CHAPTER XXV
The Fall of the Island Fortress
At a modest seven knots the battered Royal Sovereign wallowed in tow in the wake of the Barham. It seemed wonderful that she should have survived the ordeal, for in places the massive armour plates had been completely knocked away. Her bows were level with the water, while the whole of her quarter deck had been blown in by a bomb dropped from a German seaplane.
Almost the last shot fired at her by her principal antagonist, the gigantic Breslau, had hit the chase of one of the fifteen-inch guns in the second turret from the bows. The huge mass of metal had fractured, while the muzzle, falling upon the barbette next ahead and slightly below, had prevented both barbettes from being trained. Thus one shot had practically put four fifteen-inch guns out of action.
Wherever a heavy shell had struck against armour the latter had been made nearly red-hot, and for an hour or more after the fight it was almost impossible to place a hand on the heated metal.
[Illustration: "A SEAPLANE CONTRIVED TO DROP A BOMB ON THE ROYAL SOVEREIGN'S DECK">[
The use of aerial craft above the fighting battleships was very limited during the action. Thanks to the preponderance of seaplanes, the British were able to keep the German aircraft well at a distance. The only noteworthy exception was the seaplane which contrived to drop a bomb on the Royal Sovereign's deck. She did not live to repeat the experiment, for a fragment of a German eleven-inch shell, ricochetting from the hood of the Royal Sovereign's after barbette, flew vertically upward for a height of nearly three hundred feet, literally cutting the daring seaplane in halves.
Nor did the submarines prove their vaunted merits. Detected from the British aircraft, these sinister vessels stood very little chance. Even had they come within striking distance it is doubtful whether they would not have damaged friend as well as foe, for in the disorder in the formation of the two fleets, and in the dense haze that enveloped them in less than a minute after the first broadside, it was a difficult matter to distinguish one ship from another.
Had the action taken place at night the submarine would doubtless have played an important part in deciding the battle.
Superiority in numbers of light-armoured cruisers and destroyers, combined with the coolness and precision of the men at the quick-firers, enabled the British to make short work of the German "mosquito fleet", although the former did not come out of the action without heavy loss. Nevertheless there was still the danger that some of the least-damaged German destroyers might again attempt a night attack upon the East Coast. Great were the rejoicings in Great Britain at the victory. They were not extravagant outbursts of joy, but heartfelt expressions of thankfulness that the great ordeal had been successfully passed. The imminent danger, made apparent by the damage done at South Shields, had taught a national lesson, while the great victory had been bought at a tremendous price in human lives—the sacrifice at the altar of maritime supremacy.
Directly the Royal Sovereign crept into the Nore she was ordered round to Portsmouth, since the dockyards of Chatham and Sheerness were quite unable to cope with the work of refitting any but the least-damaged ships. Towed by the Barham, and escorted by two destroyers, the crippled vessel reached Spithead, and was taken into harbour and docked without delay. The surviving officers and crew were at once turned over to the obsolescent battleship Collingwood, the flagship of the Eighth Battle Squadron.
Five days later the combined Anglo-American fleet left the Nore. Off the Texel the fleet was divided—the major portion to operate against Heligoland and the remainder to destroy, if possible, the defences of Borkum. All the United States' battleships were in the division detailed for the bombardment of Heligoland, since officers and men were actuated by the knowledge that an American citizen was still a prisoner in that island fortress.
It was a case of hasten slowly. The shallows around the mouths of the Elbe and Weser were admirably suited to the use of submarine mines, while every "gat" between the extensive sandbanks could be used by German torpedo craft. Local knowledge was a great factor in favour of the Teutonic torpedo craft.
It was with curious feelings that Hamerton looked once more upon the red, white, and green island of Heligoland. Only a short time back he was there a captive; now he was about to witness a demonstration of naval might and power against the heavily defended batteries that a diplomatic mistake on the part of Great Britain had raised into existence.
Admiral Maynebrace had done Hamerton the honour of asking his opinion, and, thanks to the Sub's knowledge, he was able to arrange his plans accordingly. The batteries on the south-western side of the island were to be left severely alone. Sandinsel was the key of the position. Once its guns were silenced the reduction of Heligoland would be a matter of course. Sir George, therefore, ordered the mine-creeping vessels—subsidized steam "drifters"—to advance under cover of the battle cruisers and clear away the mines to the north-east and south-east of Heligoland.
This was a hazardous duty, for the vessels engaged in the work were open to a torpedo attack from the destroyers either from the Heligoland base or from the mouths of the Elbe, Eider, Weser, and Jade. In the wake of the mine-creepers came the battleships, with torpedo nets out, so as to be prepared for an attack by the long-range Schwartz-Kopff locomotive torpedoes.
To add to the difficulties, the Germans had already removed all buoys and navigation marks, so that the ships had to be continuously making use of the lead line.
Directly night fell the battleships and battle cruisers steamed westwards with screened lights, so as to be safe from destroyer and submarine attack, leaving the British small craft to cope with any demonstration from the numerous German torpedo bases. Thus the nerve-racking ordeal of momentarily expecting an unseen blow was spared the already sorely taxed crews of the armoured fleet.
But what the battleships missed the destroyers had more than a full share of. Triple lines of these vessels patrolled the sea between the position where the Weser lightship was formerly stationed and that of the Rittergat light buoy. The destroyers on the flank kept their searchlights trained outwards in a horizontal position well abeam, while those in the centre line used their searchlights for the purpose of locating any hostile aircraft.
In spite of these precautions four of the British torpedo craft were sunk by German submarines without the former having a glimpse of their foes.
Before daybreak the battleships were back in their former stations, the American ships taking up a position to the north-east of Sandinsel, while the twenty-eight armoured British battleships directed their fire upon the Düne and East Kalbertan batteries of the same island. The destroyers were grouped into three divisions—the first to be attached to the United States ships in case of a hostile movement from North Haven; the second to lie three miles astern of the British battleships engaged in bombarding Sandinsel, so as to guard against a torpedo attack from South Haven; the third detailed to watch the mainland.
Exactly at eight in the morning the American flagship Wyoming opened the ball by planting a fifteen-inch shell fairly in the centre of the Krid Brunnen Battery. An enormous cloud of sand, smoke, and dust, mingled with heavier fragments, followed the explosion. It looked as if the magazine had been blown up, but a smart reply from the battery showed that this was not so.
The firing now became general, and the concentrated shells of the combined fleet literally' rained upon the Sandinsel forts. It seemed as if nothing could survive the terrible explosions of the heavy missiles, but with commendable pluck the German gunners stood to their task. Several of their shells struck the battleships, doing considerable damage, but the effect on board did not approach the carnage of the battle of the Galloper Sands. Nor was it to be wondered at, since the enemy had to spread their fire over a five-mile line of warships, while the latter were able to concentrate their guns upon a comparatively limited and immovable target.
In three hours from the time the Wyoming first opened fire the East Kalbertan, Krid Brunnen, and Düne batteries were silenced, and the British and American ships were able to direct their attention to the weaker West Kalbertan Battery and the torpedo flotillas sheltering between Heligoland and Sandinsel.
This they could do with comparative impunity, for with the exception of four fifteen-inch guns, mounted on the north-east side of Heligoland, the defensive armament consisted of lighter guns intended for use against torpedo craft.
The large guns were soon out of action. The hail of heavy shells knocked vast quantities of rock from the soft sandstone cliffs. In half an hour the damage was greater than the erosion of half a century. The emplacements, undermined by the fall of rock, were soon unmasked and rendered untenable.
But the German destroyers were not going to be sunk in harbour. Profiting by the haze of burnt cordite that enveloped the bombarding ships, thirty of these swift craft slipped out of South Haven. It was a forlorn hope, and nothing short of destruction awaited them, but before the end they meant to strike a heavy blow for the Fatherland.
Steaming at close on thirty-five knots, the devoted craft headed straight for the nearest British battleships—a distance of four miles from the south-east of Heligoland.
More than half the intervening space was covered before the threatened attack was noticed by the British flagship. A signal was instantly made for the light cruisers and destroyers in reserve to intercept the approaching hostile craft. Already it was too late. Only the light quick-firers of the British battleships could keep the enemy at bay.
In response to a general signal the huge warships turned eight points to starboard. That meant that instead of keeping broadside on to the forts they were steaming away from them. Hampered by their torpedo nets the manoeuvre was slowly executed, but each warship now presented a much smaller target to the German torpedoes, while there was more room between the battleships for the British destroyers to operate.
Temporarily the big-gun fire ceased. The sharp barks of the quick-firers resounded on all sides. Through the maelstrom of twelve-pounder shells the German destroyers tore. Several swung out of line, disabled and on the point of sinking; but the surviving vessels, admirably handled, avoided their stricken consorts and continued the headlong rush.
Then, acting smartly in response to a signal from the leading boat, the remaining destroyers ported helm sufficiently for the deck torpedo tubes to bear, and almost simultaneously thirty deadly Schwartz-Kopff weapons tore on their mission of destruction.
It was impossible for everyone to miss the mark. The sea was ruffled with the foam of the swiftly-travelling weapons. Some, exploding the nets, tore great rents in the meshes and unshipped or shattered the massive steel booms supporting the best anti-torpedo device that naval architects could devise. Others, following in their wake, struck home underneath the armoured plating of the battleships.
Explosion after explosion, outvieing the crack of the quick-firers, rose in the air. Huge vessels, mortally stricken, rolled sluggishly under the impact. Mingled with the din came the cheers of the exultant Germans. It was a modernized form of the old gladiatorial shout: "Hail, Caesar, those about to die salute thee"; for the cheers were those of doomed men.
Tearing betwixt the battleships came the British destroyers like wolves upon a sheepfold. This phase of action became a mêlée. In several cases the British craft, charging their opponents at full speed, literally cut these latter in twain. It was but another of those instances when, in the heat of battle, men neither ask nor expect quarter. Only four German boats, badly damaged, were able to regain a temporary and insecure shelter under the lee of Sandinsel.
Nevertheless they had struck a hard blow. The Bellerophon, hit thrice in quick succession, had sunk; the Ajax and Agamemnon were listing heavily, only their watertight bulkheads abaft the engine-rooms preventing them from going to the bottom. For offensive purposes they were now utterly useless. The Centurion and Formidable, having lost their rudders and propellers, had to be taken in tow, and sent, escorted by the battle cruisers Impregnable and Inflexible, to add to the congested state of the British dockyards.
Nothing daunted by these misfortunes the rest of the allied fleet maintained a hot fire. By five in the afternoon the east of the batteries of Sandinsel ceased to reply. The docks, factories and stores, and shipping on the east of Heligoland were either destroyed or in flames. The attack upon the island could now be pushed home.
Contrary to expectations the Zeppelins made no attempt to emerge from their place of concealment. It afterwards transpired that, more by accident than design, two heavy shells had simultaneously burst in the great artificial crater into which the airship sheds opened. The explosions were sufficient to wreck completely the three Zeppelins lying in the lofty caves.
As night fell the battleships made for the offing, while the British destroyers and light cruisers took the same precautions against attack as before.
At daybreak the bombardment was resumed. The Sandinsel batteries, having effected temporary repairs during the hours of darkness, reopened fire, but so feebly that in less than twenty minutes there was no reply to the British guns. The American warships, closing in from the north-east, directed their attention to the lighter batteries on the cliff side of Heligoland, and occasionally to shelling the barracks and searchlight station on the plateau. The British devoted their energies to the Sathurn battery and the southern portion of the island, sparing as far as possible the houses of the Unterland.
At ten minutes past nine a tremendous explosion shook the air. One of the Kentucky's shells had struck the principal magazine. The concussion and the fire that followed caused the vast oil reservoirs to ignite, and in a few moments the whole of the central portion of the rock seemed one mass of flames.
More feeble grew the reply of the German guns, and at noon the island fortress of Heligoland capitulated, without one shot being fired from the more powerful batteries on the south-western side, to which no vessel belonging to the allies had offered a chance for a single discharge.
Heligoland, the mailed menace to Great Britain, had fallen.
* * * * *
As soon as the German flag was lowered from the captured island five hundred British and American marines were landed to take possession of the fire-swept rock that was but recently the pride of the Teutonic Empire.
Lieutenant Hamerton was one of the few naval officers to set foot ashore, but at his earnest request he was given permission to seek out his old comrade Detroit.
It was with feelings of elation that the young officer stood once more upon the stone jetty where but a few weeks previously he had been ignominiously escorted by a file of German marines. Now he was given a salute by a stalwart British marine who had been promptly posted at the head of the steps.
On his way to the Oberland—Hamerton had to walk, since the lift had been damaged during the bombardment—the Sub passed a party of German officers who were about to put off to the British flagship to satisfy the terms of the capitulation. One of them he recognized as Major Karl von Schloss.
Both men gravely saluted each other, then Hamerton advanced and held out his hand. The major took it without hesitation. He was one of many who, however bitter the defeat, took in the situation with becoming mien and grace. Hamerton bore him no ill feeling. True, Von Schloss had acted harshly to him when he was a prisoner, but the major really believed that the Sub was a British spy.
"Where is my friend, Detroit?" asked Hamerton.
"He is safe," replied Von Schloss. "Before the firing commenced he was taken to the church, since we knew that would not be a mark for your guns."
"One more question, Herr Major; where is the commandant?"
"He is dead," replied Von Schloss, with evident emotion. "He fell during the bombardment."
Gravely Hamerton raised his right hand to the salute. His former enemy had given up his life on the altar of duty, a victim to his misguided efforts to further the interests of the Fatherland.
"I am sorry," he said.
"There is no need," rejoined Major von Schloss. "General von Wittelsbach died as he wished, in the defence of a charge entrusted to him by the Kaiser. Believe me, he would never have survived the humiliation. But now, Herr Hamerton, I bid you farewell."
Both men shook hands and parted, the major hurrying after his companions, while the Sub wended his way towards the old church.
A number of armed German marines stood without the weatherbeaten fane. They were stationed there to guard various prisoners who had been hastily removed from the barrack prison at the commencement of the attack.
But before Hamerton could approach and make known the nature of his mission a well-known voice hailed him from one of the narrow windows of the tower.
"Hallo, old man! So they've let you out? Guess it's about time I thought about moving. I guess you weren't long in getting into uniform."
"Considering I haven't taken off my things for the last three days I cannot agree with you," replied the Sub, with a hearty laugh. "I've come to bring you out of this, Detroit, so the sooner you come down from your perch the better."
"I reckon I've had a rotten time," remarked Detroit, as the two friends made their way to the shore. "But it's worth it," he added enthusiastically. "To look out of that window and to see the Yankee eagle and the British lion knocking spots off the German was the finest sight in creation."
Hamerton shrugged his shoulders. He was thinking of the carnage that had been wrought on both sides ere "the finest sight in creation" was completed.
"Yes," he said slowly, "I suppose it was. The onlookers always see the best of the game."
* * * * *
That same day the articles of capitulation were drawn up and signed. The officers and some of the garrison of Heligoland, upon giving their parole, were permitted to withdraw with their private effects. The guns were either burst by means of guncotton or toppled over the cliffs, the defensive works that had escaped serious damage during the bombardment were blown up, and the captured war vessels either sunk or sent across the North Sea.
Twenty-four hours later an armistice was declared between the Anglo-American allies and Germany. The humiliation of the German Empire as a naval power was complete.
Peace was definitely declared in less than a fortnight from the unprovoked but abortive raid upon the east coast of Great Britain. By the terms of the treaty Germany was bound down not to maintain a fleet of more than twenty small cruisers. A comparatively small indemnity was demanded, while the fortifications of Borkum were ordered to be razed.
Heligoland was by mutual consent restored to its former masters, the Danes, and once and for all the menace to Great Britain ceased to exist.
The war, terrible while it lasted, brought good in its train. The exhausting struggle for naval supremacy ceased. It was universally conceded that the great English-speaking nations should rule the sea, and almost automatically the Great Powers were able to cut down their almost overwhelming expenses in naval armaments.
The victors had not been ungenerous or vindictive; they had laid no violent restriction upon their former enemy. Germany could, and did, still expand her overseas trade without let or hindrance. The settlement of sea supremacy meant a new era of peace and prosperity.
After the termination of the war, Hamerton, now promoted to the rank of lieutenant, obtained a shore appointment in Portsmouth Dockyard. Every summer the ketch Diomeda puts in an appearance in the Solent, and Hamerton, Detroit, Octavius Smith, and Stirling generally made a point of having a month's cruise together in the stanch little craft.
Often, on some quiet evening, the Diomeda will be found snugly moored in some sheltered and secluded creek of the Solent, while down below in her cosy cabin the four men will be exchanging reminiscences and recalling the events that led to the capture of the sea-girt fortress of Heligoland.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
At the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland
Transcriber's Notes:
This book contains a number of misprints.
The following misprints have been corrected:
[Any misculation] —> [Any miscalculation]
[dull-back] —> [dull-black]
[degree of enthusiam] —> [degree of enthusiasm]
[overunning] —> [overrunning]
[Barracading] —> [Barricading]
[befel] —> [befell]
[to give an explanaation] —> [to give an explanation]
A few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are not mentioned here.