On the other hand, the enemy's mine-layers were ever being hunted down by the Harwich Force, and the sinkings of them were not few. The first incident of the war in the North Sea was the sinking of a German mine-layer off Lowestoft by the light cruiser Amphion. The story of the Meteor is worthy of note. This enemy mine-layer, disguised as an innocent old tramp, laid a number of mines in the Cromarty Firth. Having completed her work, she started on her homeward journey, but attracted the attention and suspicion of the captain of the Ramsey, the armed boarding steamer which lay off Cromarty. So he sent off a boat to board and question her. On this the Meteor let loose a torpedo and blew the Ramsey up. The Meteor got away safely, but her triumph was short-lived. The Harwich Force, which was patrolling on the Jutland coast, fell in with her, as she was nearing home, off Horn Reef, early in the afternoon. She was being escorted by two Zeppelins. As she could not escape from the British patrol, she blew herself up. On this occasion the Germans seem to have been caught napping; for at eight o'clock that morning enemy seaplanes had flown over our patrol and bombed it. The enemy therefore should have received early information of the approach of a British force, and it is strange that German ships, of which there were many within call, did not come out to support the Meteor and attack the patrol.
To our Navy, an enemy on the surface is a welcome sight, for with him one can fight a fair fight. But the unseen mines of the enemy, lying in wait to bring about disaster in a second, are another matter. I imagine that there cannot be a sailor who does not curse the inventor of mines. It is true that we got our own back on the enemy with our own mines; but a good many ships of the Harwich Force have suffered from mines in the course of the war. In a large majority of cases the ships struck by mines did not sink, were got home, were repaired, and fought again. Some of our ships, now looking spick and span, with nothing to show that they have ever suffered, have been mined several times. The numerous watertight compartments into which a warship is divided keep her afloat even after terrible injuries.
Thus the Centaur, light cruiser, was mined in the Bight of Heligoland. The mine struck her forward, and so damaged her bows that her bulkheads would have given way had she attempted to steam ahead, so she steamed back across the North Sea stern first. The Centaur was mined on yet another occasion, during the great gale of October 1917. The Harwich Force had gone out to look for the enemy—on information received, as the police would say. A terrific westerly gale was encountered by the ships on their homeward voyage. All lost their topmasts, their wireless thus being put out of action. At noon, while the gale was at its worst, a loud explosion was heard on the Centaur—at that time the flagship of the Harwich Force. She had been badly mined aft. It must have been an anxious moment, for in such fearful weather her consorts could not have come to her assistance had she been totally disabled. One of her two condenser doors had been broken in by the concussion. Fortunately, the other door held, and she was enabled to steam home with one engine.
As an example of the way in which a naval ship can be mined and yet be little the worse for it, may be mentioned the case of a Harwich destroyer which struck a mine off Orfordness in April 1916. The explosion blew her stern off and threw her four-inch gun up into the air. It did not go overboard, but fell back upon her deck. No lives were lost; no one was even hurt. She got back to port, was repaired, and very soon was at work again.