II.
Altercations with Hun seaplanes were by no means uncommon, and their novelty soon wore off.
The North Sea is not celebrated for its clear weather, and in it one's horizontal range of vision is frequently restricted to four miles or less. The vertical visibility, when the clouds are lying low, is sometimes a few hundred feet, while in summer the absence of wind and the heat of the sun often bring fog or a luminous low-lying haze. Moreover, when there is any mist it is presumably easier for an aeroplane to see the comparatively large bulk of a ship upon the sea than it is for the ship to spot the slender shape of the aeroplane overhead.
In the earlier days of the war, when the flotilla and a couple or more light cruisers in massed formation were nosing round not far from the German coast, according to their habit, it was disconcerting, to say the least of it, suddenly to see a neat little line of four or five equally spaced upheavals of water close alongside one or other of the ships. It was more disconcerting still to hear the loud thud of the explosions, and to realise that they were caused by bombs dropped from the heavens for one's benefit by an aerial Hun of most immoral character. An aeroplane bomb exploding ashore may quite conceivably do comparatively little damage; but if the same missile descends upon the deck of a small ship the vessel will be severely injured, and may possibly sink. It is not pleasant to get into difficulties and to have one's ship incapable of movement within a short distance of a hostile coast. It is still more unpleasant to have her sink in the same locality.
On seeing the explosions one instinctively looked overhead, and there, flying low and dimly outlined in the haze, was usually the shape of a hostile seaplane, the inevitable black crosses on his wings proclaiming his nationality. In misty weather he often succeeded in approaching unseen, and sometimes dropped his unsavoury eggs before the anti-aircraft guns could get to work and make his life a misery and a burden. No sooner had he done his dirty work, moreover, than he either climbed and vanished in the clouds, or else circled rapidly round and disappeared whence he had come. His departure was always hastened by a burst of fire from every gun which would bear, but one rarely had a real chance of strafing him, for the whole affair was usually all over and done with in a minute or two. It was good luck that his aim was bad and that his bombs invariably missed, though sometimes they missed so close that people on deck were drenched with spray, and spent the rest of the day searching for splinters to keep as mementoes. If one had struck—— But what was the good of considering the possibility? At any rate, it was always very comforting to realise that a ship under way presents a very small and difficult target to a seaplane at the best of times; while, however numerous and thickly clustered a fleet, squadron, or flotilla may be, there is always far and away more area of water than there is of ships.
When the weather was really clear the boot was generally on the other foot, for then the seaplanes were usually driven off before they could get overhead. A good lookout was always kept, and at the first sight of a speck like a mosquito on the horizon, a mosquito which presently assumed the shape and proportions of a dragon-fly, the anti-aircraft guns' crews came tumbling up to their stations, and the muzzles of their weapons started twitching ominously. Then, when the Hun arrived within range, they let drive and let him have it.
With the older type of anti-aircraft gun, shooting at an aeroplane reminded one of trying to bring down a snipe with a Webley revolver. But now that we are provided with the best sort of weapon which brains and money can produce, the process of strafing the aerial Hun may be likened to dealing with the aforesaid bird with a 12-bore hammerless ejector loaded with No. 8 shot. The odds, of course, are usually on the snipe or the Hun, as the case may be, but more often than not we succeed in being accurate enough to make him supremely uncomfortable.
So the shooting with the A.A. guns was generally good. Puffs of smoke from the exploding shell darted out into space all round their target. The blue sky speedily became pock-marked with the white, bulbous, cotton-wool-like clusters, each one contributing its share of splinters to the unpleasantness of the upper atmosphere. The Hun as speedily retired. But not always. Sometimes he climbed high to get out of range, and then, at a height of twelve thousand to fourteen thousand feet, when scarcely visible, dropped his bombs. But the higher he went the more erratic became his practice, so really it did not matter much.
Occasionally, in the vicinity of their own coast, he and his friends attacked in coveys of six, seven, or a dozen at a time, and then things became very lively, and the A.A. guns had the time of their lives. Once the Huns attacked continuously from eight A.M. until noon. There were never less than three of them in range at any one time, and each one, after dropping his noisome cargo, hurried back to his base for a fresh consignment, and then returned for another strafe. But the bombs always fell wide, and in course of time people came to treat seaplane attacks with positive indifference. In early days all in the ship who could get away came on deck to watch the fun. They indulged in loud and ribald remarks, and gave the benefit of their advice to the men at the guns, to the Hun or Huns, and to anybody else who cared to listen. They also jeered uproariously when bombs fell a few yards wide and deluged them with water, and fought madly for any splinters which might fall on board. But later on, when they got used to the feeling, the advent of a seaplane or two did not disturb them very much, particularly if it was soon after the midday meal, and they had composed themselves for short naps on the sunny deck before recommencing their labours in the afternoon.
It seems that the British sailor, like his comrade in the trenches, can get used to anything. Moreover, the war seems to have set a new standard of excitement, and what will happen when hostilities cease and the men have to go back to the humdrum life of peace I really do not know. It would seem impossible to raise much real enthusiasm over regattas, boxing competitions, picture-palaces, or football matches after playing the far more thrilling game with men's lives and ships for the stakes.
But bluejackets are always peculiar people, and the most trivial happenings in the midst of the most appalling danger cause them the greatest amusement. In one merry little destroyer action in the North Sea one of the British vessels was having a very hot time, and a bursting shell caused a small fire in the engine-room. It was promptly extinguished by the fire-party under the charge of the chief stoker, and shortly afterwards an officer noticed this worthy coming aft with broad grins all over his face.
'What's the joke?' he wanted to know, for it struck him as rather peculiar that a man should be so much amused at such a time.
'I carn't 'elp larfin', sir!' said the man, bubbling over with glee. 'We 'ad a bit of a bonfire in the hengine-room jest now, sir, an' w'en I 'ears 'em 'ollerin' I runs along with the 'ose-pipe, shoves the end of 'im down the hengine-room 'atch, an' switches the water on.'
'What is there funny about that?' queried the officer.
'Only that we 'arf-drownded the Chief E.R.A., 'oo was standin' at the foot o' the ladder, sir,' gurgled the man. 'Funniest thing I've see'd fur a long time. 'E ain't got a dry stitch on 'im, and 'is langwidge was somethink 'orrid.' He finished with another cackle of amusement, and went off to spin the yarn to some one else.
At the time of the incident, which has the merit of being quite true, the ship was undergoing a very hot fire. Shell were falling all round her, and splinters were whistling through the air in all directions, and for the man to be convulsed with genuine merriment at the wetting of the chief engine-room artificer, at a moment when he himself was in imminent peril of his life, speaks well for his nerve. It rather reminds one of the true story of two marines, the loading numbers at the after-gun of a light cruiser which shall be nameless. She too was in the middle of a strenuous little action when a shell burst on board, and shortly afterwards both men saw a most desirable memento in the shape of a splinter lying on the deck. They made a simultaneous dart to secure the trophy, but Jones got there first.
''Ere!' said Smith, bitterly aggrieved, ''old on. I saw 'im first!'
'I've got 'im first!' chortled Jones, stooping down and picking up the morsel of steel. 'Ow!' he yelled the next instant, dropping it as if it had stung him, and sucking his fingers; 'the bloomin' thing's red-'ot!'
'Serve you ruddy well right,' retorted Smith. 'It ain't yourn, any'ow. You leave it alone!'
'I tell you it is mine,' answered the burnt gentleman. 'I got 'im first!'
'Look 'ere, Jones, if you carn't play fair I'll give you a punch on the jaw; s'welp me I will. I'm bigger'n wot you are, and I tells you I see'd the bloomin' thing first!'
'I got 'old of 'im first, an' don't care wot you says an' does,' exclaimed Jones, putting his foot on the coveted fragment. 'I'——
Further conversation was interrupted by the advance of Smith, and in another instant the quarterdeck of H.M.S. —— was the scene of an impromptu battle. It would have been quite a pretty little tussle, for Smith was large, breathless, and bulky, while Jones was thin and wiry; but unfortunately the gunlayer, a sergeant, noticed that something was amiss with his weapon, and removed his eye from the telescopic sight.
'Here, you two,' he shouted, 'behave yourselves, and get on with loading the gun!'
''E's tryin' to pinch my splinter, sargint!' wailed Jones, applying a grimy hand to a rapidly swelling eye. 'I got 'im first!'
'No, sargint, 'e's a liar,' Smith cried with an air of injured innocence; 'I see'd it first!'
'Can't help that!' roared the N.C.O. 'Get along with the loading of the gun, and hafter the haction don't you forget I takes you both before the officer of the watch for unseemly conduc' and neglec' of dooty in the face of the enemy!'
The malcontents, rather crestfallen, ceased their bickering, and the gun went on firing. But the sergeant, a strict disciplinarian, was as good as his word. Smith and Jones, both good characters, were let off lightly. They each received fourteen days' No. 10 punishment for their misdeeds. The sergeant, a Solomon in his way, appropriated the shell-splinter and presented it to his wife.