ORDERED TO THE DARDANELLES

We left the Cape about the 16th of February 1915. For several days previous to our departure we were busy taking in a quantity of stores suggestive of a land campaign.

These included hand-grenades, entrenching tools, water troughs and tanks, provisions of every description, and a whole lot of empty biscuit-tins, the eventual usefulness of which I, for one, failed to fathom. When finally we weighed anchor and steamed out, having the Vice-Admiral and his staff on board, we encountered some very heavy weather. A stiff south-easter had been blowing for some days past, and off Cape Agulhas and in False Bay it was very rough indeed; but, save for the general discomfort which such weather always brings in its train, our voyage was without accident or incident, and a week later we dropped anchor in Port Natal—the port of Durban.

Leave was given in the afternoon, but as half of us had to stay on board, and as it was improbable that we should get leave again in this particular place, we cast lots in the gun-room to determine who should go ashore. Baker and I were among the lucky ones, and we went off together and took the tram into Durban.

We got down at the town station and walked along the main street, looking into all the shops. It was jolly being in such a very European place again. The quaintest feature of Durban seemed to us the native rickshaw-boys, who paint their faces and wear head-dresses of enormous many-coloured feathers, gaudy dresses sown with beads, and huge copper rings on their wrists and ankles.

Presently we took another tram, and were looking out for an attractive tea-shop as we went along, when a lady and gentleman got into the tram, and the lady at once introduced herself to us, saying that she had a son at Osborne, so could not help being interested in us. After a little conversation she very kindly asked us to have tea with her. We very gladly accepted the invitation, and a little later we all got out of the tram and went to a hotel by the sea. Here we had a ripping tea, and at 6 o’clock said “good-bye” to our kind hosts, and then did some shopping in the town until 7 o’clock, when we were due to return on board.

Next day we still remained in harbour, so the others got their leave after all. During the day, much to our curiosity, we took on board three rickshaws. No one could imagine what they could be wanted for! Further, we accumulated some more biscuit-boxes and some tins of petrol.

That evening we weighed anchor and proceeded out to sea. Just at the mouth of the harbour we were confronted by a big bar which—as the tide was running the same way as the river, i.e. ebbing—had not been there when we came in, and consequently it took us unawares. It was nearly dark, so the bar was not noticed until we were almost on top of it. The Captain yelled a warning to the first part of the watch on deck, who were still on the fo’c’sle securing the anchor, telling them to hang on tight, and the next moment we dipped our bow and shipped an enormous sea. Messengers had been hurriedly dispatched to give orders for all scuttles and dead-lights to be closed immediately, and for the crockery in the pantries and messes to be secured firmly; but some of the scuttles could not be closed in time, and many cabins were flooded as the sea passed aft. The lieutenant-commander in charge of the party on the fo’c’sle just grabbed one man in time to prevent his being washed overboard. Four of these huge rollers came before we were safely out in the open sea, but no real damage was done, although the owners of the flooded cabins were mightily indignant and disgusted.

We now discovered that we were under orders to blockade the Koenigsberg, that German commerce raider which had been trapped in the Rufigi river some two or three months before, and whose crew, entrenched on the banks, had hitherto defied capture. It was now rumoured that in all probability troops would try and attack her by land, and that there would also be a landing-party of seamen and marines from our ship. The petrol we had taken on board would be needed for a seaplane which was to assist in the operations; but the use of those fantastic rickshaws was still “wropped in mystery”!

During the voyage up the coast, the Admiral had us all in turn to breakfast with him. This was a great treat to us, for not only was Vice-Admiral—— a most kindly and genial host, but the fare at his table, though not, perhaps, luxurious according to shore and peace standards, was a vast improvement on the bully beef, liquefied margarine, and very nasty bread which was all that was to be had in the gun-room. Perhaps this sounds rather greedy, but it is really extraordinary how awfully important quite ordinarily nice food becomes when it is no longer an every-day matter-of-course!

Ten days after leaving Durban we sighted Mafia Island, and stopped for two hours to communicate with various ships stationed there, after which we went on to Zanzibar. Here we stayed for twenty-four hours; were allowed to go ashore, and enjoyed ourselves immensely. The following day, the 1st of March, we put to sea again, and proceeded to the mouth of the Rufigi river, where we anchored.

For reasons, naturally not confided to junior “snotties,” we got under way again a few hours later, and went back to Mafia Island. Here the cutter was lowered, and Fane took the captain of marines, who was our intelligence officer, in to the beach to try and obtain from the natives information of the Koenigsberg. On their return we found that Fane had managed to procure a quantity of fresh coconuts and mangoes, which were greatly appreciated in the gun-room.

A curious optical illusion, caused by heat and the vibration of the atmosphere, was very noticeable in these latitudes. The horizon line seemed completely obliterated, and ships and islands appeared as though floating in the air.

Some days later H.M.S. “——” made the discovery that a German officer, accompanied by ten native German infantry, were encamped on an outlying island; so she lowered her cutter, and landed a party of marines on the island in question. The Germans surrendered after a half-hearted opposition, and the following day the officer was sent to our ship as a prisoner, and we took him to Zanzibar and handed him over to the military authorities.

When we returned, the Admiral having decided to hoist his flag in his former flagship, he and his staff were transferred to H.M.S. “——.” Carey, our senior mid, was appointed to that ship, and two sub-lieutenants came to us in his stead. All boats were lowered to convey the Admiral and his party, and a consignment of small arms, which we had on board, was transhipped at the same time.

A few days later we went down the coast to Lindi, a German town, and threatened them with a bombardment unless they surrendered 400 black and 200 white troops. They refused to comply with our demand, and so at 2 p.m. we went to action stations and commenced fire.

At 6 o’clock, the town being on fire in several places, we considered we had “strafed” them sufficiently, and also the light was beginning to fail, so we ceased the bombardment and weighed anchor. Just at this moment a cruiser appeared in the offing, and for some minutes it was thought she might be a hostile craft; however, on being challenged in code by searchlight, she proved by her reply to be British, so we went back to Mafia.

Three days later we learned that we were not after all to be “in at the death” of the Koenigsberg. Bigger, far bigger work was in store for us. We had received orders to proceed at once to the Dardanelles.

Immense excitement prevailed in the gun-room, for we guessed this new move predicted action which would throw all we had hitherto experienced into the shade—and subsequent events more than justified our conjecture.

First we went to Zanzibar, where we arrived in the morning. All that day was spent in disembarking the extraneous ammunition, petrol, and so on and so forth (not forgetting those mysterious rickshaws), which we had taken on board for the purposes of the Koenigsberg operations. Then in the evening we weighed anchor, and as we passed slowly out the Flagship gave us a right royal send-off. Her band played Tipperary—that pretty music-hall tune which, by the curious psychology of the British soldier, has been raised to the dignity of a battle hymn, and then followed it up with Auld Lang Syne, while the Admiral from the stern-walk wished us “Good luck,” and waved a parting farewell; and the old ship steamed away on what for her, and most of her ship’s company, was to prove the last long voyage.