CHAPTER I

THE LOOM OF WAR

In the Officers’ Mess at Portsmouth—no less than in every Chancellerie in Europe—the one topic of discussion in the last days of July, 1914, was the possibility of WAR.

Most of us were of the opinion that Germany was only trying to see how far she dared go, and attempting to coerce Russia by a gigantic bluff. The great test mobilisation of our Navy had just been brought to a successful conclusion, and we were all feeling elated at the smoothness with which it had been accomplished. Everything had gone like clockwork. Germany would never—so we argued—dare to provoke a European conflict while we were in such an obvious state of preparedness. Although some of us were demobilised and back at our old posts, the greater part of the Fleet was still in full complement and on a war footing. Nevertheless, deep hidden in every human heart there is a secret recognition of the fact which Victor Hugo expressed in the epigrammatic words: “_Rien n’est plus imminent que l’impossible, et ce qu’il faut toujours prévoir ... c’est l’imprévu._” And so each special edition of the newspapers was eagerly scanned, amid anxious speculation on what the future might hold.

When, in accordance with orders received, I joined H.M.S. _Goliath_, which was then lying at Devonport, I found much bustle and activity on board. All the R.N.R. men who had returned to their homes but a few days before were rapidly rejoining, and had to be told off into watches and their duties allotted. Provisions were being got in, and all superfluous gear dumped into lighters alongside....

Then dawned the historic day when Britain declared WAR. Jubilant now in the knowledge that we had indeed accepted the challenge and flung down the gage, all energies were redoubled—and more than redoubled. The men toiled with heart and soul and needed no driving. Working parties invaded the wardroom and cabins, tearing down the woodwork, partitions and panelling, and removing all but absolutely necessary furniture. Chests of drawers vanished, and thereafter we were obliged to rummage in our tin cases when we needed a clean collar or fresh tie. Those who had all their uniform on board packed up and sent ashore their full-dress, plain clothes and valuables.... By the end of the day the dockside looked as though a household removal was in progress!

In the dockyard itself all work went forward at higher speed and with greater zest. Great arc-lights blazed and spluttered throughout the night, and from every quarter came the ringing clang, clang, clang of iron on iron.

Day and night gangs of men were engaged in effecting alterations and repairs to ships already in commission, while others were straining every nerve to complete those still under construction. In a very few days we were ready for sea with all alterations completed, and all ammunition and stores on board.

Several very youthful cadets from Dartmouth College had been appointed to our ship, much to the distraction of the Commander, for we had only twelve hours’ notice of their advent, and the gun-room was not ready for them—indeed, it was full of stores. Finally, one evening we dropped down the Hamoaze, received in passing a cheer from a little crowd on Tor Point, and anchored for the night just within the breakwater.

Next morning at daybreak we steamed out and joined the Channel Patrol. Although we did not know it at the time, on one of the nights when we were steaming to and fro on our beat—all lights out and the guns’ crews sleeping at their posts—the First Expeditionary Force was being quietly shipped across to France.

The unwonted excitement of those first few days rendered us tense and expectant; but nothing of importance took place. It was a time of waiting and watching:—of the holding up and boarding of steamers and sea-craft of all descriptions which we either passed on their way or escorted into port for a more searching examination.

Then, one evening, there came through a coded message on receipt of which the captain altered course, and we proceeded westward at increased speed. Naturally, in the wardroom there was much speculation as to our destination. It is possible that our Intelligence Officer, the Captain of Marines, knew what was up, but he preserved a Sphinx-like and most tantalising silence. That same night we passed the Lizard Light and headed south.

A day or two later, as we were steaming down within sight of the Portuguese coast, we passed a tug flying the Dutch flag. She had two lighters full of coal in tow, and it is quite probable that they were destined for one of the German cruisers at that time still at large, but since we had no power to board and examine her we were obliged to pass on.

In due course we arrived in the harbour at Gibraltar, and proceeded to coal. It soon, however, appeared that Gib. was not our goal. Evidently we were bound further east, for officers were advised to provide themselves with white clothing and sun-helmets. Luckily I had brought mine with me—I say luckily with feeling, for those who were now required to provide themselves with these articles of apparel found there was but time to get “ready-mades,” which fitted only where they touched, and further, the varied assortment of head-gear which made its appearance would have been the joy of a caricaturist!

It was a real treat to get down to the sunny Mediterranean, for in the Channel the weather had been getting very cold and dreary, and none of us had cared to spend more time on deck than was absolutely necessary. Now, however, it was a pleasure to take a stroll after dinner and watch the rocky African coast sliding by in the distance. In the afternoons deck-hockey provided exercise for limbs and lungs. Each player was armed with a stick of sorts, its shape immaterial, but the larger the knob on the end the better—and all save the goal-keeper seemed to be playing “forward.” What matter if it was only occasionally that one got a glimpse of the ball—a square chunk of wood—we were all quite satisfied to smack away at a spot in the centre of a struggling crowd where the ball ought to be, and if anyone got a whack across the shins there was no use in howling; the only thing was to go on smiting as hard as possible in the hope of returning the blow with interest. It may be imagined how such a scrimmage appealed to the youngsters; and even the captain, despite a game leg protected by a hockey-pad, was ever in the thickest of the fray.

As we neared Port Said we wondered if we should have the luck to encounter the _Goeben_.... True, we were not _over_-anxious for the meeting, for although the old ship would have done her best she could not hope to meet the German on equal terms. However, we moored without incident, just off the offices of the Canal Company ... a curious medley of European and Arab architecture. Here we again coaled, the work being done by Arabs in an irritatingly piecemeal manner. The method consisted in filling small baskets with coal and passing them from man to man until they were finally emptied into the bunkers, and as the natives leisurely performed this task they kept up a monotonous sing-song chant.

That well-known Port Said character “Jim Irish” came aboard.... I will not undertake to state his nationality, but he probably has traces of Arab and Egyptian blood combined with a strong strain of Somali. He turned up smiling in a frock-coat, fancy waistcoat and flaming tie, a red fez on his head, and many cheap rings on his fingers. He will sell you Turkish Delight, cigarettes, or picture-postcards of questionable taste, and tout for orders for anything and everything. Then he will draw you aside and suggest with an insinuating leer: “You like see pictures? You want see Port Said? You come with me ... _I_ show you.”

However, I had been in Port Said before, and was not attracted by the prospect held out, but as a ship is a very uncomfortable place when coaling is going on, I took the opportunity to go ashore with another officer, though not with “Jim Irish,” and having first lunched at the Great Eastern Hotel, we did a little shopping. Port Said is by no means a pleasure resort; the town extends some little way along the Mediterranean coast, but the beach is unattractive, the roads are hot and dusty, and most of the places of refreshment look singularly uninviting.

That evening we weighed anchor and steamed down the canal. The moon was shining brightly, throwing the banks into sharp black and white of light and shadow. It is curious to note that while the western bank is fringed with vegetation, on the opposite side there is only bare desolation of billowing sand stretching away and away into the far distance. The reason for this difference is to be found in the fresh-water canal which, running for some distance parallel to the ship canal, nourishes a certain amount of vegetation on the western side.

I turned in early and was asleep before we entered the Bitter Lakes—a stretch of brackish water through which a channel is kept dredged—and when I awoke the next morning we had completed the passage of the canal and were off Suez.

On the following day the heat began to get oppressive, and it only increased in intensity as our voyage continued. Even the nights were hot and close, and most of us brought our bedding on deck in the hope of benefiting by any breeze that might spring up. But the only breeze proved to be a following one, which was worse than none at all, since it was just sufficient to nullify that produced by our ship’s passage through the water. Trying as it was for those on deck, it was infinitely worse for the stokers and engine-room ratings. In the boiler-room the temperature steadily mounted, nor did the air pumped into the forced draft improve matters, for it was no cooler—in fact, it resembled the blast from a furnace. Finally, so many were overcome by the heat that the ship had to be turned at intervals and steamed against the breeze in order to blow out the stokeholds and engine-rooms with cooler air.

While we were traversing the Red Sea a rumour reached us that the _Königsberg_, or some other German ship, had recently coaled at Jeddah, so it was decided to visit the place and investigate. When we arrived off the little harbour an R.N.R. lieutenant and the Subaltern of Marines were sent ashore in the steamboat to make enquiries. The Turkish officials received them with superficial politeness, but declared that no German ship had visited the port for months.

In due course we reached Aden, where we promptly started coaling again. There was just time for a scamper round. The Club was shady, cool and inviting, but I wished to see and explore the, to me, new ground, so having found a kindred spirit, I hired a carriage and we drove out to the Tanks—the stock sight of the place, and possibly the only one. It was a blazing hot day, the road was thick with dust, and from rocks and sand the sunlight reflected back in a blinding glare, so that a ride in a curtained and canopied “gharri” provided a certain sense of comfort and coolness not otherwise obtainable.

The Tanks are said to be very old; for the moment I forget to whom is given the credit of having designed and executed them, but they are merely large basins or reservoirs hewn at suitable places out of the solid stone just where the rock-faces converge, and they form a catchment for the periodical rainfall. A considerable amount of engineering ingenuity is displayed in their construction and in the system of outflow from one to the other. Aden is situated in an arid tract of country, and formerly existence here was only rendered possible by dint of collecting and conserving the rains which provided the only fresh water obtainable. Now, however, a plant for the distillation of sea-water is installed, and the old system is no longer used—at least by Europeans.

There is a small Arab town in the rocky gorge beyond which the Tanks lie, and we were greatly entertained by a small Arab boy who volunteered to show us the sights. His knowledge of English seemed limited to the following doggerel, which he repeated all in one breath with sing-song and monotonous regularity: “No father no mother no sister no brother give backsheesh.” I was surprised, however, to find that his colloquial knowledge of French was much more extensive; it transpired that he had been taught in a French Mission.

We sailed from Aden at daybreak the next morning, and were met by a pleasant breeze which freshened us all up considerably.

On our way out we had conceived the idea of publishing a magazine dealing with the small events and incidents of ship-life. It was hoped that the writing of articles and items of news, and the subsequent criticism of the same, would tend to relieve the monotony of the voyage, for once we were out of the Mediterranean no exciting incidents of any magnitude were anticipated; but still we had to be in a constant state of preparedness, and this, coupled with the fact that day succeeded day without the slightest adventure, gave rise to a feeling of strain which showed itself in more or less thinly disguised irritability.

As one of the more leisured members of the Mess, I was appointed to the post of editor, which also included those of printer and publisher! The initial copy was difficult to obtain, but after the issue of the first number contributions poured in. And now the chief difficulty lay in devising the best and quickest method of turning out copies. As several of our contributors revealed a greater aptitude with pencil than with pen, an art editor was added to the staff, together with an expert typist and a printer. The latter’s task was to draw off copies from the duplicator—none too easy a job when dealing with a ten-page magazine, printed with an ink liable to run badly when wet, and in a temperature above the nineties! All the same, we spent some very pleasant times in the preparation of the little journal, the while the old ship rolled smoothly on her way across the Indian Ocean.

In the very small hours of an October morning we arrived at Bombay, and an R.N.R. lieutenant and myself obtained permission to go in with the early boat to do some shopping. We were dressed at 4 a.m., and it was still quite dark and appreciably chilly when the boat landed us at the new Alexandra Dock. Out of the gloom the voice of a sentry rang out in sharp challenge as we drew alongside, but we soon satisfied him that even at such an hour our business was lawful.

Our first objective was the Crawford market, and thither we piloted the stewards in order that they might purchase fresh meat and vegetables for the ship. It was a curious experience to be groping about the great Indian city in the half-dawn. Now and then we stumbled over recumbent figures, who had apparently spent the night on the side-walk wrapped only in their thin cotton clothing, with a fold of the same pulled over their heads. The market is a covered building of European design, and even at this early hour the greater part of the day’s business was already over, and the salesmen were idling about their half-depleted stalls, while the small retailers as well as various servants of still-sleeping sahibs were carrying away their purchases.

Having assured ourselves that the stewards (who did not know Bombay) would be able to carry on, Pack and I turned our steps towards the Taj Mahal, the great hotel on the Bund. Here we were received with some surprise, as it is not usual for English sahibs to be abroad so early. However, when after a wash and a shave we were ready for breakfast, we managed to procure a “chota hazri” of tea and bananas which we ate on the balcony, the while we watched the changing effects of sunrise in the bay.

Many soldiers in uniform were present, having breakfast with their wives, who had accompanied them down from up-country stations. I felt very sorry for all these poor ladies, who could not conceal the anxiety they felt at the imminent parting with their men, who were so soon to proceed to France to fight.

Later, we started on our shopping. I, as tobacco-caterer for the Mess, laid in a supply of Indian cigars, and then purchased several bottles of light beer—a drink highly appreciated on board a man-of-war in the tropics. Pack had been deputed to obtain, among other things, some musical instruments, it being the Commander’s intention to organise a band on board. Fortunately we found that the Army and Navy Co-operative Stores were selling off their stock, so he managed to get a number of stringed instruments at a great reduction.

We further invested in a new duplicator for the _Gazette_, as we had been having a lot of trouble with the old one.

Our gharri must have presented a curious spectacle, for it was piled high with packages large and small, and crowded with zithers, guitars and banjos! The shopping occupied the whole morning, and it was not until the afternoon that we drove down to the quay and transferred our purchases to the boat.

About six on the same evening we weighed anchor and proceeded out to sea. It now transpired that our present duty was to assist in the convoying of a number of transports carrying troops. There were about eighty of them in all—vessels great and small, covering a vast expanse of water, and shepherded by warships on either flank. A most impressive sight. Later, when they were all lit up—for at this time there was no submarine menace in these seas—the scene took on the semblance of an immense nocturnal water-fête. In view of the fact that we were at war this was extremely unorthodox, and signals made to the troopships requesting them to moderate their illumination did not meet with very conspicuous obedience. Of course, the warships were steaming with all lights out, but it seemed difficult to persuade the transports of the necessity for following their example; apparently they did not realise the enormity of their crime.

* * * * *

A few days later we separated from the main fleet, and, convoying about a dozen of the transports, steamed to the southward. The small force we were now guarding was that which sustained such a grievous reverse at Tanga in the early days of November, 1914.

Just before arriving at Mombasa we “crossed the line,” and the event was celebrated with all due rites. One evening, Neptune’s bears came aboard and warned the captain that on the following day Father Neptune himself would board the ship, and would expect to find all the novices lined up for initiation. We actually crossed the Equator about 8.30 next morning, but, in order not to interfere with the morning routine, Neptune very thoughtfully postponed his visit until 1 p.m. At that hour one of our lieutenants, disguised in flowing tow beard and wig, equipped with trident and crown, and arrayed in coloured bunting, made his appearance on the forecastle, attended by a numerous retinue of “old salts.” To be strictly in accordance with custom, Neptune should come aboard over the bows, but since in our modern battleships this is somewhat difficult, it is considered a sufficient concession to tradition if he appears on the forecastle through a hatchway.

Preceded by his bandsmen all blowing vigorously on conch-shells, and attended by his scribe, soap-bearer, latherer, and other important functionaries, the Sea King made a tour of the ship; and after he had been received by the captain with a little speech of welcome, took up his stand on the forecastle.

Here a large sail-bath had been rigged up, and the ceremony of initiation began. All the novices had taken the precaution of arraying themselves in either old trousers and vests or simply in bathing-suits. Each in turn was brought before Neptune, and if he admitted that he had never before “crossed the line,” he was seized and plumped down on a stool with his back to the bath. Then his face was well lathered with a whitewash brush, and the barber scraped his cheeks with a huge wooden razor, after which the stool was tilted suddenly backwards, and the victim shot head-first into the water. Here several of Neptune’s bears pounced upon him and ducked him until he was well out of breath, and there his ordeal ended. If any novice ventured to plead that he was an initiate and his veracity was in doubt, the scribe made a great show of referring to the records, and then ordered him peremptorily to be lathered and shaved. Needless to say, his attempt at deception was rewarded by an extra share of soap, while in addition a huge bread-pill was forced into his mouth.

There were several novices to be initiated, and the whole show went with a swing. Only one regrettable incident occurred—this was when the scribe who had borrowed the chaplain’s best black coat was suddenly and without warning pushed by some wag into the bath.

At the time this joke caused roars of laughter, but afterwards we had to condole with the Padre on the mournful condition of his best blacks. Luckily, however, after a good rinsing in fresh water and careful drying, the suit, though slightly shrunk, was still wearable.