Title: The Heroic Record of the British Navy - A Short History of the Naval War 1914-1918
Author: Bashford, H. H., Hurd, Archibald
Language: English
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  THE HEROIC RECORD
  of the
  BRITISH NAVY

  A Short History of
  the Naval War
  1914-1918


  BY
  ARCHIBALD HURD
  AND
  H. H. BASHFORD



  GARDEN CITY  NEW YORK
  DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
  1919



  COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
  DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
  TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
  INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN



To the generous help and criticisms of many participants in the events
hereafter recorded, and particularly to Admirals Viscount Jellicoe of
Scapa Flow and W. S. Sims of the United States Navy; to Vice-Admirals
Sir F. Doveton Sturdee and Sir Reginald H. Bacon; and to
Lieutenaut-Commander A. D. Turnbull of the United States Navy, the
authors desire to express their most grateful acknowledgment.



  CONTENTS


  Foreword

  CHAPTER

  I.  August 4, 1914
  II.  The Battle of the Bight
  III.  Coronel
  IV.  The Battle of the Falkland Islands
  V.  Back to the North Sea
  VI.  The Seamen at Gallipoli
  VII.  Sub-mariners of England
  VIII.  The Battle of Jutland
  IX.  The Dover Patrol
  X.  The Sealing of Zeebrugge and Ostend
  XI.  The Coming of the Americans
  XII.  The Harvest of Sea Power

  Index



{ix}

FOREWORD

In the years immediately preceding the Great War, already so hard to
reconstruct, it was not uncommonly suggested that the British seafaring
instinct had begun to decline.  In our professional navy most thinkers
had confidence, as in a splendid machine ably manned; but, as regarded
the population as a whole, it was feared that modern industrialism was
sapping the old sea-love.  That this has been disproved we hope to make
clear in the following pages--a first attempt, as we believe, to give,
in narrative form, a reasonably complete and consecutive history of the
naval war.  We have indeed gone further, for we have tried to show not
only that the spirit of admiralty has survived undiminished, but that
we have witnessed such a re-awakening of it, both in Great Britain and
America, as has had no parallel since the days of Elizabeth.  We have
also tried to make clear that, in a thousand embodiments, in men and
boys fallen or still living, it has shone with a spiritual even more
than any material significance; and that it has again declared itself
to be the peculiar expression in world-affairs of the English-speaking
races.

Nor was the little apparent interest shown, just before the war, in the
navy and the navy's exercises very remarkable.  Our attitude, as a
people, toward {x} it had always been a curious union of apathy and
adventure.  We had been sea-worshippers so long that our reverence had
often been dulled by much familiarity, and to such an extent, at times,
that, only by the supremest efforts, had we, as a nation, escaped
catastrophe.  But if, on the one hand, we had lost the neophyte's fire,
we had perhaps gained a little in tolerance.  The seas had not found in
us jealous masters.  Our harbours and ships had been at the world's
disposal.  No empire in history had been so leisurely or less
designedly built up, as none was to prove, perhaps, to have been so
apparently loosely but yet so organically knit--probably because the
idea of empire had always meant less to us than the growing idea of
admiralty.  Nor is that so obscure as it may at first seem, since, in
spite of so much outward indifference, the call of the sea, as closer
examination will show, was still among the most insistent to which we
responded.  There was scarcely a cottage, for instance, even in the
remotest highlands, in which the picture of a ship did not hang upon
the walls, or that had failed to send a son or a brother or a cousin to
serve either in the navy or the mercantile marine.  Even in the greyest
and most smoke-laden of our central industrial cities, wherever there
was a pond, the children sailed their little boats upon it; and, once a
year, as to some lustral rite, the town-bred inhabitant took his family
to the coast.

That these were indications of any racial significance the non-seagoing
Briton had seldom, perhaps, realized.  That, because of them, his
language had become a familiar tongue in the uttermost parts of the
{xi} earth; that because of them every would-be world-tyrant, since
Philip of Spain, had been frustrated; that because of them the freedom
of nations, no less than that of individuals, had slowly become
humanity's gospel--this had been as little present to him as to the
inhabitant of Turnham Green that he was living in the greatest harbour
of the world; and yet that it was so was but a matter of fact, and
indeed the natural outcome of our origin.  Since Britain had become an
island every wave of invaders had necessarily come to it in ships and
with experience of the sea.  However various may have been their other
contributions to the ultimate nation into which they were to be merged,
this had been common to them, they had all been seamen, of whatever
temperament or complexion; and, while of the earliest inhabitants of
what are now the British Islands, no boat-lore can definitely
postulated, the discovery of the famous barge in the Carse of Stirling
shows that, 3,000 years before Christ, there must have been some
knowledge of navigation; while, of the first Celtic immigrants enough
must be assumed, at any rate, to have enabled them successfully to
cross the Channel.

Of these the Gaelic Celts, landing from Spain upon the coasts of Devon
and Cornwall and in Ireland, seem to have been the pioneers, followed
by a stronger invasion of Cymric Celts, who landed in Kent and Essex,
and afterward drove the Gaels before them into the northern and western
fastnesses.  Of later Aryans, the first members of the great Teutonic
family to land on these shores were, almost certainly, the Belgae, who
settled on the south and east coasts; {xii} while the Scillies and
Cornwall appear to have been regularly visited by Phoenician traders
and Greek merchants from Marseilles--a sea-borne commerce that
continued for many years after the first Roman expedition.

This took place under Julius Cæsar, first in B.C. 55, and its
ostensible purpose seems to prove the existence of some kind of
pre-Roman British fleet--Cæsar's declared object being to punish the
Britons for having sent assistance in ships and men to the Veneti, a
kindred Celtic tribe, with which he was at war on the mainland.  He
appears to have encountered no opposition from it, however, for when he
set sail from the coast of France, somewhere between the present ports
of Calais and Boulogne, his fleet of war-galleys and transports crossed
unchallenged, as far as the sea was concerned.

Achieving little more on his first visit than a demonstration of the
power of Rome, on his return, a few months later, with 30,000 men,
including cavalry, he penetrated deeply inland, although it was not
until nearly a century later that Britain became definitely a Roman
province; and it was not until the reign of Vespasian at Rome and his
deputy Julius Agricola in Britain that Roman vessels for the first time
circumnavigated Great Britain and Scotland.  The father-in-law of
Tacitus, and himself an extremely able and far-sighted administrator,
it was by Agricola that the earliest definite foundations of what was
to become the British nation may be said to have been laid.  Securing
the confidence of the islanders, he not only encouraged amongst them
the absorption of Roman {xiii} culture, but protected them against any
excess of official exploitation; and, although he was presently
recalled by the Emperor Domitian, the principles of administration that
he had laid down were generally adopted and developed by his successors
in office--forming, in many respects, those of that greater empire
whose foundations were already being laid.

It would be hard to exaggerate, indeed, the debt of the nations of
British origin to the three and a half centuries of Roman rule, during
which period the Christian religion was first preached in these
islands.  And, though it failed, if that had been its design, to create
a strong and independent and self-governing colony--so that when the
Roman power was finally withdrawn, owing to impending disasters at the
core of the Empire, the Islanders became a prey, if not an easy one, to
the next Saxon invaders--its legend of equity as between man and man,
its perception and methods of development of natural resources, and its
patient thoroughness of execution appealed to the minds and survived in
the practice of every succeeding race of immigrants.

That together with these qualities and those to be infused with the
next current of invasion there was a real love of the sea among this
early population has sometimes been doubted; and Ruskin in one of his
essays seems definitely to deny this, adducing Chaucer as an argument.
In this great poet of a later period, the first representative voice of
emerging England, he finds no expression of it and indeed a positive
aversion from all that the sea and sea-travel stood for.  {xiv} But
whether or not that be the case, and though there were undoubtedly
periods, notably just before the rise of Alfred, wherein the nation as
a whole, if it may so be spoken of, had largely forgotten the
importance of sea-power, each of the three great tribes, who had then
overrun the land, had depended for their success upon their maritime
skill.

Saxons and Jutes and Angles, they had all been coast-dwellers upon the
Weser, the Elbe, and the Ems, the sea-banks between them, and the
tongue of land dividing the Baltic from the North Sea; and, while a
certain number of them had already become settlers in Britain,
attracted by its prosperity under Roman rule, the majority had been
pirates, with an established reputation as amongst the bravest and
fiercest of ocean-adventurers.  Bold as they were, however, and
disorganized as the Romanized Britons had become, upon the withdrawal
of the tutelage of their governors, it was nearly two centuries before
Great Britain could be said to have become definitely Anglo-Saxon, and
yet another two before the newcomers themselves had established any
sort of unity; and already, by that time, fresh bodies of invaders had
begun to make their presence felt.

These were the Wikings or Vikings, men of the Scandinavian fiords,
racially allied with the original Saxon conquerors, but whose
subsequent conversion, both to Christianity and what seemed to them the
tamer life of agriculture, they affected to regard with indignation,
not unmixed with contempt.  Carrying their arms into every known sea,
and believed to have been the first discoverers of America, these
Vikings {xv} saw in Great Britain, with its increasing fertility, an
ideal and convenient theatre of war.

As early as the later years of the eighth century, they were making
sporadic raids upon the Northumbrian coast, and, in 832, they sailed up
the Thames, ravaged the Isle of Sheppey, and escaped unscathed.  A year
later, they attacked the coast of Dorset, and, in 834, they joined the
Cornish Celts, when they were defeated, however, by Egbert, King of
Wessex--the first, in any real sense, King of England.

But this was little more than a local defeat, and almost every
succeeding year saw further raids, until, in 855, a squadron actually
entrenched in Sheppey and proceeded to spend the whiter there--the
first indication in the minds of the Northmen of serious ideas of
invasion.  From 866 to 870, they made attacks in such force and with
such ferocity that, by the beginning of 871, the whole of England,
north of the Thames, lay at their mercy; while, several years before
this, permanent settlements of Danes had taken place in Ireland, the
Shetland Islands, the Hebrides, and the Orkneys.

This was the situation when, at the age of twenty-two, Alfred,
afterward to be called the Great, ascended to the throne.  Nor could he
well have become king at a less propitious moment.  For, with the whole
of the north and east now firmly in their grasp, the Danes were already
pressing upon Wessex.  A battle fought almost immediately after his
accession to the throne was rather in the nature of a draw than a
victory; and, although the enemy withdrew for a time, a few years later
found Alfred at bay in the {xvi} marshes of West Somerset, with the
Danes overrunning and apparently in secure possession of some of the
most fertile parts of his kingdom.

Fortunately for his people, however, Alfred, for all his refinement,
his love of culture, and cosmopolitan boyhood, had inherited in full
measure the stubborn Saxon refusal to accept either slavery or defeat;
and, a few months later, rallying to his standard an army of Hampshire,
Wiltshire, and Somersetshire men, he inflicted upon the Danes, at the
battle of Ethandun, the severest defeat that they had yet sustained.
By the treaty of Wedmore in 878, he secured the integrity of the south
and west, recognizing that, in the north and east, the Danish element
was not only too strong to be expelled, but was already becoming
welded, not wholly to its disadvantage, with the national life.  He
agreed, therefore, for his own part, to recognize the Danish influence
upon the other side of Watling Street, at the same time persuading its
representative leaders to forsake their paganism and embrace
Christianity.

Against further aggression, however, from abroad, he determined at all
costs to protect the Island; and he was the earliest of his line to
realize that his country's first defense was the sea that washed its
shores.  Already, in 875, he had been the victor in Swanage Bay over a
small but strong fleet of pirates; and, after the peace of Wedmore, he
set himself to the serious construction and effective distribution of a
fleet of war.  With no lack of raw material, with good craftsmen, and
with a maritime population needing nothing but initiative, he built a
navy that, in respect of {xvii} _personnel_ no less than in technical
equipment, soon outclassed that of the Danes.  Distributed round the
coast, he had, according to varying accounts, from 120 to 300 warships;
and, behind this bulwark, for the next fifteen years, England achieved
an almost miraculous degree of progress.  In 896, after a considerable
struggle, another attempted invasion was crushed, and Alfred's fleet,
grown in strength and experience, extinguished the recurrence of piracy
that had accompanied it.  Merciful in character and tolerant in
statesmanship, toward these pirates he showed no clemency, and, when he
died in 901, he left a country prosperous and at peace and with its
sea-boards inviolate.

To what extent his son and grandson, Edward the Elder and Athelstan,
appreciated the full significance of sea-power we do not know; but it
is interesting that Athelstan, during whose brilliant reign the Danish
portions of England were largely reabsorbed, conferred the dignity of
thane-ship upon any merchant who had made three voyages of length in
his own trading vessel--thereby fostering, and even perhaps founding,
the dynasty of those merchant-adventurers, upon whom in years to come,
and on seas then unknown, Britain was to climb to a destiny beyond his
imaginings.  Nor can the work of Alfred and Athelstan, in these
respects, be discounted because of the eclipse that followed in the
reign of Ethelred, and that led to the passing of England,
predominantly Saxon, under Danish sovereignty for a quarter of a
century, and then, after a further period of twenty-four years, under
the permanent rule of the Normans.

{xviii}

Tenacious of its rights, impossible to dragoon, there has always been a
strain of inertia in the Saxon character--the reflex of that tolerance,
perhaps, which has in so many respects been the secret of its influence
throughout the world; and it was probably inevitable that there should
have been phases in our national growth, and especially in its
adolescence, when this should have seemed to be uppermost.  To the
minority Celt, with his quicker wits, this has often and justly been a
subject of annoyance.  In it the Normans, conscious in their persons of
the latest current of oversea adventure, avid of culture, and
contemptuous of ignorance, saw, and at once seized, their opportunity.
For men of their enterprise, intellectual subtlety, and disciplined
military energy, the prosperous island, with its clannish dissensions
and lack of organization, seemed an obvious prey.  And if, in the
immediate moment, they were largely successful owing to the flank
attack upon Harold by his brother Tostig, it was to a lack of vision,
curiously Anglo-Saxon, that they were hardly less indebted for their
victory.

Gathering for the defense of the realm, both by land and sea, the
largest forces that had ever been collected in England, had William and
his armies tried to land a month or two earlier they might well have
done so in vain.  But with August and September came the demands of the
harvest, the autumn ploughing, and the neglected farms.  As so often
before and since in English history, the parochial and individual
obscured the national.  William had not come.  Perhaps he would never
come.  The discontented soldiery {xix} could not be kept together.  The
ships of the Fleet, or many of them, had to return for re-fitting, and,
when on September 28th, William arrived at Pevensey, three days after
Harold had defeated his brother at Stamford Bridge, it was to land
unopposed both on shore and at sea.  Moreover, there was yet another
factor, and one also that was to recur again and again in English
history--a failure, fresh from military victory, to appreciate the
value of sea-power--that contributed not a little to Harold's defeat.
By October 14th, the date of the Battle of Hastings, the English Fleet
had again been mobilized, and held the Channel.  Between their position
in Sussex and their base in France, the Normans' connections had been
cut; and, just as in later years it was Nelson's "storm-tossed ships
upon which the Grand Army never looked" that stood between Napoleon and
the dominion of the world, so might Harold's, had he trusted them more
fully, have stood between William of Normandy and the conquest of
England.

With William's forces dependent for their supplies upon the rapidly
dwindling stores of the surrounding country; with that silent pressure
behind him of England's naval power--there would have been time and
plenty, had Harold been content to wait, for the English armies to have
consolidated themselves in overwhelming strength.  But it was not to
be.  Dazzled by his recent success, and thinking in terms of armies
rather than navies, he forced the issue and was defeated, and England
passed under Norman power; and yet so incompletely that there are few
Englishmen of to-day who, on reading the story of the Battle {xx} of
Hastings, do not instinctively associate themselves with the defeated
Harold rather than with the conquering William.

Nor is that as remarkable as it might superficially appear, since,
within a very few decades of the Battle of Hastings, the same
absorptive process that had been so characteristic a reaction of these
islands to their previous conquerors was again in full swing.  Even the
Romans, although in Gaul and Spain they had succeeded in replacing the
original dialects with their own stately language, had never succeeded
in Latinizing Britain to any appreciable extent; and, while it is true
that many Roman contributions remain as permanent features of our laws
and customs, their four hundred years' sojourn left a scarcely
perceptible impress upon the tongue of the supposedly defeated.  Just
as in Roman times, too, there was a considerable and real mingling,
both in municipal life and in actual marriage, between the original
inhabitants and the Roman colonists, so, in Saxon times, we find a
similar process always at work in varying degrees, and indeed
officially encouraged by several of the most far-sighted of the
Anglo-Saxon kings and administrators.  A similar absorptive phenomenon
became observable in the later relations of Saxon and Dane; and, with
the loss of Normandy, in the reign of King John, and the common cause
then made between the French-derived barons and the English hitherto so
despised by them, the world was to hear in Magna Charta the first
authentic word of the England that we know to-day.

Nor was this process, unique though it was, as far {xxi} as recorded
history can inform us, altogether inexplicable when the position of
Great Britain and its succeeding invaders is considered.  To each group
of these, in the then world, it was an _Ultima Thule_.  Beyond it, as
far as they knew, there was no other--it was the verge of all things.
To each its occupation had been an adventure, presumably undertaken by
the most daring of the represented race.  Each was at bay there to
those that followed and of a spirit and fibre that could not easily be
obliterated; and, in each, despite the ferocity of the times, was the
respect of brave men for each other.  Centuries later, on the other
side of the Atlantic, similar conditions were to come into being; and
it may well be that, in the larger island of America, we are witnessing
a similar process on an extended scale.

But America was then in the womb of time, though it is a curious and
significant fact that its discovery largely coincided with that great
renaissance of the sea-instinct of England, embodied in the persons of
the Elizabethan sailors.  Up to then, the English national purview had
been almost wholly insular and focussed on the Continent.  The
Anglo-Continental dreams of the Norman and Plantagenet kings had
scarcely died; and they had died hard.  The loss of Calais, perhaps the
culminating factor in bringing about the new vision so soon to dawn,
had seemed, at the time, nothing but a disgrace and a disaster, and far
from the beginning of a greater epoch.

Yet it was no less than this, and, thence onward, we see the England,
that had been on the world's edge, looking toward the New World, and
perceiving, {xxii} by right of its position and history, a wider
destiny opening overseas.  Fighting more stubbornly than ever against
every attempt to make it an appanage of Europe, the eyes of England
began to turn more and more constantly to those just-discovered realms
with their incalculable future.  In the imagination of the Celt, the
organizing power of the Roman, the tenacity of the Saxon, the daring of
the Norman, and in the sea-lore of them all, it seemed that Fate had
been slowly forging a new instrument for the new task.  It was only the
realization of it that was to seek in the composite race that had thus
been built up; and it is not too much to say, perhaps, that the loss of
Calais was the right-about-turn that brought this about.  Not Europe
but the West was the new watchword.  But the corollary to that was a
new conception of the sea.  It was no longer the means of defense,
insulating Britain from her foes.  It was the highway of her full and
peculiar national expression.  As never before and not often perhaps
since, the sense of what admiralty meant flooded through the nation;
and though, as in all the enterprises of human society, the motives in
this one were no doubt mixed--though the desire for gold and the lust
of fighting for fighting's sake were dominant in the minds of many of
those sailors--it is equally clear that, for the best and finest of
them, the idea of admiralty had a definite spiritual meaning.

As we gather from their letters and records, they had begun to realize
in themselves the upholders and missionaries of a nobler life.  They
were in true succession to the best of those Norman knights, whose
{xxiii} spiritual contribution to England they had inherited; and, in
admiralty, as they dreamed of it, we may trace the reincarnation, with
a fuller and wider outlook, of that older chivalry.

These then were their objects, and the means was the navy, whose first
foundations, as we now know it, had already been laid in the reign of
Elizabeth's father, Henry VIII.  Up to that time, though the Government
had possessed the right, in times of war, to employ merchant shipping,
there had been no definite navy, permanently established, in the modern
sense of the word.  In return for certain privileges, merchant
ship-owners--and especially, in earlier days, those of the Cinque
Ports--were under contract, on demand of the king, to supply a
specified number of vessels, manned and equipped for war.  It was with
fleets so assembled that, in 1212, the English had raided Fécamp and
prevented a French invasion; that, two years later, in a similar action
under William Longsword, they had again destroyed the French Fleet; and
that, in 1334, one of the greatest British naval victories had been won
at Sluys over vastly superior numbers.  And, though the Cinque Ports
had, by this time, already dwindled from their earlier importance,
similar arrangements were in force, when Henry VIII came to the throne,
with the merchant shippers of Bristol, Plymouth, Newcastle, and many
other quickly growing ports.

Under Henry VIII, however, we find coming into being the important
Government dockyards of Portsmouth, Deptford, and Woolwich, and every
provision made for the regular supply of the timber requisite {xxiv}
for their needs.  The same reign witnessed the establishment of the
Navy Office, out of which our present Admiralty has grown, and the
granting of a charter to Trinity House--that corporation of "godly
disposed men who, for the actual suppression of evil disposed persons
bringing ships to destruction by the shewing forth of false beacons, do
bind themselves together in the love of our Lord Christ, in the name of
the Master and Fellows of the Trinity Guild, to succour from the
dangers of the sea all who are beset upon the coasts of England, to
feed them when a-hungered, to bind up their wounds, and to build and
light proper beacons for the guidance of mariners."  And, although at
the time of the Armada, as indeed ever since in moments of maritime
urgency, a large bulk of the British Fleet consisted of transformed
merchantmen belonging to private owners, the Elizabethan admirals found
at their disposal the rudiments, at any rate, of a specialized navy.

How gloriously, and to what purpose, against what was then the greatest
Power in the world, they used their inferior instrument, with its
improvised auxiliaries, is the birth-story of British admiralty.
Pitted not only for life, but, as it was to turn out, for the common
freedom of the seas, they showed the world a spectacle of such a
victory against odds as it had scarcely beheld since the Homeric ages.
On the one hand, it saw an empire, one of the greatest ever known,
under the ablest of statesmen and soldiers--an empire including Spain
and Portugal, most of the Netherlands, and nearly the whole of Italy;
Tunis, Oran, Cape Verde, and the Canary Islands in Africa; {xxv}
Mexico, Chile, Peru, and Cuba in America; the mastery of the
Mediterranean and the Atlantic; and a yearly revenue ten times that of
England--and on the other a little island, of which Wales and Scotland
were still largely independent, containing a population less by two
million than that of London and its suburbs to-day, and possessing
beyond its own coast not a yard of territory overseas.

Such were the odds, and the issue was but one more instance of the
inevitable decisiveness of the human factor--a factor that to-day,
perhaps, such has been the extravagant growth in the weight and
precision of modern weapons, has tended to become once more a little
obscured.  That history has revealed it again, just as it revealed it
for us in the case of the Elizabethans, we hope to show; and, if
fortune fought for them, it was not until they had proved themselves
superior to it in skill, courage, and equanimity.

"Touching my poor opinion," wrote Sir Francis Drake to Queen Elizabeth
on April 15, 1588, _how strong your Majesty's Fleet should be to
encounter this great force of the enemy, God increase your most
excellent Majesty's forces both by sea and land daily; for this I
surely think there was never any force so strong as there is now ready
or making ready against your Majesty and true religion, but that the
Lord of all strength is stronger and will defend the truth of His word,
for His own name's sake, unto the which be God all glory given.  Thus
all humble duty, I continually will pray to the Almighty to bless and
give you victory over all His, and your enemies._

"We met with this fleet," wrote Hawkins to Sir {xxvi} Francis
Walsyngham on July 31st in the same year, "somewhat to the westward of
Plymouth upon Sunday in the morning, being the 21st of July, where we
had some small fight with them in the afternoon.  By the coming aboard
one of the other of the Spaniards, a great ship, a Biscayan, spent her
foremast and bowsprit; which was left by the fleet in the sea, and so
taken up by Sir Francis Drake the next morning.  The same Sunday there
was, by a fire chancing by a barrel of powder, a great Biscayan spoiled
and abandoned, which my Lord took up and sent away.  The Tuesday
following, athwart of Portland, we had a sharp and long fight with
them, wherein we spent a great part of our powder and shot, so as it
was not thought good to deal with them any more till that was relieved.
The Thursday following, by the occasion of the scattering of one of the
great ships from the fleet, which we hoped to have cut off, there grew
a hot fray, wherein some store of powder was spent, and after that,
little done till we came near to Calais, where the fleet of Spain
anchored, and our fleet by them; and because they should not be in
peace there, to refresh their water or to have conference with those of
the Duke of Parma's party, my Lord Admiral, with firing of ships,
determined to remove them; as he did, and put them to the seas; in
which broil the chief galleass spoiled her rudder and so rode ashore
near the town of Calais, where she was possessed of our men, but so
aground as she could not be brought away.  That morning, being Monday,
the 29th of July, we followed the Spaniards, and all that day had with
them a long and great fight, wherein {xxvii} there was great valour
shown generally of our company."

A few days later, Admiral Howard, also writing to Sir Francis
Walsyngham, said, "In our last fight with the enemy, before Gravelines,
the 29th of July, we sunk three of their ships, and made some go near
the shore, leaking so they were not able to live at sea.  After that
fight, notwithstanding that our powder and shot was well near all
spent, we set on a brag countenance and gave them chase, as though we
had wanted nothing, until we had cleared our own coast, and some part
of Scotland of them."

Such were the Fathers of admiralty as to-day we envisage it; and, dark
as some of our naval pages have since been, their tradition has never
died, or lacked among us sons to sustain and adorn it in larger issues.
There have been times when the country in general and its statesmen in
particular have lost or under-valued their sea-vision.  In 1667, less
than eighty years after the defeat of the Armada, and scarcely ten
after the death of Blake, one of the greatest figures in English naval
history, to such a pass had our naval administration come that the
Dutch were able to sail almost unchallenged up the Medway; to destroy
the booms and half-equipped battleships; to capture the _Royal Charles_
as a trophy; for several weeks to blockade London; and, in the end, to
compel the English Government to a disadvantageous peace.

Fortunately that was a lesson that England never forgot, and, though
there were to follow lapses, not a few, in the struggles that followed
against the lust for world-power, first of Louis XVI, and, a hundred
{xxviii} later, of Napoleon, the navy of England played a not unworthy
and probably a decisive part.  In Hawke and Rodney and Hood, and
supremely in Nelson, in their unremembered captains and too-often
ill-requited men, the spirit of the great Elizabethans lived again and
ultimately prevailed, as it was bound to do.  Not less for peoples in
the comity of nations than for individuals in smaller societies, the
highest task is to put at the disposal of human progress their
characteristic genius.  In military capacity, never the equal of
France; behind many other nations in certain of the arts and sciences;
lacking the spiritual insight of the East and the buoyant versatility
of the West, this maritime adequacy, this gift of admiralty, seems, by
virtue of her history, to have been allotted to Britain--and she has
always been at her greatest, both for herself and for mankind, when she
and her statesmen have realized this most fully.

That among her seamen this conception was as strong as ever, the
history of the Great War has abundantly made clear, little as most of
them dreamed, on that July morning, to be described in our first
chapter, that they were on the verge of an ordeal, in which humanity's
fate would lie in their hands as never in history.  And yet, had they
been gifted with a vision of what was to come, certain doubts might
well have been pardoned in them.  Colossal as the machinery was, it was
largely untried.  New methods and engines, with unforeseeable
possibilities, were already in embryo or in actual being.  The
submarine, the airship, the mine--in less than half an hour, a fleet
might be at the bottom.  Recent {xxix} naval campaigns had shown that,
whereas a century before, it had been the exception for a stricken ship
to sink, it was now the exception for it to float; and what of the men
in a modern naval battle?

For it would have to be remembered that, while on the one hand the
terrors of naval warfare had immeasurably increased, the men who had to
endure them had become, on the other, the educated products of a more
sensitive civilization.  Whereas, even in Nelson's time, the majority
of British seamen were quite unable to read or write, and were too
often, for all their courage, little better than human animals--many
had been impressed by slum raids in seaport towns, and disciplined by a
brutality now scarcely imaginable--the sailors of to-day, if of the
same fibre, were men of a wholly different upbringing.  They were the
brothers of the shop-attendants, the men in the counting-house, the
skilled workmen with their trade unions.  They were even better
educated than these, with a mellower, deeper, and more humorous
philosophy of life.  For them the navy was a career, from boyhood to
old age, with solid rewards--and not a last resort.  How would their
new refinement weather the storm?

In the following pages we have tried to answer this, as often as
possible, in their own words.



{3}

THE HEROIC RECORD OF THE BRITISH NAVY



CHAPTER I

THE FOURTH OF AUGUST, 1914

  Roman, Phoenician, Saxon, Dane,
  From these white shores turned not again.
  Save to the sea that bore them hence,
  For their delight or their defense,
  Judgment, persuasion, daring, thrift,
  Each to the others lent his gift,
  To whom, when all had shared, the sea
  Added her own of admiralty.


It was early on the morning of July 20, 1914, that a couple of guests,
who had courteously been invited to be present in the gunboat _Niger_
for the King's inspection of the Fleet, made their way through the
sleeping streets toward Portsmouth Dockyard.  There were to be no
manoeuvres this year since, as had already been announced in March, a
test mobilization of the Third Fleet was to take their place.  This
Third Fleet consisted of the older ships of the navy, and depended for
a large proportion of its _personnel_ upon the Royal Fleet Reserve--a
body of ex-naval seamen and other ratings, brought into being under
Lord Goschen, and afterward strengthened and reorganized by the
Selborne administration {4} of 1902 onward.  To man this fleet had
necessitated the calling of about 10,000 seamen and 1,500 marines--all
of them volunteers from civil life; and its assemblage at Spithead with
the First and Second Fleets had secured, between the Hampshire coast
and the Isle of Wight, the greatest exhibition of naval power that the
world had then seen.

Since Wednesday, July 10th, the various units and squadrons had been
gathering to their appointed stations, in some places eleven lines
deep; while, upon the same occasion, and for the first time, there had
been a full mobilization of the naval air forces.  Less dramatic than
the usual manoeuvres, and unaccompanied by any of the splendour that
had attended most previous Royal reviews, this test mobilization--this
bringing into being of the full fighting power of our naval
reserves--was so valuable an exercise that, as Mr. Winston Churchill,
the First Lord of the Admiralty, had said in his announcement of it, it
was a matter for some surprise that it had never before been
undertaken.  Nevertheless, as a national spectacle, it had attracted
but little public attention, as the blinded windows and empty streets
of Southsea and Portsmouth testified.

Grey as steel from vault to horizon but for a single wavering streak of
blue, there seemed little prospect in the sky overhead of the fine day
that the sailors had foretold; and nothing could have been more sombre
than the early morning scene when, without ceremony and almost
unnoticed, the Royal Yacht, with the King on board, left her berth in
the Dockyard.  Picking her course slowly past the Sally Port, {5} so
beloved by Marryat, she steamed through the choppy waters to her place
at the head of the great fleet; and it was not until she reached
Spithead, unsaluted by flag or gun, that the clouds up above began to
break, and the sun to shine down on that floating city, now beginning
briskly to awake to life.

Long before the little _Niger_, indeed, was herself out in the Solent,
all the long lines were fully astir.  Trim picket-boats, scattering
spray, were plying up and down with mails and provisions.  Cables were
rattling till only a single anchor held each of the great ships in her
proper position.  Flags and semaphores were busy with final
instructions.  Veils of smoke began to wreathe in the air; and then, at
the Admiral's signal, and with no other pageantry than that inherent in
its own latent might, the vast assembly, with deliberate precision,
began to get under way and out to sea.

Led by the Royal Yacht, the _Victoria and Albert_, her graceful black
hull streaked with gold--preceded, according to custom, by the state
vessel of the Elder Brethren of Trinity House--by the time the _Iron
Duke_, at the head of the First Fleet's battleships, came abreast of
the Nab Lightship, the Royal Yacht was already at anchor to receive the
salutes of the departing navy.  For two whole hours the King stood on
the bridge, while ship after ship filed before him, each of the larger
battleships an embodiment of greater strength than was represented by
the whole fleet that had destroyed the Armada, and each of the
battle-cruisers capable of a speed and striking-power that, a century
before, would have seemed but the {6} wildest of dreams.  These were
led by the _Lion_, flying the flag of a then comparatively unknown
officer, Sir David Beatty, who, only the evening before, had received
the honour of knighthood on board the Royal Yacht.

Following the _Lion_ and her consorts came the light cruisers, and
after these the destroyers and submarines, each of the latter
submerging and rising to the surface again as she came abreast of the
_Victoria and Albert_, while, to complete the picture, and to
foreshadow the enormous development of aerial power in the years
immediately to follow, each accompanying aeroplane and seaplane dipped
in the air by way of salute.

So the Fleet passed out, great though it was, still only a portion of
the total British sea forces, and producing scarcely a ripple upon the
national attention, fixed on what seemed to it then a thousand more
important matters.  Had it been known that, as it then was, no eye
would ever behold it again; that, in less than three weeks, stripped at
its war stations, the fate of the world would visibly depend upon
it--with what other eyes would the whole Empire have watched Spithead
on that July morning!  But, for the vast mass of Englishmen the world
over, the incident passed without notice.  Politically, the affairs of
Ireland, the readjustment of the House of Lords, and the aspirations of
Labour apparently held the field.  For the anxious few, to whom the
position in Europe seemed already ominously uneasy, it may have been
otherwise.  But none of them had publicly spoken; and it is now clear,
with so sinister a rapidity {7} did the events leading to war follow
each other, that the test mobilization designed, not without criticism,
to supercede the usual manoeuvres, was coincident with, rather than the
outcome of, the hardening of the general diplomatic position.

That was on July 20, 1914, and, upon the political events that ensued,
it would be quite impossible, in the present volume, to dwell for more
than a moment or two.  Very briefly, they succeeded one another as
follows.  On July 23d, the Austrian memorandum to Serbia, relative to
the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand, the heir to the throne, by a
Serbian anarchist at Sarajevo on June 28th, was formally submitted.  So
drastic were the terms of this that its warlike significance was
immediately apparent to the whole of Europe: and a reply from Serbia
was demanded in forty-eight hours.  This was given within the specified
time, all the Austrian demands being acceded to, with two exceptions.
These were that Austrian representatives should collaborate with Serbia
in the suppression of anti-Austrian agitation and also in the judicial
proceedings that were demanded against all connected with the Serajevo
murder.

The acceptance of these demands would, of course, have been tantamount
to an admission by Serbia that she had ceased to be an independent
nation.  Nevertheless she was ready to refer them to the Hague
Tribunal.  The Austrian ambassador, however, acting on instructions
from his Government, refused to accept anything but an unqualified
assent, and left Belgrade on June 25th.

It was clear that, as regarded Serbia at any rate, {8} Austria had
determined upon war; but Sir Edward, afterward Viscount, Grey, then in
charge of the British Foreign Office, took instant and most strenuous
steps to prevent this.  He first proposed a conference in London, in
which Germany, France, and Italy should participate, to mediate in the
issues between the two countries.  To this Germany disagreed, stating
that discussions were taking place between Austria and Russia, from
which she had hopes of a successful issue.  So fraught, however, was
the whole European atmosphere with dark and immeasurable possibilities,
that, in common with every other great Power, Great Britain had been
obliged to take certain precautions; and, in the most immediately
important of these, the navy was, of course, concerned.

Owing to the illness of his wife, Mr. Winston Churchill had left London
for Cromer on the evening of July 24th--Prince Louis of Battenburg,
afterward the Marquis of Milford Haven, being, as First Sea Lord, left
in charge.  About lunch time on Sunday, July 26th, the day after the
Austrian Ambassador had left Belgrade, Mr. Churchill telephoned Prince
Louis, and, in view of this serious development, told him to take what
steps seemed to him advisable, at the same time informing him that he
was returning to town that evening instead of on Monday, as he had
originally designed.

In ordinary circumstances, the demobilization, following upon the naval
exercises, was to have begun on this Monday morning.  But Prince Louis,
having made himself acquainted with all the telegrams received at the
Foreign Office, had an order telegraphed {9} to Admiral Sir George
Callaghan, then Commander-in-Chief of the Home Fleets at Portland--the
newest and most powerful units of which were afterward to form the
nucleus of what was to become known as the Grand Fleet--to the effect
that no ship was to leave anchorage until further orders, and that all
vessels of the Second Fleet were to remain at their home ports near
their balance crews.  Throughout Monday, July 27th, by telegrams all
over Europe to our various representatives, by interviews at home with
foreign ambassadors in London, the British Foreign Office, under Sir
Edward Grey, ceaselessly worked to avoid the impending collision, or,
if that might not be averted, at least to limit its extent.

On Tuesday, July 28th, Austria declared war on Serbia, and, by the next
day, was bombarding the Serbian capital.  On this day, both Russia and
Belgium were mobilizing their armies, Belgium as a precautionary
measure of self-defense, and Russia, as regarded her southern armies
only, on account of Austria's invasion of Serbia.  It was early on
Wednesday morning, July 29th, that the German Chancellor, then Herr von
Bethmann-Hollweg, suggested to Sir Edward Goschen, our ambassador at
Berlin, that if Britain remained neutral in the event of France joining
Russia against an Austro-German combination, Germany would guarantee to
make no territorial demands of France; would respect the neutrality of
Holland; but might be forced to enter Belgium, whose integrity she
would preserve, however, after the war.  In respect of the French
colonies, she would make no promises.

{10}

This meant the tearing up, of course, of the treaty, in which we as
well as Germany had guaranteed Belgium's inviolability, and was an
unmistakable index of the line of action that Germany was prepared to
take, should it suit her purpose; and it was on this morning,
unreported by the papers, and entirely unknown to the nation, that the
First Fleet, under Sir George Callaghan, sailed out of Portland to its
war-stations.

Peace was still possible, however, or so Sir Edward Grey hoped; and,
while immediately rejecting, as he was in honour bound to do, Germany's
proposal with regard to Belgium, he made the new suggestion of a
European Council--a Council to which these problems, even at the
eleventh hour, might be submitted to avert disaster.  This plan was
also destined to be fruitless.  On July 31st, Germany sent a note to
Russia demanding the instant dispersal of her armies, and requesting a
favourable answer by eleven o'clock on Saturday, August 1st; and it was
on the same day that Sir Edward Grey asked both Germany and France if
they would guarantee the integrity of Belgium, always provided that
this was not infringed by any other Power.  To this France assented at
once, but Germany made no reply.

Such was the position on Friday, and, on the Saturday afternoon, August
1st, Germany declared war on Russia, following this up, early on Sunday
morning, with the invasion of Luxembourg by part of her advanced
armies.  This was the day on which the remainder of our naval
reservists, including all naval and marine pensioners up to the age of
fifty-five, {11} were called to the colours--the plans for their
mobilization, reception, and embarkment, in any such event as had now
arisen, having been carefully prepared and coördinated with the
preliminary steps required of all other Government Departments, and
included in the War Book, compiled by the Committee of Imperial
Defense, under the presidency of Mr. Asquith, then Prime Minister.

Simultaneously, or rather on the previous Saturday afternoon, an order
to mobilize had been received at Dartmouth--the Royal Naval College in
which, and in the _Britannia_ before it, so many generations of
officers had received their first training.  Already, on the preceding
Tuesday, the cadets had been summoned to the Quarter Deck, as the big
recreation hall was called, and told by the Captain that, in the event
of war, they would certainly be mobilized--the six "terms" into which
the cadets were divided, being ordered to report in three groups at
Chatham, Portsmouth, and Devonport, in this order of departure.

Of the thrill produced by this, anybody who has been a schoolboy of
fifteen will have little difficulty in forming an idea; and it may be
doubted if any of the boys who heard it--many of them, alas, never to
see another birthday--will ever again live through such a moment as
when the summons actually came on the following Saturday afternoon.  It
came with added force, because, since Tuesday, the excitement had
naturally died down, while most of the boys, in common with their
fathers, and indeed the majority of English men and women, had found it
difficult to believe that so huge a convulsion would not in some {12}
manner be prevented.  By what now seems, too, in retrospect, to have
been almost the acme of ironical circumstance, they were due to start
their holidays on August 4th, and to these their minds had already
begun to turn again.

But the summons came, and with it in each boy, as hardly less in the
college itself, the death of an era so instantaneous that it was only a
little later that it could be realized.  A moment before, and the
normal Saturday afternoon life had been swinging along, as for so many
years past--on the cricket field, in the swimming baths, in the
Devonshire countryside surrounding the college; and the moment after,
the cricket field was empty, with the stumps still standing there
undrawn, and the lanes and river banks were being everywhere searched
for such boys as were not in college.  Long before nightfall half the
cadets--scarcely more than children--had left the place forever; and it
was not until then that the sense of what lay before them fell upon the
officers and masters left behind.  For a little while this was almost
intolerable, and the more so because it would have seemed indecent to
them to put it into words.  Characteristically enough, perhaps--most of
them being products of the same kind of system that had produced the
boys--it was finally decided, dusk though it was, and tired as they
were, to turn out the beagles.

By the evening of August 3d, therefore, August Bank Holiday, and a day
of serene and cloudless beauty, the Admiralty was able to announce that
the entire navy had been placed upon a war footing, the mobilization
having been completed in all respects by {13} 4 o'clock in the morning.
This was the position when, in a House of Commons charged with emotions
tenser than any man remembered, Sir Edward Grey rose to explain the
situation and the attitude of the Government, for which he desired the
country's mandate.  Beginning by assuring the House that the Government
and himself had worked "with all the earnestness in our power to
preserve peace," he went on to deal with the British obligations toward
her friends in the Entente--making it clear that the country was not
bound, by any secret treaty, to provide armed assistance.  That was but
a small matter, however, and what had to be determined was our moral
position in the circumstances that had arisen.

Dealing first with naval matters, Sir Edward Grey pointed out that, the
French Fleet being in the Mediterranean, her northern and western
coasts--a tribute to her confidence in ourselves--were left absolutely
unprotected; while, in the Mediterranean, should the French Fleet have
to be withdrawn for vital purposes elsewhere, we ourselves had not then
a fleet strong enough to meet all possible hostile combinations.  Under
those conditions, and with a German declaration of war upon her
probably the question of a few hours, it had obviously been our bounden
duty to make our position clear toward France; and this had been done
on the previous afternoon.  Subject to the support of Parliament, the
British Government had promised that, if the German Fleet should come
into the Channel, or through the North Sea, to undertake hostile
operations against the French coast or shipping, the British Fleet
would give to the {14} French all the protection in its power.  Just
before coming to the House, Sir Edward Grey added, he had learned that,
if we would pledge ourselves to neutrality, Germany would be prepared
to agree that its fleet should not attack the northern coast of France.
But that, as he said, was a far too narrow engagement.

Even more vital, however, was the question of Belgium's integrity, not
only to France and ourselves, but to the whole basis upon which the
relations of all civilized Powers had come to rest.  In connection with
this, Sir Edward Grey told the House that a personal telegram had just
been received by the King, in which the King of Belgium had made a
supreme appeal for the diplomatic intervention of Great Britain.
Should Belgium be compelled, Sir Edward Grey pointed out, to compromise
her neutrality by allowing the passage of foreign troops, whatever
might ultimately happen to her, her independence would have gone.  To
stand by and see that would, in his opinion--and this was
overwhelmingly endorsed both by the House and the country--be "to
sacrifice our respect and good sense and reputation before the world."

On the same day, Germany declared war on France, and, on Tuesday,
August 4th, Great Britain asked for a definite assurance from Germany
that Belgium's refusal to allow the passage of troops through her
territory should be respected.  An answer was desired before midnight,
but the only German reply was to present our ambassador with his
passports, and, before the day ended, Great Britain was at war not only
for her life but for the life of civilization.

{15}

And now, as regarded the navy, there occurred a little incident, not
without an element in it of the deepest pathos, but demonstrating, at
the outset, that one at least of our great naval traditions shone as
brightly as ever.  For eight years--longer than any other living
admiral--Sir George Callaghan had been afloat in various responsible
commands; and, in 1911, he had become Commander-in-Chief of the Home
Fleet.  Its efficiency as an instrument was due in no small measure to
his personal thoroughness and enthusiasm; and the mingled feelings of
pride, confidence, and anxiety, with which he had led it to its war
stations, can readily be imagined.  At last he was to see in action,
under his very eyes, that splendid weapon, for which he had so long
been responsible.  But it was not to be.  Just as in most recent naval
campaigns conducted by other countries, it had been considered
advisable for the leader in war to have come fresh from staff work at
headquarters, so it had been felt in England that the admiral
commanding the Fleet in action must be not only a sea-officer of high
standing, but one with a more intimate knowledge of the general
strategical position than it had been possible for an officer so long
afloat to acquire.  It was for such reasons that Admiral Sampson had
been placed in charge of the American Fleet in the Spanish-American
War, and Admiral Togo by the Japanese Government in the Japanese War
with Russia, and, for similar considerations, it had been decided to
appoint Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, still young as admirals went, to the
command of the Grand Fleet.

{16}

As a former Director of Ordnance and Torpedoes, and thus familiar with
every branch of munitionment; as a former Third Sea Lord in control of
ship-building and equipment; and, as Second Sea Lord, responsible not
only for _personnel_ but familiar, as Deputy for the First Sea Lord,
with all questions of strategy, Admiral Jellicoe, apart from his
personal qualities, had had unique opportunities of studying the whole
naval problem from every possible standpoint.  He had proved himself in
addition, during naval manoeuvres, a tactical leader of the highest
order; and he was already due, later in the year, to succeed Sir George
Callaghan in command of the Home Fleets.  It was therefore decided--not
without considerable personal reluctance on the part of Admiral
Jellicoe himself--that he should at once replace Sir George Callaghan
on board the fleet-flagship _Iron Duke_; and nothing could have been
more typical of naval _esprit de corps_ and the subservience of even
the most illustrious officer to the interests of the whole service than
that this incident took place without a trace of bitterness or the
slightest personal jealousy.  Even so, five years after Trafalgar,
having never been allowed to set foot again on English soil,
Collingwood had died in his cabin, content that in his long sea-exile
he had served his country; and even so, having carried upon his
shoulders perhaps the heaviest individual responsibilities of the war,
Jellicoe himself, at the end of 1917, walked quietly out of the
Admiralty to hang pictures at home.

Born on December 5, 1859, Sir John Jellicoe was in his fifty-fifth year
when he stepped on board the {17} _Iron Duke_ as admiralissimo of the
Grand Fleet.  The son of a well-known captain in the mercantile marine,
who lived long enough, as it is pleasant to remember, to witness his
son's success, he was also related ancestrally to that Admiral Patton,
who had been Second Sea Lord at the time of Trafalgar; while, in Lady
Jellicoe, daughter of the late Sir Charles Cayzer, one of the Directors
of the Clan Line of Steamships, he had formed, on his marriage, yet
further connections with the sea.  After a few years at a private
school at Rottingdean, he had entered the _Britannia_ as a cadet in
1872, and, from the first, seems without effort to have made the
fullest use of his opportunities.

Passing out of the _Britannia_, the head of his year, with every
possible prize that could be taken, he had qualified--again with three
first prizes--as sub-lieutenant in 1878, being appointed a full
lieutenant three years later, with three first-class certificates.  Two
years after this, he had taken part in the Egyptian campaign, obtaining
the silver medal for the expedition, and also the Khedive's Bronze
Star.  Returning to Greenwich for a course in gunnery, he had obtained
the £80 prize for gunnery lieutenants, and, soon afterward, had been
appointed a Junior Staff Officer at the _Excellent_ School of Gunnery
at Portsmouth; and it was here that he had come into contact, and begun
a lifelong friendship, with the greatest naval genius of modern times,
then plain Captain Fisher, and scarcely known outside the service.

It was while still a lieutenant that, in 1886, he had received the
Board of Trade Medal for gallantry {18} in a forlorn attempt--during
which he was himself shipwrecked--to save a stranded crew near
Gibraltar.  Becoming a commander in 1891, he had been appointed to Sir
George Tryon's flagship, the ill-fated _Victoria_, afterward to be sunk
during manoeuvres--Commander Jellicoe himself, ill in his cabin at the
moment, having the narrowest escape from drowning.  Six years later, he
had become a captain, joining Sir Edward Seymour's flagship, the
_Centurion_, on the China Station; and it was in China that, three
years afterward, he had seen his next active service during the Boxer
Rebellion.  In this he had been Chief Staff Officer to Sir Edward
Seymour, who commanded the Naval Brigade; and, at the Battle of
Pietsang, on June 21, 1900, he had been very severely wounded.  Happily
he had recovered, receiving for his services the Companionship of the
Bath, and, four years later, had found himself at the Admiralty as
Director of Naval Ordnance--a position that he had held during the
revolution produced by the appearance of the first British
_dreadnought_.  He had also been largely responsible for the immense
improvement in our gunnery, associated with the name of Admiral Sir
Percy Scott.  In 1907 Captain Jellicoe had been promoted to the rank of
Rear-Admiral, being appointed to a command in the Atlantic Fleet a
little later in the same year.  In 1908 he had become one of the Lords
Commissioners of the Admiralty and Controller of the Navy, and, two
years afterward, he had reached the vice-admirals' list and had
succeeded to the command of the Atlantic Fleet.  In 1911, having
already been made a K.C.V.O., he had been {19} honoured with a K.C.B.
at the coronation of King George V, and, in 1912, after a short spell
of service in command of the Second Battle Squadron of the Home Fleet,
he had become Second Sea Lord, the position he was holding on the
outbreak of war.

Such were the qualifications of the man in whose hands, on that fateful
fourth of August, rested more heavily than in those of any other the
destiny of our empire and of mankind.  Had they proved inadequate, it
is no exaggeration to say that the sun of freedom would have set for
both.  That they were not so is common knowledge, and the fullest
justification of those who had believed in them--chief among whom was
that masterful administrator, who had changed the whole aspect of our
naval strategy.

Rugged of face, with hosts of detractors, and, at this time, well over
seventy years of age; a prey to moods, with some defects of his
qualities, and a mind too often intolerant of the weaknesses of others,
it was to Lord Fisher of Kilverstone, more than to any single living
man, that the navy of August 4th owed its strength.  Lacking the
hereditary sea-influences so strong in Sir John Jellicoe, and with none
of the powerful encouragement that he himself had bestowed upon the
younger admiral, Lord Fisher had risen to power by sheer mental ability
united with an extraordinary force of character; although full credit
must be given to Mr. Balfour who, as Prime Minister in 1902, gave Sir
John Fisher, as he then was, the fullest scope for his genius.

These had included changes so radical and far-reaching, in almost every
branch of naval {20} administration, that it would be impossible here
to recapitulate them; and they are already familiar to most people.
Briefly, they had amounted, first, to a drastic redistribution of our
whole naval forces, including the partial absorption of the
Mediterranean Fleet, hitherto our strongest command, into an enormously
powerful force in the home seas always ready for war; the
disestablishment of overseas squadrons of no strategical importance;
the remorseless scrapping of many old ships that were doing little else
than eating up money; and the reduction of distant dockyards that had
long ceased to have any potential significance.  Hand in hand with all
this, a revision of the entire system of naval education had been
undertaken; the Royal Fleet Reserve had been strengthened by the
inclusion of a number of seamen who had had five or more years'
training; and from these were to be drawn the balance crews that, in
time of war, were to bring the vessels of the Second Fleet up to their
full complement.

It had further become clear, both from the lessons learned in the naval
actions between Russia and Japan, and in the strong bid for an
overpowering fleet then being made by Germany, that new developments in
the matter of design were a problem of the most serious urgency.  It
had accordingly been decided to replace the very large number of
differing vessels, of which the navy then consisted, by a few definite
classes, each designed to fulfil in war some clearly thought-out
tactical purpose; and, at the same time, in absolute secrecy, the first
of the great British dreadnoughts had been laid down.

{21}

This had not only compelled an immediate response in every navy
throughout the world, but had once more secured for us the margin of
vital security that had seriously been encroached upon before these
reforms were initiated.  That in spite of changes of Government and the
natural reluctance of the nation, in view of social necessities, to
increase its naval expenditure, Lord Fisher had succeeded in carrying
through his programme, was the best evidence of his strength; and men
of all parties had become increasingly united in endorsing the general
wisdom of his attitude.

So swift, even since then, however, had been the advance in naval
construction that, when Sir John Jellicoe stepped on board the _Iron
Duke_, the first of the dreadnoughts was almost obsolete.  Itself since
outstripped by the ships of the _Queen Elizabeth_ class, when war was
declared on August 4th, the _Iron Duke_, as regarded battleships, was
perhaps the flower of the British Navy.  In full commission displacing
27,000 tons, and costing more than £2,000,000 to build, she had
attained on trial, in spite of her enormous armament, a speed of no
less than 22 knots.  Each of her large guns, of which she carried ten,
so arranged as to be able to fire on each broadside, was capable of
hurling a shell from twenty to twenty-five miles, during which it would
rise far higher than Mont Blanc; and, besides these, she had a dozen
6-inch guns with which to repel possible destroyer attacks.  Her armour
at the water-line was twelve inches thick; she was fitted with four
submerged torpedo-tubes, and carried on board three thousand tons of
fuel {22} and a complement of over a thousand officers and men.

No less powerful, though not so heavily armoured, and capable of a
speed when pressed, of about thirty knots an hour, was the _Lion_, the
flagship of the battle-cruisers, of whom Sir David Beatty was in
command.  She, too, carried ten 13.5-inch guns, with sixteen smaller
quick-firing guns, and two submerged torpedo-tubes.  Typical of yet
another class was the since famous _Arethusa_ flying the pennant of
Commodore Reginald Tyrwhitt, as he then was--a light armoured cruiser,
or, in Mr. Churchill's phrase, "a destroyer of destroyers," displacing
a little less than 4,000 tons, but capable of a speed, when pressed,
approaching forty knots.  Lastly should be mentioned the _L_ class,
then the latest of our destroyers, consuming oil fuel only--those
antennæ of the Fleet, as fast as an express train, and the very
incarnation of vigilance and daring.

Such then was the navy in which on August 3d, speaking in that
breathless House of Commons, Sir Edward Grey had said that those
responsible for it had the completest confidence.  To it had been
added, on the outbreak of war, a couple of battleships that had just
been completed for Turkey and two destroyer-leaders, built for Chile,
that had been purchased from her by arrangement.  As the child of the
cockle-ships that Alfred had beaten the Danes with, that had won the
Battle of Sluys for Edward III; as the offspring of the fleets of Drake
or even of Nelson, its least unit would have defied belief.  But it was
of the same family, legitimately descended, and with the {23} old names
scattered amongst its children.  _Bellerophon_, _St. George_,
_Téméraire_, its history was implicit in its roll call; while the dead
animals stood re-invoked upon the prows that bore their legends.
Collingwood, Benbow, St. Vincent; Albemarle, Cochrane, Hawke--they were
at war for England if only as words.  But did they live again in the
men that hailed them?  Well, the nation believed so, and, in that dark
hour, this was the sheet-anchor of its hope.  In the words of the King
to Sir John Jellicoe, it sent them the full assurance of its confidence
that they would "prove once again the true shield of Britain and of her
Empire in the hour of trial."



{24}

CHAPTER II

THE BATTLE OF THE BIGHT

In his speech of August 3d in the House of Commons, Sir Edward Grey
told his listeners that we had incurred no obligations to help France
either by land or sea.  In view not less, however, of the increasing
difficulties of our diplomatic relations with Germany than of the
spontaneous friendship that had been growing between ourselves and our
French neighbours, the question of coöperation with the latter, in
certain eventualities, had inevitably arisen and been discussed.  It
had also been pointed out that unless some conversations were to take
place between the naval and military experts of both countries--unless
some definite lines were laid down as to the methods by which each
country was to help the other--such coöperation, even if desired, would
almost certainly be fruitless.  At the same time, in a letter written
on November 22, 1912, to the French ambassador, Sir Edward Grey had
made it clear that these discussions between their respective experts
did not commit either Government to a specified course of action "in a
contingency which has not yet arisen and may never arise."

When the contingency arose, however, the plans were there; and the
mobilization and transport to {25} France of our Expeditionary Force
will remain on record as one of the most efficient military operations
ever undertaken by any country.  Second only to the rapidity and
completeness with which the navy took command of the sea, were the
speed and secrecy with which those first divisions were conveyed across
the Channel.  That in mere numbers they seem in retrospect to have been
almost ridiculously inadequate is merely a measure of the colossal
proportions that the war on land afterward assumed.  Small as that army
was, however, it was the largest force that we had ever sent oversea as
a single undertaking; and it must be borne in mind that, in all
probability, it was the most highly trained then in existence, and that
its presence in France had both moral and material effects of almost
incalculable importance.

Nobody who lived, or was staying, near any of our great southern
railway lines during those early days of August will ever forget the
emotions roused by that endless series of troop trains, passing with
such precision day and night; and of the feelings produced in France by
this visible pledge of our friendship there was instant and abundant
evidence.  Between August 9th and August 23d five Divisions of Infantry
and two Cavalry Divisions were safely landed in France; and when it is
remembered what a single division consists of some idea may be obtained
of what that accomplishment meant.

Apart from the Headquarters' Staff with a _personnel_ of 82, requiring
54 horses, 2 wagons, and 5 motor-cars, it embraced three Infantry
Brigades, Headquarters' divisional artillery, three brigades of {26}
Field Artillery, one Howitzer Brigade, one heavy battery, a divisional
ammunition column, the Headquarters' division of engineers, two Field
companies, one Signal company, one Cavalry squadron, one Divisional
train, and three Field ambulances--comprising a total _personnel_ of
over 18,000 men, 5,500 horses, 870 wagons, 9 motor-cars, and 280
cycles, the number of guns, including machine guns, amounting to 100;
and with a base establishment for each division of 1,750 men and 10
horses.

Such was the task performed by the transport officers, every kind of
vessel being assembled for the purpose, from the cross-channel packet
boat accommodating not more than three hundred at a time to the giant
Atlantic liner carrying as many thousands.  Chiefly from _Southampton_,
but also from Dover, Folkestone, Newhaven, Avonmouth, and many other
ports, that constant stream of men, horses, provisions, and equipment
poured ceaselessly for nearly a fortnight, screened by
destroyer-escorts, and with aeroplanes and seaplanes keeping watch over
them from the sky.  Without a single casualty as the result of enemy
action, they were mustered and marched into line of the French left
flank; and that this great achievement should have been possible within
so short a period from the declaration of war is perhaps the completest
tribute that could be paid to the consummate skill of our naval
dispositions.

Scarcely realized by those splendid battalions, whistling "Tipperary"
on the way to Mons, and even now, perhaps, hardly appreciated by the
bulk of their countrymen at home, it was the navy and the navy {27}
alone that made that glorious epic possible.  With their eyes on Europe
and the impending clash of the armies; hearing in imagination, under
the unsuspected force of the heavy German artillery, the crumpling up
of those iron-clad cupolas of the Brialmont forts at Liège--few would
have thought twice, perhaps, even if they had known what they were
doing, of those tiny submarines _E6_ and _E8_ creeping, the first of
their kind, into the Bight of Heligoland.  Yet but for them and their
gallant crews and officers, Lieutenant-Commanders Talbot and Goodhart;
but for the presiding destroyers, _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ and the
submarines of the Eighth Flotilla--the passage of the Expeditionary
Force might well have been impossible and the first battle of the Marne
fought with another issue.

Within three hours of the first outbreak of the war, _E6_ and _E8_
stole out on their perilous errands; and it was upon the information
brought back by them from those mined and fortified waters that the
later dispositions were made.  From August 7th onward, until the
Expeditionary Force had been safely landed, the submarines kept their
watch.  In the lee of islands, at the mouths of channels, in hourly
danger of detection and death, day and night, without relief, those
cautious periscopes maintained their vigil.  Farther to the south,
guarding the approaches to the Channel, between the North Goodwins and
the Ruytingen, were the two destroyers _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_, with
the main covering submarine flotilla; while to the northeast of these,
the _Amethyst_ and _Fearless_, each with a flotilla of destroyers, took
{28} turns about on patrol duty during the passage of the army.

Nor must it be forgotten, so swift was the subsequent progress both in
the range and effectiveness of submarine activity, that this was, at
that time, a branch of the service scarcely tried and of unknown
possibilities.  The submarines used were of a type soon so outclassed
as to become almost obsolete, the easiest of prey to net and torpedo,
and working at a distance from their bases then unprecedented.
Nevertheless, after the Expeditionary Force had been safely transported
to France, they were, in the words of Commodore, afterward
Vice-Admiral, Roger Keyes, "incessantly employed on the enemy's coast
in the Heligoland Bight and elsewhere, and have obtained much valuable
information regarding the composition and movement of his patrols.
They have occupied his waters and reconnoitred his anchorages, and,
while so engaged, have been subjected to skilful and well-executed
anti-submarine tactics; hunted for hours at a time by torpedo craft,
and attacked by gunfire and torpedoes."

That was written on October 17, 1914, when the action, now about to be
described, had already made the Bight of Heligoland a familiar term to
most people, but without conveying, perhaps, to more than a very few
all that it meant from a strategical standpoint.  Between three and
four hundred miles from the nearest of our naval bases, and from some
of the chief of them more than six hundred miles distant, it was in
this small area that there was concentrated practically the whole of
Germany's naval forces, the {29} Kiel Canal connecting it with the
Baltic, rendering these available in either sea.

Nor would it be easy to imagine, from the point of view of defense,
either a bay of littoral with greater natural advantages.  Bounded on
the east by the low-lying shores of Schleswig-Holstein, with their
fringe of protecting islands, and on the south by the deeply indented
coast-line between the Dutch frontier and the mouth of the Kiel Canal,
each of the four great estuaries, from west to east, of the Ems, the
Jade, the Weser, and the Elbe, had been subdivided by sandbanks into a
meshwork of channels than which nothing could have been easier to make
impregnable.  These were further guarded by the continuation of the
scimitar curve of the Frisian Islands, beginning opposite Helder in
Holland with the Dutch island of Texel, becoming German in the island
of Borkum just beyond the Memmert Sands, opposite the mouth of the Ems,
and continued, as a natural screen, in the successive islands of Juist,
Nordeney, Baltrum, Langeoog, Spiekeroog, and Wangeroog as far as the
entrance of Jade Bay, covering the approach to Wilhelmshaven.

Situated on the western lip of this channel, and connected by locks
with the Ems and Jade Canal, this was one of the largest of Germany's
naval bases and a town of about 35,000 inhabitants.  In the next
estuary, that of the Weser, and on the eastern coast of it, lay
Bremerhaven, another naval base and important dockyard; and, on the
same stretch of coast, at the point of the tongue of land between the
Weser and the Elbe, lay Cuxhaven, yet a third and {30} immensely
powerful naval port.  This, with the attendant batteries of Döse, was
flanked at sea by the Roter and Knecht sandbanks and the little island
of Sharhorn, and was only about forty miles distant from Heligoland,
lying in the centre of the Bight and commanding the hole.

Probably, from an offensive standpoint, of less value, under modern
conditions, than was generally supposed, the possession of Heligoland,
as a fortified outpost, was, if only psychologically, one of Germany's
greatest assets.  Of rocky formation and rising, at its highest point,
to about 200 feet, it was not only a useful observation post but a
fortress of the utmost strength.  With wide views extending to the
mouth of the Elbe and the coast of the neighbouring estuaries, it also
protected a roadstead capable of sheltering and concealing a fleet of
considerable strength; and, in addition, it possessed a wireless
station of the greatest strategical importance.

From an early period, indeed, the peculiar advantages of the island had
been obvious to many observers.  In the seventeenth century, it had
been used as a convenient station by the traders in contraband between
France and Hamburg, and, for the same purposes, toward the end of the
eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth centuries, by British
smugglers.  During the Danish blockade of the German ports in the
Schleswig-Holstein War of 1848, its advantages had become so manifest
to the then British Governor that he made a special report about it to
the Colonial Office.  "Possessing pilots of all the surrounding coasts
and rivers and with its {31} roadstead sufficient for a steam fleet,"
it would in an emergency, he had pointed out, "amply repay the small
cost of its retention in time of peace."  Other considerations had
supervened, however, and, in 1890, after having been in British
possession for more than eighty years, Heligoland had been ceded to
Germany, to become, in due course, the keystone of her naval defenses.

Such then was the Bight of Heligoland, commanded at its centre by the
rocky island itself; flanked on each side by the sentinel islands of
the Frisian and Schleswig coasts; and with its tributary river-mouths
each an intricate meshwork of shallow and treacherous sandbanks.
Subject to fogs, and responding to its prevalent winds with short steep
seas of peculiar violence, it had been mined and protected since the
outbreak of war with every means that ingenuity could suggest.  As for
the island itself, from which all women and civilians, with the
exception of five nurses, had been removed, new guns had been mounted
there, houses pulled down, and trees felled to assist the gunners; and
it is only when this is remembered that some idea becomes possible of
all that was involved in those first patrols, and in the affair of
outposts, as one officer has described it, afterward to be known as the
Battle of the Bight.

This was brought about as the result of the detailed information
afforded by our scouting submarines, who had obtained an accurate
knowledge of the procedure of the enemy's day and night patrols, and
had reported that they could always collect a large force of destroyers
round them whenever they showed {32} themselves in the Bight.  From
this it became evident that a force, approaching at dawn from the
direction of Horn Reef, would have every prospect of being able to cut
off the enemy's returning night patrols; and an operation was
accordingly decided upon, of which the following were the broad
outlines.  On the morning of August 28, 1914, the day appointed for the
action, some submarines, with a couple of destroyers in attendance,
were to penetrate into the Bight and expose themselves to the enemy,
and were then to lure them, if possible, into contact with other forces
that would be waiting.  In close proximity, therefore, to the
submarines it was arranged for two light cruisers, the _Arethusa_ and
_Fearless_, to rendezvous with two flotillas of destroyers, while,
behind these, were to lie ambushed out at sea the Light Cruiser and
Battle-Cruiser Squadrons.  The general design, with full details as to
the meeting-places, was communicated to each of the responsible
commanders and, in absolute secrecy, from their various bases, the
forces to be engaged put to sea.

Of these the first were the submarines under Commodore Roger Keyes, who
accompanied them on board the destroyer _Lurcher_, with the _Firedrake_
in attendance--those stout little vessels that had already made
themselves familiar, during the passage of the armies, with the
proposed scene of action.  Setting out at midnight on August 26th, they
escorted the eight submarines chosen for this hazardous duty, _D2_,
_D8_, _E4_, _E5_, _E6_, _E7_, _E8_, and _E9_; and, while these were
kept in the background throughout the next day, the _Lurcher_ and
_Firedrake_ acted as their {33} scouts.  To the perils in store for
them, in the way of detection, the fine weather and calm sea naturally
added; but, at nightfall of August 27th, each submarine crept to its
appointed station in close proximity to the German coast.

Meanwhile, at five in the morning of the same day, the _Arethusa_,
under Commodore Tyrwhitt, had set out in her turn, with two flotillas
of destroyers, meeting the _Fearless_ at sea during the afternoon; and,
farther north, at the same early hour, Vice-Admiral Beatty, in the
_Lion_, had departed with the First Battle-Cruiser and First Light
Cruiser Squadrons to be at hand in case of necessity.  By the evening
of August 27th, therefore, all were in their places; the submarines
were feeling their way into the heart of the Bight; and the excitement
of all engaged, during those hushed hours of darkness, can be readily
imagined and perhaps envied.  The night passed uneventfully, however,
and, upon the flotillas and squadrons at sea, the day broke clear and
sunny, but with a good deal of mist--in some places almost amounting to
fog--veiling the entrance of the Bight and the neighbourhood of
Heligoland.

The time was now come for the first open movement to be made; and,
while the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ began to search the waters, through
which the battle-cruisers were to come, for possible hostile
submarines, three of our own, _E6_, _E7_, and _E8_, designedly exposing
themselves, proceeded toward Heligoland.  Finding the sea clear,
Commodore Keyes with the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_ then followed up the
three submarines; and there we may leave {34} them for the moment,
turning our attention to the forces assembled in their rear under
Commodore Tyrwhitt.

These consisted, as we have seen, of the Light Cruiser _Arethusa_,
flying Commodore Tyrwhitt's broad pennant, the Light Cruiser
_Fearless_, under Captain W. F. Blunt, and most of the destroyers of
the First and Third Flotillas, and, at daybreak, they, too, began to
push their way into the misty Bight.  Nor had they long to wait for the
enemy.  Though the visibility was poor, seldom at first extending to
more than three miles, and though the fighting in consequence afterward
became confused, the general strategical plan soon proved itself to
have been sound.  Issuing apparently from berths between the Frisian
Islands and the coast-line, a patrol of German destroyers, setting out
toward Heligoland, suddenly discovered our forces on the east, or
Bight, side of them.  Previous to this, at about ten minutes to seven,
a solitary German destroyer had already been sighted and chased, but
now, for forty minutes, from twenty minutes past seven, a general
action ensued--the _Arethusa_ and Third Flotilla engaging the German
destroyers, and steering northwest to cut them off from Heligoland.

So far the presence of the _Arethusa_, whose armament has already been
described, had given us the advantage in this particular attack; but,
just before eight o'clock, two German cruisers loomed out of the mist,
one with four funnels and one with two.  Whether these had come from
Heligoland or had followed up the destroyer-patrol was not apparent,
but {35} they immediately joined action, and, for a quarter of an hour,
the little _Arethusa_ found herself being bombarded by both of them as
well as by various destroyers.

Firing with every gun, the _Arethusa_, then only forty-eight hours out
of the builders' hands, was already in as tight a corner as she could
have asked for and beginning to suffer pretty heavily.

Twice she was hit below the water-line, but saved by the skill and
promptitude of her engineers; shrapnel shells were bursting over her
deck, and men were already dropping as the result of them; Lieutenant
Westmacott was killed at Commodore Tyrwhitt's side; the foremost port
gun was shot out of action, the gunlayer being blown out of his seat;
gun after gun was wrecked and the torpedo tubes disabled, till only one
6-inch gun remained effective; and a bursting shell, exploding some
ammunition, started a furious fire on the _Arethusa's_ deck.

Fortunately, at a quarter past eight, Captain Blunt in the
_Fearless_--of which a destroyer officer afterward wrote that "to see
the old _Fearless_ charging round the field of fight, seeking fresh
foes, was most inspiriting"--and appeared on the scene, and attracted
to herself the guns of the four-funnelled German cruiser.  Thus
relieved a little, for ten minutes longer, the _Arethusa_ fought the
other on a converging course, till a splendidly directed shot wrecked
the German's forebridge, and she broke off toward Heligoland, which was
just in sight.

Heavily as the _Arethusa_ had suffered, the little destroyer _Laurel_,
who, with one of her consorts, had {36} first sighted the oncoming
cruisers, had been punished, as was only to be expected, with even
greater severity.  For some little time engaging single-handed a German
light cruiser and two destroyers, on every calculation of the chances
of war, she should have been sunk a dozen times over.  Struck first in
the boiler-room, the after funnel was blown in, and the main steam-pipe
damaged, four men being killed, but the remainder sticking to their
posts with the utmost coolness and heroism.  Next she was struck
forward, three more men being killed and a gun being put out of action;
and a few moments later her captain, Commander F. Rose, was wounded in
the leg, but continued to direct the action.  Soon afterward he was
again hit, dropping on the bridge with the other leg wounded, but
remained where he was, after a period of unconsciousness, until six
o'clock in the evening.

Meanwhile the _Laurel_ herself, while responding as best she could to
the superior gunfire of the cruiser, was vigorously attacking the two
destroyers, one of whom she succeeded in sinking and, when Commander
Rose was no longer able to take charge, his "Number One," Lieutenant C.
R. Peploe, continued the action, bringing his destroyer out, in the
words of Commodore Tyrwhitt, "in an able and gallant manner under most
trying conditions."  Few on board, indeed, would have given much for
her chances of ever coming out at all; and, when a final shell struck
her near the centre gun, causing a violent explosion and setting her on
fire, the likelihood of the _Laurel_ making port must have seemed
remote to the last degree.  Thanks in a great measure, however, {37} to
the gallantry and promptitude of Alfred Britten, Stoker Petty Officer,
who put out the fire, in spite of the close neighbourhood of several
lyddite shells, no further damage resulted; while the mass of fumes, in
which the disabled _Laurel_ now lay heavily wreathed, served in some
degree as a screen against further attack from the cruiser.

It was now nearly nine o'clock; fighting had died down; and, when
Commodore Tyrwhitt called his flotillas together, it was found that the
First Flotilla had also been in action and sunk _V187_, the German
commodore's destroyer.  Unfortunately two boats' crews from the
destroyers _Goshawk_ and _Defender_, lowered to pick up survivors from
the sunk destroyer, had had to be left behind owing to an attack by a
German cruiser during this work of mercy--a self-revealing act on the
part of the second navy in the world.  Apart from this, though many of
our vessels, especially the _Laurel_ and _Arethusa_, had been heavily
battered, all the flotillas were intact; while, unknown to Commodore
Tyrwhitt and his command, even the abandoned boats' crews were being
rescued.  For, peeping through her periscope, Submarine _E4_ had
witnessed the whole occurrence--the sinking of _V187_, the subsequent
work of rescue, and the approach of the hostile cruiser.  Under her
resourceful captain, Commander E. W. Leir, she had at once proceeded to
attack the enemy; and, though she had not managed to torpedo her, she
had driven her from the scene of action, returning, at the greatest
risk, to the two boats.  Coming to the surface, she had taken on board
the whole of the abandoned British crews, as {38} well as a German
officer and two men.  Being unable to embark the rest--eighteen wounded
Germans--she had left them with a German officer and six unwounded men,
provided them with water, biscuits, and a compass, and allowed them to
navigate their way back to Heligoland.

While this unique action was in progress, and while the _Arethusa_ was
busy repairing her guns and replenishing her ammunition, let us return
again to the _Lurcher_ and _Firedrake_, whom we had last seen heading
for Heligoland in the wake of the decoy submarines.  These also had
been successful in getting into touch with the enemy forces, and, at
ten o'clock, the _Arethusa_, with most of her guns now in working order
again, received a message from them that they were being chased by
light cruisers, and at once proceeded to their assistance.

Having joined up with them, and being now close to Heligoland,
Commodore Tyrwhitt thought it wiser to retreat a little to the
westward, but, a few minutes later, sighted a four-funnelled German
cruiser, which opened a very heavy fire upon the British force about
eleven o'clock.  The position being somewhat critical, Commodore
Tyrwhitt ordered the _Fearless_ to attack and the First Flotilla to
launch torpedoes; but, though they did so with immense spirit, the
cruiser evaded the onslaught and vanished in the mist.  Ten minutes
later she appeared again from another direction, to be attacked both by
the _Arethusa_ and the _Fearless_, the former especially escaping
destruction from her only by the slenderest of margins.  Salvo after
salvo of shells plunged into the water, some of {39} them barely thirty
feet short of the _Arethusa_, while two torpedoes were also launched at
her, but fortunately also fell short, leaving her unharmed.

Meanwhile both Commodore Tyrwhitt and Commodore Keyes had been
communicating by wireless with Admiral Beatty, who, just after eleven,
having evaded three submarines, ordered the Light Cruiser Squadron to
the support of the light forces.  While this was hurrying to their
assistance, however, the _Arethusa's_ 6-inch guns had proved too
accurate for the German cruiser, who had broken off action,
disappearing into the mist again in the direction of the Island.  How
badly she was damaged could only be guessed, but, four minutes later,
yet another cruiser was sighted, the three-funnelled _Mainz_, which was
immediately attacked both by the _Arethusa_ and the _Fearless_.  The
blood of everybody was up now as never before, and, for twenty-five
minutes, the assault was so fiercely pressed that, at the end of that
time, the _Mainz_, in spite of her powerful resistance, was seen to be
on fire and sinking by the head.  Her engines had stopped, and it was
just at this moment that the Light Cruiser Squadron appeared on the
scene, reducing her, in a very few minutes, to a condition that, as
Commodore Tyrwhitt put it, must have been indescribable.

How bad it was let a single quotation from a cruiser officer's diary
suffice to indicate.  Watching the deck of the _Mainz_ through his
powerful glasses, he was at first completely puzzled by two things--the
absence of corpses and the enormous profusion of deck-sponges soaked in
blood.  It was not for some time {40} that he began to realize that the
one accounted for the other.  "Enough said," he wrote, "a six-inch
projectile does not kill a man nor even dismember him; it simply
scatters him."

It was now a quarter past twelve, and, by this time, Admiral Beatty was
himself on the spot.  From the reports received by him from the various
squadron and flotilla commanders, and the obvious presence now of many
enemy ships, he had come to the conclusion that, in an action where
speed was essential--the main German bases being so close at hand--the
lighter forces might not be able to deal with the situation
sufficiently rapidly.  Bearing in mind the possibilities of a concerted
submarine attack, and the conceivable sortie in force of a German
battle squadron, he decided that his speed would probably baffle the
first, and that the latter, if he were prompt enough, could not arrive
in time; while, for anything less in the way of enemy attack, he had
ample forces at his disposal.

Working up his engines, therefore, to full speed, he overtook the light
cruisers just as they were finishing the _Mainz_, and, a quarter of an
hour afterward, sighted the _Arethusa_ fighting a rearguard action with
a cruiser of the _Kolberg_ class--recognized as the _Köln_.  Following
the general plan, he at once steered to cut the latter off from
Heligoland, and, seven minutes later, opened fire, chasing her at full
speed out to sea.  While pursuing the _Köln_, another German cruiser,
apparently the _Ariadne_, was seen right ahead, steering at high speed
and at right angles to the _Lion_, who was herself now travelling at 28
knots.  In spite of {41} this, and that, before losing her in the mist,
the _Lion_ had only time for a couple of salvoes, she was set on fire,
reduced to a sinking condition, and was soon afterward lost, as the
Germans themselves admitted.  This was just before one; mines had been
reported eastward; it was essential that the squadrons should not be
too far dispersed; and therefore Admiral Beatty, desisting from
pursuit, ordered a withdrawal, and returned to the _Köln_.  She was
sighted at 1:25, with her ensign still flying; the _Lion_ opened fire
upon her from two turrets; a couple of salvoes sufficed to sink her;
and, within ten minutes, she had disappeared.  By this time, the
_Arethusa_, the _Fearless_, and the advanced destroyer flotillas had
been in action almost continuously for more than six hours; the
_Arethusa's_ speed, owing to her injuries, was slowly diminishing knot
by knot; upon the bridge of the little _Laurel_, Commander Frank Rose,
with both his legs crippled, still kept his post; three German cruisers
and two destroyers, including the commodore in command, were known to
have been sunk; and, behind the mists in the Bight, nothing was more
likely than that overwhelming reinforcements were hurrying to the spot.
Under these circumstances, Admiral Beatty decided to withdraw his
forces, covering their retirement with his powerful battle-cruisers;
and it was while doing so that Captain Reginald Hall of the _Queen
Mary_ executed one of the smartest manoeuvres of the day.  Watching
from his bridge, and travelling at the time something approaching
thirty knots an hour, he saw an enemy torpedo, ten knots faster, that,
in a matter of moments, {42} would strike him amidships.  The
destruction of the _Queen Mary_, had the submarine achieved it, would
have more than outbalanced all the German losses, but, by very sharply
turning full helm, the impact was just avoided in time--the
battle-cruiser and torpedo, till the latter sunk, actually travelling
side by side.

This was the last sign of hostile reaction to one of the most brilliant
little raids in our naval history; and, for the closing picture, we
must turn to Admiral Christian, who, with yet another squadron, had
been waiting out at sea.  To him and Rear-Admiral Campbell had been
allotted the task of intercepting any vessels that might have escaped
in this direction; and, at about half-past four, some of Admiral
Campbell's cruisers met Commodore Keyes in the returning _Lurcher_.
Limping along in company with him were the destroyers _Laurel_ and
Liberty, and on board her were 220 of the crew of the _Mainz_,
Commodore Keyes having laid himself alongside the burning cruiser with
the greatest chivalry and skill.

The _Laurel_ was by this time quite unable to proceed farther under her
own steam, and she was accordingly taken in tow by the cruiser
_Amethyst_, the _Bacchante_ and _Cressy_ relieving the _Lurcher_ of her
prisoners, and sailing with them to the Nore.  Meanwhile, the
_Arethusa_, after her fiery ordeals, was in hardly better case than the
_Laurel_, and, at seven o'clock, after struggling along homeward at
about six knots an hour, found herself unable to proceed farther, and
signalled for assistance.  Two and a half hours later it was then pitch
dark--and with no lights, of course, permissible, the _Hogue_ took her
in tow, the {43} necessary arrangements being carried out with the aid
of a couple of hand lanterns.

So the day ended without the loss to ourselves of a single vessel of
any description; and when, many hours afterward, the news having
preceded her, the _Arethusa_ returned to harbour, scarred and
lopsided--with her eleven dead and seventeen wounded officers and
men--it was little wonder that every ship's syren of all that were
assembled there blew her a welcome, and that every seaman who could
scramble on deck cheered and cheered her again till he was hoarse.



{44}

CHAPTER III

CORONEL

  The blood-red sun betrayed our spars,
  Fate doomed us ere we started,
  Out-gunned, out-manned, out-steamed, we sank,
  But not, thank God, out-hearted.


Inevitably the chief interest of the naval story clusters about the
waters of the North Sea; and most of its dramatic moments have had this
ocean for their setting.  But, behind the Grand Fleet and its thousand
auxiliaries, watching all the outlets of the German bases, lesser
squadrons and detached cruisers were keeping guard throughout the
world.  Similarly, though the vigour and promptitude with which the
Expeditionary Force was rushed across the Channel before the end of
August, have held, and rightly held, the first place in the popular
conception of our armies' movements, it must be remembered that, during
those weeks, many other thousands of men were elsewhere transported
across the waters.  It must be remembered that from India alone, before
the end of August, two Divisions and a Cavalry Brigade sailed for Egypt
en route for France; that, during September and October, yet another
Brigade was sent from India to East Africa, in time to avert an
invasion of the British Colony there that might {45} have had most
serious results; that, during October and November, twenty batteries of
Horse, Field, and Heavy artillery, and thirty-two battalions of regular
infantry were relieved by the transport from England to the East of an
equivalent force of Territorials; and that a force of native infantry
was despatched to assist Japan in the successful occupation of Kiao
Chao.

That represented but a small proportion of the continual military
movement that was going on from end to end of our scattered empire; and
it was only one aspect of the tremendous problem that faced our navy in
the outer seas.  What this amounted to can best be comprehended,
perhaps, by a brief consideration of what was actually accomplished.
After the first week of August, the mercantile marine activities of the
Central Empires ceased to operate.  Six and a half million tons of
shipping in all the seas of the world were thus almost instantly
immobilized.  Further, every German colony, but for its wireless, was
isolated from its centre and prepared for capture; while of the two
million men of enemy origin who might otherwise have returned home to
join the armies, scarcely a handful--such was the navy's mastery--was,
in fact, able to do so.  Lastly, not a single Dominion, Colony, or
Dependency of Great Britain or her Allies was invaded or seriously
molested by an enemy naval force.

Now to have achieved all this, while at the same time containing the
German High Seas Fleet in the North Sea--and so containing it that not
even a single squadron was able to break through on to our lines {46}
of commerce--is the best witness to the fundamental rightness of our
initial naval strategy; although the test of war immediately emphasized
what was then our chief need--an even larger number, such were our
manifold requirements, of fast battle-cruisers.  It was our shortness
in this respect that, in the last analysis, led to the disaster of
Coronel, arguable as the wisdom of certain of our oversea dispositions
may not unjustly now seem to have been.  And, while in our treatment of
both the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, as regarded the Mediterranean, and the
command of von Spee in the Far East and subsequently in the South
Pacific, there are many points to be reasonably debated before the bar
of naval judgment, neither problem can be fairly considered apart from
the whole situation.  In the present and following chapters we are
concerned only with von Spee and the five vessels under his command.

To consider the vessels first, these consisted of two armoured
cruisers, the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_, and three light
cruisers, the _Nürnberg_, the _Dresden_, and the _Leipzig_.  Both the
_Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_ were most efficient units, each with
a speed of over 22 knots, each with a displacement of over 11,000 tons,
a belt of 6-inch armour amidships, and each carrying eight 8.2-inch
guns, six 6-inch guns, eighteen 24-pounders, and four torpedo-tubes.
The three light cruisers were each capable of a speed of about
twenty-five knots, carried ten 4.1-inch, eight 5-pounder, and four
machine-guns, with two submerged torpedo-tubes, and displaced between
3,000 and 4,000 tons.  It will be seen at once, therefore, {47} that
they formed a homogeneous and easily manoeuvred squadron, and it may be
readily admitted that they were not only gallantly but very skilfully
handled; while their concentration--since, at the outbreak of war, they
had been scattered over half the world--was a feat of no mean order,
however open to criticism may have been the larger policy involved in
it.

As for von Spee himself, he seems to have been of a type apparently all
too rare in the German naval service, a chivalrous, modest, and
efficient seaman, reticent in victory, and brave in defeat.  Under his
command, the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_ had attained an
extremely high standard of gunnery, and it is probable that in this
respect they were second to none flying the German flag.

Leaving Kiao Chao during July, the war had found von Spee and the two
larger cruisers many leagues distant among the Western Pacific islands
and separated by thousands of miles from the other three cruisers, the
_Dresden_, the _Nürnberg_, and the _Leipzig_.  Of these the _Dresden_
was in the Atlantic, divided from the other two by the American
continent, and narrowly escaped capture at the hand of the British West
Atlantic Squadron, of which Admiral Cradock was then in command.  She
successfully evaded him, however, and, making her way south, entered
South American waters off the coast of Brazil, where her only possible
antagonist at the time was the British cruiser _Glasgow_--a light
cruiser of the _Bristol_ class, displacing about 4,800 tons, capable of
a speed of 25 knots, and carrying two 6-inch and ten 4-inch guns.

{48}

Meanwhile, on August 11th, with all her lights out, there had crept out
of the port of Pernambuco a German steamer, the _Baden_, carrying 5,000
tons of coal, which met and supplied the _Dresden_ at the Rocas
Islands.  Three days afterward, the latter sank the _Hyades_, homeward
bound from the River Plate to Holland with a load of grain, and, on
August 26th, she sank the British steamer _Holmwood_, also off the
coast of South America.  A fortnight later, on her way to the Pacific,
the _Dresden_ and her collier were creeping round Tierra del Fuego, and
here they met a second collier, the _Santa Isabel_, which had left
Buenos Aires on the 6th of August, nominally bound for Togo.

That was in the middle of September, and, about a fortnight later, with
her name effaced, her masts altered, and her funnels repainted, the
_Santa Isabel_ entered Valparaiso, remaining there until the end of the
month, when she cleared, nominally for Hamburg, but in reality to join
von Spee.  In the meantime the _Dresden_ had announced her arrival in
the Pacific by attacking the liner _Ortega_ near the western entrance
of the Magellan Straits; and it was only by the resource and seamanship
of the latter's captain that the British ship succeeded in escaping.

Bound for Valparaiso with 300 French reservists on board, she had a
normal speed of no more than 14 knots, while the _Dresden_, as we have
seen, was at least half as fast again.  But the Master of the _Ortega_
was not to be beaten.  Calling for volunteers to assist the stokers, he
succeeded in working his old liner up to 18 knots an hour, and at the
same time headed for {49} Nelson's Strait--a perilous and uncharted
passage.  Chased by the _Dresden_, and with her shells plunging on each
side of him, he made the dangerous channel in safety.  The _Dresden_
turned on her heel, afraid to follow him; and he successfully
navigated, probably for the first time in history, an 8,000-ton liner
through Nelson's Strait.

With the _Dresden_ in the Pacific, all von Spee's future squadron was
now at least in the same ocean, and both the _Nürnberg_ and _Leipzig_,
by stealthy degrees, were approaching the German admiral--the former,
during September, having cut the cable between Bamfield in British
Columbia and the Fanning Islands, and the latter having sunk the
British steamer _Bankfield_ off Peru, while en route to England with
6,000 tons of sugar; the oil tank _Elsinore_; and the steamer _Vine
Branch_, outward bound from England to Guayaquil.

Whether, in the long run, it would not have been to Germany's advantage
for these cruisers to have played their lone hands on the commercial
trade routes; to have followed the example of the _Emden_ and
_Karlsrühe_ rather than to have formed a fighting squadron, is a matter
for argument.  Coronel was their justification.  The Falkland Islands
saw their end.  It was finally in the neighbourhood of Easter Island
that they united with von Spee, who had in his turn eluded both the
China and Australian squadrons, sinking a small French gunboat off
Papeete, and bombarding the town on September 22d.

By this time, the _Glasgow_ had been reinforced in {50} Brazilian
waters by Sir Christopher Cradock in the _Good Hope_ and Captain Brandt
in the _Monmouth_, with the armed liner _Otranto_ in attendance; and
they, too, after similar secret coaling, were making their way round
Cape Horn into the Pacific.  Time after time they had heard, faint and
far, the wireless calls of the _Dresden_ and her colliers--they had
even, on more than one occasion, quite unsuspectingly, been within a
comparatively few miles of her--but they had never found her and were
but slowly able to divine her intention of joining von Spee.

That this admiral, with the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_, was
making his way eastward was now probable, and the old battleship
_Canopus_ was in consequence on her way to strengthen Cradock with her
12-inch guns.  Up to the last, however, all were uncertain of the
enemy's exact whereabouts and strength; and this was the position when,
on the last day of October, 1914, the _Glasgow_ was detached to run
into Coronel--not unknown to von Spee, who had instantly ordered the
_Nürnberg_ to hover outside and watch her movements.

Such had been the steps whereby, across so many leagues of water, the
opposing squadrons had been collected; had felt their way tentatively,
and, as it were, half blindfold, into the neighbourhood of each other;
and were now, off the coast of Chile, each so far from home, on the
verge of their fatal collision.  With the character and strength of von
Spee and his forces we have already briefly dealt; and, in Admiral
Cradock, he had an opponent of an essentially British and traditional
type.  A lover of sport, particular as {51} to his wines, of medium
stature, bearded and swarthy, Sir Christopher Cradock was less
identified with the modern and scientific school of naval officer than
with those light-hearted adventurers, of whom Sir Richard Grenville in
his little _Revenge_ stands as an historic example.

Entering the navy in 1875, he had been attached in 1891 to the East
Soudan Field Force, had acted as A.D.C. to the Governor of the Red Sea,
and been present at the Battle of Tokar.  For his services in that
campaign, he had received the Khedive's Bronze Star and the fourth
class of the Medjidieh.  Nine years later saw him with the British
Naval Brigade in China at the capture of the Taku Forts and the relief
of Tientsin, and for this he had received the China Medal with clasps,
and, in 1902, the C.B.  In 1904 he was given the testimonial of the
Royal Humane Society for saving the life of a midshipman in Palmas Bay,
Sardinia; in 1909 he was A.D.C. to the King, and received the K.C.V.O.
in 1912.  At the outbreak of the war, as we have seen, he was in charge
of the West Atlantic Squadron.

Such was von Spee's opponent--a man perhaps, if anything, too ready to
fight, whatever the odds though it must not be forgotten that, until
retreat was impossible, he could hardly have been certain of the forces
against him.  Whether or not he should have deduced these--whether he
had in fact done so--must remain a matter of opinion; the captain of
the _Canopus_ seems to have entreated him not to join issue without
him; but it is equally clear that, if he had waited for the slow old
battleship, von Spee, {52} had he so desired, could have avoided action
indefinitely.

Considered in the light of after events, indeed, no action of the war
seems to have depended less on human prevision, or to have been so
determined by natural forces and a leisurely and inscrutable destiny.
From the beginning, the odds were against Cradock, just as, six weeks
later, they were against von Spee; and when the _Glasgow_, the first to
sight the enemy, saw the four funnels of the _Scharnhorst_ and the
_Gneisenau_, there could have been little doubt, save for extraordinary
good luck, of the final issue of the battle.

Opposed to these two cruisers, each faster than the _Good Hope_ or the
_Monmouth_, the _Good Hope_ had an armament of two 9.2-inch guns as
against the eight 8.2-inch guns of the _Scharnhorst_, while the
_Monmouth_ in reply to the _Gneisenau_, with an equal armament to the
_Scharnhorst_, could oppose nothing more powerful than 6-inch guns
which were therefore completely outranged.  The _Good Hope_ herself,
indeed, owing to faulty construction and the heavy seas, was but little
better off; the _Otranto_, an unarmoured liner, was wholly useless in
such an emergency; the middle-aged _Canopus_, with her superior
gun-power, was still plunging along 200 miles away; while the
_Glasgow_, speedy and efficient as she was, was no match for the
combined _Dresden_ and _Leipzig_--to say nothing of the _Nürnberg_, who
came up later to complete the destruction of the _Monmouth_.

It was about a quarter past four on the afternoon of November 1, 1914,
Admiral von Spee being then some forty miles north of the Bay of Arauco
on the {53} Chilian coast, and the _Nürnberg_, which had returned after
her vigil, having been once more detached on a scouting cruise, that
the _Glasgow_ and _Monmouth_, _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ first
sighted and identified each other.  It had been a day of strong
sunshine, sudden showers, high wind and a rough sea, and all the ships,
especially the smaller cruisers, were rolling heavily and shipping a
lot of water.  When first sighted, the _Glasgow_ and _Monmouth_, soon
to be joined by the _Otranto_, were to the southwest of the German
admiral, fifteen miles distant and pursuing a southerly course--obeying
the order of Admiral Cradock to join up with the _Good Hope_.  This was
still invisible to the German squadron, but was sighted about forty
minutes later, when Admiral Cradock took the head of the British line
and both sides moved into battle formation.

The position at this moment--with the long prologue over and the
curtain rising upon the first act was as follows: a little to the north
and nearer to the land, that is to say somewhat east of the British
line, the Germans were steaming south, the _Scharnhorst_ leading,
followed by the _Gneisenau_ and the _Leipzig_.  The _Dresden_ was some
miles astern, and the _Nürnberg_ not yet in sight, though she had been
recalled from her second patrol.  On the British side, also steaming
south, farther to sea, Admiral Cradock was leading, followed by the
_Monmouth_ and the _Glasgow_, the _Otranto_ bringing up the rear, and
with the _Canopus_ far to the south, steaming north, but of course out
of the picture.

This was at about half-past five, both sides being {54} fully aware now
of the strength and disposition of the other; both suffering severely
from the strong head wind and high seas that were continually burying
them, and both with their eyes upon the setting sun now dropping
rapidly toward the horizon.  How vital that sun was each had instantly
perceived.  For the moment, protected by the glare of it, it advantaged
Sir Christopher Cradock, von Spee's squadron being brightly
illuminated.  But the distance was far too great for the British guns,
and, in less than an hour, the conditions would be reversed.  In less
than an hour, himself in half darkness, von Spee would have the British
silhouetted against the after-glow; and, in consequence, there had
begun a race, which could have but one ending, for the inside or
landward position.

Already nearer to the land than Admiral Cradock, and perceiving
Cradock's manoeuvre to try and reverse this, von Spee had crammed full
speed on, and was racing to forestall him, in the teeth of the wind, at
20 knots an hour.  To do so was essential, and to secure this position
he outraced the _Leipzig_ and _Dresden_, his superior speed enabling
him to draw parallel with Cradock, while ten miles of sea still parted
the squadrons.  Here, while keeping pace with the slower British
vessels, he was able to slacken down and await the _Leipzig_ and
_Dresden_; and when, at ten minutes past six, these had joined him, he
began to draw nearer to the doomed British squadron.  This, as all had
foreseen, was now a series of dark targets, tossing clearly outlined
against the sunset, with the rising moon in the east to render a chance
of escape {55} even less possible; and, at a distance of a little over
five miles, von Spee ordered the first shot.

The battle was now joined, and with every circumstance conspiring
against the indomitable Cradock and his men.  Handicapped by the seas
as both sides were, the British, farther out, suffered more severely;
while, to the expert gunners of the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_,
discounting this one factor, they formed an ideal objective.  Within
five minutes the _Good Hope_ was hit, and, though she replied at once,
her fire was ineffective; while, during the next quarter of an hour,
the _Scharnhorst's_ gunners were finding her time after time.
Meanwhile the _Otranto_ had been ordered out of action; the
_Gneisenau_.  was pouring shell into the _Monmouth_; and the _Leipzig_
and _Dresden_ were engaging the _Glasgow_, who was gallantly spending
to the best of her ability.

So the fight went on through the brief twilight and into the early
moonlit darkness.  Thirty-five hits upon the ill-fated _Good Hope_ were
counted by the _Scharnhorst's_ gunners.  One of her turrets was
destroyed and a fire started, followed presently by an explosion that
shook the whole air--the white flames mingling, in von Spee's own
words, "with the bright green stars," like some dreadful firework.
That as von Spee believed, was the end of her.  But Cradock was not yet
finished, though his guns were out of action.  The opposing vessels
were now only two miles apart and the _Good Hope_ was trying to
manoeuvre to let off her torpedoes.  It was but an expiring effort,
however; von Spee stood away a little; the _Monmouth_, totally
outgunned, had already been silenced; a {56} hurrying rain-cloud had
added to the darkness; and, though the German gunners, sighting by the
red reflection of the fires that they had kindled on the two British
vessels, still continued to fire a round or two, their adversaries were
powerless to respond.

It was now nearly eight o'clock.  To the watching von Spee, the fires
on the horizon had died down, the _Good Hope's_ quenched by the seas
that covered her, and the _Monmouth's_ put out by the efforts of her
crew.  Though both vessels must, he knew, have been badly crippled, von
Spee was unaware, of course, of their real condition, and had ordered
his light cruisers to chase and attack them, himself crossing the
British line, and turning his course northward.

Meanwhile the _Monmouth_, staggering along in the darkness, and slowly
sinking by the head, was in touch with the _Glasgow_--the neighbourhood
of the enemy and the state of the sea rendering any assistance from the
latter impossible.  The _Glasgow_ herself had had an almost miraculous
escape, not only from destruction, but even from serious damage.  "I
cannot understand," wrote one of her officers, "the miracle of our
deliverance; none will ever.  We were struck at the water-line by, in
all, five shells out of about 600 directed at us, but strangely not in
vulnerable places, our coal saving us on three occasions--as we are not
armoured and should not be in battle line against armoured vessels.  We
had only two guns that would pierce their armour--the _Good Hope's_ old
two 9.2's, one of which was out of action ten minutes after the start.
A shell entered the captain's pantry and continued on, bursting in a
{57} passage, the fragments going through the steel wall of the
captain's cabin, wrecking it completely.  Again no fire resulted."

Such was the position, with the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ hunting
them through the darkness up from the south, the _Dresden_ and
_Leipzig_ between them and the land, and the _Nürnberg_ steaming down
from the north.  To remain together would be to sacrifice both; the
_Canopus_, still in ignorance, had to be warned; and the _Monmouth_
seems to have signalled to the _Glasgow_, advising her to part company
and make her escape as best she could.  As senior officer, however, the
decision rested with the _Glasgow's_ captain; and it would be difficult
to conceive a more poignant situation.  Every instinct not only of
himself but of all on board bade him stay with the _Monmouth_.  But the
reasons for not doing so were remorseless, and had, in the event, to be
obeyed.  Moreover, the enemy had already been sighted steaming abreast,
about four miles away, morsing with an oil lamp; and the reluctant
order to depart at full speed could no longer be delayed.  Half an hour
later, far behind them, the watchers on the _Glasgow_ counted
seventy-five flashes.  On her way to rejoin von Spee, and almost by
accident, the _Nürnberg_ had run across the _Monmouth_ and sunk her
with point-blank fire.

Sir Christopher Cradock was a Yorkshireman, and, upon the monument to
his honour, unveiled two years later in York Minster, were inscribed
these words from the Book of Maccabees, than which none could have more
fully expressed him--

{58}

  God forbid that I should do this thing,
  To flee away from them;
  If our time be come, let us die manfully for our brethren,
  And let us not stain our honour.


So ended the first act of this outer-sea epic.  That another was to
follow none knew better than von Spee.



{59}

CHAPTER IV

THE BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS


Situated off the southeast coast of South America the group of islands,
known as the Falklands, had definitely belonged to Great Britain since
1833.  It consisted of about a hundred larger and smaller islands, the
two chief being East and West Falkland, separated by a narrow channel
of water known as the Falkland Sound.  About 250 miles, at the nearest
point, from Tierra del Fuego in the extreme south of the continent,
they were some 300 miles distant from the Atlantic entrance of the
Magellan Straits.  Their climate was healthful but not attractive.
Rain fell on more than half the days of the year.  The seas surrounding
them, even in their December midsummer, were of an arctic coldness and
more often than not shrouded with mists that made navigation difficult
and unpleasant.  The chief industry was sheep farming, most of the
farmers and shepherds being of Scottish descent; but there was a
certain amount of business done at Port Stanley in the way of
ship-repairing and the provision of marine stores.

Until 1904, when it was abandoned as such, Port Stanley had been a
naval station, and it still remained the principal town of the islands
and the headquarters {60} of the Government.  Situated on the
easternmost projection of the eastern of the two chief islands, it had
a population of about a thousand, and stood on a tongue of land between
the ocean on the south and the innermost of two natural and connected
harbours on the north.  Of these, the outer and larger was known as
Port William, with its entrance to the east, the inner recess, on the
shore of which stands the town, being known as Port Stanley.

In 1914 the Governor was the Hon. W. L. Allardyce, and it was toward
the middle of October that he heard from the Admiralty that a raid on
the islands was to be expected and that suitable precautions should be
taken.  Accordingly, on October 19th, a notice was posted that all
women and children were to leave Port Stanley; and this was promptly
obeyed, camps being formed inland, and provisions stored in various
places.  All Government documents, books, and monies were removed from
the town and conveyed to a safe hiding-place; while, at the same time,
a defense force was organized under the Governor, mustering, all told,
about 130 men.  All were good shots, and, with their two machine-guns,
were fully prepared to fight to the last.  On advice from the
Admiralty, they were to adopt retiring tactics, should the Germans
land; horses and emergency rations were provided for everybody; and,
with their knowledge of the terrain, and their island hardihood, there
can be little doubt that they would have put up a strong resistance.

This was the position in the island when, on November 3d, a wireless
message was received, {61} announcing the disaster at Coronel; and,
five days later, this was followed by the arrival of the _Glasgow_ and
_Canopus_.  A raid by the enemy now amounted to a certainty; both the
British vessels believed the Germans to be on their heels; and when, a
few hours afterward, they received orders to sail for Monte Video, the
feelings of the defenders naturally sank a little.  They kept up a
stout heart, however; the strictest watch was maintained; for several
days and nights the Governor never had his clothes off; and, when the
_Canopus_ reappeared, having been turned back before reaching Monte
Video, in order to help the islanders with her guns, there was a
general conviction that they would be able to give von Spee a somewhat
difficult problem to solve on his arrival.

Laying a chain of mines at the entrance to Port William, the _Canopus_
was put aground in the inner harbour, whence, protected by the land,
she would be able to fire her big shells out to sea; her smaller guns
were converted into batteries, mounted in strategic positions among the
surrounding hills.  Meanwhile in England, under Lord Fisher, who had
been recalled to the Admiralty as First Sea Lord, secret and decisive
measures had been instantly adopted.  Within ten days of the Battle of
Coronel, by an act of the same genius that had created them, the
_Invincible_ and _Inflexible_--two of our earlier, but still very
powerful battle-cruisers, each capable of a speed of 27 knots and
carrying eight 12-inch guns--had been detached from the Grand Fleet,
coaled and munitioned, and, under Vice-Admiral Sir Doveton Sturdee,
were steaming toward the equator, unknown {62} to the world, to avenge
Sir Christopher Cradock and his lost crew.

Ten days later, at a rendezvous in the South Atlantic, they met their
assigned consorts under Rear-Admiral Stoddart; and here the fleet
assembled that was to proceed, first to the Falkland Islands, and
thence, round Cape Horn, to engage von Spee.  Apart from its colliers,
of which there were about fourteen, several of these being out-steamed
on the way to Port Stanley, it consisted of the _Carnarvon_, with
Rear-Admiral Stoddart, the _Kent_, _Glasgow_, _Bristol_, and the armed
merchantman _Macedonia_, including, of course, the two battle-cruisers
from England, Sir Doveton Sturdee flying his flag on the _Invincible_.

The _Glasgow_ had been in Rio as recently as November 16th, but every
precaution against discovery had been taken; all communication by
wireless had been strictly forbidden by Admiral Sturdee; and, at about
eleven o'clock on the morning of December 7th, the squadron slipped
quietly into Port William.  For the anxious defense force on the
islands the long vigil was now at an end.  For such of the officers as
could be spared ashore, and for those whose vessels had to wait their
turn for coaling it was a welcome opportunity to touch land again, and
they were sufficiently prompt to make characteristic use of it.  One of
them tells us that, sallying out with his gun, he shot two geese and
six hares for the wardroom larder--as ignorant as everybody else of the
larger game that was even then heading for the islands.

For the most part, however, all on board every {63} vessel were hard at
work getting ready for the search--a search that was still believed, of
course, to be inevitable, no news of von Spee having reached the
island.  The _Glasgow_ and _Bristol_, in the inner harbour, were the
first to coal, followed by the _Carnarvon_, who only finished at four
o'clock the next morning, her collier, the _Trelawney_, then going to
the _Invincible_.  This was berthed beside her in the outer harbour of
Port William, the _Inflexible_ keeping them company, with the _Kent_
and _Cornwall_ lying a little to the south, the _Kent_, with her steam
up, acting as guardship.  Further to seaward, beyond the mine barrage,
was anchored the _Macedonia_, serving as a look-out vessel; while in
the inner harbour were the _Bristol_ and _Glasgow_, with the old
_Canopus_ still aground there.  So the night passed.  At various points
in the islands, the volunteer sentries kept their watch; and it was
from one of these, stationed on Sapper's Hill, above Port Stanley, that
the first news of the approach of enemy vessels was received between
seven and eight the next morning.

The day had dawned clear, with a calm sea and a light breeze blowing
from the northwest.  From horizon to horizon, in the glowing sunlight,
the sea stretched blue as the Mediterranean.  It was such a day as, in
the Falkland Islands, might for weeks together have been prayed for in
vain; and, hidden in the harbour, lay such a fleet as von Spee, in his
most depressed moments, was unlikely to have pictured.  That he would
find the _Canopus_ there he may have thought probable.  That the
_Glasgow_ and _Bristol_ might be there he had deduced from their
wireless.  {64} But that the giant battle-cruisers, _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_, lay quiet as death behind those painted hills--that this
December morning was the last morning that he would ever look upon on
earth--none had told him, and, for all his forebodings, he himself
could never have guessed.  But the stage was set again; the curtain had
risen; the watcher on Sapper's Hill had heralded the last act.  Let us
look down for a moment with impartial eyes upon the chosen scene.  Far
to the south, resolved at last on action, but soon to pay the price of
its strange hesitation, steamed the German squadron with its two
colliers, the _Santa Isabel_ and the _Baden_.  To the watcher on
Sapper's Hill, at that early hour, only the foremost cruisers were as
yet observable, faint smudges on the southern horizon--the _Gneisenau_
and the _Nürnberg_.  Equally faint, but clear and at their mercy, must
have seemed that spit of land to the observers on the _Gneisenau_,
wholly unconscious, as they then were, of the brisk activities that lay
behind it.  Nor were the cruisers in the hidden harbour any more aware
of what the day heralded for them.  With the prospect before them of a
voyage round Cape Horn, they were stirring with preparations, but not
for immediate action.  The _Kent_ alone of them, acting as guard-ship
at the mouth of Port William, had her steam up.  Only the _Glasgow_ and
_Bristol_ in the inner harbour had finished coaling and lay with full
bunkers; and the latter had her fires out in order that her boilers
might be cleaned.  Beside the flagship _Invincible_, the colliers were
still busy; the flag-lieutenant was yawning in his dressing-gown over a
cup of tea.  The _Inflexible_, {65} on one side of her, was in similar
case, while, upon the other, the _Cornwall_ was busy repairing her
engines.  Over them all arched a sky of serene and cloudless beauty.
The air was so limpid that, through powerful glasses, the events of
fifteen miles away might be happening almost at hand.

The flag-lieutenant went on yawning.  He had had a long day yesterday,
had been working most of the night, and was short of sleep.  There came
a knock at the door.  A signalman entered.  The smudges on the horizon
had revealed themselves as men-of-war.  They could only be von Spee's,
and yet it was hardly believable.  To tell the admiral was the work of
an instant; and soon the amazing tidings were known throughout the
fleet.  The _Kent_ was at once ordered to weigh anchor, and every ship
in the squadron to raise steam for full speed.  Colliers were shoved
off.  Sailors who were in their "land rig" scrambled out of it like
quick-change artists.  Down in the engine-rooms, grimed men worked
miracles, of which, for the moment, let the _Cornwall_ give an example.
At eight o'clock, as we have said, she had her starboard engine down,
with one cylinder opened for repairs at six hours' notice; and yet,
before ten o'clock, she was under way, and, by a quarter past eleven,
making more than twenty knots.

Meanwhile, at twenty minutes past eight, the Sapper's Hill signaller
had reported more smoke on the horizon; and, a quarter of an hour
later, as the _Kent_ steamed to the harbour entrance, the captain of
the _Canopus_ reported this to be proceeding from two ships about
twenty miles off, the two first sighted {66} being now little more than
eight miles away.  Three minutes afterward yet another column of smoke
was signalled from Sapper's Hill; and the _Macedonia_ was ordered to
weigh anchor on the inner side of the other cruisers.  It was now
evident that von Spee was arriving in force, probably with the whole of
his squadron; and, at twenty minutes past nine, the _Gneisenau_ and
_Nürnberg_ were seen, broadside on, training their guns on the wireless
station.  By this time, however, at less than seven miles distance,
they were well within range of the _Canopus_, who anticipated them by
firing a salvo over the low-lying tongue of land that sheltered her.
None of this first shower of 12-inch shells seems to have been
effective in damaging the enemy; but it no doubt confirmed for the
German admiral the presence of the _Canopus_ in the harbour; and both
the _Gneisenau_ and _Nürnberg_ were at once observed to alter their
course.  For a moment it appeared as if they intended to approach the
_Kent_ at the harbour entrance, but, a few minutes later, they wore
away with the evident intention of joining their comrades.

Both cruisers were now visible from the upper bridge of the
_Invincible_; and the tops of the _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_ must
have been equally apparent to them; though it still seems uncertain
whether they had positively identified yet the two great cruisers that
spelt their doom.  Meanwhile, in the harbour, every preparation was
being pushed forward with the utmost speed.  At twenty minutes to ten
the _Glasgow_ weighed anchor and steamed down the harbour to join the
_Kent_.  Next to the two battle-cruisers, she {67} was the speediest
vessel in the squadron, and her orders were to observe the enemy.  Five
minutes later, the _Carnarvon_ put out, followed by the _Inflexible_,
_Invincible_, and _Cornwall_, the two big battle-cruisers burning their
oil fuel, prudently spared for the occasion that had arrived.

It was now twenty minutes past ten, and the character of the future
action was already determined.  For the Germans it had become instantly
clear that their only hope--if such it might be called--lay in flight;
and, on the British side, the order had been signalled for a general
chase at full speed.  Gathering pace, the two battle-cruisers from the
north soon overtook and outstripped the _Carnarvon_ and _Kent_, the
position at eleven o'clock, with the squadron as a whole making about
20 knots, being as follows--the _Glasgow_ was still leading, but had
been ordered to remain within two miles of the flagship _Invincible_;
next came the _Invincible_ herself, with her decks flooded by hoses to
prevent fire and wash away the last of the coal-dust; the _Inflexible_
followed behind her, on her starboard quarter, with the _Kent_ falling
away from her astern and aport, followed by the _Carnarvon_, with the
faster _Cornwall_ reluctantly obeying orders to remain upon her
quarter.  Left behind in the harbour were the _Bristol_ and
_Macedonia_; but, just at this moment, on the other side of the island,
a lady watcher at Fitz Roy, Mrs. Roy Felton, had seen and reported
three other German vessels.  Two of these--the third made its
escape--were the colliers, already familiar to us, the _Santa Isabel_
and _Baden_.  The coal on board these vessels {68} had been obtained
from various sources since the action off Coronel, some from the
_Valentino_, a French prize, and some from the British vessel
_Drummuir_, captured on December 2d; and the _Bristol_ and _Macedonia_
were at once ordered by Admiral Sturdee to deal with them.  Between
nine and ten miles to the south, on a course east-north-east, von Spee
in the _Scharnhorst_ was travelling at full speed, followed by the
_Dresden_, the _Gneisenau_, the _Nürnberg_, and the _Leipzig_, in the
order named.

This was the situation then, and, before considering in detail one of
the completest naval victories in our history, let us examine it for a
moment as it presented itself to Admiral Sturdee, a remarkably
cool-brained and deliberate tactician.  With a long day in front of
him, with nothing to fear in the way of destroyer or submarine-attack,
with the whole of the enemy squadron now before his eyes, and with
perfect visibility, he possessed under his command, in his own
flagship, in the _Inflexible_, and in the _Glasgow_, three vessels at
least that, in the matter of speed, were considerably superior to the
enemy.  Further, although the enemy's gunnery was known to be excellent
both in speed and accuracy, the 12-inch guns of the _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_ enabled him to dictate a long-range action; and there were
two other weighty considerations that suggested the wisdom of such a
course.  For, while in gun-power the two battle-cruisers were far ahead
of the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, in armour they were not so
strong; and the nearest repairing yard was at Gibraltar.  There were no
obligations, therefore, to run {69} any risk.  There was every reason
for not doing so.  So long as, in the end, the Germans were sunk, a few
hours would make no difference.  Sailors fight best when well fed.
Tobacco is an excellent solvent for undue excitement; and the British
admiral therefore gave orders that dinner was to be served as usual,
and that the men were to be allowed a few minutes for a quiet smoke.
As one of the officers on the flagship afterward observed, they might
almost have been at manoeuvres off Spithead--precisely the atmosphere
that Admiral Sturdee had wisely designed to create.

It was at five minutes to one, at a range of about nine miles, that the
first shot was fired by the _Inflexible_, taking for her target the
light cruiser _Leipzig_, the last vessel of von Spee's line.  Five
minutes afterward the _Invincible_ followed suit, also taking the
_Leipzig_ for her target; and soon afterward the battle resolved itself
into three separate encounters--that between the _Invincible_,
_Inflexible_, and _Carnarvon_, and the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_;
that between the _Glasgow_ and _Cornwall_, and the _Leipzig_; and
finally, after an epic chase, that in which the _Kent_ overtook and
sank the _Nürnberg_.

These conditions were first brought about when, at twenty minutes past
one, the _Leipzig_ turned away toward the southwest, soon to be
followed by the _Nürnberg_ and _Dresden_, with the _Glasgow_, _Kent_,
and _Cornwall_ in pursuit.  With them had started the _Carnarvon_, but
the rear-admiral in command of her, finding his speed insufficient to
keep up with the light cruisers, had to give up the chase, and joined
the _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_ in engaging the {70} _Scharnhorst_
and _Gneisenau_.  Leaving the action of the smaller cruisers in the
capable hands of Captain Luce of the _Glasgow_, let us follow the
fortunes of the other three in the most immediate and important task.
Of these the ten-year-old _Carnarvon_, pushing on as stoutly as she
could, was still trying vainly to keep up with her swifter sisters; and
the first encounter was reduced, therefore, to a four-cornered fight
lasting for about fifty minutes.

Beginning at twenty minutes past one, the _Scharnhorst_ and
_Gneisenau_, after five minutes of a running battle, turned a little to
port, began to close the range, and accepted the challenge; and, five
minutes later, opened fire themselves.  Though of smaller calibre,
their guns, firing very rapidly, were as usual handled with extreme
ability; and, in the words of the flag-lieutenant--half-way up the
_Invincible's_ foremast, in the director-tower with Admiral
Sturdee--they shot indeed "fiendishly well."  "We went on hammering
away," he wrote, "for some time, getting closer and closer, and they
were hitting us pretty badly.  I thought that our foremast had gone
once.  The Admiral and I were half-way up so as to get a good view.
One of the legs of the mast was shot away.  Shell fire is unpleasant,
to put it mildly.  Exploding shells, when they hit the ship, are worse,
as one wonders how many she will stand.  The Admiral was wonderfully
cool and collected, and I bobbed my head at every shell, and got a
stiff neck from doing it!"

At a quarter to two the _Invincible_ was being straddled--the
_Scharnhorst's_ shells, that is to say, were exploding on both sides of
her--and Admiral {71} Sturdee, consistently with his plan of action,
drew away a little to avoid undue risks.  The _Scharnhorst_ had by this
time been hit on several occasions, but had not been disabled, though
she broke off the action; and, at ten minutes past two, the fight
became a chase again, the _Invincible_ reopening fire at a quarter to
three.  For eight minutes, again out-ranging them, the _Invincible_ and
_Inflexible_ hammered the two German cruisers, forcing them round to
port once more to reply as best they could.  The heavier British guns
had now begun definitely to tell, however, and the _Scharnhorst_ was
already on fire forward.  "We hit again and again," wrote Midshipman
John Esmonde in a letter to his father after the action.  "First our
left gun sent her big crane spinning over the side.  Then our right gun
blew her funnel to atoms, and then another shot from the left gun sent
her bridge and part of the forecastle sky-high.  We were not escaping
free, however.  Shots were hitting us repeatedly, and the spray from
the splashes of their shells was hiding the _Scharnhorst_ from us....
Down came the range--11,000, 10,000, 9,000, to 8,800.  We were hitting
the _Scharnhorst_ very nearly every time.  One beauty from our right
gun got one of her turrets fair and square and sent it whistling over
the side.  Suddenly our right gun misfired--we had got a jamb and one
gun was out of action.  The breech had caught against one of the cages
and would neither open nor shut.  We opened up the trap hatch, and I
jumped out, and down the ladder with two men to try and find a crowbar.
The 12-inch guns were firing all round us, and our left gun was {72}
doing work for two now that the right was jambed.  The German shells
were whistling unpleasantly close and there were splinters flying all
over the place.  The _Scharnhorst_ was firing heavily, but I could see
she was in a bad way.  She was down by the bows and badly on fire
amidships.  I got the crowbar and brought it in, but they wanted a
hacksaw as well, so I jumped out again, and just as I was coming back I
saw the _Scharnhorst's_ ensign dip (never knew whether it came down or
not, because just then one of the lyddite shells hit her and there was
a dense cloud of smoke all over her).[1]  When it cleared she was on
her side, and her propellers were lashing the water round into foam.
Then she capsized altogether, going to the bottom."


[1] As a matter of fact, the _Scharnhorst's_ ensign was not lowered,
but, as Admiral Sturdee afterward remarked, "Von Spee met his fate like
a brave Admiral, though our foe."


That was at a quarter past four; her consort the _Gneisenau_ was still
firing with all her guns; and, by this time, the old _Carnarvon_ had at
last arrived upon the scene--she had in fact fired a couple of shots at
the _Scharnhorst_.  The three cruisers, therefore, now turned their
attention to the _Gneisenau_, who, after a moment's hesitation, turned
and stood at bay.  Nothing in the whole day, indeed, was more gallant
than her vain but desperate resistance.  At half-past four she was
still straddling the _Invincible_, though without causing casualties or
serious damage.  A few minutes after five, her forward funnel was
knocked out and remained lolling against the second.  Seven minutes
later, just as she hit the _Invincible_ {73} for the last time, she was
herself badly damaged again between the third and fourth funnels; and
how accurate the British fire had become can be gathered from the
notebook of one of her officers, afterward rescued.  "Five ten," he
wrote, "hit, hit; 5.12, hit; 5:14, hit, hit, hit again; 5:20,
after-turret gone; 5:40, hit, hit--on fire everywhere; 5:41, hit,
hit--burning everywhere and sinking; 5:45, hit--men lying everywhere;
5:46, hit, hit."

Listing heavily to starboard, and with her engines stopped, Admiral
Sturdee had ordered the "Cease Fire" signal at about half-past five.
But, before it could be hoisted, the _Gneisenau_ began to shoot again,
though now only spasmodically and with a single gun.  She seems to have
fired, indeed, until her ammunition was exhausted, when, at ten minutes
to six, Admiral Sturdee ordered the "Cease Fire" again and, twelve
minutes later, she turned on her side.  "Then at last," wrote another
officer, "away first and second cutters, man sea-boat.  For the
_Gneisenau_ is heeling right over on her side in the water.  The
beggars are done for.  All our efforts will now be to save life, having
done our utmost for five hours to destroy it....  Three of our boats
are away picking up survivors.  The _Inflexible's_ boats are doing the
same, and so are the _Carnarvon's_.  The sea, which, so different from
its state at noonday, is now quite angry, is strewn with floating
wreckage supporting drowning men.  To add to the misery, a drizzling
rain is falling.  We cast overboard every rope's end we can, and try
our hands at casting to some wretch feebly struggling within a few
yards of {74} the ship's side.  Missed him!  Another shot.  He's
farther off now!  Ah!  The rope isn't long enough.  No good, try
someone else.  He's sunk now....  Many such do we see.  Now we lend a
hand hauling at a rope, pulling some poor devil out of the water.  As
they are hauled on deck they are taken below into the wardroom
ante-room, or the Admiral's spare cabin.  Here with knives we tear off
their dripping clothing.  Then with towels we try to start a little
warmth in their ice-cold bodies.  They are trembling, violently
trembling from the iciness of their immersion.  Some of them had stuck
it for thirty minutes in a temperature of 35 degrees Fahrenheit!"

"The _Invincible_ alone," reported Admiral Sturdee, "rescued 108 men,
fourteen of whom were found to be dead after being brought on board.
These men were buried at sea the following day with full military
honours."  Few will say that they were undeserved.

By now the battle had been distributed over many leagues of sea; the
units engaged were not only out of sight of each other, but even beyond
the sound of each other's guns; and it is time to return to Captain
Luce in his war-scarred _Glasgow_, who, with the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_,
was pursuing the three light cruisers.  More perhaps than to any others
of the officers and crews engaged did their part in this struggle mean
to those of the _Glasgow_.  The sole survivors of Coronel, they had
lived, as none of their comrades had done, for a bitter five weeks,
with the picture of it before them.  When all would fain have stayed
and fought to the last, they had been compelled, in the interests of
their service, to take the harder way.  {75} They had a peculiar debt
to discharge, and now, if they could but seize it, their hour had come
to repay it with interest.

It was at about twenty minutes past one when the three German cruisers
had broken away toward the southwest, the _Dresden_ leading with the
_Nürnberg_ and _Leipzig_ following her on each quarter.  The distance
then separating them from the _Glasgow_, _Kent_, and _Cornwall_, was
from nine to eleven miles; all were speedy, the _Dresden_ being the
fastest; and a long, stern chase therefore ensued.  Of the three
British cruisers, the _Glasgow_, in spite of her late experiences, was
still considerably the swiftest; and she soon drew away from them,
overhauling the _Leipzig_ and _Nürnberg_, until at three o'clock she
was within seven miles of the former.  Her idea was now, if possible,
so to outrange the _Leipzig_ as to turn and delay her until the arrival
of the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_, far slower vessels even than the
_Leipzig_, but carrying fourteen 6-inch guns to the _Glasgow's_ two.
At three o'clock, therefore, she opened fire with her 6-inch guns, and,
for more than an hour, engaged the _Leipzig_ until the arrival of the
_Cornwall_.  By that time she had already hit her many times over, but
had had to draw away on several occasions, owing to the accuracy of the
_Leipzig's_ gunners.  With time and speed and the range on his side,
Captain Luce, like his admiral, could afford to be deliberate; and yet
even so, with a little more luck, the _Leipzig_ might have damaged the
_Glasgow_ rather severely.  Two of her officers stationed in the
control-top had a very narrow escape from losing their lives, a shell
passing between them, {76} and carrying away the hand of a
signalman--three other men being wounded and one killed at about the
same time.  After an hour and a quarter, and having had an early tea,
the _Cornwall_ arrived on the scene, and was soon, as one of the
_Glasgow's_ seamen, admitted, "shooting very well."

We have last seen the _Cornwall_, not wholly to her liking, upon the
quarter of the even slower _Carnarvon_; but, a little after noon, to
her great satisfaction, she had received orders to go ahead.  When the
three light cruisers had broken to the south in their endeavour to
escape, she had turned after them, as we have said, with her sister
ship, the _Kent_, in the wake of the nimbler _Glasgow_.  Now, thanks to
the _Glasgow_ and the superhuman efforts of their two engine-room
staffs, both the _Kent_ and _Cornwall_ were at last in action, the
former being ordered in pursuit of the _Nürnberg_--where we may leave
her for a moment performing imperishable conjuring-tricks in the way of
stoking and engine-driving, while her luckier consorts, already at
close grips, were battering the _Leipzig_ to pieces.

At twenty minutes to five, a shot from the _Cornwall_, at a range of
between four and five miles, carried away her foremast; but, ten
minutes later, after delivering a broadside, and as she was being hit
herself, the _Cornwall_ drew away a little.  The _Leipzig_ had now lost
one of her funnels as well as being on fire aft, many of her guns being
already silenced; but at six o'clock she was still firing well enough
to hit the _Cornwall_ severely and once more to force the latter away a
little.  This was only for a moment, {77} however, the _Cornwall_
reopening with lyddite shell at a quarter past six, and now pressing
her attack home with tremendous force and accuracy to a range of less
than three miles.  In this the _Glasgow_ joined her--it being obviously
useless now to hunt for the _Dresden_ miles away in the mist--and, by
ten minutes to seven, the _Leipzig_ was on fire everywhere, though her
flag was still flying and her guns occasionally responding.  The two
British cruisers then stopped firing for a little, but dared not draw
near for fear of a torpedo-attack.  Blazing in every corner, with her
sides red hot, and with great gaps in her torn by the lyddite, it
seemed now that every moment must be the _Leipzig's_ last; but still
she floated and would not strike her colours.  Fire was again reopened,
therefore, although, as one of the _Cornwall's_ officers said, "We all
hated doing it," and, half an hour later, she sent up a couple of
rockets signifying that she surrendered and asking for help.

What her condition was then has been vividly described by Private
Whittaker of the Royal Marine Light Infantry.  "When we went right
close," he wrote to his mother, "she looked just like a
night-watchman's fire bucket, all holes and fire."  Searchlights were
now playing upon her through the rain and darkness, but, in view of
possible explosions, the boats could not approach too near; out of her
crew of over three hundred, less than a score were saved; and, at just
about nine o'clock, she rolled over to port, seemed to recover a
moment, and then slipped out of sight.

So perished the _Leipzig_, not less gallantly, but as condignly as the
_Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, news of {78} whose destruction had been
wirelessed to the _Cornwall_ and _Glasgow_.  Whatever might happen now,
victory was assured; the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ had been amply
avenged; and to the _Cornwall_ and _Glasgow_, buffeting home to Port
Stanley, few happier moments were likely to come.  Into the feelings of
Captain Luce it would be impertinent to pry; but a little may be
guessed, perhaps, from what follows.  "About half an hour ago," said
one of his crew, writing home on December 11th, "the Captain made a
speech, or rather tried to, but failed.  He first of all read out the
King's message to the Fleet, and then tried to say a few words himself;
'I have seen the _Glasgow's_ ship's company fight twice, and I thank
you for the way in which you fought.  I couldn't have a better ship's
company.'  Then he said, 'I can't say any more.'"

That is to leap forward, however, three days and to leave the _Kent_
still ploughing after the _Nürnberg_--out of sight of everybody now and
with the impossible task of making a doubtful 20-knot vessel catch one
five knots faster; and not only overtake her, but bring her to action,
with the weather changing and darkness not far off.  But to the
engine-room staff of the _Kent_ and to her stokers no less than to
Captain Allen--"Sink-her" Allen, they called him--the word impossible,
for to-night at least, might not be whispered with impunity.  There was
the _Nürnberg_ flushed from Coronel, and here was the _Kent_ with her
fourteen good guns; coal might be short and the engines in their second
childhood, but if those guns did not find the _Nürnberg_, it would not
be the fault of the engine-room.  First out of harbour in the {79}
early morning, a spirit of extreme cheerfulness seems to have reigned
in the _Kent_ from the beginning of the action.  Thus, at half-past
ten, we find her officers drinking the toast of _Deutschland unter
Alles_ in sloe-gin.  Soon afterward they lunched; and then--as many of
them as could be spared--established themselves on the top of the
forward gun-turret to watch the fun.

This was christened "the stalls" and seems to have been well patronized
till half-past one when they went to Action Stations again.  Falling
out at twenty minutes past two, watch was resumed from the bridge,
which then became known as "the upper circle."  At five minutes to four
tea was served in the gun-room, and, twenty minutes later, Action
Stations were taken up again.  At that time the _Leipzig_ and
_Nürnberg_ were well in view, with the _Dresden_ almost out of sight on
the horizon--the _Leipzig_ on the starboard bow, nearer at hand, and
being engaged by the _Glasgow_, and a moment afterward by the
_Cornwall_, and the _Nürnberg_ away to port and considerably more
distant.  Then came the order to pursue the latter, the _Leipzig_ being
given a salvo or two in passing; and it was then that there began the
race that was destined to become traditional in every engine-room of
the navy.  With no coal to spare, everything combustible was crammed
into her long-suffering furnaces.  Tables and chairs, officers'
furniture, wooden companion-ladders, even planks from the deck, were
knocked to pieces and thrust into the flames for the ultimate
destruction of the _Nürnberg_.

"The entire staff," afterward wrote one of her {80} engineer officers,
"was doing its best, and, my word it was a best.  We pushed her along,
more, more, more.  The revolutions of the engines at the first time of
starting were more than the revolutions the dockyard could get out of
her, and she was worked up gently bit by bit, easying down occasionally
when things looked as if they were not going quite right, or when they
threatened to do so.  An anxious moment was reached when we got on
every ounce of steam that the engines could take.  We were just then
going some sixteen revolutions a minute faster than the Admiralty full
power, and also the designed power of 22,000 horse-power, some 5,000
horse-power more than we ought to have done.  In times of peace we
should have been court-martialled for this, but we came out top....  We
were doing from 2-½ to 3 knots faster than the old _Kent_ had ever done
before.  We were doing over 25 knots 'full speed,' the highest ever
attained being 22 knots."

Fortunately for the _Kent_, too, the _Nürnberg_ had her own boiler
troubles, but they were of a different order, and she was unable to
make her usual speed; and, after about an hour, the _Kent_ was near
enough to open fire at a range of a little over six miles.  It was now
the gunners' opportunity, and though they were reservists, drawn, as
one of the officers put it, "from all sorts of weird places," they rose
to the occasion, like first-class experts, and found their target
almost at once.  Nor could Captain Allen afford himself the license
that had been the right policy for the other commanders.  It was now
past five; rain was falling; his supply of combustible bric-à-brac was
{81} strictly limited.  It was a case of now or never, and the _Kent_,
taking her punishment as it came, pushed the action for all she was
worth.

With her foretop shot away down to the crows' nest, and her silk ensign
cut to ribbons; with her wireless knocked out, so that she could no
longer send, though she was still able to receive, messages; with half
a dozen holes through her funnels and several more in her side--she
gained a quarter of a mile with every salvo until she was pounding the
_Nürnberg_ at less than three miles distance.  Struck in all thirty-six
times, and with five men killed and eleven wounded, the behaviour of
all on board was, in their captain's own words, "perfectly
magnificent"--a typical example being that of Sergeant Mayes, whose
courage and presence of mind probably saved the ship.

A bursting shell had started a fire among some cordite charges in the
casemate.  A tongue of flame had leaped down the hoist and into the
ammunition passage, endangering the magazine.  Without an instant's
pause, and although severely burned, Sergeant Mayes picked up a cordite
charge and threw it away, afterward flooding the compartment and
putting out a fire that had started in some neighbouring empty shell
bags.  No wonder that Captain Allen, writing afterward to the
Association of Men at _Kent_, should have said that "though the enemy
fought bravely to the very end, against such men as I have the honour
to command, they never could have had a chance."

By half-past six, the _Nürnberg_ was on fire forward, {82} all her guns
being apparently silenced, and the _Kent_ ceased shelling her, and drew
up within two miles.  Her flag was still flying, however, and the
_Kent_ opened fire again, but only for a few minutes longer, when the
_Nürnberg_ hauled her flag down and made signs of surrender.  She was
now blazing furiously, and listing heavily to starboard; and the _Kent_
began to take measures to save life.  Unfortunately all her boats had
been holed by the _Nürnberg's_ fire, and, before she could launch them,
they had to be repaired.  Two were quickly patched up, but the crews
were only successful in saving a dozen men, five of whom afterward died
on board from the effects of wounds and exposure.

To complete the victory of this single-ship action everyone on board
had contributed his utmost, but it seems probable that in history the
larger share of the credit will be given unstintingly to the engineers
and stokers.  It was certainly bestowed on them by their comrades in
the _Kent_.  "The captain," we are told, "nearly fell on the
engineer-commander's neck and kissed him when he 'blew up' after the
action to see him and to advise as to the best speed to go back to
harbour.  He nearly shouted at him for some time: 'My dear fellow, my
dear engineer-commander!  You won the action, you did it splendid!
Without your speed we should have lost everything.'"

Meanwhile, at Port Stanley, now in wireless communication with all the
rest of Admiral Sturdee's squadron, the silence of the _Kent_, owing to
her broken wireless, had begun to give rise to some alarm.  "_Kent,
Kent, Kent_" rang the invisible call, but there was no {83} reply, and
it was feared that she had been lost.  It was perhaps characteristic
that, in spite of this, she was the first of them all to reach port the
next day.  Of von Spee's squadron only the _Dresden_ remained, to be
run to earth three months later.  The _Bristol_ and _Macedonia_, after
capturing their crews, had sunk the _Santa Isabel_ and the _Baden_; and
the total British casualties in killed and wounded amounted to less
than thirty.



{84}

CHAPTER V

BACK TO THE NORTH SEA

  "Our trawlers mined the fairway.
  Our cruisers spread the bait,
  We shelled the Briton's seaside towns
  To lure him to his fate,
  We set the trap twice over.
  We left him with his dead--"
  "But now we'll play another game,"
  The British sailor said.


With the destruction of von Spee's squadron nothing of Germany's navy
was left at large in the outer seas save one or two cruisers and armed
merchantmen, whose days of freedom were already numbered.  Of these the
survivor of the Falkland Islands' Battle, the _Dresden_, was destroyed
in the following March at Juan Fernandez; the _Königsberg_, bottled up
in the Rufiji River in Africa, was finally disposed of a few months
later; while the _Kronprinz Wilhelm_, the _Prinz Eitel Friedrick_, and
the _Karlsrühe_ met with various fates during the same summer.  That in
spite of the enormous calls upon the navy in the way of convoying
transports they were joined by no others from their home waters is the
best tribute to the efficiency of our floating cordon in the North Sea.
And yet its very success in this respect was largely responsible,
perhaps, for a {85} somewhat distorted picture of the actual
position--that of a sulky and immobilized German Fleet confronted with
an impenetrable British barrier.

That would have been hardly true even of each side's surface ships; but
it was as far as possible from the complete reality.  For what had in
fact begun with the outbreak of war--what had never ceased day or
night--was a desperate and unceasing battle, none the less crucial
because it was so often silent.  Some hint of its real nature might
have been gathered from the laconic Admiralty announcement, a day or
two after war had been declared, that the German passenger steamer,
_Königin Luise_, had been sunk, while mine-laying, by one of our
destroyer patrols; and this vessel had been at work, fortunately with
very little result, upon a subtle and long-prepared scheme of action.
It is true that after she had been sunk, the cruiser _Amphion_--the
leader of the Harwich Patrol that sank her--herself went down on one of
the _Königin Luise's_ mines; but the larger end aimed at remained
unachieved.

This was no less than the mining in of Harwich, and was part of a
deliberate and extensive plan, not only to cripple the northward
progress of our larger squadrons to their war-stations, but to block
the entrances of as many as possible of our chief naval bases.  That
some such policy would be attempted had, of course, long been foreseen.
Germany's recalcitrant attitude at the Hague Conference toward the
question of mine-laying had pointedly suggested this; and it was known
that, prior to the outbreak of war, she had accumulated a store of at
least ten thousand {86} mines.  To counter such measures steps had
already been taken in the formation, a few years previously, of a
trawler section of the Royal Naval Reserve, whose business it would be
to keep the channels clear; while a group of old gun-boats had been
assembled for the same purpose to act in conjunction with the Grand
Fleet.

It had become instantly clear, however, that the original provision of
eighty-two trawlers would be insufficient; and, by the end of August,
this had been increased to 250--to be yet further and immensely added
to as the busy months went by.  Nothing in our naval record, indeed,
was more dramatic or so signal an evidence of the national sense of
admiralty than the gathering together of that vast auxiliary service of
fishermen, pilots, and amateur yachtsmen, and the enormous
responsibilities thrust into their hands to be so efficiently and
light-heartedly carried.  Time after time, by the resource of our
fishermen, of sea-loving undergraduates, of amateurs of all sorts, what
might have been disasters of the first magnitude were averted or
overcome.  Between the navy proper, with its thousands of other
problems, and these new and insidious dangers--the laying of minefields
by apparently innocent neutrals, the ever-present activities of enemy
submarines--the courage, the cunning, the native sea-instinct of these
otherwise untrained forces was the buffer.  The fishermen of Galilee
became fishers of men.  The fishermen of Britain became fishers of
mines.  And the debt of human freedom to the latter is not immeasurably
less, perhaps, than to their predecessors.

{87}

This was the true picture then of the North Sea--an area nearly three
times the size of Great Britain--a Grand Fleet holding the exits and
entrances against every possible sortie in force, but itself so
threatened by submarines and minefields that at one time its
war-stations were actually changed, and so nearly paralyzed that there
were not a few hours when considerable units of it were practically
embayed.  Thus, definite minefields were laid by the enemy at
Southwold, the mouth of the Tyne, and near Flamborough Head, and not
only there but off the north of Ireland, where it was hoped to destroy
or disorganize the Canadian transports.  Nor were our most vital
waters, such as those of the Firth of Forth, free from the repeated
visits of those early submarines; and it is primarily as trapping
expeditions, leading us into prepared minefields, and only secondarily
as baby-killing bombardments, that such raids as those on Lowestoft,
Gorleston, and Yarmouth must in reality be considered.

The first of these took place on November 3, 1914, the day following
the Admiralty proclamation in which it had been announced that from
November 5th the North Sea was to be considered a closed area.  This
had become necessary, as was then publicly indicated, owing to the
persistent and indiscriminate sowing of mines; because peaceful
merchant-ships had already been destroyed by these on the main
trade-route between Liverpool and America; because these mines had been
laid by vessels flying neutral flags; and because exceptional measures
had in consequence now become imperative.  For these reasons it was
{88} announced, therefore, that all vessels passing, from the fifth of
November onward, a line drawn from the northernmost point of the
Hebrides through the Faroe Islands to Iceland would do so at their own
peril.  Traders to and from Norway, the Baltic, Denmark, and Holland,
were advised to use the English Channel and the Straits of Dover, and
were then assured that they would receive full sailing directions, and,
as far as Great Britain could secure it, a safe passage.

Meanwhile, in every dockyard, work was being pushed forward upon all
sorts of naval construction, and each new problem, as it arose, was
being considered and vigorously dealt with.  To guarantee, however, in
all circumstances and at any given moment, the integrity of our whole
coast-line was plainly impossible, though every month saw its increase
of patrols and _personnel_; and, on December 16th, the enemy again
bombarded three of our seaside towns.

These were Hartlepool, Whitby, and Scarborough, casualties being
inflicted in every case.  It was a foggy winter morning when three
hostile cruisers were sighted off Hartlepool about 8 o'clock; and, a
quarter of an hour later, the bombardment began, lasting till ten
minutes to nine.  The enemy agents in this case seem to have been two
battle-cruisers and one armoured cruiser; and, though Hartlepool itself
was an open town, land batteries in the neighbourhood endeavoured to
reply.  Their fire was ineffective, however; several soldiers attached
to the Durham Light Infantry and Royal Engineers were killed and
wounded; the gasworks were set on fire; and the civilian casualties
amounted to nearly a hundred.  {89} Almost at the same time, a
battle-cruiser and armoured cruiser approached and shelled Scarborough,
firing about sixty shots, while two battle-cruisers attacked Whitby,
civilians in both towns being killed and wounded.

Owing to the objectives chosen, the conditions of the weather, the
brevity of their visit, and their power and speed, the enemy squadrons
made port intact again, though a patrol of destroyers very pluckily
attacked them.  In all nearly one hundred civilians were killed in
these three towns, about five hundred being wounded; the military
casualties amounted to thirty-four, and those on the three destroyers
to twenty-eight.  The German battle-cruisers, employed in this
expedition were identified as the _Derfflinger_, _Seydlitz_, _Moltke_,
_von der Tann_, and _Blücher_, the three latter, it was believed,
having been also engaged in the previous raid upon the Norfolk coast.

Though, as we have said, it was quite impossible to give an absolute
guarantee against such incidents as these, they were certainly not
soothing to the feelings of the Grand Fleet and least of all to those
of its cruiser squadrons.  In spite of the elaborate justifications
voiced in the German Press by such writers as Count Reventlow, they had
outraged every canon not only of international law but of decent
seaman-like feeling, and were an early indication of the horrible
license that German sea-policy was prepared to allow itself.  That had
not yet staggered the world, as the sinking of the _Lusitania_ was to
stagger it, or such incredible atrocities as that to be associated with
the _Belgian Prince_; but it had opened up a vista to {90} every
clean-hearted sailor sufficiently dark as to have changed the character
of the war.  It was now plain, for example, that such naval leaders as
Admiral von Spee and the captain of the _Emden_ were no longer to be
regarded as typical of the directing minds of Germany's navy.  How
completely they were in the end to be disregarded was not yet manifest;
but it was already clear that the old and peculiar amenities, the
traditional chivalry of sea-warfare, were but poorly respected, even if
they were understood, by this latest aspirant to sea-power.  It was
with a special satisfaction, therefore, that early on January 24, 1915,
a strong patrolling fleet, under Sir David Beatty, received news of a
powerful enemy squadron not far away to the south-south-east.

This consisted, as soon became clear, of the _Derfflinger_, _Seydlitz_,
_Moltke_, and _Blücher_, with six light cruisers and a strong force of
destroyers; and there was little doubt that they were once more en
route for a bombardment of some part of our coast.  With Admiral
Beatty, who was flying his flag on the _Lion_, were the _Princess
Royal_, the _Tiger_, the _New Zealand_, and _Indomitable_, all powerful
vessels, the three former each carrying eight 13.5-inch guns, while the
_New Zealand_ and _Indomitable_ carried the same number of 12-inch
guns.  In company with these, disposed on their port beam, were the
light cruisers _Southampton_, _Nottingham_, _Birmingham_, and
_Lowestoft_, and, scouting ahead--the two squadrons having met at
sea--were Commodore Tyrwhitt in the _Arethusa_, commanding three
flotillas of destroyers, and the two light cruisers _Aurora_ and
_Undaunted_.

{91}

It was Sunday morning; the day had broken clear at about a quarter to
seven, and it was a few minutes after this hour that the _Aurora_, then
travelling at twenty knots, sighted a two-masted, four-funnelled
cruiser accompanied by some destroyers.  Half concealed by her smoke,
in the uncertain light, and at about four miles distance, the _Aurora_,
for a few moments, had been unable to determine her nationality; and it
was for these reasons that the enemy cruiser--afterward known to be the
_Kolberg_--was the first to open fire.  No appreciable damage was
caused to the _Aurora_, however, who replied immediately and with such
good effect that, five minutes later, the _Kolberg_ changed course and
retired upon the stronger enemy forces that had now become visible.
The presence of these had at once been signalled to Admiral Beatty and
his cruisers, and the whole squadron at once worked up to its full
speed of 28-½ knots.  When first sighted, the enemy vessels had been
steering northwest, but they immediately changed their course to the
southeast, the distance separating the two squadrons being then about
fourteen miles, and their position, at half-past seven, being about
thirty miles from the English coast.

From the outset it had been evident that the enemy did not mean to
engage, and that, if he were to be brought to action, it would only be
after a chase; and, although as a squadron we had the advantage in
speed, our superiority was not very great.  Nor was Admiral Beatty's
problem in any other respect so simple as had been Sir Doveton
Sturdee's.  Not only had Admiral Beatty always to bear in mind {92}
that he might be being led into some recently laid minefield, but he
knew that with every hour he would be nearly forty miles nearer to the
heavily guarded waters on the other side.  Moreover, he had at all
times to be prepared for a torpedo-attack from the accompanying fleet
of enemy destroyers, while it was practically certain that, before the
action ended, he would find himself in the presence of hostile
submarines.  He was further at a disadvantage in that, though he was
stronger in gun power, he was forced to rely upon bow fire only, and
this while travelling at full speed.  That meant that, for the greater
part of the action, his leading battle-cruisers, the _Lion_, _Tiger_,
and _Princess Royal_ could only bring to bear four of their 13.5-inch
guns, while the _Seydlitz_ and _Moltke_, firing astern, could each use
eight of their 11-inch guns, the _Derfflinger_ four of her 12-inch
guns, and the _Blücher_ six of her 8.2's.  It became a matter of
margins, therefore--and not very extensive ones--both in speed and
range, and of the British capacity to use these in the limited time
before the German cruisers could reach their own waters.

Some idea of what this meant can best be gathered, perhaps, from the
fact that, though travelling at thirty knots, it was almost an hour and
a half--during which time more than fifty miles of sea had been
covered--before the fourteen miles that separated the two squadrons had
been reduced to ten.  This was just before nine o'clock, the enemy
being still on Admiral Beatty's port bow, his light cruisers ahead,
followed by the _Derfflinger_, _Moltke_, _Seydlitz_, and _Blücher_ in
single line, with a large number of {93} destroyers on their starboard
beam.  Leading in the _Lion_, Sir David Beatty was followed by the
_Tiger_, the _Princess Royal_, and the _New Zealand_, the latter and
the _Indomitable_--both slower vessels--having broken all records,
thanks to their engine-room staffs.

Already a shot or two had been fired from the _Lion's_ forward guns,
taking the _Blücher_ as her target, and, a few minutes after nine, she
made her first hit on this cruiser, carrying away her bridge, according
to the prisoners afterward taken.  At this range, with her 13.5's
tilted at an angle of some sixteen degrees and her big shells dropping
steeply, the fire of the _Lion_ seems, under the circumstances, to have
been remarkably accurate.  About ten minutes later, the _Tiger_ came
into range and took up the attack on the _Blücher_, the _Lion_
transferring her attentions to the _Seydlitz_, the next ahead.
Meanwhile the enemy had begun to respond but without inflicting any
damage, and, a quarter of an hour later, the _Princess Royal_ was able
to join in the chorus, also taking the _Blücher_ for her first target.

The _Blücher_, slower than her consorts, and already heavily damaged,
was now dropping astern and came under the guns of the _New Zealand_,
the _Princess Royal_ transferring her fire to the _Seydlitz_ with
immediate and visible results.  The enemy's destroyers were now
throwing up dense columns of smoke to screen his wounded
battle-cruisers; but, by a quarter to ten, not only the _Blücher_, but
the _Derfflinger_ and _Seydlitz_ were on fire.  Our own light cruisers
and destroyer flotillas had fallen back to port a little so as not to
obscure the range; and the position just {94} before ten exhibited the
_Lion_ confining her attentions to the _Derfflinger_, the _Tiger_
attacking the _Derfflinger_, and, when this was hidden from her by
smoke, the doomed and swiftly-flagging _Blücher_, the _Princess Royal_
shelling the _Seydlitz_, and the _New Zealand_ engaging the
_Blücher_--the _Indomitable_, in spite of her efforts, not having yet
drawn within effective range.

The condition of the _Blücher_, as was afterward learned from
prisoners, though it was to become worse, was already terrible enough.
Early in the action her electric plant had been destroyed, and her men
down below crept in darkness.  Still too far to be raked, her decks
were being excavated by half-ton shells dropping from the sky.  In the
narrow spaces below, apart from the shattering shell fragments, the
enormous air-displacement wrought destruction and death.  Iron plates
were moulded by it as if they had been wax, and men tossed like apples
and crushed to pulp against them.  Later, as the range narrowed, the
_Blücher_ became more helpless, and, as she came under the full force
of the British broadside fire, she staggered at each salvo, scarcely
recovering before another hurled her again on her side.

But the main battle had now swept on; and the fact that the _Blücher_
was left to her fate is the best indication, perhaps, of the injuries
already sustained by her speedier and stronger consorts.  It was not
until a quarter to eleven, however, that the _Blücher_, then far
astern, definitely turned north out of the line; and, before this had
happened, the German light cruisers and destroyers had closed in from
the starboard and were threatening a torpedo attack.  The {95} British
light forces were accordingly ordered up to prevent this, the _Lion_
and _Tiger_ also opening upon the enemy destroyers.  The attack never
materialized, however; was possibly only a feint; and would in any case
have been checkmated by the admirable handling of the _M_ division of
destroyers under Captain the Hon H. Meade, and particularly, perhaps,
of the destroyer _Meteor_ under Lieutenant Frederick Peters.

This destroyer, with the _Lion_ and _Tiger_, was the only British
vessel to suffer material damage; and her position at one time, in the
full field of bombardment, was one that her crew are never likely to
forget.  This was soon after eleven, when the _Lion_, who had drawn
more than her namesake's share of the German fire, had been struck by a
chance shot that reduced her speed to ten knots an hour.  The rest of
the destroyers and light cruisers had by this time dropped astern
again, the majority on the starboard or disengaged side, while others,
on the port side, had turned northward after the _Blücher_.  After the
_Lion_ had been hit, however, the _Meteor_ was ordered up to cover her,
thereby steaming under the salvos from both sides; and it is possible
to glean an idea or two of what this meant from the account of it
afterward written by one of her officers.

"We were absolutely in the line of fire," he said, "shells whistling
over and all around us, and now and again an enemy's broadside aimed
directly at us.  Try and imagine a frail destroyer steaming thirty
knots, with four battle-cruisers on either side belching forth flame
and smoke continually, the screech of the {96} projectiles flying
overhead seeming to tear the very air into ribbons, 12-inch shells
dropping perilously near, and raising columns of water a hundred feet
into the air, a few yards away, the spray washing our decks and
drenching all hands.  Picture the awful crashing noise, the explosions
and flashes, as shots took effect, the massive tongues of fire shooting
up, and the dense clouds of yellow and black smoke which obliterated
the whole ship from view as the shells burst on striking.  And this, if
you can imagine it, will give you some idea of the _Meteor's_ position
in a glorious action.  Its terrible imposing grandeur made one forget
personal danger.  Of course, something had to happen.  It was simply
inevitable.  About eleven o'clock, the _Lion_ drew out of the line
temporarily, the _Princess Royal_ taking the lead, and it was not till
then that the _Indomitable_ opened fire and took her part in the
engagement.  We had already been hit a couple of times, but without
doing any material damage, and half of us missed death by inches; but
it seemed as if we possessed a charmed life; it is truly miraculous,
nothing less, that we continued so long without being disabled; but
Providence must have been with us that day.  Just about this time, the
_Blücher_ was in a terrible state; one funnel gone, the other two like
scrap-iron and tottering, both fore and main topmasts shot away, fore
turret carried clean over the side, and only part of her mainmast and
fore tripod mast left standing, and even these in a very shaky
condition.  So she fell out of the line--a raging furnace amidships,
helpless, unable to steam; and her sister ships left her to her {97}
fate.  The battering she had undergone was something incredible, and
she was in her death agony now, so we began to close her, and found she
was settling down, though still on an even keel.  Now was our chance.
We approached her, circling around, but even then she was not dead,
for, at precisely 12.5 p.m., with the very last round she ever fired,
she sent an 8.2-inch shell into us, which killed four men and wounded
another.  But what a sweet revenge was to come!  Two minutes later, we
discharged our torpedo.  It hit her nearly amidships.  There was a
tremendously violent shock.  She heeled completely over and sank in
eight and a half minutes, hundreds of men clambering over her sides and
standing there, just as if it were the upper deck, waiting for the
final plunge."

Not to be outdone, and consistent with her reputation, the _Arethusa_
was also in at the death, and had in her turn loosed a couple of
torpedoes at the _Blücher_ with terrific effect--one striking her aft
and one forward, reaching her magazine and causing a violent explosion.
It was the _Arethusa_, too, who subsequently embarked and brought home
to port the majority of the _Blücher's_ survivors, the rescuers and
rescued being alike bombed from the air by a German aeroplane that had
appeared on the scene.

Meanwhile the _Lion_, having pulled out of the line, not vitally
injured, but unfit for further action, the _Tiger_, _Princess Royal_,
and _New Zealand_ had continued the chase of the flying enemy, the
_Indomitable_ having been detailed to attend to the _Blücher_.  Round
the wounded _Lion_, to protect her from submarine {98}
attack--submarines had already been sighted a few minutes before--had
closed one of our light cruisers and six destroyers, and, at half-past
eleven, Admiral Beatty called the destroyer _Attack_ alongside, boarded
her, and raced at full speed after his other three battle-cruisers.

So fast was the pace at which the action was being fought that not only
were these out of sight, but the _Blücher_, now in her death throes,
was also below the horizon.  With her guns tilted, as she listed there
to port, and the "Engage the enemy more closely" signal still flying
from her mast, the _Lion_ had been suddenly wiped off the slate, as it
were, with what chagrin to those on board can be readily imagined.  But
for that unlucky shot, the Battle of the Dogger Bank might have been as
complete a victory of its kind as that of the Falkland Islands, and it
was only by a hair's breadth that the other three German
battle-cruisers, lame and heavily damaged, contrived to reach harbour.

Headlong as he was travelling, it was not till noon that Sir David
Beatty met his returning cruisers, and, twenty minutes later, having
shifted his flag from the _Attack_ to the _Princess Royal_, he heard
from Captain Osmond de B. Brock of what had subsequently happened; that
the _Blücher_ had been sunk near Borkum Reef, a Zeppelin and aeroplane
bombing the vessels rescuing survivors; and that the other cruisers had
made their escape in an eastward direction.  It was owing to the
increasing danger from mines thrown out of the fleeing vessels, and the
growing proximity of the German minefields, that the {99} action had in
the end been broken off; and whether it should, under those
circumstances, have been pressed further must remain an open question.
That quite apart, however, from its material advantages in the sinking
of the _Blücher_ and the disabling of her consorts, the victory of the
Dogger Bank had important moral results there is not a shadow of doubt.
It had once more re-affirmed the value of the battle-cruiser for which
the navy was chiefly indebted to Lord Fisher, and it proved to be the
grave of the big-scale raids upon our open east coast towns.  More than
all that, however, it was a triumphant example of an instantly seized
opportunity; it demonstrated to the enemy that, in spite of his mines
and submarines, we maintained our full tactical liberty; and it was
further evidence that in Admiral Beatty we had found a naval leader of
the highest class.

Those were the recognitions behind the "Well done, David" of the
_Princess Royal's_ coal-blackened stokers as the Admiral climbed in
mid-sea from the little _Attack_ into the famous cruiser; and they
spoke again, on the following Tuesday morning, when the _Lion_ limped
up the Firth to her anchorage.  Three miles away, in the Fifeshire
valleys, ploughman and farmboy heard those welcoming syrens.



{100}

CHAPTER VI

THE SEAMEN AT GALLIPOLI


At the outbreak of war, Germany was represented in the Mediterranean by
two vessels, the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, more likely, perhaps, to
become historical than any two that she will ever build.  Both were
modern vessels, the _Goeben_, a first-class battle-cruiser, carrying
ten 11-inch guns and capable of 28 knots, and the _Breslau_, a light
cruiser of about the same speed and with twelve 4.1-inch guns.  Outside
the Adriatic, these were the only hostile men-of-war with which the
Allies in the Mediterranean had to reckon; and, though full allowance
must be made for the responsibilities entailed in preventing a sortie
of the Austrian Navy, in convoying troops from Algeria to France, and
in avoiding the least infringement of neutral waters, the escape of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ must still be regarded as a disaster to our arms.

On August 4th, before the declaration of war between Germany and Great
Britain, but after France and Germany had already begun hostilities,
the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ had shelled Phillippeville and Bona, two
Algerian ports belonging to France, and had returned to Messina in
Sicily on August 5th.  Here they obtained coal from vessels in the
harbour, {101} the Italian authorities refusing, under the laws of
neutrality, to allow them facilities for coaling ashore, and, by the
same rule, they had to leave territorial waters within twenty-four
hours.  Their movements and whereabouts had, of course, been known
throughout to Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne in command of the British
Mediterranean Fleet; and now, being free to attack them, he was
awaiting their departure, together with a subsidiary squadron under
Rear-Admiral E. C. T. Troubridge.  The German admiral and his officers
had no illusions as to the destiny that awaited them when they put to
sea; made their wills; and steamed out of harbour on the evening of
August 6th.  Their design, it was believed, was to rush the Straits of
Otranto and join up with the Austrian Fleet in the Adriatic.  The
paramount importance of not affording Italy the least pretext of
complaint seems to have weighed heavily on the British admirals.  The
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_, heading apparently for the Straits, suddenly
changed course for the southeast; and, though the light cruiser
_Gloucester_, which had kept in touch with them, immediately notified
this and went gallantly in pursuit, the superior power and speed of the
two German cruisers enabled them to fight her off and make good their
escape.

They passed through the Dardanelles on August 10th, and, three days
later, were said to have been bought by the Turkish Government, by
whose officers and crews they were in future to be manned.  Sir
Berkeley Milne was recalled for an inquiry, the senior French officer,
Admiral Boué de Lapeyrère, taking his place as Commander of the
combined British and {102} French forces, on August 30th; and, on
September 20th, Rear-Admiral Troubridge also returned home.  At his own
request, he was court-martialled on November 5th, Admirals Sir Hedworth
Meux and Sir George Callaghan conducting the inquiry, and, on November
12th, it was announced that he had been acquitted of all blame.  Sir
Berkeley Milne was also exonerated as the result of an Admiralty
investigation.

So ended an episode in which, from the strictly naval standpoint, and
though our leaders in the Mediterranean were held free from blame, it
must be admitted that the honours rested with the German admiral and
the perspicacity of his advisers in Berlin.  Whether or no the arrival
at Constantinople of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ was the determining
factor in the Turkish Government's policy; how, if they had been sunk
by us, that Government might have acted; and the effect on the
situation that they had created of a prompter and more drastic action
on our own part--these matters can never probably be accurately
determined.  On the other hand, it is clear that, both in material and
moral effect, their presence was an enormous asset to German diplomacy;
and that, indirectly at any rate, our campaign in Gallipoli, with all
its consequences, derived from them.  On September 27th, Turkey closed
the Dardanelles; on October 31st, she declared war; and, three days
later, on instructions from the Admiralty, but without reference to the
War Council, certain units of the Mediterranean Fleet shelled the outer
forts of the Dardanelles.  In the light of after events, this was {103}
undoubtedly an error, but it was undertaken at the time with the
purpose of ascertaining the effective range of the protecting Turkish
guns.

Now to obtain a fair picture of the operations at Gallipoli that were
afterward undertaken--operations in the first place wholly naval, but
finally predominantly military--it is necessary to return for a moment
to London and to study the general background against which they must
be viewed.  Here, after all, were the two or three brains upon which,
as a whole, our strategy depended; and it is interesting to note how
the mechanism through which they acted had become moulded and modified
by the stress of war.  For it must be remembered that, after those
admirable dispositions, long considered and provided for by the
Committee of Imperial Defence, had been undertaken--after not only the
navy and army, but every affected department had gone, as it were, to
its war-stations--an era followed that is best to be described as the
era of improvisation.

No such war had been fought upon the earth's surface, and each
succeeding day opened a new prospect.  With every branch of both
services discovering strange and imperative needs; with no section of
our national life that was failing to experience some fresh
dislocation--it was little wonder that, in the various higher
executives, changes and experiments in change should have been found
necessary.  Many, perhaps most of these, were proved to be inadequate,
and replaced by others as the war went on.  Others were doomed from the
first and should never have been embarked upon.  It had been so
arranged, for {104} example, at the War Office, that most of the
General Staff officers should take commands in the field; and, when
Lord Kitchener became Secretary for War, the General Staff practically
ceased to exist.

Accustomed to self-reliance, to centralization even in the minutest
details, Lord Kitchener assumed powers so various and important, as it
was impossible for any one man to wield; and, to some extent, though
not to such an extreme, a similar process had set in at the Admiralty.
Instead of the Board of Admiralty, consisting of the First Lord, the
four Sea Lords, the two Civil Lords, the Parliamentary and Permanent
Secretaries, there had come into being a War Staff Group, including the
First Lord and the First Sea Lordd (but none of the other Sea Lords),
the Chief of Staff, the Permanent Secretary, a Naval Secretary, and Sir
Arthur Wilson--the latter, "Tug" Wilson, as he was called, although
retired, being regarded as one of our greatest naval strategists.  That
was the composition in November, 1914, of the real directorate of the
navy, Lord Fisher, who succeeded Prince Louis of Battenburg, on October
30th, being First Sea Lord.

As in the War Office and Admiralty, a similar kind of change had become
observable in the Cabinet.  Theoretically the direction of the war
rested, of course, in the hands of this body, assisted in their
deliberations by the Committee of Imperial Defense.  Practically both
the Cabinet and the Committee of Imperial Defense fell more and more
into abeyance, the conduct of the war passing into the hands of a new
and smaller body, known as the War Council.  {105} This consisted of
the Prime Minister, then Mr. Asquith, the Chancellor of the Exchequer,
Mr. Lloyd George, the Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, the Secretary
of State for India, the Marquis of Crewe, the Secretary for War, Lord
Kitchener, and the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill.
Of these, however, the main responsibility rested upon Mr. Asquith, Mr.
Churchill, and Lord Kitchener.  This was in practice the triumvirate
then conducting the war, as far as the British Empire was concerned,
and each of the three was a man of strong and outstanding personality.
In Mr. Asquith the country was being served by a statesman of very
typical English qualities, imperturbable, perhaps a little slow-moving,
magnanimous, shrewd, and of great intellectual capacity.  In Mr.
Churchill the Admiralty had at its head a man of brilliant and
impulsive mentality, complete physical and moral fearlessness, and a
somewhat headstrong initiative.  In Lord Kitchener there had come to
the War Office the foremost soldier of the Empire, the man who had been
recalled by an irresistible popular appeal from the governorship of
Egypt, in whose name the new armies, voluntarily recruited from every
social rank, had outrun equipment, ammunition, even places to be lodged
in--a man who already, in his sixty-fourth year, had become an almost
legendary figure, the liberator of the Sudan, Roberts' successor in
South Africa, the administrator of India and Egypt, omnivorous of work,
relentless, silent, and the public's beau-ideal of personal efficiency.

But, while of these three, it was little wonder that, {106} politics
apart, Lord Kitchener predominated, another figure, scarcely less
powerful, and hardly second as a national idol, stood, as it were, at
the elbow of this inner triumvirate in the person of Lord Fisher.  The
maker of the modern navy, and, in an even more vital sphere, as
authoritative an influence as Lord Kitchener, at the age of seventy he
had returned to the Admiralty with an almost equal popular approval.
He had not, however, as had Lord Kitchener, an actual place in the War
Council; and he was not, of course, present at many of its meetings.

This was the position at home, then, when, at a gathering of the War
Council, held on November 25th, it was suggested by Mr. Churchill that
the best way to defend Egypt was to attack some part of Turkey's
Asiatic coast, and that an occupation of the Gallipoli Peninsula would
give us the control of the Dardanelles and put Constantinople at our
mercy--the idea in Mr. Churchill's mind being evidently that of a
combined naval and military movement on a big scale.  That some such
attack on the Turkish lines of communication might eventually become
desirable Lord Kitchener agreed.  He did not consider, however, that
the time had arrived for it; and when, a few days later, Mr. Churchill
suggested to the War Office the advisability of collecting enough
transport for 40,000 men--such transport to be assembled in Egypt--Lord
Kitchener again replied that he did not think this was yet necessary,
and that he would give the Admiralty full notice.  The precaution was
taken, however, in spite of this, to send horse-boats to Egypt whenever
convenient, in view of the possible {107} occasion of some such
expedition as had already now become adumbrated.

Meanwhile the navy was playing its part in various operations already
necessitated by the war with Turkey.  Thus, on November 2nd, the
_Minerva_, a sixteen-year-old protected cruiser, had shelled the forts
and barracks of Akaba in the Red Sea; and, on November 8th, the town of
Fao, at the head of the Persian Gulf, had been bombarded to cover the
landing of troops from India, whence they captured Basra on November
21st.  Simultaneously, of course, between Russia and Turkey, the
struggle for the mastery of the Black Sea had been progressing.  On
November 10th, the Russians had sunk four Turkish transports; and, on
November 18th, the _Goeben_, had been materially damaged in an
engagement off Sebastopol.  Two days later, the Turkish _Hamidieh_ had
bombarded Tuapse.  On December 10th, the _Goeben_ having been repaired,
with the _Berk-i-Satvet_, shelled Batum; and, on December 12th, the
_Hamidieh_ was damaged by a mine in the Bosphorus.  The first notable
Turkish loss, however, was in the torpedoing of the battleship
_Messudiyeh_ in the Dardanelles, on December 13th, by the British
submarine _B11_, under circumstances that will be referred to later.
On December 17th, the Russian cruiser _Askold_ sank a couple of Turkish
steamers off Beyrout, and, on December 26th, the _Goeben_ was again
damaged, this time, like the _Hamidieh_, by a mine in the Bosphorus.
Later, having been once more repaired, she was again to figure in
desultory raiding actions on Black Sea ports; but, by the end of the
year, it may be said that {108} the Russian Navy was practically in
unchallenged command of the Black Sea.

Russia's position in the land campaign against Turkey was not, however,
quite so satisfactory, and it was on January 2nd that there was
received in London a telegram from Sir George Buchanan, our ambassador
in Petrograd, destined to have a profound effect upon our Near East
policy.  In this it was stated that the Russian armies were being
rather severely pressed in the Caucasus, and that the Russian
Government hoped it might be found possible for a demonstration to be
made against Turkey elsewhere.  On this same day, Lord Kitchener wrote
to Mr. Churchill that he did not think we could do anything that would
seriously help the Russians in the Caucasus; that we had no troops to
land anywhere; that the only place where a demonstration might check
the sending eastward of Turkey's reinforcements was the Dardanelles;
but that we should not be ready for anything big for some months.  A
telegram was, however, sent to Russia the next day that some
demonstration would be made, although it was unlikely, it was feared,
that it would have any great effect in withdrawing enemy troops from
the Caucasus.  To an ally in a strait that was the only reply possible.
But to the British Government it meant this--that by January 3d it had
definitely pledged itself to make a demonstration against the Turks,
and that the Dardanelles had again been mentioned as a possible arena
of attack.

Let us consider for a moment, from the geographical standpoint, the
sort of problem that was {109} presented.  A little under fifty miles
in length, the channel of the Dardanelles--the Hellespont of the
ancients--united the Sea of Marmora on the east with the Ægean Sea and
Mediterranean on the west.  Its general course was from northeast to
southwest, but, at the point known as the Narrows, about fourteen miles
from the Ægean entrance, there was a kink in it, lying north and south,
a little over four miles long.  In no part of its course between the
Ægean Sea and the town of Gallipoli, where it began to broaden, was it
more than 7,000 yards wide, and at the Narrows it was little more than
three-quarters of a mile across.  Its depth in mid-channel varied from
25 to 55 fathoms, and down it set a current from the Sea of Marmora of
an average speed of 1-½ knots, frequently increasing, and especially in
the Narrows, after a northerly wind, to as much as 5 knots.  In
addition to this, cross-currents were continually met with, owing to
the shallow bays on each side of the channel.

The boundaries of this channel were, on the north side, the Peninsula
of Gallipoli which separated it from the Gulf of Saros, and, on the
southern, the coast of Asia Minor, upon the westernmost portion of
which had stood the old town of Troy.  The Peninsula of Gallipoli was a
narrow tongue of land, not more than three miles wide where it sprouted
from the mainland, swelling to twelve just above the Narrows, but only
five miles across at the Narrows themselves.  It was almost wholly arid
or brush-covered, with a central and irregular spine of hills, rising,
in the plateau of Kilid Bahr and the heights {110} of Krithia and Achi
Baba, to 970, 700, and 600 feet respectively, and, except for a few
small beaches and descending stream-beds, facing both north and south
in low, precipitous cliffs.

The southern or Asiatic shores of the Dardanelles were somewhat lower
and more broken, the hills inland rising to 3,000 feet, many of them
being plentifully wooded.  Of these the most famous was Kag Dagh, the
Mount Ida of the Gods, whence, in the Homeric poems, they had looked
down upon the twenty years' siege of Troy.  Every yard of these shores,
indeed, as of the waters between them, was instinct with real or
legendary history.  Across the Dardanelles, Leander had swum to Hero.
Over the Narrows, Xerxes had built his bridge of boats.  By the same
road, a hundred and fifty years later, Alexander of Macedon had marched
to the conquest of Asia; and it had been across the Narrows, in the
middle of the fourteenth century, that the Turks from Asia had swarmed
into Europe.  Constantinople and all but a few miles around it had soon
been encircled by their advance, and had been finally occupied by
Sultan Mohamed II about a hundred years afterward.

That had been in 1453, and, nine years later, recognizing the vital
importance of the Dardanelles, Mohamed II had built the first two forts
of the many that were afterward designed to protect them.  These were
the Old Castles, the Castles of Europe and Asia, on either side of the
Narrows; and it had not been till two hundred years later that the two
New Castles had been built lower down, at the Ægean {111} entrance.
From that time onward, till 1864, the fortifications of the Dardanelles
may be said to have remained mediæval; but, upon the advice of Great
Britain, then Turkey's protector, new works had been undertaken, and,
after the Peace of San Stefano in 1878, there had been a further
strengthening of both coasts, the later fortifications having been
German and the artillery provided by Krupps.

Since that date, the Dardanelles had never been forced against armed
resistance, and only once before, in modern times, when the British
admiral Duckworth in 1807 had made a plucky but not very long-lived
demonstration before Constantinople--having had to retire, not without
damage, owing to the precarious nature of his communications.

Such was the geographical aspect of the problem that the Admiralty was
called upon to consider; and the fortifications protecting the Straits
were arranged somewhat as follows.  Commanding the entrance, on the
European side, were forts at Cape Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr with two
others on the Asiatic side, Fort Orkanieh and Kum Kale.  These
contained, between them, ten 10.2-inch guns, four 9.2-inch, and two
6-inch guns.  A few miles higher up, about four below the Narrows, and
just south of Point Kephez on the Asiatic coast, was Fort Dardanos,
mounting five 6-inch guns in rectangular turrets, at a height of about
350 feet.  Opposite this, on the European side, was Fort Soghandere.
The mouth of the Narrows themselves was very strongly guarded both at
Chanak in Asia and Kilid Bahr on the Peninsula; and a fleet approaching
the Narrows {112} would find itself confronted--apart from an unknown
number of field-guns and howitzers--with ten 14-inch, eighteen
10.2-inch, eight 9.2-inch, and thirty-seven 6-inch guns, as well as
twenty-one 8.3-inch howitzers.  When it is remembered that, in
addition, there were the channel minefields and land torpedo-stations
to be reckoned with, and an area of manoeuvre less than four miles at
the widest, it will be seen that the prospect, on paper at any rate,
was a sufficiently formidable one from every standpoint.  Could it
reasonably be faced by the navy alone?  Was an accompanying army
absolutely essential?  And, if so, of what numbers must the latter
consist to ensure success?

These were the questions that now inevitably arose; and if, from a
technical standpoint, the first could be answered satisfactorily, there
would be many obvious advantages in the purely naval attack.  If the
navy, that was to say, could force itself unaided into the Sea of
Marmora and shell Constantinople, troops that would be very valuable
elsewhere need not be diverted to a new theatre of war; a great deal of
tonnage would be saved at a time when the pressure on our mercantile
marine was everywhere immense, while, if it were unsuccessful, such an
attack could be abandoned, it was thought, without much damage to our
prestige.

It was quite clear, of course, that, unless the Straits could be
secured behind it, the Fleet would not remain there for very long.
But, from evidence at the Government's disposal, it was believed that
its arrival would have immediate and far-reaching results--that a
revolution in Constantinople against {113} the pro-German Young Turk
Party would almost certainly ensue; and that Bulgaria, then neutral and
undecided, might definitely ally herself with the Entente Powers.
Further, the opening of the Dardanelles would at once facilitate the
admission into Russia of much-needed munitions, and would release, for
the benefit of the world at large, considerable supplies of cereals.

Moreover, there was another factor that forbade the question being
summarily dismissed as technically impossible.  For, while it was true
that hitherto the bulk of naval opinion had been adverse to the use of
ships in a duel with forts, and while the results of purely naval
action against such defenses as those, for example, as Port Arthur, had
not been encouraging, it was realized that in the present war--as
regarded the land, at any rate--the value of fortresses had fallen very
considerably.  Hammered by modern artillery, the world had seen such
strongholds as those of Liège, Namur, and Antwerp, crumbling to pieces
in a few hours, and theories were once more in the melting-pot.  Since
the outbreak of war, too, there had been added to the navy, in the
15-inch guns of the _Queen Elizabeth_, the most powerful marine
artillery that the world had yet seen.  Could the navy then tackle the
problem alone?

With all this in his mind, on January 3d, the day that we had pledged
ourselves to do our best, Mr. Churchill telegraphed to Vice-Admiral
Carden, then our senior officer in the Mediterranean, asking him if he
thought it practicable to force the Dardanelles by the use of ships
alone, assuming that only our {114} older battleships would be
employed, with a suitable escort of mine-sweepers and bumpers, and
suggesting that the importance of a successful result would justify
severe loss.  Two days later, Vice-Admiral Carden replied that he did
not think the Dardanelles could be rushed, but that they might be
forced by extended operations with a large number of ships.  On January
6th, Mr. Churchill invited Admiral Carden to forward detailed
particulars as to the force required, the manner of its employment, and
the results to be expected from it.  Five days afterward, Admiral
Carden replied that five operations were possible, namely, the
destruction of the defenses at the entrance to the Dardanelles; action
inside the Straits so as to clear the defenses up to and including
Point Kephez Battery; the destruction of the defenses of the Narrows;
the sweeping of a clear channel through the minefields and advance
through the Narrows, followed by a reduction of the forts farther up,
and an entrance into the Sea of Marmora.  What Admiral Carden
suggested, in fact, was a methodical invasion with a systematic
demolition of the fortifications--an operation estimated to require at
least a month for its performance.

This was Admiral Carden's plan, and it was of course discussed by the
Admiralty War Group, though never officially by the Board of Admiralty;
and it is interesting to discover the general attitude of its naval
members toward the scheme.  Of these by far the most influential was
Lord Fisher, who seems from the first instinctively to have distrusted
it, to have been occupied with preparing for other {115} operations
elsewhere, and to have left it, so long as it seemed to him likely to
remain subsidiary and additional to these, in the admittedly capable
hands of Admiral Sir Henry Jackson--not a regular member of the War
Group, but frequently consulted--and the then Chief of the Staff,
Admiral Henry Oliver.  Sir Arthur Wilson seems on the whole to have
taken up much the same attitude as that of Lord Fisher.  Admiral Oliver
believed in its possibilities, though these would largely depend, of
course, upon factors, whose importance could only be determined by
experiment.  At the same time, he would apparently have preferred to
wait until the army could coöperate on a big scale.  Commodore
Bartolomé, while agreeing in the preferability of a combined naval and
military operation, believed that, at a push, in a purely naval attack,
about half the forces could get through, though what they would do then
was a matter upon which he felt himself in the dark.  None of these
sailors believed, since it could always be broken off, that the
proposed naval attack could lead to disaster.  All assumed the
necessity, as seen by the War Council, from a political point of view,
of immediate action; and all assumed it to be the case, on the
authority of Lord Kitchener, that no troops were at the moment
available.

Thus we come to the 13th of January, the very critical date when, at a
meeting of the War Council, Mr. Churchill, with additional details,
submitted Admiral Carden's plans.  The outer forts having been
destroyed, as could be done, it was believed, without the bombarding
ships coming into range of their guns, {116} the inner would be
attacked both from the Straits and by indirect fire across the
Gallipoli Peninsula.  Three modern vessels and about a dozen old
battleships would, it was thought, suffice for the operation; and these
could be spared without sensibly depleting our naval strength
elsewhere.  Further, the _Queen Elizabeth_, now ready for her trials
and about to carry these out at Gibraltar, could instead fledge her
virgin guns upon the forts of the Dardanelles.

Such was the proposition laid before the War Council, and it was quite
clear, of course, to every member of it that, with a minimum of effort,
it opened a vista of very dazzling political possibilities.  It was
also obvious that Mr. Churchill himself believed whole-heartedly that
the attempt should be made.  What was the attitude of his colleagues on
this most important occasion?  Now, while in the end it was Mr. Asquith
who would have to be responsible for any decision, it was undoubtedly
Lord Kitchener, in such a matter as this, whose opinion would carry the
greatest weight; but Lord Fisher and Sir Arthur Wilson were also
present, though not as executive members.  Lord Kitchener, after
consideration, pronounced himself in favour of the plan, pointing out
that, if it were to prove unsuccessful, the attack could be
discontinued.  Lord Fisher and Sir Arthur Wilson remained silent, and
their silence was accepted as giving technical consent.  Nor would it
have been true to have interpreted it otherwise, although the minds of
both of them were occupied with other plans.  It was therefore decided
to instruct the Admiralty to prepare for a naval {117} expedition in
February to bombard and take the Gallipoli Peninsula with
Constantinople as its objective--a decision that was unhappily
variously understood by the different members of the Council, the
majority being under the impression that all they had done was to
sanction the tentative preliminaries of a promising line of action.

Mr. Churchill, however, thought otherwise, and, with his characteristic
energy and enterprise, now threw himself vigorously into a scheme that
more and more fully absorbed his imagination.  He put himself into
touch with the French Minister of Marine, who visited London and
approved of the plans, and, with the consent of his Government,
promised the coöperation of French naval forces in the Mediterranean.
The precise sphere in which each navy was to act was determined with
great care, and it was understood that Admiral Carden was to be in
command of both forces.

Meanwhile, however, from a condition of not very enthusiastic consent,
Lord Fisher was slowly adopting an attitude of more or less active
disapproval.  Already he foresaw that the proposed adventure would
almost inevitably assume dimensions that would seriously endanger the
larger scheme, upon which he and Admiral Wilson were hard at work.  He
accordingly wrote direct to Mr. Asquith on January 28th, submitting a
memorandum that did not actually condemn the suggested bombardment on
its own merits, but made it clear to the Premier that Lord Fisher was
not in such accord with it as he had assumed.

{118}

Hearing of this letter, Mr. Churchill also wrote to Mr. Asquith, and,
as a result of this, on January 28th, before the next meeting of the
War Council, Mr. Asquith invited both of them to his private room for
half an hour.  The drama of Gallipoli, with its throne-shaking prize
time after time on the brink of capture, with its pitiless slaughters,
its amazing achievements, its epic presentment of human courage--the
drama of Gallipoli was still in the future; but, in that half-hour, the
stage was committed to it; and there can have been few discussions,
during the course of the war, more pregnant with the issues of life and
death.

It would be tempting to linger for a moment over the historic picture
of the three men in that little room--the old Admiral, pivot of so many
controversies, but admittedly the greatest living seaman; the young
statesman, who had already in his crowded life played so many parts,
soldier, journalist, Cabinet Minister, and who had now been a brilliant
First Lord for more than three years; and the silver-haired,
ruddy-cheeked Yorkshireman, to whom this was but one of a thousand
issues, for which, as for his country's entrance into the war, he must
take the ultimate responsibility.  In that half-hour, his was chiefly
to listen while the two unfolded their separate schemes.  Upon the
attitude of his mind toward them at the subsequent War Council, its
final decision would mainly depend.  He entered it, inclining of the
two toward Mr. Churchill's, on the ground of its general political
advantages; and indeed the preparations for carrying out the latter
were already far advanced.

{119}

This became clear when, at the Council Table, Mr. Churchill explained
what had been done.  The Grand Duke Nicholas, then Commander-in-Chief
of the Russian Armies, had welcomed the idea with enthusiasm; the
French Admiralty had promised coöperation; the admiral on the spot
believed that it would succeed; the attack could be stopped if
unsuccessful; and the necessary ships were already on the way.
Further, the French were confident that the Austrian submarines could
not get as far as the Dardanelles, while the Turks, as far as was
known, had no submarines at all.  Little loss was expected during the
bombardment of the entrance, though some might result during the
sweeping up of mines; the real difficulty would be the attack on the
Narrows, of which Mr. Churchill submitted the plan.

Lord Fisher then said that he had understood that the question would
not be raised to-day; but Mr. Asquith held that, in view of the steps
that had been taken, it could not be left any longer in abeyance.  Lord
Kitchener considered the attack on the Dardanelles to be one of the
utmost importance, and equivalent, if successful, to a victorious
campaign fought by the new armies then training; and both Mr. Balfour
and Sir Edward Grey dwelt on its political effect upon the Balkans.
There then followed a dramatic incident.  Lord Fisher, pushing his
chair back, rose from the table as though about to leave the room.
Lord Kitchener at once followed him, and asked him what he meant to do.
He said that he would not return to the Council Table and meant to
resign his position as First Sea Lord.  For a few {120} minutes the two
men, each outstandingly first in his own profession, stood talking by
the window, Lord Kitchener urging Lord Fisher to come back to the
table.  He was the only dissentient, as Lord Kitchener pointed out,
everybody else being in favour of the plan; and, after a little fresh
argument, Lord Fisher returned and resumed his place among the others.

Mr. Churchill had, however, noticed the incident and, after lunch, had
a private talk with Lord Fisher, strongly urging him to undertake the
operation, and obtaining his definite, if reluctant, consent to do so.
At the afternoon meeting of the War Council, Mr. Churchill then
announced that the Admiralty was willing to proceed, and, from that
time onward, he never looked back.  The matter, in his own words, had
passed into the domain of action.  By January 28th, therefore, the
country was finally committed to a purely naval attack on the
Dardanelles with Constantinople as its ultimate objective.

This was the decision, but almost immediately--almost insensibly in
fact--the scope of the operations began to widen.  From the outset it
had been clear that the silencing of the forts would demand a certain
number of landing-parties, although it was believed that these need
only be small, consisting principally of Marines.  Lord Kitchener
himself was then of the opinion that, once the ships had completed
their passage, the garrison of the Peninsula would evacuate it, and it
would cease to have any military importance.  He was also quite
definite in his statement that there were no more British troops
available for {121} the purpose, an opinion which Mr. Churchill did not
share, though he was, of course, overborne by Lord Kitchener's
authority.  Nevertheless the idea of military coöperation grew, as it
were, unofficially in the minds of those responsible.  Sir Henry
Jackson, in a memorandum to be adopted or not, according to Admiral
Carden's discretion--pointed out that the naval bombardment was not
recommended as a sound operation, unless a strong military force was
ready to assist, or at least to follow it up.

Meanwhile the Turkish attack upon Egypt had been defeated; certain of
our plans in France and Flanders had been altered; and, on February
16th, at an informal meeting of Ministers, a very important decision
was arrived at.  This was to send the 29th Division, hitherto destined
for service on the Western Front, to Lemnos, an island about sixty
miles from the Gallipoli Peninsula--the Division sailing, it was hoped,
within ten days.  At the same time arrangements were to be made for a
further force to be sent if necessary from Egypt; horse-boats were to
accompany the 29th Division; arrangements were to be made to assemble a
large number of lighters and tugs in the Levant; and the Admiralty was
also to build special transports and lighters, suitable for the
conveying and landing of 50,000 men where these might be wanted.  The
military effort was already in embryo, therefore, before the purely
naval attack had been begun; and, with all this in mind, we can now
transfer our attention to the actual scene of conflict.

It was on February 19, 1915, that Admiral Carden decided to open the
bombardment of the entrance {122} forts, namely those of Cape Helles
and Sedd-el-Bahr on the northern and European side, and Kum Kale and
Orkanieh on the southern or Asiatic.  Admiral Carden himself, then
fifty-eight, had had a varied and adventurous career; had taken part in
the Egyptian campaign of 1882; receiving the medal and the Khedive's
Bronze Star; had been present, two years later, at the Eastern Sudan
campaign; and, as a commander in 1897, had been with the punitive
expedition that followed the Benin massacres.  He had reached flag-rank
in 1908, and had been Rear-Admiral to the Atlantic Fleet for a year,
being the Admiral Superintendent of Malta Dockyard at the outbreak of
war.

Under his command, besides a flotilla of destroyers and the seaplane
ship _Ark Royal_, were three old English battleships--the _Vengeance_,
that had already been employed on the Belgian coast; the _Cornwallis_,
that had been at the Nore, in the Third Fleet, christened the "Forlorn
Hope"; and the _Triumph_, formerly the Chilian _Libertad_, that had
been acting as Depot Ship at Hong Kong.  With these were the
_Agememnon_, a more modern battleship, though about to have been passed
into the Second Fleet; and the _Inflexible_, which we have last heard
of helping to sink the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ near the Antarctic
Circle.  In addition there were under his command the _Suffren_,
_Gaulois_, and _Bouvet_, three old French battleships that, the summer
before, had not even been in Commission.  All these vessels, however,
with the exception of the _Triumph_, carried 12-inch guns and therefore
outranged the forts; and, between {123} them, they mounted a secondary
armament of fourteen 7.5-inch, ten 9.2-inch, ten 6.4-inch, twenty-four
6-inch, eighteen 5.5-inch, and sixteen 4-inch guns.

Beginning at eight in the morning, a long-distance shelling was
continued till a quarter to three in the afternoon, when the
_Vengeance_, _Cornwallis_, and _Triumph_, with the three French
battleships--less valuable vessels that could justifiably be
risked--drew in to shore and opened fire with their secondary armament
of smaller guns.  It then became clear that, in spite of the previous
five hours' bombardment, the forts had not been silenced, for they
immediately opened fire.  They effected no damage, however.  By
nightfall, those on the European side had apparently been put out of
action, but one of the Asiatic forts was still replying when the light
failed and operations ceased.

Bad weather followed, and it was not till February 25th that the attack
could be seriously taken up again, the Fleet having been strengthened
in the interval, notably by the _Queen Elizabeth_ with her 15-inch
guns.  Together with the _Irresistible_, the _Agamemnon_, and the
French battleship _Gaulois_, she began a long-range bombardment early
in the morning, and this was followed as before by an attack at close
quarters--the _Vengeance_, _Cornwallis_, and _Suffren_ again taking
their part in this, with the _Charlemagne_ and, later in the day, the
_Triumph_ and _Albion_.  Even so it was not until evening that the last
gun was silenced, and the trawlers, under cover of the fleet, were able
to begin clearing away the mines.

Nor could the results of these two days' {124} bombardments have been
said to hold great promise for the future.  So little damage had been
done by the first day's firing that the batteries were all active again
by the second; and, at the end of this, when the demolition-parties
landed, they found seventy per cent. of the guns still in serviceable
condition.  Few more dangerous duties, under such circumstances, can be
imagined than those undertaken by these little detachments; and, both
in the courage with which they were faced and the coolness with which
they were completed, the records of the navy and the Royal Marines were
more than fully sustained.  Particularly prominent was the act of
Lieutenant-Commander E. G. Robinson, who on February 26th went alone,
under heavy fire, into a hostile gun-position, that might well have
been occupied, destroyed a 4-inch gun single-handed, and then returned
to his landing-party for a further charge to destroy a second gun that
he had found there.  Owing to the fact that their white uniforms
rendered them so conspicuous as targets, Lieutenant-Commander Robinson
refused to allow his comrades to accompany him on either occasion.  For
this act he was very justly awarded the Victoria Cross.

Meanwhile at home, the lack of unanimity, of whole-hearted enthusiasm
in the necessary team-work, and, more than this, of a detailed
conception of what was actually intended were beginning to bear their
fruits.  Thus it had been decided, in the first place--and this had
greatly influenced both Lord Fisher and Sir Arthur Wilson--that, if the
naval attack were to become unpromising, it would be {125} broken off
and its losses cut.  That had also been Lord Kitchener's view, but, on
February 24th, he stated, at a meeting of the War Council, that if the
Fleet could not get through without help, the army would have to come
to its aid.  By Mr. Churchill that had evidently long been accepted,
and preparations, as we have seen, were well under way.  Transports had
been collected for the despatch of the 29th Division, and it was hoped
that it would begin to sail on the 22nd.  Two days before, however,
Lord Kitchener had decided, for reasons doubtless important, but
without consulting his colleagues, that this Division could not be
spared, and he had countermanded the transports.

Against this reversal of policy at a critical moment Mr. Churchill made
the strongest protest, and said that he must disclaim all
responsibility if disaster occurred in Turkey owing to the
insufficiency of troops.  Lord Kitchener for his part asserted that the
forces in Egypt, on the spot, and on the way there were at present
quite adequate, and that the 29th Division was not then essential to
success--a view that the War Council supported, the 29th Division being
detained in England.

While now determined that the affair should not be broken off, Lord
Kitchener still believed that the navy would need but little military
help, and, on February 24th, he wired to Sir John Maxwell, then
commanding the forces in Egypt, and General Birdwood, who was to
command the Australian and New Zealand contingent on the Peninsula,
that it was not intended to land parties on Gallipoli, except {126}
under cover of the naval guns, to help in the total demolition of the
forts, when the ships should get to close quarters.

Two days later, Sir John Maxwell replied that, in the opinion of a
French officer, formerly military attaché at Constantinople, a military
expedition was essential to the opening of the passage for the Allied
Fleets; that a landing would be extremely hazardous; and that the
Peninsula was very strongly organized for defence.  Nevertheless Lord
Kitchener retained his opinion and telegraphed the same evening to
General Birdwood, that as far as could be seen, till the passage was
actually secured, he would be limited to such minor operations as the
final destruction of the batteries, though it was possible that he
might have to organize expeditions to deal with inland concealed
howitzers such as the ships could not destroy.

General Birdwood had not then sailed for the Dardanelles, and, at a
meeting of the War Council on March 3d, Lord Kitchener announced that
it might after all be possible to send the 29th Division, but that he
proposed to leave the matter open till March 10th, when he hoped to
have heard from General Birdwood.  By this time, the entrance had been
cleared, and for several days the ships had been operating in the
Straits themselves, bombarding Forts Dardanos and Sogandhere,
protecting the mine-sweepers, and landing Marines--the latter suffering
a reverse at Kum Kale with about fifty casualties.

This was on March 4th, and the next day General {127} Birdwood, who had
arrived earlier than was expected, telegraphed to Lord Kitchener that
he was very doubtful whether the navy could force the passage unaided;
that the previous attacks had been comparatively easy, since the ships
could stand off and shoot from anywhere; but that in the Straits they
were being bothered by unknown fire.  Twenty-four hours afterward, he
sent another telegram maintaining the same point of view.  On March
6th, a preliminary bombardment of the forts of the Narrows took place,
the _Queen Elizabeth_ and _Agamemnon_ firing over the Peninsula from
the Gulf of Saros, themselves being hit but not seriously damaged by
concealed Turkish batteries on the Peninsula, yet without obtaining, as
was afterward discovered, any appreciable results.  The attack was
renewed the next day, and it was believed that Fort Chanak had been
silenced, several of our vessels having been hit but none of them
placed out of action.  In these operations, the _Ocean_, _Majestic_,
_Albion_, _Prince George_, _Lord Nelson_, and _Vengeance_ also
participated, together with the French _Suffren_, _Bouvet_,
_Charlemagne_, and _Gaulois_.  So we come to March 10th, on which date
Lord Kitchener finally released the 29th Division, the transports
sailing on March 16th, three weeks later than had been intended, and
three days after Sir Ian Hamilton, who had been given command of the
Expeditionary Army, left England.  The time was now approaching when,
if it were to be made at all, the navy must attempt its decisive
thrust; and telegrams concerning this were already being exchanged
between Mr. Churchill and Admiral {128} Carden.  On March 11th, Mr.
Churchill wired to the effect that, while Admiral Carden's skill and
patience in avoiding casualties had been highly appreciated at the
Admiralty, the results to be gained by success were deemed to be
sufficiently important to justify a necessary loss in men and ships.
The whole operation might be decided, and consequences of a decisive
character be produced by the turning of the corner at Chanak.  It was
recognized that the Admiral would have to press hard, at a certain
point of the action, to obtain such a decision; and it was desired to
know whether, in his opinion, the suitable occasion had now arrived.

To this Admiral Carden replied two days later that he considered this
stage to have been reached, and that, in order to ensure his
communications immediately he entered the Sea of Marmora, military
operations on a large scale should at once be commenced.  On March
15th, Mr. Churchill replied that Sir Ian Hamilton would arrive on the
16th, and that Admiral Carden should consult with him as to the
concerted steps to be taken.  On March 16th, however, Admiral Carden,
for reasons of health, had to resign his command, and, on the next day,
Vice-Admiral Sir John Michael de Robeck was appointed by telegram to
succeed him.

In this telegram, Mr. Churchill presumed that, in Admiral de Robeck's
judgment, the proposed operations were practicable, but asked him not
to hesitate to say so if he held a contrary opinion.  Replying the same
day, Admiral de Robeck made it clear that the suggested plan of
campaign received his full {129} concurrence; that the success of the
undertaking would depend on his ability to clear the minefields before
forcing the Narrows; and that to do this successfully the forts must be
silenced while the mine-sweeping was in progress.  He further stated
that he had had an entirely satisfactory interview with Sir Ian
Hamilton, General d'Amade, and Admiral Wemyss--afterward to become
First Sea Lord.

On March 18th, therefore, under excellent weather conditions, the
decisive attempt was begun, with an advance fringe of destroyers and
trawlers to clear a channel for the bombarding squadrons.  Work upon
the minefields, indeed, had already been in progress since February
25th, in which these trawler mine-sweepers, under Commander W. Mellor,
had persisted with unfailing gallantry.  With the current always, and
the wind frequently, opposed to them; with every minefield accurately
ranged, and hotly contested by the enemy's guns, they had suffered the
severest casualties both in men and material without for a moment
desisting from their task.  And, manned, as they were, largely by
reservists and men hitherto unaccustomed to war, they had exhibited
qualities of heroism and seamanship not even excelled by the destroyer
patrols.

That is saying a good deal, since these latter, throughout the winter
and under the worst circumstances, had maintained a standard of
cheerful efficiency as high as any that the navy had ever reached.
Long before the naval expedition had been decided upon and throughout
the critical discussions in London, they had sentinelled the Ægean, the
{130} Syrian coast, and the mouth of the Dardanelles.  With their decks
never dry, with their galley-fires out, with all on board drenched to
the skin, they had ridden out storm after storm in these notoriously
treacherous seas.  Servants of everybody, succourers of the wounded,
and general suppliers of the landing-parties, none--not even the
submarines presently to be considered--were to play a nobler part in
the Gallipoli story.

It was at about a quarter to eleven in the morning that the great
bombardment began, the _Queen Elizabeth_, _Inflexible_, _Agamemnon_,
and _Lord Nelson_, stationed near the entrance, opening fire at about
ten and a half miles range.  These four battleships took for their
targets the forts at Kilid Bahr and Chanak; while the _Triumph_ and
_Prince George_, at closer range, engaged the forts at Soghandere,
Kephez, and Dardanos.  This action was continued for an hour and a
half, when a French squadron, magnificently handled, advanced up the
Straits as far as Point Kephez, and, at close range, engaged the forts
of the Narrows.

All the ships were hit, but, manoeuvring in circles, none was
materially injured, the _Suffren_, _Gaulois_, _Charlemagne_, and
_Bouvet_ being the vessels employed.  After an hour and a half of this
inshore firing, the forts ceased to reply; and, at about the same time,
the French vessels were relieved--the _Vengeance_, _Irresistible_,
_Albion_, _Majestic_, _Swiftsure_, and _Ocean_ taking their places.
These vessels began their attack at half-past two, advancing in line
and meeting a hot fire; and it was just as the French vessels were
passing out that the first disaster of the day occurred in the {131}
sinking of the _Bouvet_ by a floating mine.  This was in an area
previously swept clear, and it opened up a new and difficult problem,
namely that of mines, loosed higher up the Straits, and drifting down
with the current.  Sinking in three minutes, practically the whole of
the crew of the _Bouvet_ was lost.

It was now becoming clear that the old axiom as to the inferiority of
ships to forts still held the field; and to the observers on land it
was even more obvious than to those who were directing the gunfire
afloat.  In the rear of one battery, for instance, within a space not
more than three hundred feet deep, there fell no less than eighty-six
shells, the battery itself remaining undamaged, while none of the
6-inch guns of the much-hammered Fort Dardanos suffered any injury from
our fire.  The assault was continued, however, till dark, with the
utmost vigour, in spite of the growing list of casualties, both the
_Irresistible_ and _Ocean_ being sunk by drifting mines, and the
_Gaulois_ and _Inflexible_ seriously crippled by gunfire.

Struck soon after four, it was not until ten minutes to six that the
_Irresistible_ went down in deep water, most of her crew being saved,
thanks, in a great measure, to the seamanship of Captain C. P. Metcalfe
of the destroyer _Wear_, and Midshipman Hugh Dixon of one of _Queen
Elizabeth's_ picket-boats, who laid themselves alongside under a very
heavy fire.  A quarter of an hour after the _Irresistible_ sank, the
_Ocean_ was struck, but most of her crew were also rescued.  The damage
to the _Inflexible_ was sufficiently serious to make it very uncertain
that she would reach port; her forward control position being {132}
badly smashed up, her shell room and magazine injured by a mine; and
many of her compartments rendered untenable by poisonous fumes.  That
she happily did so was chiefly due to the valour and discipline of all
on board, and perhaps particularly to the steadfastness of her engineer
officers and engine-room staff.  Working in semi-darkness, in stifling
heat, and in momentary peril of death by drowning, the strain imposed
upon them, and from which they emerged so well, was of the severest
order.

So ended the great attempt of the unaided navy, never, as it turned
out, to be repeated, although the first intention of all responsible,
both at home and on the spot, was to renew it.  Thus, Admiral de
Robeck, wiring an account of it, stated that the squadron was ready
again for immediate action, although it would be necessary to
reconsider the plan of attack and to find a solution of the
drifting-mine problem.  Both Lord Fisher and Sir Arthur Wilson, on the
morning of the 19th, as well as Mr. Churchill himself, shared this
view; and Lord Fisher at once ordered two more battleships to reinforce
Admiral de Robeck, the _Queen_ and the _Implacable_ being already on
their way.  With equal promptitude, the French Government had ordered
the _Henri IV_ to replace the _Bouvet_.  This was also the attitude of
the War Council, who, on February 19th, wired to Admiral de Robeck,
instructing him formally, if he thought fit, to continue the operations
against the Dardanelles.

On the other hand, Sir Ian Hamilton, telegraphing to Lord Kitchener,
had expressed his opinion that, {133} from what he had seen, the
Dardanelles were less likely to be forced by battleships alone than at
one time had seemed probable, and that the military operations to
ensure success would not be of the secondary nature hitherto suggested.
To this Lord Kitchener replied that the Dardanelles must be forced, and
that, if large military operations were necessary, they must be
undertaken.  Meanwhile Admiral de Robeck was beginning to agree with
Sir Ian Hamilton, and on March 23d wired to the Admiralty that the mine
menace was greater than had been suspected; that time would be required
to deal with it satisfactorily, but that the Fleet would be ready as
soon as the army; and that a decisive operation about the middle of
April seemed to offer better prospects than immediate action.

These views were the result of a conference, earlier in the day,
between Admiral de Robeck, Sir Ian Hamilton, and General Birdwood, but
both to Mr. Churchill and Lord Kitchener--and not without reason--this
postponement seemed far too long.  The latter at once telegraphed to
Sir Ian Hamilton, pointing this out to him, and asking him how soon he
could act on shore--a difficult question to answer in view of the facts
that, only ten days before, Sir Ian had been in England; that he had
been assisted by no previous staff preparation; that he had been given
no preliminary scheme of action; that no arrangements had been made
about water-supply; that the 29th Division had not yet even sailed; and
that, when he had left, it had been under the assumption that the navy
itself would force the Straits.

{134}

On March 26th, however, this last idea was finally abandoned as the
result of a further telegram from Admiral de Robeck, in which he stated
definitely that, in his opinion, and after consultation with General
Hamilton, a combined operation was essential to secure the objects of
the campaign.  To Mr. Churchill, who still believed that the navy, with
local military help, might win its way through, this decision was a
great disappointment; and he was unwilling to accept it.  He was
anxious to order Admiral de Robeck to renew the naval attack according
to his previous intention.  But neither Lord Fisher, Sir Arthur Wilson,
nor Sir Henry Jackson agreed to this.  While the men on the spot were
willing, they had been ready to back them up.  Now that these had
changed their minds, they refused to press them.  Before such a weight
of opinion Mr. Churchill could but bow, although Mr. Asquith and Mr.
Balfour were inclined to agree with him.

Nor were there lacking experts, who held the same view, both at the
Admiralty and the Dardanelles.  On the military side also, General
Birdwood was for an immediate action with the then available forces;
and, in view of later knowledge, this, with a further naval effort,
might very possibly have achieved the desired end.  For it was not
until April 25th that Sir Ian Hamilton was ready to land his whole
military force; and, in that month, the Peninsula of Gallipoli was
transformed into a well-nigh impregnable arsenal.

With the purely military side of the following campaign this is not the
place fully to deal; but {135} something of the ordeal that was now in
preparation not only for the soldiers but for the sailors can be
gathered from the memoranda, since become public, of German officers
who were concerned in it, and who were fully aware, of course, of the
military concentration on the islands of Lemnos, Tenedos, and Imbros.
Thus, a week after the naval attack had failed, General Liman von
Sanders took command of the Peninsula; began to build roads in post
haste, bodies of Greek and Armenian workmen being brought up for the
purpose; constructed barbed-wire defences at every possible
landing-place, some of these being submerged in the shallow waters;
built machine-gun emplacements amongst the surrounding cliffs, and
imported heavy guns of all calibres--according to Enver Pasha, 200
Skoda guns were, in these four weeks, rushed down to the Peninsula.

Meanwhile, owing to the defective loading of the British transports,
these all had to be sent back again to Alexandria, the nearest place
where there were facilities for a rapid re-arrangement of the troops
and material.  While this was in process, the general plan of attack
was being considered by the naval and military staffs, but could not be
worked out in detail till April 10th, when the Army Headquarters
returned from Egypt--Commodore Keyes, already familiar to us, acting as
Chief of Staff to Admiral de Robeck.

Collected in the harbour of Mudros, there was now a veritable Armada of
every kind of naval and mercantile craft--from Atlantic liners to Hull
trawlers and from obsolete battleships to the latest marine {136}
inventions.  Between these and the shore plied smaller motor-boats and
pinnaces on innumerable errands, and, by the end of the third week in
April, all had been organized for the proposed landing.  In view of the
long delay, the magnitude of the operations, and the neighbourhood of
the assembling-places to their objectives, it had been wholly
impossible, of course, to conceal from the enemy the nature and scope
of the impending attack.  Nothing but sheer artillery fire, rapidity of
execution, and human heroism could be depended upon; and, at only one
of the landings--that at Gaba Tepe on the north of the Peninsula--was a
surprise to be hoped for.

Simultaneously with this landing, it was proposed to throw forces
ashore at five other beaches scattered round the head of the Peninsula.
Of these, following the coast westward from Gaba Tepe--about a dozen
miles from the tip of the Peninsula--the next was Y beach, some ten
miles away.  South of this was X beach, three miles farther along and
just north of Cape Tekeh; next came W beach round the corner, between
Cape Tekeh and Cape Helles; then V beach, facing south, between Cape
Helles and Sedd-el-Bahr; and finally S beach, round the corner again,
in Morto Bay, just inside the entrance.

It had also been arranged, as a diversion, that there should be a
landing of French forces at Kum Kale on the Asiatic shore.  Each
expedition was self-contained, the navy taking charge of the landing
and supplying the beach-masters to superintend the arrangements; the
covering forces were conveyed in {137} battleships, from which they
were to be landed in boats towed by naval pinnaces, the main body of
the troops being afterward brought, up, when the landing-places had
been secured, in allotted liners.  In view of all the circumstances, it
was an attempt without precedent, and as perilous an operation as could
well be conceived.  Nevertheless it was entered upon with the highest
anticipations by every rank concerned.  Let us consider the landings in
the foregoing order, beginning with that at Gaba Tepe in what was
afterward to be known as Anzac Cove.

In charge of this was Rear-Admiral C. F. Thursby, who had under his
command the following five battleships, the _Queen_, _London_, and
_Prince of Wales_, each carrying some 500 troops; and the _Triumph_ and
_Majestic_, which were to cover the landing with gunfire.  With them
were the cruisers _Bacchante_ and eight destroyers, some of the latter
also carrying troops, the seaplane ship _Ark Royal_, a balloon ship,
and fifteen trawlers.  All through the morning of the 24th, the
transports had been getting into position, and the exodus from the
harbour began in the afternoon, the skies being clear and the sea calm.
Presently the various squadrons passed ahead of the transports, and
these, with their attendant troop-ships, separated for their appointed
stations--the cheers from the shore dying behind them as they moved out
to the open sea.

Each had its rendezvous off the Peninsula coast, that of Admiral
Thursby's squadron being about five miles distant from it; and this was
reached in the first hour of Sunday morning under a bright but {138}
setting half-moon.  Since the fall of dusk the night before, the
squadron had been steaming with lights out, and the crowded troops had
been doing their best to snatch a little sleep before they would be
called upon.  The boats and steam pinnaces had already been slung out,
and now the signal was given for them to be lowered--each boat, in
charge of a midshipman, and each pinnace towing three boats.

Twelve in all of these little processions were silently marshalled
under the sides of the battleships, the moon having sunk now, and shore
and sea living in the darkness before dawn.  Battleships and pinnaces,
with the boats streaming out behind them, then drew very slowly into
shore, the battleships, cleared for action, stopping about a mile and a
half out.  There was to be no preliminary bombardment, since it was
hoped--though none too confidently--to surprise the enemy; and, from
this point, therefore, the pinnaces with the landing-parties crept
toward the shore in absolute stillness.  They had almost reached it,
racing against the dawn, when the destroyers, with their additional
troops, slid between the battleships; and it was then that a sudden
alarm light--just before five o'clock--showed the Turks to have
discovered their presence.  Three minutes later, the boats being then
in shallow water, a murderous rifle and machine-gun fire broke upon the
beach, nothing being visible but the flashes from the guns above an
entrenchment almost on the shore itself.

It was a critical moment, many men being hit at once, but the rest,
tumbling out of the boats, dashed {139} ashore, made for the enemy in
true Australian style, and, within less than ten minutes, had taken the
trench.  Afterward it was discovered that the landing had taken place a
little to the east of the chosen spot; and the troops, having rushed
the beach, found themselves in consequence faced by a steep and
shrub-covered line of cliffs.  But there was more cover here, although
the enemy was firing down on them from the second line of trenches
half-way up; and, having paused for a moment to take breath, shed their
packs, and charge their magazines, they went for the cliffs and carried
them, and, an hour later, had established a definite line along the
ridge.

Meanwhile the rest of the covering troops had been landed, the whole
being ashore within half an hour; and already the wounded were being
evacuated, the two services going on together.  It was now growing
light, and, though the battleships came into action, the casualties on
the beach grew more numerous.  The trenches had been cleared, but, in
the thick brushwood, the enemy marksmen found an ideal cover; and, as
the day broadened, a couple of batteries, admirably concealed, opened
fire.  For many hours the battleships failed to locate them, and, all
that time, under a hail of shrapnel, beach-masters, midshipmen, and
seamen had to carry out their duties.  For the actual troops it was
less of an ordeal, since they could bolt across to the cover of the
cliffs, but for the navy, marshalling the boats and moving them to and
fro, there was no such respite.  Owing to the heavy fire, too, both
from {140} the howitzers inland and warships in the Narrows on the
other side, the loaded transports had to stand farther from the shore,
thus at once increasing and delaying the work.  Without a moment's
pause, however, it went forward, men, stores, and munitions being
punctually landed; General Birdwood and his staff went ashore in the
afternoon; and, before evening, roads were actually being built inland.
All through the next day, the great movement went on, in spite of
fierce counter-attacks by the reinforced Turks; and, by the nightfall
of April 26th, the position at Gaba Tepe was secure.

Though five in number, the remaining landing-places were grouped within
six miles round the point of the Peninsula; and the naval forces
responsible for them were under the command of Rear-Admiral Rosslyn E.
Wemyss.  They consisted of the seven battleships, _Lord Nelson_,
_Prince George_, _Cornwallis_, _Implacable_, _Swiftsure_, _Albion_, and
_Vengeance_; of the four cruisers, _Euryalus_, _Talbot_, _Minerva_, and
_Dublin_; of six sweepers and fourteen trawlers.  Allotted to Y beach
as the first covering troops were the King's Own Scottish Borderers,
and they sailed from Mudros in the cruisers _Amethyst_ and _Sapphire_.
It had not been possible to effect a surprise here; and consequently,
as the boats approached the beach, it was under a protective screen of
fire from the battleship _Goliath_.  So effective was this, and so
promptly were the covering troops thrown ashore that they reached the
top of the high surrounding cliffs practically without opposition.

Following a second detachment of the Borderers {141} came the Plymouth
Battalion of the Royal Naval Division, the troops establishing
themselves on the top of the cliffs, and trying to join hands with
those landing at X beach.  Unfortunately, between them there were
strong hostile forces.  They themselves were heavily and ceaselessly
attacked; and, after twenty-four hours' fighting, it was decided to
withdraw them--or rather what was left of them--under the fire of the
battleships, the _Amethyst_ and _Sapphire_, _Goliath_, _Talbot_, and
_Dublin_ undertaking their re-embarkation, ably supervised by
Lieutenant-Commander Adrian St. V. Keyes.  Thus, by the evening of the
26th, while Gaba Tepe had been secured, beach Y had had to be abandoned.

The action at beach X, however, just north of Cape Tekeh, had met with
better results.  Here the troops detailed to make the first landing had
been two companies and a machine-gun section of the Second Battalion of
the Royal Fusiliers, and they had been embarked in the battleship
_Implacable_.  The beach before them was a narrow one, about two
hundred yards long, but the cliffs beyond it were not high, and their
ultimate objective was a hill that lay to the rear of the
landing-places, round the corner, at W and V.  Covered by the
_Implacable_, who came close inshore, the troops landed with scarcely
any casualties; and, though they did not succeed, owing to a very
fierce counter-attack, in obtaining complete possession of the desired
hill, they had, by the evening, with the aid of their supports,
entrenched themselves for half a mile round their landing-place,
besides having already joined hands, earlier in the day, {142} with the
Lancashire Fusiliers who had advanced from Beach W.

This lay between Cape Tekeh and Cape Helles at the extreme end of the
Peninsula, and was some three hundred and fifty yards long and from
fifteen to forty yards deep.  Flanked on each side by precipitous
cliffs, the land in front rose less steeply, climbing in a series of
low sand-hills to the ridge that lay beyond.  It had been an obvious
landing-place, however, and had, in consequence, been fortified with
the utmost care.  Not only had the water in front of it been mined but
also the shore itself.  Submerged entanglements covered the approach to
it, and a jungle of barbed wire protected the sea's edge.  The
surrounding cliffs were heavily trenched and honeycombed with nests of
machine-guns.  The ridge itself, even should it be gained, was
commanded on both sides by higher ground still.

To take this position, than which nothing could well have been
stronger, fell to the First Battalion of the Lancashire Fusiliers, who
had been conveyed to their rendezvous by the _Euryalus_ and
_Implacable_, from which they had embarked, at four o'clock in the
morning, into the small boats.  An hour later, and while these were
approaching the shore--there had been eight picket-boats, each towing
four cutters--the _Euryalus_ followed them up and poured a heavy fire
into the trenches.  Farther out at sea, other units of the squadron
supported the bombardment with guns of all calibres, but without doing
much damage to the well-designed trenches and scarcely any to the beach
entanglements.

{143}

Hung up by the wire or staked under water, an easy mark for rifle and
machine-gun, men fell so thickly that, for a few minutes, it seemed as
if indeed their task were a hopeless one.  But they were not to be
denied; hacking at the wire, as one man fell, another succeeded him;
while, upon the extreme left, where it was just possible to effect a
landing upon some rocks a detachment climbed ashore, and, with great
skill, put out of action some enfilading maxims.  Thus supported, their
comrades made a little headway; and, once having gained a footing,
never stopped.  By ten o'clock, three of the enemy's trenches had been
taken; and, by half-past eleven, they were in touch with the X
landing-party.  The actual beach was now secured, although the general
position was still hazardous, and remained so until the next afternoon,
when the landing at beach V had been consolidated.  Throughout the
whole time, in a widening semi-circle, a fierce infantry action was in
progress; but, though the shore was under fire, thanks to the
expedition and coolness of the beach-masters, Captain Townsend and
Commander Collard, and the courage of all concerned, the remaining
troops were safely landed.

Terrible as were the conditions, however, at beach X, those at beach V
were even more so; and it was here that the self-sacrifice demanded of
navy and army alike reached its sublimest level.  We have said that no
stronger defensive position than that of beach W could well be
imagined; but that of beach V presented a problem that, in certain
respects, was even more difficult.  Of about the same size and much the
{144} same formation, it was more strongly flanked on either side--by
sheer cliffs on the west and by the village and Fort of Sedd-el-Bahr on
the east; while brooding above it, in the centre, as above the
amphitheatre of a circus, stood the battered ruins of the old barracks,
a perfect cover for sharpshooters and maxims.

Here, as at beach W, there were dense wire barricades, and the high
ground between had been similarly fortified.  Nor was it possible here,
as it had been for the Lancashire Fusiliers, to land even the smallest
detachment on the flanks.  A frontal assault was the only possible one,
and accordingly special measures had been taken.  As in all the other
cases, the first landing-parties were to be towed ashore in small open
boats, but the remainder of the covering troops, about 2,000 strong,
was to be landed from a larger vessel designed for the purpose.  This
was the converted collier, the _River Clyde_, in charge of Commander
Edward Unwin, and large doorways had been cut in her sides to enable
the contained troops to pour out rapidly.  As soon as the first boats
had made good their landing, the _River Clyde_ was to be run ashore,
and a string of lighters pushed out from her side to form a bridge for
the emerging soldiers.  Mounted in her bows, and protected by sandbags,
were several machine-guns to cover the operation.

The troops to whom had been assigned this, the most dangerous of all
the day's undertakings, were the Dublin Fusiliers, of whom three
companies were to land from the open boats, the remainder coming ashore
from the _River Clyde_ with the Munsters, {145} Hampshires, and other
forces.  Here also, as the collier and boats drew in, the battleships
in the rear maintained a tremendous bombardment, but here, too, the
effect on the defences was so slight as to be negligible.  Till the
boats actually touched shore, the Turks reserved their fire and then
opened simultaneously with devastating results.  In several of the
boats there was not a single man who escaped either death or
disablement.  One of the boats disappeared altogether; another
contained only two survivors.  Of the few who scrambled ashore alive,
some were killed on the wire, others fell on the sands half-way up the
beach; and but a small handful managed to reach a little ridge, some
four feet high, under which they took shelter.

For the boats to return again was impossible; that any were beached at
all was almost a miracle; and nothing has ever excelled the heroic
determination of those responsible for navigating them.  With dead and
wounded men lying about them, themselves with but a moment or two to
live, they plied their oars or gave their orders under that withering
storm of lead and shrapnel.  Such was Able Seaman Levi Jacobs of the
_Lord Nelson_, who, after the whole of his comrades had been killed or
wounded, took in his boat unaided and, when last seen, was standing up
alone, trying to pole the cutter into shore.

Even more costly was the first attempt to land the troops from the
_River Clyde_, though it justified its existence as a harbour of refuge
and was the eventual means of carrying the beach.  Commander Unwin had
succeeded in grounding her almost {146} simultaneously with the boats,
and the lighters were run out through a tornado of fire, but failed
unfortunately to reach the shore.  This was chiefly due to the strong
current and the almost instant slaughter of those at work on them.
Time was the essence of the contract, however; every second counted;
and already the first of the Munsters were pouring out of the ship.
While willing hands fought with the lighters, they leapt, swam, and
waded to the shore, some being drowned by the weight of their
equipment, others shot to pieces by the enemy, and again but a handful
reached the precarious cover of the same little parapet that was
sheltering their comrades.  Then the lighters were fastened up again;
other troops began to rush them; and once more the pier broke down, the
shoremost lighter swinging round with the current and shutting off the
troops that stood behind it.

Now was the enemy's opportunity, and he made the most of it; the
officers on the lighters shouted to their men to lie down, but, even
so, half had already fallen, and many more were shot where they lay.
It was in these circumstances that Commander Unwin himself set the most
magnificent example of conduct.  Leaving the _River Clyde_, he made for
the lighters, and, standing waist-deep in the bullet-lashed water, he
worked indefatigably to repair the bridge and secure the lighter
against the thrust of the current.  With him was Midshipman G. L.
Drewry, who, after being wounded in the head, twice attempted to swim
from lighter to lighter with a line.  Failing to do so owing to
exhaustion, Midshipman {147} W. St. A. Malleson then took up the task,
succeeded, and, when the line broke again, made two further, but this
time unsuccessful, efforts to repair it.  No less gallant were A. B.
Williams and Seaman G. M'K. Samson, the latter working on a Lighter the
whole day, until he was dangerously wounded, and the former, until he
was killed, holding on to a line in the water, under the heaviest fire,
for over an hour.  Commander Unwin himself, almost frozen, had to
return to the _Clyde_, where he was wrapped up in blankets, leaving the
ship a second time to work at the lighters till he was injured in three
places, and a third time, after he had been dressed, to save some
wounded men lying at the water's edge.

It had become clear by this time, however, that on the present lines,
at any rate, the disembarkation could not proceed.  Of the thousand men
who had left the collier, half were dead or wounded, but fortunately
the remainder were comparatively safe.  Meanwhile the machine-gunners
in her bow, as well as the ships at sea, kept up an incessant
fusillade, both to protect the survivors under the sandbank, and to
prevent a counter-attack by the enemy.  Earlier in the day, the
_Albion_, seeing the _River Clyde's_ predicament, had called for
volunteers to go to her help, and a pinnace and launch had been manned
to assist in completing the bridge of boats.  Owing to the murderous
fire, however, it had been impossible to get into position; and it was
not till dark that the work was finally completed, when the rest of the
troops were at last able, though not without many casualties, to go
ashore.

{148}

It was now essential to occupy the village, or rather the ruins, of
Sedd-el-Bahr on the right; and, all through the night, fierce but
unsuccessful efforts were made to this end by the tired troops.  On the
morning of the 26th, however, thanks to the heavy fire of the _Albion_
inshore and other vessels farther out, a determined onslaught,
heroically organized by Lieutenant-Colonels Doughty-Wylie and Williams,
gained possession of it; and, by half-past one, the old Castle and its
surrounding heights had been secured.

Two subsidiary landings had also taken place, one at what was known as
the Camber, a little to the east of V beach, and near the village of
Sedd-el-Bahr.  Here a half company of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers had
been landed to make an attack on the village, but, owing to the
narrowness of the approach, they were able to make no advance, and had
to withdraw after heavy losses.  Finally, at S beach in Morto Bay,
covered by the _Cornwallis_ and _Lord Nelson_, the 2nd South Wales
Borderers and a detachment of the 2nd London Field Company of the Royal
Engineers about 750 men in all--were successfully landed, largely due
to the ability of Lieutenant-Commander Ralph B. Janvrin, who was in
charge of the trawlers that brought them ashore.  They suffered but few
casualties, consolidated themselves in their assigned positions, and
held these till April 27th, when they were joined by the general
advance.  Equally successful, in respect of its transport arrangements,
was the French diversion at Kum Kale, the whole force being landed
during the 25th.  On the 26th, however, after they had beaten off many
counter-attacks, {149} and taken over 400 Turkish prisoners, it became
clear that they could only advance at a heavy cost and after fresh
reinforcements; and it was decided to reëmbark them, this being
effected without serious opposition.

So was obtained that footing upon Gallipoli, never, alas, to ripen into
a complete conquest, but yet an achievement without parallel in the
naval and military records of the world.  Of the second great landing
at Suvla Bay, four miles north of Anzac Cove, on August 7th, all that
can be said here is that, before breakfast-time, two divisions were
firmly established, and that once again, in Sir Ian Hamilton's words,
the navy played father and mother to the army.  Let a few brief facts,
therefore, complete the picture of all that the seamen stood for at
Gallipoli.

Between its base at Alexandria, 600 miles distant, and its front-line
trenches, the army had but two harbours--Kephalos Bay on the Island of
Imbros, about fifteen miles from the Peninsula, and the Bay of Mudros
on Lemnos some four times as distant.  When the expedition started, in
neither of these harbours were there any conveniences whatsoever.
Wharves and breakwaters, piers and storehouses, all were totally
lacking.  On the Peninsula itself, as we have seen, each of the
landing-places was an open beach.  Each was exposed, throughout the
whole occupation, to registered and observed artillery fire.  At two of
the most important of them--Suvla and Anzac--only lighters and tugs
could be used for disembarkation; two trans-shipments were thus always
necessitated; and nothing could be landed except {150} by night.  All
were peculiarly exposed to the weather, as were also the harbours on
Imbros and Lemnos; and, in addition to this, after the month of May,
there was the ever-present menace of hostile submarines.

Nevertheless the army was well maintained in food, equipment, and
munitions; it received its full supply of winter clothing at the
beginning of December; the sick and wounded were punctually removed;
and letters and mails were regularly delivered.  So also in the final
act, in the amazing evacuation, so swiftly and bloodlessly carried out,
the navy received to its arms again and silently transferred the last
man of those war-worn legions.

Of the statesmen and strategists responsible for the general campaign,
judgments may well differ, though they should be lenient--every issue
being so vitally involved with issues as large all the world over.  But
of the hewers of wood and drawers of water, of the human instruments of
their policy, there can be no doubt in any man's mind, however
unfamiliar with the tasks allotted to them.  Not even the gods on Mount
Ida ever looked down upon finer men.



{151}

CHAPTER VII

SUB-MARINERS OF ENGLAND

  Before us rocked the minefields,
  Behind us flew the planes.
  The swift destroyers chased us
  Down the long sea lanes,
  The stealthy currents fought us,
  And, everywhere we went,
  Crept Death, a little finger's breadth,
  Beside us on the scent.


Lined with forts that defied the bombardment of our largest naval guns;
protected by minefields that taxed the resources of our most intrepid
fleets of sweepers; endowed by nature with an opposing current against
which our destroyers, during some of the winter storms, were only able
to maintain their stations by steaming ten knots ahead, the
Dardanelles, guarding the Sea of Marmora, might well have seemed secure
against our submarines.  How little they were really so, was, however,
made clear by Mr. Asquith in his summary of their achievements up to
the end of October, 1915--a couple of months before the evacuation of
the Peninsula and our withdrawal from the campaign.  Up to that time it
appeared, that, between them, they had sunk or damaged two Turkish
battleships, five gunboats, one torpedo-boat, eight transports, and no
less than 197 {152} supply-ships of all kinds--an amazing record in
view of the geographical advantages that had been bestowed upon the
defence.

Where all were heroes, in the best sense of the word, carrying their
lives in their hands on each trip, and where the unsuccessful, in
defining the obstacles that baffled them, contributed almost equally to
the general results, it is a thankless task, though the only possible
one, to select particular units for our purpose.  Just as in the
Baltic, however, the two outstanding figures were Commander Horton and
Captain Cromie, so in the Dardanelles the names that naturally emerge
are those of Lieutenant-Commander Holbrook, Lieutenant-Commander
Nasmith, and Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly Hughes; and it is to the adventures
of these officers, as typical of their service, that we must confine
our attention.

It was on Sunday, December 13, 1914, that Lieutenant-Commander Norman
Holbrook, in the submarine _B11_, first demonstrated to Turkey and the
world that the Dardanelles were navigable for British submarines; and,
as a pioneer feat, it probably remains unequalled by any individual
enterprise of the war.  Then about twenty-six, Lieutenant-Commander
Holbrook had been in command of the _B11_ for a year, the submarine
herself, one of an early type, being part of the Malta Flotilla, and,
at the time of this exploit, already eight years old.  Her speed above
the surface was no more than 13 knots; and, when submerged, she could
only travel 9--the mere navigation of the Dardanelles, under such
circumstances, being in itself a remarkable achievement.

{153}

It was three o'clock in the morning that the _B11_ left her base for
the entrance to the Dardanelles, and no Elizabethan captain ever put to
sea on a more perilous undertaking than that which faced the crew, less
than a score, of the _B11_ in that December darkness.  They reached the
entrance, however, unobserved, took their bearings with the current
streaming past them, and then submerged to sixty feet, and began their
blindfold journey toward the minefields.  Here they had to rely
entirely on their electric motors capable of about 190 horse-power; and
so, for hour after hour, they felt their way beneath the five rows of
mines that were known to be guarding the Straits, and, when at last
they rose again, a little before noon, it was to find themselves bathed
in broad daylight, and to discover to their delight, well within reach,
the Turkish battleship _Messudiyeh_.

Still unnoticed, they submerged immediately, charged the firing-tank,
flooded the torpedo-tube, and stood by to fire.  Now was the critical
moment--not of the journey, perhaps, but to demonstrate beyond question
that it had been successfully accomplished.  The _B11_ crept up again
to within fifteen feet.  There was a fraction of a pause, and the
torpedo was launched.  This meant her discovery, of course, and, had
not the torpedo gone home, a second chance could hardly have been
expected.  But it was a good shot, followed by a loud explosion, and a
cautious peep through the periscope showed the _Messudiyeh_, completely
surprised, to be sinking by her stern.

Built by the Thames Iron Works Company in {154} 1874, she was of no
great value as a battleship; and, although she had been reconstructed
in Genoa in 1902, and carried two 9.2-inch guns besides a secondary
armament, she was not in any sense a serious opponent, and her maximum
speed was but 16 knots.  But she was one of the only three battleships
in the Turkish Navy; she carried a crew of 600 and was guarding the
minefields; and the moral effect of her loss in so dramatic a fashion
was profound.  But a few years before, and this journey of
Lieutenant-Commander Holbrook's would have seemed but the vain
imagining of a novelist.  Now it was a fact, and a fact that could be
repeated, as others of his colleagues were to demonstrate.

Meanwhile the alarm had been given.  The batteries on either side had
opened fire and shells were beginning to plunge in all directions; and
the _B11_ modestly sought concealment.  With torpedo-boats quartering
the surface, she dropped into darkness again, and then, for a horrible
moment or two, it seemed that her end had come.  At a depth of thirty
feet there came an ominous shock; for ten minutes, she grated along a
bed of shingle; but her good luck held, and she slid at last undamaged
into the deep channel that she had been looking for.  So the return
journey began; the five rows of mines were once more successfully
passed; at a depth of sixty feet, she drew level with Cape Helles, and
then, after nine hours below, she came to the surface again.  Thus
ended a voyage hitherto unequalled in the submarine records of any
navy, and one that secured for Lieutenant-Commander Holbrook the first
Victoria Cross {155} awarded to a naval officer since the beginning of
the war.

Lieutenant-Commander Holbrook was a pioneer and his vessel was a
comparatively old one, but scarcely less thrilling and, from the purely
material standpoint, considerably more fruitful, was the voyage
undertaken, about six months later, by Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith in
the _E11_.  Leaving Imbros at three o'clock one summer morning, he set
out for the Dardanelles, dived at daybreak, and pushed his way, as
Holbrook had done, beneath the defences of the Narrows.  Emerging on
the other side of these, he rose to the surface and saw a couple of
battleships within range.  By this time, however, the standard of
vigilance above the Narrows had been very considerably raised; and,
before _E11_ could discharge any of her torpedoes, her presence was
discovered, and the ships escaped.

They opened fire as they did so, thus giving the general alarm, and the
_E11_ accordingly submerged for the rest of the afternoon, not showing
her periscope again till dusk, when she apparently had the sea to
herself.  She then proceeded, in naval phrase, into the Sea of Marmora
at her leisure, but for a few days was unable to get in touch with any
enemy craft.  Not satisfied with this, she then made her way to the
neighbourhood of Constantinople, where, on Sunday morning, she sighted
and sank a big Turkish gunboat.  This vessel went down in five minutes,
but must have contained a gunner of some merit, since, before
disappearing, she opened fire and with her second shot hit the _E11's_
periscope.

{156}

This was soon repaired, however, and the next day she sighted a steamer
and told her to stop.  An officer and two men were sent aboard her,
where they found a 6-inch gun, numerous gun-mountings, and some 15-inch
ammunition; and accordingly, after the crew had taken to the boats,
this vessel was also sent to the bottom.  Hardly had she vanished when
another steamer was sighted and, refusing to stop, chased into harbour,
where she was torpedoed in the very act of making herself safe
alongside a pier.  A little later, yet a third vessel was seen and also
chased to the shore; and then there ensued one of the strangest little
actions that had been fought during the course of the war.  For, at
that moment, a body of Turkish cavalry came galloping up to defend the
ship, and opened fire on the submarine, just as a boarding-party was
about to leave her.  For a few minutes, a duel followed between the
_E11_ and the horsemen on shore, some of the latter being dropped from
their saddles before the submarine dived and torpedoed the ship.

Monday had been a busy day, but on Tuesday Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith
decided to enter Constantinople.  In this he was successful, and,
having made the harbour, torpedoed and sank a transport loaded with
troops, exploding a second torpedo upon the shore, and creating a very
considerable local panic.  From Tuesday to Friday time passed
uneventfully, but, on Friday morning, a convoy was sighted, consisting
of five transports escorted by destroyers.  Selecting the first and
biggest, this was torpedoed, sinking in less than three {157} minutes,
the others escaping, and the _E11_ successfully evading the destroyers.
Three more of these transports, as well as a supply-ship, were sunk a
day or two afterward, and, a few days later, yet another transport was
torpedoed, and a last one, on the way home, was sunk just before
entering the Narrows.

With a round dozen vessels to her credit, the _E11_ then dived beneath
the minefields, and might well have been thought to have had sufficient
adventures for one small vessel in a single trip.  But there was
another in store for her that might readily have been her last for,
when she came to the surface again that evening, it was to discover a
mine, like a piece of seaweed, hanging over her bows and caressing her
side.  It was a perilous moment, but, in the words of one of her crew,
the mine was "chucked" off as speedily as possible, and the _E11_
safely received into the waiting arms of her escort.  For this voyage
Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith also received the Victoria Cross, and
every member of his crew the Distinguished Service Medal.

This was a great record, but it was closely pressed by many of her
colleagues, notably the _E14_; and we find her in the Sea of Marmora
again in August doing her best to sustain it.  This time her voyage was
made conspicuous by an extraordinarily daring journey on the part of
her second in command, Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes, who had already been
decorated for his services in the earlier raid just recorded.  His
object was, if possible, to destroy a viaduct over which passed the
Ismid Railway, skirting the coast; and, with this in view, on the night
{158} of August 21st, he left the submarine, about sixty yards from the
shore.  In readiness for his attempt, a raft had been prepared, on
which were carefully packed his charge of explosives, his clothes, a
revolver, a sharpened bayonet, an electric torch, and a whistle.

Dropping into the water, he pushed this before him, and swam warily to
the shore, but found himself unable, at his first point of landing, to
scale the cliffs that were here very precipitous.  Accordingly he
pushed out his raft again, and swam along the coast until a more
promising ascent revealed itself, where he dressed, loaded himself with
his charge, and, after a very steep climb, reached the top of the
cliffs.  Half an hour later, making his way inland, he came upon the
line of the railway, and then, carrying his charge, began to creep
quietly along it in the direction of the viaduct.

This he did for about a quarter of a mile, when he suddenly heard
voices ahead of him, and presently saw three men sitting by the side of
the railway, talking together loudly, and evidently quite oblivious of
him.  Crouching in the darkness, he watched them for some little time,
and then decided to leave his heavy charge where it was, and, after
having made a wide detour inland, inspect the viaduct and see how it
was guarded.

Having marked the spot, therefore, where he had concealed his charge,
he struck away from the railway into the unknown country beyond, and
here he very nearly came to disaster, owing to an unlucky stumble into
a small farmyard.  The poultry scuttered about {159} calling, but
happily without rousing the family, from whose undisturbed dreams it
would surely be true to say that nothing could have been remoter than
the vision of a British naval lieutenant, cursing under his breath, in
the middle of their fowl-run.  He was soon well away from this, and not
very long afterward was within three hundred yards of the viaduct,
where it soon became clear that there was very little prospect of his
being able to secrete and fire his charge.  At the end of it nearest to
him, he could see a bright fire burning and the figures of several men
moving to and fro, while the panting of an engine could be heard
through the night, either on the viaduct itself or just beyond it.

There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make his way back to the
place where he had hidden his explosive, and to find as suitable a spot
in which to discharge it as the circumstances would allow.  After a
further search, he discovered a low brickwork support, carrying the
line over a small hollow, and it was beneath this that he finally
decided to place and explode his charge.  Unfortunately the three men,
whom he had first seen, were still sitting chatting by the line, and
the spot selected was no more than one hundred and fifty yards away
from them.

There was no other place, however, where so much damage could be done,
and muffling up the fuse pistol with a rag, he discharged it.  But the
night was so still and the men were so near that for them to hear the
report had been inevitable.  Instantly they were on their feet and
running down the line, and there was nothing for it but to take to his
heels, the three {160} men following at the top of their speed, a
couple of revolver shots failing to check them.  They too fired, but
ineffectively, and the chase went on for about a mile, Lieutenant
D'Oyly Hughes deciding that it was impossible to try and return the way
he had come, and making down the line till he came to a place where it
ran out beside the sea.

Just as he reached this, he had the satisfaction of hearing a loud
explosion in the darkness behind him, some of the debris falling into
the water, nearly half a mile away, close to the waiting submarine.
But there was not a moment to be lost, and, fully dressed, Lieutenant
D'Oyly Hughes plunged from the shore and swam as fast as he could for
about a quarter of a mile straight out to sea.  There he blew his
whistle, but was unheard by the watchers on the submarine, this latter
being behind a bend in the cliffs.  Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes therefore
swam back to the shore again, and, after having rested for a few
moments, decided that there was no other course open to him than to
swim round this bend.  Day was already nearing, and, time being
imperative, he threw away his pistol, bayonet, and electric torch; and
it was not until he had rounded the last point that his whistle was
heard by the watchers on the _E11_.  But others had heard it, too, and,
from the top of the cliffs above him, there began to float down shouts
and the reports of rifle shots.  Owing to a trick of the morning mist,
too, the emerging submarine appeared to him at first to be three
separate rowing-boats--the bow, the conning-tower, and the gun being
responsible for this illusion.  Once again, {161} therefore, he took to
the shore with the intention of hiding under the cliffs, when, after
climbing out of the water, he saw his mistake and shouted and signalled
to his comrades.  Eventually he was picked up by them forty yards out,
almost on the point of exhaustion, and having swum, after no mean
exertions ashore, nearly a mile in his clothes.

While the British submarines and their officers and crews were thus
making themselves at home in the Sea of Marmora, a campaign as daring
had already been begun in the similar enclosed area of the Baltic,
Commander Max Horton in the _E9_ being in this case the pioneer.  This
officer had already accounted for a couple of German men-of-war, the
light cruiser _Hela_ sunk in the previous September, and the destroyer
_S126_ put down three weeks later It was early on a fine Sunday morning
that the _E8_ had sighted the _Hela_ about six miles south of
Heligoland.  Two torpedoes were launched, and about half a minute after
the second was despatched, the listeners on board _E9_ had heard an
explosion telling them that one at any rate had got home.  A quarter of
an hour later, the _E9_ had emerged again to see the _Hela_ listing
heavily and apparently beyond hope of redemption; and, when she had
next come to the surface, it was to find the cruiser gone and her first
German warship to her credit.  The destroyer had been sunk three weeks
later, near the mouth of the Ems River and under the very guns of
Borkum.

Such was the record of Commander Max Horton before he made his way into
the Baltic in the following year, and began to operate there almost at
the {162} same time as his colleagues established their mastery in the
Sea of Marmora; and he was worthily succeeded by Francis Cromie, than
whose personal story the war produced no stranger.  Entering the Baltic
in the summer of 1915, as a lieutenant-commander in the submarine
_E19_, to die three years later, as an acting captain, in the most
tragic of circumstances at Petrograd, few men can have played, in so
short a time, such a bewildering variety of parts.

Having arrived in the Baltic, his first task was to combat as far as
possible the importation into Germany of ore from the Swedish mines.
To this end he organized, therefore, and he was the first to organize,
a definite and coördinated plan of campaign; and this soon bore visible
fruits, not only in the number of vessels sunk, but in the precautions
forced upon the enemy.  Within a few days, in the early autumn, no less
than ten of these vessels were put out of action, the majority being
total losses.  Amongst the victims were the _Lulfa_, _Nicomedia_,
_Gutrune_, and _Pernambuco_--all vessels over 3,000 tons; while, a few
days afterward, five German transports were torpedoed and sunk, and a
sixth forced to run aground.  Of these no less than ten were the actual
victims of Lieutenant-Commander Cromie himself in the _E19_.

His most notable feat in this year, however, was the sinking of the
German cruiser _Undine_, which was engaged with some destroyers in
protecting a train-ferry upon which Lieutenant-Commander Cromie had
designs.  Of the general spirit in which not only this particular
expedition, but all his work was {163} undertaken, something can be
gathered from a letter to his mother in which he describes his
adventures as follows: "We did another fifteen hundred miles," he
wrote, "this last trip.  I went to bed for the first two days out with
'flue,' and so directed operations from my bunk.  We met a German
submarine and had to dive in a hurry, and found ourselves down at 140
feet, before I could get out of bed to take charge.  The third day we
found a lot of 'wood' outside neutral waters, and, after a short chase,
we made a lovely bonfire, being unable to sink the stuff.  The
'inhabitants' left hurriedly, leaving a small puppy dog, which we
rescued.  Its father was a Great Dane, and its mother a pug, but
considering it is a 'Hun' it is not half bad, and is a great favourite.
Nothing travels by daylight since our last raid on the 'hen-run'; so my
special haunt was very dull, and I gave it up after four days, and
tried another spot where I knew train-ferries must pass.  We had an
exciting chase, but it was spoilt by two destroyers and a cruiser
turning up.  Guessing that they would come back again I lay low, and,
sure enough, I caught the _Undine_ in the afternoon.  The first shot
stopped her and put her on fire, but she was not going down quickly
enough, so, avoiding the destroyer who was after us, I dived under the
_Undine's_ stern and gave her another from the other side....  We
arrived in covered with ice."

Technically an expert of the highest order, modest and courageous, he
was idolized by his men, and his conduct when once, off the port of
Memel, the propellers of his submarine became caught in some {164}
German nets, would have afforded ample reason for this, even had it not
been an expression of a character already well known to them.  Whether
or no he had been taking a legitimate risk, for the predicament in
which they found themselves, he instantly took the full blame.  For
several hours, they had tried in vain to free themselves, and it looked
as if at last they had been outwitted.  Calling his crew together, he
frankly confessed to them that he had taken them into this trap and
that he saw no way out.  His intention was, therefore, if the worst
should come to the worst, to rise to the surface and give them a chance
for their lives, he himself remaining below to blow up the vessel and
save it from capture.  Happily, by a last skilful and well-planned
manoeuvre, he succeeded in freeing the propellers from the
entanglement, and the _E19_ was once more at liberty, having never been
nearer death, to continue her career.

It was not only as a submarine commander of the first quality, however,
that Cromie was unobtrusively making his mark, but as an organizer and
administrator in charge of his flotilla through a period of
ever-increasing difficulty.  Busy, as he was, arranging for repairs and
supplies, and safeguarding the moral of his men in strange and remote
surroundings, he found or made time to learn the Russian language, with
results quite impossible to over-estimate.  By the end of 1916, he had
acquired--let us rather say there had come to him--a reputation
extending far beyond the little technical world of the British
submarine contingent.  For patent efficiency, complete {165} honesty,
and entire fearlessness, there are no international boundaries; and in
Cromie there were added to these a very remarkable patience and deep
human sympathies.  It was these qualities, recognized by all parties,
that, throughout the abrupt and dark changes of the Russian Revolution,
invested Cromie with an unique influence, responsible for the saving of
scores of lives.

Stationed at Reval, it was largely due to Cromie that, when the naval
mutiny broke out in the Russian Fleet, many officers were saved from
the fate that befell their less fortunate colleagues at Helsingfors and
Cronstadt.  With his headquarters on the Russian cruiser _Dwina_,
Cromie lived through the spectacle of beholding his own Russian servant
appointed to the command of the vessel; yet, though he had vigorously
deplored the formation of the committees that took over the charge of
the Fleet and appealed to them in vain to uphold the discipline vital
to the preservation of the Russian navy, their personal respect for him
enabled him to hold his flotilla together and even to carry on
offensive warfare.

It was not for very long, however, that this continued possible.  The
débâcle that had set in could not be stayed; and, after the treaty
between Germany and the Bolshevik Government had been signed at
Brest-Litovsk, hope flickered out.  There was then nothing left but to
destroy the British submarines, and for their gallant crews to return
home; but Captain Cromie, as he had then become, was appointed naval
attaché at Petrograd.

{166}

Here he carried into a new and perilous sphere the same qualities that
had already distinguished him, and his influence with all sections was
of a kind possessed by no other British representative.  Even when the
British Embassy was withdrawn, he remained at his post in spite of the
fast-accumulating threats of hunger, pestilence, fanaticism, and German
intrigue.  He was at last to die, at Bolshevik hands, in a Petrograd
brawl in September, 1918; but yet without leaving, in spite of the
madness that slew him, a real enemy in Russia.

A bold and skilful seaman, a first-class organizer and leader of men, a
naturally sagacious diplomatist, he was of a type not too common even
in the navy itself.  A Chevalier of St. George, in the case of Francis
Cromie, it may be said that the words, indeed, bore their literal
meaning, and few of our losses in the turmoil of war were less
reparable than his.



{167}

CHAPTER VIII

THE BATTLE OF JUTLAND


We have seen Admiral Cradock, fighting against odds, sunk in the
Southern Pacific; Admiral Sturdee victorious in the battle of the
Falkland Islands; Admiral Beatty chasing the German raiders back to
their minefields over the Dogger Bank; Admirals Carden and de Robeck
battering the Turkish forts from the Ægean and the Dardanelles; British
lieutenants harrying the enemy in the recesses of the Baltic and the
Sea of Marmora; British yachtsmen patrolling the home coasts in search
of German submarines; British fishermen in steam trawlers sweeping the
fairways for enemy mines; and British liners, guarded by cruisers and
destroyers, gathering up troops from the ends of the earth.  If we have
not seen, we have been conscious behind these of a host of craft of
every description--bringing sheep from Australia, horses from Uruguay,
and grain from the Argentine and American prairies; of Tyne-side
colliers battling through the Bay with coal for France and Italy, so
woefully short of it; of munition ships, laden to their utmost
capacity, crossing daily to the French ports; of letters and parcels by
the thousand million always afloat on every sea.  We have seen that
admiralty alone, and the sons of {168} admiralty, were the guarantee of
that stupendous traffic; and we have seen that the bedrock upon which
the whole rested, and with it the dearest ideals of human freedom, was
the Grand Fleet, based on its northern harbours, standing sentinel over
Germany's navy.  Upon its integrity all depended.  Any disaster to it
would have been irreparable.  And when it is remembered that there were
many days when its margin of effective superiority was small--when some
ships were absent being refitted and others were suffering from
mechanical defects--it becomes clear that no British admiral was ever
in a parallel position to that of its commander.

At the Battle of Trafalgar, for instance, Nelson was in command of but
one section of the British Fleet, and the forces vanquished by him were
far from representing the whole sea-power of the enemy.  Had Nelson
been defeated or even annihilated, the command of the sea would not
necessarily have passed from us.  Other squadrons would have been
speedily collected and the enemy again challenged.  But now, for the
first time, practically all our battle units of real fighting value had
been placed and were assembled under the command of a single
leader--and with them our empire, the world's liberty, and the fate of
every army then fighting for it.

That must have been, then, the root fact in the mind of its
Commander-in-Chief--the "Hell-fire Jack" of earlier years--and in no
operation could he allow himself to forget it.  Ashore it was
different.  Here a key position, a province, even an army might be
lost--might at any rate be gambled with {169} justifiably--and the
ultimate victory still not be compromised.  But at sea it was not so.
Nor was the German navy in any sense comparably placed.  Its capital
ships might be sunk or destroyed without the empire behind them falling
to the ground.  It could therefore afford to take chances denied to the
British, and it was to find them doing so that the Grand Fleet yearned.
For this its outposts probed the Ems and the Weser, and the Grand Fleet
itself swept the seas.  But it was a long vigil, though not so long as
Nelson's, watching the Toulon Fleet for over two years; for the Jutland
Battle, as decisive at sea, though not at once so demonstrably so, as
that of Trafalgar, was fought within twenty-two months of the outbreak
of the war.  During that time, as we have seen, a continual marine
struggle had been in progress; there had been a few collisions of
capital ships; and the Grand Fleet had been constantly on patrol.  But
there had been no pitched battle on a grand scale; and it had even
begun to seem that there never would be.  Time after time, for its
exercises, the Fleet would vanish silently from its berths.  There was
hardly a day when some fraction of it, large or small, would not be
away at sea--sailing so unobtrusively, even to those most intimate with
it, the wives and families of its men and officers, that they would not
be aware of its departure till the empty berths told them the secret.

That was the position then, when, on May 30, 1916, the Grand Fleet left
its harbours--a fleet that covered when cruising, and this must always
be remembered in considering the events that followed, {170} an area
somewhat larger than the County of London.  It was a lovely afternoon
of almost summer warmth, with a clear sky ashore and a promise of
settled weather; and, as usual, the Fleet put to sea in two main
divisions.  Of these the southernmost and faster, consisting of the
First and Second Battle-Cruiser Squadrons, had left the Firth of Forth
under Vice-Admiral Beatty--the former being composed of the four famous
"Cats," as they had been christened, the _Lion_, the _Tiger_, the
_Princess Royal_, flying the flag of Rear-Admiral O. de B. Brock, and
the _Queen Mary_; and the latter containing the _New Zealand_, under
Rear-Admiral W. C. Pakenham, and the _Indefatigible_.  Besides these,
Admiral Beatty had four of the latest battleships of the _Queen
Elizabeth_ class--the _Barham_, flying the flag of Rear-Admiral
Evan-Thomas, the _Valiant_, _Warspite_, and _Malaya_.  With him were
also the First, Second, and Third Light Cruiser Squadrons and the
First, Ninth, Tenth, and Thirteenth Destroyer Flotillas.  Under Admiral
Jellicoe to the north there had issued out from Scapa Flow the main
body of British sea strength--Admiral Jellicoe's flagship, the _Iron
Duke_, sailing with the Fourth Battle Squadron, and the other divisions
of the Fleet being under the command of Vice-Admirals Sir Cecil Burney,
second-in-command, Sir Thomas Jerram, and Sir Doveton Sturdee, and
Rear-Admirals Alexander Duff, Arthur Leveson, and Ernest Gaunt.

Now to appreciate the significance both of these two main divisions and
the composition of Beatty's command--the swiftest and most
heavily-gunned {171} vessels that had ever flown the White
Ensign--there are two further considerations that must always be borne
in mind.  Placed as it was, the German navy could scarcely be brought
to action against its own will, and the deployment in line of battle of
so great a fleet in the North Sea--notably in its restricted southern
area--would have been a matter of the greatest difficulty even on a
clear day.  It was Beatty's task, therefore, to lure the enemy, should
he be encountered, into the arms of the Battle Fleet; and, for that
reason, he had to be strong enough to engage considerable hostile
forces, and yet not so strong as to scare them home again.  He had to
be swift enough to chase, but also swift enough to run away; and, in
order that his mission might be fulfilled, it was essential that
Jellicoe with his battleships should at once be not too distant and yet
far enough away to escape the wide vision of the German aircraft.  In a
word, Beatty's squadron, cruising in accordance with the orders of the
Commander-in-Chief, had been made both strong enough and swift enough
to deal with any probable development.  Remembering all this then, and
to perceive more clearly the general trend of the approaching conflict,
let us forget for a moment about Jellicoe's giants, and follow the
fortunes of his junior.

Throughout the afternoon and evening of May 30th nothing had been seen
of the enemy, and, though he had put to sea in full force on the
morning of May 31st, steaming northward parallel to the Jutland coast,
Beatty had not come into touch with him by noon.  About that time,
therefore, he turned {172} north again on his way to rejoin the Battle
Fleet, with his light cruisers ahead of him, forming an extended
screen, and the four super-dreadnoughts--the vessels of the _Queen
Elizabeth_ type--bringing up the rear.  The weather was still fine, but
the sea was hazy, and clouds had begun to overspread the sky.  By this
time, unseen by Beatty, the German Fleet, also in two divisions, was
bearing to the northwest--Admiral von Hipper, with his five
battle-cruisers, the _Derfflinger_, the _Seydlitz_, the _Moltke_, the
_von der Tann_, and the _Lutzow_, being well in advance of the main
force under the command of Admiral von Scheer--as far in advance
indeed, at that moment, as Beatty was in advance of Jellicoe.  Thus a
bird's-eye view, taken just before two o'clock, would have shown the
Jutland coast stretching north and south, a hundred-mile strip of more
or less empty sea, lying almost unrippled to the east of it; then the
thin line of the German Fleet steaming north and a little west, the
dark smoke from its funnels lazily rolling in the same direction; then
another strip of empty sea, from fifteen to twenty miles wide; and
finally Beatty's squadron, with its light cruisers ahead, also steaming
to the north--the two fleets drawing together on gently converging
lines.

Twenty minutes later, from the light cruiser _Galatea_, flying the
broad pennant of Commander E. S. Alexander-Sinclair, a message was
received by Admiral Beatty in the _Lion_ that enemy forces had been
sighted to the eastward; and the order was at once given to alter
course to the south-southeast to cut them off from their base.  Five
minutes {173} afterward, the _Galatea_ signalled that the enemy was
present in considerable strength--a signal also received by Admiral
Jellicoe on board his flagship the _Iron Duke_--and, within ten
minutes, a drift of smoke, far to the east, became visible to the
_Lion_.  Admiral Beatty now ordered the _Engadine_, the seaplane
carrier attached to his fleet, to send up a seaplane on reconnaissance,
and this was most promptly and gallantly carried out.  Unable to fly,
owing to the clouds, more than 900 feet high, she came under a fierce
fire from the enemy cruisers, but brought back very valuable
information.

The presence of enemy battle-cruisers ahead was now accurately known,
and the course had been changed again to the northeast, the First and
Third Light Cruiser Squadrons having spread themselves to the eastward
to form a screen for the battle-cruisers.  At half-past three the
report from the seaplane was received, and, a minute later, enemy ships
were sighted by the _Lion_, Admiral Beatty then forming into line of
battle, and again changing his course, this time to east-southeast.
All three Light Cruiser Squadrons were now ahead of the "Cats," these
being followed up by the _New Zealand_, and the _Indefatigable_, the
_Barham_, _Valiant_, _Warspite_, and _Malaya_ bringing up the rear a
few miles behind.  Von Hipper, with his five cruisers and accompanying
mosquito-craft, had also turned to the southeast, and the two forces
were again steaming parallel, and again slowly drawing together.  For
the moment, the Germans were considerably outnumbered, at any rate in
capital ships, and Beatty had the advantage, {175} both tactically, in
that the sun was in his favour, not low enough to silhouette him, and
illuminating the enemy, and strategically, in that he was upon a course
cutting off von Hipper from his base.  On the other hand, he was, at
the moment, and in accordance with a correct appreciation of his duty,
drawing further away from Admiral Jellicoe and the Battle Fleet to the
north; while von Hipper was aware that the whole German High Seas Fleet
was hurrying to meet him from the south.  For the German rear-admiral
it was a race against time, and it cannot be denied that for the fifty
minutes in which he was thus outweighted, his gunnery was as excellent
as it had always been assumed that, in the first stages of a fight, it
would be.  It was only under the ordeal of casualties, both in men and
machinery, that his accuracy began to waver and that of the British to
increase; and it was while he was at his strongest, as it chanced, that
Beatty's losses were most severe.

======================================================================

{174}

[Illustration: PLAN SHOWING THE DEPLOYMENT OF THE BATTLE FLEET]

======================================================================

Joining battle about ten minutes to four, at a range of ten and a half
miles, both sides pressed the attack with the utmost vigour, and it was
within a few minutes of the opening of the engagement that the
_Indefatigible_, struck on a turret over a well-filled magazine, was
sunk, thus equalizing the numbers of the opposing battle-cruisers.
Meanwhile the 15-inch guns of the great _Queen Elizabeth_ had begun to
speak at a range of fourteen miles, and, at the same time, submarines
were reported on both sides of the line of battle.  These were driven
off by the destroyers _Lydiard_ and _Landrail_ and the Light Cruiser
_Nottingham_, and, a few minutes later, a concerted {176}
destroyer-attack was launched upon the enemy cruisers.  This was
conducted by the _Nestor_, _Nomad_, _Nicator_, _Narborough_, and
_Nerissa_, the _Pelican_, _Petard_, _Obdurate_, _Moorsom_, and
_Morris_, and the _Turbulent_ and _Termagant_; and, almost
simultaneously, a like attack was observed to be in formation on the
part of the enemy, fifteen of his destroyers and a light cruiser being
thus intercepted and engaged at close quarters.

By half-past four, therefore, the Battle of Jutland had already
developed into the biggest of the war.  Racing southward at thirty
miles an hour were fourteen of the most powerful vessels in the world,
belching half-ton shells in giant parabolas covering eight to a dozen
miles of sea; while, in between them, and under the arch of their fire,
were some thirty of the latest destroyers fighting a separate battle,
as it were, at close quarters and with the greatest ferocity.  On our
own side, an 18,000-ton battle-cruiser had already been lost with most
of her crew, while the enemy's third of the line was seen to be on fire
in the mists now beginning to gather in the northeast.  Two enemy
destroyers were also sunk in the mêlée of the mosquito-craft; but,
while they were driven back in disorder, our own torpedo-attack had
been compromised, the destroyers, owing to this fight, having fallen
some way behind the big battle-cruisers that were their objectives.
They were thus at a distinct disadvantage, but nevertheless, having
disposed of the enemy counter-attack, the three destroyers, _Nestor_,
_Nomad_, and _Nicator_, proceeded on their original errand--where, for
the moment, we may leave them chasing the enemy {177} battle-cruisers
and being themselves heavily bombarded.

It was now twenty minutes to five, and a message from the
_Southampton_, scouting ahead to the south, had suddenly transformed
not only the immediate situation, but the entire future outlook of the
action.  Just below the horizon, but soon to be above it, was the whole
of the German Battle Fleet--such were the tidings rapped out to his
chief by Commodore Goodenough of the _Southampton_.  So far Admiral
Beatty's problem had been a comparatively simple one, and the forces at
his disposal ample for its solution.  But now he was to be thrown, for
an indefinite period, into a position of almost crushing inferiority,
yet with the possibility in front of him, if the enemy could be tempted
to the point of rashness, of leading up to a victory of the first
magnitude.

For another four minutes he held his course, and then, having sighted
the German Battle Fleet to the southeast, he recalled his destroyers,
and headed for the northwest, determining to take full advantage of his
superior speed.  Before doing so, however, he had sustained, at about
half-past four, yet another and most serious loss in the sinking of the
_Queen Mary_, after a violent explosion, caused by an enemy salvo.
With the _Queen Mary_ we are already familiar, owing to her presence at
the Battle of the Bight; and, to her three fellow-members of the First
Battle-Cruiser Squadron, her loss was irreparable.  Between these
splendid cruisers, the _Lion_, the _Tiger_, the _Princess Royal_, and
the _Queen Mary_, there had grown {178} to be a bond of deep and
justifiable pride--a sort of consciousness of each other's aristocracy,
nonchalantly concealed, but not lightly to be challenged; while, apart
from this, the _Queen Mary_ was one of the finest gunnery ships in the
Fleet.  Something of the ordeal that she went through may best be
gathered, perhaps, from the account afterward given by one of her
rescued midshipmen.

"A salvo of German shells," he said, "hit the quarterdeck, setting the
whole of that part on fire.  A few minutes afterward a terrific
explosion occurred in the second magazine.  Both our guns were then
right back on their slides and out of action.  The general opinion was
that the whole turret had been unseated by the German salvo.  The
officer of the turret told me that the ship was sinking rapidly and
that I was to get the turret crew out as quickly as possible, which I
did.  The officer then told me to carry out the usual routine: 'Every
man for himself.'  I left the turret through the hatch on the top and
found the ship was lying on her side.  She was broken amidship, with
the stern and bows both sticking out of the water at an acute angle.  I
sat on the turret for a few moments, and while there I thought I saw
several men fall into the water.  The stern was on fire and red hot.
Then an explosion blew the whole bow right out of the water, causing
the after part of the ship to give a tremendous lurch, and throwing me
off the turret into the water.  Just before I struck the water, I heard
another terrific explosion above my head, as apparently the after
magazine exploded.  When I came to the surface {179} of the water,
nothing of the _Queen Mary_ was to be seen, except a lot of wreckage,
spars, and that sort of thing.  The _Tiger_ was steaming behind us
during the action, and probably passed right over the spot where the
_Queen Mary_ had gone down.  The _Queen Mary_ took only about a minute
to sink.  I remained in the water a long time, clinging to a spar, and
saw a destroyer come up, and saw her turn round and make off again.  A
few minutes afterward, the Fifth Battle Squadron (comprising the _Queen
Elizabeth_ type of ship) steamed past at about 23 knots, firing
continually.  The enemy shots were mostly falling short.  One enemy
shell exploded in the water close to where I was, and the concussion
knocked me off my spar, causing me to lose consciousness.  The next
thing I remember was finding myself, about four hours later, in the
forecastle of a destroyer.  I was told that I had been picked up by
their whaler about thirty-five minutes after the _Queen Mary_ had been
blown up.  I was found on a large hatch which was floating in the
water."

With the battle-cruisers swinging round to the north, the destroyers
having been recalled, let us return for a moment to the _Nomad_,
_Nestor_, and _Nicator_.  Proceeding with their attack, the destroyer
_Nomad_ had soon been put out of action, but the _Nestor_, most
spiritedly led by Commander the Hon. E. B. B. Bingham, had fired her
third torpedo at the second of the enemy cruisers from a distance of
less than two miles.  Before being able to fire her fourth, she too had
become crippled; while the _Nicator_, having to turn inside her in
order to avoid a collision, {180} had been unable to fire her last
torpedo, but had succeeded in escaping and rejoining her flotilla.

The position was now as follows--the Light Cruiser _Southampton_,
obeying orders to reconnoitre, was still steaming south; the British
battle-cruisers, led by the _Lion_, were steaming north, parallel to
von Hipper; and the four 24-knot battleships, led by Admiral
Evan-Thomas, were still on their original course, not having yet made
the turn.  This brought them, for a few minutes, into closer range of
von Hipper's battle-cruisers, and it was at this stage that the German
_Lutzow_ was severely damaged, subsequently to be lost.  This was von
Hipper's flagship, and, leaving her in a destroyer, under the heaviest
British fire, the German admiral, later in the action, transferred his
flag to the Battle-Cruiser _Derfflinger_.  A quarter of an hour
afterward, the four _Queen Elizabeths_ swung round astern of Beatty;
and it was now upon these vessels that the fire of von Scheer's
approaching battleships began to be concentrated.

There had thus begun the second stage of this great battle, in which
Beatty, confronted by odds that he could not face, was now heading to
the north, and drawing the whole hungry German Fleet toward Admiral
Jellicoe, some fifty miles away.  Ahead of the _Lion_ was the Light
Cruiser _Fearless_, another memorable figure in the Battle of the
Bight, and the destroyers of the First Flotilla; also ahead and to
starboard were the First and Third Light Cruiser Squadrons; while,
behind and to port, was the Second Light Cruiser Squadron--the Light
Cruiser _Champion_, {181} with the rest of the destroyers, remaining in
touch with Admiral Evan-Thomas.

It was now past five o'clock and the weather conditions were becoming
rapidly more unfavourable.  Against the clearer sky to the west, the
British vessels were far more clearly defined than the German, the
latter passing in and out of the patches of mist, thus making the task
of the British gunners one of the extremest difficulty.  Nevertheless
it was now that the British fire was definitely beginning to assert its
superiority, while the shooting of the Germans, under their heavy
punishment, was becoming increasingly more wild--the main brunt of
their fire, during this northward race, being borne, as we have said,
by the _Queen Elizabeths_.  For some time, indeed, it would scarcely
have been an exaggeration to say that the four of them were engaged
with the whole High Seas Fleet; while some of them at least had the
narrowest of escapes from being torpedoed by submarines.  Thanks to
their admirable handling, however, they came through unscathed, one of
the enemy's submarines being certainly sunk.

By his rapid appreciation of the new position, his instant decision,
and the course that he had taken, Admiral Beatty was now ahead of the
long parallel German line and slowly bending it toward the north-east,
keeping within an eight-mile range of the leading cruisers.  To von
Hipper and von Scheer--the latter newly in command of the German High
Seas Fleet--he must have seemed, for a few minutes, but a retreating
and easy prey; but, a little to the north-west, the British Battle
Fleet was hurrying at full {182} speed to his assistance--the space
between them diminishing at the rate of forty-five miles an hour.

The most crucial moments of the whole engagement were now irrevocably
approaching--moments that were to test, as they had scarcely been
tested before, perhaps, the initiative and tactical skill of the
commanding admirals.  Already there was in progress a naval action
extending over many miles of sea, and being fought under conditions of
mist and fog of the most complex and baffling nature.  It was an action
that even then, involving every device of modern offensive warfare, had
assumed proportions more titanic than that of any sea-fight ever
fought; and there was now to be committed to it--and so committed to it
that not a moment was to be lost--the mightiest battle fleet in the
world and the one vital safeguard of the Allies.  When it is further
remembered that the situation, however accurately signalled by the
engaged squadrons, was changing with lightning-like rapidity from
moment to moment; and that the deployment--the dove-tailing, as it
were--of the six parallel columns of twenty-four dreadnoughts into the
line of battle-cruisers already formed would, under any circumstances,
have been an operation of the most delicate nature, something may be
conceived of the sort of task that Admiral Jellicoe had to undertake.
By no other hand could this stupendous manoeuvre have been more ably
carried out, and, as a commander at sea, by the sternest of all tests,
he proved himself among the finest that Britain has produced.  Nor were
his admirals unworthy of him either in their divination {183} of the
movements demanded by their relative positions, or in the seamanship
and machine-like precision with which such movements were carried out.
Let us follow these, as far as possible, in the order in which they
occurred.

Steaming in advance of the main fleet under Admiral Jellicoe, was the
Third Battle-Cruiser Squadron, under Rear-Admiral the Hon. Horace A. L.
Hood; and this had received orders from the Commander-in-Chief to find
and support Beatty at the earliest possible moment.  Led by the
flagship _Invincible_, formerly Sturdee's flagship at the Battle of the
Falkland Islands, the first sign of fighting was seen by them in the
southwest about half-past five.  Necessarily uncertain as to the exact
position of affairs, Admiral Hood sent one of his light cruisers to
reconnoitre--the _Chester_, which soon found herself fiercely engaged
with three or four of the enemy's light cruisers.  For nearly twenty
minutes she fought single-handed, suffering a large number of
casualties; but, thanks to the skill of her commander, Captain R. N.
Lawson, and the devotion of all on board, she escaped comparatively
unscathed, though with some honourable scars.  It was during this
action that John Travers Cornwell, a first-class boy, just over
sixteen, though mortally wounded and with every member of his gun's
crew lying disabled about him, remained alone, in a most exposed
position, till the end of the action, awaiting orders--exemplifying a
devotion to duty for which he was awarded the Victoria Cross.

It was now clear to Admiral Hood that he was too {184} far to the east,
and, at the same time, Beatty had sighted the first of the reinforcing
cruisers.  Six minutes later, and five miles to the north, he caught a
glimpse of the leading British battleships; and it was then that he
judged the moment to have come to try and work between the enemy and
his bases.  To decide was to act, and, just before six, therefore,
working up his engines to their highest capacity, Beatty altered the
course of his ships to the direct east, closing the range.  Some time
before this, the destroyer _Moresby_ had torpedoed the enemy sixth of
the line, and, ten minutes after changing course, her fellow-destroyer
_Onslow_ torpedoed an enemy light cruiser.

While this was in progress, Admiral Hood with his battle-cruisers had
come into sight, and, acting on Beatty's orders, had taken the head of
the line in a manner, as Beatty said, worthy of his great ancestors.
For a quarter of an hour, so fiercely did he attack, with the strenuous
support of Admiral Napier and the Third Light Cruiser Squadron, that
the enemy's leading ships were forced to the south and west, and the
British line was already beginning, as Beatty had designed, to insert
itself between the Germans and their coast-line.  Unhappily at the
close range at which Admiral Hood was now fighting--something less than
four miles--an enemy shell found one of the _Invincible's_ turrets,
firing the magazine, and sinking her in less than two minutes.

The imminent approach of the British Battle Fleet had, of course, by
this time become known to the German commander, and, indeed, it seems
probable {185} that he mistook Admiral Hood's battle-cruisers for its
leading ships.  With the head of his line definitely menaced by Admiral
Beatty's dash, he was on an easterly, becoming southeasterly, course;
Admiral Beatty and his battle-cruisers were already threatening to
intervene between him and his bases; and he now turned to starboard
again, through south to southwest, in the endeavour to escape disaster,
if that were possible.  Moreover, the weather conditions that, for the
last hour or so, had been almost wholly in his favour, were now
beginning to tell against him almost as much as they were handicapping
the British.  One after another, his cruisers and battleships, emerging
for a few minutes from the fog, would be instantly picked up and
remorselessly hammered by the heavy guns of the British Battle-Cruiser
Squadrons; while the leading battleships of the Grand Fleet were
already beginning to fall into line behind these.

Meanwhile the four _Queen Elizabeths_, under Admiral Evan-Thomas, now
considerably in the rear of Admiral Beatty, were still heavily engaged
with von Scheer's battleships lower down his line and not yet turned.
It had been the original idea of Admiral Evan-Thomas to follow up the
battle-cruisers ahead of the Grand Fleet; but these were so far in
front of him that it was clearly preferable--and indeed it was apparent
that this would be Admiral Jellicoe's own view--that the Grand Fleet
should deploy in the gap, Admiral Evan-Thomas himself thus bringing up
the rear.  At the same time, after the loss of the _Invincible_, Beatty
had again placed himself at the head {186} of the line, the Third
Battle-Cruiser Squadron taking station behind him, between the _New
Zealand_ and the on-coming Battle Fleet.

That all this should have taken place in the deepening twilight at
great speed, and in spite of repeated torpedo-attacks, was the highest
tribute, not only to the Commander-in-Chief, but to the seamanship and
intuition of his supporting admirals--and here it must be remembered
that, to a certain extent, Admiral Jellicoe himself had been taken by
surprise.  Between the position of the German Fleet, as it had been
signalled to him, and the position in which he eventually came into
contact with it, there was a difference of twelve miles--quite
understandable in view of the conditions in which courses had been
plotted, but none the less adding to the difficulties of the on-coming
Commander.  Thus, at five minutes to six, he was still uncertain of the
exact whereabouts of the enemy--the utmost care was necessary in order
to distinguish between our own and hostile vessels--and he was steering
on a course, southwest by south, at a speed of 20 knots.  It was
scarcely avoidable also, under such circumstances, that there should
have been a certain number of casualties; and it was while manoeuvring
in what we have called this gap that some of the cruisers ahead of the
Battle Fleet found themselves not only too close to the enemy
battleships, but, a few minutes later, between the enemy line and the
advancing _Queen Elizabeths_.  It was there that the _Defence_, under
Rear-Admiral Sir Robert Arbuthnot, was blown up and sunk, and the
_Warrior_ so severely damaged that she was {187} subsequently lost,
though not before they had disabled, between them, one of the enemy's
light cruisers.

"At 5.40," said one of the _Warrior's_ survivors, "we went to Action
Stations, and, ten minutes later, we heard the first gun fired by the
armoured cruiser _Defence_.  A few minutes afterward, the _Warrior_
fired her starboard battery's big guns, and then we slewed round and
fired the port guns.  We had not sent off more than a couple of salvos,
when, looking out, I saw the _Defence_ blown clean out of the water.
We were then closely engaged with three German ships--a battle-cruiser
and two light cruisers.  Our first round went home.  We had not been
firing many minutes before we noticed that one of the enemy light
cruisers was on fire, and big clouds of smoke were coming from her.
Gradually we got to closer range (ten thousand yards), firing all the
time; and we ourselves had been hit many times by heavy projectiles,
and almost the whole of the afterpart of the ship was on fire.
Finally, we got within 5,400 yards of the battle-cruiser, but we had
only fired one salvo with all our guns when the _Warspite_ came to our
assistance.  By that time our ship was almost helpless; our
engine-rooms and stokeholds were flooded, owing to a projectile having
penetrated below the water-line, so that we could not obtain steam for
the engines.  Shells or heavy armour-piercing shot had penetrated
almost everything.  The ship was also making water badly, and there was
a fire in the after part of the vessel.  Part of the ship's company was
all this time engaged with the hose in trying to put out the fire, and
the men not required for that were {188} set to work to construct
rafts, for the ship was gradually settling down.  At 6.30 the order was
given to cease fire, for we had, by that time, lost all trace of the
German Fleet, and the _Warrior_ was regarded as being out of action.
As soon as the fire was got under control, we commenced to identify the
dead, who were that night buried (the funeral service being held the
next day), and to get up the wounded.  That being done, all hands were
set to work at the pumps so as to keep the ship afloat, and we had to
keep them going all night.  Early in the evening--at 7.50--a seaplane
depot-ship came alongside and took us in tow for ten hours.  The
_Warrior_ settled down more and more all through the night.  On the
following morning, the sea was very rough.  Early in the forenoon, the
order was reluctantly given to abandon ship.  The depot-ship again came
alongside, and our wounded were all safely transferred to her.  Then
the ship's company and officers left the ship, and the last we saw of
the _Warrior_ was between nine and ten in the forenoon when she was
rapidly settling down aft.  We were naturally all very sorry to see the
last of the grand old ship, but after all she came to a gallant end."

It will have been noticed that the _Warspite_ is mentioned by this
observer as coming to the _Warrior's_ rescue; and this refers to an
incident, occurring at this period, that was one of the most remarkable
of the whole battle.  While emptying salvos into von Scheer's leading
battleships, the steering-gear of the _Warspite_ became jammed; and, to
the horror of her consorts in Admiral Evan-Thomas's squadron, she {189}
suddenly began to describe a great circle toward the enemy.  This
immediately exposed her to the extremest, and what seemed an inevitably
fatal, disadvantage, and she disappeared from sight behind a veritable
Niagara of shell-spouts, smoke, and explosions.  Presently, to
everybody's amazement, she emerged again, stricken but not disabled,
and replying vigorously, and then once more, still at full speed,
proceeded upon the same astounding course.  It was just before the
_Defence_ was sunk that her steering-gear became jammed; and it was
while describing her two great circles that she drew the enemy's fire
from the _Warrior_.  To the latter, as we have seen, it seemed as if
she had been deliberately doing this, and afterward her commander
boarded the _Warspite_ to tender his thanks--where Captain Phillpotts,
whose skilful handling had brought his vessel safe home to harbour,
while very pleased to have been of service, had regretfully to deny the
imputed gallantry.

Another most brilliant action was fought at this time by the Third
Light Cruiser Squadron, under Rear-Admiral Napier, the _Falmouth_ and
_Yarmouth_--the latter a distinguished member of the China Squadron
before the war--both firing torpedoes and scoring a hit on the German
battle-cruiser leading the line, the whole squadron then closing in and
engaging these much more powerful vessels with their guns.  Nor were
the destroyers any less busy, though considerably outnumbered by the
Germans, and the action of the _Shark_ may be taken as typical both of
their enterprise and devotion.  Unhappily she was lost with her brave
leader (also awarded the Victoria {190} Cross) Commander Loftus Jones,
but, for ten minutes, she fought a fight according to the greatest
traditions of her class.

"Right ahead of us," said one of her survivors, "and close at hand, we
saw two columns of German destroyers.  We were racing along at the
time, and our skipper took us at full speed right toward the enemy
lines.  There was a column of their small craft on either side of us,
and, as soon as we got abreast of them, we attacked at close range, and
managed to torpedo a couple of enemy destroyers, one on each beam.  All
the time we were getting it hot.  Guns were popping at us from all
quarters, and we were firing back as hard as we could go, as well as
using our torpedo-tubes.  Of course a fight under these conditions
could not last long for us.  We had been engaged about ten minutes when
two torpedoes hit fairly, one on each side of our ship, and ripped
three holes in her, so that she sank almost at once.  I and some others
sprang on to a raft, where we stayed for five hours watching the
battle--and there was something to look at.  Zeppelins, torpedo-craft,
submarines, and big ships were all there.  Shells fell like hailstones
into the water, and we could see the small craft getting it badly.  The
enemy losses in destroyers must have been very great, for whenever one
got a big shell in her she was done.  Some of them I saw hit went down
like stones.  Apparently there were a lot of German submarines, and
they seemed to be very busy, but my impression is that a good many of
them were done for by our ships running over them.  The fire of the big
ships was enough to stun anybody {191} with the noise it made.  I saw
five German battleships and battle-cruisers; they looked as though they
were all firing at one time at one of our cruisers.  The Germans seemed
to be concentrating their fire upon one ship at a time as much as they
could--a lot of these big ships would all turn the whole of their guns
upon one of our cruisers, and then do the same thing to another.  This
meant a tremendous battering for the ships they fired at.  You can
imagine what it was to face these salvos from four or five of their
vessels pouring upon one ship at the same time.  I saw one or two ships
go, but I could not give you any particulars about them, as there was
so much going on that one could not grasp details very well.  When I
was picked up from the raft, I was about done, for it was very cold,
and I had not much clothing on.  Toward the latter part of the time, we
had as much as we could to do keep life in ourselves.  We kept our
blood circulating by jumping overboard and swimming round the raft.
All of us did this in turn, those on the raft hauling in the men who
had finished their swim, and then going for a swim round the raft
themselves.  As it was, one of our men died from exposure before he
could be landed."

Meanwhile, in such circumstances and under such conditions, the
deployment of the Battle Fleet had been carried through.  It was not
until fourteen minutes past six that Admiral Jellicoe received definite
confirmation from Admiral Beatty as to the position of the High Seas
Fleet; and, two minutes later, still on a course southeast by east, he
ordered the Fleet to deploy into line of battle on the port {192} wing
column, at the same time reducing speed to 14 knots in order to allow
the battle-cruisers to pass ahead.  For this manoeuvre, since a
starboard deployment would have brought him more rapidly into contact
with the enemy, Admiral Jellicoe had several cogent reasons.  In the
first place, the High Seas Fleet was so near that, assuming its
destroyers to be probably ahead of it, there would have been a very
great danger, under the prevailing weather conditions, of a successful
enemy destroyer-attack during deployment--and the consequent grave risk
of the whole Battle Fleet being thrown into confusion.  There would
also have been the risk of the ships of the First Battle
Squadron--inferior in many respects to the German, and our own weakest
battleships--being very severely handled before our remaining divisions
could get into line.  Yet a third reason for the port deployment, in
the estimated position of the German High Seas Fleet, was that the
alternative would have meant a very large turn for every deploying
division, in order to avoid the risk of being outflanked.

For these reasons, Admiral Jellicoe decided therefore--and it had to be
an instant decision--to deploy in the manner described.  The port wing
division, therefore, stood on in a direction across the bows of the
German Battle Fleet.  The other squadrons followed, thus compelling the
Germans to turn yet further to starboard to avoid being placed in a
position of disastrous tactical disadvantage.  By 6.33 P. M., the
battle-cruisers were clear, and the speed of the Battle Fleet was
increased to 17 knots; and, {193} by 6.38, deployment was complete,
many of our battleships being already in action.  Of these the first to
be engaged were those of the First Battle Squadron, under Vice-Admiral
Burney, his flag-ship, the _Marlborough_, especially distinguishing
herself by the rapidity and effectiveness of her fire.  Between a
quarter past six and a quarter past seven, she had engaged two
battleships and a cruiser; been herself torpedoed; and then, in spite
of this, had put out of action yet another enemy battleship.  Admiral
Jellicoe's own battleship, the _Iron Duke_, had begun to hit at her
third salvo; and, throughout the action, the Grand Fleet's gunnery
maintained the highest standard.  As a German officer afterward
admitted, "We were utterly crushed from the moment your Battle Fleet
came into action."

With the third phase of the battle, however, that would have seen, on a
clear summer evening, the annihilation of the German Fleet, the weather
had so changed, that only with the greatest difficulty was the enemy
kept in sight at all.  For a few minutes, about half-past seven, Beatty
was able to engage, setting a ship on fire; but soon the fog was
thicker than ever, and he had to send his light cruisers to locate the
enemy.  Three-quarters of an hour later, the line was found again, the
_Lion_ setting the leading ship on fire, and the _Princess Royal_, _New
Zealand_, and _Indomitable_ crippling and setting fire to two others.

That, as it turned out, was the last action fought by any of our
capital ships; and it would be well, perhaps, to pause here for a brief
survey of the general position of the two fleets.  Admiral Beatty,
still at {194} the head of the line, was by now far to the south and
shaping a southwesterly course, the Battle Fleet streaming behind him,
to the north, and then to the west, somewhat in the shape of a vast
hook with its shaft tilted toward the northwest.  Within this hook, the
enemy's line, broken in many places, was struggling homeward--the shaft
of the hook already lying well between him and his bases.  It was such
a predicament as, but for mist and darkness, must undoubtedly have
proved fatal; and it must be confessed that von Scheer showed
considerable skill in making all possible use of his respite.

Superior in destroyers, he did his utmost, by putting up smoke-screens
and ordering torpedo-attacks, to add to the difficulties of our capital
ships in bringing his own to close quarters; and, during the night,
after sustaining heavy casualties--more particularly in _personnel_--he
succeeded in rounding the shaft of the hook and bringing his shattered
forces home to port.  Of that wild night, therefore, the picture
resolves itself into one of destroyers and light cruisers searching the
darkness; of flying glimpses of enemy units; of fierce but momentary
bursts of fire.  Thus, at twenty minutes past ten, the Second Light
Cruiser Squadron fought a quarter of an hour's engagement with five
enemy cruisers; at half-past eleven, the _Birmingham_ sighted two
capital ships making their way southward to be lost in the night again;
an hour later, the _Petard_ and _Turbulent_, two destroyers, were
suddenly transfixed by the searchlights of a retreating battleship, the
_Turbulent_ being sunk by the enemy's secondary armament as she raced
past, {195} seeking safety.  The destroyer _Tipperary_, with her
commander, Captain Wintour, the leader of the Fourth Flotilla, was also
lost, but not before the flotilla had inflicted severe casualties upon
the enemy.  Another organized destroyers-attack was that of the Twelfth
Flotilla, under Captain A. J. B. Stirling, in which a large detachment
of the enemy was taken by surprise, one of his vessels being blown up
and another hit.

So the night passed, never to be forgotten by any who lived through it,
and, for only too many, slipping benumbed off rafts and wreckage into
the water, or going down in the roar of explosions, the last night of
all.  "When a battleship is hit and seriously damaged," afterward wrote
the famous American, Admiral Dewey, "there is no way of knowing whether
or not she is about to sink.  It may be possible that she will remain
afloat for hours, or that she may not sink at all.  Her purpose is to
continue to damage the enemy to the greatest possible extent.  A single
final shot fired from a sinking ship may be the blow that will turn the
tide of battle and the destiny of empires.  The damaged battleship,
therefore, continues to fight.  The men remain in the fire room, in the
turrets, at their guns.  Every man continues that particular job which
is his in fighting the ship as long as she may strike a blow.  It
therefore happens that, when a battleship goes down, there is
practically nobody on deck, and there is no man who may leave his post
in time to put on a lifebelt or launch a raft.  Quite naturally, every
man dies with the ship."

{196}

In this way Admirals Hood and Arbuthnot and many a gallant sailor, long
to be remembered, went down with their ships, though, despite all
risks, when the run of the battle permitted, rescues were attempted and
often with success.  A typical example of this was the action of the
destroyer _Defender_, under Lieutenant-Commander Laurence R. Palmer,
who, herself having been severely damaged by a 12-inch shell in her
foremost boiler, struggled to the assistance of the _Onslow_, under
Lieutenant-Commander J. C. Tovey, who had been rendered helpless by an
enemy shell.

This latter destroyer, having sighted a light cruiser about to attack
the _Lion_ with torpedoes, had at once assailed her with the utmost
spirit, closing to within a range of a little over a mile, and firing
no less than fifty-eight rounds at her.  She had then proceeded to
attack some enemy battle-cruisers, and had already fired one of her
torpedoes, when she was struck by a shell; and her commander, thinking
his torpedoes all gone, had then ordered her retirement.  Learning,
however, that he still had three torpedoes left, he again attacked and
torpedoed the light cruiser, with which he had been previously engaged,
sighted some more battleships and loosed the rest of his torpedoes,
before his vessel gave out and came to a standstill.  It was while thus
drifting helplessly, and with shells plunging all about her, that the
_Defender_, whose own speed had been reduced to about ten knots, came
alongside and took her in tow.  Twice during the night, owing to the
rising sea, the tow between these two heroic cripples became parted,
{197} and twice it was made good, the two journeying together till the
afternoon of the following day.  Lastly must be mentioned the _Abdiel_,
which, under the command of Captain Berwick Curtis, had been ordered by
Admiral Jellicoe to lay mines behind the retreating Germans.  This her
great speed--40 knots an hour--and the gallantry of all on board
enabled her to do, the flying enemy sustaining several casualties as
the result of her enterprise and skill.

So ended the Battle of Jutland, as regarded the sea, the most gigantic
that the world had known--for, when the next day dawned, June 1st, a
day already glorious in British annals, it was to find the enemy gone
and Admiral Jellicoe in unchallenged possession of the field.  Breaking
through mists, well-nigh as dense as those in which it had set, the sun
rose and with it the hopes of the British admirals that the work of the
night might be completed.  Those hopes, alas, remained unfulfilled,
for, when the fog cleared and the sea lay revealed, it became apparent
that the enemy had fled, broken and dispirited, under the cover of
darkness, and was in no mood to rejoin the battle that he was already
proclaiming as a German victory.

Four hundred miles from its bases--in enemy waters, close to his very
harbours--the Grand Fleet waited till eleven in the morning before
reluctantly sailing for home.  And it was this fact, in itself a proof
of triumph, that was partly accountable for the immediate sequel.  For
there now followed, thanks to the precipitate German flight, and the
enemy's neighbourhood to his bases; to the world's {198} unfamiliarity,
after nearly a century, with the cost and criterion of naval success;
and to the prompt and wholly unscrupulous use by the German Government
of its wireless press agencies--an almost world-wide belief that the
British Fleet had met with disaster.

With the Grand Fleet still at sea off its own coast, Germany flooded
the world with the following statement: "During an enterprise directed
toward the North, our High Seas Fleet, on Wednesday last, met a
considerably superior main portion of the British Battle Fleet.  In the
course of the afternoon, between the Skager Rack and the Horn Reef, a
number of severe and, for us, successful engagements developed and
continued all night.  In these engagements, as far as is at present
ascertained, we destroyed the great battleship _Warspite_, the
battle-cruisers _Queen Mary_ and _Indefatigable_, two armoured cruisers
of the _Achilles_ class, one small cruiser, and the new destroyer
leaders _Turbulent_, _Nestor_, and _Alcester_.  According to
trustworthy evidence, a great number of British battleships suffered
heavy damage from the artillery of our vessels and the attacks of our
torpedo-boat flotillas, during the day battle and during the night.
Among others, the great battleship _Marlborough_ was hit by a torpedo,
as is confirmed by the statements of prisoners.  A portion of the crews
of the British vessels that were sunk were picked up by our vessels.
On our side the small cruiser _Wiesbaden_ was sunk by the enemy's
artillery in the course of the day battle, and, during the night, the
_Pommern_ by a torpedo.  Regarding the fate of the _Frauenlob_, which
is missing, and some torpedo-boats, which {199} have not returned up to
the present, nothing is known.  The High Seas Fleet returned to its
harbour in the course of to-day."

This was the German version, by twenty-four hours the first in the
field; and a certain kind of triumph undoubtedly followed it.  In every
neutral country, including America, heavily captioned newspaper
articles proclaimed a British defeat--an impression hardly dissipated
by the candour and caution of the first British official report.  That
our losses were heavy could not, of course, be denied, and they were
instantly and frankly confessed.  Six cruisers, including three
battle-cruisers, and eight destroyers had paid the price of admiralty;
while, on the other hand, the German losses were only grudgingly
announced as it became impossible to conceal them.  How heavy they were
and how profound was the loss of moral that followed the Jutland defeat
was only later to become manifest, though a good deal might have been
guessed from the foregoing message.  Further evidence, too, might have
been deduced from the hurried visit of the Kaiser to Wilhelmshaven, and
the almost hysterical exaggeration of his address to his broken fleet.
There he assured them that "the gigantic fleet of _Albion_, ruler of
the seas, which, since Trafalgar, for a hundred years, had imposed on
the whole world a bond of sea tyranny," had "come out into the field,"
and had been beaten; that "a great hammer blow" had been struck; and
that the "nimbus of British world supremacy had disappeared."

Such were the Kaiser's words, breathed into the {200} ear of the world
to conceal the result of Jutland, if this might be done; and hardly was
the armistice signed before they were openly given the lie by one of
Germany's leading authorities.  After the Battle of Jutland, said
Captain Persius, so shattering had been its results for the German
navy, it had at once become clear to all thinking men that no second
engagement must be risked; and, even at the time, it soon began to be
suspected by the rest of the world that this was the truth.  As for the
Grand Fleet itself it was content to wait.  It knew that it had won,
and it had long learned patience.  Let the Kaiser harangue.  To-morrow
would come, and, with to-morrow, the truth would out.  Meanwhile it
rode the seas on its accustomed ways, while, behind its shield, and
beneath its pressure, the armies of freedom poured into Europe, and the
strength of Germany continued to crumble.



{201}

CHAPTER IX

THE DOVER PATROL

  The kings and the presidents go their ways,
  Their armies march behind them,
  But where would they be,
  Said the man from the sea,
  Without us Jacks to mind them?


It is seldom possible, during the course of a war, to appraise the
ultimate value of any single action; and it was only by slow degrees,
as we have suggested, that the results of Jutland were to become
visible.  Not until the very end was it fully to appear that the
enemy's capital surface ships had been so hammered and cowed as to have
freed the seas of them with a finality equalled by no other naval fight
in history.  Presently, as we shall show, that proved to be the case;
and, from now onward, he relied upon his submarines--it was early in
1917 that these reached their high-water mark of mercantile
destruction--and occasional tip-and-run raids on the part of his
destroyers based upon Zeebrugge and Ostend.

With regard to the submarine campaign, this was the most serious menace
the Admiralty had been required to face; and it was to take charge of
the grave situation, created by its initial success, that Sir John
Jellicoe, to the sorrow of the Fleet and with {202} much personal
regret, was called to the Admiralty as First Sea Lord in succession to
Sir Henry Jackson.

This able officer had succeeded Lord Fisher on the latter's resignation
in May, 1915--when the Gallipoli campaign had seemed to him finally to
have made an end of his alternative policy--Mr. Balfour having become
First Lord in the Coalition Government formed at the same time.  In
Admiral Beatty, however, both the navy and the nation felt that the
Grand Fleet would be in capable hands--the changes taking place after
friendly discussion between the officers concerned, in the _Iron
Duke_--and Sir John Jellicoe returned to Whitehall to deal with as
perilous a crisis as had ever faced the empire.

What had in fact happened was that, under the stimulus of war, both
scientific research and achievement had advanced, as regarded the
submarine, with unprecedented strides.  From a range of scores to a
range of hundreds and even thousands of miles, they had become
effective.  They had begun to attain a speed that put them on superior
terms to the vast bulk of mercantile steamers; and they already carried
guns that, before the war, it would have been thought impossible to
mount, and that were in fact heavier than those carried by the earlier
German destroyers.  Nor had the measures of defence as yet overtaken
those of destruction in the race for stability.  The methods that, to a
great extent, had been successful in dealing with the smaller
submarines had become obsolete; and the devising of others, their
practical application, and the safeguarding, in the meantime, of our
mercantile marine--more than half a million {203} tons of mercantile
shipping were, at this time, being sunk every month--were problems upon
whose solution depended not only the victory of the Allied cause, but
the actual physical existence of the people upon these islands.

Of the means ultimately adopted, of which it may at once be said that
none was in itself a complete solution, it would be impossible, in the
present volume, to give more than the briefest details.  The plotting
out of minefields for which 100,000 mines, of an improved type, were
ordered by Admiral Jellicoe, and of which the most extensive was
designed to stretch from the north of Scotland to the waters of Norway;
the construction and employment on a vast scale of speedy patrol
vessels of all descriptions; the regular use of aircraft, both for
observation and the dropping of depth-charges; and the development of
the convoy system with destroyer escorts, as the increase in the
production of the latter justified this--it was rather to a combination
of all these methods, and the skill and adaptability of the men
employing them, that the ascendency over this new weapon was slowly
regained.  Of one particular means, however, namely the employment of
lure ships--armed vessels, variously disguised--no record of our naval
activities from the personal standpoint could omit some account; and of
the amazing courage and ingenuity with which the _Q_ ships, as they
were called, were handled, let the following couple of examples, chosen
at random, sufficiently indicate.

Powerfully armed, but with a false screen disguising the extent of her
armament, the apparently easy {204} prey, H. M. S. _Prize_, a topsail
schooner of 200 tons, was sighted, on April 30, 1917, by a prowling
submarine.  This opened fire at about three miles range, and, according
to plan, Lieutenant W. E. Sanders ordered some of his crew, as though
in a panic, to lower a boat and push off.  Meanwhile the ship's head
was put into the wind, and the gun crews lay flat on the deck to
conceal themselves.  Still shelling the schooner and inflicting
numerous casualties--borne in silence as part of the game--the
submarine approached to within seventy yards, apparently satisfied that
she had been definitely abandoned.  That was Lieutenant Sanders'
chance, and he made the fullest use of it.  Running up the White
Ensign, the screens were dropped, and every available gun opened fire.
The submarine's conning-tower was blown to pieces, as was her forward
gun, all of the crew of the latter being destroyed; while a machine-gun
on the _Prize_ raked her deck.  In less than five minutes she was on
fire and sinking in a cloud of smoke, her captain and one of her men
being picked up and brought aboard the _Prize_ as prisoners.  The
_Prize_ herself, however, was now sinking fast; and it was only by the
most strenuous efforts of all aboard that the holes in her were plugged
and she was kept afloat till, two days later, she was found by a
motor-launch.

Less successful, but equally representative of the work of these
individualist adventure-ships, was the extraordinary action fought by
the _Dunraven_ in the following August.  Commanded by Captain Gordon
Campbell, who had already distinguished himself in {205} this
particular form of warfare, the _Dunraven_, apparently an ordinary
armed merchant-ship, sighted an enemy submarine on the horizon.
Observing that the _Dunraven_ continued her zig-zag course, the
submarine at once set off in chase of her, remaining submerged till
within less than three miles, when she came to the surface and opened
fire.  With what was seemingly her single gun, the _Dunraven_ began to
reply to this, at the same time sending out distress signals, by means
of her wireless, in order to preserve her supposed character.  Later,
as the shells began to drop nearer, she lowered her "panic" party,
being already herself then on fire aft.

Meanwhile the submarine had approached to within 400 yards, being
obscured by the _Dunraven's_ smoke; and, for this reason, though every
moment's delay added to the risk of her after magazine's being blown
up, Captain Campbell decided not to open fire until he could get a
clearer view of his enemy.  Unfortunately, before this happened, a
heavy explosion revealed to the submarine the true nature of thee
_Dunraven_ by accidentally starting her fire-gongs, one of her guns,
with its gun crew, having been destroyed.  There was no alternative,
therefore, but to drop the screens--though only one gun could be
brought to bear--the enemy submarine, taking alarm, having already
begun to submerge.  It was now obvious that the _Dunraven_ would be
torpedoed, and Captain Campbell took prompt measures.  Removing the
wounded, and concealing them in cabins, and bringing a hose to bear on
the fire, he signalled that all traffic should be kept below the
horizon during the final {206} act that was to come.  Having been twice
torpedoed, he then sent away a second "panic" party, and thus left the
ship apparently forsaken, with all her guns unmasked and the White
Ensign flying.

The fires had now to be left to work their will; ammunition was
exploding on all sides; and, for fifty minutes, while Captain Campbell
and those remaining with him still lay hidden, the submarine cautiously
surveyed the vessel through her projecting periscope.  She then came to
the surface, astern of the _Dunraven_, where no guns could be trained
on her, and, for twenty minutes, proceeded to shell her before steaming
past, and again examining her.  Captain Campbell then decided to let
off a torpedo at her, but this just missed.  Apparently unobservant of
this, the submarine then turned and steamed slowly down the other side,
Captain Campbell loosing a second torpedo, also unhappily without
result.  This was seen by the enemy, who at once submerged again,
Captain Campbell signalling for help; while, as a last resource, he
disembarked yet a third "panic" party, leaving but one gun's crew
aboard.  Nothing more was heard from the enemy, however, and, in a few
minutes, British and American destroyers were on the scene; the wounded
were transferred; the fires were put out; and the _Dunraven_ was taken
in tow.  Both Captain Campbell and Lieutenant-Commander Sanders
received the Victoria Cross for their _Q_ boat work--the latter being
unfortunately lost, with his schooner the _Prize_ a few months after
the incident just related.

Now in all these measures, as in the surveillance of {207} shipping and
the protection of Anglo-French traffic, the Dover Patrol necessarily
played a commanding and indeed vital part.  Upon it devolved the
guarding of the southern of the two outlets by which alone the German
submarines might escape into the Atlantic; and the difficulties were
trebled by the enemy's possession of the West Flanders ports.  With the
geography and defences of these and their strategical significance we
shall deal more particularly in the next chapter as with the splendid
episode in which the Dover Patrol rendered them largely valueless to
the enemy.  But it must never be forgotten that, for nearly four years,
the Dover Patrol carried on its work with the hostile ports of
Zeebrugge and Ostend always within three hours' steaming.  Darkness is
the friend of the destroyer, daylight the friend of the submarine.
Both were stationed at these enemy ports; and the strain upon the Dover
command can thus be gauged.  Further, it has to be remembered that
through no other channel in the world passes so continual a procession
of ships, how integral in the life of this country let a single
incident suffice to show.  In perhaps the darkest hour of the war, a
serious proposal was made to the Government completely to seal the
Straits of Dover for a certain defensive purpose.  The proposal was
examined, and it was then ascertained that, as regarded London alone,
one of the following alternatives must immediately follow.  Either it
would have to be arranged, at a time when pressure upon our
rolling-stock was at its severest, that no less than seventy-two
additional trains should enter London daily, or that more than {208}
three and a half millions of London's population should be removed to
the Atlantic ports that it was proposed to use.  The suggestion was
thus found to be wholly impracticable, but its examination at least
proved the immense responsibility resting upon the Dover Patrol and the
officers in charge of it.

Established at the beginning of the war, the examination service in the
Downs, therefore, continued without intermission to its end, the work
being conducted by the Ramsgate Boarding Flotilla, largely manned by
reservists and volunteers.  From a hundred and twenty, diminishing, as
the war proceeded, to eighty vessels a day were thus overhauled; and,
almost every night, the Patrol was responsible for the safety of a
hundred vessels here at anchorage.  Nor did these duties exhaust the
list, for to the Dover Patrol fell the additional task of supporting,
day and night, the left flank of the British army.  In a very real
sense, indeed, it was itself not only the left flank of the British
army, but of the whole of the Allied forces reaching from the Alps to
the Belgian coast.  Subject to continual attack not only from enemy
surface-craft and the ever more efficient German submarines, but from
daily and nightly excursions of hostile aeroplanes and airships, its
own weapons of offence were largely novel and hitherto untried.  The
sea-going monitor was still, in most respects, an unfamiliar vessel;
and the splendid qualities of these shallow-draught gun-platforms--some
of which had just been completed for river work in Brazil--were as yet
unrevealed when first {209} enlisted for their arduous duties upon the
Belgian coast.  When it is also recalled that under no other command,
perhaps, was serving so large a proportion of amateurs, some idea
becomes possible, not only of the peculiar functions of the Dover
Patrol, but of the very deep debt owed by the nation to this sort of
naval maid-of-all-work.

To Rear-Admiral the Hon. Horace A. L. Hood--afterward, as we have seen,
to be lost in the Battle of Jutland--fell the responsible task, in the
first days of war, of directing the activities of this composite force;
and, in the great race toward the coast that followed the first battle
of the Marne, a flotilla under his command was actively engaged in
supporting the left wing of the Belgian army.  It was during the last
half of October, 1914, that the military position, as regarded the
coast-line, was most critical; and it was during the night of October
17th that Admiral Hood, flying his flag in the old fleet-scout
_Attentive_, anchored off Nieuport Pier with three monitors, the
_Severn_, _Humber_, and _Mersey_, the light cruiser _Foresight_, and
several destroyers.

Early next morning news was received that the German infantry was
marching from Westende, and the flotilla moved up the coast to draw the
fire from, and if possible to silence, the batteries that accompanied
them.  Almost immediately fire broke out from the shore, and this
proved to be the beginning of a coastal campaign that continued without
intermission for the next three weeks.  For the defence of Nieuport
some machine-guns from the monitor _Severn_ were put ashore, and it was
while in charge {210} of these that Lieutenant E. S. Wise, gallantly
leading his men, was killed.

For the first few days, the enemy troops were trying to push along the
coast roads in considerable force; a large amount of transport came
under the naval guns; and much damage and destruction was caused by
them.  In view of this, the enemy soon changed his tactics, the
infantry being withdrawn; while heavier guns were brought into action,
compelling a response from the sea-forces.  The lighter craft were
therefore sent home to be replaced by H.M.S. _Venerable_ and some old
cruisers, while, at the same time, five French destroyers were placed
by Admiral Favereau under Admiral Hood's command--the latter having the
honour, as he put it (and it is tempting to wonder what would have been
the comments upon this of the Hood who fought under Pitt) of flying his
own flag in the French destroyer _Intrepide_.

During the later stages, persistent submarine-attacks were made upon
the larger bombarding vessels, but these were thwarted, though not
without casualties, by the alertness and dash of the destroyers.  It
was while thus guarding the _Venerable_ that the destroyer _Falcon_
came under a very heavy fire from the enemy's larger guns, and
exhibited, in the persons of her officers and crew, the utmost coolness
and devotion.  Thus, under a hail of projectiles that eventually killed
him, Lieutenant Wauton remained unmoved at his outlook for submarines.
With the captain and twenty-four men killed and wounded, Sub-Lieutenant
Du Boulay took command of the {211} ship.  Finding himself the only
unwounded man on deck, Able-Seaman Ernest Dimmock immediately went to
the helm while Petty-Officer Robert Chappell, himself dying, and with
both legs shattered, worked to the last, as best he could, tending his
fellow wounded on board.  Meanwhile on land, owing to the arrival of
reinforcements and the skilful inundation of the flat country, the
enemy's rush was finally checked, and the position more or less
established early in November.

Such was the high standard set at the outset by the Dover Patrol; and,
under Vice-Admiral Sir Reginald H. Bacon, who succeeded Rear-Admiral
Hood in the following April, it was not only worthily sustained, but
finally established beyond challenge--the development of Dunkirk as an
additional offensive base, being one of the great achievements of the
war.  Thus, in spite of its ever more arduous and multitudinous
duties--and it is interesting to remember that this was the command in
which Nelson was the least successful and most ill at ease--it had been
engaged, by the end of 1915, in no less than fourteen concerted
actions.  Knocke, Heyst, Zeebrugge, Ostend, Middlekerke, and Westende
had been severally attacked; three military factories, two ammunition
depots, storehouses, and signalling stations had been destroyed;
considerable damage had been done to the wharves and the famous Mole at
Zeebrugge; thirteen large guns had been put out of action; and a
dredger, a torpedo-boat, and two submarines sunk.

During this time the only British losses were three vessels sunk; and
their very names indicate the {212} extent and variety of the marine
resources that were to prove our salvation.  The armed yacht _Sanda_,
the pleasure steamer _Brighton Queen_, once so often thronged with
cross-channel trippers, and the drifter _Great Heart_--these were the
first casualties of the Dover Patrol.  That they were so few was due in
large measure to the vigilance and seamanship of three men, of
Commodore C. D. Johnston in command of the Dover destroyers; of Captain
P. G. Bird in charge of the drifters; and of Commander W. Rigg, who was
chiefly responsible for the early organization of the mine-sweepers;
while to Wing-Commander Longmore of the Dunkirk aerodrome must be
assigned much of the credit for checking the enemy's aircraft.  Had
they not been supported, however, by the cheerful fidelity and amazing
competence of their subordinates, they could have achieved but little
as was generously recognized by Vice-Admiral Bacon in his first
official despatch.

"Their Lordships will appreciate," he wrote, "the difficulties
attendant on the cruising in company by day and night under war
conditions of a fleet of eighty vessels comprising several widely
different classes, manned partly by trained naval ratings, but more
largely by officers of the naval reserve, whose fleet training has
necessarily been scant, and by men whose work in life has hitherto been
that of deep sea fishermen.  The protection of such a moving fleet by
the destroyers in waters which are the natural home of the enemy's
submarines, has been admirable, and justifies the training and
organization of the _personnel_ of the flotilla.  But more remarkable
still, {213} in my opinion, is the aptitude shown by the officers and
crews of the drifters and trawlers, which, in difficult waters, under
conditions totally strange to them, have maintained their allotted
stations without a single accident.  Moreover, these men under fire
have exhibited a coolness well worthy of the _personnel_ of a service
inured by discipline.  The results show how deeply sea adaptability is
ingrained in the seafaring race of these islands."

Those are words that, if they were true of the first sea-recruits of
1914, are equally, and, in some respects, more astonishingly applicable
to the thousands that subsequently joined them from all ranks.  Of
these earlier candidates for sea service, none was more typical than
Lieutenant-Commander H. T. Gartside Tipping, the oldest naval officer
then afloat and one of the first to perish in the Narrow Seas.  Having
retired from the navy, with the rank of lieutenant, thirty-five years
before the outbreak of war, Lieutenant-Commander Tipping had inherited
a small estate, including a yacht, in the Isle of Wight.  Here he had
lived a quiet country life, ardently devoted to yacht racing; had kept
himself alert and physically fit; and, at the age of sixty-six, having
rejoined his old service and been given the rank of
lieutenant-commander, had gladly and efficiently served under officers
who might almost have been his grandsons.

To such a man as Lieutenant-Commander Tipping, however, the call of the
sea may quite understandably have been imperative.  Far less
foretellable, and only to be explained, surely, by the racial instinct
{214} referred to by Admiral Bacon, was the later phenomenon of expert
sailors quartering the seas in fast patrol-boats, who, but a year or
two before, had been farmers or commercial travellers, or clerks behind
counters in London shops.  Christened in naval fashion by their
professional brothers with various opprobious nicknames, these were in
reality but the affectionate symbols of the older navy's pride in its
temporary junior partners; and the best measure of their
work--necessarily undramatic, as all preventive work must largely
be--is a survey of what the enemy was unable to accomplish in any
representative period of the war.  Let us take, for example, the six
months before the Battle of Jutland, in its middle period.  In that
half year, through the Dover Patrol alone, there passed 21,000 merchant
ships, and of these only 21 were lost or seriously damaged as the
result of enemy action--little less than one in every thousand,
entrusted to the case of this particular command.  More remarkable
still, perhaps, since these were inevitably, of course, the enemy's
constant and most tempting target, not a single transport or one
soldier's life was lost at sea during the same time.

Such had been the record, then, of the Dover Patrol up to the events
described in the last chapter--events that, as we have shown, drove
Germany's naval activity, for its main efforts, under the water, and
confined it afloat to those tip-and-run raids of which that of the
following February may be taken as typical.  It was on Sunday night,
February 25th, soon after eleven o'clock, that a number of star-shells
suddenly broke in the sky over the Isle of Thanet, illuminating {215}
the coast for a long distance and bringing many of its inhabitants to
their windows.  Almost simultaneously a brisk bombardment revealed the
presence of a flotilla of German destroyers--Margate, Broadstairs, and
a little hamlet between them, being subjected to the enemy's fire.
Fortunately the casualties were few, and there was no military
damage--none of the places attacked being fortified towns--but a woman
and a child were killed and two children seriously wounded, and a dozen
houses wrecked or injured.  A single British destroyer pluckily engaged
the enemy, who was soon lost to sight in the darkness, neither the
British vessel nor any of the raiders suffering, as far as was known,
any serious hurt.

For this enemy success, if such it can be called, and for one or two
previous ones of a like nature, there was considerable criticism of the
Dover Patrol, chiefly of an ignorant and hasty character.  With the
Germans at Zeebrugge and Ostend, and in favourable conditions of
weather and darkness, it was obviously out of the question to give
immutable guarantees against occasional excursions such as these; and
that these brief and lawless bombardments reflected no lack of spirit
on the part of the Patrol, the Dover destroyers _Swift_ and _Broke_
were soon triumphantly to demonstrate.

This was in the small hours of the dark morning of April 21, 1917, some
of the German destroyers having crept into the Straits and shelled both
Dover and Calais.  In the case of the former town there were no
casualties, but over a hundred shells were thrown into Calais, several
people being killed, others {216} injured, and a good many houses being
destroyed.  Out on patrol and near mid-channel steaming westward, were
the _Swift_ and _Broke_, the _Swift_ leading under Commander Ambrose
Peck, and the _Broke_ in charge of Commander E. R. Evans.  Of the two
vessels, soon to become immortal, the _Swift_ was seven years the
older, having been launched at Birkenhead in 1907 from the yards of
Messrs. Cammel Laird.  She had a displacement of 1,800 tons and carried
four 4-inch guns.  The _Broke_, on the other hand, had only just been
completed before the outbreak of war, and, although approximately of
the same dimensions, carried six 4-inch guns and three torpedo-tubes.
By a remarkable coincidence, in view of what was to come, she bore the
name of that Sir Philip Broke who commanded the _Shannon_ during her
historic duel in the spring of 1813, with the _Chesapeake_, when the
latter was captured, after a most heroic resistance, during a
hand-to-hand struggle on her deck.  Commander Evans was, of course, the
famous Polar explorer, who had been second-in-command to the ill-fated
Captain Scott.

The sea was quite calm, but, in the black night, it was impossible to
see more than half a mile ahead; and the enemy vessels were but six
hundred yards distant when they were spotted by the destroyers'
lookouts.  Six in number, and including amongst them some of the
fastest destroyers in the world, they were then on the port bow and
travelling at high speed in an opposite direction to that of the
_Swift_ and _Broke_; and, almost simultaneously, they became aware of
the presence of the two Britishers.  Instantly they {217} sounded their
fire-gongs, and, six to two, opened rapid fire.  A minute before and
the _Swift_ and _Broke_ had been respectable members of a gallant
flotilla.  Ten minutes later--such is the luck of the sea--and they had
written their names forever in British naval history.

Wheeling round almost at right angles to her previous course, and in
the face of the point-blank fire and dazzling flashes of the enemy's
guns; with a target before her little more than 300 feet long and
racing through the darkness at nearly thirty miles an hour; with the
practical certainty, if she missed this, of being herself rammed by the
next in the line; regardless of the odds, the _Swift_ hurled herself at
the first visible German destroyer.  So instant had been the decision
of the _Swift's_ commander, that it might almost have been called
automatic--the natural response not only of a lifetime's schooling, but
of all the centuries behind this of British admiralty.  Hit or miss, it
was a sporting chance, the chance of a lifetime, and he took it.  Alas,
it was a miss, but such a narrow one that he himself cut through
without disaster, swung round to port, torpedoed another of the six,
and then picked up and chased a third.

Meanwhile the _Broke_, following the _Swift_, had put her helm over
almost at the same moment; had successfully torpedoed one of the enemy
line, literally plastering her with 4-inch shells; and was now making
to ram another--possibly the one that the _Swift_ had missed.  This she
did, splitting her at full speed, burying her bows in her and crushing
her down; and there then ensued such a fight as had scarcely been {218}
witnessed since the days of steam.  With a gun out of action and part
of her bridge already carried away before she had rammed; with her
helmsman bleeding from several wounds but sticking to his wheel as long
as he was conscious; with the remaining enemy destroyers pouring their
shells into her, and German sailors swarming into her forecastle--the
_Broke_ raked her prey with everything that could be fired from a
4-inch gun to an automatic pistol.

By now, however, several Germans had gained their footing on deck,
where Midshipman Gyles had been working the forward guns; and, for a
few seconds, half blind with blood, and almost alone, he met the rush.
Then a huge German seized his pistol-wrist and tried to wrench the
weapon away from him, only to be struck at and thwarted by
Petty-Officer Woodfield and finally cutlassed by Able Seaman Ingelson.
With cutlasses and pistols the decks were then cleared, and a couple of
hiding Germans made prisoners, and half a minute later the _Broke_
freed herself from the German destroyer.  With the _Swift_ still
chasing the enemy that she had marked down, and with two others put out
of action, the _Broke_ now turned her attention to the remainder and
attempted to ram yet one more.  In this she failed--she had been struck
in the boiler-room and was becoming difficult to manoeuvre--but loosed
a torpedo at the destroyer nearest to her, and was successful in
hitting her.

The enemy was now in full flight, but the disabled _Broke_ succeeded in
drawing level with one of the burning destroyers.  Rapidly losing way,
she nevertheless {219} approached her at considerable risk to herself,
the enemy, who had previously been shouting for help, suddenly and
unexpectedly opening fire--an act of treachery that, as it proved,
merely hastened his end.  Four rounds silenced him, and a torpedo aimed
amidships struck him fairly and settled his fate.

Meanwhile the _Swift_, herself partially disabled, had lost touch with
the vanishing enemy, and, coming about, had sighted the destroyer
rammed by the _Broke_ and now on the verge of sinking.  Here, too, the
sailors on board were chorussing their desire to surrender; but, with
natural suspicion, the _Swift_ remained on guard, her guns trained on
the sinking vessel.  Presently this heeled over; the crew took to the
water; and, as there seemed to be no other enemy vessel in sight, the
_Swift_ cautiously switched on her searchlights, lowered her boats, and
began the work of rescue.  At the same time the _Broke_ began to signal
to her--the whole fight had lasted barely five minutes--and the two
crews were soon cheering each other, as well they might.

Both the destroyers sunk were four-funnelled vessels of the fastest and
latest German type; two others had been crippled; and over a hundred
men and officers taken prisoners.  When the _Broke_ rammed, as her
helmsman had said, "I smiled for the first time during the action"--and
that smile may be taken as representative not only of both ships'
companies but of the town of Dover on that April morning, when the two
destroyers, saluted by everything in the harbour, modestly crept to
their buoys.

{220}

_Brilliant_ as this little action was, however, and typical both of the
ineptitude with which the German destroyer-service was handled, and the
prestige that the Dover Patrol had built up for itself during the war,
it was but an incident of the ceaseless campaign, waged with almost
every weapon in the Narrow Seas.  Thus, while the coastal bombardments
that had been so prominent a feature of the earlier months of the war
were, for military reasons, deemed inadvisable during 1916 and 1917, an
active blockade of the occupied Flanders area was maintained and
vigorously pressed home.

Not only was the minefield that had been laid down when the North Sea
was first closed continually added to, but other barrages were always
being thought out and improved as necessity demanded.  Thus, in 1916,
twenty miles of nets had been laid parallel to the Belgian coast, and,
in the winter of the same year, another had been constructed from the
Goodwins to Dunkirk.  This was somewhat difficult to keep in order, but
the Belgian nets were renewed in 1917, and, in November and December of
the same year, 4,000 mines were laid between Folkestone and Boulogne.
These were of the latest type, and, with further additions, together
with a system of flares and day and night patrols, developed into a
barrier against which, in the end, the German submarines beat in
vain--at least seventeen of these being certainly known to have fallen
victims to its efficiency.

Second only in naval importance to the Grand Fleet, and in even more
strenuous contact with the enemy, none had more cause, perhaps, to
bless the {221} Dover Patrol, of whose unadvertised work this is but
the barest outline, than those 2,000,000 soldiers, for whom, each year,
it acted as crossing-sweeper, on their way home to England.



{222}

CHAPTER X

THE SEALING OF ZEEBRUGGE AND OSTEND


Manifold as were the duties, and various as was the composition of the
Dover Patrol, it was in the sealing of Zeebrugge and Ostend--among the
last naval operations of the war--that its qualities of enterprise,
courage, and ingenuity found their most notable expression.  How the
possession of these places advantaged the enemy has already been
indicated in the last chapter; and their continual threat to our
communications was a sufficient justification of the proposed attempt.
But it was not the only one, as a brief consideration of the general
position will show.  Robbed of these two ports, or with their
usefulness so impaired as to render them abortive, the enemy would be
thrown back, from the offensive standpoint, upon his Frisian estuaries,
some three hundred miles distant; while the duties of the Patrol would
be so sensibly lightened as to release an appreciable number of
mosquito-craft.  There would in fact be fewer exits to watch; these
would be more distant by many hours' steaming; and there would at once
be placed at our disposal more forces with which to watch them.

On the other hand, it was an enterprise as liable to complete disaster
as any that could easily have been {223} imagined; and but little
instruction and no great encouragement could be drawn from similar
adventures in the past.  Though scarcely comparable, perhaps, Nelson's
expedition against Boulogne, while commanding in the Straits, had
lamentably failed, resulting in the death of his close friend and
valued subordinate, Captain Parker; while the sinking of block-ships
both by Lieutenant Hobson at Santiago in the Spanish-American War, and
by the Japanese at Port Arthur in their campaign against Russia, had
shown how innumerable were the possible mischances that could rob such
efforts of success.

Nor had our own experiences, during the war, against
land-fortifications, been very satisfactory; and both Zeebrugge and
Ostend, and particularly the former, were, as was well known, armed to
the teeth.  On the other hand, neither was a natural harbour.  Each had
been carved, as it were, out of the sand; and, given but a chance,
nature was always ready to obliterate the channels upon which they
depended.  Let us consider for a moment the problem that they presented
to an Admiralty desirous of sealing them.

Situated on the Belgian coast, some twelve miles apart and facing a
little to the west of north, each was in reality but a sea-gate of the
inland port of Bruges--the latter being the station to which the enemy
destroyers and submarines were sent in parts from the German workshops;
where they were assembled; and whence, by canal, they proceeded to sea
by way of Zeebrugge and Ostend.  Of these two exits, Zeebrugge, the
northernmost, was considerably the nearer to Bruges and the more
important--Zeebrugge {224} being eight, while Ostend was eleven miles
distant from their common base--and to receive an adequate impression
of what was subsequently achieved there it is necessary to bear in mind
its salient features.

Unlike Ostend, apart from its harbour, it possessed no civic
importance, merely consisting of a few streets of houses clustering
about its railway-station, locks, wharves, and store-houses, its sandy
roadstead being guarded from the sea by an immensely powerful
crescentic Mole.  It was into this roadstead that the Bruges canal
opened between heavy timbered breakwaters, having first passed through
a sea-lock, some half a mile higher up.  Between the two light-houses,
each about twenty feet above high-water level, that stood upon the ends
of these breakwaters, the canal was 200 yards wide, narrowing to a
width, in the lock itself, of less than seventy feet.

Leading from the canal entrance to the tip of the Mole, on which stood
a third light-house, and so out to sea, was a curved channel, about
three-quarters of a mile long, kept clear by continual dredging; and
this was protected both by a string of armed barges and by a system of
nets on its shoreward side.  It was in its great sea-wall, however,
some eighty yards broad and more than a mile long, that Zeebrugge's
chief strength resided; and this had been utilized, since the German
occupation, to the utmost extent.  Upon the seaward end of it, near the
light-house, a battery of 6-inch guns had been mounted, other batteries
and machine-guns being stationed at various points throughout its
length.  With a parapet along its outer side, some sixteen feet higher
than the level {225} of the rest of the Mole, it not only carried a
railway-line but contained a seaplane shed, and shelters for stores and
_personnel_.  It was connected with the shore by a light wood and steel
viaduct--a pile-work structure, allowing for the passage of the
through-current necessary to prevent silting.

Emplaced upon the shore, on either side of this, were further batteries
of heavy guns; while, to the north of the canal entrance, and at a
point almost opposite to the tip of the Mole, was the Goeben Fort
containing yet other guns covering both the Mole and the harbour.
Under the lee of the parapet were dug-outs for the defenders, while,
under of the lee of the Mole itself was a similar shelter for the
enemy's submarines and destroyers.  Nor did this exhaust the harbour's
defences, since it was further protected not only by minefields but by
natural shoals, always difficult to navigate, and infinitely more so in
the absence of beacons.

Even to a greater extent was this last feature true of Ostend, though
here the whole problem was somewhat simpler, there being no Mole, and
therefore no necessity--though equally no opportunity--for a subsidiary
attack.  Covered, of course, from the shore by guns of all
calibres--and here it should be remembered that there were 225 of these
between Nieuport and the Dutch frontier--the single object in this case
was to gain the entrance, before the block-ships should be discovered
by the enemy, and sunk by his gunners where their presence would no do
harm.  Since for complete success, however, it was necessary to seal
both places, and, if possible, to do so simultaneously, {226} it will
readily be seen that, in the words of Sir Eric Geddes--the successor,
as First Lord of the Admiralty, to Mr. Balfour and Sir Edward
Carson--it was "a particularly intricate operation which had to be
worked strictly to time-table."  It was also one that, for several
months before, required the most arduous and secret toil.

Begun in 1917 while Sir John Jellicoe was still First Sea Lord, the
plan ultimately adopted--there had been several previous ones, dropped
for military reasons--was devised by Vice-Admiral Roger Keyes, then
head of the Plans Division at the Admiralty.  From the first it was
realized of course, by all concerned that the element of surprise would
be the determining factor; and it was therefore decided that the
attempt to block the harbours should take place at night.  It was also
clear that, under modern conditions of star-shells and searchlights, an
extensive use would have to be made of the recent art of throwing out
smoke-screens; and fortunately, in Commander Brock, Admiral Keyes had
at his disposal just the man to supply this need.  A Wing-Commander in
the Royal Naval Air Service, in private life Commander Brock was a
partner in a well-known firm of fire-work makers; and his inventive
ability had already been fruitful in more than one direction.  A
first-rate pilot and excellent shot, Commander Brock was a typical
English sportsman; and his subsequent death during the operations, for
whose success he had been so largely responsible, was a loss of the
gravest description both to the navy and the empire.

{227}

The next consideration was the choosing of the block-ships, and for
these the following vessels were at last selected--the _Sirius_ and
_Brilliant_ to be sunk at Ostend, and the _Thetis_, _Iphigenia_, and
_Intrepid_ to seal the canal entrance at Zeebrugge.  These were all old
cruisers, and they were to be filled with cement, which when submerged
would turn into concrete, fuses being so placed that they could be sunk
by explosion as soon as they had reached the desired position; and it
was arranged that motor-launches should accompany them in order to
rescue their crews.  Unfortunately Lieutenant Ivan B. Franks, who was
responsible for the block-ships, was laid aside, the day before the
event, by an attack of appendicitis, and, at his urgent request, his
duties were undertaken by his friend, Lieutenant Billyard-Leake--a very
able young officer, then barely twenty-two years of age.

So far these general arrangements were applicable to both places; but,
as regarded Zeebrugge, it was decided to make a diversion in the shape
of a subsidiary attack on the Mole, in which men were to be landed and
to do as much damage as possible.  Such an attack, it was thought,
would help to draw the enemy's attention from the main effort, which
was to be the sinking of the block-ships, and, apart from this, would
have valuable results both material and moral.  For this secondary
operation, three other vessels were especially selected and fitted
out--two Liverpool ferry-boats, the _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, obtained by
Captain Grant, not without some difficulty, owing to the natural
reluctance of the Liverpool authorities {228} and the impossibility of
divulging the object for which they were wanted--and the old cruiser
_Vindictive_.  This latter vessel had been designed as a "ram" ship
more than twenty years before, displacing about 5,000 tons and capable
of a speed of some twenty knots.  She had no armour-belt, but her bow
was covered with plates two inches thick and extending fourteen feet
aft, while her deck was also protected by hardened plates, covered with
nickel steel, from a half to two inches thick.  Originally undergunned,
she had subsequently been provided with ten 6-inch guns and eight
12-pounders.

This was the vessel chosen to convey the bulk of the landing-party,
and, for many weeks, under the supervision of Commander E. O. B. S.
Osborne, the carpenters and engineers were hard at work upon her.  An
additional high deck, carrying thirteen brows or gangways, was fitted
upon her port side; pom-poms and machine-guns were placed in her
fighting-top; and she was provided with three howitzers and some Stokes
mortars.  A special flame-throwing cabin, fitted with speaking tubes,
was built beside the bridge, and another on the port quarter.

It was thus to be the task of the _Vindictive_ and her consorts to lay
themselves alongside the Mole, land storming and demolition-parties,
and protect these by a barrage as they advanced down the Mole; and, in
order to make this attack more effective, yet a third operation was
designed.  This was to cut off the Mole from the mainland, thus
isolating its defenders and preventing the arrival of reinforcements;
and, in order to do so, it was decided to blow up the viaduct {229} by
means of an old submarine charged with high explosives.  Meanwhile, the
whole attempt was to be supported from out at sea by a continuous
bombardment from a squadron of monitors; seaplanes and aeroplanes,
weather permitting, were to render further assistance; and flotillas of
destroyers were to shepherd the whole force and to hold the flanks
against possible attack.

This then was the plan of campaign, one of the most daring ever
conceived, and all the more so in face of the difficulty of keeping it
concealed from the enemy during the long period of preparation--a
difficulty enhanced in that it was not only necessary to inform each
man of his particular role, but of the particular objectives of each
attack and the general outline of the whole scheme.  That was
unavoidable since it was more than likely that, during any one of the
component actions, every officer might be killed or wounded and the men
themselves become responsible.  Nor was it possible, even
approximately, to fix a date for the enterprise, since this could only
be carried out under particular conditions of wind and weather.  Thus
the night must be dark and the sea calm; the arrival on the other side
must be at high water; and there must above all things be a following
wind, since, without this, the smoke-screens would be useless.  Twice,
when all was ready, these conditions seemed to have come, and twice,
after a start had been made, the expedition had to return; and it was
not until April 22, 1918, that the final embarkation took place.

By this time Vice-Admiral Keyes had succeeded {230} Vice-Admiral Bacon
in command of the Dover Patrol; and he was therefore in personal charge
of the great adventure that he had initiated and planned with such
care.  Every man under him was not only a volunteer fully aware of what
he was about to face, but a picked man, selected and judged by as high
a standard, perhaps, as the world could have provided.  Flying his own
flag on the destroyer _Warwick_, Admiral Keyes had entrusted the
_Vindictive_ to Acting Captain A. F. B. Carpenter, the _Iris_ and the
_Daffodil_ being in the hands respectively of Commander Valentine Gibbs
and Lieutenant Harold Campbell.  The Marines, consisting of three
companies of the Royal Marine Light Infantry and a hundred men of the
Royal Marine Artillery, had been drawn from the Grand Fleet, the
Chatham, Portsmouth, and Devonport Depots, and were commanded by
Lieutenant-Colonel Bertram Elliot.  The three block-ships that were to
be sunk at Zeebrugge, the _Thetis_, _Intrepid_, and _Iphigenia_, were
in charge of Commander Ralph S. Sneyd, Lieutenant Stuart Bonham-Carter,
and Lieutenant E. W. Billyard-Leake; while the old submarine _C3_ that
was to blow up the viaduct was commanded by Lieutenant R. D. Sandford.
In control of the motor-launches allotted to the attack on Zeebrugge,
was Admiral Keyes' flag-captain, Captain R. Collins, those at Ostend
being directed by Commander Hamilton Benn, M.P.--the operations at the
latter place being in charge of Commodore Hubert Lynes.  Also acting in
support was a large body of coastal motor-boats under Lieutenant A. E.
P. Wellman, and a flotilla of destroyers under Captain {231} Wilfred
Tomkinson, the general surveying of the whole field of
attack--including the fixing of targets and firing-points--being in the
skilful hands of Commander H. P. Douglas and Lieutenant-Commander F. E.
B. Haselfoot.

Included among the monitors were the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, each
mounting 15-inch guns, to operate at Zeebrugge; and the _Prince
Eugene_, _General Crauford_, and _Lord Clive_, carrying 12-inch guns,
and the _Marshal Soult_, carrying 15-inch guns, to assist at Ostend.
To the old _Vindictive_ Admiral Keyes had presented a horse-shoe that
had been nailed for luck to her centre funnel; and, to the whole fleet,
on its way across, he signalled the message, "St. George for England."
Few who received that message expected to return unscathed, and in the
block-ships none; but it is safe to say that, in the words of Nelson,
they would not have been elsewhere that night for thousands.

Such then were the forces that, on this still dark night, safely
arrived at their first rendezvous and then parted on their perilous
ways, some to Zeebrugge and some to Ostend.  It was at a point about
fifteen miles from the Belgian coast that the two parties separated;
and, since it is impossible to follow them both at once, let us confine
ourselves at first to the former.  Theirs was the more complicated,
though, as it afterward proved, the more swiftly achieved task, the
first to arrive on the scene of action, almost at the stroke of
midnight, being the old cruiser _Vindictive_ with her two stout little
attendants.  These, she had been towing as far as the rendezvous; but,
at this point, she had cast them off, and they were now {232} following
her, under their own steam, to assist in berthing her and to land their
own parties.  Ahead of them the small craft had been laying their
smoke-screens, the northeast wind rolling these shoreward, while
already the monitors could be heard at work bombarding the coast
defences with their big guns.  Accustomed as he was to such
visitations, this had not aroused in the enemy any particular alarm;
and it was not until the _Vindictive_ and the two ferry-boats were
within 400 yards of the Mole that the off-shore wind caused the
smoke-screen to lift somewhat and left them exposed to the enemy.  By
this time the Marines and bluejackets, ready to spring ashore, were
mustered on the lower and main decks; while Colonel Elliot, Major
Cordner, and Captain Chater, who were to lead the Marines, and Captain
Halahan, who was in charge of the bluejackets, were waiting on the high
false deck.

It was a crucial moment, for there could be no mistaking now what was
the _Vindictive's_ intention.  The enemy's star-shells, soaring into
the sky, broke into a baleful and crimson light; while his
searchlights, that had been wavering through the darkness, instantly
sprang together and fastened upon the three vessels.  This, as Captain
Carpenter afterward confessed, induced "an extraordinarily naked
feeling," and then, from every gun that could be brought to bear, both
from the Mole and the coast, there burst upon her such a fire as, given
another few minutes, must inevitably have sunk her.  Beneath it Colonel
Elliot, Major Cordner, and Captain Halahan, all fell slain; while
Captain Carpenter himself had the narrowest escape from destruction.
His cap--he had {233} left his best one at home--was two or three times
over pierced by bullets, as was the case of his binoculars, slung by
straps over his back; while, during the further course of the action,
both his searchlight and smoke-goggles were smashed.

The surprise had so far succeeded, however, that, within less than five
minutes, the _Vindictive's_ bow was against the side of the Mole, and
all but her upper works consequently protected from the severest of the
enemy's fire.  Safe--or comparatively so--as regarded her water-line,
she was nevertheless still a point-blank target; her funnels were
riddled over and over again, the one carrying the horse-shoe suffering
least; the signal-room was smashed and the bridge blown to pieces, just
as Commander Carpenter entered the flame-throwing cabin; and this in
its turn, drawing the enemy's fire, was soon twisted and splintered in
all directions.  It was now raining; explosion followed explosion till
the whole air quaked as if in torment; and meanwhile a new and
unforeseen danger had just made itself apparent.  Till the harbour was
approached, the sea had been calm, but now a ground-swell was causing a
"scend" against the Mole, adding tenfold not only to the difficulties
of landing, but of maintaining the _Vindictive_ at her berth.  In this
emergency, it was the little _Daffodil_ that rose to and saved the
situation.  Her primary duty, although she carried a landing-party, had
been to push the _Vindictive_ in until the latter had been secured;
but, as matters were, she had to hold her against the Mole throughout
the whole hour and a quarter of her stay there.  Even so, the
improvised {234} gangways that had been thrust out from the false deck
were now some four feet up in the air and now crashing down from the
top of the parapet; and it was across these brows, splintering under
their feet, and in face of a fire that baffled description, that the
Marines and bluejackets had to scramble ashore with their Lewis guns,
hand-grenades, and bayonets.

Under such conditions, once a man fell, there was but little hope of
his regaining his feet; and it was only a lucky chance that saved one
of the officers from being thus trodden to death.  This was Lieutenant
H. T. C. Walker, who, with an arm blown away, had stumbled and fallen
on the upper deck, the eager storming parties sweeping over him until
he was happily discovered and dragged free.  Let it be said at once
that Lieutenant Walker bore no malice, and waved them good luck with
his remaining arm.  The command of the Marines had now devolved upon
Major Weller; and, of the 300 or so who followed him ashore, more than
half were soon to be casualties.  But the landing was made good; the
awkward drop from the parapet was successfully negotiated thanks to the
special scaling-ladders; the barrage was put down; and they were soon
at hand-to-hand grips with such of the German defenders as stayed to
face them.  Many of these were in the dug-outs under the parapets, but,
seeing that to remain there was only to be bayoneted, they made a rush
for some of their own destroyers that were hugging the lee of the Mole.
But few reached these, however, thanks to the vigour of the Marines,
and the fire of the machine-guns from the _Vindictive's_ top, while one
of the destroyers was {235} damaged by hand-grenades and by shells
lobbed over the Mole from the _Vindictive's_ mortars.

Meanwhile the _Vindictive_ was still the object of a fire that was
rapidly dismantling all of her that was visible.  A shell in her
fighting-top killed every man at the guns there except Sergeant Finch
of the Royal Marine Artillery, who was badly wounded, but who
extricated himself from a pile of corpses, and worked his gun for a
while single-handed.  Another shell, bursting forward, put the whole of
a howitzer crew out of action, and yet a third, finding the same place,
destroyed the crew that followed.

Fierce as was the ordeal through which the _Vindictive_ was passing,
however, that of the _Iris_ was even more so.  Unprotected, as was her
fellow the _Daffodil_, boring against the side of the larger
_Vindictive_, the _Iris_, with her landing-party, was trying to make
good her berth lower down the Mole, ahead of Captain Carpenter.
Unfortunately the grapnels with which she had been provided proved to
be ineffective owing to the "scend"; and, with the little boat tossing
up and down, and under the fiercest fire, two of the officers,
Lieutenant-Commander Bradford and Lieutenant Hawkins, climbed ashore to
try and make them fast.  Both were killed before they succeeded,
toppling into the water between the Mole and the ship, while, a little
later, a couple of shells burst aboard with disastrous results.  One of
these, piercing the deck, exploded among a party of Marines, waiting
for the gangways to be thrust out, killing forty-nine and wounding
seven; while another, wrecking the wardroom, killed four officers and
twenty-six men.  Her {236} captain, Commander Gibbs, had both his legs
blown away, and died in a few hours, the _Iris_ having been forced
meanwhile to change her position, and take up another astern of the
_Vindictive_.

Before this happened, however, every man aboard her, as aboard the
_Vindictive_, _Daffodil_, and upon the Mole, had been thrilled to the
bone by the gigantic explosion that had blown up the viaduct lower
down.  With a deafening roar and a gush of flame leaping up hundreds of
yards into the night, Lieutenant Sandford had told them the good
tidings of his success with the old submarine.  Creeping toward the
viaduct, with his little crew on deck, he had made straight for an
aperture between the steel-covered piles, and to the blank amazement
and apparent paralysis of the Germans crowded upon the viaduct, had
rammed in the submarine up to her conning-tower before lighting the
fuse that was to start the explosion.

Before himself doing this, he had put off a boat, his men needing no
orders to tumble into her, followed by their commander, as soon as the
fuse was fired, with the one idea of getting away as far as possible.
As luck would have it, the boat's propeller fouled, and they had to
rely for safety upon two oars only, pulling, as Lieutenant Sandford
afterward described it, as hard as men ever pulled before.  Raked by
machine-gun fire and with shells plunging all round them, most of them,
including Lieutenant Sandford, were wounded; but they were finally
borne to safety by an attendant picket-boat under his brother
Lieutenant-Commander F. Sandford.

That had taken place about fifteen minutes after {237} the _Vindictive_
and her consorts had reached their berths, and a few minutes before the
block-ships, with _Thetis_ leading, had rounded the light-house at the
tip of the Mole.  In order to assist these to find their bearings, an
employee of Commander Brock, who had never before been to sea, had for
some time been firing rockets from the after cabin of the _Vindictive_;
and presently they came in sight, exposed, as the _Vindictive_ had
been, by the partial blowing-back of their smoke-screen.  Steaming
straight ahead for their objectives, they were therefore opposed by the
intensest fire; and the spirit in which they proceeded is well
illustrated by what had just taken place on board the _Intrepid_.  It
had been previously arranged that, for the final stage of their
journey, the crews of the block-ships should be reduced to a minimum;
but, when the moment came to disembark the extra men, those on the
_Intrepid_, so anxious were they to remain, actually hid themselves
away.  Many of them did in fact succeed in remaining, and sailed with
their comrades into the canal.

The first to draw the enemy's fire, the _Thetis_, had the misfortune,
having cleared the armed barges, to foul the nests--bursting through
the gate and carrying this with her, but with her propellers gathering
in the meshes and rendering her helpless.  Heavily shelled, she was
soon in a sinking condition, and Commander Sneyd was obliged to blow
her charges, but not before he had given the line, with the most
deliberate coolness, to the two following block-ships--Lieutenant
Littleton, in a motor-launch, then rescuing the crew.

{238}

Following the _Thetis_ came the _Intrepid_, with all her guns in full
action, and Lieutenant Bonham-Carter pushed her right into the canal up
to a point actually behind some of the German batteries.  Here he ran
her nose into the western bank, ordered his crew away, and blew her up,
the engineer remaining down below in order to be able to report
results.  These being satisfactory, and everyone having left,
Lieutenant Bonham-Carter committed himself to a Carley float--a kind of
lifebuoy that, on contact with the water, automatically ignited a
calcium flare.  Illumined by this, the _Intrepid's_ commander found
himself the target of a machine-gun on the bank, and, but for the smoke
still pouring from the _Intrepid_, he would probably have been killed
before the launch could rescue him.

Meanwhile, the _Iphigenia_, close behind, had been equally successful
under more difficult conditions.  With the _Intrepid's_ smoke blowing
back upon her, she had found it exceedingly hard to keep her course,
and had rammed a dredger with a barge moored to it, pushing the latter
before her when she broke free.  Lieutenant Billyard-Leake, however,
was able to reach his objective--the eastern bank of the canal
entrance--and here he sank her in good position, with her engines still
working to keep her in place.  Both vessels were thus left lying well
across the canal, as aeroplane photographs afterward confirmed; and
thanks to the persistent courage of Lieutenant Percy Dean, the crews of
both block-ships were safely removed.

With the accompanying motor-launch unhappily {239} sunk as she was
going in, Lieutenant Dean, under fire from all sides, often at a range
of but a few feet, embarked in _Motor-Launch 282_ no less than 101
officers and men.  He then started for home, but, learning that there
was an officer still in the water, at once returned and rescued him,
three men being shot at his side as he handled his little vessel.
Making a second start, just as he cleared the canal entrance, his
steering-gear broke down; and he had to manoeuvre by means of his
engines, hugging the side of the Mole to keep out of range of the guns.
Reaching the harbour mouth he then, by a stroke of luck, found himself
alongside the destroyer _Warwick_, who was thus able to take on board
and complete the rescue of the block-ships' crews.

It was now nearly one o'clock on the morning of the 23d; the main
objects of the attack had been secured; and Captain Carpenter, watching
the course of events, decided that it was time to recall his
landing-parties.  It had been arranged to do so with the _Vindictive's_
syren, but this, like so much of her gear, was no longer serviceable;
and it was necessary to have recourse to the _Daffodil's_ little
hooter, so feebly opposed to the roar of the guns.  Throughout the
whole operation, humble as her part had been, the _Daffodil_ had been
performing yeoman's service, and, but for the fine seamanship of
Lieutenant Harold Campbell, and the efforts of her engine-room staff,
it would have been quite impossible to re-embark the Marines and
bluejackets from the Mole.  In the normal way her boilers developed
some 80-lbs. steam-pressure per inch; but, for the work of holding the
{240} _Vindictive_ against the side of the Mole, it was necessary
throughout to maintain double this pressure.  All picked men, under
Artificer-Engineer Sutton, the stokers held to their task in the ablest
fashion; and, in ignorance of what was happening all about them, and to
the muffled accompaniment of bursting shells, they worked themselves
out, stripped to their vests and trousers, to the last point of
exhaustion.

Nor did their colleagues on board the _Vindictive_ fall in any degree
short of the same high standard, as becomes clear from the account
afterward given by one of her stokers, Alfred Dingle: "My pigeon," he
said, "was in the boiler-room of the _Vindictive_, which left with the
other craft at two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon.  We were in charge of
Chief Artificer-Engineer Campbell, who was formerly a merchant-service
engineer and must have been specially selected for the job.  He is a
splendid fellow.  At the start he told us what we were in for, and that
before we had finished we should have to feed the fires like mad.
'This ship was built at Chatham twenty years ago,' he said, 'and her
speed is 19 knots, but if you don't get 21 knots out of her when it is
wanted, well--it's up to you to do it anyway.'  We cheered, and he told
us, when we got the order, to get at it for all we were worth and take
no notice of anybody.  We were all strong fellows, the whole thirteen
of us....  The _Vindictive_ was got to Zeebrugge; it was just before
midnight when we got alongside the Mole.  We had gas-masks on then, and
were stoking furiously all the time, with the artificer-engineer
backing us up, and joking and keeping us in the best of spirits.  {241}
Nobody could have been down-hearted while he was there.  There is no
need to say it was awful; you know something from the accounts in the
papers, although no written accounts could make you understand what it
was really like....  Well, there we were, bump, bump, bump against the
Mole for I don't know how long, and all the time shells shrieking and
crashing, rockets going up, and a din that was too awful for words,
added to which were the cries and shrieks of wounded officers and
men....  Several times Captain Carpenter came below and told us how
things were going on.  That was splendid of him, I think.  He was full
of enthusiasm, and cheered us up wonderfully.  He was the same with the
seamen and men on deck....  I can't help admiring the Marines.  They
were a splendid lot of chaps, most of them seasoned men, whilst the
bluejackets (who were just as good) were generally quite young men.
The Marines were bursting to get at the fight and were chafing under
the delay all the time....  While we were alongside I was stoking and
took off my gas-mask, as it was so much in the way.  It was a silly
thing to do, but I couldn't get on with the work with it on.  Suddenly
I smelt gas.  I don't know whether it came from an ordinary shell, but
I knew it was not from the smoke-screen, and you ought to have seen me
nip round for the helmet.  I forgot where I put it for the moment, and
there was I running round with my hand clapped on my mouth till I found
it.  In the boiler-room our exciting time was after the worst was over
on shore.  All of a sudden the telegraph rang down, 'Full speed {242}
ahead,' and then there was a commotion.  The artificer-engineer
shouted, 'Now for it; don't forget what you have to do--21 knots, if
she never does it again.'  In a minute or two the engines were going
full pelt.  Somebody came down and said we were still hitched on to the
Mole, but Campbell said he didn't care if we towed the Mole back with
us; nothing was going to stop him.  As a matter of fact, we pulled away
great chunks of the masonry with the grappling irons, and brought some
of it back with us.  Eventually we got clear of the Mole, and there was
terrific firing up above.  Mr. Campbell was urging us on all the time,
and we were shoving in the coal like madmen.  We were all singing.  One
of the chaps started with, 'I want to go home,' and this eventually
developed into a verse, and I don't think we stopped singing it for
three and a half hours--pretty nearly all the time we were coming back.
In the other parts of the ship there wasn't much singing, for all the
killed and wounded men we could get hold of had been brought on board,
and were being attended to by the doctors and sick bay men.  I don't
know if we did the 21 knots, but we got jolly near it, and everybody
worked like a Trojan, and was quite exhausted when it was all over.
When we were off Dover the Engineer-Commander came down into the
boiler-room and asked Artificer-Engineer Campbell, 'What have you got
to say about your men?'  He replied, 'I'm not going to say anything for
them or anything against them, but if I was going to hell to-morrow
night I would have the same men with me.'"

Not until the Mole had been cleared of every man {243} that could
possibly be removed did the _Vindictive_ break away, turning in a
half-circle and belching flames from every pore of her broken funnels.
That was perhaps her worst moment, for now she was exposed to every
angry and awakened battery; her lower decks were already a shambles;
and many of her navigating staff were killed or helpless.  But her luck
held; the enemy's shells fell short; and soon she was comparatively
safe in the undispersed smoke-trails, with the glorious consciousness
that she had indeed earned the admiral's "Well done, _Vindictive_."

Six Victoria Crosses were allotted to those participating, of whom
there was scarcely one that had not doubly earned the honour; and four
of these were handed over to be assigned as the officers and men
themselves decided.  Acting Captain (soon to be confirmed as Captain)
A. F. B.  Carpenter, Sergeant Finch of the _Vindictive's_ fighting-top,
Captain Barnford of the Royal Marines, and Able Seaman Albert E.
McKenzie were thus chosen; while Lieutenants Percy Dean and R. D.
Sandford were also awarded the same honour, Vice-Admiral Roger Keyes
being made a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath.

Meanwhile at Ostend an equal gallantry had unluckily failed to succeed,
two main factors, at the last moment, contributing to baffle the
block-ships.  The chief of these was the shifting by the enemy, three
days before the attack, of the Stroom Bank Buoy--this bank being one of
a series that had to be negotiated before entering the harbour; and the
other being a change of wind to the south-southwest, blowing back the
smoke-screens and exposing the {244} attack.  Here, owing to the
confusion caused by the displaced buoy, this change of wind had far
more serious results, the calcium flares that had been lit by the
coastal motor-boats, behind the smoke-screens, being extinguished by
the enemy's gunfire; while the _Sirius_, repeatedly hit, was soon in a
sinking condition.  Having taken a line by the Stroom Bank Buoy--now
more than 2,000 yards east of its former position--both the _Sirius_
and _Brilliant_ went ashore, where there was no alternative but to sink
them, their crews being rescued in motor-launches by Lieutenants Hoare
and Bourke.

With the attack on Zeebrugge so triumphant a success, however, it was
the unanimous opinion of all concerned that the failure at Ostend could
not be allowed to stand; and, almost before she had been berthed beside
Dover Pier, a new task was found for the _Vindictive_.  She had done
well.  She had done very well.  But the Dover Patrol had an exigent
standard.  To the thoughtful eye, what more convenient vessel for a
second operation at Ostend?  Nor were there any lack of volunteers, all
the officers of the _Sirius_ and _Brilliant_ again coming forward;
while Engineer Lieutenant-Commander Bury of the _Vindictive_, with four
of the engine-room artificers, H. Cavanagh, N. Carroll, A. Thomas, and
H. Harris, all pressed their claims upon Admiral Keyes, in view of
their special knowledge, to remain with the vessel.

Finally it was decided that Commander Godsal, who had been in charge of
the _Brilliant_, should, for the further attempt, command the
_Vindictive_, a second block-ship, the _Sappho_, being placed in charge
{245} of Lieutenant-Commander Hardy, who had previously commanded the
_Sirius_.  As before also, Commander Hamilton Benn was given the charge
of the motor-launches, Lieutenant E. C. Harrison being entrusted with
the coastal motor-boats; while the whole operation, though Sir Roger
Keyes was again to be present in the destroyer _Warwick_, was once more
placed in the able hands of Commodore Hubert Lynes.

That the Germans would on this occasion be amply prepared was, of
course, humanly certain; and aerial observation soon revealed that they
had already taken fresh precautions.  The Stroom Bank Buoy had been
removed altogether, leaving no guiding marks of any sort, while the
piers had been cut in various places to limit the activities of
possible landing-parties.  It was quite clear, therefore, that to
attempt a second surprise a change of plan would be necessary; and it
was decided to attack on the first suitable night without the previous
lengthy bombardment.  Not until the _Vindictive_ was close to her
objective were the monitors at sea to open fire, the ends of the two
piers having first been torpedoed by coastal motor-boats under cover of
a smoke-screen.  That having been accomplished, the airmen overhead
were to drop star-shells and begin releasing their bombs, while the
heavy guns of the Flanders shore batteries were to open simultaneously
from the land.  Every possible misadventure was foreseen and provided
for as well as all conceivable changes of wind; and each stage of the
operation was timed with the exactitude of an express train's journey
on a main line.  It was well that it was so; for, as before, just {246}
at the critical moment, the conditions changed, and, for twenty minutes
or more, in spite of everything, the adventure trembled on the brink of
failure.

Timed to reach Ostend in the early hours, it was on the night of May
9th that the two block-ships set out, the weather then promising, as it
had promised on April 22d, all that was required in the way of support.
It was a moonless night with a still sea and a faint wind blowing from
the right quarter, all of them conspiring to help the little craft that
were already racing ahead upon their various tasks.  That some enemy
destroyers were out was believed to be probable; but, in the event,
only one was encountered, this being driven off by Lieutenant Wellman
in a little coastal motor-boat armed with a Lewis machine-gun.
Unhappily, the _Sappho_, owing to boiler trouble, was unable to
maintain her speed; and, to the bitter disappointment of all on board,
was forced to come to anchor twelve miles from Ostend.  For the rest,
however, all went well; there were as yet no signs of enemy suspicion;
and, behind their advanced columns of lazily rolling smoke, the
destroyers and motor-boats were soon at work.  One lay a light-buoy to
guide the _Vindictive_; another hung a flare in the rigging of the
wrecked _Sirius_; while a third lit a calcium flare in the rightful
position of the Stroom Bank Buoy.  Four minutes before the
_Vindictive_, having picked up the life-buoy, reached this last,
another couple of motor-boats--one commanded by Lieutenant Darrel Reid
and the other by Lieutenant A. L. Poland--made a dash for the two
pier-heads and successfully torpedoed them.

{247}

Up to this moment the enemy had been silent; but now, as from sea and
land the heavy guns opened upon him, his batteries suddenly awoke and
filled the air with the screaming and explosions of his shells.  To
these were added the peculiar dull intonations of the bombs dropped on
him from above; while his searchlights hurriedly sprang to attention,
and star-shell after star-shell broke into light.  From the attackers'
point of view nothing could have happened more fortunately; but now, by
one of those sea-whims that nothing could have foretold, a sudden fog
descended upon the scene and threatened to baulk the whole plan.  As
though they had been blinded by some perverse agent, the destroyers and
motor-boats found themselves in darkness, hidden from each other, as
they were hidden from the _Vindictive_, and with their flares and
searchlights unavailing.

Striving to keep in touch by means of their syrens, they did their best
to maintain their stations, but meanwhile the _Vindictive_, left
without guides, could only grope about in search of the entrance.  The
feelings of Commander Godsal, with the failure of the _Sirius_ and
_Brilliant_ still fresh in his mind, can well be imagined; and, as the
minutes passed by, each with its quota of unredeemable opportunity, it
may well have seemed to him that the fates had made up their minds that
he was not to be the man to block Ostend.

So twenty minutes passed, and then, with a gesture as apparently
whimsical as the first, the fog abruptly lifted and revealed the
entrance between the two piers just in front of him.  At the same
moment Acting Lieutenant G. L. Cockburn, with his attendant {248}
motor-boats, darted ahead, and marked it with a flare; and the
_Vindictive_, steaming across this, found herself safe in the desired
channel.  That is scarcely the right word, perhaps, for now, within
less than three weeks, she had again become the target of scores of the
enemy's guns.  Hit every few seconds, a shell destroyed her
after-control, killing Sub-Lieutenant MacLachlan and all its occupants;
while every exposed position on the deck was swept, as from a hose,
with machine-gun bullets.

Commander Godsal, therefore, ordered his officers into the
conning-tower, leaving it himself, however, when 200 yards up the
channel, to be killed by a shell just as the _Vindictive_ was beginning
to swing herself into position.  It was this same shell that struck the
conning-tower, stunning Lieutenant Sir John Alleyne, who was inside,
Lieutenant V. A. C. Crutchley taking command of the vessel on getting
no reply from his commander.  Having swung her round to an angle of
between thirty and forty degrees, however, it became impossible to move
her further, and Lieutenant Crutchley ordered the ship to be abandoned,
he himself and Lieutenant-Commander Bury then blowing the charges that
were to sink her.

Meanwhile the crew, many of whom were wounded, were being disembarked
into a motor-launch, most gallantly laid alongside by Lieutenant G. H.
Drummond.  This officer, who remained on the bridge till the last man
had been taken off, had already been wounded in three places, and had
lost an officer and a man of his crew.  The last to leave the
_Vindictive_ was Lieutenant Crutchley after searching in every {249}
quarter with an electric torch; and, when Lieutenant Drummond, having
backed his launch away, collapsed and fainted from his wounds, he took
charge of the little vessel which was already seriously damaged.
Crowded with wounded, and with her fore part flooded, it was only by
continual baling with buckets, and by shifting as many men aft as
possible, that he was able to keep her afloat, finally bringing her
alongside the destroyer _Warwick_ in a sinking condition.

An even narrower escape was that of Lieutenant Alleyne, whom we have
last seen lying unconscious in the conning-tower, but who was presently
found there by Petty-Officer Reed, who carried him aft under the
heaviest fire.  Before he could be got overboard, Lieutenant Alleyne
was badly hit, and fell into the water, presumably lost.  Following
Lieutenant Drummond, however, Lieutenant Bourke had come into the
harbour with a second motor-launch; and, when Lieutenant Drummond
backed away, Lieutenant Bourke had come alongside.  Finding the
_Vindictive_ empty, he too was about to back out when he heard cries
from the water, and found Lieutenant Alleyne, with two other men, all
of them badly wounded, clinging to an upturned skiff.  Under the
bitterest fire--his little motor-launch was hit in fifty-five places,
and once by a 4-inch shell--Lieutenant Bourke succeeded in rescuing
them and bringing his launch out into the open again, where he
presently sighted one of the bombarding monitors, by whom he was at
last taken in tow.  For the parts which they played on this occasion,
Lieutenants Crutchley, Drummond, and Bourke each received the Victoria
Cross.

{250}

Such was the conclusion, just as day was breaking, of three unique
operations, in that almost every branch of modern science had been laid
under contribution for their carrying out.  The chemist, the engineer,
the pyrotechnician--each had been indispensable to the final success,
and yet in no undertakings of the naval campaign had the human factor
more palpably triumphed.

Drawn from the Grand Fleet, with Admiral Beatty's warm support, from
the forces at Harwick and the Dover Patrol, from the three Home Depots,
the Royal Marine Light Infantry, and the Royal Marine Artillery, the
volunteers had also included representatives of the Australian and
French navies; while the Admiralty experimental stations at Stratford
and Dover had contributed eager participants.  As to the material
results, in the case of Zeebrugge's these alone had been well worth
attaining.  More than a score of torpedo-craft and a dozen submarines
were at once, and for many days afterward, immobilized; while the
enemy's naval activities, dependent on this port, remained seriously
hampered till the end of the war.  As regarded Ostend, while the
material results were not very great, this was also the less important
harbour, and the moral effect of the two attacks was both immediate and
profound.  Up to the very eve, indeed, of the great retirement, so
nervous of future operations did the enemy remain, that two of his
divisions were pinned to the coast in view of possible developments,
while money and material were poured like water into the further
strengthening of its defences.



{251}

CHAPTER XI

THE COMING OF THE AMERICANS

  These were the stars that they followed.
  Eastward returning,
  The stars of the old sailors
  Steadily burning.
  Fearlessness, loyalty, liberty,
  These and none others
  Shone in the eyes that they turned to us,
  Eyes of our brothers.


Among the minor casualties of the war was the disappearance of
newspaper contents bills; and it was chalked upon a paving-stone in
Holborn, as doubtless upon other paving-stones elsewhere, that a little
group of people read the most momentous tidings that had reached London
since the days of Elizabeth.  That to a certain extent they were not
unexpected; that since the _Lusitania_ went down they had perhaps been
inevitable--the three words, scribbled by the newspaper vendor,
_America Declares War_, were none the less thrilling.  All that lay
dormant in them had not yet been revealed; but, even at the time, they
were sufficiently overwhelming.  For they not only meant that a great
people, recruited from almost every nation on earth, had spoken its
final and unanimous endorsement of all that Britain and her Allies were
shedding their blood {252} for; they not only meant that America had
come into the ring on the side of chivalry and clean fighting; but they
meant the reconciling, with its infinite implications, of two great
branches of one family, each with liberty at the very core of every
movement of its policy, and both inheritors of the common tongue of
Shakespeare, Milton, and Bunyan.

Of the progressive steps by which the American nation moved from a
position of neutrality to one of intervention, this is not the place to
give the history.  Deeply, and most understandably, reluctant to
interfere in the affairs of Europe, it was not until he had judged that
the people as a whole--no less on the prairies of Dakota than in the
parlours of Boston--had realized the issue as supra-European, did
President Wilson voice the great decision.  With an extraordinary
patience, severely criticized not only abroad but at home, he had
refused to allow any incident, however provocative, to become the
_casus belli_ for the United States until the essential evil, of which
it was but a symptom, was recognized and repudiated beyond the last
doubt; and, although diplomatic relations were broken off in February,
on Germany's declaration of unrestricted submarine murder, it was not
until April 6, 1917, that war was finally declared.

During that time American lives had been lost in the sinking of the
_Laconia_, _Vigilancia_, _Healdton_, and _Aztec_; while there was made
public the German intrigue with Mexico in which she had promised the
latter the states of Texas and Arizona.  It was with this in mind, no
doubt, that President Wilson, on April 3d, spoke as follows:
"Self-governed nations {253} do not fill their neighbours' states with
spies, or set the course of intrigue to bring about some critical
position of affairs which will give them an opportunity to strike and
make conquests.  Such designs can be successfully worked out only under
cover, and where no one has the right to ask questions.  Cunningly
contrived plans of deception or aggression, carried, it may be from
generation to generation, can be worked out and kept from the light
only within the privacy of courts, or behind the carefully guarded
conferences of a narrow and privileged class.  They are happily
impossible where public opinion demands and insists upon full
information concerning all the nation's affairs."  As regarded the
submarine campaign, he said, "Vessels of every kind, whatever their
flags, their character, their cargo, their destination, their errand,
have been ruthlessly sent to the bottom without warning and without a
thought of help or mercy for those on board--the vessels of friendly
neutrals along with those of belligerents.  Even hospital ships and
ships carrying relief to the sorely bereaved and stricken people of
Belgium, though the latter were provided with safe-conducts through the
prescribed areas by the German Government itself, and were
distinguished by unmistakable marks of identity, have been sunk with
the same reckless lack of compassion or principle."  Proclaiming it to
be America's duty to take up such a challenge, he finished his address
to Congress in memorable words.  "To such a task," he said, "we can
dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything that we are and
everything that we have, with the pride of those who know {254} that
the day has come when America is privileged to spend her blood and her
might for the principles that gave her birth and happiness and the
peace which she has treasured.  God helping her, she can do no other."

Such was America's entrance, with a gesture worthy of her, and in which
none more than Britain might take a greater pride; and it would be
quite impossible to overestimate the immediate moral value of her
action.  Though it was, of course, clear that, not for many months,
could her full weight be felt in Europe, there had been placed at the
disposal of the Entente's anxious statesmen not only the unplumbed
resources of another continent, but a new spring of unjaded enthusiasm
at a peculiarly troubled stage of the war.  Of the subsequent growth of
the American armies, of their historic rush over the Atlantic in the
following spring, and of the self-abnegation with which, at a critical
moment, they allowed themselves to be brigaded with the British and
French forces, we may not write here, save in so far as their navy and
ours made this possible.  Here we must confine ourselves to a brief
survey of the American effort at sea, prefacing all that follows with
the reminder that, no less than ourselves, the United States' navy
shared in the great traditions bequeathed by the Elizabethan admirals.

To such as were familiar with its inner life, that had indeed long been
manifest; and we have already referred to a couple of incidents in
which it had become apparent to the world at large.  In the fight of
the _Chesapeake_ against the _Shannon_, wherein both {255} victor and
vanquished shared an equal glory, and, in the action of Lieutenant
Hobson at Santiago, its true lineage had shone out; while no
English-speaking sailor of modern times had gloried in it more
eloquently than Admiral Mahan.  At the same time, separated by
thousands of miles, on either side, from any potential foe;
self-dependent, owing to its vast inner resources, for almost every
material of industry; and with but few colonies, scattered over the
world, whose interests required protection, America's attitude toward
naval expansion had necessarily been somewhat different from our own.
It had seemed rather an adjunct to her great natural defences than the
vital condition of her existence; and the reflection of this had been
clearly visible in her recent programmes of construction.  Thus in
1909, 1910, and 1911 only two new battleships had been authorized each
year.  In 1912 and 1913 this number had been reduced to one; while, in
1914, though three had been authorized, two second-class battleships
had been sold to Greece.

In that year, however, the naval staff had issued a rather disquieting
report; and, in the three years that followed, very considerable
strides were made in the direction of strengthening the Fleet.  Always
admirable in _personnel_, and with a considerable maritime population
upon which to draw, fresh attention was paid to her reserves, which, on
her entrance into the war, were organized in four classes; and, in the
strictly offensive sense, it was at sea that her help as a combatant
was the soonest felt.  Weakest in cruisers, and entirely lacking in
high-speed, heavy-gunned {256} battle-cruisers, she possessed fourteen
battleships of the dreadnought type with another score of the second
and third classes.  Of her dreadnoughts six--the _Pennsylvania_,
_Arizona_, _Oklahoma_, _Nevada_, _New York_, and _Texas_--mounted
14-inch guns, the first two carrying twelve of these, with a secondary
armament of twenty-two 5-inch guns, and the last four carrying ten,
with a secondary armament of twenty-one 5-inch guns respectively.  Five
other battleships were still in course of construction on her entrance
into the war.  She had also nearly a hundred destroyers and
torpedo-boats, and something over sixty submarines, and was soon to be
producing fast sub-chasers, as she called them, in very large numbers.
Manned, as all these were, by a _personnel_ not only eager and
intelligent, but combining a nationally typical self-confidence with
the modesty and discipline of true seamen, the American navy was thus a
timely reinforcement of the most valuable kind; and it was made doubly
so by the prompt generosity with which it lent itself to the existing
commands.

Nothing else, indeed, was to have been expected, since the relations
between the British and American navies had always been a little in
advance, perhaps as regarded cordiality, of those prevailing between
their respective countries.  Even when they were opponents in the war
that should never have been they had sincerely and consistently
respected each other; and, for the last hundred years, whenever they
had foregathered, it had been with a more than formal friendliness.
"It has been a rule," wrote the doyen of American admirals, the late
Admiral Dewey, in {257} 1913, "that wherever a British and an American
ship meet, their officers and their crews fraternize.  The two services
speak the same language, they have a common inheritance of naval
discipline and customs.  Exchanges of visits, which are ceremonial
where other nations are concerned, become friendly calls in a congenial
atmosphere."

Nor had more solid evidence been lacking of the genuine alliance of
which both navies were conscious.  Thus in 1859, when the _Toey-Wan_, a
British chartered steamer, in the Pei River, was enduring an extremely
heavy fire from the Chinese forts, the American flag-officer, Josiah
Tatnall, who was present on the occasion, turned to a junior officer
and exclaimed, "Blood is thicker than water," ordered his boat to be
manned, and, with his own crew, took the place of the fallen British
gunners.  Later, when Admiral Dewey himself, while blockading Manila,
during the Spanish-American War, was in serious difficulties owing to
the attitude of the German admiral present in the Bay, it was the
action of Captain Chichester, the senior British officer, in upholding
Admiral Dewey's position under international law, that prevented the
development of an awkward and potentially serious situation.

Divided into three main commands--the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the
Asiatic, each in charge of a full admiral, the only other full admiral
in the American navy was the Chief of the Naval Staff at Washington.
This officer, roughly corresponding with our own First Sea Lord, was in
charge of all operations, the Secretary of the Navy, corresponding with
our First Lord, {258} being a civilian official of Cabinet rank.  Of
the three sea commands, the Atlantic was considerably the most
important, and contained the chief proportion of the latest and most
powerful vessels of the American navy.  This command was held, during
the American intervention, by a distinguished officer, Admiral Mayo,
the naval administration at Washington being in the able hands of
Admiral Benson, while to the command of all American naval forces
operating in European waters was appointed Vice-Admiral W. S. Sims.

Born in Canada, formerly a naval attaché in London, and distinguished,
throughout his career, by a remarkable combination of vision,
initiative, and mastery of detail, Vice-Admiral Sims (later to become
Admiral on the retirement of the admiral of the Asiatic Fleet) was the
obvious choice for a position requiring very rare and special
abilities.  A close friend and admirer, in earlier days, of the British
gunnery expert, Sir Percy Scott, Admiral Sims had been largely
responsible for wide-spreading reforms in American gunnery
methods--reforms carried through, not without opposition, by his
characteristic tact and driving force.  Always ready, at first hand, to
examine the ideas of his most junior officers, invariably loyal to
them, and caring nothing for personal dignity so that the war might be
won in the speediest fashion, it was little wonder not only that he was
idolized by all who served under him, but that his British colleagues
could have asked for no more able or inspiring a helper.

Beginning in April, 1917, with five officers and a {259} room or two,
the United States Naval Headquarters in London had expanded, by the end
of the war, to a total _personnel_ of 912 occupying several large
houses--notwithstanding that, during the whole time, Admiral Sims
himself had scarcely missed a single attendance at the usual daily
conference at the British Admiralty.  Under him at sea, and at the
various subsidiary bases, with which we shall presently deal more
particularly, there were serving by November, 1918, nearly 5,000
officers and 76,000 men.  Not until it is remembered that these fifteen
bases were scattered between Queenstown in Ireland and Corfu in Greece,
between Inverness in the North of Scotland and Bizerta near Algiers;
that every one of them had to be created while the war was in active
progress, and that simultaneously, both in Europe and America,
thousands of untrained men and officers had to be educated--can some
idea be formed of the administrative miracle expressed in the full
contribution of American sea-power.

Declaring war in April, 1917, America's first naval units to appear in
European waters were the destroyers that arrived in May to operate from
Queenstown in the south of Ireland.  Perhaps the most valuable of all,
they arrived at a peculiarly appropriate moment.  The submarine warfare
was then at its most destructive stage; the British destroyer crews, at
the end of their third winter, were beginning to show signs of
staleness; while, owing to the demands upon them in every quarter and
especially by the Grand Fleet, it had so far been impossible fully to
develop the convoy-system of merchant shipping {260} later so
successful.  The arrival of these destroyers, therefore, was trebly
welcome; and they placed themselves, without reservation, at the
British Admiral's disposal.  Reporting immediately upon arrival to
Vice-Admiral Lewis Bayly, he enquired how soon they would be ready for
duty.  "As soon as we have re-fueled, sir," replied the Senior American
Officer; and that remained the keynote of all their activities.  By the
end of June, twenty American destroyers were regularly at work in the
Queenstown area; and, by the end of the war, though they were still
under the British Admiralty, there were none but American destroyers at
this base.

Throughout that time, the bulk of their work consisted of escorting
convoys; and the relief caused by their presence was felt almost
immediately.  It was in the Irish Sea, the Bristol Channel, and off the
west coast of Ireland that our shipping losses had been heaviest; and
our overworked destroyers had been obliged to fight the submarines by
means of constant patrols in very broad areas.  That had proved
insufficient, as our losses clearly showed; and it was the American
reinforcements that enabled us to turn the tide.  The regular
organization of convoys was at once put in hand, and the submarine
sinkings began to decrease.

Proceeding westward, it was the task of the American destroyers to pick
up these merchant-vessels or troopships, escort them through the
danger-zone to the mouth of the Irish Sea or the off-shore patrols of
the Bristol Channel, hand them over to the waiting British destroyers,
and then, returning westward {261} again, repeat the process; while, a
little later, other detachments performed similar duties between
Liverpool and Milford Haven.  How well they worked let a figure or two
show.

Actually at sea seven days out of every ten, they steamed, during the
war, more than 2,000,000 miles.  Of the total traffic passing through
this area, they were responsible for sixty-five per cent.; while,
whenever three or four days were likely to elapse between the arrival
or departure of convoys, they at once took their part in the usual
patrol-duties and submarine-hunting always in progress.  Of the total
number of nearly 2,000,000 American troops transported to Europe in
1918, sixty-two per cent. were escorted by American destroyers, more
than 800,000 being carried in American ships.  Such vessels as the
great liners _Aquitania_, _Olympic_, _Mauretania_, and _Leviathan_ were
always brought to and fro under their guardianship, and none of them
was lost; while, as to the coöperative spirit that produced these
amazing results, let the remarks of a junior American destroyer-officer
bear witness.  "Old Admiral Bayly," he was heard to observe, "is a fine
old gentleman for work.  His policy is that, as long as there is a war
on, there is no necessity for waiting around looking for something to
do.  He certainly has given us a hard time of it, but, because of his
efficiency, insight, and powers of organization, everyone has
appreciated the privilege of working under him."  Needless to say,
Admiral Bayly's feelings for his American command were equally warm.

Meanwhile at Brest in France a new American base {262} was quickly
growing.  Already, in June, 1917, a few vessels had been sent
there--converted yachts that were at once employed as escorts to
coastal convoys through the Bay of Biscay.  By October it was realized,
however, that this must inevitably become one of the chief American
naval stations in Europe; and the erection of barracks, hospitals, and
repair-shops, on the largest scale, was at once begun.  Early in the
new year, many new vessels were sent there; and, by June, 1918, the
complement had increased from sixteen yachts to thirty-four destroyers,
four repair-ships, three supply-ships, and nine mine-sweepers.

Here, as at Queenstown, the main task was one of escort duty; and the
American forces quickly became responsible for the safety of ninety per
cent. of all the traffic along the French coast and in the Bay of
Biscay.  In the first three months of 1918, fifty-four convoys of 186
ships were thus escorted by the American destroyer-flotillas; while, in
the third three months, these figures had increased to ninety-eight
convoys of 742 ships.  During July and August, 1918, these forces
escorted no less than 3,500,000 tons of shipping--the entire French
coast having been practically placed under the command of the American
Rear-Admiral H. B. Wilson.

Almost contemporary with the development at Brest had been that of the
American naval forces based upon Gibraltar.  Here, on August 18 1917,
had arrived the U.S.S. _Birmingham_, then the flagship of Rear-Admiral
Wilson and a scout-cruiser of the United States Atlantic Fleet.  With
her had come {263} the _Sacramento_, and, in less than four days, this
vessel was at sea again escorting an English convoy--the American naval
officers, just as at Queenstown, acting under the orders of the British
Admiral.  By the following March, twenty-eight American vessels were
regularly operating from Gibraltar, and, by June, there were
thirty-five, with another forty based upon Corfu--those at Gibraltar,
under Rear-Admiral Niblack, acting as an integral part of the British
forces and being entirely at the disposal of the British admiral in
command.

Here also, as at Brest, the vessels were very various, consisting of
cruisers, destroyers, and gun-boats, with a number of yachts, converted
into warships, and some coast-guard cutters.  Of these the larger
vessels were continually on escort duty between the Mediterranean and
England as also between the Continent and the chief South American
ports.  They furnished a quarter of the total escorts for local
Mediterranean convoys, and more than seventy per cent. of the escorts
for ocean and deep-sea merchantmen.  To the smaller vessels were
allotted patrol-duties at the mouth of the Mediterranean, local convoy
work, and convoy work with vessels bound to and from the Azores.  Far
less sea-worthy than the larger vessels, and, as regarded the yachts,
not intended for war-service, theirs were, perhaps, the hardest tasks
of all and as little dramatic as those of the others.  Precisely in the
same spirit, however, of cheerful grumbling as that of their sea-loving
British brethren, the officers and men of these heterogeneous vessels
set themselves to compass their various tasks.

{264}

"Our ships," wrote one of them, referring to the five mine-sweepers
under his particular command, "are the old Jersey fishermen's boats,
re-rigged a bit and _thrown_ together for this duty.  When they
outfitted these boats, they put all the stuff in a big gun and shot it
at the hull.  Then they loaded a machine-gun with nails and bolts, and
shot that load after the first; and lo, out of chaos, we have sweepers.
Our motto is 'Always ready' and 'We do anything.'  And we do.  We
sweep, patrol, salvage wrecks, tug-boat, convoy sometimes, despatch
duty, and if the coal isn't prompt, we get a rest.  Day into night,
night into day, and vice versa, sometimes normal, mostly not, that's
our life--but we are all happy and well and working for the same
cause....  All of the officers except three are Reserve officers, and a
corking fine lot they are.  I admire the spirit that brings them with
us, and give them a lot of credit.  Theirs has been a hard lot, and
they have done well....  Meatless, wheatless, cheerless, heatless,
foodless, and fruitless days are in our scheme of things economic, and
sometimes there is evidence of brainless days with me....  You remember
the old Rules of the Road for passing vessels?  We have a new one to
rival Farragut's famous 'Damn the torpedoes--go ahead.'  Ours is modest:

  Red to red and green to green,
  To hell with danger--steam between.

Sweeping for mines is not like anything you see in a hotel or office or
home--no, sir--it is entirely different.  The broom is a big wire, and
the game is {265} looking for a needle in a haystack.  It is a great
sport in a way.  I guess, if you analyze it seriously, it's the biggest
game in this war from a naval point of view--a field is located, and
instead of carefully avoiding it, we make the most exhaustive
calculations to get right into it....  You have hunted big game in the
mountains, but you could see what you were shooting at.  We look for
big game without that advantage.  Get the idea?  We don't want to throw
ourselves any bouquets, but those who think that the submarine is the
only menace, and destroyers the only duty, don't know what it means to
hunt for the horned egg....  Every mine we get means a ship saved, each
ship and cargo is worth at least three million dollars, and each mine
we sink or explode cuts down the overhead.  I am proud of my ships, my
officers, and my men.  We came across, and we are doing all we can to
make good....  I have never met the King and Queen, so don't feel blue
if they don't ask about me."  To any one in doubt of the essential
kinship between the average lieutenants of the English-speaking navies,
we would beg to suggest a careful perusal of the foregoing letter.

Equally characteristic, and modestly illustrative of the spirit in
which these American escort-officers interpreted their duty, is the
following account, written by the commander of the destroyer
_Warrington_, of the attempt to save the _Wellington_, a British
collier.  "The _Wellington_," he wrote, "carrying coal to Gibraltar,
left Milford Haven with a convoy of about twenty ships in the morning
of Friday, September 13th.  Sunday night the escort of British
destroyers {266} left, and convoy proceeded under ocean escort of
U.S.S. _Seneca_.  About eleven in the morning of September 16th, the
_Wellington_ sighted a submarine which porpoised and instantly
thereafter submerged about one point on her starboard bow.  Immediately
afterward she was struck by a torpedo forward, and the forehold was
quickly flooded.  The _Wellington's_ crew of forty-four abandoned the
ship in the two good lifeboats belonging to her, and were picked up by
U.S.S. _Seneca_, the ocean escort.

First Lieutenant Fletcher W. Brown, Coast Guard, attached to _Seneca_,
asked and obtained the permission of his commanding officer to man the
_Wellington_ with a volunteer crew and endeavour to bring her into
port.  A large number of the _Seneca's_ crew volunteered, and eighteen
men were chosen.  At the same time the Master of the _Wellington_, the
first and second mates and ten of her original crew volunteered to
return with the _Seneca's_ men.  They were permitted to do so, and all
went aboard the _Wellington_, with Lieutenant Brown in charge, but the
Master of the _Wellington_ navigating.  Unfortunately, before returning
to the _Wellington_, one of the lifeboats which had been used when the
ship was first abandoned had been cast adrift.  This left the vessel
with but one lifeboat, two jolly boats, and two life-rafts which
Lieutenant Brown had made on board.

At the time the _Wellington's_ S.O.S. was received, the _Warrington_
was operating with a west-bound convoy about eighty miles to the
southward of the S.O.S.; but it was not before eleven P.M. that the
_Warrington_ was detached by the escort commander, {267} and ordered to
proceed to the position of the torpedoed ship.  This order was carried
out with all possible speed, but the _Wellington_ had meanwhile been
making about 7 knots per hour, heading for Brest, but steering badly on
account of her being down by the head.  Finally radio-communication was
established between the _Wellington_ and the _Warrington_, and a
systematic search instituted by the latter vessel.  Between eleven
P.M., the sixteenth, and one A.M., the seventeenth, two eleven P.M.
positions were received from _Wellington_ differing by about forty
miles.  This discrepancy is explained by the first mate who states that
the Master got a fix by simultaneous star sights about 11.30 and sent
out a corrected position, which was forty miles away from his dead
reckoning.  I headed the _Warrington_ toward the new position, and at
three A.M. picked up _Wellington_ dead ahead.

In the meanwhile we had received a radio from her saying she had
stopped, but would go ahead again when wind had moderated.  Just as we
picked her up, the moon set.  There was a strong breeze from the
southwest and the sea was rough.  I exchanged signals with _Wellington_
and she stated that there was every probability of her remaining afloat
till daylight and possibly longer, as her volunteer crew had then kept
her afloat for seventeen hours.  However, shortly after this signal was
received, a bulkhead collapsed and she signalled for immediate
assistance, and said her crew were abandoning ship.  Immediately
afterward I picked up her lifeboat containing first and second mates of
_Wellington_, five of her {268} original crew, and one of the
_Seneca's_ volunteer crew.  I searched for more boats, coming as close
to _Wellington_ as I dared in the darkness.  Going alongside in that
wind and sea would have been suicide.  I tried to hold _Wellington's_
lifeboat alongside, but it quickly swamped and I had to cut it adrift.

Meanwhile, a desperate attempt was made to lower one of our boats, but
after two men had barely escaped serious injuries in the attempt, I saw
it would be a case of just so many more men in the water.  The current
was against the sea, so I went to leeward of _Wellington_ and floated
down three life-rafts well lighted, my Franklin life-buoys, and a
number of circular buoys, all with lights.  I learned afterward that
_Wellington's_ remaining boats were small and that they had been
smashed in lowering, and that for some reason their own life-rafts had
fouled and could not be gotten clear of the ship.  Accordingly all the
remaining men went down with the ship, or jumped just before she sank.

It was still very black, the proverbial darkest hour just before the
dawn.  From a few hundred yards to leeward I watched the black hull
turn turtle, slowly settle in the water, and then disappear from sight.
It was very distressing not to be able to do anything at that moment
for the men in the water.  Our life-rafts and buoys were there, with
plenty of calcium torches, but we absolutely could not get a boat in
the water.  I circled slowly well clear of the raft.  When dawn broke
finally, we began to see men in the water.  Some were on our rafts and
buoys, some on pieces of floating wreckage.  All were singing out {269}
to attract our attention.  In picking them up, I had, of course, to
take the ship alongside the men and to get heaving lines to them.  In
doing this, as you may well imagine, we had to draw a fine line between
cutting the man down and getting close enough to get a heaving line to
him.  Manoeuvring amidst the wreckage, life-rafts, and buoys, we
finally picked up eight men out of the water.  One of these died on
board.  We had been able to save only half of the entire crew, but
careful search for four hours failed to locate any more survivors.

One of the first men picked up from the water proved to be Lieutenant
Brown, who had been in command of the volunteer crew.  A heaving line
had been flung to him, and he had grabbed it, but he says he does not
remember having been hauled on board.  He apparently lost consciousness
until he awoke in a bunk in the C.P.O.'s quarters, when his identity
was discovered.  There were several commendable incidents on the part
of our crew.  I have recommended for life-saving medals three of my own
crew--William James Taylor, coxswain; Robert Emanuel Noel,
quartermaster, first class; Walter Irving Sherwood, fireman, first
class--all for having jumped from the _Warrington_ into the heavy sea,
with lines made fast to their waists, in attempting to save life.
Especially courageous was the action of Seaman James Osborne of the
Coast Guard, one of the survivors.  Osborne, supporting a
shipmate--Coxswain John A. Peterson--swam to a small life-raft and
placed Peterson, who was in a semi-conscious condition, on the raft,
holding him, as well as he could, between his {270} feet.  Several
times both Osborne and his shipmate were washed off the raft by the
high seas, whereupon Osborne went to Peterson's assistance and replaced
him on the raft.  Finally, while I was going to the assistance of
another man, who seemed for the time being in a more desperate
predicament than Osborne, the latter semaphored from his pitching raft,
'I am all right; but he's gone unless you come right away.'  We got
them both.  Above all, young Brown of the Coast Guard deserves
commendation.  It was he who organized the volunteer crew that kept the
_Wellington_ afloat for seventeen hours, and, without a doubt, with
even average weather conditions, would have salved her."

While American cruisers, destroyers, gun-boats, coast-guard cutters,
and tenders were thus all represented in European waters by the autumn
of 1917, the first appearance of America's battleships was not till
December 6th, when four of these were assigned to the Grand Fleet.
Commanded by Rear-Admiral Hugh Rodman, and forming the Sixth Battle
Squadron under Sir David Beatty, they consisted of the _New York_,
_Florida_, _Wyoming_, and _Delaware_, the _Texas_ joining in February,
and the _Arkansas_ relieving the _Delaware_ in the following July.
Here their duties, with the Battle of Jutland already an
eighteen-month-old event, were but those of every similar squadron
attached to the Grand Fleet--to take their share in filling the North
Sea, to watch night and day for the tarrying High Seas Fleet, and to
remain, throughout all that time, keyed to the highest pitch of
preparedness and efficiency.

{271}

The _Florida_, _Delaware_, _New York_, and _Texas_ were all, at
different times, the subject of torpedo-attack; and the _New York_ was
successful in putting down a submarine in October, 1918.  With other
units of the Grand Fleet they undertook their appropriate share of
convoy-work between the North of Scotland and the Norwegian coast.
Finally, during the night of November 20, 1918, they proceeded to sea
with the Grand Fleet, and had the satisfaction of being present at the
arrival for internment of the German High Seas Fleet.

As we have seen, it was during the last quarter of 1917 that these
battleships made their appearance; and, during these same three months,
some American submarines first came into action and began regular
patrols.  Five of these, with the tender _Tonopah_, were based upon
Ponte Delgada in the Azores; and, later, another seven arrived in
Bantry Bay, and were soon operating from Berehaven.  Though they were
only successful, by indirect action, in accounting for one hostile
submarine, their work of hampering the enemy's activities was of the
most valuable nature, and, by the spring of 1918, they had become
responsible for the whole area sentinelled from Berehaven.

To the work of the mine-sweepers we have already referred, and, in the
summer of 1918, these were joined by the mine-layers, work being begun
by these upon the Northern Barrage on June 8th.  Thirteen excursions
were made, the fourteenth being held up owing to the signing of the
armistice; and, during these trips, more than 56,000 mines were laid at
a cost of more than £9,000,000.

{272}

Nor must the navy's aid to the American army coal trade go without
mention in these pages.  Early in the autumn of 1917, the army coal
situation in France became serious, and the navy was asked, in order to
avoid a crisis, to send some colliers to the rescue.  Accordingly,
between the 5th of October and the 1st of December, 1917, navy colliers
made thirty trips between Cardiff and the French ports, during which
time they carried for the army 90,000 tons of coal.  Later it was
decided to place the whole of the army coal trade under the supervision
of the navy; a base was established at Cardiff, under Rear-Admiral
Philip Andrews, and, by the end of the war, there were fifty-five
colliers in actual commission for this purpose.

Meanwhile, in America, as in England, though its activities were being
curtailed, there had been no disposition to underestimate the serious
nature of the submarine menace, and new methods of defeating it were
being constantly thought out.  Perhaps the most notable of these was
the construction and large-scale employment of sub-chasers, the first
of these coming into use during the early summer of 1918.  These were
110-feet gasoline boats, each of them displacing eighty tons, and each
carrying a 3-inch, a Y gun (for throwing depth-charges to a distance),
and a dozen depth-charges.  Each was manned by a crew of two officers
and twenty-three men; and each was equipped with the very latest and
best of American listening devices.  They were thus able to detect
submerged submarines up to a very considerable distance, and were
particularly effective at night, when {273} they drifted noiselessly,
with their listening devices manned.  By day they patrolled, stopping
at intervals to listen; took their share of the ordinary convoy-work;
assisted torpedoed vessels to reach port; and destroyed drifting mines.

By the first of July, 1918, there were more than seventy of these at
work, and, by the end of the war, a hundred and twenty.  Thirty-six of
them were based on Corfu, and formed part of the barrage across the
Straits of Otranto.  Another detachment operated from Plymouth and a
third from Queenstown; while the closing days of the war saw a fourth
working from Gibraltar.  Hunting as a rule in threes, the following
account, selected at random from many of a like nature, will illustrate
best, perhaps, with its official brevity, the sort of work performed by
these American chasers.  It relates the story, not of a red-letter day,
but of a few exciting minutes, spent by three Queenstown sub-chasers on
an October afternoon in 1918.

"Sub-chasers _47_, _48_, and _208_, while on running patrol, made
contact with submarine at 14.30.  After four runs of various courses
and distances, made position fix at 15.30, course 25 mag., distance 400
yards.  Made attack in line formation _47_ dropping six charges, _208_
dropping five, and _48_ dropping one charge.  Stopped and listened;
submarine heard by all three boats sounding badly damaged and within
200 yards of _48_.  As the other two chasers were not in position to
make an attack together without losing time, _48_ attacked, dropping
two depth-charges.  Stopped and listened.  Submarine heard by all
boats, {274} sounded as if having trouble with her engines, and was
hammering.  Positive fix directly ahead of _47_ who instantly attacked
with two depth-charges.  Stopped and listened.  Submarine heard by _47_
in direction of _208_.  _208_ heard, but could not centre sound.  A few
seconds later, _208_ and _47_ got a fix just astern of the _208_, which
attacked as fast as she could turn and get under way, dropping two
stern depth-charges.  The first charge of this attack did not explode,
although charge was properly set.  The _208_ reported an oil slick
where last charge exploded.  On investigation this was found to be
merely disturbances caused by the explosion of the depth-charge.  While
the _208_ was investigating this disturbance, several members of her
crew saw what appeared to be the wake of a submarine on her port beam,
but did not bring it to the attention of the commanding officer in time
to make an attack.  Stopped and listened.  Positive fix by all three
chasers within 200 yards of the _208_, which immediately attacked with
two stern charges and Y gun.  First stern charge failed to explode.
Chasers re-formed in original chase formation and got fix distance 400
yards.  As _208_ had only one charge left, she remained behind in case
submarine should come to the surface.  _47_ and _48_ attacked, each
dropping two depth-charges.  First charge dropped by _48_ failed to
explode.  Stopped and listened.  No definite fixes were obtained, but
all chasers heard submarine running with apparent difficulty at about
310°.  Ran a thousand yards and listened.  Sound of submarine lost at
1,800.  From then on disturbance due to wireless communication {275}
and the arrival of two destroyers, one trawler, two motor-launches, and
the passing of a convoy, made it impossible to again pick up
submarine."  Such was an encounter, typical of many, and all invaluable
as police-work, even though they failed, as did this one, in sinking or
capturing the prey.

Luckier were the chasers engaged at Durazzo, during the British and
Italian bombardment, when this important Albanian harbour was rendered
untenable as an enemy base.  Setting out at noon on October 2,1918, the
sub-chasers, eleven in number, under the command of Captain C. P.
Nelson, met the British and Italian squadrons at the appointed
rendezvous.  As they neared the coast, the whole force came under a
very heavy fire from the enemy batteries; but the sub-chasers, by
skilful zig-zagging, and keeping well inside the range of the guns,
succeeded in carrying out their task without a single casualty.

Hardly had they pierced the barrage, however, before the periscope of a
hostile submarine made its appearance; and, considering that the
majority of the crews of the sub-chasers had never before been under
fire, the coolness and decision of their tactics could hardly have been
excelled.  With her second shot Chaser _215_ smashed the enemy's
periscope, and then, in company with Chaser _128_, steered at full
speed for the spot where the submarine had gone under.  Dropping their
depth-charges, they were immediately rewarded by the coming to the
surface of a large piece of steel plating followed by a great spout of
heavy black oil, in the midst of which the plate sank again.  A moment
later Chaser _129_ sighted {276} another submarine about to attack the
larger vessels.  Twice it submerged, changing its course, but, in spite
of engine trouble, the sub-chaser followed her, dropping three
depth-charges, and, like her colleagues, receiving the best evidence of
success.  Seven large pieces of steel plating rose to the surface in
the whirl, followed by a steady stream of black oil, proving that the
depth-charges had done their work.

Having broken up the submarine-attack, a little later, they were once
again of most timely service.  At the entrance of the harbour, Chaser
_130_ sighted two floating mines.  One of these she destroyed by
gunfire, and the other she rendered harmless, just as a detachment of
British destroyers was bearing down upon it at thirty knots.  In this
attack on Durazzo, every enemy boat in the harbour was either sunk or
disabled; and no better example could be cited of America's naval
coöperation.

Nor did this end upon the water, and, necessarily brief as this review
must be, it must still be remembered that it extended both to land and
air.  With a _personnel_ of thirty officers and 486 men, her Naval
Railway Battery rendered very important assistance.  With the first
shipment arriving at St. Nazaire on July 25, 1918, all these heavy guns
were mounted and ready in a little more than three weeks, and were in
full action against the enemy throughout September and October.  Laon,
Longuyon, and Montmedy were the main objectives against which they were
employed, 193 rounds being fired at the first of these, 119 at the
second, and no less than 295 at what was one of the key positions
behind the German retreat.

{277}

Finally, in turning from a record of service not to be estimated in
many volumes, and with America's sonship of admiralty already, as we
may hope, amply proved, let us finish this chapter with the following
report of a young American naval ensign, working with a patrol of
British seaplanes over the waters of the North Sea.  "On June 4th," he
said, "we received orders to carry out a reconnaissance and hostile
aircraft patrol over the North Sea and along the coast of Holland.  It
was a perfect day for such work, for the visibility was extremely good,
with a light wind of 15 knots and clouds at the high altitude of about
eight or ten thousand feet.  Our three machines at Felixstowe rose from
the water at twelve o'clock, circled into patrol formation, and
proceeded northeast by north along the coast to Yarmouth.  Here we were
joined by two more planes but not without some trouble and slight delay
because of a broken petrol pipe which was subsequently repaired in the
air.  We again circled in formation, Captain Leckie, D.S.O., of
Yarmouth, taking his position as leader of the squadron.

"At one o'clock the squadron proceeded east; our machine, being in the
first division, flew at 1,500 feet, and at about half a mile in the
rear of Captain Leckie's machine, but keeping him on our starboard
quarter.  We sighted nothing at all until half-past two, when the Haaks
Light Vessel slowly rose on the horizon, but near this mark and
considerably more to the south we discovered a large fleet of Dutch
fishing smacks.  This fleet consisted of more than a hundred smacks.
Ten minutes later we sighted the {278} Dutch coast where we changed our
course more to the northeast.  We followed the sandy beaches of the
Islands of Texel and Vlieland until we came to Terschelling.  In
following the coast of Vlieland we were close enough to distinguish
houses on the inside of the Island and even to make out breakers
rolling up on the sandy beach.

"At Terschelling we proceeded west in accordance with our orders, but
soon had to turn back because of Captain Leckie's machine which had
fallen out of formation and come to the water.  This machine landed at
3.15 and we continued to circle around it, finding that the trouble was
with a broken petrol pipe, until about fifteen minutes later, when we
sighted five German planes steering west, a direction which would soon
bring them upon us.  At this time Captain Barker had the wheel;
Lieutenant Galvayne was seated beside him, but if we met the opposing
forces he was to kneel on the seat with his eyes above the cowl, where
he could see all the enemy planes and direct the pilot in which
direction to proceed.  I was in the front cockpit with one gun and 400
rounds of ammunition.  In the stern cockpit, the engineer and wireless
ratings were to handle three guns.  We at once took battle formation
and went forward to meet the enemy, but here we were considerably
surprised to find that, when we were nearly within range, they had
turned and were running away from us.  At once we gave chase, but soon
found that they were much too fast for us.  Our machine had broken out
of the formation and with nose down had crept slightly ahead of Captain
Leckie, and we, being the {279} nearest machine to the enemy, I had the
satisfaction of trying out my gun for a number of rounds.  It was quite
impossible to tell whether I had registered any shots or not.  Our
purpose in chasing these planes was to keep them away from the machine
on the water, which, if we had not been there, would have been shot to
pieces.  Finding that it was useless to follow them, as they could
easily keep out of our range, we turned back and very shortly we were
again circling round our machine on the water.

"It was not long before the enemy again came very close to us, so we
gave chase a second time.  This time instead of five machines as before
there were only four, and one small scout could be seen flying in the
direction of Borkum.  It was the fourth time that we went off in
pursuit of the enemy that we suddenly discovered that a large number of
hostile planes were proceeding toward us, not in the air with the other
four planes, but very close to the water.  There were ten planes in
this first group, but they were joined a few minutes later by five
more.  The scouts were painted black, the two-seaters green, and seemed
very hard to pick up.  We swung into battle formation and steered for
the middle of the group.  When we were nearly within range, four planes
on the port side and five on the starboard side rose to our level of
15,000 feet.  Two planes passed directly beneath us firing upward.
Firing was incessant from the beginning, and the air seemed blue with
tracer smoke.  I gave most of my time to the four planes on our port
side because they were exactly on the same level with us and seemed
{280} to be within good range, that is about two hundred yards.  When
we had passed each other, I looked around and noticed that Lieutenant
Galvayne was in a stooping position, with head and one arm on his seat,
the other arm hanging down as if reaching for something.  I had seen
him in this position earlier in the day so thought nothing of it.  All
this I had seen in the fraction of a second, for I had to continue
firing.  A few minutes later I turned around again, and found, with a
shock, that Lieutenant Galvayne was in the same position.  It was then
that the first inkling of the truth dawned upon me.  By bending lower I
discovered that his head was lying in a pool of blood.

"From this time on I had no clear idea of just what our manoeuvring
was, but evidently we took up a running fight steering east, then
circled until suddenly I found our machine had been cut off from the
formation and we were surrounded by seven enemy seaplanes.  This time
we were steering west or more to the southwest.  We carried on a
running fight for ten miles or so, until we drove the seven planes off.
One of them was driven down, and made a very poor landing.  Another was
badly hit, side-slipped, and crashed in flames from a height of 2,000
feet.  During the last few minutes of the fight, our engine had been
popping altogether too frequently, and soon the engineer came forward
to tell us that the fourth engine petrol pipe had broken.  By this time
I had laid out Lieutenant Galvayne in the wireless cockpit, cleaned up
the second pilot's seat, and taken it myself.

"The engagement had lasted about half an hour, {281} and the closest
range was one hundred yards, while the average range was two hundred.
The boat with Ensign Eaton in it landed between the Islands of Texel
and Vlieland, while the other boat, which had not taken any part in the
fight, was last seen two miles off Vlieland....  We descended to the
water at 5.45, ten miles northwest of Ylieland.  During the ten minutes
we were on the water, I loosened Lieutenant Galvanye's clothing, made
his position somewhat easier, and felt for his heart, which, at that
time, I was quite sure was beating feebly.  When we rose from the water
and ascended to 1,500 feet, we sighted two planes which later proved to
be the two _Yarmouth_ boats.  We picked them up, swung into formation,
and laid out a course for Yarmouth.

"At ten minutes to seven, we sighted land, and, twenty minutes after,
we were resting on the water in front of Yarmouth slipway.  We at once
summoned medical aid but found that nothing could be done.  The shot
had gone through his head, striking the mouth and coming out behind
this ear, tearing a gash of about two inches in diameter.  The boat had
been more or less riddled, a number of shots tearing up the top between
the front cockpit and the beginning of the cowl.  The total duration of
the flight was seven hours and ten minutes."

Once again this is but a typical narrative--the story of an odd day's
work by a tiny unit, and, ranged behind it, pressing for equal rights
of mention, stand a multitude of others.  Here, reluctantly, these must
remain untold, but it was happy for the world that, in bonds such as
these, the future leaders both {282} of Britain and America should have
been growing up together.  "There is one outstanding blessing," said
Mr. Daniels, the Secretary of the United States navy, speaking at
Springfield, Massachusetts, "which came to the world out of the tragedy
of war, and that is the perfect coöperation, sympathy, and
companionship between the British navy and the American.  They are
together now, and must forever be together in the resolve to protect
what their valour won, and preserve alike for themselves and all the
world complete freedom of the seas."



{283}

CHAPTER XII

THE HARVEST OF SEA POWER


The bombardment of Durazzo, mentioned in the last chapter, took place
on October 2, 1918, and was the last offensive operation, on a large
scale, undertaken by the Allied navies.  During the fortnight preceding
it, there had fallen to the Entente armies, in every theatre of war,
such a series of victories as had never been witnessed in the recorded
history of mankind.  To the sea-borne and sea-fed armies in the Balkan
Peninsula, Bulgaria had been the first of Germany's allies to make
unconditional surrender; before the sea-borne and sea-fed armies in
Syria--brought thither from Great Britain, from India, from Australia,
and New Zealand--the last of Turkey's military power had melted like
snow in summer; while, upon the Western Front, from the Flanders coast
to the forest of the Woeuvre, the sea-borne and sea-fed British and
American armies with their sea-equipped French comrades were surging
forward, under Marshal Foch, in an irresistible tide.

The end was now apparent, though, at the last, it was to come with
startling suddenness.  Little by little, for fifty-two months, scarcely
realized by the majority of their peoples, hardly realized even by the
outside world, the Central Empires had been dying {284} of sea-hunger.
Deprived, like prisoners in a closed chamber, of the oxygen necessary
for life--the economic oxygen that could alone be drawn from the free
oceans of the world, they had come to a point where the only choice lay
between surrender and extinction.  Defeated at Jutland so decisively
that, as their leaders well knew, those sea-windows could never be
opened by the efforts of their surface ships, their campaign under
water had failed with equal completeness.  Beneath the Dover Barrage,
the North Sea minefields, and the Straits of Otranto lay their dead
submarines.  Trapped by _Q_ ships, rammed by destroyers, sunk by armed
merchantmen, they had lost scores of others--more than two hundred in
all had been put out of action by the Allied navies--while the spirit
of admiralty that they had challenged, and the fringe of whose code
they had been unable to grasp, had so ordered the ways of the world's
free peoples that, even on land, they were reeling before them.

With that picture we might well close, since our thesis was but to show
that, from Alfred the Great to Nelson, our dead admirals lived in their
children.  But the material harvest was still to be gathered, though
the spiritual was already secure; and, in the reception by Vice-Admiral
Gough-Calthorpe of the first Turkish Emissaries, in the landing at
Ostend of Sir Roger Keyes, and in the figure of the First Sea Lord, Sir
Rosslyn Wemyss, standing by Marshal Foch to receive the German
delegates, there could be no mistaking, even by the blindest landsman,
of all that an inspired sea-power had wrought.  "But our {285} navy is
undefeated," complained one of the German officers, listening to the
terms of the armistice.  "It had only to come out, sir," replied
Admiral Wemyss; and worse than defeat lay in that reproach.

Fourteen clauses contained the naval conditions to be fulfilled under
the terms of the armistice; and the total effect of these was to make
it impossible for the war at sea to be renewed.  All naval and
mercantile marine prisoners were at once to be restored without
reciprocity; all submarines in certain specified ports, capable of
putting to sea, were to be handed over; six battle-cruisers, ten
battleships, eight light cruisers, two mine-layers, and fifty
destroyers were to be similarly yielded; and all other surface warships
were to be paid off and completely disarmed.  All mine-fields laid by
Germany outside German territorial waters were to be indicated, and the
Allies were to have the right of sweeping them up.  Freedom of access
to the Baltic, both to the Allied navies and their mercantile marines,
was to be granted; but the blockade was to be continued, though the
provisioning of Germany, if this should prove necessary, was
contemplated.  All naval aircraft were to be concentrated and
immobilized at certain specified German bases.  All merchant ships,
tugs, lighters, cranes, and all marine stores in the Belgian ports were
to be abandoned.  The Black Sea ports were to be evacuated; and all the
seized Russian warships were to be handed over to the Allies.  All
Allied merchant ships in German hands were to be restored in specified
ports without reciprocity.  There was to be no destruction of ships or
material prior to evacuation, {286} surrender, or restoration.  The
German Government was further to notify all neutral nations that any
restrictions imposed by it on their trading vessels, whether in return
for concessions made or not, were immediately cancelled; and, after the
signature, there were to be no transfers of German merchant shipping to
any neutral flag.  The naval terms presented to Austria-Hungary had
been of a similar nature.

That was on November 11th, and already, in the east, the last act of
the drama had begun.  On November 9th, there drew in shore, opposite V
beach on the Gallipoli Peninsula, a large transport and an old cruiser
laden with British troops.  Behind them, in the Straits, there plied
industriously a great fleet of drifters and mine-sweepers, no longer
under fire, and clearing a way through the minefields for the fleet
that was to occupy the Sea of Marmora.  Before them, a gray bulk, lay
the _River Clyde_, beached as before and alone with her memories, and,
on the hill above, stood a little group of Turkish artillerymen waiting
to yield up the guns of Cape Helles.  From these two transports, there
presently put to shore, one on the Asiatic side, and one on V beach,
two flat-bottomed barges each carrying 500 men.  Such, without pomp,
and almost in silence, was the second landing on Gallipoli Peninsula.

The next day, followed by the French destroyer _Mangini_, the youngest
destroyer in the British navy--_le roi est mort, vive le roi_, the
_Shark_ had been lost at Jutland; this was the new one--anchored, the
symbol of victory, off Constantinople; and, on November 13th, the
British and French Fleets, led by {287} the flagship _Superb_, steamed
to their anchorage.  _Superb_, _Téméraire_, _Lord Nelson_, and
_Agamemnon_--half the world's history lay in their names--they were
followed by the cruisers and destroyer-flotillas of the British fleet
of occupation.  Behind them came a French squadron, followed in its
turn by the Italian and Greek warships, the bulk of the fleets
remaining in the Sea of Marmora, and only certain units entering the
Bosphorus.  The _Superb_ and _Téméraire_ anchored near the European
shore, facing the Sultan's Palace and the Chamber of Deputies; astern
of them lay the French, and, behind these again, the Italian and the
Greek men-of-war.  Every precaution against treachery had been taken,
but this proved to be unnecessary; and, within the next two or three
weeks, the whole of the Turkish Fleet and the battle-cruiser _Goeben_
had been formally surrendered.  With them, unseen, but none the less
present, the German empire of the East had given up its sceptre.

Meanwhile, in the North Sea, two thousand miles away, more than that
had laid down its arms; and there had begun off Harwich, on Wednesday,
November 20th, the delivery into our hands of the German submarines.
Conceived in sin, these had been foul from the beginning--they had
never even been built but as instruments of murder--and it was perhaps
fitting that they should be the first of the German Fleet to be handed
over.  Nor had any admiral earned a better right to receive them than
Sir Reginald Tyrwhitt.  Leaving by moonlight at 5 o'clock in the
morning in his flagship the _Curacoa,_ followed by the light cruisers
_Dragon_, _Centaur_, _Coventry_, _Danæ_, {288} and an escort of
destroyers, the leading German submarines were encountered at the
appointed rendezvous soon after seven.  This was at a spot thirty-five
miles east of Harwich, all the British crews being at Action Stations,
and the German submarines accompanied by two transports that were to
take their crews back to Germany.

The first of these to appear through the mist was the ex-hospital ship
_Sierra Ventana_ followed by the _Titania_, succeeded in her turn by
the long single file of the first detachment of twenty submarines.
While Admiral Tyrwhitt advanced toward the end of the line, the cruiser
_Dragon_ was detached to lead the procession inshore, a couple of
airships and three sea-planes passing and repassing overhead.

The next rendezvous was to be near Cutler's Buoy, some eight miles out
of Harwich, where, from British destroyers, the crews were to be
embarked that would take the submarines into harbour.  These were met
at about half-past ten, and there then ensued a scene of humiliation
such as no great Power had ever passed through since men first went
down to the sea in ships.  Those of the Germans that were necessary to
run the engines were to be retained at their posts, but the navigating
crews for the twenty submarines were waiting in the _Melampus_ and
_Firedrake_.  Strict orders had been issued that there were to be no
demonstrations; and indeed it was rather with contempt--perhaps with a
sort of amazed half-pity--that the British sailors took up their duties.

In each case the process was the same.  The British officer who was to
take command saluted as he {289} stepped aboard.  The German officer,
with his papers ready, met him, and handed these over for inspection.
The German crew was then sent forward.  The British navigating officer
occupied the conning-tower, and the engineer-officer went below to
superintend the working of the German engine-room ratings.  Leaving the
transports behind, and accompanied by destroyers, the twenty _U_ boats,
in groups of five, then proceeded up the channel of the Stour, passing
between the gate-ships of the buoyed steel nets.  As each came to
anchorage just off Parkeston Quay, she was met by a motor-launch, into
which her crew was disembarked; and these, amidst the silence of
thousands of spectators, were conveyed to the destroyers that took them
back to the transports.  From beginning to end there was no
demonstration of any kind; and none was to greet the remainder of the
submarines--a hundred and twenty in all--that followed them.  From
shame to shame, blotting the seas, they passed without comment to their
prison.

With equal truth that can be said of the procession that the next day
was to witness, though here the note struck was one of a tragedy of
which the surrendering _U_ boats had been incapable.  For, in the
mighty ships of the High Seas Fleet--travesties though they had become,
as instruments of admiralty--there had been, as the British navy felt,
at least the possibilities of an honourable end.  Proudly built, they
dated from an era in which the _U_ boat horror was still unimagined;
and, in the hands of a Drake, could Germany have produced one, they
might have postponed surrender and gone down in glory.  Materially as
{290} they had recovered, however, from their defeat at Jutland, from
the moral reverse they had never looked up; and the disintegration had
been completed by Germany's own submarine policy.  Lacking a soul, the
body had died; and, to many who witnessed that procession of corpses,
there was a sense of almost personal indecency at presiding over such a
ceremony.

It was a quarter to four in the morning of November 21st when the Grand
Fleet began to get under way to form the two mighty and moving walls
between which the Germans were to approach the Firth of Forth; and the
advanced destroyer-flotillas and light cruisers had set out for the
rendezvous the night before.  For ten days the North Sea had been
shrouded in a thick mist, but, as the sun rose, the clouds blew off,
and the sea lay clear and white-feathered.  Later, and at different
places along the hundred miles or so occupied by the parallel lines of
the Grand Fleet, the mists were to triumph again, but only
half-heartedly, and with the sun soon re-asserting itself.

Six miles separated the two lines, and at half-past eight they went to
Action Stations, the leading ships of the High Seas Fleet having been
picked up an hour before by the easternmost British units.  Directing
the whole operation--directing, at that moment, the vastest fleet that
this planet had seen--Admiral Beatty, in his flagship the _Queen
Elizabeth_, had taken his position in the northern line, his
second-in-command, Admiral Sir Charles Madden, leading the
southern-line battleships in the _Revenge_.  Guiding the {291} Germans,
in the light cruiser _Cardiff_, was Rear-Admiral Alexander-Sinclair.

Of the promised total, one light cruiser, the _Köln_, had broken down
and had had to turn back, and one destroyer had struck a mine, going to
the bottom, though her crew had been rescued; but, behind the
_Cardiff_, in a slow series, moved what had been the cream of the
world's second navy.  Led by the Battle-Cruiser Squadron, the
_Hindenburg_, _Derfflinger_, _Seydlitz_, _Moltke_, and _von der Tann_,
came the battleships _Friedrich der Grosse_, flying the German
Rear-Admiral's flag, the _Bayern_, _Grosser Kürfürst_, _Kronprinz
Wilhelm_, _Markgraf_, _Kaiserin_, _Konig Albreckt_, _Prinz Regent
Luitpold_, and _Kaiser_.  Behind these again steamed the six light
cruisers, _Karlsrühe_, _Frankfurt_, _Emden_, _Nürnberg_, _Brummer_, and
_Bremen_; and, bringing up the rear, steaming in five lines, and
sandwiched between British escorts, were the remaining forty-nine
destroyers of the fifty that had been demanded under the terms of the
armistice.

So they steamed on, docile to every order, and, when the last of them
had been deeply contained, Admiral Beatty gave the signal for the
right-about-turn of the Grand Fleet.  Surrounded on all sides, filthy,
as was afterward to be discovered, and with their men abject and
undisciplined, before they reached their anchorage near Inchkeith
Island, Admiral Beatty had issued the following order: "The German flag
is to be hauled down," he said, "at 3.57 to-day, and is not to be
hoisted again without permission."  That was at sunset; and, a moment
after, Germany had ceased, even in name, to be a sea power.

{292}

So ends our chronicle, for, though there was still work to be done, the
navy's long vigil was at an end.  Far to the north, it was true, the
converted merchantmen of the unsung Tenth Squadron still held to their
task--still patiently examined, as month after month, in all kinds of
weather, they had been stopping and examining, such innocent-seeming
ships as, to their experienced eyes, might be blockade-runners.  But
the main task was over--the shouldering of the armies' burdens that had
never ceased for one moment, the endless battle, with the world for its
theatre, that it had waged for four and a quarter years.  From
President Wilson to the Sheriff of Mecca, it had been the good servant
of all; and now, with its duty well and truly done, a certain quiet
satisfaction might be permitted.  There was no fear of this being too
exuberant--as a corporate body, the navy was not that.  It would rather
rejoice in the general spirit of Admiral Tyrwhitt's advice to his men
on Armistice Day.  Exhorting them to be as cool in peace as they had
been in war, and to return to their ships in good order, he concluded
by informing them that, in the evening, an extra tot of rum would be
served.

Let that be the excuse for a last word.  We have been tempted to
suggest that the war was won by sea power.  We were wrong.  It was won
by sailors--equally of the mercantile marine as of the navy.  From
Coronel to Kiao-Chao, from Archangel to Cocos-Keeling, no less in
Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes, stumbling through a Turkish farmyard, than in
Admiral Jellicoe at Whitehall, no less in Lieutenant Brown, trying to
salve the _Wellington_, than in Sir {293} David Beatty directing the
Grand Fleet, it was the men that triumphed, by virtue of the spirit in
them, and the great traditions that they had inherited--to be handed on
in turn, as it had been handed down to themselves by Raleigh and Blake,
Collingwood and Nelson.



{297}

INDEX


  _Abdiel_, 197
  Ægean Sea, 108, 109, 129
  _Agamemnon_, 122, 123, 127, 130, 287
  Akaba, 107
  Albemarle, 23
  _Albion_, 123, 127, 130, 140, 147
  _Alcester_, 198
  Alexander-Sinclair, Commander E. S., 172, 191
  Allardyce, Hon. W. L., 60
  Allen, Captain, 78, 80, 81
  Alleyne, Lieutenant Sir John, 248, 249
  _Amethyst_, 27, 42, 140, 141
  _Amphion_, 85
  Andrews, Rear-Admiral Philip, 272
  Anzac Cove, 137, 149
  _Aquitania_, 261
  Arbuthnot, Rear-Admiral Sir Robert, 186, 196
  _Arethusa_, 22, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 90, 99
  _Arkansas_, 270
  _Ariadne_, 40
  _Arizona_, 256
  _Askold_, 107
  Asquith, Right Hon. H. H., 11, 105, 116, 118, 134, 151
  _Attack_, 98, 99
  _Attentive_, 209
  _Aurora_, 90, 91
  _Aztec_, 252


  _B-11_, 107, 152, 153, 154
  _Bacchante_, 42, 137
  Bacon, Vice-Admiral Sir R. H., 211, 212, 214, 230
  _Baden_, 48, 64, 67, 83
  Balfour, Right Hon., A. J., 19, 119, 202, 226
  Bamford, Captain, 243
  _Bankfield_, 49
  _Barham_, 170, 173
  Barker, Captain, 278
  Bartolomé, Commodore, 115
  _Bayern_, 291
  Bayly, Vice-Admiral Sir Lewis, 260, 261
  Beatty, Admiral Sir David, 6, 22, 23, 40, 41, 90, 91, 96, 98, 167,
     170, 171, 172, 173, 175, 181, 184, 191, 193, 202, 250, 270,
     290, 291, 293
  _Belgian Prince_, 89
  _Bellerophon_, 23
  Benn, Commander Hamilton, M. P., 230, 245
  Benson, Admiral, 258
  _Berk-i-Satvet_, 107
  Bethmann-Hollweg, Herr von, 9
  Billyard-Leake, Lieutenant B., 227, 230, 238
  Bingham, Commander, Hon. E. B. B., 179
  _Birmingham_, 90, 194
  _Birmingham_, U.S.S., 262
  Bird, Captain F. G., 212
  Birdwood, General, 125, 126, 133, 134
  _Blücher_, 89, 90, 92, 93, 94, 97, 98
  Blunt, Captain W. F, 34, 35
  Bonham-Carter, Lieutenant S., 230, 238
  Borkum Reef, 98
  Boué de Lapéyère, Admiral, 101
  Bourke, Lieutenant, 244, 249
  _Bouvet_, 122, 127, 130, 132
  Bradford, Lieutenant-Commander, 235
  Brandt, Captain, 50
  _Bremen_, 291
  Brest, 261, 262
  _Breslau_, 46, 100, 101, 102
  _Brighton Queen_, 212
  _Brilliant_, 227, 244, 247
  _Bristol_, 62, 63, 64, 67, 68, 83
  _Britannia_, 11, 17
  Britton, Alfred, 37
  Brock, Wing-Commander, 226, 237
  Brock, Rear-Admiral, Osmond de B., 98, 170
  _Broke_, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219
  Brown, Lieutenant Fletcher W., 200, 269, 292
  Bruges, 224
  _Brummer_, 291
  Buchanan, Sir George, 108
  Burney, Vice-Admiral Sir Cecil, 170, 193
  Bury, Engineer Lieutenant-Commander, 244, 248


  _C-3_, 230
  Callaghan, Admiral Sir George, 9, 10, 15, 16, 102
  Campbell, Captain Gordon, 204, 205, 206
  Campbell, Chief Artificer-Engineer, 240, 242
  Campbell, Lieutenant Harold, 230, 239
  Campbell, Rear-Admiral H. H., 42
  _Canopus_, 50, 51, 53, 57, 61, 63, 65, 66
  Carden, Vice-Admiral, 113, 114, 115, 117, 121, 122, 128
  _Cardiff_, 291
  _Carnarvon_, 62, 63, 67, 69, 72, 73, 76
  Carpenter, Captain A. F. B., 230, 232, 233, 235, 239, 241, 243
  Carroll, Engine-Room Artificer, N., 244
  Carson, Right Hon., Sir Edward, 226
  Cavanagh, Engine-Room Artificer, H., 244
  _Centaur_, 287
  Chanak, Fort, 127, 128, 130
  Chappell, Petty-Officer Robert, 211
  _Charlemagne_, 123, 127, 130
  Chater, Captain, 232
  _Chesapeake_, 216, 254
  _Chester_, 183
  Chichester, Captain, 257
  Christian, Rear-Admiral A. H., 42
  Churchill, Right Hon. Winston, 4, 8, 22, 105, 106, 108, 113, 114,
     115, 116, 118, 119, 124, 125, 127, 128, 133
  Cockburn, Acting Lieutenant G. L., 247
  Collard, Commander, 143
  Collins, Captain R., 230
  Constantinople, 102, 106, 110, 111, 112, 116, 120, 120, 155,
     150, 286
  Corfu, 259, 263, 273
  Cordner, Major, 232
  _Cornwall_, 63, 65, 67, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79
  _Cornwallis_, 122, 123, 140, 148
  Cornwell, John Travers, 183
  Coronel, 44, 50, 292
  Coventry, 287
  Cradock, Vice-Admiral Sir Christopher, 50, 53, 54, 55, 57, 62
  _Cressy_, 42
  Crewe, Marquis of, 105
  Cromie, Captain Francis, 152, 162, 164, 165, 166
  Crutchley, Lieutenant V. A. C., 248, 249
  _Curacoa_, 287
  Curtis, Captain Berwick, 197


  _D-2_, 32
  _D-8_, 32
  _Daffodil_, 227, 230, 233, 235, 236, 239
  D'Amade, General, 129
  _Danæ_, 287
  Daniels, Mr., 282
  Dardanelles, 101, 102, 106, 107, 108, 111, 112, 113, 114, 116, 119,
     120, 126, 130, 132, 151, 152, 153, 155
  Dardanos, Fort, 111, 126, 130, 131
  Dartmouth, Royal Naval College, 11
  Dean, Lieutenant Percy, 238, 243
  _Defender_, 196
  _Defence_, 186, 189
  _Delaware_, 270
  _Derfflinger_, 89, 90, 92, 172, 180, 291
  De Robeck, Vice-Admiral Sir John M., 128, 132, 133, 134, 135, 167
  Dewey, Admiral, 195, 256, 257
  Dimmock, A. B. E., 211
  Dingle, Stoker Alfred, 240
  Dixon, Midshipman Hugh, 131
  Dogger Bank, 98, 99
  Doughty-Wylie, Lieutenant-Colonel, 148
  Douglas, Commander H. P., 231
  _Dragon_, 287
  Dreadnought, 20, 21
  _Dresden_, 46, 47, 48, 49, 52, 53, 54, 55
  Drewry, Midshipman G. L., 146
  Drummond, Lieutenant G. H., 248, 249
  _Drummuir_, 68
  _Dublin_, 140, 141
  De Boulay, Sub-Lieutenant, 210
  Duff, Rear-Admiral Alexander, 170
  _Dunraven_, 204, 205, 206
  Durazzo, 275, 276, 283


  _E-4_, 32, 35
  _E-5_, 32
  _E-6_, _E-8_, 27, 82, 33
  _E-7_, 32, 33
  _E-9_, 32, 161
  _E-11_, 155, 156, 157, 160
  _E-14_, 157
  _E-19_, 162, 164
  Easter Island, 49
  Eaton, Ensign, 281
  Elliot, Lieutenant-Colonel Bertram, 230, 232
  _Elsinore_, 49
  _Emden_, 49, 90, 291
  _Engadine_, 173
  Enver Pasha, 135
  _Erebus_, 231
  Esmonde, Midshipman John, 71
  _Euryalus_, 140, 142
  Evans, Commander E. R., 216
  Evan-Thomas, Rear-Admiral, 170, 180, 185, 188
  _Excellent_, 17


  _Falcon_, 210
  _Falmouth_, 189
  Favereau, Admiral, 210
  _Fearless_, 27, 32, 33, 34, 35, 38, 39, 41, 180
  Felton, Mrs. Roy, 67
  Finch, Sergeant, 235, 243
  Firedrake, 27, 32, 33, 38, 288
  Fisher, Lord, of Kilverstone, 17, 19, 61, 99, 104, 106, 114, 115,
     116, 119, 124, 132, 134, 202
  _Florida_, 271
  Foch, Marshal, 283, 284
  _Foresight_, 209
  _Frankfurt_, 291
  Frank, Lieutenant Ivan B., 227
  _Frauenlob_, 198
  _Friedrich der Grosse_, 291


  Gaba Tepe, 136, 140, 141
  _Galatea_, 172
  Galvayne, Lieutenant, 280, 281
  Gartside Tipping, Lieutenant-Commander H. T., 213
  _Gaulois_, 122, 123, 127, 130, 131
  Gaunt, Rear-Admiral Ernest, 170
  Geddes, Sir Eric, 226
  _General Crauford_, 231
  Gibbs, Commander Valentine, 230, 236
  Gibraltar, 68, 116, 262, 273
  _Glasgow_, 47, 49, 50, 52, 53, 55, 56, 57, 61, 62, 63, 64, 66, 67, 68,
     69, 70, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79
  _Gloucester_, 101
  _Gneisenau_, 46, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 57, 64, 66, 68, 70, 72, 73, 77, 122
  Godsal, Commander, 244, 247, 248
  _Goeben_, 46, 100, 101, 107, 289
  Goeben, Fort, 225
  _Goliath_, 140, 141
  Goodenough, Commodore, 177
  _Good Hope_, 50, 52, 53, 55, 56, 78
  Goschen, Lord, 3
  Goschen, Sir Edward, 9
  Gough-Calthorpe, Vice-Admiral, 284
  Grant, Captain, 227
  _Great Heart_, 212
  Grey, Viscount, 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 22, 24, 105, 191
  _Grosser Kürfürst_, 291
  _Gutrune_, 162
  Gyles, Midshipman, 218


  Halahan, Captain, 232
  Hall, Captain Reginald, 41
  _Hamidieh_, 107
  Hamilton, General Sir Ian, 127, 128, 132, 134, 149
  Hardy, Lieutenant-Commander, 245
  Harris, Engine-Room Artificer, H., 244
  Harrison, Lieutenant E. C., 245
  Haselfoot, Lieutenant-Commander, 231
  Hawkins, Lieutenant, 235
  _Healdton_, 252
  _Hela_, 161
  Helles, Cape, 111, 122, 136, 142, 154, 286
  _Henri IV_, 132
  _Hindenburg_, 291
  Hoare, Lieutenant, 244
  Hobson, Lieutenant, 223, 255
  _Hogue_, 42
  Holbrook, Lieutenant-Commander Norman, 152, 154, 155
  _Holmwood_, 48
  Hood, Rear-Admiral Hon. Horace A. L., 183, 184, 185, 196, 209, 210
  Horn Reef, 32, 198
  Horton, Commander Max, 152, 161
  _Humber_, 209
  Hughes, Lieutenant Guy D'Oyly, 152, 157, 160, 292
  _Hyades_, 48


  Imbros, 135, 149, 150, 155
  _Implacable_, 132, 140, 141, 142
  _Indefatigable_, 170, 173, 175, 198
  _Indomitable_, 90, 93, 94, 96, 97, 193
  _Inflexible_, 61, 63, 64, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 73, 122, 130, 131
  Ingelson, Able Seaman, 218
  _Intrepid_, 227, 230, 237, 238
  _Intrepide_, 210
  _Invincible_, 61, 62, 64, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 183, 184
  _Iphigenia_, 227, 230, 238
  _Iris_, 227, 230, 235
  _Iron Duke_, 5, 170, 173, 193, 202
  _Irresistible_, 123, 130, 131


  Jackson, Admiral Sir Henry, 115, 120, 134, 202
  Jacobs, Able Seaman Levi, 145
  Janvein, Lieutenant-Commander Ralph B., 148
  Jellicoe, Viscount, of Scapa Flow, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21, 23, 170, 171,
     175, 180, 183, 185, 191, 192, 197, 201, 202, 226, 292
  Jerram, Vice-Admiral Sir Thomas, 170
  Johnston, Commodore C. D., 212
  Jones, Commander Loftus, 190


  _Kaiser_, 291
  _Kaiserin_, 291
  _Karlsrühe_, 49, 84, 291
  _Kent_, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 74, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82
  Kephalos Bay, 149
  Kephez Point, 111, 114, 130
  Keyes, Lieutenant-Commander Adrian St. V., 141
  Keyes, Vice-Admiral Sir Roger, 28, 33, 39, 42, 135, 226, 229,
     231, 243, 244, 245, 284
  Kiao-Chao, 45, 47, 292
  Kitchener, Viscount, of Khartoum, 104, 105, 106, 108, 115, 116,
     119, 125, 127, 133
  _Kolberg_, 91
  _Köln_, 40, 41
  _König Albrecht_, 291
  _Königin Luise_, 85
  _Königsberg_, 84
  _Kronprinz Wilhelm_, 84, 291
  Kum Kale, 111, 122, 126, 136, 148


  _Laconia_, 252
  _Landrail_, 175
  _Laurel_, 35, 36, 41, 42
  Lawson, Captain R. N., 183
  Leckie, Captain, 277, 278
  _Leipzig_, 46, 47, 49, 52, 54, 55, 57, 68, 69, 75, 76, 77, 79
  Leir, Commander E. W., 37
  Lemnos, 121, 135, 149, 150
  Leveson, Rear-Admiral Arthur, 170
  _Leviathan_, 261
  _Libertad_, 122
  _Liberty_, 42
  _Lion_, 6, 22, 33, 40, 41, 90, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 170, 172,
     177, 180, 193, 196
  Littleton, Lieutenant, 237
  Lloyd George, Right Hon. David, 105
  _London_, 137
  Longmore, Wing-Commander, 212
  _Lord Clive_, 231
  _Lord Nelson_, 127, 130, 140, 145, 148, 287
  _Lowestoft_, 90
  Luce, Captain, 70, 74, 75, 78
  _Lulfa_, 162
  _Lurcher_, 27, 32, 33, 38.  42
  _Lusitania_, 89, 251
  _Lutzow_, 172, 180
  _Lydiard_, 175
  Lynes, Commodore Hubert, 230, 245


  _Macedonia_, 62, 63, 66, 67, 68, 83
  McKenzie, Able Seaman Albert E., 243
  MacLachlan, Sub-Lieutenant, 248
  Maaden, Vice-Admiral Sir Charles, 290
  _Mainz_, 39, 40
  Malleson, Midshipman W. St. A., 147
  _Mangini_, 286
  _Markgraf_, 291
  _Marlborough_, 193, 198
  Marmora, Sea of, 109, 112, 114, 128, 151, 155, 157, 286, 287
  _Marshal Soult_, 231
  _Mauretania_, 261
  Maxwell, General Sir John, 126
  Mayes, Sergeant, 81
  Mayo, Admiral, 258
  Meade, Captain the Hon. H., 95
  _Melampus_, 288
  Mellow, Commander W., 129
  _Mersey_, 209
  _Messudiyeh_, 107, 153
  Metcalfe, Captain C. P., 131
  _Meteor_, 95, 96
  Meux, Admiral the Hon. Hedworth, 102
  Milne, Rear-Admiral Sir Berkeley, 101, 102
  _Minerva_, 107, 140
  _Moltke_, 89, 90, 92, 172, 291
  _Monmouth_, 50, 52, 53, 55, 56, 57, 58
  _Moorsom_, 176
  _Moresby_, 184
  _Morris_, 176
  Morto Bay, 136, 148
  _Motor-Launch 282_, 239
  Mudros, 135, 140, 149


  Napier, Rear-Admiral, 184, 189
  _Narborough_, 176
  Nasmith, Lieutenant-Commander, 152, 155, 156, 157
  Nelson, Captain C. P., 275
  _Nerissa_, 176
  _Nestor_, 176, 179, 198
  _New York_, 256, 270
  _New Zealand_, 90, 93, 94, 97, 170, 173, 186, 193
  _Nevada_, 256
  Niblack, Rear-Admiral, 263
  _Nicator_, 176, 179
  Nicholas, Grand Duke, 119
  Nicomedia, 162
  _Niger_, 3, 5
  Noel, Quartermaster, 1st class, Robert Emanuel, 269
  _Nomad_, 176, 179
  _Nürnberg_, 46, 47, 49, 50, 52, 57, 64, 68, 69, 75, 76, 78, 79,
    81, 82, 291


  _Obdurate_, 176
  _Ocean_, 127, 130, 131
  _Oklahoma_, 256
  Oliver, Vice-Admiral Sir Henry, 115
  _Olympic_, 261
  _Onslow_, 184, 196
  Orkanieh, Fort, 111, 122
  _Ortega_, 48
  Osborne, Commander E. O., B.S., 228
  Osborne, Seaman James, 269
  Ostend, 201, 207, 211, 215, 222, 223, 224, 225, 231, 243, 246, 247, 250
  _Otranto_, 50, 52, 53, 55
  Otranto, Straits of, 101, 273, 284


  Pakenham, Rear-Admiral W. C., 170
  Papeete, 49
  Peck, Commander Ambrose, 216
  _Pelican_, 176
  _Pennsylvania_, 256
  Peploe, Lieutenant C. R., 36
  _Pernambuco_, 162
  Persius, Captain, 200
  _Petard_, 176, 194
  Peterson, Coxswain John A., 269
  Peters, Lieutenant Frederick, 95
  Phillpotts, Captain, 189
  Poland, Lieutenant A. L., 246
  _Pommern_, 198
  Port Arthur, 113, 223
  Port Stanley, 59, 60, 62, 63, 78, 82
  Port William, 60, 61, 62, 63
  _Prince Eugene_, 231
  _Prince George_, 127, 130, 140
  _Prince of Wales_, 137
  _Princess Royal_, 90, 92, 93, 94, 96, 97, 98, 99, 170, 177, 193
  _Prinz Eitel Friedrich_, 84
  _Prinz Regent Luitpold_, 291
  _Prize_, 204, 206


  _Queen_, 132, 137
  _Queen Elizabeth_, 113, 116, 123, 127, 130, 131, 290
  _Queen Mary_, 42, 170, 177, 178, 179, 198
  Queenstown, 259, 200, 262, 273


  Ramsgate Boarding Flotilla, 208
  Reed, Petty Officer, 249
  Reid, Lieutenant Darrel, 246
  _Revenge_, 290
  Reventlow, Count, 89
  Rigg, Commander W., 212
  _River Clyde_, 144, 145, 146, 147, 286
  Robinson, Lieutenant-Commander E. G., 124
  Rodman, Rear-Admiral Hugh, 270
  Rose, Commander F., 36, 41


  _S-126_, 161
  _Sacramento_, 263
  _St. George_, 23
  Samson, G. McK., 147
  _Sanda_, 212
  Sanders, Lieutenant-Commander F., 236
  Sandford, Lieutenant R. D., 230, 236, 243
  _Santa Isabel_, 48, 64, 67, 83
  San Stefano, Peace of, 111
  Sapper's Hill, 63, 64, 65, 66
  _Sapphire_, 140, 141
  _Sappho_, 244, 246
  Saros, Gulf of, 109, 127
  S Beach, 136, 148
  _Scharnhorst_, 46, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 57, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 77, 122
  Sedd-el-Bahr, 111, 122, 136, 144, 148
  _Seneca_, U.S.S., 266, 268
  _Severn_, 209
  _Seydlitz_, 89, 90, 92, 93, 94, 172, 291
  _Shannon_, 216, 254
  _Shark_, 189, 286
  _Sirius_, 227, 244, 247
  Sneyd, Commander Ralph S., 230, 237
  Soghandere, Fort, 111, 126, 130
  _Southampton_, 90, 177, 180
  Stirling, Captain A. J. B., 195
  Stoddart, Rear-Admiral, 62
  Sturdee, Vice-Admiral Sir F. Doveton, 61, 62, 68, 69, 71, 72, 73,
     74, 82, 91, 167, 170, 183
  _Suffren_, 122, 127, 130
  _Superb_, 287
  Sutton, Artificer-Engineer, 240
  Suvla Bay, 149
  _Swift_, 215, 216, 217, 219
  _Swiftsure_, 130, 140


  Talbot, 140, 141
  Tatnall, Lieutenant Josiah, 257
  Taylor, Coxswain William James, 269
  Tekeh, Cape, 136, 142
  Téméraire, 23, 287
  Tenedos, 135
  _Termagant_, 176
  _Terror_, 231
  _Texas_, 256, 270
  _Thetis_, 227, 230, 237
  Thomas, Engine-Room Artificer A., 244
  Thursby, Rear-Admiral C. F., 137
  _Tiger_, 90, 93, 94, 95, 170, 177, 179
  _Tipperary_, 195
  _Titania_, 288
  _Toey-Wan_, 257
  Tomkinson, Captain Wilfred, 231
  _Tonopah_, 271
  Townsend, Captain, 143
  Tovey, Lieutenant-Commander J. C., 196
  _Trelawney_, 63
  _Triumph_, 122, 123, 130, 137
  Troubridge, Rear-Admiral E. C. T., 101, 102
  _Turbulent_, 176, 194, 198
  Tyne, 167
  Tyrwhitt, Vice-Admiral Sir Reginald, 22, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 39,
     90, 287, 288, 292


  _Undaunted_, 90
  _Undine_, 162, 163
  Unwin, Commander Edward, 144, 146, 147


  _V-187_, 37
  _Valentino_, 68
  _Valiant_, 170, 173
  V Beach, 136, 141, 143, 148, 286
  _Venerable_, 210
  _Vengeance_, 123, 127, 130, 140
  _Victoria and Albert_, 5, 6
  _Vigilancia_, 252
  _Vindictive_, 228, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 240,
     243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249
  _Vine Branch_, 49
  _Von der Tann_, 89, 172, 291
  Von Hipper, Admiral, 172, 173, 175, 180, 181
  Von Sanders, General Liman, 135
  Von Scheer, Admiral, 180, 181, 185
  Von Spee, Admiral, 46, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 62, 63,
     65, 68, 72, 83, 84, 90


  W Beach, 136, 140, 142, 144
  Walker, Lieutenant H. T. C., 234
  _Warrington_, 265, 266, 267, 269
  _Warrior_, 187, 188, 189
  _Warspite_, 170, 173, 187, 188, 189, 198
  _Warwick_, 230, 239, 245, 249
  Wanton, Lieutenant, 210
  _Wear_, 131
  Weller, Major, 234
  _Wellington_, 265, 266, 267, 268, 270, 292
  Wellman, Lieutenant A. E. P., 230, 246
  Wemyss, Admiral Sir Rosslyn E., 129, 140, 284, 285
  Westmacott, Lieutenant, 35
  Whittaker, Private, 77
  _Wiesbaden_, 198
  Williams, Able Seaman, 147
  Williams, Lieutenant-Colonel, 148
  Wilson, Admiral Sir A., 104, 115, 116, 117, 124, 132, 134
  Wilson, Rear-Admiral H. B., 262
  Wilson, President Woodrow, 252, 292
  Wintour, Captain, 195
  Wise, Lieutenant E. S., 210
  Woodfield, Petty-Officer, 218
  _Wyoming_, 270


  X Beach, 136, 141, 145


  Y Beach, 136, 140, 141
  _Yarmouth_, 189


  Zeebrugge, 201, 207, 211, 215, 222, 223, 224, 227, 230, 231, 240,
     244, 250



  THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
  GARDEN CITY, N. Y.





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