Sent 1.50 p.m.
(Urgent.)
High Sea Fleet is out and was in latitude 54° 38′ N. longitude 5° 55′ E.[[97]] at 0.30 p.m. to-day, so do not go too far to Eastward.
These sinister possibilities soon faded like our earlier hopes. The High Sea Fleet was not, as we imagined, coming out, but had long been out and was now retiring.
At 3 o’clock I went over and told the War Committee what was passing; but with what a heavy heart did I cross again that Horse Guards’ Parade. I returned to the Admiralty. The War Group had reassembled around the octagonal table in my room. The shades of a winter’s evening had already fallen. Sir Arthur Wilson then said, in his most ordinary manner, ‘Well, there you are, they have got away. They must be about here by now,’ and he pointed to the chart on which the Chief of the Staff was marking the positions every fifteen minutes. It was evident that the Germans had eluded our intercepting force, and that even their light cruisers with whom we had been in contact had also escaped in the mist. Said Admiral Warrender in his subsequent report, ‘They came out of one rainstorm and disappeared in another.’
It was now nearly 8 o’clock.
Was it then all over? I inquired about our submarines. They had already been collected by Commodore Keyes from their first position and were now moving on to the German line of retreat. But whether the enemy’s course would come within their limited range was a matter of luck. Sir Arthur Wilson then said, ‘There is only one chance now. Keyes with the Lurcher and Firedrake, is with the submarines. He could probably make certain of attacking the German battle-cruiser squadron as it enters the Bight to-night. He may torpedo one or even two.’ It seemed indeed a forlorn hope to send these two frail destroyers, with their brave Commodore and faithful crews, far from home, close to the enemy’s coast, utterly unsupported, into the jaws of this powerful German force with its protecting vessels and flotillas. There was a long silence. We all knew Keyes well. Then some one said, ‘It is sending him to his death.’ Some one else said, ‘He would be the last man to wish us to consider that.’ There was another long pause. However, Sir Arthur Wilson had already written the following message:—
8.12 p.m.
‘We think Heligoland and Amrun lights will be lit when ships are going in. Your destroyers might get a chance to attack about 2 a.m. or later on the line given you.’
The First Sea Lord nodded assent. The Chief-of-the-Staff took it, got up heavily and quitted the room. Then we turned to the ordinary business of the day and also to the decision of what could be told to the public about the event.