CHAPTER XII
THE FIRST ATTEMPT. THE RETURN TO HARBOUR
The first period, during which the tidal and astronomical conditions would be favourable, approached. The period was limited to about half a dozen days for the reasons stated in a previous chapter. The weather looked ominous; none of us were very hopeful of an early start. Those last few days of waiting were rather trying. So many things might happen to prevent the operation from taking place. Some of us were inclined to be apprehensive, not of the result if we once came to grips with the enemy, but of the operation being cancelled, or of its being indefinitely postponed, which generally means the same thing. Another great attack on the Belgian coast had previously been planned and prepared, but had never come off. I hesitate to think of the effect on the general morale of the personnel if our enterprise had suffered the same fate. Disappointment is hard enough to bear at any time, but on such an occasion as this it would have just about broken one's heart.
On the eve of the first day of the first period our anxiety about the weather was tremendous. The wind blew hard that night. The morning had nearly dawned before some of us could make ourselves realise that looking at the weather would not do any good. We endeavoured not to offend it by saying unkind words. We touched wood many times when we gave vent to our hopes bred of optimism. Patience is a virtue indeed. But the first day was obviously unfavourable, so we commenced to wait for the second.
Carry On
At last there was a decided improvement. A state of readiness was ordered. The wind had fallen very light and we were as hopeful as we were anxious to be "up and doing." The order to raise steam was next received and followed shortly after by the order to "carry on" as previously laid down in the time table. All was bustle then. Unnecessary baggage was transhipped to a harbour vessel against the day when some of us might require it. In due course the final arrangements were made and we shortened in our cables. Then we weighed anchors and started off. The officers and men of Hindustan cheered us vigorously; answering cheers were given as we steamed close past her. Vindictive and the blockships all cheered each other, enthusiasm was in the air. Thank goodness we were off at last. Thank goodness, also, that nothing had occurred to prevent our showing what we could do. Those were the thoughts uppermost in our minds.
Iris and Daffodil were sent on ahead so that Vindictive could take them in tow when we were clear of the shoals. It will be remembered that Iris and Daffodil did not possess a high degree of steaming power, either in the way of speed or reliability.
It had, therefore, been decided that Vindictive should tow both these vessels across the sea until in the near vicinity of Zeebrugge Mole; that would help to ensure their arrival. I read afterwards in one account of this affair that Iris and Daffodil towed Vindictive into action!
The squadron formed into "line ahead" in the order Vindictive, Thetis, Intrepid, Iphigenia, Brilliant, and Sirius. The wind was blowing rather weakly, but from a favourable direction. The sea was very calm and, altogether, conditions appeared to be most promising. There were no glum faces in our little community just then. As soon as we had cleared the shoals we all stopped for a few minutes while Vindictive took Iris and Daffodil in tow; that accomplished, we set course for Rendezvous A, where we had to meet the Vice-Admiral and the remaining vessels from Dover. During our passage through the various channels between sandbanks we passed a large number of homeward-bound merchant ships. The contrast between them and our vessels was not merely confined to the matter of appearance.
Each of these merchant ships was just completing a successful operation, namely, that of bringing necessities of life to this country after running the gantlet of the enemy submarines and mines. On the other hand, we were just setting out for the purpose of reducing such risks in the future. One could not help realising the fact that these mercantile mariners had risked their lives over and over again without ostentation, with small hope of glory, with practically no reward. Fine fellows indeed! What a debt of gratitude we all owed them! Some of them, doubtless, had been torpedoed three and four times, losing all their effects each time, but here they were again with yet another voyage to their credit. We overtook a few vessels outward bound with their troubles to come. Some of these ships were neutrals. We wondered what they thought of us and how they would describe us when they arrived at their destinations. We could reckon on the enemy having agents at all the neutral ports with their "ears well trimmed to the wind" when in the presence of neutral mariners from British ports. We also wondered if these neutrals could fail to recognise the difference between British and German treatment of merchantmen at sea, and whether such recognition would not make them chary of talking too much.
Presently we sighted a large number of small craft. They seemed to be dashing up from every direction, at first in an apparently aimless fashion, but presently one recognised the method in their madness. At schedule time we stopped, heading towards our goal. The crowd soon sorted themselves out.
The Vice-Admiral with his flag flying in the destroyer Warwick took up a position of advantage. Destroyers and blockships took small motor craft in tow. Other vessels acted as tugs for the submarines. Motor launches, puffing for all the world as if they lacked training, thus acting an untruth, assembled according to their ultimate duties. Somebody remarked that we resembled a sea-circus, there were so many turns taking place simultaneously. One hardly knew which to admire most. The destroyers throbbing with latent energy, some of them shouting through their safety valves that they were in a hurry to get to business. The motor launches, pretending the sea was rough and often rolling heavily in their pretence, producing a similar impression to that of a certain famous automobile which, though cheap, always "gets there" even if some parts are missing at the end of the journey. The C.M.B.'s (which, being interpreted, signifies Coastal Motor Boats, though the word "coastal" hardly seems appropriate) were tearing through the water and almost leaping into the other element as if to emulate the flying-fish. Perhaps the word "crowd" was most suited to the appearance of this heterogeneous collection of craft, but they were very different from a crowd in their behaviour.
The Signal to Proceed
Punctually at the scheduled hour the signal was hoisted to proceed. The expedition, making its debut as such, set course for the eastward. Enthusiasm was at its highest pitch. Final preparations were then the order of the day. In Vindictive emergency rations and field dressings were distributed. Small arms were inspected, ammunition was stowed ready for use. Demolition charges were placed in a handy position for rapid removal to the Mole, gangways were triced up, bombs were fused, howitzers and flame-throwers were prepared. Hoses were flaked down for fire brigade uses, fire extinguishers were provided in specially dangerous corners, duplicate charts were placed in the conning tower. To guard against the eventuality of all the navigating personnel being rendered hors de combat during the fight or the charts being destroyed, the retirement courses were painted up on the armour inside the conning tower. A year later I found this painting untouched, although the ship had been in the Germans' hands (after being sunk by us at Ostende in May, 1918) for many months—I wondered if they understood its signification. All the other craft in company were equally busy.
We passed through further rendezvous, B and C and D, etc., carefully checking our progress at each so as to ensure working to the time table.
The bombarding and supporting squadrons had proceeded independently. We were accompanied by aircraft during the daylight hours of our passage; their special duty was that of scouting for German aircraft and preventing those that might have seen us from giving any warning of our approach.
The wind gradually became very fitful and made us rather apprehensive of its changing to an unsuitable direction. Surely we were not to be robbed of our long-awaited opportunity at the eleventh hour. Daylight faded into twilight and the latter gave way to darkness. It was a clear night, but as black as india ink. Presently a distant flash of light was seen away to starboard. Then another and another. A compass bearing laid from our charted position gave evidence of something happening at Ostende. Then searchlight beams were seen searching the heavens in an uneasy manner. What could it mean? A hurried glance at the time table explained everything.
A Difficult Decision
Our aircraft had opened the ball. The booming of guns was heard quite plainly and the glare of the flashes was distinctly visible. Zeebrugge then joined in the game. In a little while we could make out the trail of the "flaming onions," rushing heavenwards, hanging stationary for a few seconds, and then slowly falling in their curiously serpentine manner, for all the world like colossal snakes writhing in their death agony. The firing became more intense and we were more anxious than ever to get to work. It was obvious enough that our aircraft—the 65th Wing of the Royal Air Force from Dunkerque—were setting about the enemy in determined fashion. Our turn was to come shortly, according to plan. Alas, "the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley." We had stopped to disembark the surplus blockship crews—if they could be found, and to slip the small craft from their towing hawsers in readiness to penetrate the danger zone. The wind seemed to have died away for a moment and then commenced to blow from a southerly direction.
Seldom has an admiral been faced with such a difficult situation. A decision had to be given, and quickly. The nature of the operation admitted of no delay. The wind at the moment was hopelessly unfavourable for our use of artificial fog. The latter was essential. It would mean sheer slaughter if there were no cover from the shore batteries during the approach. On the other hand, the wind might change again. Here was the whole expedition within a short distance of our objectives. The major part of the passage had been completed in spite of all the difficulties and practically without incident. The aerial attack had commenced. The monitors were shortly to send their messages of destruction hurtling on their way to the enemy. We had been seen by all sorts of neutral vessels. Most of the conditions were favourable—the wind alone was seriously against us. Another chance might never come. He who risks nothing attains nothing. Discretion is the better part of valour. What was it to be?
In all the pages of naval history I cannot remember having come across any occasion where a more difficult decision had to be made. After Teneriffe Nelson had realised his mistake of allowing impetuosity to influence sound reasoning to the extent of attacking when the conditions were unfavourable. Not only was that first attack a failure, but it had foredoomed the second attempt to failure also. The Vice-Admiral avoided the same mistake—he ordered the operation to be cancelled for that night. Much has been written of the attack which eventually took place. References to the Nelson touch have not been unknown. But this latter comparison, as I have shown, was curiously inapt if intended to cover the whole direction of the enterprise.
There was no time for feelings of disappointment. We had to return at utmost speed so as to be ready to start again next day if the conditions allowed. Our bases lay many miles to the westward, but we were heading in an easterly direction. "Course West" was signalled immediately. Vindictive held the honoured post of "Guide of the Fleet." Complete instructions had been laid down for turning round at night. It must be remembered that we had seventy-seven craft in close, very close, company. We duly turned round, hoping that all craft had received the signal. Our hopes were not entirely realised. In a few moments the close company became too close for comfort. Small craft shaved across our bows so narrowly that they left the impression of having gone through us. Shouts were heard, mingled with the puffing and spluttering of internal-combustion engines. We wondered which particular vessel we should sink first. But out of chaos came some semblance of order and presently we were homeward bound without any very serious casualties.
Away in the distance there were occasional gun and searchlight flashes, but the monitors had received the cancellation news in time to preserve their silence. During the turn to the westward one of the small craft, in imminent danger of collision, had momentarily switched on her navigation lights. Others followed suit until our force resembled Brighton Esplanade indulging in a Venetian fete as viewed from the sea. "Out Lights" was immediately ordered and passed from one craft to another by megaphone or flash-lamp; darkness reigned once more as we sped homeward. Although we had shown a blaze of lights, the enemy patrols, we heard afterwards, failed to see us; this was scarcely a token of their efficiency.
Value of the Attempt
So it was a case of "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again." This abortive attempt was by no means without value. We had rehearsed the concentration and the oversea passage of the main force; the other vessels had practised reaching their various destinations; the aircraft had carried out their attack; the routes and navigational aids had been severely tested. Naturally enough much valuable experience had been gained and, after all, no harm had resulted provided that the enemy remained ignorant of our efforts and intentions. But certain incidents had occurred to increase our reliance on the small craft. During the turn to the westward disentanglement without serious accident was only achieved as a result of fine seamanship and initiative on the part of those in command; these qualities had thus been evidenced under most realistic and difficult conditions. We felt that, if they could deal successfully with such a situation as that, they could be relied upon to tackle any situation, however difficult or unexpected.
A couple of incidents that occurred may illustrate the point. During the turning manoeuvre one of the coastal motor boats received a heavy blow in the bows from another craft. A hole resulted and the water commenced to pour through it. She would probably have sunk in a minute or two but for the resource of her commanding officer. He ordered one of the men to sit in the hole. This reduced the inflow of water, but can hardly have been a comfortable proceeding for the individual concerned. The boat was then worked up to high speed. The reader probably knows that the bow of one of these fast motor boats gradually raises itself as speed is increased until the fore part of the boat is completely clear of the water. In this case the hole was above the sea when twenty-seven knots had been attained. The man who had found a new use for his anatomy then withdrew himself. Whether the commanding officer of the boat desired to remain with the guide of the fleet out of sheer friendship or whether he was uncertain of his geographical position, I know not. But he evidently decided to remain in company. Vindictive was steaming at a modest ten knots or so; the motor boat could not afford to proceed at less than twenty-seven knots; so he steamed round and round the remaining seventy-six vessels until daylight, when he was detached to his base.
A Belated Motor Boat
Another coastal motor boat, soon after leaving Dover on the outward trip, developed some defect which put the engines out of action. The young officer in command obtained the services of a trawler to tow him back to Dover, where, on arrival, he had the matter put right. All that took time. He started off again about five hours late. Now, the occupants of this boat had no intention of missing the affair for which they had prepared so long. They decided to get to Zeebrugge as soon as possible—at full speed they might yet be in time. So at full speed they went, straight as a die for their goal, right across nets, mines, and shoals. The sixty miles were covered in less than two hours. The aerial attack was in full swing. Searchlight beams were passing dangerously near them, the heavens were filled with bursting shell and flaming onions. Suddenly out of the darkness loomed some black shapes—"Houses ahead!" shouted somebody. "Hard-a-starboard and stop her!" As she turned round to seaward they made out the town of Blankenberghe; they had escaped running ashore by the narrowest of margins.
On they went again for Zeebrugge Mole. Things were quieter now. That was strange in itself. What had happened to the long-range bombardment? Where were the smoke screens and why was nothing happening at the Mole? Our ships must be much overdue. Whatever could it mean? Presently some strange craft were seen and a moment later the motor boat was under fire. So she sheered off and the commanding officer did some hard thinking. There was only one possible explanation—the operation must have been postponed. So the next item on her programme was to return to Dover. It wouldn't do to be late getting back, so away they went—hell for leather—straight across everything once more. And they arrived back at Dover, after having completed the whole voyage both ways, before their confrères who were with the main force!
At dawn we had completed most of the open-sea passage on the return journey. The force split up—the various units deconcentrated.
Vindictive and her old friends returned to her home of the last few weeks. The Hindustan's enthusiasm of the day before gave place to curiosity. The former positions in the anchorage were reoccupied. Coaling was then the order of the day; not a moment was to be wasted; with luck we might start again before nightfall.
But it was not to be. The conditions were hopeless and perhaps that was all for the best. We needed some rest. As soon as everything was in readiness for the second attempt, we piped down and then, for the first time, we had a chance to talk things over.
It would be untrue to say that we were not disappointed. The fear of indefinite postponement was now much stronger. But everybody realised to the full that the chances of success under adverse conditions were practically nil. Discussion paved the way to many suggestions of improvement—at any rate, we intended to derive what benefit we could from the abortive attempt.