Some Naval Yarns Part 2

My skipper laughed.

"Just one of those days," he said. "Come, let's go and have a spot."

V. THE ROYAL NAVAL DIVISION

Buffeted about from Antwerp to Gallipoli, Egypt, the Greek Islands, Salonika, and then to France, first under an admiral, then part of an army corps, again under an admiral, and finally back to military regime--the life of the Royal Naval Division, which startled an Empire by their valour on the Ancre, has been one full of thrills, sorrows, threats of extinction, brave deeds, and perilous journeys. They are proud of their naval origin, and are also tenacious of their naval customs, despite the fact that all their fighting has been done ash.o.r.e and few sailors survive among them.

In August, 1914, Mr. Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, mobilised and organised, as a division for land fighting, reservist seamen, stokers and marines, and naval volunteers whose services were not required afloat, also recruits drawn mainly from among the miners of the North of England and Scotland. Guards' officers, naval and marine instructors--each in his own ritual--help to train them. To the Navy, who raided them when it needed seamen or stokers for its s.h.i.+ps, they were "dry-land sailors." To the Army, they were just a bunch of "so-called salts" or "Winston's Own." But their instructors soon recognised that in these grousing, middle-aged stokers, and in these silent stolid illiterate miners and ironworkers from the North Country, they had the raw material of soldiers as fine as Great Britain can breed.

In many respects, the Division has had the worst of both worlds. They have beaten their way steadily to the fore without much recognition in print; but since Beaucourt fell, both military and naval men have been eager to grasp their hands.

Now and again a brief mention fell to their lot while they were in Gallipoli, where the military were attracted to them a bit by the idea of calling their battalions after famous admirals such as Nelson, Drake, Hood, Collingwood, Anson, Howe, Benbow, and Hawke. Sir Ian Hamilton made mention of the fearlessness of the division in his despatches, and Major-General D'Amade eulogised them for their bravery after the frays of the 6th, 7th, and 8th of May, 1915. In June, 1915, the Collingwood battalion was wiped out; of the officers of this battalion and of the Hood, who went to the attack, not one returned unwounded. The other battalions also suffered terribly, having been equally contemptful of danger.

Prior to that they had, of course, been to Antwerp. Even if they did not have a chance to do much, the Division, at any rate, caused the Belgians to hold out for five days longer than they might otherwise have done.

Among the many brave men on the officers' roll are well-known Britishers who have given their lives for their country. There was Rupert Brooke, the poet; Denis Browne, formerly musical critic of _The Times_; F. S.

Kelly, holder of the Diamond Sculls record, who also was an exceptionally clever composer and pianist; and Arthur Waldene St. Clair Tisdall, a great scholar and poet of Cambridge. He was awarded the Victoria Cross for his valour on the 25th of April, at Gallipoli, for going to the rescue of wounded men on the beach. To accomplish this, he pushed a boat in front of him. On his second trip he was obliged to ask for help. In all, he made five trips in the face of great danger. He met death in action barely three weeks afterwards.

Lieutenant-Commander Arthur M. Asquith, son of the former British Premier, is one of the gallant men attached to the Hood battalion. He has been through the thick of many fights, and has been wounded more than once, escaping death through sheer good fortune.

And one of the men whom all England was wild about is a New Zealander from Wellington, twenty-seven years old, now an acting lieutenant-colonel, who was described by an eye-witness of the Ancre fighting as "a flying figure in bandages plunging over Germans to Beaucourt." He is B. C. Freyberg, a born soldier and great athlete.

Before the Great War, this marvel of courage was fighting for Pancho Villa in Mexico; and the instant the European conflict started, Freyberg realised that he might do better in Europe. He therefore deserted Villa, and set out afoot for San Francisco. His splendid const.i.tution stood him in good stead, and he arrived there as fit as a fiddle, soon afterwards winning enough money in a swimming race to take him to London. In the English capital he received a commission as a sub-lieutenant in the Royal Naval Division, and his promotion has been rapid.

Colonel Freyberg was caught in a live electric wire in Antwerp; but it was of so high a voltage that he was not killed, sustaining only an injury to his hand and arm. He was even fired at by his own men, who believed that he was a German crawling through the wire. Just before the landing in Gallipoli, on the 25th of April, 1915, it was proposed to throw dust in the eyes of the Turks by landing a platoon at a point on the coast of the Gulf of Saros, where no serious landing was contemplated. To save the sacrifice of a platoon, Freyberg, who was at that time a company-commander in the Hood battalion, pressed to be allowed to achieve the same object single-handed. His wish was granted; and on the night of the 24th-25th of April, oiled and naked, he swam ash.o.r.e, towing a canvas canoe containing flares and a revolver. He reconnoitred the enemy's trenches, and, under the covering fire of a destroyer, lit his flares at intervals along the beach. He had some difficulty in finding his boat again. A mysterious fin accompanied him during part of the swim. He at first took it to be that of a shark, but found later it belonged to a harmless porpoise. After some two hours in the water, he was picked up, and for this gallant and successful feat he was made a Companion of the Distinguished Service Order. In Gallipoli he was wounded in May, again in July, 1915, and he was mentioned in Sir Charles Monro's despatches in connection with the successful evacuation of the 9th of January, 1916.

Hence, this sailor-soldier in a comparatively short time attracted a good deal of attention among the naval and military authorities; so it was not surprising that when he applied for a permanent commission in the British Army he was given a captaincy in the Queen's Royal West Surrey Regiment. The same day, however, he received this news he was seconded to the Royal Naval Division with the temporary rank of lieutenant-colonel. So he retained command of his old battalion--the Hood.

Inasmuch as the first despatches concerning the storming of Beaucourt referred to Lieutenant-Colonel Freyberg as "a naval colonel," all Britain was wondering who this hero could be. Some of his friends were not long in guessing; but it was not until the next day that Freyberg in name received credit for the remarkable exploit on the north bank of the Ancre. In the first messages of the British success it was set forth that in a battle where every man fought n.o.bly for the honour of his regiment and his country, one individual act of leaders.h.i.+p stood out with peculiar distinctness.

A witness of the battle told of the troops on Freyberg's left being held up, and that between him and them ran, roughly parallel with the line of advance, a spur which cut off the effect of the enemy's machine guns.

After fourteen hours of fighting, bit by bit, the sea-dog soldiers had plunged through a mile of trenches and ground sorely marked by sh.e.l.ls.

Three machine guns then were pushed forward well beyond that line, and the still unsatisfied sailor-colonel, his shoulder and right arm swathed in bandages, asked leave to go ahead and attack the village. His men were about 1,000 yards in front of the companies on his left, endeavouring to advance across the northwesterly slope. It was more like a matter of defence than attack. The men were few in numbers, and had fought like tigers for long hours without a rest. However, about 500 men were collected, and the dark of night was spent in organisation. Then, in the misty dawn, some soldier battalions came up to reinforce the left, and onward plunged Freyberg.

Out on the Ancre they say that he got so far ahead of his men that he rubbed his hand over his head and murmured: "Huh--I believe I forgot to tell them to follow me." Whether or not this is true, only Freyberg knows. But we do not remain in doubt as to what he and his men did right afterwards. They ploughed their way through mud and Germans, with the fire of five machine guns peppering them. They stuck right on the heels of the barrage fire, and in less than twenty minutes from that time the Germans had been driven from their stronghold of Beaucourt. Here and there a German post held, and men in the trenches faced the British bombs and cold steel. Still the Teutons soon learned that it was impossible to stop that alarming Briton and his men.

Freyberg formed a semicircular trench around the far side of the new possession, and then they took time to see what had happened to the gallant little band. Freyberg had received his fourth wound, and his brave 500 had dwindled to a number a good deal smaller. The Britishers, somehow, had been unkind in their speed to the Germans, and the enemy was left gaping with wonder at the result of what they at first took to be nothing more than a bit of bluff.

For this remarkable display of valour Freyberg received the Victoria Cross.

Reverting to the division itself, it should be said that every officer of these jolly-jack-tar soldiers has panegyrics galore to cast in the direction of General Sir Archibald Paris, K.C.B., who was in command of the division at Antwerp and the Dardanelles. He lost a leg before the Ancre fighting, and thus was disappointed of being with them for their great success in France. He was succeeded by Major-General Cameron Shute, C.B. What the division has recently accomplished and the way it has terrorised the enemy, like Kipling's "Tyneside Tail Twisters," is a happy thought to General Shute. In one battalion it is estimated that 90 per cent. of the casualties in the Ancre fighting were caused by the closeness with which the sailors clung to the barrage fire. Their grit caused the enemy to pale.

They are pleased and proud of their sea terms, and would not give them up for anything--not even if the soldiers of the King do not fathom their meaning.

It is a case of going to the "galley," while the red-coat that was persists in the "kitchen." The first field dressing-station is nothing but "sick bay" to the R.N.D. man. They "go adrift" when they are missing from parade, and they ask to "go ash.o.r.e" when they want leave.

VI. A NAVAL SCHOOL

From one of several inst.i.tutions, every six months Britain turns out 2,200 boys who have mastered the elementary rudiments of seamans.h.i.+p and are ready to take their places as ordinary seamen aboard wars.h.i.+ps. They will not tell you how many of these schools there are in Great Britain alone, but you may learn that no undue activity has been brought about in these places because John Bull is at war. After having waded through the curriculum of these boys, one comes to the conclusion that they are not so far from being able seamen by the time they emerge from this place on the East Coast.

It is especially striking how speedily the youthful mind s.n.a.t.c.hes up the mysteries of signalling and of wireless telegraphy; and one is filled with interest in following the boys from the time they first enter the school to the day they leave.

In a room where they are "kitting up" are twenty or thirty boys who have just arrived. And, as they say in America, there is "no monkey business" about the instructors: either the boys are those who are wanted or they are not. The youngsters receive their first seafaring garb in a large, well-ventilated room. They have been in the bath, and their hair is as close as the clippers can make it. One of them said he was the son of a lawyer; another that his father was in the Royal Navy; a third came of a parson's family; a husky young chap had been a blacksmith's a.s.sistant; and another had coo-ed milk in London streets.

"An'," declared a petty officer, "they all comes here believin' they'll be able to get a pot shot at the Kaiser. Seems to me that they imagine that William is always standing on guard on the rocks of Heligoland, just waiting for them to come along--what?"

In another section of the school the boys are grounded in discipline by a petty officer, and by the time they get through with him they are accustomed to saluting. Follows then a whirl of wonders to them. There is a model of the forepart of a s.h.i.+p, which they can steer, and so learn port from starboard; there is the ingenious manner of dropping a lifeboat into the lap of the sea; and then the interesting work of tying knots, in which the petty officer instructor takes considerable pride.

One of the most interesting rooms of sub-schools is the one where the youthful "salts" are initiated into the mysteries of signalling, where, besides the numerous flags for sea conversation, there is a dummy wireless station, by which they can become proficient operators. They have models of s.h.i.+ps, so that they can tell which are British and which are German. Then there are gunnery schools, and it speaks well for the young Briton that 90 per cent. of the pupils have such keen minds that they yearn to learn more of the mysteries of the study of sea fighting; they have the ambition to be really good seamen, engine-room men, wireless operators, or signalmen.

On a section of the school grounds there is a mast on which is hoisted the White Ensign of the British Navy. This spot is known as the quarter-deck, and every time one of the youngsters pa.s.ses where he can see that mast he salutes reverently. Beyond that there is the recreation ground, where every Sat.u.r.day afternoon in winter there are half a dozen games of football. The officers help them to enjoy that, too, for, like Americans, they delight in exercise.

It is remarkable what a change a boy undergoes after a few months at the inst.i.tution. I was told of would-be sailors who were sloppy and dirty when they entered the school being transformed into neat, fine physical specimens.

"A hair-cut, a wash, a change of underwear and other garments makes all the difference in the world," said one of the instructors. "And when you add to this lessons in sea-neatness, a good deal of interesting headwork, manual labour, good food and plenty of recreation, it's no wonder that the mill makes a new boy of one of the seafaring aspirants."

The boys have one great mess-room; and, although they never have been to sea, they are taught to treat the school as if it were a war vessel.

They ate with vigour when I saw them, and I was told that the money given to them by the Government is spent for extras in the eating line--princ.i.p.ally candies. Each table const.i.tutes a mess, and there are prizes for the cleanest and best-arranged mess; so they arrange their knives, forks, and spoons in a design calculated to catch the prize-awarder's eye. And, incidentally, this idea of giving prizes for the best-kept mess is followed throughout the service.

Each day is started with prayer on the quarter-deck, and an impressive ceremony it is. Honour and glory is what they will tell you they hope to get out of the Navy, and not money. And the idea of honour, as it is known in the Navy, is drummed into them from the moment they enter the school.

To see these youngsters at any meal is to believe that it was the first time they had eaten for a week. They are ravenously hungry, and the food is of such excellence that it makes a visitor feel as if he would like to sit down too. There is little waste here, for I observed that each plate was polished clean; and, when eating was over, the boys bounded out for an hour's recreation on the s.p.a.cious grounds. On their way many of them paid a visit to the candy-store, and while they were playing they munched candy.

The port where this school is located is a healthful spot, and in war time no person is permitted to board a ferry to the school without a special pa.s.s. When you first land you are decidedly struck by the great figure-heads of old war vessels, which are set up on the "quarter-deck"

and in front of some of the buildings. There is one of the old Ganges there--a mammoth wooden head of a very black negro. The size of it is startling.

The officers have a charmingly comfortable ward-room and mess-room. In the bay is the second Ganges, now a sort of mother-s.h.i.+p for mine-sweepers and trawlers, and one of the busiest places one can imagine. The King not long ago dined aboard this s.h.i.+p, and is said to have expressed great interest in the work carried on from the Ganges.

VII. "GENTLEMEN, 'THE KING'"

There are many traditions to which the Royal Navy still clings, and there are messes afloat and ash.o.r.e where it is manifest that time has not withered impressive and picturesque features of the days of the wooden wars.h.i.+ps. For instance, no layman can help being struck by the British naval officers' toast to the King. And the other toasts are offered with such splendid solemnity and grace that it makes one wish that something of the sort could be done at even the minor affairs where civilians are gathered. Of course, the Londoner and the man from Manchester offers his toast at a great banquet, as they do in New York and other American cities to the President of the United States. But although it takes no longer at a naval mess, there is a something about it which places the civilian in the shade. With the Navy it is a mess, and not a dinner where there are many strangers, and every officer has been doing this since he was a boy.

John Bull's naval officers are men who admit the faults of their country. They have travelled, and have seen a good many other countries and peoples. From Osborne and Britannia days sincerity seems to have been inculcated into them. The discipline is inflexible, but kindly. The captain of a "Dreadnought" will take pains to ask a young mids.h.i.+pman to dine with him, and there exists a wonderful thoughtfulness on the part of the officers for the men. British naval officers are lovers of sports, and, having believed the Germans good sports before August, 1914, they cannot condone attacks on non-belligerents or the shooting of nurses. His Majesty's naval officers do great things without talking about them, and at dinner one of the star heroes of the war may be in the next chair to you, but you certainly will not hear it from him.

Opposite me sat a man who had faced death with Scott on the Polar expedition. It was after I had left the mess that I learned this from one of his friends. But at a mess you may hear stories of men who are absent. It was at dinner aboard one of the great, grey sea-fighters that we laughed at the yarn of a young middy, in charge of one of the cutters off Gallipoli when the Turks were sending sh.e.l.ls like rain. This mids.h.i.+pman ordered his men to take cover. His men included bearded fellows twice his size and age. They obeyed, as they always obey. Then the youthful fearnought, to show his contempt for danger, stood on one of the cutter's cross-seats, pulled out a cigarette-case almost as large as himself, and puffed rings of smoke skywards.

"I made a jolly fine set of rings that time," he told one of the men.