Part 9 (1/2)
The Senior Service does not gush. There are certain formulae appropriate to every occasion. One of our destroyers, who was knocked out early in the day and lay helpless, was sighted by several of her companions. One of them reported her to the authorities, but, being busy at the time, said he did not think himself justified in hampering himself with a disabled s.h.i.+p in the middle of an action. It was not as if she was sinking either. She was only holed foreward and aft, with a bad hit in the engine-room, and her steering-gear knocked out. In this posture she cheered the pa.s.sing s.h.i.+ps, and set about repairing her hurts with good heart and a smiling countenance. She managed to get under some sort of way at midnight, and next day was taken in tow by a friend. She says officially, ”his a.s.sistance was invaluable, as I had no oil left and met heavy weather.”
What actually happened was much less formal. Fleet destroyers, as a rule, do not worry about navigation. They take their orders from the flags.h.i.+p, and range out and return, on signal, like sheep-dogs whose fixed point is their shepherd. Consequently, when they break loose on their own they may fetch up rather doubtful of their whereabouts--as this injured one did. After she had been so kindly taken in tow, she inquired of her friend (”Message captain to captain”)--”Have you any notion where we are?” The friend replied, ”I have not, but I will find out.” So the friend waited on the sun with the necessary implements, which luckily had not been smashed, and in due time made: ”Our observed position at this hour is thus and thus.” The tow, irreverently, ”Is it? Didn't know you were a navigator.” The friend, with hauteur, ”Yes; it's rather a hobby of mine.” The tow, ”Had no idea it was as bad as all that; but I'm afraid I'll have to trust you this time. Go ahead, and be quick about it.” They reached a port, correctly enough, but to this hour the tow, having studied with the friend at a place called Dartmouth, insists that it was pure Joss.
CONCERNING JOSS
And Joss, which is luck, fortune, destiny, the irony of Fate or Nemesis, is the greatest of all the Battle-G.o.ds that move on the waters. As I will show you later, knowledge of gunnery and a delicate instinct for what is in the enemy's minds may enable a destroyer to thread her way, slowing, speeding, and twisting between the heavy salvoes of opposing fleets. As the dank-smelling waterspouts rise and break, she judges where the next grove of them will sprout. If her judgment is correct, she may enter it in her report as a little feather in her cap. But it is Joss when the stray 12-inch sh.e.l.l, hurled by a giant at some giant ten miles away, falls on her from Heaven and wipes out her and her profound calculations. This was seen to happen to a Hun destroyer in mid-attack. While she was being laboriously dealt with by a 4-inch gun something immense took her, and--she was not.
Joss it is, too, when the cruiser's 8-inch shot, that should have raked out your innards from the forward boiler to the ward-room stove, deflects miraculously, like a twig dragged through deep water, and, almost returning on its track, skips off unbursten and leaves you reprieved by the breadth of a nail from three deaths in one. Later, a single splinter, no more, may cut your oil-supply pipes as dreadfully and completely as a broken wind-screen in a collision cuts the surprised motorist's throat. Then you must lie useless, fighting oil-fires while the precious fuel gutters away till you have to ask leave to escape while there are yet a few tons left. One s.h.i.+p who was once bled white by such a piece of Joss, suggested it would be better that oil-pipes should be led along certain lines which she sketched.
As if that would make any difference to Joss when he wants to show what he can do!
Our sea-people, who have worked with him for a thousand wettish years, have acquired something of Joss's large toleration and humour. He causes s.h.i.+ps in thick weather, or under strain, to mistake friends for enemies. At such times, if your heart is full of highly organised hate, you strafe frightfully and efficiently till one of you perishes, and the survivor reports wonders which are duly wirelessed all over the world. But if you wors.h.i.+p Joss, you reflect, you put two and two together in a casual insular way, and arrive--sometimes both parties arrive--at instinctive conclusions which avoid trouble.
AN AFFAIR IN THE NORTH SEA
Witness this tale. It does not concern the Jutland fight, but another little affair which took place a while ago in the North Sea. It was understood that a certain type of cruiser of ours would _not_ be taking part in a certain show. Therefore, if anyone saw cruisers very like them he might blaze at them with a clear conscience, for they would be Hun-boats. And one of our destroyers--thick weather as usual--spied the silhouettes of cruisers exactly like our own stealing across the haze. Said the Commander to his Sub., with an inflection neither period, exclamation, nor interrogation-mark can render--”That--is--them.”
Said the Sub. in precisely the same tone--”That is them, sir.” ”As my Sub.,” said the Commander, ”your observation is strictly in accord with the traditions of the Service. Now, as man to man, what _are_ they?” ”We-el,” said the Sub., ”since you put it that way, I'm d----d if _I'd_ fire.” And they didn't, and they were quite right. The destroyer had been off on another job, and Joss had jammed the latest wireless orders to her at the last moment. But Joss had also put it into the hearts of the boys to save themselves and others.
I hold no brief for the Hun, but honestly I think he has not lied as much about the Jutland fight as people believe, and that when he protests he sank a s.h.i.+p, he _did_ very completely sink a s.h.i.+p. I am the more confirmed in this belief by a still small voice among the Jutland reports, musing aloud over an account of an unaccountable outlying brawl witnessed by one of our destroyers. The voice suggests that what the destroyer saw was one German s.h.i.+p being sunk by another.
Amen!
Our destroyers saw a good deal that night on the face of the waters.
Some of them who were working in ”areas of comparative calm” submit charts of their tangled courses, all studded with notes along the zigzag--something like this:--
8 P.M.--_Heard explosion to the N.W._ (A neat arrow-head points that way.) Half an inch farther along, a short change of course, and the word _Hit_ explains the meaning of--”_Sighted enemy cruiser engaged with destroyers._” Another twist follows. ”9.30 P.M.--_Pa.s.sed wreckage. Engaged enemy destroyers port beam opposite courses._” A long straight line without incident, then a tangle, and--_Picked up survivors So-and-So_. A stretch over to some s.h.i.+p that they were transferred to, a fresh departure, and another brush with ”_Single destroyer on parallel course. Hit. 0.7 A.M.--Pa.s.sed bows enemy cruiser sticking up. 0.18.--Joined flotilla for attack on battles.h.i.+p squadron._” So it runs on--one little s.h.i.+p in a few short hours pa.s.sing through more wonders of peril and accident than all the old fleets ever dreamed.
A ”CHILD'S” LETTER
In years to come naval experts will collate all those diagrams, and furiously argue over them. A lot of the destroyer work was inevitably as mixed as bombing down a trench, as the scuffle of a polo match, or as the hot heaving heart of a football scrum. It is difficult to realise when one considers the size of the sea, that it is that very size and absence of boundary which helps the confusion. To give an idea, here is a letter (it has been quoted before, I believe, but it is good enough to repeat many times), from a nineteen-year-old child to his friend aged seventeen (and minus one leg), in a hospital:
”I'm so awfully sorry you weren't in it. It was rather terrible, but a wonderful experience, and I wouldn't have missed it for anything, but, by Jove, it isn't a thing one wants to make a habit of.
”I must say it is very different from what I expected. I expected to be excited, but was not a bit. It's hard to express what we did feel like, but you know the sort of feeling one has when one goes in to bat at cricket, and rather a lot depends upon your doing well, and you are waiting for the first ball. Well, it's very much the same as that. Do you know what I mean? A sort of tense feeling, not quite knowing what to expect. One does not feel the slightest bit frightened, and the idea that there's a chance of you and your s.h.i.+p being scuppered does not enter one's head. There are too many other things to think about.”
Follows the usual ”No s.h.i.+p like our s.h.i.+p” talkee, and a note of where she was at the time.
”Then they ordered us to attack, so we bustled off full bore. Being navigator, also having control of all the guns, I was on the bridge all the time, and remained for twelve hours without leaving it at all.
When we got fairly close I sighted a good-looking Hun destroyer, which I thought I'd like to strafe. You know, it's awful fun to know that you can blaze off at a real s.h.i.+p, and do as much damage as you like.
Well, I'd just got their range on the guns, and we'd just fired one round, when some more of our destroyers coming from the opposite direction got between us and the enemy and completely blanketed us, so we had to stop, which was rather rot. Shortly afterwards they recalled us, so we bustled back again. How any destroyer got out of it is perfectly wonderful.
”Literally there were hundreds of progs (sh.e.l.ls falling) all round us, from a 15-inch to a 4-inch, and you know what a big splash a 15-inch bursting in the water does make. We got washed through by the spray.
Just as we were getting back, a whole salvo of big sh.e.l.ls fell just in front of us and short of our big s.h.i.+ps. The skipper and I did rapid calculations as to how long it would take them to reload, fire again, time of flight, etc., as we had to go right through the spot. We came to the conclusion that, as they were short a bit, they would probably go up a bit, and (they?) didn't, but luckily they altered deflection, and the next fell right astern of us. Anyhow, we managed to come out of that row without the s.h.i.+p or a man on board being touched.
WHAT THE BIG s.h.i.+PS STAND