CHAPTER IX
THE WAITING PERIOD. THE VOLUNTEERING SPIRIT.
At last all constructive preparations were completed; the various ships and small craft were commissioned and concentrated at their respective starting-points. The blockships and Vindictive steamed out to the loneliest of anchorages in the Swin Deep, situated about eight miles south of Clacton, Essex. It was a curious looking squadron that steamed down the Medway that day, the blockships with their funnels looming extra large in the absence of masts and the Vindictive with her gangways protruding into mid-air like almonds in the side of a tipsy cake. The Hindustan looked respectable enough. She was mother to us all and her captain was a very tolerant and helpful father.
Embarkation of Marines
The Iris and Daffodil joined us almost immediately. The Marines embarked a few days later. They had been sent to a southern port on the understanding that they were off to France; the officers alone knew the truth. They duly boarded the waiting transport with stores, ammunition, and baggage, the latter labelled to a French port. They must have wondered where they would sleep that night. The transport duly left harbour and headed for the French coast, but presently altered course in a most unusual manner. Word was passed round that the course was peculiar; all crowded on deck in their endeavour to solve the problem. It was a misty day with the rain coming down in torrents; the land was soon obscured. The officers chuckled at the general bewilderment, but held their peace. At last the transport eased down and finally stopped engines. Out of the mist loomed the Iris and Daffodil, into which vessels the Marines were transferred.
A second voyage was then commenced, but it was not of long duration. Other ships presently hove in sight, and strange craft they appeared. Cruisers without masts and another looking like a home for lost coal-tips. These were the blockships and Vindictive. Then appeared a recognisable vessel—the Hindustan. Some of the Marines went to the latter, the remainder to Vindictive. I can well remember the astonished look on their faces as these men boarded my ship. Even the heavy downpour of rain seemed to be unnoticed. One man remarked as he came on board, "Well, it's darned good to be aboard a blessed something, but I'm blowed if I know what she is."
That day and the next were spent in settling down. On the evening of the second day the men were told the secret. In Vindictive they all mustered on the quarter-deck and after bridge. Sunset had long since been heralded by the time-Honoured bugle call. The evening twilight was fading rapidly. There was a stillness in the air which seemed to be reflected from the tense attitude of the assembled men. One could have heard the proverbial pin drop. It was my duty to take them into our confidence. After the nature of the enterprise had been outlined a few sentences were sufficient to illustrate the task allotted to the Vindictive. It seemed advisable to point out that many other operations of a hectic nature, besides those of the blockships and storming vessels, were to be attempted. I emphasised this by mentioning that if, during our visit to Zeebrugge Mole, they heard a thunderous explosion they could say to themselves, "That's one of them." These words came back to me afterwards, as I shall relate in due course.
As soon as the business in hand had been promulgated it was considered advisable to exert a very rigid censorship on outgoing mails. Correspondence was permitted, but strictly on the understanding that the letters would be retained at one of the mail offices until the operation had been completed. This regulation was modified later owing to the waiting period being unexpectedly prolonged. Field post-cards were then issued and could be posted in the ordinary manner. There were the usual sentences, such as "I am quite well," "I am not quite well," "I have received your letter," "I have not received your letter," etc., in the style of the French exercise books of one's youth. Such post-cards were familiar enough amongst the military, but were a novelty to most of us; they caused a good deal of amusement, especially when the sender omitted to delete the sentences which misrepresented his feelings towards the intended recipient.
All shore leave was stopped; even cases of serious illness or accident would have to go to Hindustan, and remain there, instead of to a shore hospital.
Concerning Secrecy
Secrecy was absolutely essential, but not always easy to ensure. At our anchorage it was comparatively simple, but elsewhere we had to depend more upon trust in our fellow men than rigid regulation. The secret was well kept, and fortunately so. Surprise is mainly dependent upon secrecy. For if information of an impending attack becomes known there can be no hope of taking the enemy unawares.
I wonder how many people realise the necessity for keeping rumours to themselves during war. Rumours must be either true or untrue. If untrue they are not worth passing on. If true, then untold harm may result from repetition. Suppose for a moment that the impending operation at Zeebrugge had become a topic of general conversation. In due course the information would have reached our enemies and the expedition would almost certainly have met with complete disaster. The lives of many picked officers and men would have been lost, and the whole affair would have gone down to history as a fiasco. Under such circumstances each person who had repeated the rumour on its way to the enemy would have been morally guilty of manslaughter—surely that is not an exaggerated deduction.
Alas, human nature is often weak. There is some modicum of satisfaction in showing superior knowledge to one's neighbour.
The Japanese, in their war with Russia, set the world a wonderful example of silence. After losing a high percentage of their battleship strength not a word was spoken and the world remained in ignorance for many months.
A writer—I think it was Chesterton—once suggested that memorials should be erected in recognition of negative qualities. If that idea were adopted I wonder how many tablets would be found to state that "Here Mr. So-and-so heard a rumour and did not repeat it to his friends."
When dealing, in Chapter VIII, with the question of the type of personnel required for an enterprise of this description, I mentioned that they should be volunteers as far as that was practicable. The reader may perhaps consider that the meaning of the word "volunteer" was being unduly "stretched" if the men were to be unaware of the real nature of the operation until they were already trained and actually standing by to go across. Nevertheless, the men were volunteers in the true meaning of the word. Let me explain. It was of great importance that no officer or man should take part in the enterprise unless he was "for it," heart and soul. So, as soon as the secret had been made known and the men were thoroughly aware of all the difficulties and risks involved, it was given out that any officers or men who wished to withdraw could do so. It was fully recognised that they might have private reasons for wishing to avoid risks of an unusually high degree. We were not concerned with the nature of such private reasons and we wished to make certain that no pressure was brought to bear for the sake of influencing their decision. They were, therefore, informed that any individual who desired to withdraw should merely give in his name and remain behind. They were further told that no reasons would be asked and, to make doubly certain, that no reasons or explanations of any description would be allowed under any circumstances whatever. That was fair enough. Not a single officer or man withdrew.
Volunteering Spirit
In Vindictive there were several men, of non-combatant rating, who, in the ordinary course of events, were destined to be left behind when the expedition started. They comprised cooks, stewards, canteen-servers, and the like. Some of them were not even naval men, but merely there as representatives of, or workers for, the firm which provided the canteen. They naturally knew the secret and they openly expressed their desire to remain in the ship so as not to miss the fun. We decided to consider such requests. Extra men would come in handy for dealing with the wounded as well as for assisting with the commissariat. Eventually it was decreed that those who volunteered to come over with us should give in their names. As far as I can remember every one of them volunteered. It must be realised that these were not fighting men; their sole training had been that of the camp follower. Small chance of meeting the enemy in hand-to-hand combat would come their way. The work of tending wounded between decks—we already had our full quota of stretcher bearers for working in more exposed positions—and that of providing the necessary sustenance carries little glory or excitement. Nevertheless, these men volunteered and they afterwards rendered splendid service.
Take another case. When the Vindictive was fitting out at Chatham there was an officer on board, remaining from the previous commission, for temporary duty. He knew nothing definite of the coming operation, but evidently thought a good deal. His method of volunteering was to remark: "I don't know, sir, what the old ship is going to do, but it looks like dirty work and I should like to be there." It was vulgar, but expressive. That officer remained with us, and afterwards covered himself with glory.
In the blockships there were also incidents which served to illustrate this thirst for dangerous employment.
Owing to the difficulties of rescue work, as has already been explained, it was decided to send each blockship to her final destination with the smallest possible number of crew; the number in each case amounted to fifty-three. Thirty-four extra men, however, were required for getting each ship to the edge of the danger zone, whilst the fifty-three on whom the final run depended were resting. That meant that in each ship thirty-four men, who knew all about the coming event, who had experienced much hard work and considerable discomfort, were to be disembarked just when the fight was about to begin. One can imagine their feelings, but questions of individual disappointment could not be allowed to affect the plan of action. The disembarkation of these "surplus" crews was to be carried out with the aid of small craft specially detailed for the purpose. In the Intrepid one day there was a minor edition of a mutiny. Several men demanded to see their captain. The latter ordered them to state their business. "Well, sir," said the spokesman, "me and my mates understands as how some of the crew have got to leave the ship on the way across to Zeebruggy. The 'jaunty'[[1]] says it's us lot and we ain't a-goin' to leave."
[[1]] Master-at-arms.
Their captain explained the situation. He pointed out that there would be too many for one rescue boat and that overloading might lead to the loss of everybody. But the men were inclined to be adamant. Finally their captain decided to take a spare gun's crew and ordered the "mutineers" to draw lots for the honour. The sequel is worth recording even if it necessitates anticipating the main story. When this particular blockship stopped during the oversea voyage, the craft detailed to take off her surplus crew failed to appear alongside—she had broken down. So the whole crew went to Zeebrugge and, extraordinary to relate, every soul of them was rescued.
This voluntary spirit was very heartening to all concerned. I have only mentioned a few specific cases, but there were many others of a similar description. It is no exaggeration to say that once the men knew the secret they were more than mere volunteers—they were determined to come across with us.
First Waiting Period
It must not be assumed that all was in readiness as soon as the ships, having been duly fitted out, had assembled at the Swin and embarked their personnel. Much remained to be done. Steam trials, gunnery practices, adjustment of compasses, and tests of all the special material were indulged in. Handling the ships from both the main and auxiliary conning positions, testing communications, manipulating the grappling irons and Mole gangways, drilling the guns' crews and ammunition parties, training the stretcher parties, and giving instruction in first-aid also helped to keep us fully occupied.
Of course it was impossible to practise sinking blockships or taking storming vessels alongside breakwaters. Breakwaters are only to be found in such public places as Dover, Portland, etc.; it would have been inadvisable to publish our intentions in such a manner. Thus, as far as these special vessels were concerned, the seamanship difficulties could not be lessened by proper realistic practice. The suggestion that we might use Hindustan as the Mole did not appeal to us much, especially as the Vindictive was originally built for ramming and consequently had a very large ram; we had no desire to start badly by sinking one of our own battleships.
The life on board Vindictive, uncomfortable as it was owing to our numbers greatly exceeding the normal complement, was not altogether devoid of humour. As one walked round the ship there would be a blood-curdling yell and a party of men with fixed bayonets would charge round a corner and hurl themselves upon an imaginary foe. The steel helmets, gas masks, and respirators gave these men a weird appearance, such as one is unaccustomed to see on board ship. Some carried knob-kerries—loaded ash sticks; others grenades, flame projectors, or machine-guns. There was no half-heartedness about the men. Clearly enough they meant business; we had no misgivings about the result. Those days were busy indeed. When work had finished for the day opportunities for sports arose, and there were occasional concerts in the evenings. The tugs-of-war evoked much friendly rivalry between the various sea regiments—the seamen, stokers, Marine Light Infantry, and Marine Artillery. One afternoon a boxing tournament took place and the fighting augured well for the near future.
One day, two officers from a blockship paid a call on the Vindictive. Visiting cards were not required; we were obviously At Home. But we were quite mystified when one of the officers produced a small chunk of iron and remarked that he had brought it on board in case we ran short of ammunition. He then explained that, during the passage from his vessel, some description of explosive missile had burst within a few yards of his dinghey, and the piece produced had fallen into the boat. Incidentally he accused Vindictive of firing the missile, but we pleaded not guilty or alternatively, as the lawyers say, asserted that he had no right to cross the firing line! Apparently it was a portion of a bomb of sorts fired from one of the ships, fortunately without any other result than to cause considerable merriment to the occupants of the dinghey. Such an incident in the ordinary course of events would have led to very pertinent enquiries, but we were too much preoccupied with the business in hand to worry about such trifles.
The thoughts uppermost in our minds concerned the chances of favourable weather conditions. The barometers came in for an amount of tapping which was not calculated to improve the instruments. We all became weather prophets those days. Many and varied were the daily forecasts.
One night we rolled unpleasantly in a heavy gale and soon after midnight a small vessel was seen firing distress signals. This provided an excellent opportunity for testing our illuminating rockets, by the aid of which we observed a tug struggling to grapple a lighter which was dragging its anchors. The worst aspect of heavy weather was the consequent expenditure of fuel which we could ill spare. Thanks to the Captain of Hindustan our period of waiting was made as comfortable as we could have hoped. He was indefatigable in arranging diversions for our amusement and in keeping us informed of the latest war news. Each day brought more serious reports from the battle front in France and made us all the more anxious to give the enemy a nasty shock whilst cheering up our own troops. During the late evenings most of us sought for quiet corners where we could write letters. I think we all found those letters were very difficult, but one's feelings at such a time are of too private a nature to bear analysis.
The Coming Event
Captain Halahan used to discuss every point of the coming enterprise with me; his insight and keenness were most marked. We often talked far on into the night and always came to the conclusion that however difficult the operation might be for our forces we would not be in the German's shoes for anything. We had a plasticine model of the Mole chiefly constructed from the data obtainable from aerial photographs. Colonel Elliot, commanding the Marine storming parties, and his officers often joined us. We all realised the difficulty of berthing the storming vessels at exactly the desired position alongside the Mole and endeavoured to make the storming plan as elastic as possible. The primary consideration—as far as that phase of the operation was concerned—appeared to be that the ships should secure to the Mole somewhere. The mere presence of the ships, combined with all the attendant noise and fireworks, would create a diversion of no mean order. The actual landing on the Mole and the occurrences that followed would increase the diversion which had already commenced. With regard to Vindictive we originally aimed at securing her alongside the Mole, heading to the westward, with her stern seventy yards westward of the three-gun battery. It was realised that there might be considerable difficulty in recognising one's exact position alongside the outer wall relative to objects on the Mole itself. Eventually, as will be described later, the ship secured to the westward of the designed position, but, though the actual fighting on the Mole was affected, the main object of the diversion was attained.
The blockship officers paid us many visits and we were all very cheery. No less than four old shipmates had come down from my late ship in the Grand Fleet—H.M.S. Emperor of India. It was a curious fact that all five of us were in the thick of the affair and all survived. One commanded the Intrepid with another as one of his officers. One commanded the Daffodil. One was on board Iris. Their services will be mentioned later.
One night we had an Emperor of India dinner on board the Intrepid. A storeroom of sorts did duty for a mess and I think the sub-lieutenant cooked the dinner. There was no serious talk that evening and I don't think we forgot to drink confusion to the enemy. When we broke up the party we little knew that we should be conveying that confusion within twenty-four hours.
I have described our life at the Swin in some detail, but what of the other one hundred and fifty-four craft which were not with us? They were busily preparing too, but, for the most part, were actively engaged in their ordinary Dover Patrol duties at the same time. Little peace can have come their way. The aircraft, too, were very actively employed. Day after day they brought us back photographs of Ostende and Zeebrugge, taken at great risk with a fine contempt for danger. If we wanted the details of any portion of the Mole it was forthcoming, in the shape of an aerial photograph, in a few hours. This work was carried out by the 61st Wing of the Royal Air Force. Special cameras were used for this purpose; I believe that they had been designed by the previous Vice-Admiral at Dover. We studied those photographs with the aid of stereoscopes and magnifying glasses by the hour. But photography was not the only thing required of the aircraft. They had to prepare for the bombing attacks which would provide further diversions; preparation required much observational work both by day and by night. The aircraft detailed for the bombing attacks were drawn from the 65th Wing of the Royal Air Force. These flyers were fine fellows and no less determined to make the affair successful than the rest of us.
Many of the smaller craft were commanded by officers of the Royal Naval Reserve and Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve. I have mentioned elsewhere that the whole success of the operation might, at a critical period, depend upon the action of a single unit. Instructions leaving a high degree of initiative to the recipient were, therefore, necessary. Clear appreciations followed by rapid decisions were required. The Vice-Admiral emphasised that point most strongly. He trusted his men, whether Reserve or Volunteer or otherwise. His trust was not misplaced; all these officers commanding the small craft behaved most admirably, exactly as was expected by those who knew their worth.