at first to thirty days later, and finally to

forty and even forty-eight. During this time they would run 2,000 miles

and more, with no resources for supply or repairs beyond what they

carried on board. When Commander Boyle brought E14 back to her base in

August after her third cruise, she had done over 12,000 miles since

leaving England, and had never been out of running order--a record for

which her chief engine-room artificer, James Hollier Hague, was promoted

to warrant rank.

It is impossible to relate here the adventures, the ingenuities, and the

brilliant service which these seven commanders reported in the bald and

convincing style of the British Navy. One example only can be given--a

typical and not an exceptional one. Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith took

E11 up for the first time in May 1915, in succession to Commander

Courtney Boyle, who had just returned, leaving the Turks under the

belief that the Marmora was infested by a whole flotilla of submarines.

By a curious combination of activity and accident, Lieutenant-Commander

Nasmith at once confirmed this legend.

On his second day out he "dived unobserved into Constantinople," and

torpedoed a Turkish gunboat; five hours later he stopped a small

steamer, whose crew did a "panic abandon ship," capsizing all their

boats as they were put out. An American gentleman then appeared on the

upper deck and conversed amicably, after which he was sent ashore, and

the ship, being found to contain a Krupp gun and ammunition, was cleared

and sent to the bottom. Two heavily laden store-ships were then

attacked. One was sunk and the other driven ashore. Under a hurricane

of fire from the shore batteries, the submarine dived and got away

towards the Bosphorus. At Galata there was a panic; all shops were

closed, troops were disembarked from transports, re-embarked, and again

landed. The effect was redoubled next day when the American gentleman

returned to tell his story. Probably he had inquired the number of the

British submarines on the ground, and had been misunderstood to be

asking for the number of the boat he was aboard; for he reported--and

the news ran through Constantinople--that there were eleven of our boats

in the Marmora, holding up all ships going to the Dardanelles. And E11

did in fact achieve this result. Transports lay idle in the Golden

Horn, and as the one real boat and her ten imaginary consorts patrolled

the Marmora, Turks and Americans wondered where they had their base, and

how it had been prepared in hostile waters.

In August E11 was on duty once more, hunting in couples with E14.

Commanders Boyle and Nasmith rendezvoused on the 6th, and concerted a

plan for shelling troops next day on the land route to Gallipoli. This

operation was very successful; in less than three hours E11's 12-pounder

twice broke up columns on the coast road. On the following day

Commander Boyle destroyed a 5,000 ton supply steamer with torpedo and

gun-fire, while Commander Nasmith sank the battleship _Haireddin

Barbarossa_. This ship was passing north-east of Gallipoli, escorted by

a destroyer. E11 was skilfully brought into position on her starboard

beam, and two torpedoes got home amidships. The _Barbarossa_

immediately took a list to starboard, altered course towards the shore,

and opened a heavy fire. But within twenty minutes a large flash burst

from her fore part, and she rolled over and sank.

The Turks attempted to conceal the details of this catastrophe; but they

confided to Mr. Einstein of the American Embassy that a gunboat perished

with _Barbarossa_, and one of two transports which she was convoying,

while the other ran aground. They added that the attack was made by six

submarines, who completely surrounded the battleship and her convoy.

Commander Nasmith afterwards sank a large collier and two more

transports, and then turned his attention again to cutting the enemy's

communications by land.

His lieutenant, D'Oyly Hughes, volunteered to take the most dangerous

part in an attack on the Ismid railway. A raft was put together behind

Kalolimno Island, capable of supporting one man, and carrying his

equipment and a charge of explosives. With this Lieutenant D'Oyly

Hughes was to reach the shore, and blow up the railway line, or, if

possible, the viaduct. The risk involved not only the volunteer but E11

herself, for so long as he had still a chance of returning, she could

not quit the neighbourhood, or even conceal herself by submerging.

At 2 a.m. Commander Nasmith took the boat inshore till her nose just

grounded, within three feet of the rocks, where there were cliffs on

each side high enough to prevent her conning-tower from being seen.

Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes dropped into the water and swam off, pushing

his raft towards a spot about 60 yards to the left. Besides his

demolition charge he had only a revolver, a bayonet, an electric torch,

and a whistle. He found a landing place, scaled the cliff, and prowled

along the railway with his heavy charge till he was brought up by the

sound of voices; three Turks were sitting by the side of the line. He

laid down his guncotton, and made a wide detour to inspect the viaduct,

roused a small farmyard on his way, and was again stopped by finding a

number of men working a stationary engine at the near end of the

viaduct.

He crept back to his gun-cotton, and decided to blow up a low brickwork

support over a small hollow, only 150 yards from the men, but a spot

where real damage could be inflicted. He muffled the pistol for firing

the fuse, but on so still a night it made a very loud noise. The three

Turks heard it, and instantly started to chase their enemy down the

line. Lieutenant Hughes had but one chance--to find his way to the

shore and swim off. To gain time, he turned and fired at his pursuers;

they stopped to return his fire, and he distanced them, gained the

shore, and plunged into the water. As he did so he heard with joy the

sound of a heavy explosion, with the crash of fragments hurled into the

sea. The railway line was effectively cut; but he was three-quarters of

a mile from the bay where E11 was lying hid.

He swam out to sea, and after going some 500 yards blew a long blast on

his whistle; but the boat failed to hear him. Day was breaking--the

time of waiting for him must be short. He swam ashore again, rested on

the rocks, and plunged in once more. One by one he had to throw away

pistol, torch, and bayonet. At last he rounded the point and his

whistle was heard; but at the same moment shouts and rifle fire came

from the cliffs above. The boat backed out towards him, determined to

save him at any cost.

But now came the most trying part of his adventure. In the early morning

mist the bow, the gun, and the conning-tower of the submarine appeared

to the distressed swimmer to be three small rowing-boats advancing

towards him, and manned, of course, by enemies. He turned back, swam

ashore, and tried to hide himself under the cliffs. But he was still

cool and clear-headed, and after climbing a few feet looked back and

realized his mistake. One last swim of 40 yards, and he was picked up

almost exhausted. He had run hard for his life and swum a mile in his

clothes. "5.5 a.m.," says E11's log, "dived out of rifle fire, and

proceeded out of the Gulf of Ismid."

She ended her cruise with a brilliant week's work; fought an action with

three armed tugs, a dhow, and a destroyer, evading the destroyer, and

sinking two of the other ships by gun-fire; torpedoed two large

transports; bombarded the magazine and railway station at Mudania;

battered the viaduct for an hour; and on her return down the Dardanelles

passed the obstacles without assistance or misadventure. Her final

cruise was in November and December, when she was out forty-eight days,

and sank forty-six enemy ships. Her last companion, E2, was recalled two

days later, and the campaign was over.

*CHAPTER XXVII.*

*THE BRITISH SUBMARINE SERVICE (*_*continued*_*).*

The first of our submarine voyagers in the Baltic was

Lieutenant-Commander Max Horton, in E9. He distinguished himself in the

early months of the war by sinking a German light cruiser and a

destroyer in the North Sea. In January 1915 he entered the Baltic, sank

a destroyer on the 29th, a transport on 11th May, and on 5th June

another transport and another destroyer. On 2nd July he torpedoed the

_Pommern_, a 13,000 ton battleship, with 11-inch guns. He was then

joined by E1 (Commander N. F. Laurence), and on 22nd August by E8, whose

log contains the best account of the long, intricate, and dangerous

voyage out.

Commander Goodhart started in E8 on 18th August, with 1,500 miles of

adventure between him and his new base at Reval. He passed warily up

the Skagerrack, avoiding the central line of traffic, and diving once

under a whole fleet of steam trawlers. At 7 p.m. he came to the surface

again, rounded the Skaw at full speed, and entered the Kattegat. In the

fading light several merchantmen were seen going north; the shore and

island beacons began to twinkle one by one--Hamnskau, Vinga, Skaw,

Trindelen, Anholt. But the night was short; by 3 a.m. he must dive

again and lie on shoal ground while traffic passed above him. At 5.25 he

ventured up, but was put down quickly by a steamer; to be seen might

rouse a hunt. At 7 he came up again and did a survey of l-1/2 hours in

a friendly mist, then down again, to crawl at 3 knots till 1 p.m., when

he was off the entrance to the Sound.

Here he must choose between going forward submerged, or waiting for

darkness and attempting the channel on the surface. He decided to

continue his dive into the Sound and wait for night inside. He went in

at 50 feet, came up to 21 feet to verify his position, down again to 50,

and altered course to pass through the northern narrows. At 4.10 p.m.

he was east of Helsingor Light; at 5.20, after another observation, he

went to bottom in 11 fathoms, to wait for darkness. At 8.15 p.m. he rose

to the surface; the Danish shore was bright with many lights, the

Swedish shore all dark. He steered south-westward on the surface,

altering course to avoid being seen by two destroyers which were going

north along the Danish shore at a great pace; but now one of them

suddenly turned south and stopped. E8 ran on, but into still more

dangerous waters. The lights of Copenhagen were bright, and a

searchlight was working from Middle Ground Fort; now and again it swept

across the submarine. Then came several fishing boats, then two red

lights moving south, close over to the Danish shore. There was nothing

to show that E8 had been seen, and she headed boldly for Flint Channel.

Off Malmo the shorelights were dazzling, and it was extremely hard to

fix a position. There were also many fishing boats about, each carrying

two bright lights. Commander Goodhart ordered the boat to be trimmed

down, with upper deck awash, and proceeded with one engine only, at 7

knots. He steadied his course through Flint Channel, passing at least

twenty vessels with white lights, and one making searchlight signals in

the air. No sooner had these been avoided by changing course than a

tramp came along, showing first a green light and then three white ones.

She seemed to have anchored; but now two other vessels had to be dodged,

and then the ship with the searchlight. Immediately afterwards, when

just north-east of the lightship's three vertical red lights, E8 was

viewed at last; a small torpedo boat sighted her as she was creeping by

within 200 yards.

The hunt was up; the enemy showed red and green flares, and altered

course to chase. E8 dived, and struck "very strong bottom" at 19 feet,

and immediately afterwards at 14 feet. A succession of bumps brought

her to a stop. It was 11.40 p.m. After an anxious quarter of an hour

Commander Goodhart decided to rise to the surface. On his starboard

quarter was the Drogden lightship, ahead of him a large destroyer or

small cruiser--the ship which had been signalling with searchlight. She

was only 200 yards away, but the commander trimmed his boat deep, and

stole past. This took four minutes, and he then found another destroyer

right ahead, and within 100 yards. He could but dive; the boat struck

bottom at 16 feet heavily, carrying away all blades of the starboard

propeller. The pursuers could be heard overhead.

Life was now a matter of minutes and feet. The boat was still moving;

at 12.15 a.m. she was at 18 feet, and bumping badly; at 12.19 the

commander stopped her and came silently to the surface. The destroyer

was still close on his starboard beam, and in one minute he had dived

again as slowly as he dared; mercifully the water deepened as E8 glided

away. She seemed to be escaping; but at 2.10 a.m. she struck bottom

again, and when she ventured up after an hour, there again was the

destroyer on her port beam. Happily this time she got down without

being seen, and when she came up again at 7.15 there was nothing in

sight.

But the danger was not over yet. E8 was nearly out of breath; her

battery was running very low. After diving again to avoid a steamer and

afterwards a destroyer, Commander Goodhart decided to find a good depth,

and lie at the bottom till darkness gave him a chance of recharging. For

eight long hours E8 lay like a stone in 23 fathoms. When she came up

three or four vessels were patrolling close by, and the moon was too

bright. She tried again, but was again put down by a shadowy destroyer

to the southward. At last, ten minutes before midnight, she found a bit

of quiet sea where she could take breath.

But only for two hours; daylight comes early in northern waters. At 2

a.m. Commander Goodhart dived again, and lay long in 17 fathoms,

spending his time in studying the chart. He was now well out of the

Sound, and clear of the Swedish coast. Right ahead was the island of

Bornholm, and if that could be passed successfully, the Baltic lay open

beyond, a long voyage still, but a less crowded thoroughfare.

At 9 a.m. he came to the surface for three hours. By noon he was not

far west of Ronne, and as he wished to make sure of getting past

Bornholm unobserved, he decided to remain on the bottom till dark, then

slip by and recharge his batteries for a long run north by daylight. By

7 p.m. he was on his way; by sunrise on the 21st he was passing the east

coast of the great island of Gotland. At 9.2 p.m. he dived for a light

cruiser, which passed over him; at 10 he returned to the surface and ran

past the entrance to the Gulf of Riga and the island of Oesel. By 1

a.m. on August 22nd he had to dive for daylight, but at 3 he came up

again, and ran ahead at full speed. At 8.30 a.m. on August 23rd he

sighted Dagerort ahead, and joined Commander Max Horton in E9, passed

with her and a Russian destroyer into the Gulf of Finland, and by 9 p.m.

secured E8 in Reval harbour. Within twenty-four hours he had docked and

overhauled her, replaced her broken propeller, and reported her ready

for sea.

Of the warships sunk by E8 and her consorts, and of their blockade of

the German traffic in the Baltic, there is no need to speak. Their

feats of war, brilliant as they were, formed only a minor part of the

glory of their intricate and perilous voyages in a hostile sea.

*CHAPTER XXVIII.*

*THE MERCANTILE MARINE AND FISHING FLEETS.*

Among the great deeds of the war there is one which, though hardly to be

described in detail, ranks in truth among the greatest of all. It is a

collective deed: the conduct of the whole British Mercantile Marine and

the Fishing Fleet--Services not less worthy than the professional Navy

and Army to represent the "decent and dauntless people" of these

islands. It had been prophesied before the war that after three ships

had been sunk by enemy submarines no merchantman would put to sea. The

prophet, though himself a naval man, can have known little of the

resourcefulness of his own Service, and still less of the temper of his

fellow-countrymen.

During the four years of the war, British commerce was never held up by

any unwillingness of our seamen to face gun-fire or torpedo: skippers,

engineers, and deck hands who had had three, four, or five ships sunk

under them were constantly asking to be employed again before their

clothes were dry. Seventeen thousand of them died in the 9,000,000 tons

of shipping that we lost; yet not a man among the survivors drew back.

On the contrary, it must be recorded that the enemy owed much of his

success to the habitual and imperturbable confidence of the British

skipper in his own ship and his own judgment. The men of the Mercantile

Marine and Fishing Fleets also took their full share in the work of

defending our coasts and hunting down their lawless and cruel enemies;

and in this work they showed every quality of a great Service. It was

in no empty form of words that the King honoured the memory of "that

great company of our men, who, though trained only to the peaceful

traffic of the sea, yet in the hour of national danger gave themselves,

with the ancient skill and endurance of their breed, to face new perils

and new cruelties of war, and in a right cause served fearlessly to the

end." Of this skill, endurance, and fearlessness, recorded in a

thousand terse and unpretentious logs, an example or two may be picked

almost at random.

In 1915, when the U-boat war was still a new experience, a sharp little

double action was fought by two armed smacks, the _Boy Alfred_ and the

_I'll Try_, against two German submarines. The British boats were

commanded by Skipper Walter S. Wharton and Skipper Thomas Crisp, and

were out in the North Sea, when they sighted a pair of U-boats coming

straight towards them on the surface. The first came within 300 yards

of the _Boy Alfred_ and stopped. Then followed an extraordinary piece

of work, intelligible only to the German mind. The U-boat signalled

with a flag to the _Boy Alfred_ to come nearer, and at the same time

opened fire upon her with rifles or a machine-gun, hitting her in many

places, though by mere chance not a single casualty resulted.

Skipper Wharton's time had not yet come; he was neither for submission

nor for a duel at long range; he risked all for a close fight. He first

threw out his small boat, and by this encouraged the U-boat to approach

nearer. She submerged and immediately reappeared within a hundred

yards. A man then came out of the conning-tower and hailed the _Boy

Alfred_, giving the order to abandon ship, as he intended to torpedo.

But Skipper Wharton had now the range he desired--the hundred yards

hammer and tongs range so dear to Nelson's gunners--and instead of

"Abandon ship" he gave the order "Open fire." His man at the 12-pounder

did not fail him; the first round was just short, and the second just

over, but having straddled his target, the gunner put his third shot

into the submarine's hull, just before the conning-tower, where it burst

on contact. The fourth shot was better still: it pierced the

conning-tower and burst inside. The U-boat, with her torpedo unfired,

sank like a stone, and a significant wide-spreading patch of oil marked

her grave.

In the meantime the second enemy had gone to the east of the _I'll Try_,

who was herself east of the _Boy Alfred_. He was still more cautious

than his companion, and remained submerged for some time, cruising

around the _I'll Try_ with only a periscope showing. Skipper Crisp,

having a motor fitted to his smack, was too handy for the German, and

kept altering course so as to bring the periscope ahead of him, whenever

it was visible. The enemy disappeared entirely no less than six times,

but at last summoned up courage to break surface. His hesitation was

fatal to him--he had given the smack time to make every preparation with

perfect order and coolness. When he appeared suddenly at last, his

upper deck and conning-tower were no sooner clearly exposed than Skipper

Crisp put his helm hard over, brought the enemy on to his broadside, and

opened fire with his 13-pounder gun. At this moment a torpedo passed

under the smack's stern, missing only by 2 feet, then coming to the

surface and running along past the _Boy Alfred_. It was the U-boat's

first and last effort; in the same instant, the _I'll Try_ fired her

only shot. The shell struck the base of the conning-tower and exploded,

blowing pieces of the submarine into the water on all sides.

The U-boat immediately took a list to starboard and plunged bows first;

she disappeared so rapidly that the smack's gunner had not even time for

a second blow. The _I'll Try_ hurried to the spot, and there saw large

bubbles of air coming up, and a wide and increasing patch of oil. She

marked the position with a Dan buoy and stood by with the _Boy Alfred_

for three-quarters of an hour. Finally, as the enemy gave no sign of

life, the two smacks returned together to harbour. Their skippers were

both rewarded for their excellent work; Skipper Wharton, who had already

killed two U-boats and had received the D.S.C. and the D.S.M. with a

bar, was now given a bar to the D.S.C. Skipper Crisp already had the

D.S.M., and now received the D.S.C.

In another of these fishermen's fights it was the trawl itself which

actually brought on the battle at close quarters and made victory

possible. One day in February 1915 the trawler _Rosetta_, Skipper G. A.

Novo, had gone out to fish, but she had on deck a 6-pounder gun

ingeniously concealed. She joined a small fleet of four smacks and two

steam trawlers some 45 miles out, and fished with them all night.

Before dawn a voice was heard shouting out of the twilight: it came from

one of the steam trawlers. "Cut your gear away, there's a submarine

three-quarters of a mile away; he's sunk a smack and I have the crew on

board." "All right, thank you," said Skipper Novo; but to get away from

the enemy was precisely what he did not want to do. For some fifteen

minutes he went on towing his trawl, in hope of being attacked; but as

nothing happened, he thought he was too far away from the smacks, and

began to haul up his trawl. He was bringing his boat round before the

wind, and had all but the last twenty fathoms of the trawl in, when the

winch suddenly refused to heave any more, and the warp ran out again

about ten fathoms--a thing beyond all experience. "Hullo!" said the

skipper, "there's something funny." He jumped down off the bridge and

asked the mate what was the reason of the winch running back. "I don't

know, skipper; the stop-valve is opened out full." The skipper tried it

himself; then went to the engine-man and asked him if full steam was on.

"The steam's all right." "Then reverse winch!" said the skipper, and

went to give a hand himself, as was his custom in a difficulty; the

hauling went on this time, all but to the end.

Suddenly the mate gripped him by the arm. "Skipper, a submarine on

board us." And there the enemy was, a bare hundred yards off on the

starboard quarter. "Hard a-starboard, and a tick ahead!" shouted the

skipper, and rushed for the gun, with the crew following. The gun was

properly in charge of the mate, and he got to it first; but the brief

dialogue which followed robbed him of his glory. "Right, skipper," he

said, meaning thereby "This is my job." But in the same breath the

skipper said "All right, Jack, I got him! you run on bridge and keep him

astern." The _Rosetta's_ discipline was good; the mate went like a man,

and the skipper laid the gun.

He was justified by his success. The enemy was very quickly put out of

action, being apparently left altogether behind by the hurricane energy

of Skipper Novo. From the moment of breaking surface less than sixty

seconds had gone by when the _Rosetta's_ gun found the target. The

U-boat was 250 feet long and only 300 feet away; every shot was a hit.

The fourth caused an explosion, and flames shot up 4 or 5 feet above the

submarine. Evidently she could no longer submerge, and she attempted to

make off on the surface. But Skipper Novo was right in his estimate of

his own chance--he had "got him." His fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth

shots were all direct hits on the receding target, and at the eighth the

enemy sank outright.

The _Rosetta_ then spoke the smack _Noel_, which had been close to her

during the action, and now confirmed all her observations. There was no

doubt that the U-boat had been the obstruction which was tangled in the

trawl. She had carried it all away, and in order to get clear had been

obliged to come to the surface, without knowing where she might find

herself, and there she had met her appropriate fate.

A third of these fights was a miniature fleet action, with an epic sound

about it. In the Downs, and in the first twilight of a November

morning, three of his Majesty's armed drifters--the _Present Help_, the

_Paramount_, and the _Majesty_--were beginning their daily sweep for

mines, when Skipper Thomas Lane of the _Present Help_, which was spare

ship at the moment, sighted an object a mile distant to the eastward.

As day was breaking, she was quickly marked for a German submarine--a

huge one, with two big guns mounted on deck, one a 4-inch and one a

22-pounder. Nevertheless the _Present Help_, the _Paramount_, and the

_Majesty_ opened fire at once with their 6-pounders, not standing off,

but closing their enemy, and continuing to close her under heavy fire,

until they were hitting her with their own light guns. Even our history

can hardly show a grander line of battle than those three tiny ships

bearing down upon their great antagonist; and although U48 did not fall

to their fire, her surrender was due in the first instance to their

determined onset.

It was the _Paramount_ who took and gave the first knocks; her

searchlight was shot away, and in reply she succeeded in putting one of

the enemy's guns out of action. In the meantime, and none too soon, the

_Present Help_ had sent up the red rocket. It was seen by two other

armed drifters, the _Acceptable_ and the _Feasible_, who were less than

2 miles off, and by H.M.S. _Gipsy_, who was 4 miles away. Skipper Lee,

of the _Acceptable_, immediately sang out "Action," and both boats

blazed away at 3,000 yards range, getting in at least one hit on the

enemy's conning-tower. At the same moment came the sound of the

_Gipsy's_ 12-pounder, as she rushed in at full speed.

The U-boat had started with an enormous and apparently overwhelming

advantage of gun-power. She ought to have been a match, twice over, for

all six of our little ships, but she was on dangerous ground, and the

astounding resolution of the attack drove her off her course. In ten

minutes the drifters had actually pushed her ashore on the Goodwin

Sands--the _Paramount_ had closed to 30 yards. Drake himself was hardly

nearer to the Spanish galleons. Then came the _Gipsy_, equally

determined. Her first two shots fell short, the third was doubtful, but

after that she got on to the target, and the enemy's bigger remaining

gun was no match for her 12-pounder. After two hits with common pointed

shell, she put on eight out of nine lyddite shells, smashed the German's

last gun and set him on fire forward. Thereupon the U-boat's crew

surrendered and jumped overboard.

It was now 7.20 and broad daylight. Lieutenant-Commander Frederick

Robinson, of the _Gipsy_, gave the signal to cease fire, and the five

drifters set to work to save their drowning enemies. The _Paramount_,

who was nearest, got thirteen, the _Feasible_ one, and the _Acceptable_

two. The _Gipsy's_ whaler was got away, and her crew, under Lieutenant

Gilbertson, R.N.R., tried for an hour to make headway against the sea,

but could not go further than half a mile, the tide and weather being

heavily against them. They brought back one dead man, and one prisoner

in a very exhausted condition; afterwards they went off again and

collected the prisoners from the other ships. Later came the procession

back to port--a quiet and unobtrusive return, but as glorious as any

that the Goodwins have ever seen. Full rewards followed, and the due

decorations for Skippers Thomas Lane, Edward Kemp, and Richard William

Barker. But their greatest honour was already their own--they had

commanded in victorious action his Majesty's armed drifters the _Present

Help_, the _Paramount_, and the _Majesty_.

*CHAPTER XXIX.*

*ZEEBRUGGE.*

During the years 1916 and 1917 the Belgian ports of Zeebrugge and Ostend

had become more and more important to the Germans as a base for their

submarines. Their loss would be, as Admiral Scheer said, "a very

disagreeable blow to the U-boat campaign." It was in November 1917 that

the British Admiralty first planned a blow against these ports, but the

favourable opportunity did not present itself until April 23, 1918. In

the meantime, the Allies had succeeded in bringing the last German

offensive to a standstill, and there was much anxiety as to its possible

renewal. The blow struck by the Navy on St. George's Day was therefore

a most timely one, for it not only increased Admiral Scheer's

difficulties but resounded over the world as a daring feat of arms and a

proof of unbroken national spirit.

The difficulties of the proposed attack were enormous, and real

imagination was needed to cope with them. The coast was defended by

batteries containing in all 120 heavy guns, some of them of 15-inch

calibre. A battery of these was emplaced upon the Mole at Zeebrugge--a

solid stone breakwater more than a mile long, which held also a railway

terminus, a seaplane station, a number of large sheds for personnel and

material, and, at the extreme seaward end, a lighthouse with searchlight

and range-finder. The attacking force would also have to reckon with

the batteries on shore, the troops who would reinforce the defenders on

the Mole, and the destroyers which were lying in the harbour. It was

not, of course, proposed to take and hold works so strongly defended;

but an attack was indispensable, for the enemy's attention must be

diverted from the block-ships, which were to arrive during the fight off

both ports and sink themselves in such a position as to impede the

passage of U-boats.

The offensive then was directed against Zeebrugge, and the plan of

attack was to be the seizure of the Mole by a landing party. They must

be strong enough to overrun it, capture the big guns, and keep off enemy

reinforcements by destroying the railway viaduct which connected it with

the shore. Then, when the block-ships had been sunk, the men must be

re-embarked and brought away.

For the fighting itself there was little need to be over-anxious; the

real problem was concerned with the difficulty of approaching, throwing

the men ashore, and getting them away again without the transports being

sunk by the enemy's fire. Nothing could be left to luck or the

inspiration of the moment, and the conditions of success were extremely

severe. First, the attacking ships must effect a complete surprise, and

reach the Mole before the guns of the defence could be brought to bear

upon them. The enemy searchlights must therefore be blinded, as far as

possible, by an artificial fog or smoke-screen; but again this must not

be dense enough to obscure the approach entirely. Secondly, the work

must be done in very short time, and to the minute, for though the

attack might be a surprise, the return voyage must be made under fire.

The shore batteries were known to have a destructive range of 16 miles;

to get clear of the danger zone would take the flotilla two hours.

Daylight would begin by 3.30 a.m.; it was therefore necessary to leave

the Mole by 1.30; and as, for similar reasons, it was impossible to

arrive before midnight, an hour and a half was all that the time-table

could allow for fighting, blocking, and re-embarking. To do things as

exactly as this, a night must be chosen when wind, weather, and tide

would all be favourable. The difficulty of finding so precise an

opportunity caused four months' delay--the expedition had in fact twice

started and been compelled to put back: once it had actually come within

15 miles of the Mole.

The attack was conducted by Vice-Admiral Roger Keyes, commanding at

Dover; the force employed was a large and composite one, and required

masterly handling. The Ostend expedition, though highly difficult and

dangerous, was an affair of blocking only, and was comparatively simple;

but for Zeebrugge there were needed, besides the principal ships, a

fleet of smoke-boats for making fog, motor launches for showing flares

and bringing off men in difficulties, monitors for engaging the

batteries, and destroyers for looking after the enemy ships in harbour;

lastly, there was an old submarine, C3, to be used as a self-propelling

mine for the destruction of the viaduct. The landing on the Mole was to

be made from the _Vindictive_ (Captain A. Carpenter), an old light

cruiser of 5,720 tons, and she was to be accompanied by two old

ferry-boats from the Mersey, the _Daffodil_ and the _Iris_; the three

destroyers were the _North Star_ (Lieutenant-Commander K. C. Helyar),

the _Phoebe_ (Lieutenant-Commander H. E. Gore-Langton), and the

_Warwick_, flying the Admiral's flag.

The success which resulted was due not to fortune but to foresight, and

to the accurate timing of the work of the various units employed. As

the flotilla advanced the smoke-screen craft and motor-boats dashed

ahead, laid their screens, drove in the enemy ships, and made it

possible for the transports to approach the Mole. The Ostend force

parted company at the agreed point, and the monitors opened fire on the

shore batteries. Precisely at midnight the _Sirius_ and the _Brilliant_

arrived at Ostend, and at Zeebrugge the _Vindictive_, emerging from the

thick fog of smoke into the brilliant light of German flares, saw the

end of the Mole within 400 yards of her. She ran alongside at full

speed, and returned the fire of the big guns with her 6-inch and

12-pound armament.

[Illustration: Zeebrugge.]

To grapple the Mole was very difficult; the outer wall was high and

there was a heavy swell rolling the ships. The _Iris_ was ahead; but

the _Daffodil_, being close astern of the _Vindictive_, was able to push

her into place with her bows and hold her there most gallantly. The

_Vindictive_ ran out the "brows" or high gangways with which she was

specially fitted, and the storming parties were ready to land. At this

moment a shell fell among them and killed Colonel Bertram Elliot of the

Marines, while Captain Henry Halanem, who was commanding the

bluejackets, fell to machine-gun fire. But their men were unchecked.

They rushed upon the brows, which were tossing and crashing on the wall,

and with all their heavy accoutrements, bombs, and Lewis guns, cleared

the leap down the steep fall to the floor of the Mole, and began

fighting their way along it under cover of a barrage from the ship's

howitzers. The _Iris_ meantime was grappling the Mole farther ahead,

with dearly bought success; the _Daffodil's_ men jumped across to the

_Vindictive_ and joined her storming party.

The charge was irresistible; the batteries were taken, the dug-outs

cleared, the hangars fired, the store-sheds blown up, and those of the

enemy who escaped into a destroyer were sent to the bottom in her by a

bombing attack from the parapet. All this was done in fifteen minutes;

then followed a tremendous explosion at the shore end of the Mole. The

C3, manned by half a dozen officers and men under Lieutenant R. D.

Sandford, R.N., had made straight for the piles of the viaduct under the

searchlights of the enemy, who seem to have thought that she was bent on

passing through to attack the ships in the harbour, and was therefore

sure to be trapped among the struts and piles. Then, when they saw her

crew reappear in a tiny motor-boat they opened fire with machine-guns;

but they had only wounded and not disabled their quarry, for immediately

C 3 exploded and destroyed the viaduct and all upon it, cutting off the

Mole from communication with the shore. Lieutenant R. D. Sandford, with

his five companions, was picked up by a steam pinnace commanded by his

brother, Lieutenant-Commander Sandford, and brought away safely. Both

as tactics and as a moral reinforcement their exploit was of the highest

value.

Ten minutes afterwards the block-ships, the _Thetis_ (Commander R. S.

Sneyd), the _Intrepid_ (Lieutenant Stuart Bonham-Carter), and the

_Iphigenia_ (Lieutenant V. W. Billyard-Leake), were seen rounding the

lighthouse and heading for the entrance of the canal. The _Thetis_ was

leading, and received the concentrated fire of the enemy; she ran

aground on the edge of the channel and was sunk partially across it,

signalling to her consorts, as she went down, to avoid the nets which

had fouled her own propeller. The _Intrepid_ and the _Iphigenia_

thereupon passed straight up the canal to a point at which they were two

or three hundred yards inside the shore lines and actually behind the

German guns on the Mole. They were then blown up and sunk across the

channel, and their crews took to the boats and got away out to sea,

where they were eventually taken on board the destroyers.

An hour had now passed and the work was done. Even the lighthouse had

been sacked, for Wing-Commander Brock, who was in charge of the

smoke-screen operations, had not only led the charge into the big gun

battery, but had made a special objective of the range-finder in the

lighthouse top and came down laden with an armful of spoil. He was last

seen lying desperately wounded under the parapet wall of the Mole; but

this was not reported until afterwards, and his fate remained uncertain.

The siren was shrieking the recall, half drowned by the noise of

gun-fire; it was twenty minutes before the word could be given to cast

off.

The _Vindictive_, the _Iris_, and the _Daffodil_ got away at full speed,

and the German salvos followed them with remarkable regularity, but

always a few yards behind; the ships were soon covered too by their own

smoke. Of the three destroyers two came safely off; the third, the

_North Star_, was sunk by gun-fire near the block-ships, but her men

were brought away by the _Phoebe_. Of the motor-boats (under command of

Captain R. Collins) many performed feats of incredible audacity at

point-blank range, and all but two returned. The co-operation of all

forces was from first to last beyond expectation and beyond praise; a

mortal enterprise could hardly come nearer to perfection, whether of

foresight, daring, or execution.

During the Zeebrugge attack the wind shifted and blew the smoke off

shore. This helped to cover the retirement, but at Ostend it caused a

partial failure of the blocking operations. Commodore Hubert Lynes

successfully laid his smoke screen, and sent in the _Sirius_ and the

_Brilliant_ to be sunk between the piers of the harbour mouth. But the

enemy sighted and sunk the motor-boats and their guide lights; the

block-ships missed the entrance and were blown up 2,000 yards to the

east. The Germans, to guard against a renewal of the attempt, removed

the buoy at the entrance and kept a patrol of nine destroyers in the

harbour. But on the night of 9th May, Commodore Lynes took in a larger

flotilla, and this time the _Vindictive_ herself was the block-ship. In

spite of fog and darkness her commander (Godsal, late of the

_Brilliant_), piloted by Acting-Lieutenant Cockburn in a motor-boat, ran

her 200 yards up the channel and then ordered her to be sunk. He died

in the act, but the work was completed by Lieutenant Crutchley and

Engineer-Lieutenant Bury. The losses were heavy, for the Germans had a

fair target; but even when day broke the nine destroyers made no attempt

at a counterstroke, and the expedition returned triumphant.

This whole attack was a legitimate enterprise planned only for a

definite and practical purpose, but in the result it proved a greater

affair than had been foreseen: the moral effect of so splendid a feat of

arms came as a timely gift from the Navy to the Allied cause.

*PART V.*

*BEHIND THE LINES.*

*CHAPTER XXX.*

*BEHIND THE LINES AND AT HOME.*

"We are fighting," said Lord Curzon in July 1918, "seven distinct

campaigns ourselves--in France, Italy, Salonika, Palestine, Mesopotamia,

Persia, and Egypt, and we have raised 7,000,000 men. We have been the

feeder, clothier, baker, armourer, and universal provider of the

Allies."

The achievement of Britain in the war cannot be judged only from her

successes in the field. In 1914 she set herself resolutely to prepare a

great fighting-machine which would not only be superior to that of

Germany, but which would also serve the needs of all the Powers who

fought by her side. It was the perfection of this machine, built up

through four patient and laborious years, which enabled her in the final

war of movement to deliver the succession of blows which led to victory.

Take first the numbers of enlisted men. In August 1914 the British land

forces were made up of 250,000 Regulars, 200,000 trained Reserves, and

250,000 partly-trained Territorials. Lord Kitchener asked for 100,000

volunteers, and these were enrolled in less than a fortnight. In one

day 30,000 enlisted. By July 1915 there were 2,000,000 men in arms. In

May 1916 the King announced that over 5,000,000 men had enrolled

voluntarily in the army and the navy. In August 1918, 8,500,000 men

were enrolled in the armed forces of the Crown.

The navy, in August 1914, had 145,000 officers and men and a tonnage of

2,500,000. Four years later the figures were 450,000 men and 8,000,000

tons. In one month in the year 1918 British warships travelled

1,000,000 sea miles in home waters alone, and in the same period

auxiliary vessels travelled 6,000,000 miles, or 250 times the circuit of

the globe. During the war the British navy transported 20,000,000 men,

of whom only 2,700 were lost by enemy action; 2,000,000 horses and

mules, 25,000,000 tons of explosives, 51,000,000 tons of oil and fuel,

and 130,000,000 tons of food and other materials. All this was done

while fighting a constant warfare against enemy submarines.

The work of the British people at home in supplying munitions was one of

the main factors in the enemy's defeat. The Ministry of Munitions was

formed in June 1915, and soon became the largest of the Government

departments, controlling the iron, steel, engineering, and chemical

trades, and employing 2,500,000 men and 1,000,000 women. Over 10,000

firms worked for it, and Government factories increased from three in

1914 to 200 in 1918. In 1918 the figure of the first year of war in the

production of certain classes of ammunition was multiplied four hundred

times, and in the production of guns forty times. During the Battle of

the Somme in 1916, Britain issued every week to her armies in France an

amount of ammunition equal to the entire stock available for her land

service at the outbreak of war; and during the last battles of 1918 the

volume of shells fired was more than double that expended in the Battle

of the Somme. All the railways of Britain were taken over by the State,

and from October 1916 materials for thousands of miles of track, over

1,000 locomotives, and many thousands of wagons were shipped to various

theatres of war, in spite of the fact that more than 170,000 railwaymen

had been released for service with the army.

[Illustration: FIELD-MARSHAL EARL KITCHENER.]

The business of an army in the field is not merely to fight, or rather,

its chief task, fighting, is only possible if there is a first-class

organization behind the lines. How brilliant and complete that

organization was towards the close of the struggle would take a volume

to expound. In France, for example, the British Army had its own

Forestry Department, and produced from French forests over 2,000,000

tons of timber. It was its own farmer, and in 1918 it saved the crops

of 18,000 French acres, harvesting them at night. It did its own

tailoring and boot-making. It did all its mending of every kind, and it

saved broken and derelict material to be remade in the factories at

home. It did its own catering, and there never was a war in which men

and horses were better fed--a remarkable feat when we remember that

provision had to be made for men of different races and tastes--curry

for the Indians, nut-oil for the Chinese, and coffee for the American

soldiers. It did its own banking, insurance, and printing. Its

transport service was a miracle. In 1914 the Expeditionary Force landed

in France with 40,000 horses and a few hundred lorries, while its

railway transport was managed by the French. In 1918 it ran its own

railways, and it had 500,000 horses and mules, 33,500 lorries, 1,400

tractors, and 15,800 motor-cars. It did the business of almost all the

trades on earth, and did it with exactness, economy, and an amazing

flexibility, so that whenever a new call was necessitated by the

strategy of the generals, it was fully and promptly met.

The war was therefore a united effort of the whole British people. In

Cromwell's day the start of one battle was delayed because it got mixed

up with a fox hunt. Even in the Napoleonic wars there were thousands of

families in England which lived remote from the struggle, and readers of

Jane Austen's novels would not gather from their placid narrative that

her country was involved in a European campaign. But between 1914 and

1918 every aspect of national life and every branch of national thought

was organized for the purposes of the war. Hospitals sprang up in every

town and in hundreds of country districts. Articles of food were

controlled to release shipping for war purposes. The country enormously

increased its own food supply, and some 4,000,000 acres of pasture were

brought under tillage. The whole nation was rationed, so that rich and

poor alike shared in the sacrifice. Schoolboys spent their holidays

working on the land, and the women of Britain, in munition factories, in

land work, and in a thousand other employments, made noble contribution

to the common cause. In 1918 there were at least 1,500,000 more women

working than before the war, and the tasks on which they were engaged

were those which had hitherto been regarded as work which could only be

performed by men.

*PART VI.*

*VICTORY.*

*CHAPTER XXXI.*

*THE LAST DAY.*

By the first days of November 1918 the war was won. In October both

Turkey and Bulgaria had been beaten to the ground. On the 4th of

November Austria capitulated. Ludendorff had resigned, the German

Emperor had sought refuge at Army Headquarters from the troubles of his

capital, the German navy had mutinied, and a revolution was beginning in

Berlin. Foch was on the eve of his last step in the West. The

Americans were moving on Sedan. Haig was in the position of Wellington

on the eve of Waterloo, when he raised his hat as a signal for

"Everything to go in."

On 1st November Valenciennes fell. On 4th November Haig attacked on the

30 miles between that city and the Sambre. Twenty British divisions

scattered thirty-two German divisions, taking 19,000 prisoners and more

than 450 guns. That day broke the enemy's resistance. Henceforth he

was not in retreat but in flight, and the two wings of his armies were

separated for ever. There remained only the 50 miles between Avesnes

and Mezieres as an avenue of escape for all the German forces of the

south, and Foch was preparing to swing his right wing north of Metz to

close the last bolt-hole. If a negotiated armistice did not come within

a week there would be a compulsory armistice of complete collapse and

universal surrender. That day Germany appointed delegates to sue for

peace.

On the 8th, Rawlinson occupied Avesnes and Byng reached the skirts of

Maubeuge. The first week of that month of November the weather was wet

and chilly, very different from the bright August when British troops

had last fought in that region. The old regular forces which in 1914

had then borne the shock of Germany's first fury had mostly disappeared.

Many were dead, or prisoners, or crippled for life, and the rest had

been dispersed through the whole British army. The famous first five

divisions, which had made the Retreat from Mons, were in the main

composed of new men. But there were some who had fought steadily from

the Sambre to the Marne and back again to the Aisne, and then for four

years in bitter trench battles, and had now returned, after our patient

fashion, to their old campaigning ground. Even the slow imagination of

the British soldier must have been stirred by that strange revisiting.

Then he had been marching south in stout-hearted bewilderment, with the

German cavalry pricking at his flanks. Now he was sweeping to the

north-east on the road to Germany, and far ahead his own cavalry and

cyclists were harassing the enemy rout, while on all the eastern roads

his aircraft were scattering death.

On the 7th the line of the Scheldt broke. On the 8th Conde fell, and on

the 9th the British Guards entered Maubeuge. On the 7th Pershing and

the Americans had reached Sedan. On the 10th the British left was

approaching Mons, and the centre was close on the Belgian frontier.

These were feverish days both for victors and vanquished. Surrender hung

in the air, and there was a generous rivalry among the Allies to get as

far forward as possible before it came. Take, for example, the 8th

Division of the British First Army. On the 10th November one of its

battalions, the 2nd Middlesex, travelled for seven hours in buses, and

then marched 27 miles, pushing the enemy before them. They wanted to

reach the spot near Mons where some of them had fired some of the first

British shots in the war; and it is pleasant to record that they

succeeded.

[Illustration: The Front in July on the eve of the Allied Offensive, and

on the day

of the Armistice, November 11, 1918.]

Meantime, in Germany, the revolution had begun. On Saturday the 9th, a

republic was declared in Berlin, and throughout the country, in every

State, the dynasties fell. On Sunday the 10th, the Emperor left the Army

Headquarters at Spa, crossed the Dutch frontier, and sought refuge in a

friend's house at Amerongen. The Imperial Crown Prince, like his

father, found sanctuary in Holland. The German delegates left Berlin on

the afternoon of Wednesday the 6th, and on the 8th met Foch and

petitioned for an armistice. They received his terms, and communicated

them to Spa and Berlin. On the night of Sunday, 10th November, the

terms were accepted, and at 5 o'clock on the morning of Monday, 11th

November, the armistice was signed. The acceptance of the terms meant

the surrender of Germany to the will of the Allies, for they stripped

from her the power of continuing or renewing the war. It was an

admission of her utter defeat in the field.

The morning of Monday, 11th November, was cold and foggy, such weather

as the year before had been seen at Cambrai. The Allied front was for

the most part quiet, only cavalry patrols moving eastwards in touch with

the retreat. But at two points there was some activity. The Americans

on the Meuse were advancing, and the day opened for them with all the

accompaniment of a field action. At Mons, on the Sunday night, the

Canadians were in position round the place, fighting continued during

the night, and at dawn the 3rd Canadian Division entered the streets and

established a line east of the town, while the carillons of the belfries

played "Tipperary." For Britain the circle was now complete. In three

months her armies had gained seven victories, each greater than any in

her old wars; they had taken some 190,000 prisoners and 3,000 guns, and

they had broken the heart of their enemy. To their great sweep from

Amiens to Mons was due especially the triumph which Foch had won, and on

that grey November morning their worn ranks could await the final hour

with thankfulness and pride.

The minutes passed slowly along the front. An occasional shell, an

occasional burst of fire, told that peace was not yet, but there were

long spells of quiet, save in the American area. Officers had their

watches in their hands, and the troops waited with the same grave

composure with which they had fought. Men were too weary for their

imaginations to rise to the great moment, for it is not at the time of a

crisis, but long afterwards, that the human mind grasps the drama.

Suddenly, as the watch-hands touched 11, there came a second of

expectant silence, and then a curious rippling sound which observers,

far behind the front, likened to the noise of a great wind. It was the

sound of men cheering from the Vosges to the sea.

*CHAPTER XXXII.*

*LOOKING BACKWARD.*

The greatness of the contest is not easy to realize, for it was so much

the hugest war ever fought in the history of humanity that comparative

tests fail us. During its four years it took from the world a far

heavier toll of life and wealth than a century of the old Barbarian

invasions had done. More than 8,000,000 men died in battle, and the

casualties on all fronts were over 30,000,000. If we add deaths from

disease and famine it cannot have cost the population of the globe less

than 20,000,000 dead, and as many more maimed and weakened for life. At

least 40,000 millions sterling of money were spent by the nations in the

direct business of war. Let it be remembered that this devastation was

wrought not in the loose society of an elder world, but in one where

each state was a highly-developed thing, and depended for some

necessaries upon its neighbour, and where myriads of human souls could

only support life so long as the machine of civilization performed its

functions smoothly and securely.

We can best grasp the immensity of the struggle by attempting to grasp

the immensity of the battleground. Such a task is for the imagination

only, for the soldier saw only his little area, and no man's first-hand

experience could cover all the many fields. An observer on some

altitude in the north, like the Hill of Cassel, on some evening in

September 1918, could look east and note the great arc from the dunes at

Nieuport to the coalfields about Lens lit with the flashes of guns and

the glare of star-shells, and loud with the mutter of battle. That was

a line of 50 miles--far greater than any battlefield in the old wars.

Had he moved south to the ridge of Vimy he would have looked on another

50 miles of an intenser strife. South, again, to Bapaume, he would have

marked the wicked glow from Cambrai to the Oise. Still journeying, from

some little height between the Oise and the Aisne he would have scanned

the long front which was now creeping round the shattered woods of St.

Gobain to where Laon sat on its hill. From the mounts about Rheims he

might have seen Gouraud's battle-line among the bleak Champagne downs,

and from a point in the Argonne the trenches of the Americans on both

sides of the Meuse, running into the dim wooded country where the

Moselle flowed towards Metz. Past the Gap of Nancy, and southward along

the scarp of the Vosges, went the flicker of fire and the murmur of

combat, till the French lines stretched into the plain of Alsace, and

exchanged greetings with the sentinels on the Swiss frontier. Such a

battle-ground might well have seemed beyond the dream of mortals, and

yet it was but part of the whole.

A celestial intelligence, with sight unlimited by distance, would have

looked eastward, and, beyond the tangle of the Alps, witnessed a strange

sight. From the Stelvio Pass in the Alps to the Adriatic ran another

front, continuous through glacier-camps and rock-eyries and trenches on

the edge of the eternal snows, to the foothills of the Lombard plain,

and thence, by the gravel beds of the Piave, to the lagoons of Venice.

Beyond the Adriatic it ran, through the sombre hills of Albania, past

the great lakes, where the wild-fowl wheeled at the unfamiliar sound of

guns, beyond the Tcherna and Vardar and Struma valleys to the AEgean

shores. It began again, when the Anatolian peninsula was left behind,

and curved from the Palestine coast in a great loop north of Jerusalem

across Jordan to the hills of Moab. Gazing over the deserts, he would

have marked the flicker which told of mortal war passing beyond the

ancient valleys of Euphrates and Tigris, up into the wild Persian

ranges. And scattered flickers to the north would have led him to the

Caspian shores, and beyond them to that tableland running to the Hindu

Kush which was the cradle of all the warring races. Still farther

north, his eyes would have seen the lights of the Allies from the

Pacific coast westward to the Urals and the Volga, and little clusters

far away on the shore of the Arctic Sea.

Had the vision of our celestial spectator been unhindered by time as

well as by space, it would have embraced still stranger sights. It

would have beheld the old Allied Eastern front, from the Baltic to the

Danube, pressing westward, checking, and falling east; breaking in

parts, gathering strength, and again advancing; and at last dying like a

lingering sunset into darkness. Behind would have appeared a murderous

glow, which was the flame of revolution. Turning to Africa, it would

have noted the slow movement of little armies in west, and east, and

south--handfuls of men creeping in wide circles among the Cameroons

forests till the land was theirs; converging lines of mounted troopers

among the barrens of the German South-West territory, closing in upon

the tin shanties of Windhoek; troops of all races advancing through the

mountain glens and dark green forests of German East Africa, till, after

months and years, the enemy strength had become a batch of exiles beyond

the southern frontier. And farther off still, among the isles of the

Pacific and on the Chinese coast, it would have seen men toiling under

the same lash of war.

Had the spectator looked seaward, the sight would have been not less

marvellous. On every ocean of the world he would have observed the

merchantmen of the Allies bringing supplies for battle. But in the

North Atlantic, in the Mediterranean, and in the English Channel and the

North Sea he would have seen uncanny things. Vessels would disappear as

if by magic, and little warships would hurry about like some fishing

fleet when shoals are moving. The merchantmen would huddle into packs,

with destroyers like lean dogs at their sides. He would have seen in

the Scottish firths and among the isles of the Orkneys a mighty navy

waiting, and ships from it scouring the waters of the North Sea, while

inside the fences of Heligoland lay the decaying monsters of the German

fleet. And in the air, over land and sea would have been a perpetual

coming and going of aircraft like flies above the pool of war.

The observer, wherever on the globe his eyes were turned, would have

found no area immune from the effects of the contest. Every factory in

Europe and America was humming by night and day to prepare the material

of strife. The economic problems of five continents had been

transformed. The life of the remotest villages had suffered a strange

transformation. Far-away English hamlets were darkened because of air

raids; little farms in Touraine, in the Scottish Highlands, in the

Apennines, were untilled because there were no men; Armenia had lost

half her people; the folk of North Syria were dying of famine; Indian

villages and African tribes had been blotted out by plague; whole

countries had ceased for the moment to exist, except as geographical

names. Such were but a few of the consequences of the kindling of war

in a world grown too expert in destruction, a world where all nations

were part one of another.

The war was an Allied victory, but let us be very clear what that means.

It delivered the world's freedom from a deadly danger, and, though the

price was colossal, the cause was worthy. But its positive fruits must

be sought elsewhere--in that impulse to international brotherhood caused

by the revulsion from the horrors of international strife, and the war's

vindication of the essential greatness of our common humanity. Its hero

was the ordinary man. Victory was won less by genius in the few than by

faithfulness in the many.

The horrors of the four years sickened the world of war, and made

thinking men realize that some other way than this monstrous folly must

be found of settling disputes between peoples. A League of Nations was

one of the first articles of peace, and the League then founded has

already, in spite of hindrances and setbacks, and the opposition of an

all too narrow patriotism, made itself a power in the world. If

civilization is to endure the League must prosper, for the world cannot

stand another such carnival of destruction. The League means the

enforcement of law throughout the globe, so that the nations as regards

each other shall live in that state of orderly liberty which a civilized

power ensures for its citizens. That purpose, as we have learned from

bitter experience, is not a dream of idealism, but the first mandate of

common-sense.

No honest sacrifice can be made in vain. In war sacrifice is mainly of

the innocent and the young. This was true of every side. Most men who

fell died for honourable things. They were inspired by the eternal

sanctities--love of country and home, comradeship, loyalty to manly

virtues, the indomitable questing of youth. Against such a spirit the

gates of death cannot prevail. We may dare to hope that the seed sown

in sacrifice and pain will yet quicken and bear fruit to the purifying

of the world, and in this confidence await the decrees of that

Omnipotence to whom a thousand years are as one day.

THE END.

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