ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS

As we turned out next morning the white cliffs of Portland loomed faintly through the mist ahead, and when we were within half a mile of the Shambles lightship the seven other ships of the fourth battle squadron of the 3rd Fleet, to which we also belonged, hove in sight.

We joined up in station as the third ship of the first division, and the whole squadron proceeded out to sea in single line.

When we were about two miles out the Admiral signalled from his flagship: “Form divisions in line ahead. Columns disposed to port.”

So the leading ship of the second division drew out of line followed by her consorts, and crept slowly upon our port quarter till the two lines were steaming parallel at a distance of five cables.

At 4 o’clock we arrived off Cherbourg, and a signal was received ordering the second division to turn sixteen points and proceed down Channel to take up their patrolling positions, while the first four ships went up Channel to theirs.

Thus we formed an unbroken line from the Straits of Dover to the mouth of the Channel, each ship steaming slowly in a circle of five miles radius, and keeping always within sight of the next ship on either side.

That evening a beautiful August half-moon shone down on the heaving waters and the sky was studded with stars. The great arc of the Milky Way hung above us, and on the horizon the lighthouses of Cherbourg and the Channel Islands flashed their intermittent rays, at one moment throwing everything into high relief, and at the next passing on like great fingers of light across the sea before they faded to total eclipse.

Next day excitement ran high, for a rumour reached us that the great German liner, Vaterland, was going to try and rush the Channel under escort of five cruisers; but she never came; and after five days’ patrolling the whole fleet reassembled, and forming divisions in line ahead, steamed into Portland, arriving there in the evening.

We started coaling at 6 o’clock the following morning and finished just before breakfast.

In the afternoon when I was on watch the officer of the watch sent me away in the picket boat with dispatches to H.M.S. “——.” It was the first time I had been in command of one of these steamboats, so, thinking discretion the better part of valour, I didn’t try to steer her alongside, but just took the wheel in the open and let my cox’un do the rest.

The whole of our squadron weighed anchor next day and put to sea for sub-calibre firing just outside the harbour. Sub-calibre firing is done by shipping a small gun (which fires a shell filled with salt) inside the bore of the big turret and battery guns. This necessitates the training and laying of the big guns to fire the small guns inside them, and gives practice to the gun layers and trainers without wasting the large shells and charges, which cost a considerable amount of money. We spent the whole of that morning in the Fore T.S. working out the ranges and deflections received by telephone from the control position, and passing these through to the gunners to set the sights by. After lunch it was assumed that the control position was shot away and the guns went into local control. This means that the officer of each group of guns, and of each turret, fires at his own discretion, and corrects the range and deflection after watching through his glasses the fall of the shells. When the Fore T.S. staff receives the order to go to local control, or can get no reply from the main control which is presumably damaged, they pass through the telephones to the guns the message “local control.” Then they hurry up the hatch from the Fore T.S. to the ammunition passages above, their range clocks slung round their necks, and are hoisted up the ammunition hoist to the particular group of guns to which they have been stationed in the event of this emergency.

Firing practice over we returned to harbour and anchored, and the following afternoon those of us who were not on duty were allowed to go ashore on three hours’ leave.

Next morning the squadron received a signal ordering all ships to complete with coal immediately, and to proceed to sea without delay. By 4 o’clock all had weighed and left harbour, forming into line in sequence of fleet numbers as they cleared the boom.

That night we steamed at full speed to an unknown destination. Everything quivered and shook with the pounding of the engines and the throbbing of the screws, as we ploughed our way through the dark waters, following the little white patch where our next ahead’s shaded stern lamp lit up her creaming wake with a dim radiance for about a square yard.

The next morning we were up betimes, to find the whole squadron just entering Plymouth Harbour.

As soon as we were anchored we filled up with coal again, and the collier had hardly shoved off when up came a tug crowded with marines in landing kit, and laden with entrenching tools, barbed wire, ammunition, rifles, field guns, and all the varied paraphernalia of a land campaign.

No sooner had we got this party, consisting of 400 men with their officers and equipment, safely on board, and stowed all their gear away in the batteries, than a provision ship came alongside and was quickly secured fore and aft. The stump derricks were swung outboard, and soon the deck was littered with biscuit barrels, sugar casks, cases of bully beef, etc., etc.—not forgetting the inevitable jam. Willing hands rolled and carried all this stuff to hastily rigged derricks and davits, whence it was lowered down hatches, and thrown through skylights to men below, who caught each case as it came, and passed it on to others, who stowed it all away in the gun-room, the ward-room flat, the Captain’s cabin, and in fact anywhere and everywhere that space was to be found. Even so it was impossible to cope immediately with the steady stream which poured on deck from the capacious hold of the store-ship, although officers worked side by side with the men, issuing orders at the same time. Finally, when at last the store-ship was empty and had shoved off, and we weighed anchor and put to sea with the remainder of the fleet, our decks were still piled high with cases, and the work of stowing them away went on until 9 o’clock that night. There was no time for dinner, and while still working we ate ship’s biscuit from a barrel that had been accidentally broken open.

Once everything was safely bestowed below, we all went to night-defence stations.

The whole fleet was proceeding at top speed, leaving a gleaming phosphorescent track in its wake. Great clouds of luminous spray were flung aft from the fo’c’sle head as our ship buried her nose in the waves. The decks throbbed and rang to the stamping, pounding clang of the engines, and the stern quivered and shook with the throb, throb, thrash of the racing screws.

All next day we dashed up the English Channel, and early the following morning passed up the Straits of Dover.

A little before noon on the succeeding day, the 22nd of August, we passed the United States cruiser Carolina returning from Antwerp with citizens of the States, flying from the oncoming Huns, and at 8 o’clock we dropped anchor in Ostend outer roads.

Half an hour later a Belgian steamer, a big two-funnelled, cross-channel boat, came alongside. Our party of marines, with their officers and equipment, were transferred to her, and she shoved off for the shore.

In the inner roads were lying at this time a squadron of battle-ships from the 2nd Fleet, an aeroplane base ship, and a flotilla of destroyers. This squadron weighed anchor next morning and proceeded to sea, and shortly afterwards we weighed and moved into the inner roads. An airship was sighted at about 11 o’clock low down on the horizon, and our anti-aerial firing party fell in with loaded rifles on the quarter-deck, and the anti-aerial three-pounder was manned.

Tense excitement prevailed for about half-an-hour, while the imagined Zeppelin grew gradually larger and larger, and nearer and nearer; but it turned out to be our own Astra Torres, so the firing party dismissed and the ordinary routine was carried on, while the airship flew above us, and came to rest in a field to the left of Ostend.

In the afternoon an aeroplane, flying no flag, appeared over the town, and was promptly fired at.

Subsequently it transpired that this, too, was one of our own, though I cannot imagine why she carried no distinguishing mark, and her celebrated pilot was reported to have used some very strong language about the marines who had forced him to a hasty and undignified descent. It was his own fault, anyway—and, luckily, neither machine nor airman sustained any serious damage.

Later on one of our destroyers came alongside for provisions and oil, and remained alongside all that night.

Next morning a flotilla of enemy submarines and destroyers appeared upon the horizon. All our ships got ready to weigh, and our destroyers and light cruisers went out post haste to drive them off. The enemy squadron at once turned tail and fled! All of us midshipmen and cadets, who were not on duty, climbed up to the foretop with telescopes, and watched the pursuit, but only a few shots were exchanged, and neither side sustained any damage. The enemy made all haste in the direction of Heligoland, and our flotilla returned after a fruitless chase.

On that afternoon I remember that I witnessed, from the quarter-deck, a sad accident. Our picket boat had gone out with those of the other ships to sweep for any mines that might have been laid. In the evening the boat returned, and came alongside the port side amidships. There was a heavy sea running, and, as a wave lifted the boat, a reel of wire hawser used for mine sweeping, which had been placed in the bows, got caught in the net shelf, and was left fixed there as the boat descended into the trough of the sea. Next time she rose one of the bowmen got his leg caught under the reel, and it broke just above the ankle. He fell to the deck, but before he could be snatched out of danger, the sharp edge of the reel again caught his leg three inches above the break and half severed it, and the next time the boat rose it caught him again in the same place, and cut his leg right through.

A stretcher was lowered over the side and the injured man was carried quickly and carefully down to the sick bay, where it was found on examination that the limb was so mangled that it was necessary to amputate it just above the knee. Poor chap! that was the end of his war-service. It was a tragic and sickening thing to witness, but it was no one’s fault. In fact, the court of inquiry subsequently held brought in a verdict of “accidental injury,” and absolved all concerned from any blame in the matter.

The following afternoon we took on board a detachment of 800 marines with their equipment, and shortly afterwards weighed anchor and steamed out of Ostend roads.

When we went to night-defence stations at 8 o’clock that night there were marines all over the place—sleeping on the deck, and in the battery, and, in fact, anywhere there was room to lie down. We came across two sergeants who had been drill-instructors at Osborne College when we were there, and had a yarn with them over old times.

About 9 o’clock rapid firing was heard on our starboard bow.

I was then stationed at my searchlight on the port side just abaft the bridge, and I ran up the short gangway and across to the forward end of the shelter-deck to see what was happening. At first it sounded like big guns over the horizon, and I thought we had run into an action; but when I got on the bridge I saw that it was the flagship that had fired, and was now turning four points to starboard to give the other ships a clear range. Our helm was now put to port, and we swung off in the wake of the flagship.

Then I heard the captain give the order to switch on No. 1 searchlight, which was in charge of Cunninghame, our junior cadet. This light was just forward of mine, and I nipped back in a hurry in case mine should switch on. No. 1 failed to pick up the object the flagship had fired at—which, by the lights it was showing, should by rights have been a fishing-smack—and his beam was very badly focussed. I knew my beam was all right, as I had tested it when preparing for night defence, and, as I had trained on the lights in question as soon as I had seen them, when the captain ordered me to switch on, my beam revealed the object at once. It proved to be two German destroyers: one showing the lights usually shown by a fishing-smack, the other showing no lights at all! Now the other searchlights quickly focussed on the enemy, and one of our 12-pounders fired two shots in swift succession. A few seconds later I saw two flashes in the beam of the searchlights where the shells struck the water close to their objective, and two white columns of water were flung high into the air. Then came a blinding flash, followed immediately by the sound of an explosion: a blast of hot air, smelling strongly of cordite, caught me unprepared and threw me off my balance. The six-inch gun immediately below me had fired without any warning. I never saw the fall of that shell although, as soon as I had recovered myself, I watched the enemy ships carefully. Only a minute later one of them fired a torpedo at us. For some way we could follow the track of bubbles in the gleam of the searchlights—then it passed out of the light, and there came a moment of breathless suspense. Had they got us? No! the brute passed harmlessly between us and the flagship.

Then our aftermost six-inch gun fired, but this time I was prepared, and, bracing myself against the blast, watched eagerly for the fall of the shot. It pitched some hundred yards from the torpedo-boats—ricochetted like a stone—hit the second of them right amidships and exploded: and the enemy craft simply vanished from the face of the waters! A jolly lucky shot! The other destroyer evidently thought so anyway, for, extinguishing her lights on the moment, she dashed away at full speed and was lost to sight in the darkness.

Presumably pursuit was useless, for shortly afterwards we extinguished our searchlights and proceeded on our way without encountering any more excitement.

The next day, which we spent at sea, was quite uneventful, and on the following evening we entered Spithead.

Here, with the last rays of the setting sun illuminating their pale grey hulls, lay the whole of the 2nd Fleet at anchor off Portsmouth. We had parted company with the two last ships of our division just outside, they having gone on to Portland and Plymouth respectively, and we entered Portsmouth in the wake of the flagship, lining ship and dipping our ensign as we passed the old Victory, and shortly afterwards dropping anchor in the harbour.

That night we disembarked all the marines.