"Hark! I hear the cannon's roar
Echoing from the German shore."
Old Nautical Ballad (in Huth Collection).
"Come all ye jolly 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 fav'rite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we'll all expire
On board of the Arethusa.
"And, now we've driven the foe ashore
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill his glass
To his fav'rite lass;
A health to our captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew
On board of the Arethusa."
Old Naval Song.
Ordered by the Admiralty to be engraved upon a brass plate and fixed in a conspicuous position on board H.M.S. Arethusa, after the Battle of the Bight, 28th August, 1914.
In July, 1914, it was determined to have a "test mobilization" of the British fleet. "Mobilization" means, in connection with either the navy or the army, the calling up of reserves and filling up regiments or ships till they have the numbers necessary to complete them for war service. In previous years it was usual to have a series of naval manœuvres during the summer or autumn, to practise our fleets in working together or to work out strategical problems. This generally entailed a partial mobilization, but in 1914 it was determined to see how the machinery for mobilization would work at full power.
On the 19th and 20th July the magnificent naval force formed by the assembly of the first, second, and third fleets, with various flotillas of destroyers and submarines, was inspected at Spithead by King George. After a few days' fleet exercises in the Channel the great armament dispersed, the first fleet going to Portland, the remainder to their home ports to give manœuvre leave. But in the meanwhile affairs on the Continent became so threatening that it was deemed a wise precaution to keep the first fleet in readiness where it was, and to defer giving leave. On the 27th July Austria declared war against Serbia. Two days later the first fleet steamed out of Portland and disappeared from sight. Where it went we do not know, but in a short time it and all our other fleets were swallowed up in "the fog of war", from which some of their ships have from time to time made dramatic entrances upon the scene of conflict, generally attended with unpleasant consequences to the enemy.
Events now moved with the greatest rapidity. Germany declared war on Russia on 1st August, and on the day following her troops violated the neutrality not only of Luxembourg but of Belgium, although she—equally with Great Britain and France—had guaranteed the neutrality of the latter country by a formal treaty. On 3rd August the action of Germany automatically brought France into the war, and on the same day the mobilization of the British fleet was completed at four o'clock in the morning. On the 4th the British ultimatum was dispatched. It was summarily rejected, and by 11 p.m. the two countries were at war.
The next morning the first shots were fired by the British Navy. H.M.S. Amphion, a smart four-funnelled vessel of the light-cruiser class, which, with a flotilla of destroyers, was on patrol duty in the North Sea, was spoken by a trawler about 9 a.m., who reported having recently seen a suspicious steamer "throwing things overboard". The skipper described her position as nearly as he could. It was easy to guess what the "things" in question were. Germany had made little or no secret of her intention to pursue a policy of strewing mines in the open sea, though she had a fine fleet, only second to our own, both in numbers and discipline. (Nelson, it may be pointed out, won the battle of St. Vincent with 15 line-of-battle ships, 4 frigates, a brig and a cutter, although he attacked an enemy fleet consisting of 27 line-of-battle ships, 7 of which carried more guns than any English ship, and 13 frigates.) We may well imagine the zest with which our little squadron set off to punish the naval "dynamitards", and it was not long before a mercantile-looking steamer hove in sight, which proved to be the Königin Luise, of 2000 tons, belonging to the Hamburg-Amerika Line. She was steering east, and four destroyers shot after her like greyhounds unleashed. The chase was good for about twenty knots, but after a thirty-mile run the Amphion and destroyers opened fire, which the German returned. The destroyer Lance now crept up abreast of her on the port hand and fired[81] at comparatively close quarters. Four shots did the trick. The first absolutely wrecked her fore-bridge, the second got her fair amidships between the funnels, while the last two made such a mess of her stern that she began to founder.
With true British sportsmanship and humanity, every attempt was at once made to rescue her crew, with the result that twenty-eight escaped a watery grave. The Amphion and her satellites, having disposed of the mine-layer, proceeded with their work until about 6.30 the following morning. The flotilla was at this time in the neighbourhood of the spot where the Königin Luise had been dropping her mines. Every precaution was taken to avoid what was supposed to be the dangerous area, but suddenly, without any warning, the Amphion struck a mine and the catastrophe occurred. "A sheet of flame instantly enveloped the bridge, rendered the captain insensible, and he fell on the fore-and-aft bridge. As soon as he recovered consciousness he ran to the engine-room to stop the engines, which were still going at revolutions for 20 knots. As all the fore part was on fire, it proved impossible to reach the bridge or to flood the fore magazine. The ship's back appeared to be broken, and she was already settling down by the bows. All efforts were therefore directed to placing the wounded in a place of safety, in case of explosion, and towards getting her in tow by the stern. By the time the destroyers closed, it was clearly time to abandon the ship. They fell in for this purpose with the same composure that had marked their behaviour throughout. All was done without hurry or confusion, and twenty minutes after the mine was struck the men, officers, and captain left the ship."[82]
It was not long before the corner of the curtain shrouding the North Sea was again raised for a moment to give us a fleeting glimpse of the destruction of the German submarine U15 by the cruiser Birmingham. There have been one or two versions of this event. According to one account, the look-outs on board the cruiser "spotted" the periscope of a German submarine rather over a mile distant and opened fire; and so good was the marksmanship of her gunners that, small as was the target offered by the periscope, it was carried away at the first shot. The submarine dived, but, being unable to see where she was going, came to the surface, only to have her conning-tower wrecked by another projectile, which did so much damage that the U15 sank like a stone. According to a well-known writer on naval matters[83] this story, however, is "entirely fictitious, except in so far that the Birmingham did sink the U 15; but the real truth of the matter is that the U 15 fired at a certain British ship and missed her. Thereafter the U 15 might have got home in safety had not her captain imagined that he had succeeded, and come to the surface to shout 'Deutschland über alles'. That little incident settled the fate of the U 15, as she came up alongside the Birmingham and was sunk at once."
This incident took place on the 9th August, and for the next fortnight or so the "fog of war" rolled very thick over the North Sea. There is reason to believe that things were not exactly peaceful during all this time, since on the 19th there was an official reference to some "desultory fighting", resulting in no loss to either side. Between the 24th and 28th the Germans sank twenty-two fishing-boats. Immediately after, a well-planned move by the British Navy resulted in what is known as the "Battle of the Bight". The rocky, cliff-bound islet known as Heligoland—the German Gibraltar of the North Sea covering the approaches to Cuxhaven and the Kiel Canal—was not so long ago a British possession. It had been ours for over a century when we exchanged it for Zanzibar, because we thought "there was more money in it". We had never made any use of it when we had it. Had we fortified it, as the Germans have now done, its value in the war would have been priceless. That we did not do so may be set down to our fear of offending German susceptibilities and to our fixed resolve not to contemplate a war with Germany as being in the plane of practical politics. If any Government had attempted to make an advanced naval base of it, what an outcry there would have been!