The Attack on the Mole
"It all depends upon the weather," remarked Lieutenant-Commander
Farnborough. "This is absolutely the best we've had, and our third
attempt--three for luck."
It was a quarter to five on the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of
April. The main force of the vessels operating against Zeebrugge and
Ostend were on the point of starting from the concentration base,
upon their hazardous enterprise.
The composition of the operating craft was of a truly diverse nature.
Off the Goodwins came the old _Vindictive_, disguised almost out of
knowledge. Her mainmast was down, the massive spar being fashioned
into a huge "bumpkin" to fend her stem off the masonry of the Mole.
On her foremast and above her conning-tower were box-like structures
containing flame-projecting apparatus, Lewis-guns, and other devices
conjured up by the Great War. Along her sides were large "brows" or
gangways, together with a formidable array of hawsers and chains
terminating in specially constructed grapnels.
Astern and in tow of her were _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, two
ferry-steamers well known to the inhabitants of Liverpool and
Birkenhead, and now carrying passengers of a very different sort from
those to which they were accustomed. Following were the block-ships
_Thetis_, _Intrepid_, _Iphigenia_, _Sirius_, and _Brilliant_, the
paddle mine-sweeper _Lingfield_, and five M.-L.'s.
The starboard column was composed of _Warwick_, flying the flag of
Vice-admiral Keyes, _Phoebe_, _North Star_, _Trident_, and
_Mansfield_, the two latter towing two obsolete submarines of the "C"
class. In the port column were destroyers, every vessel towing one or
more coastal motor-boats, while between the columns were about fifty
or sixty M.-L.'s.
M.-L. No. 4452 was told off to operate with the artificial
fog-producing craft. It was to be by no means an uninteresting task,
for, not only was it fraught with danger, but it required great skill
and sound judgment on the part of the small craft concerned to
liberate the thick pall of smoke at the opportune moment and exactly
in the required spot.
Both Farnborough and Branscombe had urgently requested permission to
be allowed to take their M.-L. into the harbour to rescue the crews
of the block-ships; but since practically every M.-L. skipper had
made a similar submission it was obvious that there were to be many
disappointed aspirants to the honour--amongst them the officer
commanding M.-L. 4452.
Cautiously the strange medley of naval vessels proceeded. Several
hours of daylight yet remained--a period during which the flotilla
was in more danger of submarine attack than during the night. There
was also the risk of running over an enemy mine-field, for the Huns,
anticipating naval operations against their Belgian fortresses, had
been known to make lavish use of their mine-laying submarines.
Another factor, which subsequently proved to be a very vital one, was
the position of the buoys. These had been carefully observed by
British air-craft, and, as far as could be judged, were all in their
positions on the morning of the 22nd.
Orders had been given to dispense with wireless signals, while the
use of flags as a means of communication was reduced to a minimum.
But one signal and its reply were fated to be recorded in the pages
of history.
From the Admiral's ship came the stirring message, a clarion call to
which Englishmen had oft-times rallied before: "St. George for
England".
Promptly came the forcible and appropriate rejoinder, "And may we
give the Dragon's Tail a jolly good twist".
Guarded by destroyers and M.-L.'s the _Vindictive_ and the
block-ships proceeded, arriving at a certain rendezvous just as
darkness was setting in. Here the principal actors separated, the
_Sirius_ and _Brilliant_ making towards Ostend, while the others held
on for Zeebrugge.
"How do you feel, old son?" inquired Lieutenant-Commander Farnborough
of his Sub-lieutenant.
"Can hardly describe it," replied Branscombe. "Almost believe I've
got cold feet, but I wouldn't be out of the show for anything."
Branscombe's description of his condition was a figure of speech.
Actually his throat was hot, his tongue was dry, and he could hardly
speak a word in reply to his commander. His heart was thumping
heavily, while his pulse was throbbing at a rate that would have made
a medical man, unacquainted with the circumstances, look astonished.
It was a series of sensations akin to those experienced during the
last five minutes before "Going over the Top".
A few minutes after scheduled time the monitors began their
preliminary "hate", and almost immediately the German guns replied.
It was a preliminary operation only, with a view to distracting the
attention of the Huns from the _Vindictive_ and the block-ships.
Both Farnborough and his Sub were consulting their wristlet watches
almost every fifteen seconds. They wore their watches outside their
thick gloves, for officers and men had to be as fully protected as
possible against the highly-injurious effects of mustard gas.
Together with shrapnel helmets and gas-masks the "get-up" was as
unlike that of the Royal Navy as could be readily imagined.
At 11.40 to the minute--for everything depended upon the operations
being carried out "according to plan"--the coastal motor-boats dashed
in towards the low, flat, sandy shore, and proceeded to lay floats on
which the fog-producing plant was lashed. As the dense black pall of
vapour rose, Fritz opened a heavy fire. Anxious foreboding was
telling upon him. His nerves were very much on edge that night.
Several of the floats were observed to be sunk, while, as ill-luck
would have it, the light wind, hitherto favourable to the enterprise,
changed in direction. Nevertheless, the dauntless little craft went
about their work, nothing but their small size and handiness saving
them from annihilation by the terrifically hot fire maintained by the
enemy.
Sixteen minutes later the _Vindictive_, emerging from the
smoke-screen, sighted the head of the Mole, bearing one and a half
cables on the port-bow. Gathering increased way until her engines
were working at full speed, she steered straight for her appointed
berthing-place, her guns literally belching fire as she forged
through the shell-torn water. It was a gallant sight. Marvellous it
was that the old cruiser was not sent to the bottom, so violent was
the cannonade directed towards her.
St. George's Day, 1918, was but a minute old when, with the shock
practically absorbed by her massive fenders, the _Vindictive_ struck
the Mole a glancing blow. Although her decks were shambles, she was
now fairly protected from the German fire by the masonry of the lofty
breakwater, but by this time her funnels, upper-works, and
flame-projecting huts were riddled.
In the midst of a truly deafening din men dashed from cover to hurl
the grapnels across the parapet of the Mole. At first the attempt was
a failure, for the set of the tide and the scend of the sea caused
the _Vindictive_ first to grind heavily and then swing slightly away
from the wall. To add to the difficulty of the storming-party most of
the "brows" had been shattered by shell-fire. Two only could be run
out, and along them literally lurched the seamen and marines. Swept
by machine-gun fire the passage of the storming-party along those
frail gangways was a heroic one. In cold blood a man would have been
pardoned for hesitating to essay the task. Should any of the men slip
and fall--and several of them did--a hideous death awaited them
between the grinding hull of the ship and the seaweed-covered masonry
of the Mole.
Encumbered though they were with Lewis-guns, bombs, ammunition, and
explosive charges, and carrying rifles and bayonets, the
storming-party continued, one after another, to gain the top of the
parapet, whence a drop of fully fifteen feet had to be risked before
they could reach the fairly broad but much obstructed roadway on the
inner side of the breakwater.
Meanwhile, not only had the _Vindictive_ put alongside the Mole
farther from the mole-head than had been intended, but she
obstinately refused to range alongside. It was the little _Daffodil_
that saved the situation. Bows on, and with her engines continuously
going ahead, the Liverpool ferry-boat forced her big consort up
against the Mole, and thus enabled the rest of the storming- and
demolition-party to land.
A few yards ahead of the now secured _Vindictive_ came the _Iris_. In
the heavy ground-swell she bumped heavily against the hard granite.
Most of her scaling-ladders were smashed to matchwood, and those that
remained were almost too insecure to attempt to use. Yet, in spite of
hostile fire and the hazardous means of ascent, men were not wanting
to risk and give their lives for King and Country.
One of the first to ascend was Lieutenant Claude Hawkings. For a
brief instant he stood upon the parapet, silhouetted against the
glare of the star-shells and the flashes of the guns, striving to
engage one of the large grapnels flung from the deck of the _Iris_.
The next instance he was shot and fell upon the stonework.
Almost simultaneously Lieutenant-Commander G. N. Bradford worked his
way to the top of a derrick used for lifting out a large mole-anchor.
From this precarious perch he leapt down, alighting on all fours on
the parapet. Without an instant's delay he was on his feet again and
tugging furiously at the anchor to secure it. This he did, and in the
moment of success he, too, was shot, his body falling into the water
betwixt the ship and the Mole.
Unfortunately the mole-anchors refused to obtain a grip. Grinding and
bumping, the _Iris_ was unable to land her men. Reluctantly it was
realized that any further attempt at that spot would mean a needless
loss of life, so the cable was slipped and the little ferry-boat ran
alongside the _Vindictive_, where she was able to land the survivors
of her seamen and Royal Marines across the deck of the cruiser.
By this time the storming- and demolition-parties were hard at it,
clearing the head of the Mole and making a mess of German personnel
and material generally. With Lewis-guns and bombs they worked their
way along, destroying wireless stations, clearing out machine-gun
nests, and hurling deadly explosive missiles upon the decks of the
German torpedo-craft lying alongside.
It was by no means a one-sided affair. Caught like rats in a trap the
Huns on the seaward end of the Mole put up a plucky and stubborn
fight, doubtless relying upon the chance of receiving reinforcements
from the shore.
The expected reinforcements never arrived. To enable German troops to
gain the stone portion of the Mole they must needs cross an iron pier
connecting the stonework with the mainland. Bodies of troops were
actually on the way, when it was noticed that a submarine was
approaching at a distance of a mile and a half. Lit up by the glare
of the star-shells the coming submarine presented a tempting target.
Hun 4-inch guns promptly opened fire upon her, but unswervingly the
submarine held on.
This puzzled Fritz completely. Then it occurred to him that the
British submarine was out of her course and that, if she carried on,
she would run aground and become an easy capture. So orders were
given to cease fire and to train two search-lights upon the doomed
craft in order to baffle still further her navigating officer.
But C 3 was not out of her course, nor was her lieutenant in command
at all hazy as to his position. The submarine was laden with
explosives in order to demolish the only means of communication
between the Mole and the shore. It was deemed a task that entailed
the sacrifice of C 3's officers and men; yet, in the hope that a
slight chance of escape offered, the vessel was provided with a motor
dinghy. From the conning-tower the officers could see the viaduct
distinctly, as it stood out against the glare. On it were hundreds of
German troops, many dancing and waving their arms with delight at the
thought of making an easy capture of the bewildered Englishmen.
Now, at a distance of less than a hundred yards, success looked like
becoming realization. Altering helm slightly C 3 charged the viaduct
at full speed, hitting it fairly at right angles. The blunt nose of
the submarine glinted over a horizontal girder, lifting the hull
quite two feet out of the water. Still carrying way, C 3 lurched
forward until the base of her conning-tower brought up against the
massive iron braces of the pier. There she remained hard and fast,
save for the quivering movement imparted by the ground-swell.
Overhead were hundreds of Huns still delirious with glee at their
easy victory; underneath, a handful of cool and resolute Britons
determined to do the job thoroughly and efficiently.
C 3 had been fitted with gyro steering-gear, a device similar to that
of the Whitehead torpedo, to enable her to steer automatically for
her goal after her crew had abandoned her. But, taking no risks on
that score, Lieutenant Sandford, the officer in command, had resorted
to the ordinary methods of steering until the submarine was securely
wedged under the viaduct.
Before the actual impact C 3's crew mustered on deck. In that exposed
position they remained within full view of the enemy; yet, confident
that the submarine's crew would speedily be made prisoners, the
Germans forbore to fire.
The order was then given to ignite the fuses. Having made sure that
the desired explosion would take place, Lieutenant Sandford gave the
word for all hands to embark on the skiff.
Then the disconcerting discovery was made that the skiff's propeller
had received damage. The little motor was useless. All that could be
done was to make use of oars in a race against time. It was a hard
tussle, with the tide boring against the deeply-laden boat. Unless a
certain distance was covered before the explosion took place the men
would share the fate in store for the Huns.
To add to the difficulties the Germans, on finding that the dinghy
was leaving the submarine, opened a furious fire with pom-poms,
machine-guns, and rifles. It was indeed a mystery how the skiff
survived the ordeal. Holed many times, her officer in command twice
wounded, and several of her crew hit, she struggled manfully against
the current, her pumps going all the time to keep the inrush of water
under control.
Yard by yard the little boat drew away from the abandoned C 3. Fritz,
wild with rage at being baulked of the capture of the crew, redoubled
his fire, more men and more machine-guns being brought up to harass
the elusive skiff-dinghy.
By dint of strenuous exertions the boat gained a distance of about
two hundred yards through the bullet-flecked water when, with a
tremendous report, the explosive cargo of C 3 detonated.
In an instant the viaduct went up in a cloud of flame-torn smoke,
taking with it men, guns, and search-lights. The air was full of
falling debris, a great quantity dropping into the water all around
the skiff.
There was not the slightest doubt that C 3's work was accomplished,
while the chances of her crew surviving their hazardous task rose
with a bound.
In the lull that followed, the men made good use of their oars, and
presently, to their relief, the picquet-boat told off to attempt
their rescue was sighted. Quickly the heroic men were taken off and
transferred to comparative safety on board H.M.T.B.D. _Phoebe_.
Meanwhile the demolition-parties on the Mole were hard at work with
Fritz's little contraptions, while the block-ships were preparing for
their _magnum opus_ within the gates of the Huns' stronghold.