On the 23rd November a patrol vessel rammed the German submarine U 18 off the north coast of Scotland. She was badly damaged and shortly afterwards foundered. Five days later the navy suffered a severe loss in the blowing up of the pre-Dreadnought battleship Bulwark as she lay at her buoy off Sheerness. The cause of this catastrophe was, of course, impossible to ascertain with any certainty, as the ship was sunk and destroyed with almost every soul on board.

Encouraged by what they seem to have considered the success of their vaunted "hussar stroke" at Yarmouth, the Germans thought they might as well have another. This time their raid resulted in the deaths of a large number of civilians, men, women, and children, at East and West Hartlepool, Whitby, and Scarborough, upon which undefended places they opened fire with their heavy artillery. Another "famous victory!" To make it look more like an operation of war, and to excuse themselves to neutrals, they tried to make out that these towns were fortified positions. It is not very likely that anyone believed them, since these places are well known to be nothing of the kind.

As a matter of fact, it was a carefully-planned affair. "Practically the whole fast-cruiser force of the German Navy, including some great ships vital to their fleet and utterly irreplaceable," wrote Mr. Winston Churchill to the Mayor of Scarborough, "has been risked for the passing pleasure of killing as many English people as possible, irrespective of sex, age, or condition, in the limited time available to this military and political folly. They were impelled by the violence of feelings which could find no other vent."

There is little doubt that the First Lord's diagnosis of the cause of the raid was absolutely correct, though it was perhaps more generally considered that it had the ulterior motive of "frightening" the British nation. So far from doing anything of the kind, it produced a perfect rush to enlist. Men wanted to take a personal hand in the payment due for such violence. The few British destroyers and patrolling vessels that were encountered opened fire on the big German leviathans, but were naturally in no position to put up anything of a fight against such overwhelming odds. That the Germans were unable to sink them goes to prove that they were in too great a hurry to fire carefully, as all they wanted to do was to escape, for, to quote the official announcement, "on being sighted by British vessels the Germans retired at full speed, and, favoured by the mist, succeeded in making good their escape". What a pity that mist intervened! But it merely postponed the evil day for the raiders after all.

Our men-of-war about this time set to work to give the German positions along the Belgian coast another shaking up, and the year finished by a brilliantly executed naval air raid on Cuxhaven and the German war-ships lying in the Elbe, in the process of which their escorting flotilla had a somewhat unique scrap with German submarines and Zeppelins, an account of which will be found in a later chapter.

The year 1915 opened badly for us with the loss of the Formidable—a sister-ship to the Bulwark—which was torpedoed, it is supposed, by a German submarine well down the Channel. At two o'clock in the morning there was a heavy explosion, and the ship began to settle down to starboard. There was no panic, the boats were got out, and some were already in the water when there was a second explosion and a mass of debris was shot into the air. The sea was rough, and the survivors, who numbered less than a hundred, endured severe hardships. Some were rescued by a Brixham trawler, and others managed to row ashore at Lyme Regis. "The discipline was splendid," said a bluejacket survivor.[100] "The last that I saw of Captain Loxley"—who was in command of the ship—"was that he was on the bridge calmly smoking a cigarette. Lieutenant Simmonds superintended the launching of the boats, and as he got the last away I heard the Captain say: 'You have done well, Simmonds'. The stokers must have done magnificently, as they drew all the fires, and, steam being shut off, there was no boiler explosion when the Formidable sank.

"Captain Loxley was as cool as a cucumber. He gave his orders calmly and coolly, just as though the ship was riding in harbour with anchors down. I thought nothing was amiss. The last words I heard him say were: 'Steady, men, it's all right. No panic, keep cool; be British. There's life in the old ship yet!' Captain Loxley's old terrier 'Bruce' was standing on duty at his side on the fore-bridge at the last."

One of the few stokers who were saved said that they were expecting to be relieved, and to have gone back to port, in about another hour. "An officer passed down by us. He stopped and explained in a matter-of-fact way that the ship had been struck, was sinking fast, and it was now a question of saving as many lives as possible. He advised us to go on deck and lay hold of anything we could." One of the finest examples of self-sacrifice was given by Bugler S. C. Reed of the Royal Marines, a mere boy, who, when advised to use his drum to keep himself afloat, replied that he had thought of it, but had given it to one of the bluejacket boys for that purpose, as the lad had nothing to keep himself afloat in the heavy seas then prevailing, and that he did not feel very nervous. Surely the cool courage in the face of death, superlative bravery, and absolute self-devotion that have been displayed during the last few months by officers and men—yes, and boys too—of navy and army alike, have equalled, if not eclipsed, the finest deeds of our forefathers "in the brave days of old".

At last, on 24th January, our eager navy had its chance of castigating the evasive enemy. The Battle-cruiser Squadron, consisting of the Lion, Princess Royal, Tiger, New Zealand, and Indomitable, under the command of Sir David Beatty, who flew his flag on the Lion, in company with Commodore Goodenough's Light Squadron, comprising the Southampton, Nottingham, Birmingham, and Lowestoft, was patrolling in the North Sea, preceded some way ahead by the Undaunted, Arethusa, and Aurora, with destroyer flotillas, when about half-past seven in the morning the flashing of guns was observed to the south-south-east. Presently came a message to the flagship from the Aurora that she was in action with the enemy.

Speed was increased, and the British squadrons rushed at full speed towards the scene of conflict. Other messages came in from the ships in advance reporting that the enemy's force, consisting of the BlÜcher, three battle-cruisers, and six light cruisers, had altered course to south-east, while a number of destroyers were heading to the north-west. The main body of the enemy very shortly came in sight, but they were at a great distance, and making off as fast as they knew how. After them ploughed the British leviathans and their satellites, but it was not till nine minutes after nine that the Lion got in her first hit on the BlÜcher at something like 10 miles distance!

The enemy were in "line ahead", the BlÜcher being the rearmost ship. Their light cruisers were away ahead and their destroyers on their port flank, apparently meditating a dash against the advancing British. Our flotillas, with their attendant cruisers, were at this time away on the port quarter of the battle-cruisers, where they had been placed so as not to obstruct the aim of the big guns by their smoke, but the "M" division of destroyers was now sent ahead in order to attend to the German flotilla.

By this time the leading German ship—supposed to be the Seydlitz—was on fire, and so was the third ship in their line. The enemy's destroyers now began to stoke up, and threw out thick black clouds of smoke, under cover of which their big ships altered course to the northward. As soon as this manoeuvre was apparent, the British ships, which by now were tearing through the water at tremendous speed, turned to follow, whereupon their destroyers again evinced a disposition to attack. But upon the Lion and Tiger turning their guns upon them they thought better of it, and returned to their former position. Our light cruisers kept station on the port quarter of the enemy, ready to pounce upon any cripples. Just after a quarter to eleven the BlÜcher, which had been gradually falling astern, turned out of the line to port. She was on fire, had a heavy list, and was evidently very badly mauled. A few minutes later the periscopes of a number of submarines were noticed on the starboard bow of our battle-cruisers, which at once turned to port to avoid them.

At the pace at which our ships were travelling these insidious foes would soon be left behind. Soon afterwards the flagship, having received damage which could not be at once repaired, was ordered to go off to the north-west, the admiral calling the destroyer Attack alongside and going in her to the Princess Royal, on board of which he rehoisted his flag. On arrival he was informed that the BlÜcher had been sunk, and that the remainder of the enemy's ships were making off to the eastward in a badly-damaged condition.

The Seydlitz and Derflinger, particularly, were said to have been desperately knocked about. But as the battle had now approached the area of the German mine-fields, it was wisely determined to break it off and return to English waters, the Lion, which had received a shot in her condensers, being taken in tow by the Indomitable. The only ships on our side that were hit were the Lion and the Tiger, and the little Meteor, which led the destroyers interposed between the German destroyers and our main line; and the total casualties were only fourteen officers and men killed and twenty-nine wounded. The German losses must have been terrible.

One of the survivors of the BlÜcher gave a vivid account of the effects of our gunnery.[101] "The British guns were ranging. Those deadly waterspouts crept nearer and nearer. The men on deck watched them with a strange fascination. Soon one pitched close to the ship, and a vast watery pillar, a hundred metres high, fell lashing on the deck. The range had been found. Now the shells came thick and fast, with a horrible droning hum. At once they did terrible execution. The electric plant was soon destroyed, and the ship plunged in a darkness that could be felt. Down below there was horror and confusion, mingled with gasping shouts and moans as the shells plunged through the decks. At first they came dropping from the sky. They penetrated the decks, they bored their way even to the stokehold. The coal in the bunkers was set on fire. Since the bunkers were half-empty the fire burned merrily. In the engine-room a shell licked up the oil, and sprayed it around in flames of blue and green, scarring its victims and blazing where it fell. Men huddled together in dark compartments, but the shells sought them out, and there death had a rich harvest.

"The terrific air-pressure resulting from explosion in a confined space left a deep impression on the minds of the men of the BlÜcher. The air, it would seem, roars through every opening and tears its way through every weak spot. All loose or insecure fittings were transformed into moving instruments of destruction. Open doors bang to and jamb, and closed iron doors bend outwards like tin plates, and through it all the bodies of men are whirled about like dead leaves in a winter blast, to be battered to death against the iron walls." Has Dante beaten this description of an Inferno?