III
It was on August 28 that Sir John Jellicoe first tried his hand at the surprise game of the Germans. It was a brilliant success.
Out of the morning mist our ships crept and caught a German cruiser squadron lying in supposed safety under the guns of Heligoland. We sank the German protected cruiser Mainz and another cruiser of the same class, while a third cruiser “disappeared” in the mist, heavily on fire, and in a sinking condition. We also badly damaged some smaller craft, while our own ships got off very lightly. But we had to mourn the loss of sixty-nine men killed and wounded, including Lieut.-Commander Nigel Barttelot and Lieut. Eric Westmacott among the killed.
All the ships which took part in this action had the words “Heligoland, August 28, 1914,” painted in gold letters in a conspicuous place aboard them. But special honour was paid to the light cruiser Arethusa.
This gallant little ship showed herself worthy of her name, which is one of the most glorious in the Navy.
In recognition of the notable part she played in the fight, the Admiralty ordered the famous old song of “The Saucy Arethusa” to be engraved upon a brass plate and set up in a prominent place on board the ship. The first verse runs:
“Come all ye sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,
While English glory I unfold,
Huzza for the Arethusa!
Her men are staunch
To their favourite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we’ll all expire
On board of the Arethusa.”
The Arethusa, which flew the broad pennant of Commodore Tyrwhitt (this is the special flag always flown by commodores), was chosen for the honour of leading the attack.
At the head of a line of destroyers, which are small but very fast vessels, she sallied forth, intending to cut off the German ships and drive them into the open sea, there to fight them at leisure. But two German cruisers attacked her first at a distance of nearly two miles. This seems a long way, but naval guns can shoot much further than that. The Germans did her some damage, but she drove them off, and one of them she seriously injured.
Later on in the morning she fought two other German ships, and helped to sink the Mainz. In these actions she suffered so much that many of her guns were made useless and her speed was lessened to ten knots, which of course is very slow.
About one o’clock the gallant Arethusa was discovered in her crippled condition by two German cruisers, and they would certainly have sunk her if British ships had not come to the rescue. These ships turned the tables with a vengeance, for they chased and sank the Germans in their turn.
The Arethusa had done splendidly, all the more splendidly you will agree when you hear that she had only been commissioned a few days before. “Commissioned” means got ready for service, with crew, guns, stores, and everything necessary for going to sea. Thus, her officers and crew were new to one another and the ship was new to them, and yet they could not have fought better.
The whole Empire felt a thrill of pride in the exploit of the Arethusa. In far-off Johannesburg 2081 miners clubbed together, paying a penny each to send a telegram congratulating Commodore Tyrwhitt and his whole ship’s company on their victory.
Fighting at sea is, I think, in some ways more dreadful than fighting on land. There is the same terrible distance from the enemy, and the shells make the same fearful screaming noise in the air. But if your ship is struck a mortal blow, you seem to have less chance than you would have in land fighting, especially if your ship blows up before sinking.
But that is a landsman’s feeling. You may be sure that our gallant tars do not trouble their heads whether the danger is more or less. Indeed, this Heligoland action showed most vividly that the modern Navy is worthy of all her glorious traditions.
I must tell you about Lieut.-Commander Barttelot and his gallant little destroyer, the Liberty. She and the other destroyers did not hesitate to engage much bigger and stronger German ships, and naturally they got knocked about a bit.
After the funnel of the Liberty had been shot away, this brave officer stood on the bridge and gave his orders as quietly as if he were at a sham fight. A shell shot off one of his legs, but he seized the rails of the bridge, steadied himself, and continued giving his commands. Shortly after another shell struck the Liberty and killed him.
Not less thrilling is the story of Lieut.-Commander Frank Rose, of the destroyer Laurel, who was seriously wounded in the left leg. His men urged him to go below, but he simply shifted the weight on to the other leg and continued to issue his orders. Soon his one sound leg was struck by a shell, and down he came on the bridge, but he still declined to go below. His signalman tore off his trousers to prevent the wound from being poisoned, and to this act of thoughtful devotion Lieut.-Commander Rose probably owed his life. As at last he lay swooning on the bridge, one of his petty officers fastened a lifebelt round him.
By this time there only remained three rounds of ammunition, and it appeared as if the little Laurel could not live much longer in the fire to which she was then exposed. But she did.
The gallantry of all our seamen was indeed something to be proud of, and it was shown by fighters and non-fighters alike.
For example, the surgeon of the Arethusa, who was, as I have explained, new to the ship like the others, was a marvel of coolness. Before she was struck he busied himself in handing out ammunition to the gunners, and when the casualties began he stuck to his work of healing under fire. He hadn’t time to dress properly, so there he was, wearing red leather slippers, uniform trousers, and the coat of his pyjamas!
One officer of the Arethusa had his leg grazed by a shell which fell five or six feet behind him. He was hurled along the deck, and appeared to be much relieved when he discovered that both his legs had not been shot away. But they were badly bruised. There were no crutches on board, so one of the crew gave him a pair of broomsticks, by the aid of which he stuck to his post and hobbled round giving his orders.
This action, the Battle of the Bight as it was called, inspired many poets. To my mind by far the finest it called forth was by Mr. William Watson. In it he addresses the mighty dead of the sea service, and his last verse runs:
“Sleep on, O Drake, sleep well!
Thou hast thy heart’s desire.
Grenville, whom nought could quell,
Thou dost hand on thy fire.
And thou that had’st no peer,
Nelson! thou need’st not fear:
Thy sons and heirs are here,
Nor shall they shame their sire.”
The sea has always bred heroes. At the Battle of Trafalgar one of the French captains had both his legs shot off. He had himself placed in a barrel of bran, and went on directing his men in the hour of defeat to the end.
At the Battle of the Nile a little midshipman, only fourteen years old, named John Hindmarsh, gave the order which saved the Bellerophon. Seeing that the fire in L’Orient would spread to the Bellerophon, he got some men down and cut her cable and then had the sprit-sail set. The captain was below, having a wound dressed, and the first lieutenant was also below on duty. Hindmarsh was publicly thanked by Nelson himself.
Then it was wooden ships and sails; now it is ships of steel and complicated machinery. But the spirit of Navy men remains every whit as cool and gallant.
This first naval action off Heligoland also showed the splendid chivalry of our seamen.
When the German ships were seen to be sinking, the British commanders ordered the destroyers to cease fire. All boats were lowered to pick up survivors; but while this was being done, German destroyers and cruisers actually opened a heavy fire on the boats. Our destroyers were thus forced to retire, and one of them, the Defender, generously left her boat to the German prisoners, nearly all of whom were wounded.
Yet more. The commanding officer of Submarine E4, after covering the retreat of one of the destroyers, returned to the boats and removed the British officers and men. He might also have taken a German officer and six unwounded men prisoners, but as there were eighteen Germans very badly wounded, he humanely left the officer and unwounded men to care for them and navigate the boats which contained them. He did something else. He provided the boats with water, biscuits, and a compass, and he generously gave the officer the position and course to Heligoland. As for the officer and men of the Defender, they stripped themselves of everything but their trousers and tore up their clothes to serve as bandages for the wounded Germans.
Some days afterwards a high German official actually asserted that British seamen had fired on the Germans swimming in the water. It is from the reply which our Admiralty made to this cowardly charge that the above facts are taken. As a matter of fact, I am sorry to tell you that some of the German officers fired at their own men in the water with revolvers.
A letter written by a sailor who took part in the Heligoland action told a pretty story of his ship’s pet:
“Our dear little black lucky kitten sat under our foremost gun during the whole of the battle, and wasn’t frightened at all, only when we first started firing. But afterwards she sat and licked herself. We all kissed her afterwards!”
Sailors are known to be extremely fond of animals. The Naval Volunteers at the Crystal Palace soon acquired two pets—a kitten and a whippet. The latter always had a red, white, and blue ribbon tied to each of his legs and to his tail.
Soldiers, too, are very fond of pets. The story goes that on one occasion a sergeant appeared on his troopship with a little woolly dog. The quartermaster on duty refused to allow the animal on board. The sergeant thought awhile, and then went on shore. An hour later he came back with a cage. In it was a very queer-looking creature, which, though it had four feet, was covered with hen’s feathers. “Can’t pass that there dog on board,” said the quartermaster. “Dog?” said the sergeant. “This ain’t no dog. It’s a Maltese four-footed Bird of Paradise, and there’s no rules against taking birds on board!”
The laugh was with him, and his pet was allowed on board ship.