reached port. The Ninth Flotilla lost the Turbulent, rammed by a large unknown vessel; but at 2.35 the destroyer Moresby, of the Thirteenth Flotilla, attacked four Deutschland battleships and torpedoed one. Lastly, it is believed that the Black Prince, who had been crippled hours before, was seen for a moment under the searchlights and guns of a number of enemy ships, who sank her at once. All this battle by night was fought under the most desperate conditions, the horror of darkness and the glare and crash of sudden death alternating for five hours; but it was far more ruinous to the German fleet than to the British.
When day broke, Admiral Jellicoe formed his fleet in line ahead and turned north; at 5.15 he called in the battle-cruisers; at 6 a.m. he sighted his cruisers, and at 9 the destroyers rejoined. He had now all his force in hand, except the Sixth Division of six battleships under Admiral Burney, whose flagship, the Marlborough, had been hit by a torpedo and was now being sent home under escort to be repaired. This, however, was no cause for delay, and Admiral Jellicoe patrolled the battle area till noon, in search of the enemy, moving first north, then south-west, and finally north by west.
It was clear that Admiral Scheer had no intention of further fighting. He had a zeppelin out scouting, and admits that she reported to him the position of the British fleet. But he was in no condition to move. He had inflicted on us a loss of three battle-cruisers, three armoured cruisers, and eight destroyers; while of his own ships one battleship, one battle-cruiser, four light cruisers, and five destroyers had been sunk. But his effective force had been diminished out of all proportion to ours; his battle-cruisers were in no condition to fight; he had discovered that the whole squadron of pre-dreadnoughts were unable to lie in a modern line of battle, while six of the remaining fifteen were unfit to be anywhere but in dock; of his eleven light cruisers ten had been hit, and four of them sunk. He had, in short, no fleet to make a fight with; whereas Admiral Jellicoe had available twenty-six powerful battleships, all but four of them untouched, six battle-cruisers out of nine, and all his light forces, except three cruisers sunk and three hard hit.
More fatal still, then and for ever, was the injury to the moral stamina and tradition of the German fleet. In that one day they passed from the militant to the mutinous state of mind, and their commander knew it. As Captain Persius wrote afterwards in the Berliner Tageblatt: "The losses sustained by our fleet were enormous, in spite of the fact that luck was on our side; and on June 1, 1916, it was clear to every one of intelligence that this fight would be, and must be, the only one to take place. Those in authority have often admitted this openly." The Kaiser did his best to shout our victory down, and he was seconded, though more feebly, by German admirals who knew better. But the High Sea Fleet had failed completely to challenge the control of the sea, and henceforth degenerated towards the final surrender.
1. Captain von Hase.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE BRITISH SUBMARINE SERVICE.
The war record of the British submarine service is unique; the difficulties and dangers which our men faced and overcame were such as no other navy has attempted. The patrol of the shallow Belgian coast and the hunting down of U-boats was a very different task from torpedoing merchant vessels or hospital ships without warning; and the campaigns in the Marmora and the Baltic were conducted under conditions which had no parallel elsewhere.
A glance at the map will show that the Marmora was not only distant from the British naval base, but that the only line of approach was of an uncommonly formidable character. The channel of the Dardanelles is narrow and winding, with a strong tide perpetually racing down it, and setting strongly into its many bays. It was, moreover, protected by forts with powerful guns and searchlights and torpedo tubes, and by barrages of thick wire and netting; it was also patrolled constantly by armed ships. Yet all these defences were evaded or broken through with marvellous courage and ingenuity; for nearly a year a succession of brilliant commanders took their boats regularly up and down the passage, and made the transport of Turkish troops and munitions first hazardous and finally impracticable. Two battleships, a destroyer, and five gunboats fell to them, besides over thirty steamers, many of which were armed, nine transports, seven ammunition and store ships, and no less than 188 sailing ships and dhows with supplies. It is hardly necessary to add that in no case was violence done to neutrals or non-combatants.
The first officer to take a British submarine up the Dardanelles was Lieutenant Norman Holbrook. It was in December 1914 that his attempt was made, and after equipping his boat, B11, with ingenious devices for jumping obstacles, and running several preliminary trials, he trimmed and dived for Sedd-el-Bahr at the moment when the searchlights were extinguished at dawn. Rather more than four hours after his start he had passed the Straits and was at last able to put his periscope above water. He found his fortune at the same moment. There, on his starboard beam, was a large two-funnelled vessel, painted grey, and flying the Turkish ensign. At 600 yards he fired his starboard torpedo, and dipped for a few seconds. An explosion was heard. B11 came quietly to observation depth again of her own motion, and her commander, still at his periscope, saw the grey ship firing a number of guns. His boat dipped again, but he got her up once more, and this time saw his enemy, the battleship Messudiyeh, silent, and sinking slowly by the stern. He turned for home, dived into the channel, and ran along the bottom at full speed; came up to take his bearings, dived again, and by 2 p.m. had cleared the exit. In ten hours he had proved all the possibilities of a novel campaign. He had forced the strongly-barred channel, surprised and sunk a battleship in broad daylight, and returned to report, though he had gone up without information and come down with a damaged compass. Of the boats which followed in the spring and summer of 1915, the most famous were E14 (Lieutenant-Commander E. Courtney Boyle); E11 (Lieutenant-Commander M. E. Nasmith); E12 (Lieutenant-Commander K. M. Bruce); E7 (Lieutenant-Commander Cochrane); E2 (Commander David Stocks); and K1 (Lieutenant Wilfred Pirie). In efficiency all these surpassed everything which had been thought possible of submarines. Their cruises lasted from a fortnight at first to thirty days later, and finally to forty and even forty-eight. During this time they would run 2,000 miles and more, with no resources for supply or repairs beyond what they carried on board. When Commander Boyle brought E14 back to her base in August after her third cruise, she had done over 12,000 miles since leaving England, and had never been out of running order—a record for which her chief engine-room artificer, James Hollier Hague, was promoted to warrant rank.
It is impossible to relate here the adventures, the ingenuities, and the brilliant service which these seven commanders reported in the bald and convincing style of the British Navy. One example only can be given—a typical and not an exceptional one. Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith took E11 up for the first time in May 1915, in succession to Commander Courtney Boyle, who had just returned, leaving the Turks under the belief that the Marmora was infested by a whole flotilla of submarines. By a curious combination of activity and accident, Lieutenant-Commander Nasmith at once confirmed this legend.
On his second day out he "dived unobserved into Constantinople," and torpedoed a Turkish gunboat; five hours later he stopped a small steamer, whose crew did a "panic abandon ship," capsizing all their boats as they were put out. An American gentleman then appeared on the upper deck and conversed amicably, after which he was sent ashore, and the ship, being found to contain a Krupp gun and ammunition, was cleared and sent to the bottom. Two heavily laden store-ships were then attacked. One was sunk and the other driven ashore. Under a hurricane of fire from the shore batteries, the submarine dived and got away towards the Bosphorus. At Galata there was a panic; all shops were closed, troops were disembarked from transports, re-embarked, and again landed. The effect was redoubled next day when the American gentleman returned to tell his story. Probably he had inquired the number of the British submarines on the ground, and had been misunderstood to be asking for the number of the boat he was aboard; for he reported—and the news ran through
