The Harwich Naval Forces: Their Part in the Great War

by E. F. Knight

Shortly after 10 p.m. a vessel steaming fast was sighted on Cleopatra's port bow. Captain F.P. Loder Symonds, at that time in command of the Cleopatra, observing that showers of sparks were coming from this vessel's funnel, showing that she was burning coal and not oil fuel, rightly assumed that she was an enemy; so he put his helm hard a-starboard and went full speed ahead to intercept her. Very soon afterwards two destroyers were distinguished steaming across the Cleopatra's bow at right angles. Captain Loder Symonds promptly reversed his helm and steadied his ship to ram. There was about a boat's length only between the two destroyers. The leading destroyer just got clear; but the Cleopatra struck the second destroyer full amidships and practically at right angles. There was heard a violent explosion, a tremendous noise of escaping steam, and the crash of rending metal; and then it was seen that the Cleopatra had run right through the destroyer, cutting her in two. The two halves were seen drifting past the Cleopatra, one half on her port, the other on her starboard side. The Cleopatra then altered her course to attack the other destroyer, and both the flagship and the Undaunted, which was the cruiser next astern to her, opened fire; but the enemy escaped, quickly disappearing in the darkness. The sinking of the German destroyer through the prompt decision taken by Captain Loder Symonds is recognised by those who were present as having been a remarkably fine piece of work on his part.

The rapid turnings of the flagship during her attack on the enemy destroyers were naturally carried out at considerable risk of collision with the light cruisers that were following her. The Undaunted, the next in the line, did run into the Cleopatra with sufficient force to partly cripple herself. So she was ordered to leave the line and steam to the Tyne.

Early in the following morning it was definitely known that the enemy battle cruisers had come out; so by 9 a.m. the Harwich Force, in accordance with orders, had joined our own battle cruiser fleet, and with it swept to the southward again in the hope of meeting the enemy. But the German big ships were not to be tempted into giving action, and withdrew to their base before our ships could get near them.

Accordingly, at 1 p.m. Admiral Beatty's battle cruisers turned to the north, bound for their base, while the Harwich Force steered directly for Harwich, which was reached that evening without the occurrence of any further incident. In the course of the operations we had lost one destroyer and three seaplanes, but the enemy had lost one destroyer, two armed patrol boats, and one seaplane. Probably some damage was also inflicted on the enemy by our seaplanes, for during the raid a German wireless message from some shore station was intercepted by the Cleopatra, to the effect that a bombardment was in progress.

It will be remembered that a subsequent air raid, which was carried out by a squadron from the Grand Fleet in the summer of 1918, on the same Zeppelin sheds at Tondern which were the objectives of the Sylt raid, was attended with complete success. The sheds were wrecked by the bombs from our aircraft, and two Zeppelins were destroyed.

As our air raids became more frequent the vigilance of the enemy submarines increased. Many were the narrow escapes of our escorts. Thus, in January 1916, the Arethusa, with some destroyers, was escorting the seaplane-carrier Vindex to the mouth of the Ems river. Just before dawn the vessels stopped in order that the seaplanes might be hoisted out. The first intimation that enemy submarines were about was the track of a torpedo racing at the Arethusa through the darkness. The torpedo passed right under the Arethusa's ram, missing it by very little. A second torpedo followed, which was avoided by prompt use of the helm. So the flagship was saved, but only to be mined and sunk within sight of her base a few weeks later.

Our ships, as I have shown, always stood by a consort in distress, and brought her safely back to her base if it were possible to do so, even at the greatest risk to themselves; and there always was a great risk of envelopment and destruction by a superior force whenever a disabled ship was being slowly towed through enemy waters. Our crippled ships of the Harwich Force were never allowed to fall into the enemy's hands. Many are the stories of the saving of our ships in the North Sea during the war.

Let us take, for example, the case of the Landrail. In May 1915, off Borkum, while the seaplanes were being hoisted out from the seaplane-carrier for a raid on the German coast, one of the usual dense North Sea fogs rolled up. While the ships were shrouded in this, the light cruiser Undaunted was run into by the destroyer Landrail. The Landrail's bows were smashed in, practically telescoped. In a photograph taken shortly afterwards she presented an extraordinary appearance, a large portion of her forward deck hanging over the wreckage where once had been her stem, like an apron. She was towed from Borkum to Harwich stern first. During the voyage heavy weather came on. She parted wire hawser after hawser, until there could have been few hawsers left on board the ships that were convoying her. Destroyer after destroyer, the Mentor, Aurora, and others, took her in tow in turn as the hawsers parted; and, finally, the Arethusa brought her in. Fog in war-time is not the least of the perils in the North Sea, and, considering the nature of the work that had to be carried on, fog or no fog, it is wonderful that collisions were not more frequent.