Once again the German officials' plan went awry. Instead of the British giving battle, as they expected, Sir Noel Armitage remained close to the Nore. Not only was the Mediterranean Fleet about to join forces with the Home Fleet, but a powerful United States squadron was on its way from the rendezvous off Cape Hatteras to operate with the British in the North Sea. Thus, before the comparatively weak force under Sir Noel's command could be crushed, there was a possibility of an overwhelming predominance of Anglo-American ships appearing in German waters.
Then it was that the German Admiral, Von Walsdorf, decided to take a bold and risky step. He detached three armoured cruisers and eleven ocean-going destroyers—a force he could ill afford to dispense with—and sent them via the north of the Orkneys to prey upon the shipping and comparatively unprotected ports on the west coast of Great Britain. Once these vessels avoided the British destroyers at Scapa Flow there was little risk of capture, while the moral damage they would be able to inflict would outvie the enormous actual damage done in a very short space of time.
Then, finding the British Fleet, as he thought, inactive, Von Walsdorf led his battleships and the remainder of his armoured cruisers towards the mouth of the Thames.
It was just before noon on the following day that the Royal Sovereign received a wireless from the fast cruiser Beresford announcing that she had sighted the German fleet in lat. 52° 1', long. 2° 50' E., steering south-west. The cruiser had, in fact, been chased and fired upon by two of the enemy's armoured cruisers, but owing to her superior speed she eluded them without sustaining damage.
By means of a code-text message the British admiral satisfied himself that the Beresford's wireless information was authentic. This was necessary, since there was the possibility of the cruiser falling into the enemy's hands and a deluding message being sent by her captors, purporting to come from the British vessel.
Majestically the British fleet advanced, steaming in double columns, line ahead, with the "small fry" on either flank. The ships, cleared for action, looked the very embodiment of latent strength and invulnerability, the only dash of colour about them being the white ensigns fluttering proudly in the breeze, the St. George's crosses of the various admirals, and the occasional hoist of bunting to communicate an order to the various ships.
Hamerton's post was with Sir Noel Armitage in the conning tower, the most vulnerable of the armoured parts of the ship; vulnerable because it is a matter of impossibility for the officer working the ship to be completely shut in. He must be able to see what is going on, and the smallest slit in those massive armoured walls will admit a white-hot sliver of steel from a bursting shell, while the conning tower is the favourite mark for the hostile gunners.
Until the German fleet actually hove in sight Sir Noel preferred to remain with his staff upon the bridge. It was a magnificent sight to look astern and see the double line of steel monsters, leaden-coloured themselves, ploughing through the leaden-coloured water, each vessel following with mathematical precision in the wake of the one next ahead until the rearmost ships were lost in the haze.
Hardly a word was spoken by the officers on the bridge of the flagship. For his part Hamerton felt a peculiar indescribable sensation that caused a dryness of the lips and tongue. It was not fear; it was a kind of conjecture, trying to bring himself to realize that he was going into action for the first time of his life, to participate in the greatest naval battle that the world had yet seen.
Every now and again a messenger would come running up the bridge ladder with a "wireless" report. The admiral and the captain, and perhaps the flag-lieutenant would converse in low tones, generally ending in an expressive shrug of the shoulders. Wireless messages reporting the near approach of the German battleships were arriving with monotonous frequency.