A few minutes later, Warrender himself sighted Stralsund and her sisters on the starboard bow of King George V. The number of German ships was difficult to tell; they could merely be seen from time to time as they ran out of one rain squall and disappeared into another. In any case, Warrender, like Arbuthnot, did not open fire; instead, he ordered Pakenham to take his four armored cruisers and chase. This pursuit was a futile exercise: the 25-knot German light cruisers and destroyers rapidly pulled away from Pakenham’s 18-knot armored cruisers and disappeared into another rain cloud, never to be seen again. Afterward, Dreyer of Orion was desolate, saying later, “Our golden moment had been missed.” Subsequently, he wrote of Arbuthnot: “He never spoke to me about it afterwards, but I am certain from his silence that he was mortified to realize that he had been too punctilious. If we had fired, the other five battleships would have done so.”
Both Beatty and Warrender had now encountered and then lost the enemy light cruisers. And both knew that the German battle cruisers—the real prey they were hunting—were still to the west and coming east. But the British had no idea of Hipper’s position, course, or speed. Beatty’s movements now became particularly frantic. Like a pack of hunting dogs, his ships rushed this way and that, sometimes around in a circle, trying to pick up the scent. Once Goodenough’s light cruisers had resumed position in front of the battle cruisers, Beatty continued to steer west toward the northern end of the gap in the minefield. He expected to arrive around 12:30 p.m., whereupon he meant to turn south and to begin patrolling back and forth. Had he followed this plan, only unimaginably bad weather could have prevented him from sighting the German battle cruisers as they emerged from the gap at around 1:00 p.m. But fate again intervened in the form of a signal sent by Warrender to Beatty at 12:25 p.m.: “Enemy cruisers and destroyers in sight.” Fifteen minutes later, Warrender followed up with another signal: “Enemy’s course east. No battle cruisers seen yet.” From these messages, Beatty correctly inferred that this was the same force Goodenough had engaged at 11:30 a.m. and that it was a lookout screen ahead of the German battle cruisers, which must still be some distance to the west. Beatty worried that Hipper might emerge from the gap near Warrender and, because the German ships were faster, be able to slip past. Accordingly, at 12:30 p.m., Beatty made a fatefully wrong decision. Abandoning his westward course and his intended line of patrol, he reversed course and swung his ships around to the east. His presumption now was that only his squadron was fast enough to intercept Hipper; his purpose was to place his fast ships between Hipper and Germany; in order to cut them off it was important to have sea room east of the enemy now coming out through the gap. Ironically, it was this move that allowed Hipper to escape. Had the British admiral held his westward course and established his patrol line, a battle at close range must have begun around one o’clock. When Lion, Queen Mary, Tiger, and New Zealand swung around over their own wakes and headed east, Seydlitz, Moltke, Derfflinger, Von der Tann, and Blücher were only twelve miles away.
Beatty held to his new decision, steaming eastward for forty-five minutes, until it became clear that Hipper had not tried to get away past Warrender to the south. At 1:15 p.m. therefore, Beatty abandoned his easterly course and turned northward, slowing to 15 knots. He continued in this direction for about ten miles, but, finding nothing, at 1:55 p.m. he turned again to the east. Half an hour later, he was headed southeast at 25 knots on a course that converged with the line between the southern exit and Heligoland Bight.
Warrender’s luck was no better. At one o’clock, he reached the southern limit of the minefield and found nothing. Realizing that Hipper was not coming in this direction, Warrender turned north at 1:24 p.m. He was too late: Hipper had turned north at 12:45, and Hipper’s battle cruisers could outrun Warrender’s battleships. Nevertheless, Warrender’s turn to the north brought him close to contact with Hipper; Kolberg, heavily damaged by the sea and lagging at only 12 knots behind the German battle cruisers, sighted Warrender’s funnel smoke soon after Hipper had turned northeast. But Warrender did not see Kolberg or know that Hipper was there.
As the afternoon progressed, Room 40 passed to the Admiralty a stream of intercepted German signals. From there, it took up to two hours for the information to reach the British commanders at sea. For the next several hours, Beatty and Warrender tried to use these tardy intercepts to predict what the Germans would do. But decoding and transmission took too long. A signal from Hipper had given his position when he turned northeast at 12:45 p.m., but this signal was not sent to Warrender and Beatty until 2:50 p.m., by which time Hipper was far away to the north.
Meanwhile, what appeared to be ominous news was coming in from Room 40. At 1:50 p.m., the Admiralty learned from an intercepted signal from Friedrich der Grosse to Stralsund that, at 12:30 p.m., the High Seas Fleet was at sea seventy to eighty miles northwest of Heligoland. The truth was that the German fleet had reached this point in its retreat, but to the Admiralty it appeared that the German dreadnoughts were coming out. This news reached the British admirals at sea at 2:25 p.m.; to this information, the Admiralty appended a stern warning to Warrender not to pursue too far. This warning, added to the realization that Hipper had escaped, brought an end to hope for any action that day. The search continued until 3:30 p.m., when it was evident that the German battle cruisers had escaped around the northern flank of the British squadrons. At 3:47 p.m., with dusk beginning to fall, Warrender signaled Beatty: “Relinquish chase. Rejoin me tomorrow.”
Nevertheless, if the High Seas Fleet was at sea, hope remained for the following day. Jellicoe, bringing two additional dreadnought battle squadrons down from Scapa Flow, ordered a concentration of the entire Grand Fleet at daybreak. At dawn on December 17, Jellicoe’s armada assembled and then moved southeast, feeling for the German fleet. But after moving only fifty miles toward the Bight, Jellicoe was informed by the Admiralty that the High Seas Fleet had gone back into harbor. Before returning to its own anchorages, the British fleet spent the day in battle exercises and target practice; it relieved some of the tension and disappointment when the battle cruisers and battleships finally opened fire with their heavy guns.
Hipper had enjoyed extraordinary luck. When he had turned for home from the English coast at 9:30 a.m., the admiral was tired, but not especially uneasy about his return voyage. The minefields presented no hazard; he knew where they were and knew the location of the gap. The weather caused greater concern. Head seas were battering his ships, and the minelaying light cruiser Kolberg, lagging behind the battle cruisers, had been badly damaged; her bridge and superstructure had been almost completely swept away by the heavy waves into which she was plunging. Hipper nevertheless meant to carry out the original plan: he would steer east in the wake of his own dismissed light cruisers and destroyers, rendezvous with the High Seas Fleet near the Dogger Bank, and, together with Ingenohl, return to Germany. Hipper, of course, did not then know that Ingenohl had scuttled this plan. The Commander-in-Chief had not told him that he had encountered British destroyers, that he feared that the entire Grand Fleet was out, and that he had turned tail and was running for home. Nor did Hipper know that Beatty’s battle cruisers and Warrender’s battleships were at sea and were blocking his path to Germany.
At 11:30 a.m. Hipper’s ships were steaming east through the middle of the minefield gap, straight toward Beatty’s oncoming force. Then, at 11:39 a.m., Hipper received the message from the light cruiser Stralsund, fifty miles ahead, that she had encountered enemy ships, adding, “Am being chased.” This was the first news Hipper had received that British warships were operating in this part of the North Sea. At 11:50 a.m., the admiral, aware by then that Ingenohl and the main German battle fleet were running for home, turned his battle cruisers southeast and went at 23 knots to the aid of his embattled light forces. As he did so, Stralsund, Strassburg, Graudenz, and the German destroyers, attempting to shake off Southampton and Birmingham, were turning sharply to the south. At 12:17 p.m. therefore, Hippe
r slightly altered course to reach Stralsund’s new position. Admiral Beatty was less than thirty miles away.
It was at this moment that luck came down hard on Hipper’s side. The German light cruisers, deflected to the south away from Goodenough and Beatty, sighted Warrender’s battleships. At 12:13 p.m., Stralsund urgently signaled Hipper that she had seen “five enemy battleships.” Hipper immediately realized that these ships were many miles south of those reported earlier and that he now confronted not one blocking force but two. Still, despite knowing that he would have to risk fighting British battleships in order to support his own light cruisers and destroyers, Hipper continued on course for another half hour. Then, at 12:44 p.m., to his immense relief, he received another message from Stralsund: “Enemy is out of sight.” “Are you in danger?” he signaled Stralsund. At five minutes past one, he received the welcome reply, “No.” Now free to shed responsibility for his light forces and to concentrate on getting his battle cruisers home, Hipper turned the big ships sharply to the north to clear the danger area as quickly as possible. With rain squalls and low clouds still hampering visibility, the German battle cruisers made a wide detour around the northern edge of the Dogger Bank. Sometime between 2:30 p.m. and 3:30 p.m., the German battle cruisers were observed by two British trawlers twenty-five miles north of the Dogger Bank, steering eastward at high speed. By 7:30 the next morning, December 17, Hipper’s ships were home.
From the perspective of the War Room at the Admiralty, Winston Churchill described this day:
Telegraph and telephone were pouring the distress of Hartlepool and Scarborough to all parts of the kingdom and by half-past ten, when the War Committee of the Cabinet met, news magnified by rumor had produced excitement. I was immdiately asked how such a thing was possible. “What was the Navy doing and what were they going to do?” In reply, I produced the chart which showed the respective positions of the British and German naval forces, and I explained that subject to moderate visibility we hoped that collision would take place about noon. These disclosures fell upon all with a sense of awe and the Committee adjourned until the afternoon.
At 10.30, the Admiralty learned that the enemy was leaving our coasts and apprised Admiral Warrender. . . . But now already ominous telegrams began to arrive. . . . No contact. . . . The weather got steadily worse. It was evident that mist curtains were falling over the North Sea. 3,000 yards visibility, [then] 2,000 yards visibility, were reported by ships speaking to each other. The solemn faces of Fisher and Wilson betrayed no emotion but one felt the fire burning within. I tried to do other work but it was not much good. . . . Then, all of a sudden, we heard . . . Goodenough report that he had opened fire upon a German light cruiser. Hope flared up. The prospect of a confused battle at close range had no terrors for the Admiralty. They had only one fear—lest the enemy should escape. . . .
About half past one, Sir Arthur Wilson said, “They seem to be getting away from us.” But now occurred a new development of a formidable kind. At 1.50 we learned that the High Seas Fleet was at sea. . . . We instantly warned our squadrons. . . .
At 3 o’clock I went over and told the War Committee what was passing; but with what a heavy heart did I cross again that Horse Guards Parade. I returned to the Admiralty. The War Group had re-assembled around the octagonal table in my room. The shades of a winter’s evening had already fallen. Sir Arthur Wilson then said in his most ordinary manner, “Well, there you are, they have got away. They must be about here by now,” and he pointed to a chart on which the Chief of Staff was marking positions every fifteen minutes. It was evident that the Germans had eluded our intercepting force and that even their light cruisers with whom we had been in contact had also escaped in the mists. Said Admiral Warrender in his subsequent report, “They came out of one rainstorm and disappeared into another.”
At this point, in an effort not to let the Germans get away untouched, the frustrated Admiralty War Group launched a flurry of orders. “Twenty destroyers of . . . [the Harwich] Flotillas are waiting off Gorleston [on the Norfolk coast],” they signaled Warrender. “If you think it advisable you may direct Tyrwhitt to take them to vicinity of Heligoland to attack enemy ships returning in dark hours.”
Warrender rejected the idea, replying, “Certainly not advisable as there is a strong northwest wind and nasty sea.” Jellicoe simply signaled Warrender, “It is too late.”
A final means of intercepting the Germans remained. Roger Keyes with ten submarines and two destroyers had been posted off the coast of Holland. At 10:34 a.m., Keyes in Lurcher intercepted the message that the Germans were bombarding Scarborough. Anticipating that he could be useful, he took Lurcher and began to steam up and down to collect his submarines. Even though the submarines were on the surface, it was a difficult task. “I had a most trying day . . . ,” Keyes wrote. “In the visibility prevailing, they had to dive the moment they sighted a vessel if they wished to remain unseen . . . and by dusk I had succeeded in finding only four.” At 2:10 p.m., the Admiralty sent Keyes the order he had been hoping for: “The High Seas Fleet is at sea. . . . They may return after dawn tomorrow so proceed to Heligoland and intercept them. They [will] probably pass five miles west of Heligoland steering for Weser Light.” When this signal arrived, Keyes had found only four of his submarines: three British and the French Archimède. He ordered these four into the Bight, three to the southern side of Heligoland and one to the northern, with instructions to attack whatever enemy ships came within range. Keyes, meanwhile, continued trying to locate his other submarines.
It was too late to intercept Ingenohl. By nine o’clock that night, the High Seas Fleet was back in the mouth of the Elbe, where the squadrons would wait until dawn before going into Jade Bay. Hipper, however, was still at sea. The Admiralty knew that his battle cruisers, racing for home at 23 knots, could reach Heligoland before Keyes’s submarines, which at best could make 14 knots on the surface. But Keyes’s two destroyers, Lurcher and Firedrake, might overtake the Germans, and both were equipped with torpedo tubes. In the Admiralty War Room it was Sir Arthur Wilson who spoke: “There is only one chance now. Keyes with Lurcher and Firedrake . . . could probably make certain of attacking the German battle cruiser squadron as it enters the Bight tonight. He may torpedo one or even two.” To Churchill, it seemed a “forlorn hope to send these two frail destoyers with their brave commodore and faithful crews far from home, close to the enemy’s coast, utterly unsupported, into the jaws of this powerful German force with its protecting vessels and flotillas. There was a long silence. We all knew Keyes well. Then someone said, ‘It is sending him to his death.’ Someone else said, ‘He would be the last man to wish us to consider that.’ There was another long pause. However, Sir Arthur Wilson had already written the following message [to Keyes]: ‘We think Heligoland and Amrun lights will be lit when ships are going in. Your destroyers might get a chance to attack about 2 a.m. or later. . . .’ The First Sea Lord [Fisher] nodded assent. The Chief of Staff [Oliver] took the telegram, got up heavily and quitted the room.”
The Admiralty sent the signal at 8:12 p.m. It should have reached Keyes within an hour. It took five hours. The Admiralty originally had sent the signal out on the wrong wavelength, the D-band, for destroyers, which had a radius of only fifty miles. Keyes had told them to use the S-band, for submarines, which had a greater radius. Not until twenty-three minutes past midnight, when Keyes was 200 miles away from Heligoland, did the Admiralty recognize its mistake and resend the message on the S-band. Through the afternoon, Keyes had considered moving into the Bight on his own responsibility. He had held back because he anticipated that Tyrwhitt might be following the German ships with his light cruisers and destroyers and making a night torpedo attack near Heligoland. If this were so, the uncoordinated appearance of Lurcher and Firedrake could create chaos. Two days later, when Keyes went to see Churchill at the Admiralty, the First Lord said, “We sent you a terrible message the other night. I hardly expected to see you alive.” “It was terrible
,” Keyes replied. “I waited three hours in the hope of getting such a message.” Long afterward, Keyes wrote, “Words fail me even now, after more than nineteen years, to express my feelings when I received this belated message.”
One of Keyes’s submarine captains, Martin Naismith of E-11, did get a look at the High Seas Fleet. At dawn on the morning of December 17, as the German fleet was moving from the Weser into the Jade, Naismith observed the dreadnought Posen and fired a torpedo at 400 yards. Because the submarine was rolling heavily, the torpedo ran too deep, passing under Posen’s keel. E-11 prepared to fire at another target, but before she could do so, a third vessel turned to ram. The submarine hurriedly dived and then, having unbalanced her trim, lunged back to the surface. By then, however, the German ships were some distance away headed into the Jade.
The Scarborough Raid was over.
The Scarborough Raid ended in frustration and recrimination in both the British and German navies. When the British fleet returned to port, officers and men read newspaper stories about the devastation of English towns. “The more we heard,” said Lieutenant Filson Young of Lion, “the more bitter was our disappointment. . . . The accounts of the horrible casualties to women and children in the bombarded towns were particularly affecting.”
[Young, a journalist in peacetime, was now a reserve officer attached to David Beatty’s staff.]
Beatty was nearly overcome by chagrin. Sitting at his desk on Lion, he poured out his feelings to Ethel. On December 20, he wrote again: “The happenings of the last week have left a mark which nothing can eradicate except the total destruction of the enemy’s battle and other cruisers. We were within an ace of accomplishing it the other day. . . . Our advanced ships had sighted them and then !!! I can’t bear to write about it! And I can think of nothing else. . . . If we had got them Wednesday, as we ought to have done, we should have finished the war from a naval point of view.”
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