Part 1 (1/2)
Some Naval Yarns.
by Mordaunt Hall.
PREFACE
A book containing accounts of the work continually and unceasingly being carried on by the gallant officers and men of the Royal Navy should prove of considerable interest to all, and, at the present time, especially to the American reader. I am glad that a New York journalist has had the opportunity of witnessing a part of the t.i.tanic task of our courageous sea-fighters, and of personally gaining an idea of the hards.h.i.+ps endured by the plucky men who are watching our coast. This little book may help considerably to enlighten the general public on the work of the branches of the Navy, and prove that the men engaged in this tedious, hazardous, and nerve-racking vigil are going about it with the same old valour befitting the traditions of the Royal Navy. They have fought the savage beasts like true sportsmen. They have rescued enemy sailors, clothed and fed them, without a sign of animus, knowing that victory will crown their efforts to throttle the enemy of humanity and of civilisation. And that enemy is now the common foe of the United States as well as of England. He has been the sly enemy of the United States even before the declaration of hostilities by the American Congress, while he was the avowed enemy of other countries engaged in this terrible war.
These stories, light though they be, give a conception of what it is to search the seas in a submarine, and the bravery of the youngest branch of the Navy--the Royal Naval Air Service--is palpable even from the modest accounts given by these seaplane pilots. They have confidence in their supremacy over the enemy, and are all smiles even in the face of imminent danger. It shows that often British coolness and pluck have saved a machine as well as the lives of men.
Of special interest is the talk with the captain of a mine-sweeper while he is on the bridge of his vessel. He tells of the many neutral lives that have been saved by English seamen at the risk of their own vessels and the lives of their crews. Noteworthy is it that Great Britain in the course of this war has not been the cause of the loss of a single neutral life. Mines have been placed at random by Germany's pirate craft.
The grit of the English seaman comes to light in the author's journey in a naval ambulance train, as does also the fact that the service takes the utmost care of its wounded and sick. In the account of the Royal Naval Division it is touching to note that the men who are fighting in France and who distinguished themselves so valiantly in the Ancre and other battles, still cling to sea terms or talk.
The accounts in this volume may cause the people of my native country to appreciate the necessity for silence on the part of the British Admiralty, as now that their s.h.i.+ps are linked with ours in the effort to defeat a common enemy the same idea of giving no information to the enemy even at the cost of criticism undoubtedly will be included in orders. Nevertheless, while playing the trump of silence, it is encouraging to read stories of the Navy so that the readers have certain knowledge that silence and brief reports do not mean that nothing is being accomplished. We have recently had an instance of the efficiency and courage of the officers and men in the fight between two British destroyers and half a dozen of the enemy craft, in which the Germans lost two vessels and the British none. Commanders and others greatly distinguished themselves in this conflict, which occurred in the dead of a moonless night. And the deeds of the Royal Navy are certain to be emulated by the officers and men of the United States Navy, for blood will tell.
ETHEL BEATTY.
SOME NAVAL YARNS
I. THE LOG OF A NAVAL AIRMAN
Men of the British services are exasperatingly modest. You are forced to wring stories of experiences from them, and when you are thrilled to the core over their yarns they coolly inform you that their names must not appear. Fortunately, there is something about a story which ”rings true.” From one of the soundest pilots of the Royal Naval Air Service I heard his experience of the previous day. We will call him ”Q,” as he happens to be known in the station. It is his middle initial. He is a tall, well-built man of thirty, who knows a seaplane backwards, and it has been woe to the enemy when he met him.
”We started at dawn,” he began. ”There's not much flying in the dark, only occasionally. First, we ran the machine out of the hangar, and, as usual, tried the engines. In the fading darkness or growing light it is a great sight to see the flames flas.h.i.+ng from the exhaust. In the beginning you run your engines slowly. Yesterday one of them kicked a bit. The cause for the hitch was discovered, and they were once more started. Remember that it is expedient that the engines be thoroughly tested before a flight, as you may spend anxious hours if something goes wrong. The spluttering ended, and we ran them up to full speed. This done, we waited for more light before hauling the machine down to the water. Once the seaplane was water-born, we taxied ourselves across the port at moderate speed. As we rose in the air we had to be careful of the masts of the s.h.i.+ps in the harbour, especially as it was foggy. We then opened up the engines, and the seaplane rose. It was very thick, so we kept 300 feet above the water, flying on a course. There were two pilots and an observer in the machine. Our next work was to estimate the velocity of the wind. This is always rather difficult, and, at the same time, it is most important to have an accurate estimate of the wind. We steered ahead, hoping to see a mark which would guide the observer in his course; but because of the fog, we were not able to pick up our mark. Hence we had to go on and hope for the best.
”We flew higher, about 1,500 feet, and the clouds were about 800 feet, so we were far above them. For two and a half hours we steered straight ahead on the lonely fog-covered sea. We were to meet some wars.h.i.+ps which expected us. But even after covering all that distance, we saw nothing at all, and therefore resolved to descend and see what prospects there were of 'landing' and saving our engines. The sea always appears calm to the man flying above it; and even when we were 30 feet only above the water we could not tell whether or no it would be dangerous to the machine to 'land.'
”By that time we were naturally anxious, as we thought that in steering straight ahead, as we had done, we ought to have reached the s.h.i.+ps with which we had the rendezvous. So far as we could, with the roar of the wind and the propeller, we held a consultation--nothing verbose--in mid-air to determine what would be the best move. We decided to alter our course so as to be sure of getting in sight of land. Half an hour later we saw the first sign of life since we had been out--an old tramp steams.h.i.+p. Ten minutes after we sighted land. When you are flying at sea the land, especially when it is low-lying, takes you by surprise; it suddenly looms up when you least expect it.
”We then picked up a mark and set off on our course for the rendezvous.
So dense was the mist that we could not see more than one and a half miles ahead. However, we raced along at 70 knots on our new course, and in twenty minutes came in sight of the flotilla of wars.h.i.+ps spread out below in fan-like form, but all moving fast. These s.h.i.+ps, you see, keep on the move; but they stay for the time being near the point selected for the meeting. Instructions were signalled to us, and we came up, and flew nearer and nearer the water.
”'Can we land?' was our first question. 'Land' is always used by a seaplane pilot even if there is no land within a hundred miles of him.
Our aerial had been thrown out. It was too rough to go on the water--or, at least, not worth risking damage to the seaplane. We carried on our conversation partly by shouting and partly by signals, which were quickly understood. From the s.h.i.+ps we received further instructions, and sped on to carry them out. We had no further difficulties, and reached home just before sunset.”
As an ill.u.s.tration of modern warfare, and the fact that single British flyers are feared even by two of the enemy's planes, here is a story told by a young Englishman, who knows no nerves when he is in the air, no matter how near he comes to being snuffed out by the shrapnel and bullets. He is a man of 5 feet 10 inches, with clear blue eyes and blond hair--one of those truth-loving Britishers who prefers to err against himself in his reports rather than tell of an uncertainty as a certainty.
”'Saw and attacked a German submarine, which dived before we could close in on her,'” read this man from a log-book. He turned the pages, and a little afterwards came on this:--
”'Sighted German patrol, and exchanged fire. Got over Zeebrugge----'
”That reminds me,” he said, looking up from the little book which held the notes of so many exciting events. ”They sent me out then when I ought to have been off duty.”
He smiled, as did his hearers.
”Well, I got over the Mohl,” he added. ”That's the German pier at Zeebrugge. The Mohl showed up black, and the water looked lighter in the darkness. I was up about 2,500 feet, and dropped bombs on the seaplane base. I mean, of course, the German air base. Only a few moments, and they showed that they were ready for me, as the heavens around were lighted up with searchlights. I dropped a few more of my 'eggs,' and could not be certain of what damage I accomplished, although I saw flames spurt up from several places. Then the enemy sent up two long rows of rockets, making an avenue of light so that I could have read by it. These infernal things parachute when they get to a certain height and, with the fire hanging from them, stay stationary, leaving but one exit. If I had run the machine into the rockets it would have been ablaze in no time. These fireworks stay in the air for about two minutes, which is a devil of a long time when you are up there. Thanks to this lighted avenue, I showed up more distinctly than I would have done in the daytime. The end of the avenue, I knew, was the target of their anti-aircraft gunnery. I flew out, and shrapnel tore all around me. My machine was struck several times, and, as bad luck would have it, the patent point of my magneto fell out just when I got to the spot where shrapnel was thickest.