The Coming Conquest of England

by August Niemann

  The Renown herself, whose ram had caused the fearful disaster, had not escaped without severe injury in the collision, which had shattered the mighty floating fortress in all its joints. The two first fore compartments, as the bulkheads did not hold together, had filled with water. This caused the vessel to heel over; her value as a fighting instrument was thereby sensibly diminished.

  Thus the first great catastrophe in the battle was caused, not by the power of the enemy, but by the clumsy manoeuvring of a friendly ship. This naturally caused many of the spectators, deeply affected by the sinking of the magnificent vessel and her gallant crew, to ask themselves whether the great perfection attained in the construction of modern ships of war was not to a great extent counterbalanced by the defects that were combined with the increasing size and fighting strength of these gigantic ironclads. No ship of the line, no frigate, not even the little gunboat of earlier times could have disappeared from the line of battle so speedily and without leaving a trace behind as the Formidable, built of mighty dimensions and equipped with all the appliances of naval technique. No doubt her armour-plate and steel turrets would have been able successfully to resist a hail of the heaviest projectiles, but a misunderstood steering order had been sufficient to send her to the bottom. Neither the double bottoms nor the division of the bulkheads, which should have prevented the inrush of an excessive amount of water, had been able to avert the fate which threatens every modern ironclad when severely damaged below the water-line. The wooden ship of former times might have been riddled like a sieve without sinking. But the stability of a modern ironclad could be endangered by a single leak, whether caused by a torpedo or a ram, to such an extent that the gigantic mass of iron would be drawn down into the depths by its own weight in a few minutes.

  A running fire now went on at a distance of about 2,000 yards, in which the superiority of the Krupp guns was as clearly manifested as the admirable training of the German artillerists, in which the English were far inferior. Certainly, the German ships also suffered various injuries, but no serious damage had as yet occurred.

  The three torpedoed and helpless English warships offered especially favourable targets to the German cruisers. The latter, taking up positions at a suitable distance, kept up such a heavy fire upon the vessels, which could scarcely move, that their surrender was inevitable. But before deciding on this, the English offered an heroic resistance, and many of their shots took effect. The conning tower of the Friedrich Karl was pierced by a shell, and the brave commander with those around him found a glorious soldier’s death. Other more or less serious injuries were sustained, and it was almost a miracle that no vital damage was done to any part of the ships’ hulls.

  After the three English ships had been put out of action, it was unnecessary for the cruiser division to remain any longer in this quarter of the scene of action. They accordingly proceeded with the utmost despatch to where the Prince-Admiral was engaged in the main fight with the battleships. Here, indeed, assistance was needed. For, although four of the enemy’s ships were lost, the superiority in numbers still remained with the English, especially as the Mecklenburg had been obliged to sheer off, her steering gear having been shot to pieces.

  When the English Admiral saw the cruisers approaching, so that they could bring all their bow-guns to bear at once, he recognised that the decisive moment was at hand.

  The cruisers’ guns inflicted severe damage on the English, for the crews had practised shooting rapidly at a gradually diminishing distance. The high deck structures of the battleships offered an admirable target, so that in the extended English line of battle nearly every shot took effect.

  For Sir Percy Domvile rapid and energetic action now became a necessary condition of self-preservation. In the circumstances, the capture of the German fleet, which according to the order of battle was to be the object aimed at, was no longer to be thought of; the only thing left to the Admiral was to endeavour to destroy as many of the enemy’s ships as possible. The British flagship signalled “Right about,” and the commandants knew that this was as good as an order to ram the German ironclads.

  But this manoeuvre, by which alone Sir Percy Domvile could meet the danger that threatened him in consequence of the attack from two sides, had been provided for by the Prince-Admiral. It had been taken into consideration at the council of war held on the previous evening, and each commander had received instructions as to the tactics to be pursued in such an event. A special signal had been agreed upon, and as soon as the English ironclads were observed wheeling round, it was hoisted on the Admiral’s ship. Each of the German battleships immediately took up the position prescribed by the plan of battle. The squadron separated into two halves; the first division, wheeling into line behind the flagship, made “left about” with it, while the second division, also making “left about,” took up its position between the left wing ship.

  These tactics, quite unknown to him, were completely unexpected by the English Admiral. His purpose was entirely frustrated by the speedy and clever manoeuvre of the German ships, the plan of destruction failed, and his own ironclads, while proceeding athwart, had to stand a terrible fire right and left, which was especially disastrous to the two ships on the wings. Overwhelmed by a hail of light and heavy projectiles, and in addition hit by torpedoes, they were in a few minutes put out of action; one of them, the Victorious, sharing the fate of the unlucky Formidable, sank with its crew of more than 700 men beneath the waves.

  But the youthful German fleet had also received its baptism of fire in this decisive battle.

  All the means of destruction with which the modern art of war is acquainted were employed by each of the two opponents to snatch victory from his adversary. The shells of the heavy guns were combined with the projectiles of the lighter armament and the machine-guns posted in the fighting-tops, so that in the real sense of the word it was a “hail of projectiles,” which came down in passing on the ships wrapped in smoke and steam.

  Hermann Heideck had become so thoroughly familiar in India with the horrors of war on land in their various forms, that he believed his nerves were completely proof against the horrible sight of death and devastation. But the scenes which were being enacted around him in the comparatively narrow space of the magnificent flagship during this engagement, far surpassed in their awfulness everything that he had hitherto seen. Heideck was full of admiration for the heroic courage, contempt of death, and discipline of officers and men, not one of whom stirred a foot from the post assigned him.

  As he only played the part of an inactive spectator in the drama that had now reached its climax, he was able to move freely over the ship. Wherever he went, the same spectacle of horrible destruction and heroic devotion to duty everywhere met his eye.

  The men serving the guns in the turrets and casemates were enduring the pains of hell. In the low, ironclad chambers a fiery heat prevailed, which rendered even breathing difficult. The terrific noise and the superhuman excitement of the nerves seemed to have so dulled the men’s senses, that they no longer had any clear idea of what was going on around them. Their faces did not wear that expression of rage and exasperation, which Heideck had seen in so many soldiers in the land battle at Lahore; rather, he observed a certain dull indifference, which could no longer be shaken by the horror of the situation.

  A shell struck a battery before Heideck’s eyes, exploded, and with its flying splinters struck down nearly all the men serving the guns. Happy were those who found death at once; for the injuries of those who writhed wounded on the ground were of a frightful nature. The red-hot pieces of iron, which tore the unhappy men’s flesh and shattered their bones, at the same time inflicted fearful burns upon them. Indeed, Heideck would have regarded it as an act of humanity to have been allowed with a shot from a well-aimed revolver, to put an end to the sufferings of this or that unfortunate, whose skin and flesh hung in shreds from his body, or whose limbs were transformed into shapeless, bloody masses.

  But thos
e who had escaped injury, after a few moments’ stupefaction, resumed their duty with the same mechanical precision as before. Amidst their dead and dying comrades, about whom nobody could trouble himself for the moment, they stood in the pools of warm, human blood, which made the deck slippery, and quietly served the gun which had not been seriously damaged.

  A very young naval cadet, who had been sent down to the engine-room from the Prince-Admiral’s conning-tower with an order, met Heideck on the narrow, suffocatingly hot passage. He was a slender, handsome youth with a delicate, boyish face. The blood was streaming over his eyes and cheeks from a wound in the forehead. He was obliged to lean with both hands against the wall for support, while, with a superhuman effort of will, he compelled his tottering knees to carry him forward, his sole thought being that he must keep upright until he had fulfilled his errand. When Heideck inquired sympathetically after the nature of his wound, he even attempted to wreathe his pale lips, quivering with pain, into a smile, for in spite of his seventeen years he felt himself at this moment quite a man and a soldier, to whom it was an honour and a delight to die for his country. But his heroic will was stronger than his body, wounded to death. In the attempt to assume an erect military bearing before the Major, he suddenly collapsed. He had just strength enough to give Heideck the Admiral’s order and ask him to carry it out. Then his senses left him.

  In another battery the store of ammunition had been exploded by a shell. Not a man had escaped alive. Heideck himself, although since the beginning of the engagement he had recklessly exposed himself to danger, had hitherto, by a miracle, escaped death that threatened him in a hundred different forms. He had been permitted, by express command of the Prince, to stay a considerable time in the upper conning-tower, from which the Imperial Admiral directed the battle, and the deliberate calmness of the supreme commander, steadily pursuing his object, had filled him with unshaken confidence in a victory for the German fleet, in spite of the numerical superiority of the English.

  Ever since Heideck had heard the news of Edith Irwin’s death from Brandelaar, all purely human feelings and sensations that connected him with life had died in his heart. He was no longer anything but the soldier, whose thoughts and efforts were filled exclusively with anxiety for the victory of his country’s arms. All personal experiences were completely forgotten as if they had taken place ten years ago. At this moment, when the existence or extinction of nations was at stake, his own life was of so little importance to him that he was not even conscious of the foolhardy intrepidity with which he risked it at every step.

  Majestic and powerful, sending forth death-dealing flashes from her turrets and portholes, the Wittelsbach had hitherto proceeded on her way, not heeding the wounds which the enemy’s shot had inflicted in her hull. An almost thankful feeling for the glorious ship which carried him arose in Heideck’s breast.

  “You do honour to the great name you bear,” he thought. Through smoke and steam he looked up at the conning-tower, where he knew the Prince-Admiral was. Then he saw it no more, for suddenly a thick, black cloud overspread his eyes. He had only felt a slight blow in his breast, but no pain. He tried to lift his hand to the place where he had been hit, but it sank powerlessly. It seemed as if he were being turned round in a circle by an invisible hand. Thousands of fiery sparks shot up suddenly from the dark cloud—the night closed completely round him—deep, impenetrable night, and still, solemn silence.

  Major Hermann Heideck had found a hero’s death.

  . . . . . . .

  A torpedo-boat that had been summoned by signal hurried up at full speed to the Admiral’s flagship which was lying on her side. A broadside torpedo had struck the Wittelsbach; and although there was no fear of her sinking, it was impossible for operations to be directed from her any longer.

  Regardless of the danger it involved, the Prince-Admiral had himself and his staff transferred by the torpedo-boat to the Zahringen, on which his flag was at once hoisted.

  . . . . . . .

  The progress of the engagement had hitherto been favourable to the German fleet to a surprising extent. Its losses were considerably less than those of its numerically far superior enemy, and its ships, with few exceptions, were still able to fight and manoeuvre. But as yet, considering the strength of the ships still at the enemy’s disposal, it was too early to speak of a decision in favour of the German fleet. Although the clever manoeuvre of the German squadron had frustrated the intended attack of the English, and inflicted very considerable losses upon them, it might still be possible for Sir Percy Domvile to atone for his mistake and to bind the capricious fortune of war to his flag.

  The same frightful scenes which Major Heideck had witnessed on board the Wittelsbach had also taken place on the other German battleships and cruisers. Blood flowed in rivers, and, if the murderous engagement continued much longer, the moment could not be far off when it would no longer be possible to fill the gaps caused by death in the ranks of the brave crews. A few luckily-aimed English torpedoes, and no genius in the supreme command, no heroism on the part of the captains, officers, and crew would have been able to avert disaster from the German arms.

  Then, suddenly a fresh, apparently very powerful squadron, was sighted from the south-west, which, if it had proved to be a British reserve fleet, must have decided the victory at once in favour of the English.

  The moments that passed until the question was definitely settled were moments of the keenest suspense and excitement for those on board the German vessels. The relief was so much the greater when it was seen to be no fresh hostile force, but Admiral Courtille’s squadron, advancing at full speed, just at the right moment to decide the issue.

  The state of affairs was now changed at one stroke so completely to the disadvantage of the English, that a British victory had become an impossibility. The intervention of the French squadron, still perfectly intact, consisting of ten battleships, ten large and ten small cruisers, was bound to bring about the annihilation of the English fleet. The English Admiral was quickwitted enough to gauge the situation correctly, as soon as he had recognised the approaching ships as the French fleet and assured himself of the enemy’s strength. The orders given to form again for an attack were succeeded by fresh signals from the English flagship, ordering a rapid retreat. The English Admiral, regarding the battle as definitely lost, considered it his duty to save what could still be saved of the fleet under his charge. Before the French could actively intervene the English fleet steamed away at full speed to the north-west.

  Thundering hurrahs on all the German ships acclaimed the victory announced by this retreat. The boats of the torpedo division and some swift cruisers were ordered to keep in touch with the fleeing enemy.

  The French Admiral in command had gone on board the flagship Zahringen to place himself and his squadron under the command of the Prince-Admiral and to come to an arrangement as to the further joint operations of the combined fleets. For there was no doubt that the victory ought to be utilised at once to the fullest extent, if it were really to be decisive.

  Deeply moved, the Prince embraced Admiral Courtille, and thanked him for appearing at the critical moment. The French Admiral, however, excused himself for intervening so late. “I was obliged,” said he, “to wait till it was night and steer far out to the south-west before I could turn north; I had to do this, so as to be able to break through Prince Louis of Battenberg’s blockading squadron without being seen, under cover of night.”

  Meanwhile, the scouts sent after the enemy had returned with the information that the English fleet had altered its course and appeared making for the Thames. Further pursuit was impossible, as the English Admiral had detached some ships, for which the German cruisers were not a match.

  Previous arrangements had been made for transferring the dead and wounded to the ships signalled to for the purpose, and were carried out without great difficulty, the sea being now calmer. Now that the fearful battle had ceased, for the first time the crews becam
e fully conscious of the horrors they had passed through. The rescue of the wounded showed what cruel sacrifices the battle had demanded. It was a difficult and melancholy task, which made many a sailor’s heart beat with sorrow and compassion. The dead were for the most part horribly mangled by the splinters of the shells which had caused their death, and the injuries of the wounded, for whom the surgeons on board had, of course, only been able to provide first aid in the turmoil of battle, were nearly all so severe, that they could only be moved slowly.

  After the German ships had signalled that they were again ready for action, those which had the dead and wounded on board, together with the German ships put out of action and the captured English ships, were ordered to make for Antwerp. The combined Franco-German fleet, under the supreme command of the Prince-Admiral, resumed its voyage in the direction of the mouth of the Thames.

  XXXV

  AT HAMPTON COURT

  The long rows of windows in Hampton Court Palace were still a blaze of light, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The double post of the royal uhlans before the entrance was still busy, for the unceasing arrival and departure of officers of rank of the three allied nations demanded military honours. Immediately after the naval engagement at Flushing, so disastrous to the English, a large French army and some regiments of the Russian Imperial Guard had landed at Hastings and were now quartered at Aldershot, on the best of terms with the French and the German troops who had marched from Scotland. The Prince-Admiral’s headquarters had been removed to Hampton Court, whose silent, venerable, and famous palace became suddenly the centre of stirring military and diplomatic life.

  Any further serious military operations were hardly considered, for the supposition that the landing of large hostile armies would practically mean the end of the campaign, had proved correct.