CHAPTER XIII

The Attack on the Mole

"It all depends upon the weather," remarked Lieutenant-Commander Farnborough. "This is absolutely the best we've had, and our third attempt--three for luck."

It was a quarter to five on the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of April. The main force of the vessels operating against Zeebrugge and Ostend were on the point of starting from the concentration base, upon their hazardous enterprise.

The composition of the operating craft was of a truly diverse nature. Off the Goodwins came the old _Vindictive_, disguised almost out of knowledge. Her mainmast was down, the massive spar being fashioned into a huge "bumpkin" to fend her stem off the masonry of the Mole. On her foremast and above her conning-tower were box-like structures containing flame-projecting apparatus, Lewis-guns, and other devices conjured up by the Great War. Along her sides were large "brows" or gangways, together with a formidable array of hawsers and chains terminating in specially constructed grapnels.

Astern and in tow of her were _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, two ferry-steamers well known to the inhabitants of Liverpool and Birkenhead, and now carrying passengers of a very different sort from those to which they were accustomed. Following were the block-ships _Thetis_, _Intrepid_, _Iphigenia_, _Sirius_, and _Brilliant_, the paddle mine-sweeper _Lingfield_, and five M.-L.'s.

The starboard column was composed of _Warwick_, flying the flag of Vice-admiral Keyes, _Phoebe_, _North Star_, _Trident_, and _Mansfield_, the two latter towing two obsolete submarines of the "C" class. In the port column were destroyers, every vessel towing one or more coastal motor-boats, while between the columns were about fifty or sixty M.-L.'s.

M.-L. No. 4452 was told off to operate with the artificial fog-producing craft. It was to be by no means an uninteresting task, for, not only was it fraught with danger, but it required great skill and sound judgment on the part of the small craft concerned to liberate the thick pall of smoke at the opportune moment and exactly in the required spot.

Both Farnborough and Branscombe had urgently requested permission to be allowed to take their M.-L. into the harbour to rescue the crews of the block-ships; but since practically every M.-L. skipper had made a similar submission it was obvious that there were to be many disappointed aspirants to the honour--amongst them the officer commanding M.-L. 4452.

Cautiously the strange medley of naval vessels proceeded. Several hours of daylight yet remained--a period during which the flotilla was in more danger of submarine attack than during the night. There was also the risk of running over an enemy mine-field, for the Huns, anticipating naval operations against their Belgian fortresses, had been known to make lavish use of their mine-laying submarines. Another factor, which subsequently proved to be a very vital one, was the position of the buoys. These had been carefully observed by British air-craft, and, as far as could be judged, were all in their positions on the morning of the 22nd.

Orders had been given to dispense with wireless signals, while the use of flags as a means of communication was reduced to a minimum. But one signal and its reply were fated to be recorded in the pages of history.

From the Admiral's ship came the stirring message, a clarion call to which Englishmen had oft-times rallied before: "St. George for England".

Promptly came the forcible and appropriate rejoinder, "And may we give the Dragon's Tail a jolly good twist".

Guarded by destroyers and M.-L.'s the _Vindictive_ and the block-ships proceeded, arriving at a certain rendezvous just as darkness was setting in. Here the principal actors separated, the _Sirius_ and _Brilliant_ making towards Ostend, while the others held on for Zeebrugge.

"How do you feel, old son?" inquired Lieutenant-Commander Farnborough of his Sub-lieutenant.

"Can hardly describe it," replied Branscombe. "Almost believe I've got cold feet, but I wouldn't be out of the show for anything."

Branscombe's description of his condition was a figure of speech. Actually his throat was hot, his tongue was dry, and he could hardly speak a word in reply to his commander. His heart was thumping heavily, while his pulse was throbbing at a rate that would have made a medical man, unacquainted with the circumstances, look astonished. It was a series of sensations akin to those experienced during the last five minutes before "Going over the Top".

A few minutes after scheduled time the monitors began their preliminary "hate", and almost immediately the German guns replied. It was a preliminary operation only, with a view to distracting the attention of the Huns from the _Vindictive_ and the block-ships.

Both Farnborough and his Sub were consulting their wristlet watches almost every fifteen seconds. They wore their watches outside their thick gloves, for officers and men had to be as fully protected as possible against the highly-injurious effects of mustard gas. Together with shrapnel helmets and gas-masks the "get-up" was as unlike that of the Royal Navy as could be readily imagined.

At 11.40 to the minute--for everything depended upon the operations being carried out "according to plan"--the coastal motor-boats dashed in towards the low, flat, sandy shore, and proceeded to lay floats on which the fog-producing plant was lashed. As the dense black pall of vapour rose, Fritz opened a heavy fire. Anxious foreboding was telling upon him. His nerves were very much on edge that night.

Several of the floats were observed to be sunk, while, as ill-luck would have it, the light wind, hitherto favourable to the enterprise, changed in direction. Nevertheless, the dauntless little craft went about their work, nothing but their small size and handiness saving them from annihilation by the terrifically hot fire maintained by the enemy.

Sixteen minutes later the _Vindictive_, emerging from the smoke-screen, sighted the head of the Mole, bearing one and a half cables on the port-bow. Gathering increased way until her engines were working at full speed, she steered straight for her appointed berthing-place, her guns literally belching fire as she forged through the shell-torn water. It was a gallant sight. Marvellous it was that the old cruiser was not sent to the bottom, so violent was the cannonade directed towards her.

St. George's Day, 1918, was but a minute old when, with the shock practically absorbed by her massive fenders, the _Vindictive_ struck the Mole a glancing blow. Although her decks were shambles, she was now fairly protected from the German fire by the masonry of the lofty breakwater, but by this time her funnels, upper-works, and flame-projecting huts were riddled.

In the midst of a truly deafening din men dashed from cover to hurl the grapnels across the parapet of the Mole. At first the attempt was a failure, for the set of the tide and the scend of the sea caused the _Vindictive_ first to grind heavily and then swing slightly away from the wall. To add to the difficulty of the storming-party most of the "brows" had been shattered by shell-fire. Two only could be run out, and along them literally lurched the seamen and marines. Swept by machine-gun fire the passage of the storming-party along those frail gangways was a heroic one. In cold blood a man would have been pardoned for hesitating to essay the task. Should any of the men slip and fall--and several of them did--a hideous death awaited them between the grinding hull of the ship and the seaweed-covered masonry of the Mole.

Encumbered though they were with Lewis-guns, bombs, ammunition, and explosive charges, and carrying rifles and bayonets, the storming-party continued, one after another, to gain the top of the parapet, whence a drop of fully fifteen feet had to be risked before they could reach the fairly broad but much obstructed roadway on the inner side of the breakwater.

Meanwhile, not only had the _Vindictive_ put alongside the Mole farther from the mole-head than had been intended, but she obstinately refused to range alongside. It was the little _Daffodil_ that saved the situation. Bows on, and with her engines continuously going ahead, the Liverpool ferry-boat forced her big consort up against the Mole, and thus enabled the rest of the storming- and demolition-party to land.

A few yards ahead of the now secured _Vindictive_ came the _Iris_. In the heavy ground-swell she bumped heavily against the hard granite. Most of her scaling-ladders were smashed to matchwood, and those that remained were almost too insecure to attempt to use. Yet, in spite of hostile fire and the hazardous means of ascent, men were not wanting to risk and give their lives for King and Country.

One of the first to ascend was Lieutenant Claude Hawkings. For a brief instant he stood upon the parapet, silhouetted against the glare of the star-shells and the flashes of the guns, striving to engage one of the large grapnels flung from the deck of the _Iris_. The next instance he was shot and fell upon the stonework.

Almost simultaneously Lieutenant-Commander G. N. Bradford worked his way to the top of a derrick used for lifting out a large mole-anchor. From this precarious perch he leapt down, alighting on all fours on the parapet. Without an instant's delay he was on his feet again and tugging furiously at the anchor to secure it. This he did, and in the moment of success he, too, was shot, his body falling into the water betwixt the ship and the Mole.

Unfortunately the mole-anchors refused to obtain a grip. Grinding and bumping, the _Iris_ was unable to land her men. Reluctantly it was realized that any further attempt at that spot would mean a needless loss of life, so the cable was slipped and the little ferry-boat ran alongside the _Vindictive_, where she was able to land the survivors of her seamen and Royal Marines across the deck of the cruiser.

By this time the storming- and demolition-parties were hard at it, clearing the head of the Mole and making a mess of German personnel and material generally. With Lewis-guns and bombs they worked their way along, destroying wireless stations, clearing out machine-gun nests, and hurling deadly explosive missiles upon the decks of the German torpedo-craft lying alongside.

It was by no means a one-sided affair. Caught like rats in a trap the Huns on the seaward end of the Mole put up a plucky and stubborn fight, doubtless relying upon the chance of receiving reinforcements from the shore.

The expected reinforcements never arrived. To enable German troops to gain the stone portion of the Mole they must needs cross an iron pier connecting the stonework with the mainland. Bodies of troops were actually on the way, when it was noticed that a submarine was approaching at a distance of a mile and a half. Lit up by the glare of the star-shells the coming submarine presented a tempting target. Hun 4-inch guns promptly opened fire upon her, but unswervingly the submarine held on.

This puzzled Fritz completely. Then it occurred to him that the British submarine was out of her course and that, if she carried on, she would run aground and become an easy capture. So orders were given to cease fire and to train two search-lights upon the doomed craft in order to baffle still further her navigating officer.

But C 3 was not out of her course, nor was her lieutenant in command at all hazy as to his position. The submarine was laden with explosives in order to demolish the only means of communication between the Mole and the shore. It was deemed a task that entailed the sacrifice of C 3's officers and men; yet, in the hope that a slight chance of escape offered, the vessel was provided with a motor dinghy. From the conning-tower the officers could see the viaduct distinctly, as it stood out against the glare. On it were hundreds of German troops, many dancing and waving their arms with delight at the thought of making an easy capture of the bewildered Englishmen.

Now, at a distance of less than a hundred yards, success looked like becoming realization. Altering helm slightly C 3 charged the viaduct at full speed, hitting it fairly at right angles. The blunt nose of the submarine glinted over a horizontal girder, lifting the hull quite two feet out of the water. Still carrying way, C 3 lurched forward until the base of her conning-tower brought up against the massive iron braces of the pier. There she remained hard and fast, save for the quivering movement imparted by the ground-swell.

Overhead were hundreds of Huns still delirious with glee at their easy victory; underneath, a handful of cool and resolute Britons determined to do the job thoroughly and efficiently.

C 3 had been fitted with gyro steering-gear, a device similar to that of the Whitehead torpedo, to enable her to steer automatically for her goal after her crew had abandoned her. But, taking no risks on that score, Lieutenant Sandford, the officer in command, had resorted to the ordinary methods of steering until the submarine was securely wedged under the viaduct.

Before the actual impact C 3's crew mustered on deck. In that exposed position they remained within full view of the enemy; yet, confident that the submarine's crew would speedily be made prisoners, the Germans forbore to fire.

The order was then given to ignite the fuses. Having made sure that the desired explosion would take place, Lieutenant Sandford gave the word for all hands to embark on the skiff.

Then the disconcerting discovery was made that the skiff's propeller had received damage. The little motor was useless. All that could be done was to make use of oars in a race against time. It was a hard tussle, with the tide boring against the deeply-laden boat. Unless a certain distance was covered before the explosion took place the men would share the fate in store for the Huns.

To add to the difficulties the Germans, on finding that the dinghy was leaving the submarine, opened a furious fire with pom-poms, machine-guns, and rifles. It was indeed a mystery how the skiff survived the ordeal. Holed many times, her officer in command twice wounded, and several of her crew hit, she struggled manfully against the current, her pumps going all the time to keep the inrush of water under control.

Yard by yard the little boat drew away from the abandoned C 3. Fritz, wild with rage at being baulked of the capture of the crew, redoubled his fire, more men and more machine-guns being brought up to harass the elusive skiff-dinghy.

By dint of strenuous exertions the boat gained a distance of about two hundred yards through the bullet-flecked water when, with a tremendous report, the explosive cargo of C 3 detonated.

In an instant the viaduct went up in a cloud of flame-torn smoke, taking with it men, guns, and search-lights. The air was full of falling debris, a great quantity dropping into the water all around the skiff.

There was not the slightest doubt that C 3's work was accomplished, while the chances of her crew surviving their hazardous task rose with a bound.

In the lull that followed, the men made good use of their oars, and presently, to their relief, the picquet-boat told off to attempt their rescue was sighted. Quickly the heroic men were taken off and transferred to comparative safety on board H.M.T.B.D. _Phoebe_. Meanwhile the demolition-parties on the Mole were hard at work with Fritz's little contraptions, while the block-ships were preparing for their _magnum opus_ within the gates of the Huns' stronghold.