From Dartmouth to the Dardanelles: A Midshipman's Log — Reading Notes

glish Channel, and early the following morning passed up the Straits of Dover.

A little before noon on the succeeding day, the 22nd of August, we passed the United States cruiser _Carolina_ returning from Antwerp with citizens of the States, flying from the oncoming Huns, and at 8 o’clock we dropped anchor in Ostend outer roads.

Half an hour later a Belgian steamer, a big two-funnelled, cross-channel boat, came alongside. Our party of marines, with their officers and equipment, were transferred to her, and she shoved off for the shore.

In the inner roads were lying at this time a squadron of battle-ships from the 2nd Fleet, an aeroplane base ship, and a flotilla of destroyers. This squadron weighed anchor next morning and proceeded to sea, and shortly afterwards we weighed and moved into the inner roads. An airship was sighted at about 11 o’clock low down on the horizon, and our anti-aerial firing party fell in with loaded rifles on the quarter-deck, and the anti-aerial three-pounder was manned.

Tense excitement prevailed for about half-an-hour, while the imagined Zeppelin grew gradually larger and larger, and nearer and nearer; but it turned out to be our own _Astra Torres_, so the firing party dismissed and the ordinary routine was carried on, while the airship flew above us, and came to rest in a field to the left of Ostend.

In the afternoon an aeroplane, flying no flag, appeared over the town, and was promptly fired at.

Subsequently it transpired that this, too, was one of our own, though I cannot imagine why she carried no distinguishing mark, and her celebrated pilot was reported to have used some very strong language about the marines who had forced him to a hasty and undignified descent. It was his own fault, anyway—and, luckily, neither machine nor airman sustained any serious damage.

Later on one of our destroyers came alongside for provisions and oil, and remained alongside all that night.

Next morning a flotilla of enemy submarines and destroyers appeared upon the horizon. All our ships got ready to weigh, and our destroyers and light cruisers went out post haste to drive them off. The enemy squadron at once turned tail and fled! All of us midshipmen and cadets, who were not on duty, climbed up to the foretop with telescopes, and watched the pursuit, but only a few shots were exchanged, and neither side sustained any damage. The enemy made all haste in the direction of Heligoland, and our flotilla returned after a fruitless chase.

On that afternoon I remember that I witnessed, from the quarter-deck, a sad accident. Our picket boat had gone out with those of the other ships to sweep for any mines that might have been laid. In the evening the boat returned, and came alongside the port side amidships. There was a heavy sea running, and, as a wave lifted the boat, a reel of wire hawser used for mine sweeping, which had been placed in the bows, got caught in the net shelf, and was left fixed there as the boat descended into the trough of the sea. Next time she rose one of the bowmen got his leg caught under the reel, and it broke just above the ankle. He fell to the deck, but before he could be snatched out of danger, the sharp edge of the reel again caught his leg three inches above the break and half severed it, and the next time the boat rose it caught him again in the same place, and cut his leg right through.

A stretcher was lowered over the side and the injured man was carried quickly and carefully down to the sick bay, where it was found on examination that the limb was so mangled that it was necessary to amputate it just above the knee. Poor chap! that was the end of his war-service. It was a tragic and sickening thing to witness, but it was no one’s fault. In fact, the court of inquiry subsequently held brought in a verdict of “accidental injury,” and absolved all concerned from any blame in the matter.

The following afternoon we took on board a detachment of 800 marines with their equipment, and shortly afterwards weighed anchor and steamed out of Ostend roads.

When we went to night-defence stations at 8 o’clock that night there were marines all over the place—sleeping on the deck, and in the battery, and, in fact, anywhere there was room to lie down. We came across two sergeants who had been drill-instructors at Osborne College when we were there, and had a yarn with them over old times.

About 9 o’clock rapid firing was heard on our starboard bow.

I was then stationed at my searchlight on the port side just abaft the bridge, and I ran up the short gangway and across to the forward end of the shelter-deck to see what was happening. At first it sounded like big guns over the horizon, and I thought we had run into an action; but when I got on the bridge I saw that it was the flagship that had fired, and was now turning four points to starboard to give the other ships a clear range. Our helm was now put to port, and we swung off in the wake of the flagship.

Then I heard the captain give the order to switch on No. 1 searchlight, which was in charge of Cunninghame, our junior cadet. This light was just forward of mine, and I nipped back in a hurry in case mine should switch on. No. 1 failed to pick up the object the flagship had fired at—which, by the _lights_ it was showing, should by rights have been a fishing-smack—and his beam was very badly focussed. I knew my beam was all right, as I had tested it when preparing for night defence, and, as I had trained on the lights in question as soon as I had seen them, when the captain ordered me to switch on, my beam revealed the object at once. It proved to be two German destroyers: one showing the lights usually shown by a fishing-smack, the other showing no lights at all! Now the other searchlights quickly focussed on the enemy, and one of our 12-pounders fired two shots in swift succession. A few seconds later I saw two flashes in the beam of the searchlights where the shells struck the water close to their objective, and two white columns of water were flung high into the air. Then came a blinding flash, followed immediately by the sound of an explosion: a blast of hot air, smelling strongly of cordite, caught me unprepared and threw me off my balance. The six-inch gun immediately below me had fired without any warning. I never saw the fall of that shell although, as soon as I had recovered myself, I watched the enemy ships carefully. Only a minute later one of them fired a torpedo at us. For some way we could follow the track of bubbles in the gleam of the searchlights—then it passed out of the light, and there came a moment of breathless suspense. Had they got us? No! the brute passed harmlessly between us and the flagship.

Then our aftermost six-inch gun fired, but this time I was prepared, and, bracing myself against the blast, watched eagerly for the fall of the shot. It pitched some hundred yards from the torpedo-boats—ricochetted like a stone—hit the second of them right amidships and exploded: and the enemy craft simply vanished from the face of the waters! A jolly lucky shot! The other destroyer evidently thought so anyway, for, extinguishing her lights on the moment, she dashed away at full speed and was lost to sight in the darkness.

Presumably pursuit was useless, for shortly afterwards we extinguished our searchlights and proceeded on our way without encountering any more excitement.

The next day, which we spent at sea, was quite uneventful, and on the following evening we entered Spithead.

Here, with the last rays of the setting sun illuminating their pale grey hulls, lay the whole of the 2nd Fleet at anchor off Portsmouth. We had parted company with the two last ships of our division just outside, they having gone on to Portland and Plymouth respectively, and we entered Portsmouth in the wake of the flagship, lining ship and dipping our ensign as we passed the old _Victory_, and shortly afterwards dropping anchor in the harbour.

That night we disembarked all the marines.

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the north-west died away; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; In the dimmest north-east distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; “Here and here did England help me,—how can I help England?—say.”

NEXT day we took on 400 tons of coal, and in the evening weighed and proceeded to Portland, where we arrived next morning.

That evening the whole of the 2nd Fleet arrived and anchored, and on the following morning the second division of our squadron went out again for sub-calibre firing, the first division remaining at anchor. In the evening the Padre came on board to join. The second division returned to harbour at 4 o’clock, and at about 7 p.m. we received a signal ordering all ships in harbour to raise steam for fifteen knots and proceed to sea as soon as they were ready.

On our ship the hoisting in of all boats was commenced at once. The picket boat came in without a hitch, but, when the pinnace was hoisted clear of the water the after leg of the slings parted and she had to be lowered back. As we were in a hurry the Commander then took control of operations, and had a 3½-inch wire hawser rove three times round the stern of the boat, and then made fast to the ring at the head of the slings. When she was once more lifted clear of the water her stern was heard to crack, but we were already delaying the fleet and no time could be spared to lower her down again and readjust the hawser, so, though the stern continued to crack and give, and finally crushed in like an egghell, the boat was hoisted and lowered into the crutches, and we proceeded to sea with the others.

This incident was pure bad luck and not due to faulty seamanship—had the pinnace been a new boat the stern would easily have withstood the strain, but she was nearly twenty years old and her planks were weakened by age.

On the next day the whole fleet did big gun practice in the Channel. Down in the Fore T.S. the sound was considerably deadened, but the violent vibrations and the increase of air pressure following on each discharge had a most jarring and unpleasant effect on the ear-drums. The ships did not fire all together, but each in succession had a “run” of one hour. When we had finished our “run” all of us midshipmen and cadets went on deck to watch the firing of the flagship of our division, which was just ahead of us. Although the actual cordite charge is practically smokeless, the silk bag in which the sticks of explosive are encased gives off a dense light-brown smoke, which often hides the whole turret from view, and the flash of the explosion, even in daylight, causes a vivid glare almost like lightning. The gases do not burst into flame until they have passed some ten feet from the muzzle and come in contact with the oxygen in the atmosphere, when they flare up in a fraction of a second. Occasionally a gun will blow a huge smoke ring which, gyrating rapidly, ascends to a considerable height, gradually expanding until it is dispersed by the air. This phenomenon was very noticeable later on in the Dardanelles.

The following day we did fleet tactics (pronounced “Tattics”) off the Isle of Wight. These consist of manœuvres executed in columns. Each successive evolution is signalled by the flagship and is performed as soon as the whole fleet has repeated the signal and the flagship has hauled down the flags indicating the same. Throughout each operation the ships must keep within a specified number of cables’ lengths of each other.

That evening found us off Beachy Head, and having finished tactics we headed for Portland, proceeding in divisions in line ahead, columns disposed abeam to starboard. We dropped anchor in Portland the following day. Then the colliers came alongside and the whole fleet coaled.

As we had not yet done our second run of sub-calibre firing we left harbour next morning, and spent the day at sea for purposes of same. During our absence the whole _personnel_ of the 2nd Fleet and the remaining division of our squadron went for a route march.

At 4 o’clock we returned to harbour, anchored, and took in coal until our bunkers were filled to 97 per cent. Next morning our division landed its ships’ companies for a route march at the Camber. The men fell in in marching kit under their respective officers, and according to the seniority of their ships in the Fleet. (Seniority of ships is determined by the seniority of their commanding officers.) When all were present, and had been duly reported to the officer in command, the band of the flagship led off with a lively march tune, closely followed by her ship’s company. Then the other ships’ companies followed in succession, and soon the whole 1500 men were proceeding along the white dusty road from Portland to Weymouth. Presently an order to “March at ease!” and “Carry on smoking!” was passed down the line, and the men produced their pipes, lit up, and were soon laughing, chattering, and singing as they marched, keeping, however, always in correct sections of four. On entering Weymouth the order “‘Shun! Out pipes!” was given, and the whole column swung along in absolute silence, broken only by an occasional order, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of the heavy marching boots on the dusty road.

We marched through the town to the pier, where we embarked on penny steamboats, commandeered for the purpose, which conveyed us back to the Fleet in Portland.

On the following day special steamers were run to Weymouth for the convenience of those who wished to go ashore; and, our leave-book having been signed, all of us junior officers who were not on duty forthwith donned our best clothes and embarked for the beach. On arrival the first thing we did was to storm the well-known establishment of Messrs. Gieve, Matthews, and Seagrove, Naval Outfitters (better known perhaps as just “Gieves’s”), and there order tin uniform cases, as already those silly kit-bags had proved most inadequate, as well as highly destructive to clothes. Not much chance of a swanky crease down your best trousers if you have to keep them in a kit-bag! You’ll get the creases all right—plenty of them, but they won’t be in the right place. The Navy is particular about these things, and does not allow slackness in detail even in war-time. It’s the same in the Army—our men’s anxiety to wash and shave whenever possible has been a source of some astonishment to our Allies; but somehow cleanliness and neatness seem to be an essential part of a Briton’s makeup—the outward and visible sign of a heart for any fate.

When we had finished our business at Gieves’s we went round the town; looked in at cinema shows, bought many small necessaries we needed, and devoured eggs, cakes, and cups of chocolate at various confectioners’. Leave was up at 8 o’clock and we reembarked on the steamer. Several of the seamen had imbibed more strong drink than they could carry, and three marines had a free fight on deck surrounded by sympathetic friends. One of the combatants on being “downed” violated Queensberry rules by kicking his opponents in the stomach, whereupon the victims of this outrage determined to throw him in the “ditch.” (“Ditch” or “pond” is naval slang for the sea.)

This resolution was heartily applauded by the audience, and would undoubtedly have been put into execution had not the steamer just at this juncture run alongside their ship. Still fighting they disappeared up the gangway. Five minutes later we drew alongside our own ship, and, having reported ourselves to the officer of the watch, we went down to dinner.

Two more days were spent in harbour, and several of the uniform cases arrived, but as yet no sign of mine. On the evening of the second day we weighed anchor and proceeded to Devonport, arriving there next morning. By this time our damaged pinnace had been sufficiently patched up for a short journey, and it was hoisted out and towed ashore carrying a demand for another.

The light cruiser “——,” which we had previously seen in dry dock, being now completed, was lying alongside one of the wharves, looking very workmanlike in her fresh grey paint.

Presently our new pinnace arrived, and as soon as she was hoisted inboard we went to sea again.

Sunset on the following evening found us off Falmouth, where we sighted five old two-funnelled cruisers. We stopped and waited while the flagship sent her steamboat to the cruiser’s flagship for dispatches, and then we relieved them on the Lizard patrol.

Soon the cruisers were on the horizon steaming towards Devonport, and, spreading out from the rest of our division, we took the second billet from Land’s End, and patrolled up and down all that night. From time to time we caught a glimpse of the loom of the Lizard light, and on this we kept station, being unable to see any of our consorts.

Our present duty was to stop any ships proceeding up Channel and to examine their papers and cargo. Any ships containing contraband of war of whatever description were promptly escorted into Falmouth Harbour and handed over to the port authorities, who detained or confiscated them according to the requirements of the case. Fane, one of our midshipmen, was one of the boarding officers, and very quaint and warlike he looked! He was quite a little chap, and was armed with a huge cutlass and a revolver nearly as big as himself!

On the next day we stopped several tramps and cargo-boats, but discovered nothing suspicious. Two days later, however, the boarding officers were summoned at 4 a.m. and disappeared on deck armed to the teeth, and at 6, when the rest of us were just turning out, they came clattering down the hatchway with the news that we had caught a big Dutch liner called the _Gebria_, and that she had 400 German reservists on board.

As soon as we were dressed we dashed up on deck to have a look at her. She was a large ship with two yellow funnels, with a light blue band round each, and must have displaced quite 20,000 tons. She was lying about a mile away on our starboard quarter. We put a prize crew on board and proudly escorted her into Falmouth, where we handed her over to the port authorities.

After this we coaled, and the same evening put to sea. Just as we were clearing the harbour a torpedo-boat signalled us asking to come alongside, and stating that she had on board a subaltern of marines for us. We stopped both engines, and a few seconds later the torpedo-boat lay-to about a hundred yards off. The second cutter was lowered and pulled across to her and returned shortly afterwards with the marine officer. Then the cutter was hoisted to the davits, the ship got under way again and we went to night-defence stations.

When we were about two miles clear of the harbour we sighted on our starboard quarter the lights of a steamer which was rapidly overhauling us.