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THE BRITISH NAVY BOOK
* * * * *
_Uniform with this volume_
THE BRITISH ARMY BOOK
BY PAUL DANBY AND LIEUT.-COL. CYRIL FIELD, R.M.L.I.
"It is full of great deeds sure to fire the
imagination of any boy."--_Times._
"Gives a better and more readable account of our army
than any book we can think of."--_Graphic._
"A most stirring, as well as informative
book."--_Scotsman._
"A glorious story, told in fine racy
style."--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON. LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "BRITAIN'S SURE SHIELD"]
THE BRITISH NAVY BOOK
by
LIEUT.-COL. AND BREVET COL. CYRIL FIELD, R.M.L.I.
With Full-page Illustrations in Colour and in
Black-and-White and Numerous Illustrations in the Text
Blackie and Son Limited
London Glasgow and Bombay
Contents
CHAP. Page
PROLOGUE: THE COMMAND OF THE SEA (A.D. 1915) 9
I. A LESSON FROM CÆSAR 19
II. ANCIENT WAR-SHIPS 28
III. FIGHTING-SHIPS OF THE MIDDLE AGES 38
IV. MARINERS OF OTHER DAYS 54
V. SOME MEDIÆVAL SEA-FIGHTS 60
VI. THE NAVY IN TUDOR TIMES 67
VII. FROM ELIZABETH TO VICTORIA 81
VIII. THE "TURKS" IN THE CHANNEL 99
IX. THE HONOUR OF THE FLAG 115
X. THE EVOLUTION OF NAVAL GUNNERY 125
XI. EVOLUTION OF THE IRONCLAD BATTLESHIP 146
XII. THE EVOLUTION OF THE SUBMARINE AND SUBMARINE MINE 167
XIII. NAVAL BRIGADES 187
XIV. WAR-SHIPS OF ALL SORTS 204
XV. THE MANNING OF A SHIP 223
XVI. BEGINNING OF THE WAR AFLOAT 242
XVII. OPERATIONS IN THE NORTH SEA AND CHANNEL 254
XVIII. IN THE OUTER SEAS 261
XIX. A REVERSE AND A VICTORY 272
XX. GERMAN RAIDS AND THEIR SIGNAL PUNISHMENT 285
XXI. THE ROYAL NAVAL AIR SERVICE 292
CONCLUSION 307
Illustrations
IN COLOUR
Page
"BRITAIN'S SURE SHIELD" _Frontispiece_
UNIFORMS OF THE BRITISH NAVY: Midshipman, Admiral,
Flag-Lieutenant, Secretary (Fleet Paymaster) 96
UNIFORMS OF THE BRITISH NAVY: A.B. (Marching Order),
1st Class Petty Officer, Stoker 188
UNIFORMS OF THE ROYAL MARINES: Gunner, R.M.A.;
Colour-Sergeant, R.M.L.I.; Major, R.M.A 236
IN BLACK-AND-WHITE
H.M.S. "DREADNOUGHT" FIRING A BROADSIDE OF 12-INCH GUNS 10
LEARNING TO FIGHT ZEPPELINS 16
A WAR-GALLEY IN THE DAYS OF KING ALFRED 36
THE "GREAT HARRY", THE FIRST BIG BATTLESHIP OF THE
BRITISH NAVY 70
A SEA-FIGHT IN TUDOR TIMES 78
DESTROYING A STRAGGLER FROM THE ARMADA 82
LORD HOWARD ATTACKING A SHIP OF THE SPANISH ARMADA 84
THE "ROYAL GEORGE" ENGAGING THE "SOLEIL ROYAL" IN
QUIBERON BAY, 1759 90
THE "VICTORY" IN GALA DRESS 92
"THE GLORIOUS 1ST OF JUNE", 1794 94
THE RELEASE OF CHRISTIAN PRISONERS AT ALGIERS 108
THE FIGHT BETWEEN A MERCHANTMAN AND A TURKISH PIRATE 112
TEACHING THE SPANIARD "THE HONOUR OF THE FLAG" 118
THE BATTLE OF THE NORE, JUNE, 1653, BETWEEN THE
ENGLISH AND DUTCH 122
THE "DULLE GRIETE" AT GHENT 130
THE MAIN GUN DECK ON H.M.S. "VICTORY" 140
NAVAL GUNNERY IN THE OLD DAYS 142
13.5-INCH GUNS ON H.M.S. "CONQUEROR" 144
H.M.S. "WARRIOR", OUR FIRST SEA-GOING IRONCLAD BATTLESHIP 154
A MONSTER GUN WHICH IS NOW OBSOLETE 162
A FLEET OF SUBMARINES IN PORTSMOUTH HARBOUR 176
ENGLISH BLUEJACKETS AT THE DEFENCE OF ACRE 192
THE NAVAL BRIGADE IN THE BATTLE OF EL-TEB 200
OUR SEAMEN GUNNERS WITH A MAXIM 202
DECK OF A "DREADNOUGHT" CLEARED FOR ACTION 206
THE BRITISH SUBMARINE "E2" 216
THE 13.5-INCH GUN: SOME IDEA OF ITS LENGTH 238
6-INCH GUN DRILL: THE BREECH OPEN 240
THE SINKING OF THE GERMAN CRUISER "MAINZ" 248
"MISSED!"; THE HELM THE BEST WEAPON AGAINST TORPEDOES 258
THE BRITISH AIR RAID ON CUXHAVEN: DRAWING BY JOHN DE
G. BRYAN 302
THE BRITISH AIR RAID ON CUXHAVEN: SEA-PLANE FLOWN BY
FLIGHT-COMMANDER R. ROSS 304
Publishers' Note
Just as this book was about to go to press an Admiralty Order was issued
forbidding the publication of any text or illustrations likely to prove
of service to the enemy. Proofs of _The British Navy Book_ were
submitted to the Admiralty, with the result that the book has been
approved. Acting in accordance with instructions from the Lords
Commissioners, we have substituted other illustrations for those more
recent ships previously chosen to represent the Great War by sea.
BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED.
THE BRITISH NAVY BOOK
PROLOGUE
The Command of the Seas
(A.D. 1915)
"It may truly be said that the Command of the Sea is
an Abridgement or a Quintessence of an Universal
Monarchy."
SIR FRANCIS BACON.
It is a grey morning out on the North Sea, with but little wind. There
is no swell, but considerable movement on the surface of the waters,
with here and there an occasional tossing of the white manes of the
sea-horses. Swimming majestically through the sea comes one of our
monster slate-grey battle-cruisers. She is "stripped to a gantline", and
in complete and instant readiness for action. The red cross of St.
George flutters bravely at her fore-topmast head, for she is the
flagship of the squadron of three or four towering grey ships that are
following in her wake. Aft flies the well-known White Ensign, the
"meteor flag of England" blazing in the corner. Far away on either bow,
but dimly discernible on the wide horizon, are the shadows of other
smaller ships, the light cruisers, which are moving ahead and on the
flanks of the squadron like cavalry covering the advance of an army. On
board is an almost Sabbath-day stillness, save for the wash of the sea,
the dull steady whirr of the giant turbines far down below the armour
deck, the periodical clang of the ship's bell, marking the flight of
time. Now and again comes a whiff of cooking from the galley. As the day
advances the light grows stronger; gleams of sunshine send the purple
shadows of masts and rigging dancing fitfully over the wide deck, which
is practically deserted. There is the marine sentry over the life-buoy
aft, look-outs aloft and at various corners of the superstructures, and
the figures of the officer of the watch, signalmen and others are seen
in movement up in the triangular platform dignified by the name of the
"fore-bridge". Who would imagine that there are seven or eight hundred
souls on board, seamen, marines, stokers, and many other ratings of
whose existence and duties the "man in the street" is profoundly
ignorant?
[Illustration: _Photo. Cribb, Southsea_
H.M.S. _DREADNOUGHT_ FIRING A BROADSIDE OF 12-INCH GUNS]
But look inside this massive gun-hood, from which protrude forty feet of
two sleek grey monster cannon, each of which is capable of hurling 850
pounds of steel and high explosive a distance of a dozen miles. Grouped
round their guns in various attitudes are the bluejackets forming their
crews. They are tanned and weather-beaten fellows, but there is a
strained and tired look about their eyes. Here in the confined spaces of
their turret they have eaten, slept, and whiled away the watches as best
they might for many, many hours. They have not had the discomforts of
their khaki-clad brethren in their sodden trenches, nor listened to the
constant hiss of hostile bullets and the howl and crash of "Jack
Johnsons" at unexpected moments. But if they have been immune from these
constant and manifest dangers, they have had none of their excitements.
They have had the temptation to boredom, and the less exciting but
always present peril of the dastardly German system of mine-laying in
the open sea. Some are writing letters to chums, to sweethearts, and to
wives. Others are killing time with the light literature that has been
sent to the ship in bundles by the many friends of the fleet on
shore. In one corner is a midshipman writing up his "log", and beside
him sits the lieutenant in charge of the turret reading for the fourth
time a much-folded letter he has taken from an inner pocket.
Look into the next turret and you will see a similar scene, the only
difference being that in this case the guns' crews and their officer are
marines, wearing red-striped trousers and "Brodrick" caps--the latter
not unlike those of the seamen, but with the corps badge in brass on a
semicircular scarlet patch in front, instead of a ribband with the
ship's name. In the casemates housing the smaller guns in the
superstructures and on the deck below are similar though smaller groups.
All are waiting--waiting.
We wend our way below. The clerks and writers are working in their
offices, the cooks are busy at their galleys. Men must eat and accounts
must be kept though the ship should be blown out of existence in the
next ten minutes. We enter a narrow lift and are shot down to the lower
regions, where the sweating stokers handle rake and shovel, the
artificers and engine-room staff ply oil-can and spanner, and the
engineer officers study gauges and dials of all sorts and kinds. There
is more life down here than up above. Work is going on that needs
constant watching and attention. On our return journey to "the upper
air" we glance in at the wireless room. As we do so comes the loud
crackle of the electric spark. The operator is acknowledging a signal. A
message has come in from a scouting cruiser. "The enemy are out. Five
big cruisers, heading north-west." Another Scarborough Raid perhaps.
The ship wakes up, she is alive. The engine-room gongs clang down in her
depths. A few signal flags flutter aloft. The admiral is signalling to
his squadron to alter course to head off the enemy, and to increase
speed by so many revolutions. The big ship gathers way. Her consorts
follow in the curve of her foaming wake, and with every big gun trained
forward the lithe grey leviathans tear over the watery plain in search
of their quarry.
An hour passes. Nothing is seen but the scouting cruisers and a minute
speck in the remote spaces of the sky, which someone thinks is a
sea-plane, but which may well be a grey gull in the middle distance.
Presently, however, a growing darkness along the north-eastern horizon
becomes recognizable as smoke--the smoke of many furnaces. Against its
growing blackness one of our distant light cruisers shows for a moment
as a white ship. Black smoke is pouring from her funnels also, and
amidst it all is a sudden violet-white flash.
After an age comes the dull "thud" of her cannon. Now she turns away to
port. There are more vivid flashes and the "thudding" of her guns grows
continuous. Soon answering flashes sparkle from amidst the smoke-pall on
the horizon, and first one then another nebulous outline of a warship
disintegrates itself. Flashes break from their sides also, and the noise
of the firing swells into a steady roll of sound rising and falling on
the wind. We again increase speed. Black smoke billows from our funnels,
the bow wave rises higher, and now and again a cloud of spray swishes
over our decks. Then "Cra--ash!" The fore-turret has spoken. The ship
trembles from stem to stern. We are striking in to the assistance of our
scouting cruiser. Through the glasses appears what looks like an iceberg
towering over the enemy's nearest cruiser. We've missed her.
But the spotting officer is busy in the control-platform aloft, passing
down corrections for transmission to the various gun-stations, and when
a second explosion roars from the starboard turret, the enemy's cruiser,
after disappearing for some seconds in a black and inky cloud of smoke,
bursts into flames. Her consort and our scouting vessel draw farther and
farther away to the northward, fighting fiercely. We continue driving
through the tumbling waters, till, with a slight freshening of the wind,
the black smoke we are approaching thins off into nothingness, and we
see far down on the horizon four or five separate columns of smoke. With
a good glass we can distinguish masts and funnels as if lightly sketched
in pencil. They have sighted us at the same time, and seem to melt
together into one indistinct mass. They are altering course, turning
their backs to us and heading for the east.
The engine-room gongs clang again, more revolutions are demanded and are
forthcoming, and our four big battle-cruisers rush in pursuit with
renewed energy. A distant humming sound increases quickly to a loud
hissing and roaring--a noise which may be compared to that of a monster
engine letting off steam--and an enormous projectile, passing well over
our heads, plunges into the sea on the starboard beam of our following
ship, the splash rising as high as the mastheads. Others follow fast.
The rearmost ship loses her mainmast, and now the enemy's gunners reduce
their elevation and slap their big shells into the sea just ahead of us.
Our own guns are not idle. One after another gives tongue with a volume
of noise and a concussion that no words can describe. The pen is
powerless to bring before the imagination such a cataclysm of sound. On
a sudden, amidst the crashing of the guns and the continuous dull
booming of the enemy's in the distance, there is a different and a
rending explosion somewhere forward. We have at last been hit. Down on
the forecastle all is smoke, blackness, torn iron plates and girders.
From the midst of the chaos comes the shriek of a man calling on his
Maker, and piteous groanings. Soon the dull red of fire blushes through
the smoke, and a rush of bluejackets and marines with fire-hoses
spouting white streams of water engages this dread enemy and succeeds in
subduing it.
Stretcher-men appear on the scene and remove the wounded, but there is
more than one serge-clad figure that lies heedless of fire or water,
friend or foe. These are they who have fought their last fight and have
laid down their lives and all that they had for their country.
Inside the turrets the aspect of affairs is very different from what we
saw a short time ago. The gun-layers are standing at their sights, the
guns' crews are working levers to and fro, the big breech-blocks are
swinging on one side, the huge pointed projectiles rising on their
hydraulic hoists till they come in line with the bore of the gun.
Another lever is pulled, and the rammer-head, hitherto somewhat in the
background of the turret, advances towards the gun, impelled by what
looks not unlike a monster bicycle chain crawling up from below, and
stiffening itself as it advances along a horizontal trough of steel. The
rammer-head meets the base of the big shell and drives it resistlessly
and with no apparent effort into the gun. It retires; the charges of
explosive, divided into sections and carried in cylinders which come in
turn in line with the breech, are then one after the other pushed into
place by the indefatigable rammer-head, the breech-block is swung to,
turned and locked, and the gun is ready to fire again.
* * * * *
We are now in full view of the enemy's squadron, which consists of five
large armoured cruisers. Two of these are in a bad way. One on our
starboard bow has lost two out of her three funnels as well as a mast.
She is barely moving through the water, and has a strong list to port,
which is so pronounced as to prevent her elevating her guns, whose
projectiles all strike the water short of us, though we are at
comparatively close range. Only two or three of her larger pieces are
able to fire at all, and these but at intervals. Her foremost turret is
nothing but a chaos of broken metal from the midst of which a pair of
mutilated cannon point forlornly skyward.
The midships turret nearest to us is in hardly better case. Her
superstructures look like the ruins of a town after an earthquake, and
several large holes gape in her sides. A dense black smoke sweeps
upwards from the midst of the wreckage. About half a mile ahead of her a
consort is also stationary and on fire, the flames driving away in
sheets to leeward. The ship that followed us as second in the line is
very badly damaged also, and is just discernible on the horizon astern
under a pall of smoke. These casualties leave us evenly matched--three
to three--with plenty of fight left in us, but with the volume and
efficiency of our fire considerably reduced. Our own funnels are still
standing, but riddled like collanders, the fore-bridge has been swept
away, and with it our dear old skipper; but his place has been ably
filled by the commander, who is fighting the ship from the
conning-tower, which still stands. Both squadrons--the German in line
ahead, ours in bow and quarter line--are heading due east, but, just as
we are abreast the badly damaged cruiser to which I have referred, the
enemy begins edging away to the north-east. We fail to see the
significance of this manoeuvre at first, and the admiral, who, though
rather badly hurt by the fall of the fore-bridge, is still in the
conning-tower with the commander, may have visions of "crossing their T"
astern, when there is a sudden shout from aloft. A man is leaning over
and gesticulating wildly from the control-platform and pointing towards
our starboard bow. There, not far from the burning enemy ship, the glass
shows three pairs of what look like black cricket-stumps. Simultaneously
there is a gleam in the sea alongside, like the white of a shark's belly
when he turns to seize his prey. The deadly torpedo had missed us by a
couple of feet.
We instantly turn sharply to port, signalling our consorts to do the
same, and all head northwards at our best speed. This brings the enemy's
line, which had been turning more and more to port, on a parallel
course, and all three ships at once concentrate on us--the nearest ship.
We get a worse hammering in the five minutes that follow than we have
sustained during the action. The after turret is jammed, one of the
guns in the starboard turret loses its muzzle, and fire breaks out in
two places amidships, and can only be got under with the most strenuous
efforts and great loss of life.
[Illustration: LEARNING TO FIGHT ZEPPELINS
Gunnery practice on a British war-ship against an aerial target. It is a
difficult matter to get "war conditions", as the ordinary target, such
as a towed kite, is easier to hit than an aeroplane.]
Things are looking ugly. The submarines still follow astern, but are not
near enough to risk a shot. We cannot steam any faster, and we are
baulking the fire of our friends. We slow down, risking the submarines,
to allow our consorts to get ahead of us and enable us to meet the three
enemy ships on equal terms. There are many anxious looks astern while
this manoeuvre is in execution. The periscopes of our submarine foes are
still discernible, but beyond them is a fast-growing smoke-cloud from
which presently emerge the lithe black hulls of our "X" destroyer
flotilla. Apparently the submarines do not observe their approach; their
periscopes are steadily fixed on our ship, reckoning every yard they
gain on us. But the destroyers see _them_, and presently we see also a
warning signal from the enemy flagship. But it is too late. Before the
_Unterseeische Böte_ can dive out of harm's way three or four destroyers
sweep over them and ram them at the speed of an express train. Slowing
down, they circle right and left and open fire. What at we cannot see.
Presently up pops a grey lump some way astern. The light guns on the
superstructure give tongue so quickly that one has hardly time to
recognize it as the conning-tower of a submarine before it is literally
blown to pieces.
For the first time during the fight a cheer rings out fore and aft.
Almost at once the little guns begin banging away again. This time their
long muzzles are nosing about in the air. What are they firing at?
"There they are!" cries someone, pointing to the south-east, where two
big amorphous monsters have appeared high up in the clouds. Zeppelins,
right enough; and the bang, bang, bang of the lighter artillery rises in
crescendo from every ship and destroyer till the air echoes like
Vulcan's forge. Up come the pair of enormous sausages at a high rate of
speed, and as they pass over our destroyer flotilla they begin
dropping their bombs. Dull concussions thud apparently on the ship's
bottom; fountains of white water spout all round the small craft.
But none are hit. The leading "gas-bag" is heading straight for us. She
has probably spotted our damaged condition, and reckons us an easy prey.
But our gunners are getting closer to her every shot, and presently she
turns slowly to starboard, dropping a futile bomb as she goes. She now
presents a fine broadside target as big as a Dreadnought, another shot
gets home somewhere, and she makes off in the direction she came with
her nose down, tail in air, and a pronounced list to port. Her consort
turns too, and scuttles off at top speed. She hopes to "live to fight
another day" over some peaceful English village where there are no
nasty, disagreeable quick-firing guns, shrapnel-shell, and other unkind
greetings from those she would destroy.
* * * * *
The day is drawing to a close. We are heading homewards in tow of a
consort. Low down under the tawny sunset that dim purple line is the
coast of "Old England"--the motherland we are engaged in defending from
the assault of the most unscrupulous enemy she has ever encountered. The
wind has fallen, the waves are hardly more than ripples, and evening is
closing down with a soothing hush over land and sea. We have cleared up
after the smashing and racket of the battle as far as possible, but we
can hardly crawl along, and are bound to go into dockyard hands for some
weeks at any rate.
"Are we downhearted?" "No!" For we have given much better than the best
efforts of the Huns could give. Two of their ships are at the bottom,
with most of their crews; though, thanks to the exertions and humanity
of our gallant seamen, a considerable number of them have been saved
from a watery grave. To this bag may be added three if not four
submarines and a badly damaged Zeppelin, so we are not ill-satisfied
with the day's work. We have just passed several "tall ships" on their
way out to relieve us on patrol, and as we begin to get under the land
there is a whirring up aloft in the gathering dusk, and a dozen
sea-planes, like a flight of wild-ducks, come swooping seaward and make
towards the Channel.
Where are they off to? Are they patrolling, or are they bent on a raid
on the enemy's magazines, hangars, and gun positions? We do not know,
but our ignorance does not worry us. We know the kind of man that is
flying down there towards the southern horizon, and are quite satisfied
that he will "make a good job" of whatever he has in hand. Just as the
sun dips, out comes a destroyer from the shadow of the land to pilot us
through the mine-field, and so we are brought "into the harbour where we
would be". We have plenty of hard work before us--some of it very sad
work. There are our poor wounded shipmates down below in the sick-bay
who have to be taken ashore to hospital, and there are the last honours
to be paid to those other gallant comrades and shipmates who have
"fought the good fight" and are now making their last voyage _en route_
for that promised land where "there shall be no more sea".
And now let us consider how this guardian fleet and the men who man it
came into being. In the following pages my object will be not so much to
describe well-known sea-fights as to give a series of pictures of the
sailor and of the navy at different stages of "our island story".
CHAPTER I
A Lesson from Cæsar
"Storm and sea were Britain's bulwarks,
Long ere Britons won their name;
Mightier far than pikes and halberds
Wind and wave upheld her fame;
Storm and sea are Britain's brothers,
Keep, with her, their sleepless guard;
Britain's sons, before all others,
Share with them their watch and ward.
_Chorus_--
"'Forward! On!' the sea-king's war-word
Ages back--to do or die.[1]
'Ne'er a track but points us forward!'[2]
Ages on--our lines reply."
E. H. H. In _Officers' Training Corps and Naval
Cadets' Magazine_, March, 1913.
WHENEVER we want to find out anything about the early history of Great
Britain, we have, almost invariably, to turn to the writings of our old
friend Julius Cæsar. In attempting to trace the beginnings of the Royal
Navy, that magnificent organization "whereon", point out the _Articles
of War_, "under the good Providence of God, the Wealth, Safety, and
Strength of the Kingdom chiefly depend", we have to conform to the same
rule, and consult this authority. From Cæsar's _De Bello Gallico_ we
learn that in his time the Ancient Britons made use of boats with a
wooden frame, supporting wicker-work instead of planking, and rendered
watertight by a covering of skins--just such boats, in fact, though
probably larger--as, under the name of "coracles", are used to this day
on the Wye and some other rivers and estuaries.
The portability and rapid construction of these boats commended them to
Cæsar's military eye, and later on, in one of his Continental wars, he
ordered his soldiers to make some light boats in imitation of those he
had seen in Britain, in order to carry his army across a river. But,
though Cæsar especially mentions these vessels, he does not say that the
British of his day had no other or larger vessels. Though they made use
of hides and wicker, they must have known something of wooden vessels.
There is no doubt that they or their ancestors had large "dug-outs",
hollowed from huge trunks of trees in the same way as Robinson Crusoe
constructed his famous boat. We know this because many of these have
been discovered buried in the mud of our rivers. One of them, found in
the bed of the Rother in 1822, was 60 feet in length and 5 feet wide.
Others have been found in Lincolnshire, Scotland, and Sussex, though
none of them was nearly as long as the Rother boat. We must remember,
too, that the Phoenicians had traded to Cornwall for tin, probably for
centuries, and the Britons must have been familiar with their
comparatively advanced types of shipbuilding.
But many writers on naval matters are of the opinion that our British
ancestors, whose coracles are described by Cæsar, had, even at that
time, really stout and formidable ships. The reason is this. The Veneti,
a race who inhabited western Brittany, and the country at the mouth of
the Loire, were a kindred race, and when attacked by Cæsar received
assistance from Britain. Now the strength of the Veneti seems to have
been in their ships, which gave the Roman galleys considerable trouble,
and it seems more than likely that the British assistance they received
came in the form of a squadron of similar vessels.
According to Cæsar, the ships of the Veneti "were built and fitted out
in this manner: their bottoms were somewhat flatter than ours, the
better to adapt them to the shallows, and to sustain without danger the
ebbing of the tide. Their prows were very high and erect, as likewise
their sterns, to bear the hugeness of the waves and the violence of the
tempests. The hull of the vessel was entirely of oak, to withstand the
shocks and assaults of that stormy ocean. The benches of the rowers were
made of strong beams about a foot wide, and were fastened with iron
bolts an inch in thickness. Instead of cables they used chains of iron,
and for their sails, utilized skins and a sort of thin, pliable leather,
either because they had no canvas and did not know how to make sailcloth
or, more probably, because they thought that canvas sails were not so
suitable to stand the violence of the tempests, the fury and rage of the
winds, and to propel ships of such bulk and burden". It is evident that
these ships were for that period quite up to date. They were strongly
built and iron-bolted, and had already discarded hempen cables for iron
ones.
Above all, they were specially constructed to battle with the heavy
weather of the Bay of Biscay and the North Sea, and to take refuge from
its fury in the rivers and creeks of the western coasts of Europe. The
Roman galleys, relying principally on their oars, and therefore
comparatively long and light, were not so seaworthy in Northern waters,
and the same difference, in construction, between the ships of the
Mediterranean and those of the Northern nations may be traced right down
to comparatively modern ages. One gets very bad weather in the
Mediterranean at times, notwithstanding its traditional blue skies and
sapphire seas, but the big Atlantic rollers are absent.
These ships of the Veneti proved a tough morsel for our old school
acquaintance, but his generalship was equal to the task of overcoming
them in the end. As he says, "in agility and a ready command of oars, we
had the advantage", for the Veneti trusted entirely to their sails.
But, against that, the beaks of the Roman galleys could make no
impression on the stout timber of the enemy's ships, they were at a
special disadvantage in bad weather, and the bulwarks of the Venetan
ships towered so high above their heads, even when they erected their
fighting-towers, that the Roman soldiers could not hurl their darts on
board them, while the Venetan enemy showered their missiles down upon
their heads. For the same reason they found it almost impossible to
grapple with and make fast to the big ships, and so carry them by
boarding. However, "there are more ways than one of killing a cat", and
so the Venetans found to their cost. For the Romans, fastening sharp
hooks or sickles to the end of long poles, pulled alongside, hooked them
over the halyards of their yards and sails, and, rowing away for all
they were worth, contrived to cut them through, when down came the
yards, and the Venetan vessels became unmanageable. To make matters
worse, when a flat calm fell they could not get away to their
hiding-places on the coast, and the Romans obtained a complete
victory--probably by boarding and fighting at close quarters, when their
armour and discipline would tell heavily in their favour. It is
interesting to note, by the way, that, according to Vegetius, a
fifteenth-century writer on naval and military matters, they painted
their scouting-vessels blue, masts, sails, and all, and dressed their
crews in the same colour. He adds that Pompey, after defeating Cæsar,
called himself "The Son of Neptune", and "affected to wear the _blue_ or
_marine_ colour". As for the Veneti, we may, perhaps, regard them as the
original "Bluejackets", Veneti being the plural of the Latin _venetus_,
"bluish", "sea-coloured".
[Illustration: Ancient Roman Tile found at Dover
The letters stamped into this tile, and others like it found elsewhere,
are considered to stand for "Classiarii Britannici", i.e. "British
troops trained for sea-warfare".]
We have now to pass over a gap of several hundred years, during which
time there is little or no information available about the ships
belonging to these islands, the greater part of which, as a matter of
fact, had become a province of the Roman Empire. There seems to have
been a "Classis Britannici", or British squadron, but this was entirely
a Roman organization, and had as much to do with the north of France--or
Gaul--as Britain. The remains of an old ship--just the keel and lower
ribs--which were not long ago unearthed on the right bank of the Thames,
just below Westminster Bridge, are considered likely to have belonged to
a galley of this squadron, and we know that there was a legion of what
we may term British Marines, who formed the fighting portion of the
fleet. Tiles have been found at Dover and other known stations of the
Romano-British Fleet which bear the following inscription: "C.L., B.R.",
which the experts in such matters interpret as standing for "Classiarii
Britannici"--that is to say, "British troops trained for sea-warfare".
We are also told by Vegetius, the old writer I have already quoted, that
the badge of these troops was a "circle", which, by the way, is a
somewhat curious coincidence, since that of the Marines of our own day
is a globe. These were the men who defended the shores of our island
against the growing numbers of pirates from northern Europe, for the
rowers of the Roman galleys were merely the machinery of propulsion, and
were probably much less considered than the steam-engines of a modern
battleship. These troops also manned part of the wall built from the
North Sea to the Solway in the vain attempt to keep out the Picts and
Scots, for traces of them are to be found at Bowness at its western
end. The North Sea pirates, then generally referred to as Saxons, became
such a menace that the East Coast received the name of "The Saxon
Shore", and a "count" or high official was specially appointed to take
charge of its defence.
[Illustration: Shield carried by the Soldiers of the "Legio Classis
Britannici"
(_From a coloured drawing in the Bodleian Library_)
The centre of the shield is quartered red and white: the rim is white,
and the remainder green.]
In A.D. 410 the Romans, attacked by the northern nations in their own
country, finally abandoned Britain. The British, who had been
practically a subject race for nearly 400 years, could make no head
against the fierce Picts and Scots, who at once took advantage of the
withdrawal of the Roman garrison and swarmed into the North of England.
In desperation, the British king, Vortigern, offered to buy the
assistance of two Jutish or Saxon pirates--Hengist and Horsa--who were
doing a little raiding on their own account on the southern coast. They
drove off the northern invaders, in accordance with the bargain that was
struck, but, returning home for more of their Danish and Saxon
fellow-countrymen, came back and gradually got the country into their
own hands. According to another theory, many colonies of Saxons had been
established on the East Coast during the time of the Romans, and it was
the special business of the "Count of the Saxon Shore" to rule over
them. However this may have been, England became a Saxon country, the
remnant of the Britons being driven into Wales and Cornwall.
Now the Scandinavian peoples were at this time the finest sailors in the
world. The Jutes and Angles from Denmark and Schleswig-Holstein belonged
to this race, the whole of which became known as "vikings"--that is to
say, "the sons of the creeks", from the Scandinavian word _vik_, a bay,
creek, or fiord. But though there must have been a strong Viking element
among the Saxon conquerors of England--so much so that it became known
as Angle-land, or England, from the Angles--yet the Saxons or English do
not seem to have taken so enthusiastically to the sea as the Norwegians
and Danes, and, except when special efforts to create fighting fleets
were made by King Alfred and Edmund Ironside, were never able to prevent
the incursions of their Danish and Norse kinsmen, who, in process of
time, firmly established themselves in the country. After the Danes came
the Norman Conquest, and during all this period there was little, if
any, change in the types of the ships in which the northern nations
fared the seas.
What were these vessels like? As it happens, we really know more about
them than we do of any between their time and the days of Henry VIII.
For not only have we very definite details of them and their "gear" in
the long "sagas" or historical and traditional poems which have come
down to us, sculptured pictures of them in stone, engravings on rocks
and upon arms and ornaments, but more than one of the actual Viking
vessels have been dug out of the big burial-mounds where they had been
hidden for centuries. For the Viking chieftain loved his ship: he
lavished ornament and decoration upon it, and regarded it almost as a
living thing. When, therefore, the time came for him to take the long
last voyage, from which no man ever returns, it was quite natural that
he should have wished to make it in the cherished "Dragon Ship" or "Long
Serpent", which had so often borne him over the waves on his way to
those hand-to-hand combats and harryings and plunderings in which his
soul delighted. Sometimes a funeral pyre was erected on the ship
herself, and with his favourite sword by his side, his shield and his
helmet, the dead chieftain set out on his final voyage, his sons and
followers watching the well-known long-ship sailing into the west till
she, her sails, and her dead captain disappeared in clouds of fire and
smoke under the sunset. Or, again, a dying sea-king would elect to be
buried in his favourite ship in some spot overlooking the glassy fiord
whence he had so often set out on his piratical exploits. The ship was
run up on shore over the rollers which all Viking vessels carried to
facilitate beaching, the body was laid amidships with his most treasured
earthly possessions, a penthouse of timber was built over him, his
favourite horses were killed and placed round the hull of the vessel,
and the whole was buried in the depths of a huge mound, which was
erected over it.
[Illustration: Noah's Ark, according to a MS. of A.D. 1000
Observe the fullness and apparent capacity of the hull of the
dragon-ship on which the Ark proper is erected, and compare it with that
of the Nydam ship on the opposite page.]
The most famous "finds" of this kind were at Gokstadt, in south Norway,
in 1881, and at Nydam, in Schleswig, in 1863. In the latter case the
ship does not seem to have been used as a sarcophagus, but with another,
which had almost entirely rotted away, was found in a bog. Possibly if
the huge oval mound now utilized as a cemetery at Inverness, and known
as "Tom-na-hurich" ("The Hill of the Fairies"), were tunnelled into,
another Viking ship might be brought to light. In the case of the Nydam
ship, Roman coins found on board fix her date as being somewhere about
A.D. 250. Both from these ships and fragments of others that have been
found in various places it is abundantly evident that their builders
were as skilled shipwrights as ever existed. Space does not allow us to
go into details of their construction, but we may say at once that their
finish was perfect, and that their lines were not only beautiful but
wonderfully well adapted for contending with the stormy waters of the
northern seas. Neither of them appears to have belonged to the largest
type of Viking ships, which may be roughly divided into "Dragon Ships"
or "Drakkars", "Eseneccas" or "Long Serpents", and "Skutas" or small
swift scouting-vessels. It seems just possible, by the way, that our
modern slang expression "skoot"--"get away quickly", "clear out"--may be
derived from this word. We must try in the next chapter to understand
what these Viking ships were like.
[Illustration: Broadside View of the Nydam Ship now in the Kiel Museum.
Observe the horn-like rowlocks and the steer-board]
FOOTNOTES:
[1]
"If we go backward we die: if we go forward we die:
Better go forward and die."--Viking war-call.
[2] "Nulla vestigia retrorsum."--Motto of 5th Dragoon Guards.