The Great War at Sea: 1914-1918

by Richard Hough

  The irony was that in the Battle of Heligoland Bight all these Staff failings were manifested, but a minor victory had been achieved and a disaster avoided by old-time individualism and blind courage, assisted by more than a fair share of good luck. It was, as Churchill declared proudly, ‘a line feat of arms’. With a little more thought it could have been a major success. With the loss of a dozen or two German destroyers and the greater part of her scouting cruisers, the High Seas Fleet would have been severely crippled. Even so, the arrival of heavy British units in the German porch, with some savage knocks on the door, hurt German pride and infuriated the Kaiser. He gave instructions that the policy of caution must be intensified and the main body of the fleet be risked in a major action only with overwhelming odds on its side.

  MEDITERRANEAN MISFORTUNES

  Admiral Milne’s responsibilities – The Goeben threat – She shows a clean pair of heels – Unclear Admiralty instructions – Admiral Souchon’s shadower – Admiral Troubridge’s opportunity and failure to exploit it – A false report from London – Milne’s dilemma – The Goeben successfully finds her way to Constantinople – Dire consequences for the Allies

  The Battle of Heligoland Bight was no more than a wild skirmish, but it remained a victory at sea nonetheless, and it cast a brief cheerful light when everywhere, on sea or land, was shrouded in the darkness of defeats and retreats. For it was not only in home waters that the tide had generally flowed against the Royal Navy; nor was public uneasiness caused only by default or disappointment at the failure to achieve a new Trafalgar. There had been a major blunder in the Mediterranean, a lesser one in the Caribbean, and a severe defeat in the Pacific. Behind these sombre events were the same faults that characterized the Heligoland Bight operation: weak Admiralty planning, ill-advised and confusing interference by the Admiralty, and poor judgement on the spot. Additionally, sad to relate, there was weakness bordering on cowardice in one episode.

  In the Mediterranean at the end of July 1914 the British had a relatively small force of fast cruisers as deployed by Churchill two years earlier. None of the eight dreadnought battleships promised for 1915 had yet arrived, but there were three dreadnought battlecruisers, the Indomitable, Inflexible, and Indefatigable, inferior in speed and gunpower to Beatty’s ‘big cats’ (as the fleet called them) like the Lion, Tiger, and others with 13.5-inch guns and a speed of around 28 knots. In addition to this powerful battle-cruiser squadron there were four good armoured cruisers, predecessors of the I-class battlecruisers, Defence, Warrior, Black Prince, and Duke of Edinburgh. There were also four modern light cruisers and a flotilla of sixteen destroyers.

  The C.-in-C. was Admiral Sir Archibald (‘Arky-Barky’) Milne, a ‘social’ officer who had been Flag-Officer Royal Yachts and was a friend of Queen Alexandra. Although a harmless enough man, he represented the worst kind of flag-officer for responsible war duties, being dull, slack, and ultra-snobbish even for his day. He would never have been appointed to the Mediterranean had it not been for his connections. ‘Winston has sacrificed the Country to the Court’,(1) Fisher wrote in outrage to Esher, and it was a disgrace that Churchill and Battenberg, fearful of royal disapproval, had not since replaced him, especially as they had no compunction in replacing George Callaghan, who was able and steady.

  Milne’s second in command, flying his flag in the Defence, was Rear-Admiral Ernest Troubridge, a descendant of Thomas Troubridge, one of Nelson’s ‘Band of Brothers’. He was a big, fine-looking man, the epitome of a sailor, much liked but with not too much ‘up top’. His flag-captain was Fawcet Wray, a gunnery officer who was good-looking, immensely arrogant and pleased with himself, one of Beresford’s disciples, and loathed by Fisher.

  The German battle-cruiser sent out to the Mediterranean in 1912 was the Goeben, a fine, strong, fast ship, armed with 11-inch guns against the British battle-cruisers’ 12-inch, but superior to those ships in all departments. Her despatch from Germany had been precipitate and political. She had not completed her delivery trials and her engines had given a good deal of trouble, but at her best could make at least 27 knots. She had in her company the modern, fast light cruiser Breslau. This tight, efficient little force was commanded by the very able Rear-Admiral Wilhelm Souchon.

  Of the other Mediterranean fleets, the French had a powerful force of battleships at Toulon but only one of them a dreadnought. Their first concern was the safe transit of the Algerian Corps to Marseilles in support of the French Army. Both the Austrians and Italians had completed their first dreadnoughts. The Austrians were restricted strategically by their coastline which bordered only on the Adriatic. The Italians were rated high up among the second-class naval powers. Their ships were excellent, their personnel and leadership an unknown quantity. They were also presently and historically hostile to Austria and anxious about her growing naval strength. Italy was more sympathetically inclined towards the western allies, France and Britain, than the Central Powers, Germany and Austro-Hungary.

  Greece, with whom Britain had good relations, did not figure in Mediterranean calculations. But Turkey did. Turkey held the key to the Black Sea and communications with Russia, Britain and France’s ally. Relations with Turkey had continued to deteriorate and the British naval mission had lost all influence. Turkey’s two powerful battleships which had been constructed in Britain were completed and ready for delivery. In the case of one of them, which mounted more heavy guns than any battleship ever built, the Turkish crew was about to take over. Shortly before war was declared, Churchill ordered the compulsory transfer of both dreadnoughts to the British Fleet, an act which the Turks considered outrageous.

  On the last occasion when Britain had fought a major war in the Mediterranean, the ‘men on the spot’ – Horatio Nelson, and later Cuthbert Collingwood – operated entirely on their own initiative, making far-reaching decisions of a political as well as a naval nature. Now, by means of the cable and wireless telegraphy (W/T), orders could be despatched night and day from the OD in the Admiralty in London.

  On 30 July Admiral Milne at Malta received a telegram warning him of the possibility of war and instructing him that his ‘first task should be to aid the French in the transportation of their African army by covering, and, if possible, bringing to action individual fast German ships, particularly Goeben, who may interfere with that transportation… Do not at this stage be brought to action against superior forces, except in combination with the French as part of a general battle.’

  This message could well be cited in a staff college lecture as containing every fault that orders to a distant commander at the outset of war could include. To start with it made no mention of any other contingency than the transportation of the French army to the west, no suggestion of action by Turkey with whom relations were abysmal and whose new dreadnoughts Britain was at the moment acquiring. Milne was to ‘bring to action’ the Goeben but only with ‘superior forces’ although (by any reading of this woolly prose) it was all right to engage the battle-cruiser in combination with the French (strength undefined) in ‘a general battle’, whatever that was. But it was 2 August before Milne was given authority even to communicate with the French, a direct consequence of the British Government’s refusal to co-ordinate with this ally until war was declared or imminent. Even so Milne could not raise the French C.-in-C. by wireless all next day, and eventually was obliged to send a cruiser to Bizerta ‘in quest of his colleague’, Admiral de Lapeyrère.

  Milne then learned of the British ultimatum to Germany and that France and Germany were already at war, although he had still received no word from the French Admiral. Intelligence had now reached London (3 August) of the arrival and coaling of the Goeben and Breslau at Messina on the north-east coast of Sicily. The War Staff at the Admiralty suddenly concluded, for no apparent reason, that the two fast German ships would sail west, not to interfere with the French troop convoys which would be well protected, but to escape out of the Mediterranean altogether through the Straits of Gibraltar and
prey on unprotected British Atlantic trade. A patrol was accordingly set up at Gibraltar, and two of Milne’s battle-cruisers which were now watching the entrance to the Adriatic in case Admiral Souchon should return and link up with the Austrian Fleet, were ordered (8.30 p.m. 3 August) to proceed to Gibraltar at high speed to intercept the Goeben.

  Admiral Souchon had indeed sailed west, but he was heading for North Africa not the Atlantic, and on the morning of 4 August he bombarded two French ports, Bone and Philippeville. The shellfire gave the French a nasty shock but did little damage, and the Goeben, still with the Breslau in company, headed back east again, straight into the arms of the two British battle-cruisers sent to intercept them.

  The Indomitable and Inflexible, under the command of Captain Francis Kennedy, sighted the big battle-cruiser at 10.30 a.m. dead ahead and some fifty miles west of Galita Island. Neither side was technically at war, and neither Captain Kennedy nor Admiral Souchon could anticipate the consequences of their mutual adherence to international law. After a suspicious shying away by both sides, like the sudden meeting of two men surprising one another in the dark, the British and German ships found themselves passing one another, both at high speed and on opposite courses, guns trained fore and aft but ready at an instant’s notice to open fire. None of the customary courtesy signals was exchanged.

  The British ships then turned in a wide circle to begin shadowing the Goeben, and were later joined by the light cruiser Dublin. For five hours through that long day, Captain Kennedy kept station astern of the Goeben, with some speed in reserve in case permission came through to attack. It seemed unlikely that this would happen before nightfall. Soon after 2 p.m. he was told of the ultimatum to Germany, which was due to expire at midnight. Perhaps Admiral Souchon intercepted the signal, for soon afterwards he ordered full speed, and the shadowing exercise suddenly became a stern chase.

  It was an intensely hot Mediterranean afternoon, and the stokers in the Goeben’s boiler room were already under severe pressure. While the battle-cruiser’s speed built up to 23 knots, then to 24 and 25, the men began to fall unconscious over their shovels. A number had to be dragged up and laid out in the open air on the upper deck. At the height of the chase, with the Goeben’s engineer petty officers urging the men to do their utmost, there was a mechanical failure causing fatal scalding to four men.

  The Indomitable had achieved 26.1 knots on her trials, the Inflexible a shade more. But that was six years ago, the dreadnoughts had foul bottoms, their engines were in need of a refit, and the numbers of their stokers inadequate. Both ships logged close to 24 knots through the smooth Mediterranean Sea, white waves washing high up their bows, black coal smoke staining the clear blue sky for miles astern. Conditions were not much better in the engine-rooms of the pursuers, and at least the Goeben’s men worked in the knowledge passed frequently to them that they were out-stripping their pursuers.

  Souchon knew that the hunt was to be a long one, wherever his final destination might be. He knew, too, that if he could plant into the minds of his antagonists that his were the fastest ships in the Mediterranean, it would give him a great tactical and moral advantage. In this he was completely successful.

  The light cruiser Dublin held on after the two battle-cruisers had been out-stripped. But at 7.37 p.m. she signalled, ‘Goeben out of sight now, can only see smoke; still daylight.’ Soon even the smoke disappeared, and as daylight faded, the Germans were lost in the vast spaces of the ocean.

  Six hours before a state of war with Germany became official, Admiral Milne at Malta received a further signal from his masters. ‘The Italian Government have declared neutrality. You are to respect this neutrality rigidly and should not allow any of HM ships to come within six miles of the Italian coast.’ In the first hours of a great war the authorities may be excused for making some incorrect decisions based on false premises. But it is difficult to forgive the Foreign Office (Grey) from failing at this critical time’ to perceive that the Italians would have been delighted and relieved to see the small, powerful German force at the bottom of the sea rather than linking up with the closer and even more potentially hostile navy of Austria.

  This order, and the failure of the Admiralty to relax, modify, or broaden the original instructions to Milne suggest that neither the Admiralty nor the Foreign Office was paying the slightest regard to Turkey’s intentions. In fact, even before Souchon had carried out his bombardment, it had been intimated to him (somewhat prematurely but he was not to know) that a friendly arrangement had been concluded between Berlin and Constantinople, and that the Goeben and Breslau should proceed – the order was marked of ‘extreme urgency’ – to the Rosphorus where he would be allowed free entry.

  A ship with ample coal had been ordered for Souchon at Messina, and it was to this port again that the German Admiral now proceeded with his ships through the night after throwing off his pursuers. The Italian authorities told him sharply that he would be given the legal twenty-four hours and no more.

  With the news that his enemy had reached Messina. Milne adjusted his dispositions accordingly. To him everything seemed to point to Admiral Souchon either heading west again – this time continuing into the Atlantic – or slipping back into the Adriatic. Milne’s primary instructions to protect the French troop convoys had never been cancelled. But on the afternoon of 5 August, he was additionally ordered to watch the Adriatic for the ‘double purpose of preventing Austrians emerging unobserved and preventing Germans entering’. The first was straightforward enough, but it was quite impossible for him to prevent Souchon slipping through the Messina Straits from north to south and, ignoring international law, following the Italian coastline within the six-mile limit until he had outpaced his pursuers again.

  Milne therefore concentrated his heavy ships, the only ships which could be reasonably certain of out-gunning the Goeben, midway between Sicily and Tunisia in the expectation of cutting off Souchon before he could attack the French troop convoys or race for Gibraltar. At the entrance to the Adriatic he stationed Admiral Troubridge with his four armoured cruisers, a sufficiently powerful force to deal with any Austrian men o’war except her new dreadnoughts. The French Toulon squadrons had now put to sea in overwhelming strength to deal with the two German ships. Their convoys required no British protection. But Milne knew nothing of this, and if the French had informed the Admiralty in London no one had thought it necessary to telegraph the news to Malta.

  On 6 August, just before nightfall, the Goeben, closely followed by her satellite, left Messina, slipped south through the Straits, and in the open seas headed first due cast before making sure that the only British ship in sight, the light cruiser Gloucester, observed him feinting north-cast as if for the Adriatic.

  Just before midnight, the Goeben and Breslau altered course again, this time to the south-cast. Admiral Souchon, in accordance with his orders and supported in his self-confidence by his earlier demonstration of speed, pointed his bows towards Constantinople.

  The British dispositions at midnight were: Troubridge with his four armoured cruisers was patrolling off the island of Cephalonia, south of Corfu, where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the Adriatic as instructed. He was shortly to be reinforced by the light cruiser Dublin and two destroyers, his own flotilla having departed to Malta for coal.

  Milne with two of his battle-cruisers was patrolling north of Sicily when he heard that Souchon had left Messina. In the belief that his quarry might proceed south of the island and then west, he headed west and then south to cut the Germans off. Milne’s third battle-cruiser, the Indomitable, was coaling at Bizerta.

  None of these dispositions was known to the German Admiral, and he would have been greatly relieved if he had learned that his most dangerous enemy was far to the west and had not even considered that he might be shaping course for Turkey. Souchon’s anxieties remained burdensome. He had to pass through the islands of the Aegean with all their opportunities for waylaying and trapping his force or at
best observing his movements. The state of the Goeben’s engines was another worry. Under extreme pressure they had worked wonders three days earlier but the Admiral knew he would never be able to put his boilers under such pressure again. He could not reach the Bosphorus without coaling. The enemy numbered not fewer than seven big armoured ships, without French support, and there were British submarines and destroyers to take into account, too. Most dangerous of all, he was being followed through the night. His feint north had been observed, but so had his turn onto an easterly course again.

  The light cruiser Gloucester, 4,800 tons and completed in 1911, was armed with 6-inch and 4-inch guns, and on her trials had shown a speed of over 26 knots. She was a fine ship, built for scouting and warding off destroyer attacks. She was commanded by forty-year-old Captain Howard Kelly. His brother John, two years older, commanded the slightly more modern and powerful Dublin, which was racing north-cast to join Troubridge. From calculations based on his younger brother’s signals, his track should cross those of the two German ships. And in fact at 1.30 a.m. John Kelly signalled Troubridge that the Breslau was right ahead and that he was following her. One hour later the Dublin reported the position of the Goeben and her speed as 27 knots. John Kelly had misidentified the ship, which was understandable. It was the Breslau, steaming flat out to come up with her big consort, and the Dublin soon lost her anyway.