SUCCESS
On July 11 the second attack was made, but made in a very different manner from the first. Once more let us allow the same writer to complete the story:
“We went to General Quarters at 10:40 A.M. and were inside the entrance by 11:40. How well we seemed to know the place! I knew exactly where the beastly field guns at the mouth would open fire and exactly when they would cease—as we pushed in, and so if their shots went over us they would land on the opposite bank among their own troops. Very soon came the soft whistle of the shell, then again and again—but we were nearing the entrance and they turned on the Mersey. They hit her twice, wounding two men and knocking down the after 6-inch gun crew—none was hurt, however. I spotted a boat straight ahead making across the river for dear life—they may only have been natives, but we fired the 6-inch at them till they leapt ashore and disappeared.
“Up the river we went. I knew each creek, and almost each tree, and as before we blazed into them just before we passed.
“We left the Mersey at the place where we anchored last time in the hope that she would draw the Koenigsberg’s fire and leave us a free hand. The Koenigsberg, however, fired one salvo at her and then for the rest of the day concentrated on us. She was plugging us for seventeen minutes before we could return her fire. The salvoes of four were dropping closer than ever if possible and afterwards almost every man in the ship found a bit of German shell on board as a souvenir. They were everywhere—in the sandbags, on the decks, round the engine room—but not a soul was even scratched!
“We went on higher up the river than last time and finally anchored just at the top of ‘our’ old island. As the after 6-inch gun’s crew were securing the stern anchor two shells fell, one on either side, within three feet of the side, and drenched the quarter-deck. It was a very critical time. If she hit us we were probably finished, and she came as near as possible without actually touching. I had bet 5s. that she would start with salvoes of four guns, and I won my bet. They did not last long, however, once we opened fire. It was a near thing, and had to end pretty quickly one way or the other. We had received orders that she must be destroyed, and the captain, the night before, had told all hands assembled on the quarter-deck that we had to do it. We intended to go up nearer and nearer, and if necessary sight her. Of course we could not have gone through it—but there is no doubt that on the 11th it was either the monitors or the Koenigsberg.
“We had no sooner anchored and laid the guns (the chart proved to be one mile out in the distance from us to the Koenigsberg!) than the aeroplane signalled she was ready to spot. Our first four salvoes, at about one minute interval, were all signalled as ‘Did not observe fall of shot.’ We came down 400, then another 400 and more to the left. The next was spotted as 200 yards over and about 200 to the right. The next 150 short and 100 to the left. The necessary orders were sent to the guns, and at the seventh salvo we hit with one and were just over with the other. We hit eight times in the next twelve shots! It was frightfully exciting. The Koenigsberg was now firing salvoes of three only. The aeroplane signalled all hits were forward, so we came a little left to get her amidships. The machine suddenly signalled ‘Am hit: coming down; send a boat.’ And there she was about half way between us and the Koenigsberg planing down. As they fell they continued to signal our shots, for we, of course, kept firing. The aeroplane fell into the water about 150 yards from the Mersey and turned a somersault; one man was thrown clear, but the other had a struggle to get free. Finally both got away and were swimming for ten minutes before the Mersey’s motor-boat reached them—beating ours by a short head. They were uninjured and as merry as crickets!
“We kept on firing steadily the whole time, as we knew we were hitting—about one salvo a minute. The Koenigsberg was now firing two guns; it is hard to be certain, as there was much to do and a good noise going on. Still, within seventeen minutes of our opening fire I noticed and logged it down that she was firing two. She may have been reduced to that before, but she never fired more after.
“In a very short time there was a big explosion from the direction of the Koenigsberg, and from then on she was never free from smoke—sometimes more, sometimes less; at one moment belching out clouds of black smoke, then yellow, with dull explosions from time to time. We kept on firing regularly ourselves, one salvo to the minute—or perhaps two salvoes in three minutes, but the gun-layers were told to keep cool and make sure of their aim. There was one enormous explosion which shot up twice as high as the Koenigsberg’s masts, and the resulting smoke was visible from our deck. The men sent up a huge cheer.
“For some time now we had had no reply from the Koenigsberg. At 12:53 I fancy she fired one gun, but I was not certain. She certainly did not fire afterwards. As our guns were getting hot we increased the range from 9,550 to 9,575, and later to 9,625—as when hot the shots are apt to fall short. Fine columns of smoke, black, white, and yellow, and occasional dull reports rewarded us, but we were making no mistake and kept at it. The aeroplane was not available, and we had no one to spot for us, remember; still we could see the K.’s masts from our foretop, and the smoke, etc., told its own tale.
“Another aeroplane turned up, and we now signalled the Mersey to pass on up stream and open fire nearer. She gave us a great cheer as she passed.
“We raised our topmast and had a look at the Koenigsberg. She was a fine sight. One mast was leaning over and the other was broken at the maintop, and smoke was pouring out of the mast as out of a chimney. The funnels were gone, and she was a mass of smoke and flame from end to end. We had done all the firing which had destroyed her. The Mersey only started afterwards. That was part of the plan. Only one ship was to fire at a time, and then there could be no possible confusion in the spotting corrections; it was a lesson we learned on the Tuesday before! We started. The Mersey was then to move up past her and fire for an hour and so on. Fortunately it was not necessary, and as it turned out would have been impossible. If we had gone on we should probably be there now! When the Mersey passed us she struck a bar about 1,000 yards higher up, and after trying to cross in two different places 100 yards apart, anchored for firing. There was only eight feet of water on the bar and the tide was falling. If we had got up we should probably have had to wait twelve hours for high tide, and probably the Germans would have annoyed us from the banks!
“The Mersey fired about twenty salvoes and made several hits, and as the aeroplane had signalled ‘O. K.’ (target destroyed) we prepared to leave the river. Before we went the Gunnery Lieutenant and myself went to the top of the mast to get a better view, and I took a photo of the smoke, resting the camera on the very top of the topmast! The Captain came up too, and there were the three of us clinging to the lightning conductor with one arm, glasses in the other, and our feet on the empty oil drum we had fixed up there as a crow’s-nest.
“Just as we were starting back we saw some telegraph poles crossing a creek behind us. It was undoubtedly the communication used by the German spotters. We let fly with everything and smashed them up. A pole is not an easy thing to hit, and I expect the destruction of those two cost the Government about £300 in ammunition.
“All the way down we swept the banks and made up our minds to knock out the field guns at the mouth if we possibly could. We tried our best, but I don’t think we touched them. They fired on us till we were out of range. They did not hit—but I saw one fragment about six inches by one inch picked up on the boat deck.
“Two tugs were waiting over the bar, and after giving us a cheer took us on tow to help us back to Trent. The Weymouth, with the Admiral on board, came round and then passed us at speed; all hands lined the ship and, led by the small white figure of the Admiral on the bridge, gave us three splendid cheers. It was one of the finest sights I have ever seen. We answered back—and what a difference there was to our cheers of Tuesday last. We made about three times the noise....
“I went to the Captain’s cabin for half an hour to copy out the notes I had taken. From the very first shot we fired I kept a record of every shot fired by the 6-inch guns, and all I could see or hear round about, writing something every minute, i.e. 12:37 2 guns. H.T. J.M. 12:38 2 guns. H.T. 12:38½ (Koenigsberg firing 2). Column of smoke; aeroplane hit and coming down, etc.
“I ought to explain that ‘J.M.,’ ‘B.F.,’ ‘F.20,’ ‘G.15,’ ‘H.T.,’ and so on are signals from the aeroplanes. ‘H.T.’ means ‘a hit.’ In order to make sure of the right letters having passed the man shouts not ‘H.T.’ alone, ‘H. for Harry, T for Tommy,’ and then there can be no confusion. The man at the voice pipe in the conning tower simply roared out ‘H. for Harry, T. for Tommy,’ each time it was signalled. Well, when I was making my copy in his cabin on the way back, the Captain came in for a moment. He leaned his hand quietly on my shoulder and with a huge sigh said, ‘If ever I live to have a son, his name shall be Harry Tommy!’ I firmly believe he meant it too, at the time!”
If the people in Severn and Mersey had had a narrow squeak for it, not once but a dozen times, from Koenigsberg’s salvoes, the spotting party in the aeroplane must have had just as exciting a time. And, as we have seen from the foregoing account, with them Koenigsberg was more fortunate. On July 11th everything was against Lieutenant Cull, the first pilot to go up, and Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Arnold, who was acting as observer. To begin with it was a cloudy day, and the machine had to be kept dangerously low if the observer was to do his work. The aeroplane got over the target at about 12:20, while Mersey was firing hard. But this fire of the Mersey had nothing to do with the organized effort to destroy the enemy. It was merely a blind—an effort to get the enemy’s observer on land to deflect the fire on that ship on to Mersey, while Severn got ready for the real work. The aeroplane, therefore, paid no attention to Mersey’s fire and telegraphed no observations. Ten minutes later Severn opened fire and Mersey ceased. Mersey’s diversion did for a time bring Koenigsberg’s guns in her direction. But no sooner did Severn open fire than she got the full benefit of Koenigsberg’s salvoes of four, which followed each other at intervals of about a minute. Five minutes after Severn opened at 12:30, Koenigsberg’s salvoes began to straddle her. Nine minutes after Severn opened fire the aeroplane signalled first hit. And less than ten minutes after that Lieutenant Arnold telegraphed ‘We are hit; send boat.’ In point of fact, it is probable that the aeroplane’s engine had been slightly injured earlier. For, dangerously low as the machine had to fly at the beginning, it was found impossible to keep even at that height, and as it got lower and slower, it obviously became an easier mark for the Koenigsberg’s 12-pounders. At 12:46 a terrific bump was felt in the machine, and shortly afterwards the engine broke up with a rattle and a crash, and there was nothing for it but to start sliding down. Imagine the situation! The machine, between 3,000 and 4,000 feet in the air, nearly three miles from the monitors; the only possible hope of safety to make this long glide and then to land—if the bull may be permitted—in a narrow strip of river bordered by impenetrable bush—the bush dotted with lofty trees! If the machine missed the river and hit the trees, it was certain death wherever it landed. If it missed the trees and hit the river, there was palpably no safety unless it was within a very short distance of the monitors. For nowhere else did the pilot and observer stand the faintest chance of rescue. A situation more absolutely desperate could hardly be imagined.
It was certainly not one in which the seemingly doomed occupants could have been blamed if they had thought of their safety and of nothing else. But while the pilot was, quite properly, concentrating his attention on performing as nice a feat in flying as can be imagined, Flight-Lieutenant Arnold, content to leave this matter in the skilled hands of his comrade, continued imperturbably to carry on his duties.
Severn, having got the range, naturally continued firing. Flight-Lieutenant Arnold, having been sent up to observe, continued observing, and each shot that he observed, on what must have seemed his last glide to certain death, was signalled to the control parties on board the monitor. The gist of this was that six out of ten shots were hitting, and apparently were hitting steadily, but all were striking Koenigsberg in the bows. Arnold’s last achievement as an observer was to deflect this fire amidships and to the stern. And he had hardly succeeded before the ‘plane crashed into the water 500 yards from the Mersey. Mersey had her motor-boat ready and it was sent full speed to the rescue. Arnold had no difficulty in getting himself free, but Lieutenant Cull was not so fortunate. In the excitement of his task he had forgotten to loosen the straps that held his belt and feet, and was fairly under water before he realized his predicament. How he wrenched himself free of these impediments is somewhat difficult to understand, and it is not surprising that his apparel suffered somewhat severely from his efforts. When he came to the surface he found Arnold scrambling about the wrecked machine in search of him, and both were got safely into the boat. The machine, smashed and waterlogged in the river, was of course past saving, and there was nothing for it but to demolish it. Take it all in all, few prettier pieces of work in the air—whether we look at the flight craftsmanship of the thing, or the practical use that the last moments of flight were put to—have yet been recorded.