Part 1

Chapter 13,944 wordsPublic domain

TO KIEL IN THE "HERCULES"

BY LIEUT. LEWIS R. FREEMAN, R. N. V. R.

Official Correspondent with the Grand Fleet, and Member of Staff of Allied Naval Armistice Commission

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR_

NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1919

VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY

BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I INTO GERMAN WATERS 1

II GETTING DOWN TO WORK 31

III FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF "STARVING GERMANY" 61

IV ACROSS THE SANDS TO NORDERNEY 92

V NORDHOLZ, THE DEN OF THE ZEPPELINS 122

VI MERCHANT SHIPPING 154

VII THE BOMBING OF TONDERN 179

VIII THROUGH THE CANAL TO THE BALTIC 198

IX TO WARNEMÜNDE AND RÜGEN 224

X JUTLAND AS A GERMAN SAW IT 255

XI BACK TO BASE 283

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

"The Three Admirals." Rear Admiral Robinson, U. S. N. (left), Vice Admiral Browning, R. N. (center), Rear Admiral Grosset, (French) (right) _Frontispiece_

Heligoland in sight! 18

Members of the Allied Naval Commission, Admiral Browning in center 34

The Allied Naval Commission and Staff, taken on board _Hercules_ 34

The Padre of the _Hercules_ talking with newly arrived British prisoners 40

In the Elbe, Hamburg 166

Railroad station at Hamburg 166

Floating dock for lifting submarines in Kiel Harbour 182

Birdseye view of Kiel 192

In Kiel dockyard 192

H. M. S. _Viceroy_ entering Kiel Canal lock at Brunsbüttel 200

Semaphore station on Kiel Canal, from _Hercules_ 206

Kiel dockyard from the Harbour 214

Foreshore of Kiel Harbour with the Kaiserlich Yacht Club at left of grove of trees 220

_Hindy_ (left) and German pilot who claimed to have launched the torpedo which damaged the _Sussex_ 228

British prisoners and German sailors at Warnemünde 240

View of Kiel Canal from nearmost turret of the _Hercules_ 258

_Hercules_, with three V class destroyers in Kiel Harbour 266

H. M. S. _Hercules_ and H. M. S. _Constance_ in Kiel locks 286

TO KIEL IN THE "HERCULES"

INTO GERMAN WATERS

"The _Regensburg_ has been calling us for some time," said the chief signal officer as he came down for his belated "watch" luncheon in the ward-room, "and it looks as though we might expect to see her come nosing up out of the mist any time after two o'clock. She excuses herself for being late at the rendezvous by saying that the fog has been so thick in the Bight that she had to anchor during the night. It's not any too good a prospect for a look-see at Heligoland, for our course hardly takes us within three miles of it at the nearest."

It was in a fog that the _Hercules_ had dropped down through the moored lines of the Grand Fleet the previous morning, it was in a fog that she had felt her way out of the Firth of Forth and by devious mine-swept channels to the North Sea, and it was still in a fog that she--the first surface warship of the Allies to penetrate deeply into them since the Battle of the Bight, not long after the outbreak of the war--was approaching German waters. Indeed, the whole last act of the great naval drama--from the coming of the _Königsberg_ to the Forth, with a delegation to receive the terms of surrender, to the incomparable pageant of the surrender itself--had been played out behind the fitful and uncertain raisings and lowerings of a fog-curtain; and now the epilogue--wherein there was promise that much, if not all, that had remained a mystery throughout the unfolding of the war drama itself should be finally revealed--was being held up through the wilfulness of this same perverse scene-shifter. The light cruiser, _Regensburg_, which, "according to plan," was to have met us at nine that morning at a rendezvous suggested by the German Naval Staff, and pilot the _Hercules_ through the mine-fields, had not been sighted by early afternoon. Numerous floating mines, rolling lazily in the bow-wave spreading to port and starboard and ogling us with leering, moon-faced impudence in the fog, had been sighted since daybreak, auguring darkly of the explosive barrier through which we were passing by the "safe course" the Germans (in lieu of the promised charts which had failed to arrive) had advised us by wireless to follow.

Now mines, floating or submerged, are not pleasant things to navigate among. Although, theoretically, it is impossible for any ship to run into a floating mine even if she tries (the bow-wave tending to throw it off, as many experiments have proved); and although, theoretically, a ship fitted with paravanes cannot bring her hull into contact with a moored mine; yet the fact remained that ships were being lost right along from both kinds. It seemed high time, then, in the case of the _Hercules_ and her escorting destroyers, that the German Navy, which had undertaken to see them safely through the mine barrier, and which knew more about the pattern of its death-traps than any one else, should begin to shoulder some of its responsibilities. It was good news that the _Regensburg_ was about to make a tardy appearance and hand over a hostage in the form of a German pilot.

* * * * *

The blank grey fog-curtain which trailed its misty folds across the ward-room scuttles discouraged all of the grate-side loungers whom I tried to bestir to go up at two o'clock to watch for the appearance of the _Regensburg_, and, meeting, with no better success in the snugly comfortable "commission-room" into which the former gun-room had been converted for the voyage, I mounted alone the iron ladders which led to the lofty vantage of the signal bridge. There was only a few hundred yards of visibility, but the even throb of the engines, the swift run of the foam along the sides, and the sharp sting of the air on my cheek told that there had been little if any abatement of the steady speed of seventeen knots at which _Hercules_ had been steaming since she passed May Island the previous day at noon. The _Regensburg_, the chief yeoman of signals told me, had made a W.T. to say that she had been compelled by the fog to slow down again, and this, he figured, might make it between three and four o'clock before we picked her up. "There's no use waiting for the Huns, sir," he said, with a tired smile. "The hanging back habit, which they were four years in cultivating, seems to have grown on them so that they're hanging back even yet. Best go down and wait where it's warm, and I'll send a boy to call you when we know for certain when she'll turn up."

My foot was on the ladder, when the sight of a seagull dancing a giddy _pas seul_ on the titillating horn of a mine bobbing off astern recalled a story an Italian destroyer skipper had once told me, of how he had seen an Albanian sea eagle blow itself up as a consequence of executing a precisely similar manoeuvre. I lingered to get the chief yeoman's opinion of what I had hitherto considered a highly apocryphal yarn, and when he was called away to take down a signal to pass back to the destroyers, the loom of what looked to me like a ship taking shape in the fog drew me over to the starboard rail. It dissolved and disappeared as my glass focussed on it, only to raise its amorphous blur again a point or so further abeam. Then I recognized it, and smiled indulgent welcome to an old friend of many watches--the first cousin to the mirage, the looming shape which a man peering hard into thick fog keeps _thinking_ he sees at one end or the other of the arc of his angle of vision.

Any man actually on watch knows better than to let his mind take liberties with "fog pictures," and not a few of those who have done so have had the last picture of the series merge into a reality of wind and water and a good ship banging itself to pieces on a line of submerged rocks. But I--as so often in voyages of late--was on the bridge without duties or responsibilities. I was free to let the pictures take what form they would; and it must have been what the chief yeoman had just said about the weariness of waiting for the Huns that turned my mind to what I had heard and seen of the four-year vigil of the Grand Fleet.

There was a picture of Scapa as I had seen it on my earliest visit from the basket of a kite balloon towed from the old _Campania_, the same _Campania_ which now rested on the bottom of the Firth of Forth, and the top-masts of which we had passed a half cable's length to port as the _Hercules_ steamed out the day before. There were golden sun-notes weaving in a Maypole dance with rollicking slate-black cloud shadows in that picture; but in the next--where the surface of the Flow was beaten to the whiteness of the snow-clad hills hemming it in--the brooding light was darkly sinister and ominous of import, for that was the winter day when we had word that two destroyers, which the might of the Grand Fleet was powerless to save, were being banged to bits against a cliff a few miles outside the gates. Then there was a picture of an Orkney midsummer midnight--just such a night, the officer of the watch told me, as the one on which he had seen the _Hampshire_, with Kitchener pacing the quarter-deck alone, pass out to her doom two years previously--with a fitful green light flooding the Flow, reflected from the sun circling just below the northern horizon, and every kite balloon in the air at the time being torn from its cable and sent flying towards Scandinavia before the ninety-mile gale which had sprung up from nowhere without warning.

Visions of golf on Flotta, picnics under the cliffs of Hoy, and climbs up the peat-boggy sides of the Ward Hill of the "Mainland," gave place to those of squadron boxing competitions--savage but cleanly fought bouts in a squared circle under the elevated guns of "Q" turret, with the funnels, superstructures, and improvised grandstands alive with bluejackets--and regattas, pulled off in various and sundry craft between the long lines of anchored battleships. A long series (these more like panoramas) of hurried unmoorings and departures--by division, by squadron, and with all the Grand Fleet, through every square mile of the North Sea from the Bight to far up the coast of Norway--finished up at Rosyth, in that strange fortnight just before the end, when all but those on the "inside" thought the persistent "short notice" was due to a desire to keep the men aboard on account of the 'flu, and not to the fact of which the Admiralty appear to have been so well advised, that the German naval authorities--for the first and last time--were making desperate efforts to get their ships out for the long-deferred _Tag_.

Then the fog-bank ahead--or so it seemed--was splashed with the gay colour of "Armistice Night," when all the spare signal lights (to say nothing of a lot that couldn't be spared) of the Grand Fleet streaked the sky with joyous spurts and fountains of fire, when stealthy pirate bands from the K-boats dropped through the ward-room skylights of the light cruisers and carried off prisoners who had to be ransomed with champagne, when Admirals danced with matelots on the forecastles of the battle-cruisers, and all the pent-up feelings of four years ascended in one great expansive "whouf" of gladness. I recalled with a chuckle how the "General" signal which the Commander-in-Chief had made ordering the historic occasion to be celebrated by "splicing the main brace" according to immemorial custom in the Navy, was preceded by "Negative 6th B.S.," in consideration of the sad fact that the Yankee ships had nothing aboard to "splice" with. That didn't prevent them, though, from bending a white ensign on their flag halliards, hoisting it to the main topmast of the _New York_, and illuminating it with all the searchlights of the squadron. That happy tribute, I recalled, to the flag of the Navy with which the Americans had served with such distinction for a year, had started the sacking of the signal light lockers, and that picture ended as it began, with the dour Scotch heavens lanced with coloured flame spurts which the dark tide of the Firth gave back in crinkly reflections.

The next picture to sharpen into focus on the fog-curtain was that of a long, trim three-funnelled cruiser, with a white flag at her fore and the German naval ensign at her main, heading in toward the mouth of the Firth of Forth under the escort of a squadron of British light cruisers and destroyers. I had witnessed the meeting of the _Königsberg_, which was bringing over Admiral Meurer and other German naval officers to arrange the details of the surrender of the High Sea Fleet, from the foretop of the _Cassandra_. The rendezvous, at which the _Königsberg_ had been directed by wireless to meet the Sixth Light Cruiser Squadron ordered to escort her in, chanced to fall in an area under which a German submarine, a fortnight previously, had planted its full load of mines. These, in the regular course of patrol, had been discovered and swept up within a day or two, but since that fact had not been communicated to the Germans, the _Königsberg_, doubtless thinking the English sense of humour had prompted them to prepare for her a bit of a surprise in the way of a lift by a German petard, skulked off to the southward, where she was only rounded up after two hours of rending the ether with wireless calls. There were two things I remembered especially in connection with that historic meeting--one was the mob of civilians (probably would-be delegates from the Workmen's and Soldiers' Council) jostling the officers on the roomy bridge of the _Königsberg_, and the other was the fluent cursing of the gunnery lieutenant of the _Cassandra_, who was with me in the foretop, over the unkind fate which had robbed him of the chance of opening up with his six-inch guns on the first Hun warship he had set eyes on since the war began. I thought I had heard in the course of the past year all that the British sailor had to say of the German as a naval foe; but L---- said several new things that afternoon, and said them well.

Poor old _Cassandra_! Although we did not get word of it until a day or two after our arrival in Wilhelmshaven, within a very few hours of the time I was thinking of her there in the fog of the Bight, she had collided with a mine in the Baltic and gone to the bottom.

There was another picture of the _Königsberg_ ready to follow on as the first dissolved. This was the brilliantly lighted hull of her--the only undarkened ship of the hundreds in the Firth of Forth that night--as I saw it an hour before daybreak the following morning, when I set off from the _Cassandra_ in a motor launch to be present in the _Queen Elizabeth_ during the historic conference which was to take place there that day. Admiral Beatty had refused to receive the revolutionary delegates at the preliminary conference which had been held in the British flagship the previous night, and as a consequence it appears that Admiral Meurer and his staff were summoned to make a report to their "superiors" on their return. This strange meeting had been convened shortly after midnight (so the captain of the M.L., which had been patrolling round the _Königsberg_ all night, told me), but still, five hours later, as "M.L. 262" slid quietly by at quarter speed, the rumble of guttural Teutonic voices raised in heated argument welled out of the open scuttles of what had probably been the ward-room. It occurred to me even then that this rumble of angry dispute was prophetic of what Germany had ahead in the long night that was closing upon her.

Although "M.L. 262" ended up an hour later with her propellers tangled in the cable of Ox-Guard boom, I managed to get on the flagship in time to see Admiral Meurer and his party come climbing up out of the fog to her quarter-deck. The conference lasted, with short intervals, until long after dark, and the next picture I saw was that of five German naval officers, chagrined and crestfallen, being piped over the side to the barge which was to take them to the destroyer standing by in the fog to return with them to the _Königsberg_ at her anchorage, Inchkeith. It was "Officers' Night" for the kinema in the "Q.E.," and they were showing a "made-in-California" film called the "Rise and Fall of Julius Cæsar." I remember distinctly that Casca had just driven the first thrust, and the mob of conspirators were thronging upon Cæsar round the "base of Pompey's statue," when the commander sent me word that the guests were about to depart.

The captain of the fleet, the captain, the commander, the officer of the watch and the boatswain were waiting at the head of the starboard gangway as I stepped on deck, and out of the fog, which had thickened till I could not see the muzzles of the guns of "Y" turret, the Germans were advancing from aft. The frown on Admiral Meurer's heavy brows was magnified by the cross light of the "yard-arm group" at the gangway, and his mouth, with its thin hard lips, showed as a straight black line. With a click of the heels and the characteristic automaton bow of the German, he saluted the British officers in turn, beginning with the captain of the fleet, stepped down the short gangway and disappeared into the waiting barge to the shrilling of the pipes. Bowing and clicking, the others followed suit, a weedy "sub," with an enormous roll of papers under his arm, going over last.

The _Oak_, herself invisible in the fog, groped blindly with her searchlight to pick up the barge. "We must hold the light steady," facetiously quoted the Press correspondent at my elbow from a speech of President Wilson's which had appeared in the morning papers, and then added thoughtfully, "It may be a _light_ that kind need for guidance, but if I had the leading of them for the next generation it would be by a ring in the nose."

Now, panorama resumed. It was the day of the surrender, and the _Cardiff_, with her high-flown kite balloon in tow, was leading the line of German battle-cruisers out of the eastern mist. I was watching from the bridge of the _Erin_, and an officer beside me, recognizing the _Seydlitz_, flying the rear-admiral's flag, in the lead, with the _Moltke_ and _Derfflinger_ next in line, told how, from the light cruiser in which he had chased them at Dogger Bank, he had seen at least two of the three, leaving the _Blücher_ to her fate, dashing for the shelter of their minefields with flames swirling about their mastheads. Another spoke casually of how, in the _Tiger_ at Jutland, he had been for a wild minute or two, while his ship was rounding a "windy corner" as Beatty turned north to meet the British Battle Fleet, under the concentrated fire of all the battle-cruisers--with the exception of the _Hindenburg_, but with the _Lützow_ added--now steaming past us. We remarked the "flattery of imitation" in the resemblance of the _Hindenburg_ with her long run of forecastle and "flare" bows, to the _Repulse_ and _Renown_, and of the symmetrical, two-funnelled _Bayern_ as she appeared between the _Kaisers_ and the _Königs_ in the German battleship line to the British _Queen Elizabeth_ class laid down before the war. The _Queen Elizabeth_ herself, falling out of line to take the salute of the ships of the fleet she had led to victory as they passed, brought that reel of panorama to an end.

The next was of five ships of the _Kaiser_ class, as they had appeared from the _Emperor of India_, which, with the rest of the Second Division, was escorting a squadron of the enemy to Scapa for internment. We saw the German ships at closer range now, and the better we saw them the worse they looked. Their fine solidity was less impressive than from a distance, for now our glasses revealed the filth of the decks, the lack of paint, and the slovenly, sullen attitude of the motley garbed figures lounging along the rails. We passed within a biscuit toss of the _Kaiserin_ when their leading ship, the _Friedrich der Grosse_, lost her bearings in some way and failed to follow the _Canada_ through the anti-submarine boom off the end of Flotta, an action which only the smartest kind of seamanship on the part of the division of _Iron Dukes_ prevented from developing into a serious disaster. Most of the Huns--to judge by the expression on the faces leering across at us--would have welcomed a smash; but it was avoided by a hair, and they ultimately straightened themselves out, straggled through into the Flow, and on to their more or less final resting-place, off the inner entrance to Gutter Sound.

The final picture, as it chanced, which my fancy projected on the curtain of the fog was one that embraced what I saw from the steam pinnace which was taking me to the _Impérieuse_, on my way back to Rosyth. An angry Orkney sunset was flaring over the hills of Hoy--a sullenly red glow, gridironed by thin strata of black cloud like the bars of a grate--and a sinister squall was advancing from the direction of Stromness to the northward. For a few moments the hot light of the sunset had silhouetted the confused hulls of battleships and battle-cruisers against the silvered seas beyond, and revealed the disordered phalanx of the moored destroyers blocking the mouth of Gutter Sound; then it was quenched by the onrush of the storm clouds, and all that was left of the High Seas Fleet disappeared into shadow and driving rain.

It was a far cry, I reflected, from the Kaiser's "Our future lies upon the seas!" and Admiral Rodman's "The German ships are of no use to anybody; the simplest solution of the problem of their disposition is to take the whole lot to sea and sink them." And yet--

Suddenly, stereoscopically clear, on the blank sheet of the fog left as the High Sea Fleet faded from sight, the head-on silhouette of an unmistakably German light cruiser appeared. For an instant the soaring mast and the broad bridge suggested that my fancy had materialized the _Königsberg_ again. Then the rat-a-tat of a signal searchlight recalled me to my senses, and it did not need the chief yeoman of signals' "There she is, sir; sending away a boat to bring us a pilot," to tell me we had finally rendezvoused with the _Regensburg_. I descended to the quarter-deck to see the pilot come over the side.

Very smartly handled was that cutter from the _Regensburg_. I remember that especially because it was almost the only German boat that came alongside during all the visit which did not either ram the gangway, or else miss it more than the length of a boat-hook. They explained this by saying that most of the skilled men had left the navy, and that their boats, as a consequence, were in the hands of comparative novices. At any rate, at least one first-class crew of boat-pullers had remained in the _Regensburg_, and they brought their cutter alongside the gangway as neatly as though the _Hercules_ were lying in harbour.