Chapter II
THE HELIGOLAND BIGHT ACTION[ToC]
CHAPTER II
THE HELIGOLAND BIGHT ACTION
The plan—The sweep by the Harwich Force—The destroyers in action—Arethusa's duel with the Frauenlob—Off Heligoland again—Action with German light cruisers—The Mainz sunk—End of the Arethusa.
The first naval action of the war was that in the Bight of Heligoland. In this the Harwich Forces played a notable part. The Harwich submarine flotilla under Commodore Roger Keyes (now Vice-Admiral Sir Roger Keyes) had a good deal to do with the preparation for the battle. At the beginning of the war these submarines were sent to guard the approaches to the English Channel, their object being to prevent any portion of the German fleet from passing through the straits and attacking the ships that were conveying our first Expeditionary Force to France. While thus employed they did valuable work in observing the movements of the enemy light forces in the North Sea. Acting on the information supplied by the submarines, the Commander-in-Chief decided to send the fast ships of the Harwich Force to make a sweep of the North Sea up to Heligoland and cut off enemy light craft known to be operating within that area.
August 28 was the day appointed for this raid. The Harwich submarines were sent out in advance to scout and to attack any enemy ships that might issue from the German bases to support their light craft. At the same time, from the Grand Fleet base, a squadron of cruisers was sent to the westward of Heligoland in order to intercept the German light craft should the Harwich Force succeed in cutting them out and driving them to the west. Beatty, with battle cruisers and light cruisers, went to an appointed position to be in readiness to support the Harwich Force when the time came. Probably one of the objects of this expedition was to entice the German capital ships to come out from their base and fight. If so, the expedition, though quite successful in its other aims, failed in that respect. For even at this early stage of the war the enemy refused to accept the challenge of the British Navy. The fighting took place within thirty miles of the German base. Within a very short time the enemy could have put an overwhelming force into action against our ships. But he did not do so, and allowed his light cruisers and destroyers to be sunk within hearing of his passive battleships and battle cruisers.
So on the morning of August 28 the Harwich Force, composed of two light cruisers—the Arethusa, Commodore Tyrwhitt's flagship, and the Fearless, commanded by Captain W.F. Blunt—with forty destroyers, were sweeping round towards Heligoland. This, of course, was very early in the war, and the Arethusa, a brand-new ship, had had no time to carry out her gun practice and complete other preparations when she was ordered out. At 4 a.m. the Arethusa and twenty of the destroyers were within seventy miles of Heligoland, sweeping down towards the island at twenty knots, the Fearless and the other twenty destroyers following five miles astern. The weather was fine, but when it is not rough in the North Sea it is usually misty, and it was so on this occasion, the visibility being only 5000 yards. Just before 7 a.m. an enemy destroyer appeared on Arethusa's port bow. One of our destroyer divisions was ordered to chase her. This, as one who took part in the action put it, "started the ball." The fog lifted a bit, and the sun's rays occasionally broke through it. And now out of the mists ahead loomed several objects which proved to be enemy destroyers and torpedo-boats. It was evident that the Harwich Force had run into the patrols that it had been sent to seek out. A very brisk engagement was now fought between our destroyers and those of the enemy. In the course of this destroyer action, the 4th Destroyer Division, composed of the Liberty, Laurel, Lysander, and Laertes, engaged an enemy light cruiser and torpedoed her, but did not put her out of action. Both Liberty and Lysander were a good deal knocked about and had numerous casualties, the captain of the Liberty being among the killed.
A curious incident occurred at the close of this destroyer action. Another of our destroyer divisions had engaged and sunk an enemy destroyer. The British destroyer Defender had lowered a boat to save the survivors, who were struggling in the water. The boat had picked up several of the men, when a German light cruiser opened fire both upon our destroyers and upon the boat. The order came to the Defender and the other destroyers to retire at once, and this they had to do, leaving the boat behind. To the men in the boat the outlook was not a cheerful one. Imprisonment in Germany for the duration of the war seemed their probable fate. But the retirement of the enemy had by this time commenced, and the German light cruiser which had been shelling them now steamed away without stopping to pick them up. At this juncture, while the enemy light cruiser was still in sight, there popped up close to the boat the periscope of a submarine. The submarine rose to the surface, and to the delight of our men proved to be British—the E4, under the command of Captain E.W. Leir. She took off the British sailors and a few sample Huns, and, not having accommodation for more, left the other Germans in the boat, having first provided them with biscuit, water, and a compass.
It was ascertained afterwards that this boat never reached Heligoland, though that island was but a few miles distant and the weather remained fine. The probable explanation is that the Germans, recognising the English build of the boat, concluded that she contained British sailors, so sank it with gunfire and left the men to drown, as is the custom of the Huns.
And now to turn back to the flagship and the Fearless and the main force of destroyers, which were engaging the enemy destroyers and torpedo-boats. Shortly before 8 a.m. a German light cruiser was sighted on the Arethusa's port bow. The Arethusa at once attacked her; but the German was apparently unwilling to continue the fight and made away to the eastward.
But while the Arethusa was engaging her yet another German light cruiser, identified as the Frauenlob, appeared on the scene, and she was quite ready for a duel with her opposite number. The Arethusa engaged her closely, the two ships for a while steering on converging courses. The Arethusa at last closed the range to 3500 yards. The Frauenlob's fire was remarkably accurate. Within ten minutes the Arethusa was hit thirty-five times, with a loss of twelve killed, including the flag lieutenant, who was on the bridge, and twenty wounded. The Arethusa all the while was pouring in a deadly fire with her six-inch guns, and the Frauenlob must have been in a sorry plight. At last a six-inch shell, striking her on her bridge, knocked her out. For she at once turned and steamed away to the eastward as fast as she was able. A curious incident occurred in the course of this duel between the two ships. The Arethusa's cook, who at the time was in the galley preparing the men's breakfast—for a ship's domestic arrangements cannot be disturbed by battle—had one of his arms shot away. He might have bled to death, but, seeing an empty cigarette tin, promptly clapped it on the stump and so saved his life.
Heligoland, only five miles distant, now became visible, looming large through the mist. The Arethusa and the destroyers had accomplished their work, for the enemy light cruisers, destroyers, and torpedo-boats were all seen to be hurrying home. The Harwich Force, its object achieved, turned round and steered westward for England, for with crippled vessels the danger of remaining longer in enemy waters was, of course, very great. The Arethusa had been severely knocked about. All her torpedo tubes had been smashed. Her feed tank had been holed, and the engineer commander reported that he could now only get twelve knots instead of thirty out of her. The enemy had also employed shrapnel against her with such effect that her bridge and upper works were as indented as a nutmeg-grater; and on almost any part of her decks one could stoop and pick up a handful of shrapnel fragments, so thick they lay. But in a short time the ship had been cleared up, disabled guns had been repaired, and the casualties had been replaced by other men.
About one hour after the Harwich Force had turned and started for home, the Arethusa, limping along, picked up a wireless message from the destroyer Lurcher, attached to the Harwich submarine flotilla, reporting that she was being pursued by five enemy light cruisers off Heligoland. On receiving this message Commodore Tyrwhitt immediately turned back to support the Lurcher. The peril of taking such a course with a crippled flagship needs no explaining, but the old traditions of the sea make a commander very loth, in any circumstances, to refrain from going to the aid of a friend in difficulties. In the course of this war our ships have often thus hurried to the succour of others in the face of fearful odds. Over-rashness may have been displayed on occasion. But let us regard another side of the question. What confidence and spirit it must give to our men to feel that, if menaced by deadly peril, they can rely upon their comrades to come to their help if it is humanly possible to do so! A Navy that has no soul, in which a commander will coldly calculate the exact risk before deciding whether the game is quite worth the candle, will never achieve great things.
So the flagship, the Fearless, and the two destroyer flotillas, having turned, steamed back to the eastward for one hour and were once more within a few miles of Heligoland. They found themselves on a sea empty of ships; no more wireless messages from the Lurcher reached the Arethusa, and as nothing could be seen or heard of that vessel, the quest was at last abandoned and the order was given to steam once more to the westward for home.
The mist now gradually thickened. At about 10 a.m., shortly after the squadron had turned, a light cruiser was seen coming out of the fog on the Arethusa's port quarter. For a second or so it was thought that she was one of our own ships. On being challenged she flashed some signals. Then a ripple of flame ran along her sides, and she displayed her true colours by opening fire on the flagship. The light cruiser Fearless and the destroyers, though they had but few torpedoes left, attacked her in a most gallant fashion and succeeded in driving her off. But, doubtless knowing that the Arethusa was in a crippled condition and that other German ships were coming up, she soon returned to resume the attack. And now another enemy light cruiser suddenly loomed on the Arethusa's starboard quarter and joined in the fight. The British ships were now fighting a retiring action, our destroyers doing splendid work, zigzagging over the sea and losing no opportunity of vigorously attacking the enemy, thus covering the retirement.
But now there came up on our squadron's front yet another enemy light cruiser, the Mainz, to take part in the action. So our ships were being attacked on all sides, and despite the bravery of the defence the situation must have appeared somewhat desperate. Our destroyers attacked the new arrivals, giving them no respite. The Mainz put up a great fight against the destroyers that were harassing her. Her fire was accurate; she put two of the destroyers out of action.
At this juncture there came up out of the mist our own 1st Light Cruiser Squadron, and with its assistance the Mainz was finished off and sunk. Shortly afterwards our battle cruiser squadron hove in sight. This brought the enemy's attack on our light force to an end, and the German ships turned and made for home. But they had fallen into a trap from which there was no escape. The Arethusa, after she had passed through our light cruiser squadron, came suddenly out of the fog into blue sky and glorious sunshine. Behind her to the eastward rose like a wall the dense fog-bank concealing all from view; but there was heard coming out of the fog-bank the roar of a tremendous cannonading. It was the roar of the guns of Beatty's ships which attacked and sank the remaining two German light cruisers.
The fight was over for the ships of the Harwich Force; they slowly steamed homeward, the Arethusa crawling ever slower, the salt water getting into her boilers, while such of our destroyers as had been badly damaged were being towed back. But none of the ships was lost; they all got safely into harbour. At 7 p.m. the Arethusa was compelled to stop her engines, and two hours later she was taken in tow by the Hogue and taken to Chatham, where I happened to be when she arrived. Looking at her battered condition, one wondered that her casualties had not been even heavier than they were. I wish that I could have supplemented this brief description with the narratives of some of the destroyer captains who had fought their ships so gallantly. Among other honours given, the D.S.O. was conferred on Captain W.F. Blunt, the captain of the Fearless light cruiser, in recognition of his repeated vigorous and dashing attacks on the enemy.
In the course of this action we had not lost a ship, and our ships that had been damaged were repaired and at sea again within a few weeks; whereas the enemy had lost three light cruisers and one destroyer, and withdrew with many ships badly damaged.
As for the Arethusa, her repairs were made good at Chatham, and a month later she was able to rejoin the Harwich Force. She had further adventures and narrow escapes, but her life, if stirring and most useful to her country, was a short one, and her end was tragic. In February 1916, only eighteen months after she had been launched, while returning from an attempt to intercept an enemy force, she was struck by a mine off Felixstowe, and her engines were disabled by the explosion, which killed eleven men in her boiler-room. A south-east gale was blowing and a high sea was running. Attempts were made to take her in tow, but the hawsers parted, and she drifted helplessly on to the Cutler shoal in a sinking condition. Her back was broken, and she fell in two.
A dreadful incident of this tragedy was the attempt of a stoker, maddened by pain, to escape from below by climbing up the inside of the funnel. He was seen appearing over the top of the funnel, and was helped down. His clothes had all been burnt off; his injuries were terrible, and he shortly afterwards died. The fate of the stokers trapped below, when disaster comes in this fashion, is a feature of naval warfare horrible to contemplate.
One of the Arethusa's stokers, by the way, must have been a very powerful sleeper. While the ship was breaking up and all the survivors—so it was supposed—had been taken off, a man appeared on a portion of the wreck, waving his hand for help. He was rescued, and proved to be a stoker, who had been sleeping below tranquilly through the explosion, the wreck, and the breaking up of the ship. It was only when he was awash and the water was pouring over his face that he woke to the situation.