And now to turn back to the flagship and the Fearless and the main force of destroyers, which were engaging the enemy destroyers and torpedo-boats. Shortly before 8 a.m. a German light cruiser was sighted on the Arethusa's port bow. The Arethusa at once attacked her; but the German was apparently unwilling to continue the fight and made away to the eastward.
But while the Arethusa was engaging her yet another German light cruiser, identified as the Frauenlob, appeared on the scene, and she was quite ready for a duel with her opposite number. The Arethusa engaged her closely, the two ships for a while steering on converging courses. The Arethusa at last closed the range to 3500 yards. The Frauenlob's fire was remarkably accurate. Within ten minutes the Arethusa was hit thirty-five times, with a loss of twelve killed, including the flag lieutenant, who was on the bridge, and twenty wounded. The Arethusa all the while was pouring in a deadly fire with her six-inch guns, and the Frauenlob must have been in a sorry plight. At last a six-inch shell, striking her on her bridge, knocked her out. For she at once turned and steamed away to the eastward as fast as she was able. A curious incident occurred in the course of this duel between the two ships. The Arethusa's cook, who at the time was in the galley preparing the men's breakfast—for a ship's domestic arrangements cannot be disturbed by battle—had one of his arms shot away. He might have bled to death, but, seeing an empty cigarette tin, promptly clapped it on the stump and so saved his life.
Heligoland, only five miles distant, now became visible, looming large through the mist. The Arethusa and the destroyers had accomplished their work, for the enemy light cruisers, destroyers, and torpedo-boats were all seen to be hurrying home. The Harwich Force, its object achieved, turned round and steered westward for England, for with crippled vessels the danger of remaining longer in enemy waters was, of course, very great. The Arethusa had been severely knocked about. All her torpedo tubes had been smashed. Her feed tank had been holed, and the engineer commander reported that he could now only get twelve knots instead of thirty out of her. The enemy had also employed shrapnel against her with such effect that her bridge and upper works were as indented as a nutmeg-grater; and on almost any part of her decks one could stoop and pick up a handful of shrapnel fragments, so thick they lay. But in a short time the ship had been cleared up, disabled guns had been repaired, and the casualties had been replaced by other men.
About one hour after the Harwich Force had turned and started for home, the Arethusa, limping along, picked up a wireless message from the destroyer Lurcher, attached to the Harwich submarine flotilla, reporting that she was being pursued by five enemy light cruisers off Heligoland. On receiving this message Commodore Tyrwhitt immediately turned back to support the Lurcher. The peril of taking such a course with a crippled flagship needs no explaining, but the old traditions of the sea make a commander very loth, in any circumstances, to refrain from going to the aid of a friend in difficulties. In the course of this war our ships have often thus hurried to the succour of others in the face of fearful odds. Over-rashness may have been displayed on occasion. But let us regard another side of the question. What confidence and spirit it must give to our men to feel that, if menaced by deadly peril, they can rely upon their comrades to come to their help if it is humanly possible to do so! A Navy that has no soul, in which a commander will coldly calculate the exact risk before deciding whether the game is quite worth the candle, will never achieve great things.
So the flagship, the Fearless, and the two destroyer flotillas, having turned, steamed back to the eastward for one hour and were once more within a few miles of Heligoland. They found themselves on a sea empty of ships; no more wireless messages from the Lurcher reached the Arethusa, and as nothing could be seen or heard of that vessel, the quest was at last abandoned and the order was given to steam once more to the westward for home.
The mist now gradually thickened. At about 10 a.m., shortly after the squadron had turned, a light cruiser was seen coming out of the fog on the Arethusa's port quarter. For a second or so it was thought that she was one of our own ships. On being challenged she flashed some signals. Then a ripple of flame ran along her sides, and she displayed her true colours by opening fire on the flagship. The light cruiser Fearless and the destroyers, though they had but few torpedoes left, attacked her in a most gallant fashion and succeeded in driving her off. But, doubtless knowing that the Arethusa was in a crippled condition and that other German ships were coming up, she soon returned to resume the attack. And now another enemy light cruiser suddenly loomed on the Arethusa's starboard quarter and joined in the fight. The British ships were now fighting a retiring action, our destroyers doing splendid work, zigzagging over the sea and losing no opportunity of vigorously attacking the enemy, thus covering the retirement.
But now there came up on our squadron's front yet another enemy light cruiser, the Mainz, to take part in the action. So our ships were being attacked on all sides, and despite the bravery of the defence the situation must have appeared somewhat desperate. Our destroyers attacked the new arrivals, giving them no respite. The Mainz put up a great fight against the destroyers that were harassing her. Her fire was accurate; she put two of the destroyers out of action.
At this juncture there came up out of the mist our own 1st Light Cruiser Squadron, and with its assistance the Mainz was finished off and sunk. Shortly afterwards our battle cruiser squadron hove in sight. This brought the enemy's attack on our light force to an end, and the German ships turned and made for home. But they had fallen into a trap from which there was no escape. The Arethusa, after she had passed through our light cruiser squadron, came suddenly out of the fog into blue sky and glorious sunshine. Behind her to the eastward rose like a wall the dense fog-bank concealing all from view; but there was heard coming out of the fog-bank the roar of a tremendous cannonading. It was the roar of the guns of Beatty's ships which attacked and sank the remaining two German light cruisers.
The fight was over for the ships of the Harwich Force; they slowly steamed homeward, the Arethusa crawling ever slower, the salt water getting into her boilers, while such of our destroyers as had been badly damaged were being towed back. But none of the ships was lost; they all got safely into harbour. At 7 p.m. the Arethusa was compelled to stop her engines, and two hours later she was taken in tow by the Hogue and taken to Chatham, where I happened to be when she arrived. Looking at her battered condition, one wondered that her casualties had not been even heavier than they were. I wish that I could have supplemented this brief description with the narratives of some of the destroyer captains who had fought their ships so gallantly. Among other honours given, the D.S.O. was conferred on Captain W.F. Blunt, the captain of the Fearless light cruiser, in recognition of his repeated vigorous and dashing attacks on the enemy.
In the course of this action we had not lost a ship, and our ships that had been damaged were repaired and at sea again within a few weeks; whereas the enemy had lost three light cruisers and one destroyer, and withdrew with many ships badly damaged.