CHAPTER II.

THE LOSS OF THE "FORMIDABLE."

The new year opened with a naval disaster. On 31st December eight vessels of the Channel Fleet left Sheerness for a cruise in the English Channel, and by three o'clock on the morning of 1st January were crossing the fishing-ground not far from the Start Lighthouse. The ships were steaming at a moderate speed and in a single line, the rearmost ship being the _Formidable_, a pre-Dreadnought of 15,000 tons, and a sister ship to the _Bulwark_, which had been mysteriously blown up at Sheerness in the preceding November. The sea was rough, the moon was shining brightly, and a cold, piercing wind was blowing.

Soon after three o'clock the dull roar of an explosion was heard on the starboard side of the _Formidable_, and was followed shortly afterwards by another. The ship shook from stem to stern, and a cloud of black smoke and coal dust arose. She had been struck fore and aft by two torpedoes discharged by a German submarine. At once she began to list heavily to starboard; there were gaping holes in her side, and it was evident that she could not remain afloat very long.

There was not the slightest sign of panic on board the doomed ship. Captain Loxley, one of the ablest of our younger sailors, was on the bridge, setting an example to his crew of cool courage and utter forgetfulness of self. The water-tight doors were closed, the men were piped to quarters, and telephone bells were set ringing all over the ship to give warning of danger. Captain Loxley might easily have called upon his consorts to come to his rescue, but he knew that the submarine which had discharged the fatal torpedoes was still lurking hard by; so he signalled to his sister ships, "Stand off; submarines about."

A bugle rang out, and the men below sprang from their hammocks and rushed upon deck, some of them only half clad. They fell into rank on the sloping deck, and Captain Loxley gave his orders as calmly as though his ship were riding at anchor in harbour. He was smoking a cigarette, and his favourite old terrier Bruce was standing by his side. He was heard to say: "Steady, men; it's all right. No panic; keep cool; _be British_." Everything of wood that might help the men in the water was flung overboard, and finally the captain gave the order, "Every man for himself!" A survivor saw him standing with folded arms as the ship went down.

As the _Formidable_ was listing badly to starboard, it was not possible to launch boats on the port side. Owing to the rough sea a cutter was stove in; but the men stuffed their jumpers into the hole, and bailed out the water with their boots. A barge fell perpendicularly from the davits, and threw the crew into the sea. Meanwhile, the stokers had drawn all the fires and had shut off steam, so that when the ship went down there was no boiler explosion. By this time it was clear that all could not be saved. Many of the crew knew that their last hour had come. One of the survivors thus described the scene on the decks as the _Formidable_ sank into the waves:--

"On one part of the ship where the men could see there was no hope, all eyes were turned upward to the flagstaff, and then the Old Jack was saluted for the last time. The last impression of the scene left on my mind was a long line of saluting figures disappearing below the sky-line. At least half of the men got clear of the ship, but many must have been lost while waiting for rescue. It was almost dark at the time, and the water was icy cold."

* * * * *

Let me tell you how a bluejacket nobly gave his life for another as the ship was sinking. You shall hear the story in the words of the man who owed his life to his comrade's splendid generosity. "When everything had been done to save the _Formidable_, the boats came alongside and took off as many as possible. There were five boats, and two were swamped. All the boats had left the ship when the crew of one cried, 'Room for one more.' Two of us tossed for it, and the other chap won; but he said, 'You have got parents; I haven't. Go on--jump for it.' I did so. I had to swim for it, but I was saved."

The men in the leaking cutter, after being tossed and buffeted by the sea, drenched to the skin by the waves, and numbed by the bitter wind, were picked up by the Brixham fishing smack _Providence_ about fifteen miles from Berry Head. The _Providence_, which was owned and skippered by William Pillar, was running before the gale to Brixham for shelter, but off the Start found herself obliged to heave to owing to the force of the wind. Just then one of the crew noticed a cutter tossing under the lee. An oar had been hoisted, and from it a sailor's scarf was flying as a signal of distress.

The cutter was drifting towards the smack, and every now and then was lost to sight amidst the heaving waves. Four times did the gallant smacksmen try to get a rope to the boat, while the skipper at the helm manoeuvred his little vessel with great skill. At last a small warp was thrown from the smack, and was caught by the men on board the cutter. By means of the capstan the rope was hauled in, and the cutter was brought up on the lee. The rescued sailors jumped on board; but even in the act of doing so they were in great peril, for the seas at times were rising thirty feet above the deck of the smack. The work of rescue occupied half an hour. Seventy-one men, including two officers, were thus saved.

All were on board the smack by one o'clock, and a course was shaped for Brixham. Before long the _Providence_ fell in with a tug, which took her in tow and brought her safely to harbour. The residents of Brixham gave blankets, coats, and boots to the survivors, and provided them with comfortable quarters. Many of the men were utterly exhausted. For hours they had been battling with the heavy winter seas, which had almost continuously washed over them, and they had hoped against hope until the brown sails of the _Providence_ had providentially come in sight.

One of the _Formidable's_ boats came unaided to the shore. After tossing about for twenty-two hours in a raging sea, it drifted with the tide into Lyme Regis, with forty men on board. Nine of her crew had died of exposure, and had been buried at sea. A light cruiser also picked up some of the _Formidable's_ men; but when the final reckoning was made, only 201 had been saved out of a ship's company of well-nigh 800 souls.

* * * * *

The splendid seamanship of Skipper Pillar, and the great courage and devotion of his crew, greatly impressed the country. On 8th February he and his men attended at Buckingham Palace, where the King pinned the silver medal for gallantry on their breasts, and handed them the money rewards which had been bestowed upon them by the Admiralty. The King addressed them in the following words:--

"I congratulate you most heartily on your gallant and heroic conduct. It is indeed a great feat to have saved seventy-one lives. I realize how difficult your task must have been, because I know myself how arduous it is to gybe[3] a vessel in a heavy gale."

Amongst the crew of the _Providence_ was Daniel Taylor, an apprentice. In reply to the King, he said that he had been at sea for just over twelve months, and that he was seventeen years of age. The King observed, "You are small for your age, but you have taken part in a very gallant deed, and I congratulate you." Some time later, Skipper Pillar was given a commission in the Royal Navy.

* * * * *

I must not close this account of the disaster without dwelling for a moment upon the manner in which Captain Loxley went down with his ship. The history of the British navy is full of stories of cool, calm courage and selfless devotion in the face of death; and it is good to know that the sailors of our Navy are as true as ever to the spirit of those who built up its glorious fame in years gone by. On the very verge of doom, when men's courage is apt to fail them, Captain Loxley showed no sign of flinching. In his last moments he thought only of others. He strove manfully to save as many of his crew as possible, and he refused to endanger the lives of his comrades in the sister ships by calling them to his aid. He went to his death like the gallant gentleman that he was; and his last appeal, not only to his crew, but to you and me, was, "_Be British!_"

How kind and thoughtful he was to others is seen from the following letter, which he wrote to his old nurse just before leaving Sheerness:--

"H.M.S. _Formidable_.

"My dear old Nan Nan,--I'm afraid that my Christmas present will be a bit late. I meant to have sent it off yesterday, but forgot. Anyhow, I hope it will arrive safely. My very best love and best wishes to you and William for Christmas and the New Year, and may we soon beat the Germans.

"We are having really quite a quiet time, but you never know when anything may happen. I was out at Malta when war began, but soon came home. Had three days' leave, and then came to this ship, where I am likely to remain for the present.

"Peter [his son] has gone to school, and is just home for his first holiday, which I expect he is enjoying just as much as I did; but he was much braver going to school than I was. Every one seems well at Gloucester, but I have only seen mother once, for about ten minutes, during the last two years. With much love, yours lovingly, Noel Loxley."

One word more before I pass from this tragic story. The loss of the _Formidable_ clearly showed that the lessons taught by the sinking of the _Cressy_, _Hogue_, and _Aboukir_ had not been learned. Our Navy had not yet fully appreciated the fact that the only way to avoid the peril of the enemy submarines is for battleships to steam at high speed, frequently changing their course, and always accompanied by a flotilla of guardian destroyers. The eight ships that sailed down the Channel on the first day of the year 1915 steamed slowly in the bright light of the moon. They were thus a good target for the enemy's submarines, and were, indeed, courting disaster. As the year went by the Navy learned its lesson, and learned it well. Before many months had passed our sailors were more than a match for the under-water boats of the enemy, and the time was soon to arrive when the German submarines were fearlessly hunted and constantly trapped.

[Footnote 3: To change from one tack to the other without going about; to shift a fore-and-aft sail from one side to the other when the wind is aft or on the quarter.]