Our casualties were thirty-two killed and fifty-two wounded, and we did not lose a single ship. The Arethusa was badly damaged, it is true, but she was ready for sea a week later. Every British ship that took part in the battle was entitled to paint upon her honour-board in letters of gold the words, "Heligoland, August 28, 1914." As a tribute to the gallant part which the Arethusa had played in the fight, the Admiralty ordered the famous old song to be engraved on a brass plate and set up on the ship. The first verse runs as follows:—
"Come, all ye 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 favourite launch. And when the foe shall meet our fire, Sooner than strike we'll all expire On board of the Arethusa."
Before we leave the story of the Battle of Heligoland Bight let me try to describe the experiences of the men behind the big guns. "Gun crews, stand to your stations!" comes the terse order. Instantly every man drops his job, whatever it may be, and the various squads fall in and march off to their barbettes or casemates, straining their eyes as they go to catch a sight of the enemy. All the wooden fittings which are likely to catch fire, or form what sailors call "shell traps," have been thrown overboard, the stanchions and the davits and the chains around the decks have been unshipped, and the vessel is now a mere skeleton of its former self. Everything that might get loose and "take charge" has been securely lashed. The guns and torpedoes have been made ready; the ammunition has been carefully examined and arranged, so that it can be quickly hoisted to the guns; and the engines have been overhauled. Hose pipes have been run along the decks, and everything likely to take fire has been plentifully soused with sea-water.
Probably you know that each pair of big guns is mounted on a revolving platform within what is called a turret—that is, a chamber of thick armour-plate which revolves with the guns. Beneath this turret is a working chamber, some nine or ten feet in height, and from it a thick steel tube descends through the decks to the magazines below. Inside this tube, which revolves with the gun platform, are "lifts," which hoist the shells up to the barbette.
The crews enter the barbettes by means of massive steel doors, which are firmly closed behind them. When the doors are closed, it is impossible for them to know what is going on in other parts of the ship, except for the little that they can observe through the sighting-hood of the guns. The steel chamber in which they are stationed is lighted by electricity, and the guns, the platform, and the hoists are worked by water power. The crew set the machinery working, and bring up a supply of shells, one of which is placed in the yawning breech of each great gun.
Presently a telephone bell rings, and a voice is heard asking "if it takes a week for the barbette to get ready for action." It is the gunnery lieutenant, who is talking "sarcastic." He is in what is called the "fire-control station," which is a steel chamber high on the top of a tripod mast. In this chamber are the range-finders and all the other apparatus necessary for directing the fire of every big gun on the ship. Around the steel walls are telephones, speaking-tubes, and electric buttons. By means of very wonderful devices the officer in the "fire-control station" ranges and sights every gun in the ship. The men in the turrets have merely to obey his instructions, and fire the guns when he gives the word.
"Prepare to open fire at twenty thousand yards," snaps the voice at the telephone. The machinery clangs, and the guns raise their noses high in the air. "Revolve to ten degrees on your port bow," comes the next order; and, as though by magic, the whole turret swings itself round to the required position. Then comes a pause, which the men declare is more trying to the nerves than anything that happens during the actual fighting. Little or nothing can be seen from the barbette; from the "fire-control station" the target is a mere speck on the horizon about eleven miles away.
Presently the telephone rings again. "Let go with No. 1 gun" is the welcome order. The men cheer and fling themselves face down on the floor, and push home the cotton wool with which they have previously plugged their ears, to prevent the risk of deafness. The captain of the gun pulls a lanyard; there is a "kick" that makes the barbette reel, then a deafening report, as a shell weighing nearly a thousand pounds speeds over the waters on its deadly mission.
Instantly the men spring up, the breech is thrown open, a jet of water is sent along the barrel, and another shell is thrown in. Meanwhile the officer in command of the barbette calls out, "Stand by for No. 2 gun." When No. 2 gun has been fired the telephone bell rings, and the voice from above is heard to say, "Both miles wide; try to hit something next time." "We are here to fire the gun, not to range it," mutters the captain of the turret as he makes a few hasty calculations and some adjustments. "Both guns at once, dead line ahead," comes the next order. Round spins the barbette again on its axis, and then a terrific jerk and an awful roar as the two weapons go off together. At once every eye is turned to the indicator which shows the result of the shots. "One well home, the other a trifle short." The gunners caper about in huge delight.