On the 19th and 20th July the magnificent naval force formed by the assembly of the first, second, and third fleets, with various flotillas of destroyers and submarines, was inspected at Spithead by King George. After a few days' fleet exercises in the Channel the great armament dispersed, the first fleet going to Portland, the remainder to their home ports to give manoeuvre leave. But in the meanwhile affairs on the Continent became so threatening that it was deemed a wise precaution to keep the first fleet in readiness where it was, and to defer giving leave. On the 27th July Austria declared war against Serbia. Two days later the first fleet steamed out of Portland and disappeared from sight. Where it went we do not know, but in a short time it and all our other fleets were swallowed up in "the fog of war", from which some of their ships have from time to time made dramatic entrances upon the scene of conflict, generally attended with unpleasant consequences to the enemy.

Events now moved with the greatest rapidity. Germany declared war on Russia on 1st August, and on the day following her troops violated the neutrality not only of Luxembourg but of Belgium, although she—equally with Great Britain and France—had guaranteed the neutrality of the latter country by a formal treaty. On 3rd August the action of Germany automatically brought France into the war, and on the same day the mobilization of the British fleet was completed at four o'clock in the morning. On the 4th the British ultimatum was dispatched. It was summarily rejected, and by 11 p.m. the two countries were at war.

The next morning the first shots were fired by the British Navy. H.M.S. Amphion, a smart four-funnelled vessel of the light-cruiser class, which, with a flotilla of destroyers, was on patrol duty in the North Sea, was spoken by a trawler about 9 a.m., who reported having recently seen a suspicious steamer "throwing things overboard". The skipper described her position as nearly as he could. It was easy to guess what the "things" in question were. Germany had made little or no secret of her intention to pursue a policy of strewing mines in the open sea, though she had a fine fleet, only second to our own, both in numbers and discipline. (Nelson, it may be pointed out, won the battle of St. Vincent with 15 line-of-battle ships, 4 frigates, a brig and a cutter, although he attacked an enemy fleet consisting of 27 line-of-battle ships, 7 of which carried more guns than any English ship, and 13 frigates.) We may well imagine the zest with which our little squadron set off to punish the naval "dynamitards", and it was not long before a mercantile-looking steamer hove in sight, which proved to be the KÖnigin Luise, of 2000 tons, belonging to the Hamburg-Amerika Line. She was steering east, and four destroyers shot after her like greyhounds unleashed. The chase was good for about twenty knots, but after a thirty-mile run the Amphion and destroyers opened fire, which the German returned. The destroyer Lance now crept up abreast of her on the port hand and fired[81] at comparatively close quarters. Four shots did the trick. The first absolutely wrecked her fore-bridge, the second got her fair amidships between the funnels, while the last two made such a mess of her stern that she began to founder.

With true British sportsmanship and humanity, every attempt was at once made to rescue her crew, with the result that twenty-eight escaped a watery grave. The Amphion and her satellites, having disposed of the mine-layer, proceeded with their work until about 6.30 the following morning. The flotilla was at this time in the neighbourhood of the spot where the KÖnigin Luise had been dropping her mines. Every precaution was taken to avoid what was supposed to be the dangerous area, but suddenly, without any warning, the Amphion struck a mine and the catastrophe occurred. "A sheet of flame instantly enveloped the bridge, rendered the captain insensible, and he fell on the fore-and-aft bridge. As soon as he recovered consciousness he ran to the engine-room to stop the engines, which were still going at revolutions for 20 knots. As all the fore part was on fire, it proved impossible to reach the bridge or to flood the fore magazine. The ship's back appeared to be broken, and she was already settling down by the bows. All efforts were therefore directed to placing the wounded in a place of safety, in case of explosion, and towards getting her in tow by the stern. By the time the destroyers closed, it was clearly time to abandon the ship. They fell in for this purpose with the same composure that had marked their behaviour throughout. All was done without hurry or confusion, and twenty minutes after the mine was struck the men, officers, and captain left the ship."[82]

It was not long before the corner of the curtain shrouding the North Sea was again raised for a moment to give us a fleeting glimpse of the destruction of the German submarine U15 by the cruiser Birmingham. There have been one or two versions of this event. According to one account, the look-outs on board the cruiser "spotted" the periscope of a German submarine rather over a mile distant and opened fire; and so good was the marksmanship of her gunners that, small as was the target offered by the periscope, it was carried away at the first shot. The submarine dived, but, being unable to see where she was going, came to the surface, only to have her conning-tower wrecked by another projectile, which did so much damage that the U15 sank like a stone. According to a well-known writer on naval matters[83] this story, however, is "entirely fictitious, except in so far that the Birmingham did sink the U 15; but the real truth of the matter is that the U 15 fired at a certain British ship and missed her. Thereafter the U 15 might have got home in safety had not her captain imagined that he had succeeded, and come to the surface to shout 'Deutschland Über alles'. That little incident settled the fate of the U 15, as she came up alongside the Birmingham and was sunk at once."

This incident took place on the 9th August, and for the next fortnight or so the "fog of war" rolled very thick over the North Sea. There is reason to believe that things were not exactly peaceful during all this time, since on the 19th there was an official reference to some "desultory fighting", resulting in no loss to either side. Between the 24th and 28th the Germans sank twenty-two fishing-boats. Immediately after, a well-planned move by the British Navy resulted in what is known as the "Battle of the Bight". The rocky, cliff-bound islet known as Heligoland—the German Gibraltar of the North Sea covering the approaches to Cuxhaven and the Kiel Canal—was not so long ago a British possession. It had been ours for over a century when we exchanged it for Zanzibar, because we thought "there was more money in it". We had never made any use of it when we had it. Had we fortified it, as the Germans have now done, its value in the war would have been priceless. That we did not do so may be set down to our fear of offending German susceptibilities and to our fixed resolve not to contemplate a war with Germany as being in the plane of practical politics. If any Government had attempted to make an advanced naval base of it, what an outcry there would have been!

It has been described by a German naval writer as "the strategical basis of the German fleet, distant about 40 miles from the mouths of the Elbe, the Weser, and the Jadhe. It is a fortress of the most modern kind, furnished with the newest weapons, and fortified with the utmost technical skill. Its guns, contained in armour-plated revolving towers and bomb-proof casemates, dominate the sea over a circle from 20 to 25 miles in diameter. Powerful moles, some 650 feet long, protect the flotillas of torpedo-boats and submarines, and great stores of ammunition and supplies facilitate the provisioning of our ships."[84]

Over and around this rock-bound fortress in the early hours of the morning of 28th August hung a thick mist—almost a light fog. Now and again the watchers on duty caught sight of the phantom shapes of the German destroyers and torpedo-boats as they carried out their never-ending sentry-go over the approaches to the Elbe. Presently out at sea there were ruddy glimmers through the haze, followed by the slam of small cannon. Away to the westward, in a lift of the mist, the German patrols suddenly "spotted" the porpoise-like forms of three big submarines brazenly exposing themselves on the surface, and a general dash was made in the direction of this splendid "bag".

But they were too late. The intruders had dived, and were out of sight or hearing. Then suddenly broke out a rapid banging all round in the mist.

What was happening? As a matter of fact, our First and Third Destroyer Flotillas, supported by the First Light-cruiser Squadron, and with the First Battle-cruiser Squadron in reserve, were carrying out an ingenious plan which was described as "a scooping movement" against the German war-craft known to be in the neighbourhood of Heligoland. Some of our submarines were also playing their part, and it is probable that the "scoop" was planned on information previously gained by these little craft, since it was officially announced by the Press Bureau, after the battle, that "the success of this operation was due in the first instance to the information brought to the admiral by the submarine officers, who have, during the past three weeks, shown extraordinary daring and enterprise in penetrating the enemy's waters".

The three submarines were a decoy to draw the enemy's flotillas to the westward. Then down came the saucy Arethusa, looking not unlike a big destroyer herself, flying the broad pennant of Commodore R. Y. Tyrwhitt, and the destroyers of the Third Flotilla. The new-comers immediately attacked the German Flotilla, which was now making for Heligoland. The Arethusa, in her turn, was attacked by two German cruisers, and there was something in the nature of a general mÊlÉe, in which the Fearless and the First Destroyer Flotilla very shortly took a hand. Our gunnery seems to have been the more effective, but all the same our flotillas were somewhat hardly pressed until the Light Cruiser Squadron, and finally the battle-cruisers, with their enormous guns, came looming colossal out of the mist and gave the German cruisers the coup de grÂce. The KÖln and Mainz were set on fire and sunk outright, the third cruiser, subsequently understood to have been the Ariadne, disappeared blazing into the fog, only to founder shortly afterwards, while two destroyers were also accounted for. The Arethusa was somewhat damaged, and was towed out of the fight by the Fearless. Of course, with the arrival of our reinforcements, we were in overwhelming superiority, and our principal risk lay in the enemy submarines, which attempted an attack that was balked by the high speed of our ships and the alertness of our destroyers.

A thrilling account of the engagement is contained in a letter[85], written by a naval officer who evidently was serving on board one of our destroyers. I do not think I can do better than quote from it: "We destroyers went in and lured the enemy out and had lots of excitement. The big fellows then came up and did some excellent target practice, and we were very glad to see them come; but they ought not to consider we had a fight, because it was a massacre, not a fight. It was superb generalship having overwhelming forces on the spot, but there was really nothing for them to do except shoot the enemy, even as Pa shoots pheasants. For us who put up the quarry in its lair, there was no doubt more to do than 'shoot the enemy', for in our case the shooting was passive and not active only! For that very reason the fight did us of the destroyers more good than it did our big fellows, for my humble opinion, based on limited observation, is that no ship is really herself until she has been under fire. The second time she goes into action you may judge her character; she is not likely to do normally well the first time. We all need to be stiffened and then given a week or two to take it all in. After that we are 'set'. A ship will always do better in her second action. To see the old Fearless charging around the field of fight (it was her second engagement) seeking fresh foes was most inspiriting. Until the big brothers came up she was absolutely all in all to us, and she has no bigger guns than we have. I also learn that there is all the difference in the world between a 4-inch gun in a cruiser and a 4-inch gun in a destroyer. I would regard a cruiser armed with a 3-inch as about a match for a destroyer with a 4-inch; but then I have personally only looked at it from a destroyer point of view. But it must be more unpleasant to have half a dozen plumped accurately and together at you, with a well-arranged 'fire-control' guiding them, watching their fall, and applying corrections to the range scientifically and dispassionately, rather than to have isolated shots banged off from a vibrating pulsating destroyer, turning this way and that, with no one to look where the shot falls, except, perhaps, the captain, who has a lot of other things to attend to....

"Have you ever watched a dog rush in on a flock of sheep and scatter them? He goes for the nearest and barks at it, goes so much faster than the flock that it bunches up with its companions; the dog then barks at another and the sheep spread out fanwise, so that all round in front of the dog is a semicircle of sheep and behind him none. That was much what we did at 7 a.m. on the 28th. The sheep were the German[249]
[250] torpedo-craft, who fell back just on the limits of range and tried to lure us within fire of the Heligoland forts. Pas si bÊte! But a cruiser came out and engaged our Arethusa; they had a real heart-to-heart talk while we looked on, and a few of us tried to shoot at the enemy too, though it was beyond our distance. We were getting nearer and nearer Heligoland all the time; there was a thick mist, and I expected every minute to find the forts on the island bombarding us; so Arethusa presently drew off after landing at least one good shell on the enemy.

"Seeing our papers admit it, so may I—our fellows got quite a nasty 'tummy-ache'. The enemy gave every bit as good as he got there. We then re-formed, but a strong destroyer belonging to the submarines got chased, and Arethusa and Fearless went back to look after her, and we presently heard a hot action astern. So the captain, who was in command of the flotilla, turned us round and we went back to help, but they had driven the enemy off, and on our arrival told us to form up on the Arethusa.

"When we had partly formed and were very much bunched together, a fine target, suddenly out of the 'everywhere' arrived five shells not 150 yards away. We gazed at whence they came, and again five or six stabs of fire pierced the mist, and we made out a four-funnelled cruiser of the 'Breslau' class. These five stabs were her guns going off, of course. We waited fifteen seconds and the shots and the noise of the guns arrived pretty simultaneously fifty yards away. Her next salvo went over us, and I, personally, ducked as they whirred overhead like a covey of fast partridges. You would have supposed the captain had done this sort of thing all his life; he gives me the impression of a Nelson officer who has lived in a state of suspended animation since, but yet has kept pace with the times, and is nowise perturbed at finding his frigate a destroyer. He went full speed ahead at the first salvo to string the bunch out and thus offer less target, and the commodore from the Arethusa made a signal to us to attack with torpedoes.

"So we swung round at right angles and charged full speed at the enemy, like a hussar attack. We got away at the start magnificently and led the field, so that all the enemy's fire was aimed at us for the next ten minutes. When we got so close that the debris of their shells fell on board, we altered our course and so threw them out in their reckoning of our speed, and they had all their work to do over again. You follow that with a destroyer coming at you at 30 knots it means that the range is decreasing at the rate of about 150 yards per ten seconds. When you see that your last shot fell, say, 100 yards short, you put up 100 extra yards on your sights; but this takes five seconds to do. When you have in this way discovered his speed you put that correction in automatically; a cruiser can do this, a destroyer has not room for the complicated apparatus involved. Humanly speaking, therefore, the captain, by twisting and turning at the psychological moment, saved us; actually I feel we are in God's keeping these days.

"After ten minutes we got near enough to fire our torpedo, and then turned back to the Arethusa. Next our follower arrived just where we had been and fired his torpedo, and of course the enemy fired at him, instead of at us. What a blessed relief! It was like coming out of a really hot and oppressive orchid house into the cool air of a summer garden. A 'hot' fire is properly descriptive; it seems actually to be hot! After the destroyers came the Fearless, and she stayed on the scene, and soon we found she was engaging a three-funneller, the Mainz. So off we started again to go for the Mainz, the situation being, I take it, that crippled Arethusa was too 'tummy'-aching to do anything but be defended by us, her children.

"Scarcely, however, had we started (I did not feel the least like another gruelling) when from out the mist and across our front in furious pursuit came the First Cruiser Squadron, the Town class, Birmingham, &c., each unit a match for three Mainz, and as we looked and reduced speed they opened fire, and the clear 'bang! bang!' of their guns was just a cooling drink! To see a real big four-funneller spouting flame, which flame denoted shells starting, and those shells not aimed at us but for us, was the most cheerful thing possible. Even as Kipling's infantryman, under heavy fire, cries 'The Guns, thank Gawd, the Guns', when his own artillery has come into action over his head, so did I feel as those 'Big Brothers' came careering across.

"Once we were in safety I hated it. We had just been having our own imaginations stimulated on the subject of shells striking us, and now, a few minutes later, to see another ship not three miles away reduced to a piteous mass of unrecognizability, wreathed in black fumes, from which flared out angry gouts of fire like Vesuvius in eruption, as an unending stream of 100-pound shells burst on board; it just pointed the moral and showed us what might have been! The Mainz was immensely gallant. The last I saw of her, absolutely wrecked alow and aloft, her whole midships a fuming inferno, she had one gun forward and one aft still spitting forth fury and defiance, 'like a wild cat mad with wounds'. Our own four-funnelled friend recommenced at this juncture with a couple of salvos, but rather half-heartedly; and we really did not care a ——, for there, straight ahead of us in lordly procession, like elephants walking through a pack of 'pi-dogs', came the Lion, Queen Mary, Invincible, and New Zealand, our battle-cruisers. Great and grim and uncouth as some antediluvian monsters, how solid they looked, how utterly earth-quaking.

"We pointed out our latest aggressor to them, whom they could not see from where they were, and they passed down the field of battle with the little destroyers on their left and the destroyed on their right, and we went west while they went east, and turned north between poor four-funnels and her home, and just a little later we heard the thunder of their guns for a space, then all silence, and we knew. Then wireless: 'Lion to all ships and destroyers; retire'. That was all.

"Remains only little details, only one of which I will tell you. The most romantic, dramatic, and piquant episode that modern war can ever show. The Defender, having sunk an enemy, lowered a whaler to pick up her swimming survivors; before the whaler got back an enemy's cruiser came up and chased the Defender, and thus she abandoned her whaler. Imagine their feelings; alone in an open boat without food, twenty-five miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy's fortress, with nothing but fog and sea around them. Suddenly a swirl alongside, and up, if you please, pops His Britannic Majesty's submarine E 4, opens his conning-tower, takes them all on board, shuts up again, dives, and brings them home 250 miles! Is not that magnificent? No novel would dare face the critics with an episode like that in it, except, perhaps, Jules Verne—and all true!"