To anyone who has the slightest knowledge of the fighting ships of the
world, the identification of the German Dreadnought cruisers is a
comparatively easy matter. The ships which took part in the third
German raid, which left Kiel on the night of January 23, have certain
characteristics of their own which no one can mistake.
The latest of these, the "Derfflinger," was launched at Hamburg in 1914.
On the outbreak of war, she was actually performing her trials, and was
no doubt hurriedly completed and commissioned. She is distinguishable
by the fact that all her turrets are in the centre line, an arrangement
that enables the majority of her guns to fire a broadside to either
flank. The main battery consists of eight 12-inch guns. The turbine
engines are of the very latest pattern, and are designed for a speed of
twenty-seven knots.
The "Seydlitz," a slightly larger edition of the "Moltke" and the
"Goeben," is in a class by herself. She has about the same speed as the
"Derfflinger," but is not so heavily armed, her largest guns not being
greater than 11-inch weapons--a calibre that is unknown on board the
ships of the British Navy. As far as can be ascertained, the "Seydlitz"
cannot be regarded as a complete success. By reason of her great speed,
her heavy batteries and thick armour belt, she consumes, when travelling
at her utmost speed, an amazing amount of fuel, which could not easily
be replaced if the ship were operating in distant seas.
The "Moltke" is the sister-ship of the famous "Goeben," which succeeded
in escaping from the Mediterranean squadron at the beginning of the war,
seeking refuge in the Bosphorus, where she hoisted the Turkish ensign.
The "Moltke" was launched at Hamburg in 1910, and is considerably faster
than either the "Seydlitz" or the "Derfflinger"--which can be accounted
for by the fact that she is not so heavily armoured.
The last ship of the squadron, the "Bluecher," is, for more reasons than
one, likely to be of the greatest interest to English readers; firstly,
because of the fate with which she met, and secondly, because of her
history.
In the year 1908, it was known in German Naval circles that the British
Admiralty was building a new class of ship, which was to combine
something of the heavy batteries and armour-plate protection of a
battleship with the speed of a first-class cruiser. The designs of
these ships--which are now known as the "Invincible" class--were kept
wholly secret; and beyond the fact that they were likely to prove a kind
of combination of the Dreadnought and the cruiser, nothing concerning
the details of their construction was known either at Hamburg or at
Kiel.
It was none the less necessary for the German naval authorities to
design and construct some kind of ship capable of holding its own
against the British "Invincibles"; and the "Bluecher" was the result.
It must be confessed--even by the most patriotic Junkers that ever
swaggered in Unter den Linden--that she was a failure. When launched,
the ship was found to be very greatly inferior to its British rivals.
The "Bluecher" carried twelve 8.2-inch guns as against the eight 12-inch
guns of the "Invincible." Her top speed was also a good knot an hour
less than that which could be accomplished by the British ships, in
spite of the fact that she was no better protected and was even more
expensive in regard to fuel. It is, indeed, doubtful whether this ship
can rightly be called a "battle cruiser," though--to her cost--she was
included in the German battle-cruiser squadron that set forth from the
Bight of Heligoland, on the morning of January 24, to raid the English
coast.
All these ships have a most formidable appearance. Combining, as they
do, great strength with maximum speed, they are enemies not to be
despised. They appear even more powerful than they are, since all lie
low in the water and have enormous, stumpy funnels from which the black
smoke rolls in clouds.
Captain Crouch, who was well acquainted with the ships of the German
Navy, recognized them the moment he brought his telescope to bear in
their direction, and saw at once the extreme danger of the situation.
The German cruisers, steering due north-west, were making straight for
the "Mondavia," which was already within range of the great 11-inch
guns. Flight would be altogether useless, since the men-of-war were
travelling at, at least, twice the pace of the tramp. Moreover, to turn
back would be doubly fatal, since this would bring the "Mondavia" within
range of a torpedo discharged from the submarine.
Captain Crouch was not a man who took long to make up his mind. When it
was necessary to act, to take the greatest risks, he never hesitated to
do so. He may already have given himself up for lost, or else he may
have thought that a small chance, one last hope, remained; in any case,
he put the ship about, and steaming at full speed, made straight for the
U93.
As he did so, the submarine re-opened fire; and once again the
"Mondavia" was raked from forecastle to poop, so that the life of every
man on board was in the utmost peril. Nor was this all, for a greater
calamity was yet to come. It was as if a thunder-cloud had burst
immediately above them, when the great guns of the "Bluecher" opened
fire.
A loud report smote the cold, grey waters of the Dogger Bank in such a
manner as the hammer of Vulcan must have sounded and echoed in Olympus.
Almost immediately, the great shell was heard shrieking and singing on
its way. It fell some distance short, plunging into the sea at a point
from which a huge column of water shot upward like a jet.
We have all seen raindrops splashing in a puddle, and this is precisely
what happens, on a very much larger scale, when projectiles from modern
guns strike the surface of the sea. Sometimes, owing to the extreme
sensitiveness of many high explosives, shells will burst on impact with
the water, which is churned white by the explosion, as under the triple
screws of an Atlantic liner. The fire from the quick-firing guns on
board the submarine was a menace to the individual lives of those on
board the tramp; but one shell from the "Bluecher," if it struck a vital
part of the ship, would suffice to send her to the bottom.
It must be remembered that the range of the great guns of modern navies
is so long that ships come into action the moment they are in sight. In
this case, the German battle-cruisers were still so far distant that
they could not have been recognized with the naked eye. No more was
visible than the great funnels, from each of which was issuing a long
trail of smoke; so that the gigantic ships appeared as four black
smudges on the sky-line.
To them the "Mondavia" must have appeared as but a small speck upon the
horizon; and, in face of this, it is somewhat remarkable that the
"Bluecher" should have opened fire with such little hesitation. At that
distance she could not possibly have seen the submarine, which was more
than a mile to the north of the steamer. Hence, since the "Mondavia"
flew no flag, it was not at first apparent to Captain Crouch on what
justification the German gunners had got to work.
There is, however, a factor in modern warfare, both on sea and land,
which must always be taken into account; and this is expressed in one
word--"Wireless." The U93 was moving forward at her topmost surface
speed. She was equipped with wireless apparatus, of which, of course,
the "Mondavia" was deficient; and there could be little doubt that the
U93 was already in direct communication with the "Bluecher."
What her first message was may safely be left to the imagination. She
must have signalled to the effect that the tramp was an enemy, flying
for safety, with the German submarine in hot pursuit. The commander of
the U93 had realized that his prey was fast slipping through his
fingers, that the "Mondavia" was making good her escape by means of her
superior speed and the ability of her commander.
Hence, the U93 needed assistance, and fortunately for her, powerful
support was close at hand. She sent her wireless signal to the
"Bluecher," the nearest of the four German battle-cruisers; and
presently, in quick succession, the great guns were thudding forth their
messages of destruction.
Luckily for Captain Crouch and all those on board the tramp, the range
was still too long for accurate shooting. The "Mondavia" had completed
a semicircle, and was now steaming back upon her own track. For all
that, if the chase was continued, the battle-cruisers must soon come
within decisive range, when no power on earth could serve to save the
ship.
Captain Whisker had been carried below unconscious. Cookson was in his
own cabin, where, with the help of the ship's steward, he was
endeavouring to bandage his hurt shoulder. As neither one nor the other
had the slightest knowledge of first-aid dressing, the thing was
clumsily done; and besides, the captain had lost so much blood already
that he was very nearly in a fainting condition, and in no fit state to
return to his post on the bridge.
Fortunately, in Captain Crouch, there was one on board capable of
dealing with the situation, who saw at once that desperate measures were
necessary, and was resolved to take them.
It was impossible to suppose that the "Mondavia" could live for long
under fire from the guns of such monster ships as the German
battle-cruisers. One well-placed shell--as we have said--would be
sufficient to complete the business. Still, inasmuch as Captain Crouch
was fleeing from the men-of-war with all the speed he could, the chances
were that the fatal moment would be delayed. The German ships were
steaming ahead at the rate of about twenty-five knots an hour, with the
result that the "Mondavia" was being rapidly overhauled. Even now, the
great shells were falling in dangerous proximity to the ship.
The commander of the U93 saw his danger in a trice. No doubt he had
thought it quite improbable that the "Mondavia" would turn and make back
upon her own wake. Had Crouch not been a man of iron, he would have
endeavoured to escape towards the coast. As it was, he headed straight
for the submarine with all the engine power that the old tramp had at
her disposal.
The "Bluecher's" shells were falling thick and fast, when quite suddenly
the battle-cruiser ceased firing, so that the silence that fell upon the
sea seemed strange and deathlike after the colossal uproar of the guns.
The truth was that the commander of the submarine and Rudolf Stork
himself, both of whom were still together in the conning-tower, had been
the first to recognize that the U93 was in danger of destruction from
the "Bluecher's" shells, since the submarine and the steamer were
drawing closer and closer together. Accordingly, another wireless
message was despatched, asking the "Bluecher" to hold back her fire.
In warfare, it often happens that deeds are accomplished so daring that
even those who witness them cannot believe them true. So was it now
with the commander of the U93, who could not at first bring himself to
believe that it was Crouch's deliberate intention to run him down.
A torpedo, fired from the submarine, passed through the water like a
flash of light, and missed the "Mondavia's" bows by a matter of inches.
Captain Crouch, upon the bridge, threw back his head and laughed; but it
was the laugh of one who was quite beside himself with intense
excitement and the savage exhilaration of the moment.
Jimmy Burke could not refrain from laughing, too. The moment was one of
ecstasy. They were flying onward through the water straight for what
looked like sudden death; the living shells no longer plunged into the
sea on either side of the ship, but the small quick-firing guns of the
submarine had re-opened with a deadly accuracy. Indeed, the range was
so decisive that it was almost impossible to miss so large a target.
The canvas screens, which guarded the bridge upon which Crouch and Jimmy
Burke were standing, were torn to rags and tatters. The funnel was so
riddled with shot that it was like a sieve. The teak decks were
splintered right and left, and in some places the taffrails were so
twisted by the sheer force of exploding shells that they resembled
corkscrews.
As they drew nearer to the submarine, the danger they were in became
more imminent. The noise was deafening. The surface of the sea both to
port and starboard was lashed by showers of shrapnel bullets, so that it
was just as if hailstones were falling from the leaden skies.
At this supreme moment, Jimmy Burke could not take his eyes from Captain
Crouch, who was like a man transfigured. In his very attitude there was
something heroic. He now stood motionless, still and silent as a statue
cut in stone. He no longer laughed. He looked neither to the right nor
left, but straight ahead, his great, square chin protruding more than
ever, his single eye fixed and yet ablaze.
He himself was at the helm. The quartermaster, whose place he had
taken, lay face downward in the welter of his blood, struck stone dead
in the fulfilment of his duty.
Crouch gripped the handles of the wheel so tightly that the knuckles on
his sunburnt hands showed white beneath the taut skin. The man was
evidently wrought up to the very highest pitch, his iron nerves strained
to the utmost. When the shells burst about his ears, he never flinched,
nor moved the fraction of an inch. He kept his eyes glued to the German
submarine ahead, and moved the wheel, first this way and then that, so
that the bows of the "Mondavia" were ever directed straight for the U93.
The commander of the submarine saw his danger just too late. He put his
helm hard a-starboard, hoping to escape across the steamer's bows, and
get a broadside target for his last torpedo. The movement was fatal,
for Crouch's eye was quick to see, as his hands were quick to act. The
"Mondavia" swung in upon her victim, as a half-blind rhinoceros charges
when brought to bay.
Jimmy Burke, forgetful of his own great danger and the extreme peril in
which all on board lay, dashed down the bridge steps, crossed the
forward well-deck, and raced to the forecastle-peak.
He reached this point of vantage in time to behold the consummation of
this tragedy, or epic--or whatever it may be. He looked down upon the
submarine, rocking on the swell, and saw a torpedo shoot into the sea
and flash into nothing in the distance. He could see those of the crew
who were on deck--the men who had worked the guns. They were so close
he could even distinguish the whites of their staring eyes. And there,
standing at the elbow of the round-faced, young commander, was Rudolf
Stork--the paid servant of the Wilhelmstrasse, the man who had served
the Fatherland for gold.
Rage seized him when Stork saw his danger and recognized the boy who had
tracked him, half by pluck and half by chance, from the close-packed
streets of New York City to the sombre desolation of the Dogger Bank.
And then, fury gave place to terror--the last emotion that seizes all
men who find themselves confronted by inevitable death.
There is nothing strange in that. Whatever faith we have in God, the
only Over-Lord of Victory, death, standing on the threshold, must seem
terrible by reason of the darkness and the mystery of the grave. All
men have sinned, and this poor, desperate hireling more than most; and
perhaps, at that grave, anxious moment, he saw the evil of his life take
living shape and rise before him from the depths to taunt, threaten and
condemn.
Be that as it may, he clasped his hands, and looked upward to the sky,
as if seeking mercy there. And then, the iron bows of the steamer
crashed into the U93. There was a loud bursting sound--a kind of
wrench--and simultaneously a shout--human voices uplifted in anguish and
dismay. And the U93 crumpled--just crumpled like a paper cap--and
vanished in a thin, hissing cloud of steam, leaving upon the surface a
great, glassy pool of floating oil.