CHAPTER I
THE START. THE OVERSEA PASSAGE
The break of dawn on April 22, 1918, the first of the seven days of our tabulated period, found many anxious individuals on deck discussing the chances. There was an almost entire absence of wind; the sea was consequently as smooth as the proverbial mill-pond. The general feeling amongst us was that of straining-at-the-leash. We had suffered two major disappointments during the previous period, but we instinctively felt that we had now arrived at a period of maximum anxiety—we knew that the coming week would settle the matter once and for all. Presently light airs from the northward began to catspaw the glassy surface and to increase in frequency and strength until they settled down to a real northerly breeze. Our hopes ran high, but the matter of visibility still claimed our attention. There was the usual early morning mist; this was quickly dispelled when the sun rose above the horizon. It soon became evident that our hopes for misty weather were to be denied us. By 8 A.M. the visibility was extreme, as they say in meteorological circles; one's horizontal range of vision from shipboard was only limited by one's height of eye above the level of the sea. This condition, to say the least of it, was disconcerting.
It would be high tide at Zeebrugge and Ostende soon after midnight. Arrival at such an hour would entail making much of the oversea passage in broad daylight, and this, as previously mentioned, would in turn lead to grave risk of being seen by the German patrols, whether the latter were in the air, on the sea surface, or submerged keeping periscope watch. Although this disadvantage might even lose us the element of surprise on which we had concentrated so much effort, any postponement of our departure until the morrow would entail a reduction of our available period by one-seventh. The armchair critic who knows nought of such matters cannot easily conceive either the difficulty of arriving at such decisions, or the weight of responsibility which lies on the shoulders of the man by whom the decision must be given.
Early in the forenoon it was evident that all conditions except visibility were in favour of starting our third attempt. Our hopes ran high in spite of the fact that previous experience had shown us how fickle the weather could be. Somehow we felt that our chance had come at last.
We were in telephonic communication with Dover via a lighthouse in the vicinity of our anchorage. Perhaps the word "communication" rather exaggerates the actual facts of the case. The line apparently passed through a certain holiday resort whose telephone exchange was below par and whose operative, in the kindness of her heart, generally managed to connect at least four persons simultaneously on our particular line. The resulting cross talk, further confused by the eternal argument between the tidal stream and the telephone cable, and our impatience at any and every interruption, with its resultant increase of knowledge of the vernacular to the lighthouse crew, were hardly conducive to easy conversation on important matters. "Harold" was particularly exasperating that morning. Having fixed "Mabel" for lunch in a couple of hours, he apparently thought it necessary to 'phone her details of his past.
Order to Start
To the Vice-Admiral at Dover fell the responsibility of deciding whether we should start or not. After a discussion on the telephone the die was cast—we were ordered to "proceed in execution of previous orders." The order was passed to the ships and the requisite preparations were put in hand immediately. We raised steam without delay. Baggage, final letters, and all unnecessary paraphernalia were disembarked. Once again determination and expectancy had expanded into enthusiasm. The time for "action" had arrived.
I do not think we had any feelings of anxiety now except with regard to the weather. Surely nothing would prevent the culmination of all our hopes at this eleventh hour. No suggestion of failure ever occurred to us. Our confidence in the face of the many obstacles, when considered in cold blood months afterwards, may have seemed to be almost an impertinence. Everybody knew exactly what was expected of him. There was no actual excitement except that inseparable from intense enthusiasm. Last-minute orders or signals were not required, everything worked just as smoothly as if we had been merely starting off on a picnic.
Engines were reported "ready" shortly after lunch. Just before weighing anchor I had gone below to don my sea-boots and other appropriate "togs"; on reappearing on deck I found several officers grouped for a final snapshot and was requested to join them. Alas, that was indeed the last photograph for several of them. The cheering which had taken place on both the previous attempts was indulged in once again as the ships proceeded to sea and was only eclipsed by the cheers which welcomed the survivors to Dover on the following day.
Of the earlier part of the oversea trip little need be written. Vindictive took Iris and Daffodil in tow and was closely followed by the blockships. In due course the Dover forces were sighted; the combined force, accompanied by aeroplanes, formed on Vindictive, which was "Guide of the Fleet."
The fast motor boats and the two submarines were taken in tow, and the Vice-Admiral, with his flag flying in the Destroyer Warwick, directed the whole movements and gave the signal to proceed as soon as all were formed up. The visibility had already decreased and sufficient clouds were massing overhead to revive our anxieties about the weather. Light squadrons which had preceded us for the various duties of "supporting" or "bombarding," etc., had not reported any enemy patrol craft.
[Illustration: VICE-ADMIRAL SIR ROGER J. B. KEYES
K.C.B., K.C.V.O., D.S.O., R.N. (missing from book)]
On board each ship eleventh-hour preparations were being made—such as rigging stations for attending the wounded, distributing first-aid packages, passing hoses along in case of fire, fusing bombs and shell, testing electric circuits, providing candle lamps in case of electrical failures, grouping ammunition round the guns, donning clean underclothing as a guard against septic wounds, darkening ship to prevent any warning of our approach, placing spare charts in alternative positions, testing smoke-screen apparatus and flame-throwers, and many other such things.
St. George for England
Before darkness set in a signal was received from the Vice-Admiral reading "St. George for England." It was reported to me as being a personal signal to myself, but I subsequently ascertained that it was intended as a general signal to be passed down the line of ships. It was made in the semaphore code from Warwick and has often been misquoted as a signal hoisted with alphabetical flags.
One garbled version described the signal as having been "flashed to all ships just before reaching the Mole." This story of a flash-light having been used just when the ships were endeavouring to take the enemy by surprise under cover of darkness is really too fantastic to pass uncontradicted. Believing it to be a private signal, a reply was determined upon. The reply[[1]] to the Admiral's signal, judged by the ordinary standards, was somewhat impertinent, but impertinence was in the air that afternoon. Incidentally my signalman substituted the word "darned" for "damned" and, when corrected, spelt the word "dammed" as a compromise.
[[1]] May we give the Dragon's tail a damned good twist.
Our prearranged time table had laid down the exact minute at which we were to pass through certain lettered positions, the latter being marked by buoys placed by the surveying officers mentioned previously. Position G was to be the parting of the ways, namely the position at which the forces destined for the inshore attacks on Zeebrugge and Ostende should separate en route for their respective destinations. That position was so chosen that the forces should arrive at their destinations simultaneously, making due allowance for direction and strength of the tidal stream and for actual ship-speed through the water. This idea of simultaneous operations at the two places was not the only important factor for consideration; it was also necessary that all other phases of the attack, such as long-range bombardments and aerial attacks, should synchronise with the movements of the blockships. It was, therefore, necessary to either work exactly to schedule as laid down in the time table or else inform all units of any change in the zero time; the latter being the minute at which Vindictive should pass through position G. This in turn necessitated forecasting the zero time as a result of the observed times of passing the previous positions. We had left position A a few minutes ahead of time and passed through position D with barely a minute in hand. "No alteration of zero time" was therefore communicated to all units.
After passing position D the whole assembly of vessels stopped for a few minutes for the triple purpose of disembarking surplus blockship crews, ascertaining the exact direction of wind (this information being required for the use of the smoke screens), and reforming into "approach order" after casting off the tow of the submarines and small craft. It was then pitch dark, the moon being entirely obscured by clouds. It has been stated elsewhere that the Intrepid did not disembark any of her surplus crews. The small vessel detailed to take these men failed to appear owing to a breakdown; this must have pleased the Intrepid's surplus crew who, it will be remembered, had shown a strong disinclination to leave their ship. To some extent Thetis and Iphigenia were similarly placed; history relates that when the small vessels arrived alongside many members of the surplus crews could not be found, so anxious were they to complete the operation which they had begun so well.
No time was lost in reforming the squadron and we started off again for position G. At about this time all conditions of wind and sea were still favourable, but slight rain had begun to fall and to reduce the already very limited visibility. The rain thus provided the first of the incidents which could not be foreseen.
The result of the rain was twofold. Firstly, it somewhat delayed the commencement of the long-range bombardment on Zeebrugge owing to the reduction in visibility rendering the monitor's position doubtful. Secondly, and far more important, it acted very adversely against the use of aircraft. The difficulty and danger of flying in wet weather is too well known to need enlargement here, but the difficulty of locating the positions which were to be bombed was enormously increased. As related elsewhere our aerial bombers had made a magnificent attack on the occasion of our first attempt and they had become none the less determined to render a good account of themselves when the operation finally took place. Imagine their intense disappointment. It was not difficult for those who knew the splendid work of our Air Force to realise that they would stop at nothing to achieve their object. In spite of all the difficulties it is impossible to conceive of greater determination than was shown, but the rain rendered the attack impossible. The losses amongst these very gallant airmen amounted to a high percentage of those who started on their errand.
At position G the Ostende blockships parted company; inwardly we wished them the best of luck.
The main portion of the oversea passage having been completed, the "Approach" now commenced.