Chapter XXX Dreadnought Against Dreadnought
In the afternoon of that same bleak January day the U50 was warped out of the Kiel Canal. Her petrol tanks had been filled, she had taken in fresh water and stores, and now she was bound for Heligoland, there to receive a new supply of torpedoes and explosive bombs before resuming her work of preying upon merchant shipping in the British Seas.
From the cliffs of the fortified island, Max Hilliger watched the squadron of German battleships going out. There were four great Dreadnought cruisers—Brandenburg, Lessing, Mozart, and Goethe—with six light cruisers of the Kotzbue class, and a flotilla of torpedo-boat destroyers. As they threaded their way through the secret lanes of the mine-field, he could hear their bands playing patriotic German music. He watched them until they disappeared into the night darkness.
They were timed so that by steaming across the North Sea at twenty-five knot speed they would be within gun-range of the English coast at earliest dawn.
Until shortly after midnight, when, with all lights out, they were crossing the Dogger Bank, the German commanders had no suspicion that their movements had been observed. Even with the most careful watch they failed to detect the low black shapes of a patrol of British destroyers rushing westward in advance of them.
At half-past seven on that wintry Sunday morning, the destroyers were already in communication with a great squadron of British Dreadnoughts and cruisers assembled, with steam up, hardly a score of miles ahead of them to the north-west. Signals were flashed back to the flotilla to give chase to the enemy, and, while keeping him in sight, report his movements.
Rodney Redisham was in his bunk in the light cruiser Dauntless when the bugle sounded “General Quarters.” He dressed quickly in his warmest winter clothing and went up on deck. There was a film of mist across the sea. The air was very cold, and a powder of rime frost lay white upon the rails, the gun covers, and all upper works.
“The enemy is out!” one of his fellow midshipmen gleefully told him. “I believe we have nabbed him, this time.”
Every man of the ship’s company was alert and inwardly excited at the prospect of an engagement. The decks were cleared for action, guns were loaded; everything was got ready. Rodney climbed up to the forward fire-control platform.
From this position he could see the whole of the British battle squadron as the ships took their places in the line of pursuit, led by the vice-admiral’s big flagship, the Saturn. She was closely followed by the Avenger, the Patroclus, the Tremendous, and the Auckland—five formidable floating fortresses, each carrying eight 13.5-inch guns. Supporting these Dreadnoughts were the Sarpedon, the Athene, the Rutland, and other light cruisers, escorted by destroyers. They were steering to the south-east, working up their speed to a uniform twenty-five knots.
Word soon came back from the advance scouts that the enemy had turned tail. The Germans had rightly judged that a small flotilla of destroyers would not alone and unsupported give chase to a squadron of great battleships, but that they were the screen of a larger force.
Admiral von Hilliger had boasted that he was thirsty to come to grips with the British fleet, but he was less eager now that his valour was put to the test. He could bring out a squadron to bombard undefended towns, but, menaced by an enemy who could hit back, he realised that his game was up. And so, turning tail, he ran off on a bee line for the shelter of Heligoland and its protecting mine-fields.
The black smoke from his squadron’s funnels was seen blurring the clean line of the horizon. There were about a hundred and twenty miles of open sea between him and safety, and behind him, like a pack of vengeful wolves at his heels, rushed an enemy squadron swifter and more formidable than his own.
And now the British ships, forming into line abreast and avoiding the immediate wake of the Germans, piled up yet more steam, tearing through the water with their bows smothered in white spray as their whirling turbines worked up their speed to the twenty-eight knot gait of which the slowest vessel was capable.
Long before they came within sight of their quarry, every man was at his battle station. All were behind armour: the fire-control parties at their instruments, the gun-layers with their guns ready to train upon the first visible target, the hydraulic engines in the turrets pumping and grunting.
The chase across the Dogger Bank was a long one; but the greater speed of the British ships steadily lessened the dividing distance, the confused cloud of smoke gradually separated into distinct plumes, masts and funnels took shape, and at length the enemy’s hulls loomed into view and the guns began to speak.
The ranges were sent down from the fire-control platforms, the dials indicated what projectiles were to be used. It was each ship to its kind, Dreadnought against Dreadnought, cruiser against cruiser, destroyer against destroyer.
The Saturn, leading the British line, opened fire upon the Goethe, the slowest and rearmost, as well as the biggest of the German battleships. With a crimson flash and a dense burst of smoke from their muzzles, the two great guns in the flagship’s forward turret thundered forth, and two monster lyddite shells seemed to tear the very air into ribbons as they went screeching through the mist with their message of challenge.
Following the flagship came the mighty Avenger, with the Patroclus close on her heels, the Tremendous next, and then the Auckland.
Very soon the Saturn overhauled the slow Goethe, and in passing gave her a broadside, which carried away her bridge and caused frightful damage on board. But the Saturn’s chosen quarry was far ahead, and she sped on with ever-increasing speed with the object of bringing to action the fastest ships of the fugitive enemy.
Already it was obvious that the Goethe was doomed. Each of the British battleships as she passed gave her a broadside, leaving her to be finally dealt with by the light cruisers.
The chase had continued for over two hours. Far in advance, the British Dreadnoughts were engaged in a fierce running fight with the German battleships, pounding them incessantly.
The fire of the Brandenburg and the Lessing grew weaker and weaker. Masses of flames were sweeping their decks, their upper works were a confusion of wreckage. All that their commanders could hope for now was to reach the sanctuary of the German mine-field before their relentless foes should overtake and totally destroy them.
The third vessel in the German line, the Mozart, suffered even more severely. She had come under the long-range fire of each of the British battleships in turn. One after another her guns had been smashed out of action until she was silenced and could do no more than steam desperately for shelter, with the whole of her after-deck ablaze. Boats were launched, and many of her people jumped overboard to escape the awful inferno.
In the meantime, the British flagship was running perilously near to the German mine-field. At any moment there might be a terrific explosion under her keel. Yet still she went on. So thick was the air around her with black oil-smoke and the dense fumes from her guns that she sent out her signals by flashlight.
One of the Mozart’s crowded lifeboats fell into her track. Her course was promptly altered, and there was the curious spectacle of a great battleship, while firing death and destruction into an enemy, steering aside to avoid running down one of that enemy’s boats.
To the risk of hitting an explosive mine was added the danger from several submarines which had come out from Heligoland to cover the retreat of the battleships. The U50 was amongst them, and Max Hilliger, helping Lieutenant Körner, very nearly succeeded in planting a torpedo in the Saturn’s hull.
The pursuit could not be continued with safety, and accordingly the three damaged Dreadnoughts were allowed to escape beyond range, while the Saturn turned her attention to the enemy cruisers in their wake, working round to head them off and drive them down upon the English light cruisers hotly pursuing them.
It was while the British flagship was thus engaged that a shell from the Wurzburg struck her below the water-line, so damaging one of her feed tanks that her speed was reduced and she was obliged to call for assistance. The Patroclus at once took her in tow, and her withdrawal from the battle enabled the German light cruisers to escape.
There was no ship in the whole of the British squadron which was not at some time engaged with an opponent; but not one German vessel gave as much as she received. Most of them were seriously crippled, and many of them had the greatest difficulty in limping home.
The fate of the Goethe was sealed from the first. Although she was the biggest of the German ships, she was at the same time the slowest, and she had been left behind to bear her own burden unhelped.
The guns of ship after ship had been turned upon her with terrible effect. Shells had been poured upon her from all quarters, spreading devastation on board and death amongst her crew. It was only the great strength of her armoured belt which enabled her for so long to withstand the battering she received from the British heavy guns, and still to keep afloat.
Her upper works were smashed out of all semblance to the fittings of a ship. Amidships, she was a raging furnace; yet she still floated on an even keel, sinking very slowly, while from her bent and shattered mast her flag bravely fluttered.
The Dauntless approached her, circling round. From his post in the fire-control, Rodney Redisham could see the men crowded on the doomed battleship’s after-decks. They were waiting for the expected end, all wearing lifebelts. Then, as the Dauntless came abreast of her, a torpedo was fired. It crashed through the thick plates amidships.
The Goethe shuddered, and heeled over until her decks were almost awash. There was a sudden roar as she turned on her side. Then with a plunge she went to the bottom.
This was the end of the great battle, and the British light cruisers and destroyers devoted themselves to the work of picking up survivors.
They were thus occupied when a huge airship and a number of aeroplanes came out from Heligoland. Avoiding the battleships and cruisers, which might have turned their guns upon them, the aircraft made for the destroyers and attacked them by dropping bombs into their midst. The work of rescue could not be continued under such an attack, and the destroyers scattered, each with its party of rescued Germans.
None of the British ships had been damaged beyond repair, and the number of casualties was very small. An officer and fourteen men had been killed, and three officers and about thirty men were wounded. Greater speed, greater weight and range of guns, and better marksmanship had told in favour of the British.
The Germans, indeed, had received a very sound and thorough whipping in punishment for their attempt to rush over to England and bombard undefended towns. But more than all they received a proof of Great Britain’s invincible power upon the seas.
It was not until many days afterwards that Max Hilliger again met his uncle in one of the corridors of the German naval headquarters in Wilhelmshaven.
“Well, my dear Max,” began the admiral, “and what is now your opinion of your friends the English? We gave them a pretty run for their money, eh?”
Max nodded, not being quite sure of his uncle’s humour.
“And they appear to have caught you, mein Herr,” he responded. “Our ships have not such speed as theirs. That is a grave disadvantage.”
Admiral von Hilliger shrugged his shoulders.
“In future we shall use oil fuel,” he said. “The necessary alteration in our machinery will be quite easy.”
“Then there is their superiority in guns, sir,” ventured Max. “Their guns not only throw a heavier shell than ours, but they are also of much longer range. I am told that the Goethe was smashed almost to pieces before she could so much as touch one of the British Dreadnoughts.”
“That fault can be remedied,” declared the admiral. “Already we are having larger guns made. And, remember, we are having many new ships built. They will have guns such as the English have never dreamt of.”
“And in the meantime,” said Max, “I suppose our great fleet will lie idle in the Kiel Canal?”
“In the meantime,” rejoined the admiral, “we have our Zeppelins and our submarines. Make no mistake, my dear Max, Great Britain’s attempt to blockade our ports will not affect us in the least. We, on the contrary, can starve Great Britain. We shall throw a ring of submarines all round their wretched islands, so that no single ship can enter or leave their seaports.”
Max smiled.
“They will be equal with us, even then,” he boldly declared. “With submarines you cannot hope to hold command of the seas. Besides, to prey upon merchant shipping—neutral ships as well as British—is not war, it is rank piracy.”
Admiral von Hilliger laughed.
“Piracy?” he repeated. “In that case, you shall yourself be one of our pirate chiefs. You shall fly the Jolly Roger. But I do not care what you call yourself so long as you make yourself a terror of the seas. It is what His Majesty the Kaiser wishes you to be. He wishes you to sink their hateful Dreadnoughts, their troopships, their fishing boats, their cargo steamers, and even their passenger liners, wherever they can be found.”
Max looked up into his uncle’s puffy blue eyes.
“Their passenger liners?” he repeated in amazement. “Do you say that such is the Kaiser’s wish? But that would be murder!”
“Hush! my dear Max,” cried the admiral. “We must not call it by so unpleasant a name as that. The whole thing is very different if we call it simply submarine warfare.”
“And suppose I refuse?” demanded Max.
Again Admiral von Hilliger shrugged his shoulders.
“Then you will be arrested for mutiny,” he declared coldly. “And the penalty for mutiny is death. Do you understand? The penalty is an ignominious death.”
Max was silent for some moments. At last he said:
“I prefer to suffer the penalty.”
But already the admiral had turned away, not hearing the words.