In The Firing Line 12

In The Firing Line 12

All the Germans seemed quite happy when we got them on board. The worst

job of all was getting them out of the sea. Some of them had legs and

arms shot away, battered to pieces. I was in our boat just below when

their vessel sank, and there seemed to be many who were helpless on

board her. The captain remained behind, having had both legs shot away.

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 35.--From a Naval Lieutenant to a friend:_

 

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, 25 miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy’s

fortress, with nothing but fog and foes 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!

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 36.--From a seaman on one of the British destroyers:_

 

We have at last had an innings at the Germans. It was a go. Fully

seven hours we fought shot for shot. I had the pleasure of seeing four

German ships go down. We never knew but it might be our turn next, as

great shells were falling all around us. Several shells went just over

our heads, whistling just like a needle on a broken record. Would you

believe it, one of our boats had actually stopped to pick up German

wounded when the Germans fired on her?

 

I think all our men took it just as though we were having our annual

battle practice--cool, laughing, and cracking jokes, with shell all

around them. All the thought was just of shooting it into them--and

they got it! I was told they lost 1,500 men. I shall never understand

how it was our ship was not hit, for we were within range of their

cruisers and the Heligoland forts. We are ready for another smack at

them.

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 37.--From a seaman on H.M.S. “New Zealand” to his uncle in

Halifax:_

 

The torpedo craft had rather a hot time with the enemy in the early

morning, but suddenly we appeared out of the mist. To say that they

were surprised is to put it mildly, because before they knew where they

were we were playing our light cruisers, and the destroyers worried

them like terriers. Then for us to come along and give them the _coup

de grace_ was absolutely _It_.

 

Two of their ships, I am convinced, would have been floating to-day,

but as our small ships gathered round them to take off their

survivors--all their flags were struck--they opened fire, only to be

sent to Davy Jones’s locker a little quicker than they could shoot.

Well, we succeeded in sending some good ships and some unfortunate men

to the bottom in something like fourteen minutes. Not a bad score for

the cricket season, is it?

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 38.--From a seaman on board the flagship of the first

destroyer squadron, to his friends at Wimbledon:_

 

We had a very decent splash last week off Heligoland, as doubtless you

have read. Our ship was not hit at all, though some shots were pretty

near. It was a fine sight to see the _Lion_ demolish one cruiser.

We could see her (the cruiser’s) shots falling short, but still the

_Lion_ did not fire. For fully ten minutes the cruiser belted away

without getting a hit. Then the _Lion_, who was leading the line,

hoisted “open fire,” turned slowly and majestically round and fired

her broadside--once. It was quite sufficient. Up went a cloud of smoke

and steam from the target, and when it cleared her aft funnel was at a

rakish angle, and a huge rent appeared the length of her side.

 

After a few more “salvoes” she was rapidly sinking by the stern.

Shortly afterwards she half-hauled down her ensign, and as we were

steaming up to stand by and rescue her survivors, she hoisted it again

and opened fire. It was a dirty trick, but they got their deserts.

Once again the _Lion_ turned, and this time fired but five shots from

her huge turrets. Amidst a shower of splinters, smoke, and fire she

disappeared. We steamed over the spot, but although there was plenty of

wreckage, not a single living thing was to be seen. This incident only

lasted about forty-five minutes, although the whole battle was raging

for eight hours.

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 39.--Front leading telegraphist H. Francis, of Croydon:_

 

We had the first taste of blood on Friday, and I can tell you it was

O.T. The battle lasted from 6.30 a.m. till one p.m., going at it hammer

and tongs all the time.

 

We came back with sixty prisoners, one of them being Admiral von

Tirpitz’s son, who was second-lieutenant in the _Mainz_. We were within

twenty yards of her when she went down, and I can tell you it was a

grand sight.

 

Their officers were shooting the men as they jumped overboard, and one

chap on the bridge was beckoned to by our commander to come off. But

there was “nothing doing.” He simply folded his arms, shook his head,

and as the ship rolled over he never moved. The captain also went down

in her. He had both his legs blown off.

 

For a quarter of an hour the sea was simply alive with Germans, all

singing out most piteously, and, as we pulled them on board, we

marvelled how they managed to swim with the wounds they had, some with

feet off, some with one or two legs off, some with their arms gone.

 

The Kaiser has been stuffing his men up that the English cannot shoot.

They know differently now. They were greatly surprised when we picked

them up and looked after them.

 

Pleased to say I am enjoying myself, and longing for more.

 

* * * * *

 

_Letter 40.--From Gunner T. White:_

 

We didn’t waste more shots than was necessary on the Germans off

Heligoland. One of their destroyers was knocked over first shot. It was

one of the cleanest shots you ever saw, and the man who fired it is the

proudest man in our ship to-day.

 

Next time I fancy the Germans will want to make it a rule of the fight

that a German ship must be allowed at least ten shots to one of ours

before the knock-out is fired. Of course, it’s very hard on the rest of

us, because it simply means that the gunner who gets first shot does

the trick, and we may be in a dozen fights and never get a shot at the

enemy once, because there’s nothing left to hit.

 

 

Since that first engagement, the British Fleet has been waiting alert

for the enemy to come out of hiding and give them a second chance;

and has incidentally been busy sweeping the sea of floating mines and

prowling after mine-layers that, disguised as Grimsby trawlers, have

succeeded in putting in some deadly work.

 

 

An interesting account of the efficiency of this policing of the North

Sea was related by two trawler skippers, a week after the fight, to a

_Daily Telegraph_ Correspondent who remarks that the _modus operandi_

necessitates a continuous vigilance, mostly under cover of the

darkness, and entails a strain upon the naval officers and men that can

only be appreciated by those who witness it.

 

The first skipper stated that he had just come from Iceland:

 

 

At one point up north there was, he said, a solid wall of warships,

which made it impossible for any foe to break through undetected. The

scrutiny did not end with a mere examination at the point mentioned.

After being released our boat was followed by a couple of torpedo

destroyers until we reached our destination. In this way we were not

only convoyed, but the warships made absolutely certain that we were

British trawlers. The experience, being novel to us, was very inspiring.

 

 

The other skipper’s story was even more interesting. He is in charge of

a North Sea boat, and anchored each night near the shore.

 

 

We were laid under the land, he said, when about two in the morning

a cruiser suddenly appeared alongside of us. All his lights were

extinguished, and the quiet way in which he came up and the clever

tactics he showed in getting alongside without doing any damage was

astonishing.

 

Talk about cats seeing in the dark, these naval officers are wonderful.

When the cruiser reached us all we could see was a huge black object

hemming us in. A voice shouted out, “Who are you?” and I answered back,

“A British trawler.” “What is your name?” he asked, and I replied.

“When did you leave?” he next asked. I told him. “What were your orders

when you left?” he next asked. I told him and in a flash the commander

of the cruiser shouted back, “All right.”

 

It was a fine piece of work, believe me, but there was something even

more astonishing. Directly the commander had finished talking to me

another voice from the stern of our vessel sung out, “The name is quite

correct, sir.” A submarine had crept up behind to verify our name and

number, and although all the crew had come on deck to see what was

happening, not one of the men aft had seen the submarine appear. The

whole episode only occupied a few minutes, and the cruiser, after

wishing us good morning and plenty of fishing, disappeared in the

darkness. I have seen the British Navy in times of peace, but to see

it in war time makes you feel proud of it. No swank, simply good old Nelson’s motto all the time.