A Naval Venture: The War Story of an Armoured Cruiser

by T. T. Jeans

At first she was thought to be a British destroyer, but something roused suspicions, the "challenge" was flashed across; she flashed back, but incorrectly; and, realizing that she was an enemy, orders were given to open fire on her. Two shots blazed out, but they were too late; she let fly three torpedoes, one after the other, all of which struck "home"; and in four minutes the Goliath had rolled over, taking down with her more than five hundred of her officers and men.

Those on deck in the Achates had heard the muffled explosions, and seen the search-lights from the other battleships above Sedd-el-Bahr searching the surface of the water there; but not for some time did anyone know what had really happened—not until a signal flashed across to say that the Goliath had been sunk, and to ask for steamboats to be sent to search for survivors.

The Orphan, who had only just returned from his long job of making all the obstinate transports and other ships "darken ship" properly, was immediately sent up to the scene of the catastrophe, and the Hun, with his steam pinnace, followed. They picked up and brought back one dead body and a mere handful of very much shaken men. As you know, everyone had turned in that night with "submarines on the brain"; so when Dr. Gordon went to the Fleet-Surgeon's cabin and woke him with "Get up, turn out, P.M.O., the Goliath has been sunk, and our boats have gone for survivors!" you can imagine that the Fleet-Surgeon naturally thought that a submarine had done this, so was none too happy. "It'll be our turn next; rats in a trap! My God! I wish I'd never come to sea," he kept groaning as he slipped into his clothes, found his swimming-belt,[#] and hurried on deck.

[#] By this time the swimming-collars had been replaced by belts with greatly increased buoyancy.

The news, when it came at last, that she had been sunk by a destroyer came almost as a relief, because, in spite of the official signal to the contrary, everyone hoped, down at the back of his brain, that perhaps a mistake had been made, and that those submarines reported from Malta would turn out to be a myth.

In fact, next morning at breakfast, the Torpedo-Lieutenant was quite bright and cheery. He was a destroyer expert, and always pooh-poohed submarines as much overrated craft, so now never tired of saying "Destroyers are some good after all, you see," and seemed to take as much pride in the success of the Turkish destroyer, as if it had been an English one which had sunk a Turkish battleship.

Without a doubt, everyone admired the pluck and cunning of this destroyer and its German crew (it was known afterwards that the crew was German), however much—or little—the loss of the Goliath affected him; and, truth to tell, it was not the loss of the ship nor of the men that affected most people, but the moral effect and the addition to the general feeling of depression and uneasiness—uneasiness which, it must be remembered, was not by any means chiefly caused by fear for the actual safety of the ships and themselves, but by the dread of what would happen to the Army when left unsupported in its very insecure position on the Peninsula, with the difficulties of supplying itself with stores and reinforcements so enormously increased. Those howitzers, too, might render the position untenable, especially as, given time, there was no reason why the Turks should not bring up more and still heavier guns.

Some of the surviving officers lived on board the Achates for a few days, and slept in hammocks on the half-deck, close to the China Doll. He will never forget those nights when he turned in—always nervous of submarines, and with his swimming-belt all ready round his chest, in case of need—and then had to listen to them relating their gruesome experiences before and after the old ship rolled over and they had jumped into the water. They were suffering the after effects of their shock, and could talk of nothing else all day long, and most of the night as well.

The China Doll would hear, out of the dark, coming from one of them: "You remember when that second explosion came—you were standing close to me—in the battery—the one that shot up that column of water which cut the cutter in half—you remember—it fell on old Tompkins—it was old Tompkins, wasn't it?—it crushed him—don't you remember him howling?—just for a second—and then, not answering when you sung out to him."

Another voice—a big, gruff one—would "chip in": "I'd just said to the Gunner, 'That's not one of our destroyers—look at her funnels—you mark my word—that's not one of ours'—just before we fired that first shot—it didn't hit—I swear I heard a torpedo fired—the first one—the one that hit us under the bridge—and I'm certain I heard someone sing out: 'Gut! sehr gut!'—he must have been a German—he sang it out after each torpedo hit us."