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.