Their captain explained the situation. He pointed out that there would be too many for one rescue boat and that overloading might lead to the loss of everybody. But the men were inclined to be adamant. Finally their captain decided to take a spare gun's crew and ordered the "mutineers" to draw lots for the honour. The sequel is worth recording even if it necessitates anticipating the main story. When this particular blockship stopped during the oversea voyage, the craft detailed to take off her surplus crew failed to appear alongside—she had broken down. So the whole crew went to Zeebrugge and, extraordinary to relate, every soul of them was rescued.
This voluntary spirit was very heartening to all concerned. I have only mentioned a few specific cases, but there were many others of a similar description. It is no exaggeration to say that once the men knew the secret they were more than mere volunteers—they were determined to come across with us.
First Waiting Period
It must not be assumed that all was in readiness as soon as the ships, having been duly fitted out, had assembled at the Swin and embarked their personnel. Much remained to be done. Steam trials, gunnery practices, adjustment of compasses, and tests of all the special material were indulged in. Handling the ships from both the main and auxiliary conning positions, testing communications, manipulating the grappling irons and Mole gangways, drilling the guns' crews and ammunition parties, training the stretcher parties, and giving instruction in first-aid also helped to keep us fully occupied.
Of course it was impossible to practise sinking blockships or taking storming vessels alongside breakwaters. Breakwaters are only to be found in such public places as Dover, Portland, etc.; it would have been inadvisable to publish our intentions in such a manner. Thus, as far as these special vessels were concerned, the seamanship difficulties could not be lessened by proper realistic practice. The suggestion that we might use Hindustan as the Mole did not appeal to us much, especially as the Vindictive was originally built for ramming and consequently had a very large ram; we had no desire to start badly by sinking one of our own battleships.
The life on board Vindictive, uncomfortable as it was owing to our numbers greatly exceeding the normal complement, was not altogether devoid of humour. As one walked round the ship there would be a blood-curdling yell and a party of men with fixed bayonets would charge round a corner and hurl themselves upon an imaginary foe. The steel helmets, gas masks, and respirators gave these men a weird appearance, such as one is unaccustomed to see on board ship. Some carried knob-kerries—loaded ash sticks; others grenades, flame projectors, or machine-guns. There was no half-heartedness about the men. Clearly enough they meant business; we had no misgivings about the result. Those days were busy indeed. When work had finished for the day opportunities for sports arose, and there were occasional concerts in the evenings. The tugs-of-war evoked much friendly rivalry between the various sea regiments—the seamen, stokers, Marine Light Infantry, and Marine Artillery. One afternoon a boxing tournament took place and the fighting augured well for the near future.
One day, two officers from a blockship paid a call on the Vindictive. Visiting cards were not required; we were obviously At Home. But we were quite mystified when one of the officers produced a small chunk of iron and remarked that he had brought it on board in case we ran short of ammunition. He then explained that, during the passage from his vessel, some description of explosive missile had burst within a few yards of his dinghey, and the piece produced had fallen into the boat. Incidentally he accused Vindictive of firing the missile, but we pleaded not guilty or alternatively, as the lawyers say, asserted that he had no right to cross the firing line! Apparently it was a portion of a bomb of sorts fired from one of the ships, fortunately without any other result than to cause considerable merriment to the occupants of the dinghey. Such an incident in the ordinary course of events would have led to very pertinent enquiries, but we were too much preoccupied with the business in hand to worry about such trifles.
The thoughts uppermost in our minds concerned the chances of favourable weather conditions. The barometers came in for an amount of tapping which was not calculated to improve the instruments. We all became weather prophets those days. Many and varied were the daily forecasts.
One night we rolled unpleasantly in a heavy gale and soon after midnight a small vessel was seen firing distress signals. This provided an excellent opportunity for testing our illuminating rockets, by the aid of which we observed a tug struggling to grapple a lighter which was dragging its anchors. The worst aspect of heavy weather was the consequent expenditure of fuel which we could ill spare. Thanks to the Captain of Hindustan our period of waiting was made as comfortable as we could have hoped. He was indefatigable in arranging diversions for our amusement and in keeping us informed of the latest war news. Each day brought more serious reports from the battle front in France and made us all the more anxious to give the enemy a nasty shock whilst cheering up our own troops. During the late evenings most of us sought for quiet corners where we could write letters. I think we all found those letters were very difficult, but one's feelings at such a time are of too private a nature to bear analysis.
The Coming Event