Beginning of the War Afloat
"Hark! I hear the cannon's roar
Echoing from the German shore."
Old Nautical Ballad (in Huth Collection).
"Come all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold.
Huzza for the _Arethusa_!
Her men are staunch
To their fav'rite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we'll all expire
On board of the _Arethusa_.
"And, now we've driven the foe ashore
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill his glass
To his fav'rite lass;
A health to our captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew
On board of the _Arethusa_."
Old Naval Song.
Ordered by the Admiralty to be engraved upon a brass
plate and fixed in a conspicuous position on board
H.M.S. _Arethusa_, after the Battle of the Bight, 28th
August, 1914.
IN July, 1914, it was determined to have a "test mobilization" of the
British fleet. "Mobilization" means, in connection with either the navy
or the army, the calling up of reserves and filling up regiments or
ships till they have the numbers necessary to complete them for war
service. In previous years it was usual to have a series of naval
manoeuvres during the summer or autumn, to practise our fleets in
working together or to work out strategical problems. This generally
entailed a partial mobilization, but in 1914 it was determined to see
how the machinery for mobilization would work at full power.
On the 19th and 20th July the magnificent naval force formed by the
assembly of the first, second, and third fleets, with various flotillas
of destroyers and submarines, was inspected at Spithead by King George.
After a few days' fleet exercises in the Channel the great armament
dispersed, the first fleet going to Portland, the remainder to their
home ports to give manoeuvre leave. But in the meanwhile affairs on the
Continent became so threatening that it was deemed a wise precaution to
keep the first fleet in readiness where it was, and to defer giving
leave. On the 27th July Austria declared war against Serbia. Two days
later the first fleet steamed out of Portland and disappeared from
sight. Where it went we do not know, but in a short time it and all our
other fleets were swallowed up in "the fog of war", from which some of
their ships have from time to time made dramatic entrances upon the
scene of conflict, generally attended with unpleasant consequences to
the enemy.
Events now moved with the greatest rapidity. Germany declared war on
Russia on 1st August, and on the day following her troops violated the
neutrality not only of Luxembourg but of Belgium, although she--equally
with Great Britain and France--had guaranteed the neutrality of the
latter country by a formal treaty. On 3rd August the action of Germany
automatically brought France into the war, and on the same day the
mobilization of the British fleet was completed at four o'clock in the
morning. On the 4th the British ultimatum was dispatched. It was
summarily rejected, and by 11 p.m. the two countries were at war.
The next morning the first shots were fired by the British Navy. H.M.S.
_Amphion_, a smart four-funnelled vessel of the light-cruiser class,
which, with a flotilla of destroyers, was on patrol duty in the North
Sea, was spoken by a trawler about 9 a.m., who reported having recently
seen a suspicious steamer "throwing things overboard". The skipper
described her position as nearly as he could. It was easy to guess what
the "things" in question were. Germany had made little or no secret of
her intention to pursue a policy of strewing mines in the open sea,
though she had a fine fleet, only second to our own, both in numbers and
discipline. (Nelson, it may be pointed out, won the battle of St.
Vincent with 15 line-of-battle ships, 4 frigates, a brig and a cutter,
although he attacked an enemy fleet consisting of 27 line-of-battle
ships, 7 of which carried more guns than any English ship, and 13
frigates.) We may well imagine the zest with which our little squadron
set off to punish the naval "dynamitards", and it was not long before a
mercantile-looking steamer hove in sight, which proved to be the
_Königin Luise_, of 2000 tons, belonging to the Hamburg-Amerika Line.
She was steering east, and four destroyers shot after her like
greyhounds unleashed. The chase was good for about twenty knots, but
after a thirty-mile run the _Amphion_ and destroyers opened fire, which
the German returned. The destroyer _Lance_ now crept up abreast of her
on the port hand and fired[81] at comparatively close quarters. Four
shots did the trick. The first absolutely wrecked her fore-bridge, the
second got her fair amidships between the funnels, while the last two
made such a mess of her stern that she began to founder.
With true British sportsmanship and humanity, every attempt was at once
made to rescue her crew, with the result that twenty-eight escaped a
watery grave. The _Amphion_ and her satellites, having disposed of the
mine-layer, proceeded with their work until about 6.30 the following
morning. The flotilla was at this time in the neighbourhood of the spot
where the _Königin Luise_ had been dropping her mines. Every precaution
was taken to avoid what was supposed to be the dangerous area, but
suddenly, without any warning, the _Amphion_ struck a mine and the
catastrophe occurred. "A sheet of flame instantly enveloped the bridge,
rendered the captain insensible, and he fell on the fore-and-aft bridge.
As soon as he recovered consciousness he ran to the engine-room to stop
the engines, which were still going at revolutions for 20 knots. As all
the fore part was on fire, it proved impossible to reach the bridge or
to flood the fore magazine. The ship's back appeared to be broken, and
she was already settling down by the bows. All efforts were therefore
directed to placing the wounded in a place of safety, in case of
explosion, and towards getting her in tow by the stern. By the time the
destroyers closed, it was clearly time to abandon the ship. They fell in
for this purpose with the same composure that had marked their behaviour
throughout. All was done without hurry or confusion, and twenty minutes
after the mine was struck the men, officers, and captain left the
ship."[82]
It was not long before the corner of the curtain shrouding the North Sea
was again raised for a moment to give us a fleeting glimpse of the
destruction of the German submarine U15 by the cruiser _Birmingham_.
There have been one or two versions of this event. According to one
account, the look-outs on board the cruiser "spotted" the periscope of a
German submarine rather over a mile distant and opened fire; and so good
was the marksmanship of her gunners that, small as was the target
offered by the periscope, it was carried away at the first shot. The
submarine dived, but, being unable to see where she was going, came to
the surface, only to have her conning-tower wrecked by another
projectile, which did so much damage that the U15 sank like a stone.
According to a well-known writer on naval matters[83] this story,
however, is "entirely fictitious, except in so far that the
_Birmingham_ did sink the U 15; but the real truth of the matter is that
the U 15 fired at a certain British ship and missed her. Thereafter the
U 15 might have got home in safety had not her captain imagined that he
had succeeded, and come to the surface to shout 'Deutschland über
alles'. That little incident settled the fate of the U 15, as she came
up alongside the _Birmingham_ and was sunk at once."
This incident took place on the 9th August, and for the next fortnight
or so the "fog of war" rolled very thick over the North Sea. There is
reason to believe that things were not exactly peaceful during all this
time, since on the 19th there was an official reference to some
"desultory fighting", resulting in no loss to either side. Between the
24th and 28th the Germans sank twenty-two fishing-boats. Immediately
after, a well-planned move by the British Navy resulted in what is known
as the "Battle of the Bight". The rocky, cliff-bound islet known as
Heligoland--the German Gibraltar of the North Sea covering the
approaches to Cuxhaven and the Kiel Canal--was not so long ago a British
possession. It had been ours for over a century when we exchanged it for
Zanzibar, because we thought "there was more money in it". We had never
made any use of it when we had it. Had we fortified it, as the Germans
have now done, its value in the war would have been priceless. That we
did not do so may be set down to our fear of offending German
susceptibilities and to our fixed resolve not to contemplate a war with
Germany as being in the plane of practical politics. If any Government
had attempted to make an advanced naval base of it, what an outcry there
would have been!
It has been described by a German naval writer as "the strategical basis
of the German fleet, distant about 40 miles from the mouths of the Elbe,
the Weser, and the Jadhe. It is a fortress of the most modern kind,
furnished with the newest weapons, and fortified with the utmost
technical skill. Its guns, contained in armour-plated revolving towers
and bomb-proof casemates, dominate the sea over a circle from 20 to 25
miles in diameter. Powerful moles, some 650 feet long, protect the
flotillas of torpedo-boats and submarines, and great stores of
ammunition and supplies facilitate the provisioning of our ships."[84]
Over and around this rock-bound fortress in the early hours of the
morning of 28th August hung a thick mist--almost a light fog. Now and
again the watchers on duty caught sight of the phantom shapes of the
German destroyers and torpedo-boats as they carried out their
never-ending sentry-go over the approaches to the Elbe. Presently out at
sea there were ruddy glimmers through the haze, followed by the slam of
small cannon. Away to the westward, in a lift of the mist, the German
patrols suddenly "spotted" the porpoise-like forms of three big
submarines brazenly exposing themselves on the surface, and a general
dash was made in the direction of this splendid "bag".
But they were too late. The intruders had dived, and were out of sight
or hearing. Then suddenly broke out a rapid banging all round in the
mist.
What was happening? As a matter of fact, our First and Third Destroyer
Flotillas, supported by the First Light-cruiser Squadron, and with the
First Battle-cruiser Squadron in reserve, were carrying out an ingenious
plan which was described as "a scooping movement" against the German
war-craft known to be in the neighbourhood of Heligoland. Some of our
submarines were also playing their part, and it is probable that the
"scoop" was planned on information previously gained by these little
craft, since it was officially announced by the Press Bureau, after the
battle, that "the success of this operation was due in the first
instance to the information brought to the admiral by the submarine
officers, who have, during the past three weeks, shown extraordinary
daring and enterprise in penetrating the enemy's waters".
[Illustration: THE SINKING OF THE GERMAN CRUISER _MAINZ_
A snapshot from one of the British war-ships engaged in the fight off
Heligoland.]
The three submarines were a decoy to draw the enemy's flotillas to the
westward. Then down came the saucy _Arethusa_, looking not unlike a big
destroyer herself, flying the broad pennant of Commodore R. Y. Tyrwhitt,
and the destroyers of the Third Flotilla. The new-comers immediately
attacked the German Flotilla, which was now making for Heligoland. The
_Arethusa_, in her turn, was attacked by two German cruisers, and there
was something in the nature of a general mêlée, in which the _Fearless_
and the First Destroyer Flotilla very shortly took a hand. Our gunnery
seems to have been the more effective, but all the same our flotillas
were somewhat hardly pressed until the Light Cruiser Squadron, and
finally the battle-cruisers, with their enormous guns, came looming
colossal out of the mist and gave the German cruisers the _coup de
grâce_. The _Köln_ and _Mainz_ were set on fire and sunk outright, the
third cruiser, subsequently understood to have been the _Ariadne_,
disappeared blazing into the fog, only to founder shortly afterwards,
while two destroyers were also accounted for. The _Arethusa_ was
somewhat damaged, and was towed out of the fight by the _Fearless_. Of
course, with the arrival of our reinforcements, we were in overwhelming
superiority, and our principal risk lay in the enemy submarines, which
attempted an attack that was balked by the high speed of our ships and
the alertness of our destroyers.
A thrilling account of the engagement is contained in a letter[85],
written by a naval officer who evidently was serving on board one of our
destroyers. I do not think I can do better than quote from it: "We
destroyers went in and lured the enemy out and had lots of excitement.
The big fellows then came up and did some excellent target practice, and
we were very glad to see them come; but they ought not to consider we
had a fight, because it was a massacre, not a fight. It was superb
generalship having overwhelming forces on the spot, but there was really
nothing for them to do except shoot the enemy, even as Pa shoots
pheasants. For us who put up the quarry in its lair, there was no doubt
more to do than 'shoot the enemy', for in our case the shooting was
passive and not active only! For that very reason the fight did us of
the destroyers more good than it did our big fellows, for my humble
opinion, based on limited observation, is that no ship is really herself
until she has been under fire. The second time she goes into action you
may judge her character; she is not likely to do normally well the first
time. We all need to be stiffened and then given a week or two to take
it all in. After that we are 'set'. A ship will always do better in her
second action. To see the old _Fearless_ charging around the field of
fight (it was her second engagement) seeking fresh foes was most
inspiriting. Until the big brothers came up she was absolutely all in
all to us, and she has no bigger guns than we have. I also learn that
there is all the difference in the world between a 4-inch gun in a
cruiser and a 4-inch gun in a destroyer. I would regard a cruiser armed
with a 3-inch as about a match for a destroyer with a 4-inch; but then I
have personally only looked at it from a destroyer point of view. But it
must be more unpleasant to have half a dozen plumped accurately and
together at you, with a well-arranged 'fire-control' guiding them,
watching their fall, and applying corrections to the range
scientifically and dispassionately, rather than to have isolated shots
banged off from a vibrating pulsating destroyer, turning this way and
that, with no one to look where the shot falls, except, perhaps, the
captain, who has a lot of other things to attend to....
"Have you ever watched a dog rush in on a flock of sheep and scatter
them? He goes for the nearest and barks at it, goes so much faster than
the flock that it bunches up with its companions; the dog then barks at
another and the sheep spread out fanwise, so that all round in front of
the dog is a semicircle of sheep and behind him none. That was much what
we did at 7 a.m. on the 28th. The sheep were the German torpedo-craft,
who fell back just on the limits of range and tried to lure us within
fire of the Heligoland forts. _Pas si bête!_ But a cruiser came out and
engaged our _Arethusa_; they had a real heart-to-heart talk while we
looked on, and a few of us tried to shoot at the enemy too, though it
was beyond our distance. We were getting nearer and nearer Heligoland
all the time; there was a thick mist, and I expected every minute to
find the forts on the island bombarding us; so _Arethusa_ presently drew
off after landing at least one good shell on the enemy.
"Seeing our papers admit it, so may I--our fellows got quite a nasty
'tummy-ache'. The enemy gave every bit as good as he got there. We then
re-formed, but a strong destroyer belonging to the submarines got
chased, and _Arethusa_ and _Fearless_ went back to look after her, and
we presently heard a hot action astern. So the captain, who was in
command of the flotilla, turned us round and we went back to help, but
they had driven the enemy off, and on our arrival told us to form up on
the _Arethusa_.
"When we had partly formed and were very much bunched together, a fine
target, suddenly out of the 'everywhere' arrived five shells not 150
yards away. We gazed at whence they came, and again five or six stabs of
fire pierced the mist, and we made out a four-funnelled cruiser of the
'Breslau' class. These five stabs were her guns going off, of course. We
waited fifteen seconds and the shots and the noise of the guns arrived
pretty simultaneously fifty yards away. Her next salvo went over us, and
I, personally, ducked as they whirred overhead like a covey of fast
partridges. You would have supposed the captain had done this sort of
thing all his life; he gives me the impression of a Nelson officer who
has lived in a state of suspended animation since, but yet has kept pace
with the times, and is nowise perturbed at finding his frigate a
destroyer. He went full speed ahead at the first salvo to string the
bunch out and thus offer less target, and the commodore from the
_Arethusa_ made a signal to us to attack with torpedoes.
"So we swung round at right angles and charged full speed at the enemy,
like a hussar attack. We got away at the start magnificently and led the
field, so that all the enemy's fire was aimed at us for the next ten
minutes. When we got so close that the debris of their shells fell on
board, we altered our course and so threw them out in their reckoning of
our speed, and they had all their work to do over again. You follow that
with a destroyer coming at you at 30 knots it means that the range is
decreasing at the rate of about 150 yards per ten seconds. When you see
that your last shot fell, say, 100 yards short, you put up 100 extra
yards on your sights; but this takes five seconds to do. When you have
in this way discovered his speed you put that correction in
automatically; a cruiser can do this, a destroyer has not room for the
complicated apparatus involved. Humanly speaking, therefore, the
captain, by twisting and turning at the psychological moment, saved us;
actually I feel we are in God's keeping these days.
"After ten minutes we got near enough to fire our torpedo, and then
turned back to the _Arethusa_. Next our follower arrived just where we
had been and fired his torpedo, and of course the enemy fired at him,
instead of at us. What a blessed relief! It was like coming out of a
really hot and oppressive orchid house into the cool air of a summer
garden. A 'hot' fire is properly descriptive; it seems actually to be
hot! After the destroyers came the _Fearless_, and she stayed on the
scene, and soon we found she was engaging a three-funneller, the
_Mainz_. So off we started again to go for the _Mainz_, the situation
being, I take it, that crippled _Arethusa_ was too 'tummy'-aching to do
anything but be defended by us, her children.
"Scarcely, however, had we started (I did not feel the least like
another gruelling) when from out the mist and across our front in
furious pursuit came the First Cruiser Squadron, the Town class,
_Birmingham_, &c., each unit a match for three _Mainz_, and as we looked
and reduced speed they opened fire, and the clear 'bang! bang!' of their
guns was just a cooling drink! To see a real big four-funneller spouting
flame, which flame denoted shells starting, and those shells not aimed
at us but for us, was the most cheerful thing possible. Even as
Kipling's infantryman, under heavy fire, cries 'The Guns, thank Gawd,
the Guns', when his own artillery has come into action over his head, so
did I feel as those 'Big Brothers' came careering across.
"Once we were in safety I hated it. We had just been having our own
imaginations stimulated on the subject of shells striking us, and now, a
few minutes later, to see another ship not three miles away reduced to a
piteous mass of unrecognizability, wreathed in black fumes, from which
flared out angry gouts of fire like Vesuvius in eruption, as an unending
stream of 100-pound shells burst on board; it just pointed the moral and
showed us what might have been! The _Mainz_ was immensely gallant. The
last I saw of her, absolutely wrecked alow and aloft, her whole midships
a fuming inferno, she had one gun forward and one aft still spitting
forth fury and defiance, 'like a wild cat mad with wounds'. Our own
four-funnelled friend recommenced at this juncture with a couple of
salvos, but rather half-heartedly; and we really did not care a ----,
for there, straight ahead of us in lordly procession, like elephants
walking through a pack of 'pi-dogs', came the _Lion_, _Queen Mary_,
_Invincible_, and _New Zealand_, our battle-cruisers. Great and grim and
uncouth as some antediluvian monsters, how solid they looked, how
utterly earth-quaking.
"We pointed out our latest aggressor to them, whom they could not see
from where they were, and they passed down the field of battle with the
little destroyers on their left and the destroyed on their right, and we
went west while they went east, and turned north between poor
four-funnels and her home, and just a little later we heard the thunder
of their guns for a space, then all silence, and we knew. Then wireless:
'_Lion_ to all ships and destroyers; retire'. That was all.
"Remains only little details, only one of which I will tell you. The
most romantic, dramatic, and piquant episode that modern war can ever
show. The _Defender_, having sunk an enemy, lowered a whaler to pick up
her swimming survivors; before the whaler got back an enemy's cruiser
came up and chased the _Defender_, and thus she abandoned her whaler.
Imagine their feelings; alone in an open boat without food, twenty-five
miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy's fortress, with
nothing but fog and sea around them. Suddenly a swirl alongside, and up,
if you please, pops His Britannic Majesty's submarine E 4, opens his
conning-tower, takes them all on board, shuts up again, dives, and
brings them home 250 miles! Is not that magnificent? No novel would dare
face the critics with an episode like that in it, except, perhaps, Jules
Verne--and all true!"
FOOTNOTES:
[81] The first shot, probably from the _Amphion_--thus the first shot of
the war afloat--was fired by Private J. B. King, R.M.L.I. (Plymouth),
who died of wounds in Netley Hospital soon after the sinking of the
_Amphion_.
[82] Official account.
[83] Fred. T. Jane, _Your Navy as a Fighting-machine_.
[84] _Naval and Military Record._
[85] In the _Morning Post_.