The Navy Everywhere

By Conrad Cato

The Navy Everywhere is an overview of the British Navy throughout the world during World War I.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles River Editors
• Release date: Mar 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781537813776

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THE NAVY EVERYWHERE

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Conrad Cato

LACONIA PUBLISHERS

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Copyright © 2016 by Conrad Cato

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE NAVY EVERYWHERE

PREFACE

THE NAVY IN EAST AFRICA

CHAPTER I THE WHITE FLAG AT DAR-ES-SALAAM

CHAPTER II BOTTLING UP THE KÖNIGSBERG

CHAPTER III DESTRUCTION OF THE KÖNIGSBERG

CHAPTER IV AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES

THE NAVY IN THE CAMEROONS

CHAPTER V THE STORY OF KING BELL

CHAPTER VI SOME INCIDENTS OF THE EARLIER OPERATIONS

CHAPTER VII AMPHIBIOUS OPERATIONS

THE NAVY IN SERBIA

CHAPTER VIII THE TERROR OF THE DANUBE

CHAPTER IX THE FALL OF BELGRADE

CHAPTER X THE GREAT RETREAT

THE FIRST KITE-BALLOON SHIP: CHAPTER XI I. H.M.S. MANICA at GALLIPOLI

CHAPTER XII II. H.M.S. MANICA IN EAST AFRICA

THE NAVY IN THE PERSIAN GULF: CHAPTER XIII THE TANGISTANI RAIDS

THE NAVY IN ROUMANIA

CHAPTER XIV THE BATTLE NEAR TOPALUL

CHAPTER XV THE RETREAT FROM THE DOBRUDSHA

CHAPTER XVI THE BATTLE OF VIZIRUL

THE ADEN PATROL: CHAPTER XVII AN OUTPOST OF EMPIRE IN SOMALILAND

CHAPTER XVIII SCOTCHING THE WOLF’S CUB

THE RED SEA PATROL: CHAPTER XIX THE TAKING OF SALIF

THE NAVY EVERYWHERE

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BY

CONRAD CATO

AUTHOR OF

THE NAVY IN MESOPOTAMIA

PREFACE

The welcome accorded to the Navy in Mesopotamia has tempted me to offer to the public another book on naval work in foreign waters. The title I have chosen must not be taken to imply that I have attempted to describe the activities of the British Navy in every part of the world where they have been in progress. I have done no more than collect a few samples of naval operations in those theatres of war which are sufficiently remote to have escaped almost entirely the notice of the war correspondents of the Press. These samples exclude altogether the ordinary routine work of the Navy—the watching for the German High Seas Fleet, the hunting and destroying of enemy submarines, the sweeping up of mines, the patrolling of many thousand square miles of sea to maintain a blockade of the enemy’s coast, the convoying of merchant ships, and the transporting of the Army to any part of the world it happened to fancy. All these tasks are part of the never-ending toil which falls to the lot of the Navy in war-time, and, though the successful performance of them is the first essential of our national existence, no literary effort should be needed to impress this fact on the minds of the British public. I have chosen, therefore, to confine myself to those naval performances which are quite outside the ordinary sphere, and about which the public have received comparatively little information.

The accounts I have given of these performances are based upon official reports, and, in the case of those scenes and incidents of which I was not myself an eye-witness, I am indebted for descriptive details to various officers who took part in them, and to whom I wish to express my cordial thanks. With their assistance I hope I may have succeeded in presenting a readable reminder to the public that the Navy during the war was engaged on many and diverse tasks, altogether apart from that of securing to the people of these islands their daily bread.

Conrad Cato.

London,

May 1919.

THE NAVY IN EAST AFRICA

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CHAPTER I THE WHITE FLAG AT DAR-ES-SALAAM

The harbour of Dar-es-Salaam lies somewhere near the middle of the coast of what was once known as German East Africa—about a hundred miles north of the Rufigi River, where the Königsberg was found. When war broke out between England and Germany, the Governor of Dar-es-Salaam, probably acting upon instructions, had a floating dock towed to the entrance of the harbour, and there sunk, in order to block the channel. Whether or not it actually did block the channel was not decided at the time, but the intention of it was obvious, and the question that arose was, why did not the Germans take their ships out of the harbour first before they blocked, or attempted to block, the fairway? There were four or five ships inside, and any one of them could have been of great service as a tender to a German raider, such as the Königsberg, but yet they were all left inside when the obstruction was sunk at the harbour entrance. Of course it might be put down as one of Germany’s blunders, but, on the other hand, it might be possible for those ships to circumvent the obstruction, or again, the sunken dock might be refloated to allow them to pass out when required.

Dar-es-Salaam was ostensibly an undefended port at the beginning of the war, and when H.M.S. Astræa called there on 8th August 1914 she took it upon herself to treat the place as such. She destroyed the wireless installation as a necessary precaution, and then opened negotiations with the governor. In return for his immunity from hostile operations he made a pledge that the sunken dock should not be raised, that all vessels in the harbour should be regarded as British prizes, and that no attempt should be made to take any of them out to sea. In those days we regarded the pledge of a German as being at least of some value, though we may have been a little hazy as to how much value we ought to put on it.

A few weeks later the Pegasus, lying up for repairs in Zanzibar Harbour, was destroyed by the Königsberg, and it was ascertained for a fact that this German raider had been using Dar-es-Salaam Harbour. This completely changed the situation, for it showed that a ship could get in and out of the harbour in spite of the obstruction, and, this being the case, it was more than likely that our prizes there would make their escape sooner or later, and one or more of them would take coal and provisions to the raider. So on 21st October the Chatham called at Dar-es-Salaam to see what was going on.

There were two ships lying behind the thick belt of palm trees, their masts visible to the Chatham, who thought at first that they were the Königsberg and one of her consorts. So she took the range, and fired two or three shells, taking care not to hit the town. The Senior Naval Officer, however, soon discovered that he had been mistaken as to the identity of the ships, and, having insisted upon the removal of their wireless telegraphy aerials, he left them to their own devices, for he had more important work on hand. Nine days later he found the Königsberg herself, hiding up the Rufigi River.

Dar-es-Salaam was left alone for over a month, but the Senior Naval Officer was never satisfied that the obstruction really blocked the fairway, and he had even less faith in the pledge of the governor that the ships would not try to escape. On 28th November H.M.S. Fox and Goliath, with two

small vessels in company, anchored off Makatumbe Island, which lies a few miles out to sea from Dares-Salaam, and hoisted the international signal to the people ashore to send off a boat. It must be explained that the situation had changed completely, since those early war days, when the Astræa paid her visit there. The exploits of the Königsberg had clearly indicated that East Africa was not to be excluded from the war zone, whatever might be the pledges of the local governors; and then came our military disaster at Tanga, when we altogether underestimated the resistance likely to be offered by the enemy, with the result that we came off with 800 casualties—and some valuable experience. Moreover, the Navy had been busy in the Rufigi River, bottling up the Königsberg, so that when they arrived off Dar-es-Salaam they were there for business, and in no mood for anything else.

At the same time it must be remembered that Dar-es-Salaam purported to be an undefended harbour, and was entitled to be treated as such, until there was evidence of hostile intentions on the part of its inhabitants. So the Senior Naval Officer hoisted the signal for a boat and waited on events. After an hour or so a motor-boat came out of harbour, flying a flag of truce, and brought up alongside H.M.S. Fox. In it were the acting governor, the district commissioner, and the captain of the port, who all came aboard, and were conducted to the Senior Naval Officer’s cabin. Mr. King, formerly British Consul at Dar-es-Salaam, acted as interpreter.

The Senior Naval Officer reminded the German officials that the ships in Dar-es-Salaam Harbour were all British prizes, and informed them that he had come to inspect these ships, to take such steps as might be necessary to disable them, and to withdraw from the harbour or disable any small craft which might be used against the British forces. Now, one of the ships in the harbour was the s.s. Tabora, which had been painted as a hospital ship, and according to the Germans was being used as such. At Lindi we had found the s.s. Prasident painted in the same way, and had been told the same yarn—that she was being used as a hospital ship—but we had discovered by inspecting her that the yarn was all a tissue of lies, and that the ship was palpably a collier, which had recently been used for supplying the Königsberg. So we were naturally suspicious about the Tabora, and the Senior Naval Officer pointed out to the German officials that she had not complied with the international regulations, necessary to convert her into an accredited hospital ship. He added, however, that he had no wish to cause suffering to any sick persons, who might be aboard her, and that he would send a medical officer to inspect her. He would also send a demolition party to disable her engines, but nothing should be done in this direction if the medical officer was of opinion that it would be injurious to any of the patients on board. He further assured them that no damage should be done to the town or its inhabitants, so long as no opposition was offered to the working parties, whom he was going to send into the harbour, to do what was necessary for the disablement of the engines of the various ships.

The acting governor was obviously very uncomfortable and ill at ease. All he could say was that he would like to confer with the military authorities at Dar-es-Salaam. Military authorities in an undefended port seem to be rather out of place, but the Senior Naval Officer waived the point, and merely told him that he would be given a good half-hour or so after landing, before the British boats entered the harbour. The governor then asked rather a curious question. Would these boats carry on their operations under the white flag? The Senior Naval Officer, somewhat surprised at such a question, naturally answered in the negative, and at that the German officials took their departure and returned to the town.

A good deal more than the half-hour’s grace was allowed before a steam-cutter was sent in to sound and buoy the channel into the harbour. It was noticed that two white flags had been hoisted on the flag-staff over against the look-out tower at the entrance, and these floated conspicuously in the breeze, so that they could be seen from all directions. The occupants of the steam-cutter, as soon as they rounded the bend, noticed a lady driving in a carriage drawn by a pair of horses along a road close to the water’s edge. Everything looked so peaceful that one would have imagined that our dear German brothers in Dar-es-Salaam had never heard of the war.

When a channel had been buoyed, one of the tugs (the Helmuth), accompanied by the Goliath’s steam-pinnace, was ordered to proceed into the harbour with the demolition party. The other tug (the Duplex), owing to some engine-room defects, did not enter the harbour, but lay at anchor about two miles from it. The two ships, Fox and Goliath, were about five miles from the shore, and those on board them were taking only a languid interest in the proceedings, for the two white flags at the lookout tower were flaunted in their faces, and war seemed to them a very tame affair after all. It is very easy to be wise after any event, and to say that this or that precaution should have been taken, but it must be borne in mind that there were the two white flags, conspicuous to everyone, and the enemy was not a barbarous tribe from the African jungle, but purported to be a civilised European people.

So the Helmuth proceeded up the harbour to where two ships, called the König and Feldmarschall, were lying, and the demolition party boarded the König, and proceeded to destroy her engines by placing an explosive charge under the low-pressure cylinder, followed by another one inside it. The crew of the König appeared to consist mainly of Lascars, and the only officers on board were the chief engineer and the fourth officer. From these it was learned that all the rest of the officers and men were ashore, and at the time it did not occur to Commander Ritchie, who was in charge of the demolition party, that there could be anything unusual in this circumstance. He ordered all the König’s crew to go down into the ship’s boats, informing them that they were prisoners of war.

Shortly afterwards the Goliath’s steam-pinnace came up, bringing some more men of the demolition party, with Lieutenant-Commander Paterson in charge. Commander Ritchie instructed this officer to complete the disablement of the engines of the Feldmarschall and König, while he himself went farther up the creek in the Helmuth to another ship, called the Kaiser Wilhelm II. The Helmuth, however, ran on the mud, and had some difficulty in getting off, so Commander Ritchie took her back to the König, and tried the steam-pinnace in place of her. In this he successfully reached the Kaiser Wilhelm II, disabled her engines, and destroyed two lighters that were lying near her. But what first gave him a sense of uneasiness was the fact that the Kaiser Wilhelm II was absolutely deserted. Her crew were nowhere to be seen, but on her deck were found some Mauser clips—one containing three bullets with the pointed ends sawn off—suggesting that the ship’s crew had recently been busy overhauling their rifles. The absence of the officers and white ratings from the other two ships now assumed a new significance.

Lying near the ship were five other lighters, and it occurred at once to Commander Ritchie that it might be useful to have one of these on each side of the steam-pinnace, by way of protection, for there was evidently mischief of some kind or other brewing. The other three lighters he towed astern, and, thus encumbered, the pinnace made the best speed she could down the creek. As she passed the König and Feldmarschall, Commander Ritchie saw that the Helmuth had already started her return voyage, and though he scrutinised the two ships carefully through his glasses, he could see no signs of anyone in either of them. So he proceeded down the creek, but found that the pinnace made such slow progress that he was finally obliged to drop the three lighters astern, only retaining the two which were made fast on either side of the pinnace.

In order to keep to the chronological order of events, we must now return to the Helmuth and Lieutenant-Commander Paterson. He was engaged with his demolition party on the engines of the König and Feldmarschall, and in the meantime some thirty prisoners from the König were sitting in the two boats belonging to that ship. Lieutenant Orde had received instructions from Commander Ritchie to proceed down the harbour, towing these two boats, to stop at the s.s. Tabora and put Surgeon Holton aboard there to inspect the ship, and then proceed out to sea and deliver his prisoners over to the Duplex, afterwards returning to the Tabora to pick up Surgeon Holton. This, at any rate, was how Lieutenant Orde understood his instructions, and he not unnaturally concluded that Lieutenant-Commander Paterson and his working party intended to return in the steam pinnace with Commander Ritchie. It is not very clear why he should have thought that the sole object of his returning to the Tabora, after the safe delivery of his prisoners, was to pick up Surgeon Holton, for it had always been intended that a demolition party should board the Tabora, and should disable her engines if Surgeon Holton was of opinion that this could be done without injury to any of the patients. Possibly, however, Lieutenant Orde was unaware of this arrangement.

It may here be stated that the Tabora was genuinely being used as a hospital ship. There were doctors and nurses and some wounded men in her, and she was fitted with cots and other hospital equipment.

And now we must return to H.M.S. Fox and the Senior Naval Officer. It was late in the forenoon when he ordered the steam-cutter alongside, and, accompanied by an army staff officer, went in to have a look at the sunken dock at the mouth of the harbour. It was a morning of bright sunshine, and through the clear water he could see the obstruction lying about ten feet below the surface, but, without sounding, it would be difficult to say whether or not it effectually blocked the channel. He then thought he would go round the bend, and see what the harbour looked like, and how the demolition parties were getting on. He gave the order to the coxswain to go ahead, and leaned comfortably back in the sternsheets of the boat, enjoying the pleasant sunshine and possibly wondering why the Germans had hoisted two white flags on the flag-staff, when one would have answered the purpose.

Suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and a bullet struck the water on the port side of the steam-cutter. Next moment a blaze of rifle fire came from either bank, and bullets began to rain against the sides of the boat. The hottest fire seemed to come from the vicinity of the flag staff, where the two white flags still floated in the breeze. Lie down everyone, shouted the Senior Naval Officer, and to the coxswain he gave the order Hard-a-port. The bullets were whistling over their heads, were pouring into the boat, and were piercing the thin iron plates, which had been rigged for the protection of the boiler and of the coxswain in the sternsheets. The stoker tending the fire was dangerously wounded, but Lieutenant Corson ran forward and took his place. In the after part of the boat a seaman was hit in the head, and the coxswain had a bullet through his leg, but pluckily stuck to his job, although another wound caused the blood to pour from his mouth. That’s nothing, sir, he said. I’m all right. We shall soon be out of the channel.

No one in the boat was armed, and so there was no way of replying to the fire. To make matters worse, speed had slackened owing to the furnace having been neglected before it was noticed that the stoker was wounded. But the efforts of Lieutenant Corson soon increased the steam pressure, and after a while the boat got beyond the danger zone. The coxswain stuck to his post in spite of his wounds, and eventually brought the boat alongside the Fox about half -past one in the afternoon. Stoker Herbert T. Lacey died of his wounds.

Immediately afterwards the firing broke out again, and the Senior Naval Officer saw that the Helmuth was coming through the neck of the harbour, towing astern of her two boats full of prisoners. She had put the doctor on board the Tabora, and was on her way to the Duplex to hand over the prisoners, when field-gun, rifle, and machine-gun fire was opened on her from the north bank. The coxswain was immediately wounded, and his relief had no sooner taken his place than he, too, was wounded. Then Lieutenant Orde, who was in command, received a wound, but the worst piece of bad luck was that a bullet struck the breech-block of the Helmuth’s only gun—a 3-pounder—and put it out of action, so that she became as defenceless as the Fox’s steamcutter had been. The bullets came pouring into her, and some of them punctured the steam pipes, with the result that there was a heavy escape of steam, and the speed of the tug slackened considerably. There was a certain amount of grim satisfaction in seeing a stray bullet hit one of the boats astern, and wound a German prisoner, but this was the only consolation to be derived by the Helmuth’s unfortunate victims.

The Senior Naval Officer in the Fox promptly signalled to the Duplex to open fire on the shore with her 12-pounder, and both the Fox and Goliath bombarded the shore whence the enemy’s fire seemed to be coming. This had the desired effect of causing some slight abatement, and after a while the Helmuth got beyond the danger zone. The Goliath was then ordered to put a few shells into the governor’s palace, which she proceeded to do with one of her 12-inch guns, and after two or three rounds the palace was reduced to a heap of ruins. Then there came a lull in the proceedings, and one would have supposed that the Germans hiding in the vicinity of the look-out tower would have occupied their leisure in hauling down the white flags from the flag-staff. But the white flags continued to float serenely in the breeze, and the Germans beneath them stood waiting for their next victims.

We must now return to the steam-pinnace and Commander Ritchie. Having satisfied himself that there was no one aboard the König or the Feldmarschall, he continued his way down the harbour, and, as already related, he dropped the three lighters which were in tow astern, in order to increase speed. When he was approaching the Tabora he saw Surgeon Holton put off from her in a boat, and head towards the steam-pinnace. He had just eased down the engines to enable the doctor to come alongside, when a heavy fire was opened on him from both sides of the harbour. The crew of Surgeon Holton’s boat took fright, and began to pull back to the Tabora. At this the steam-pinnace tried to get up to the boat, but with her two lighters in tow on either side of her, she was difficult to steer, and finally had to abandon the attempt. But the two lighters proved to be her salvation, for some field guns were now firing shells at her, and without the protection of these lighters she must inevitably have been sunk.

As she rounded the bend the shot and shell came at her from all directions, and though the Fox and Goliath again opened fire to cover her retreat, it did not seem to make much appreciable difference. For the enemy were well hidden among the palm trees, and from the ships, lying five miles out to sea, it was impossible to locate them. Two men in the steam-pinnace were hit almost at the outset; one of them was the coxswain. Petty Officer Clark, whose place was taken by Able Seaman Upton. Then Upton was hit, and Clark, whose wound had been temporarily dressed, tried to resume his place at the wheel, but fainted away from loss of blood. This was the critical moment, for the narrow entrance of the harbour and the sunken dock still lay in front of them, and there was need of a cool head and a steady hand to steer the boat through. Commander Ritchie had by this time been wounded in several places, and was in considerable pain, but he saw that the only chance of escape lay in skilful steering, and so he took the wheel himself. Amidst the ceaseless shower of bullets whistling over his head and singing past his ears, he piloted the boat through the neck of the harbour, and had just got clear of it when a bullet struck him in the leg. It was his eighth wound; simultaneously the boat ran on a sand-bank, and the commander fainted. Fortunately, however, the worst of the danger was now over; the boat got afloat again without much trouble, the two lighters, having served their purpose, were slipped, and in less than an hour the boat reached the Fox. In addition to the commander, one officer and five men were wounded.

Throughout the whole or these proceedings, the two white flags flew majestically from the flag-staff—the emblems of Germany’s high ideal of universal peace and the brotherhood of man. But the whole of the tale of treachery is not yet told. It soon became known that