THE LION AT JUTLAND.

Taranaki Daily News, 30 August 1919, Page 11

THE LION AT JUTLAND.

HOW FIFTY MEN DIED TO SAVE| THE SHIP. I We were having our usual after-sup-per chatter—.Jutland was the topic, the battle, but more especially the merits of individual ships engaged, writes a correspondent in the Weekly Scotsman. Rushworth was at Jutland in a destroyer, and was always at great pains to rub that fact in, while we, culled for the most part from foreign service craft, felt forced into giving him a hearing. Now, when a chap holds the floor with a pot topic, he invariably "warms to his theme"; anyway "Rush" warmed, and soon knives and forks were transformed into opposing fleetß bread crumbs into screening destroyers and a butter dish into the coast. But a typical destroyer man was Rushworth, which means that big ships are no friends of his. So that's possibly why he regarded as an interruption a question as to the damage done to the flag-ship. A REFLECTION ON THE LION. "What! the Lion? Oh, nothing great —a few killed —Bole paint scratched—nothing to 'blow' about. Now in the 13th Flotilla-—" "Hang on! Who told you that—your mum J" A small voice, but piled high with withering sarcasm, effectively stopped the first speaker's flow of talk. "Who told you that?" All eyesi fixed the speaker—a frail Teticent little chap with a cigarette dangling at bis nether lip—la person about whom wo knew nothing except that he had joined us from the Grand Fleet a few days before.

Rushworth's jaw dropped, ana J»ia arms dropped weakly to his sides. ; The Lion was smashed about, and damn bad too; 200 was wiped out besides the 50 what asked to be drowned."

Furtively we eyes "Rush" as lie strugglei to find an effective reply, then — "Where were you at Jutland?" The quiet chap's answer lowered "Rush's" colours for ever as an authority on the battle. "I was in 'B' turret on the Lion!" No one spoke for a space, and the little fellow, aa if ashamed of his outburst, lowered his head and hurriedly turned the pages of a magazine. Suddenly the spell broke and a dozen questions were fired at him simultaneously. "What was the initial range? Who fired the opening salvo? How many ships did we lose? and how did the 50 men ask to be drowned?" But it was the last question which made him sit up, lay aside his magazine, and give us a yarn which made us refrain from ever speaking of our picnics and stunts in foreign theatres of war I again. He wag illiterate, too, this quiet chap, but that very fault seemed somehow to make his story the more forcible.

THE QUIET MAN'S STORY.

All eyes were on him as he awkwardly rolled a cigarette, lit it, and with an apologetic look around proceeded to answer our question in his own way. "CourFe you blokes knows all about the scrap, the way we was when the .Sport started, and the way wc clewed upr^Son'tvknow nothink about that there lot. The pape'rs said a whole pile, but *

Someone headed hjm; pff with a quesition, and at length we got hhn settled down to the story proper, which I wiji attempt to repeat faithfully, dropping only his more lurid adjectives. "We was lying in Rosyth on the 30th of May—the Ist Battie Squadron, I means, when a steaming signal came through for us to raise steam for 25 knots at 7 bells in the afternoon. And about two hours after we gets the 'proceed' signal. Out we goes and messes around all night and half the next day—that's the 31st. General quarters went «i about 10. After a few dummy runs we falls out and then closes up again—closes up and falls out till we thought the skipper >-.<>.} balmy. Just hefore 8 bells was Btruck, action itations was sounded; away we nipj pretty slick like, for a buzz was spread that £'■ v z was out and close and handy.

IN "E" TURRET. " 'B' Turret was my station, and we didn't wait long before down comeß the order "Load! but don't insert no tubes yet.'" Here he paused to pinch the end of his fag and ask for a match—several boxes were thrust forward and impatientry we ■waited until he- blew a cloud of smoke and went on.

"Well—we ain't closed up long before our voice pipe bloke repeats "Enemy fleet Bighted—Bring both guns to the ready!' Blokes was queer-looking, then—looked different—l wanted a drink like blazes—and our number 2's voice sounded funny and cracked-like- when they closed the breeches and reported 'ready!' " 'Target—leading enemy ships' was the next order. We was having good weather for once, so our No. 1 easy picked up the 'Dirt-rlinger.' But she got ofT a salvo and her second met The ship jumped like blazes and we knew that somebody had 'clicked.' The 'Dirt-fling-er's' first salvo went short, but her second unshipped our foremost funnel, and one shell burst right on the givns of 'Q' turret—that's the marines! Ar-mour-piercing it was, and the one that landed on 'Q' drilled a hole and went inside and flaked the crew out when it bursted.

'. ENEMY'S GOOD GUNNERY. • "Another salvo made the hole biggev; then. Fritz sent along four lovely lyddites AVhat, went inside without touching the fiides. The, armour piercing flaked the gun'A crew alpng, but the lyddite wiped ■out the turret,, fixploded a charge what wasvjready the left gun and tho flash Iran: down[,.the, ,taunk jind set, the shell room-,on fir,s anil killed a\l the, Mokes there, with igas, and .flash, i,., ,;. .' -'v That. was..everybody in .'Q':tmrr»t out for the count,, ewiopt..the maga?jao men, and them crpwd. wa^.-only;SM'edi3)y the flash doors beiflg closed. Only, one bloke got away, with if—the control, officer—the major of Marines—Gawd knows how. He had the. port side of bwfiace carved off and only half a leg i\n,d..pne arm'ell of a mess he was in.

SEARCHING FOR THE MAGAZINE. "He savvied that the 'Dirt-flinger' was still plonking in lyddite, trying to get the magazine, and would find it all right in the next few salvoes, and blow up the whole ship, Beattie an' all. Flooding the magazine would save the show, uui fifty men was down inside. If they was to open the flash doors down would go the flames from the shell room what was a-fire. So down the shell room, in among the burning cases and gas and arms and legs what was blown oif, down all them broken ladders—Gawd nows how he got down with one leg and no face to speak of—fisted the voice pipe to the magazine and calls them up." The narrator paused here to lick his dry lips. His hands were working and his eyes were shining and protruding—ha wan sjiving the past again.

THE MAJOR'S MISSION. "I don't knows what his proper words was, but he tells them how the magazine was going to be found inside the next few salvoes, and that if they comes out of the mag. what the flash from the shell-room would do, and asks if he can flood the place from the shell-room valve and save the ship. AH they sajs is—'ls Beattie aboard still'/' 'Yes,' says the Major. 'Then flood us and save the ship,' they shouts. 'God help yon all,' sings out the Major, and opens out the sea cock. "When he done that lot ho crawls out of the turret through all the hot twisted guns and steel work, and crawls along the upper deck and climhs up the ladders to the bridge. Blimey! how he done it nobody knows. Up to Beattie's feet he crawls, and says faint-like, "Q" turret out of action, crew gone, and so am I gone.' He could do no more, and died then.

"A fog conies on then, about 7 p.m. So we packed up, and the Huns get away just as Jeilicoe came up with his crowd.

"When we comes out of 'B' turret we nearly has a bleeding fit! No anchors or cables, no sick bay, no canteen, no galley, and no 'Q' turret, there wasn't; only the guns lying all drunk-like, one stuck up and one lying flat. Bits of blokes was everywhere, and the smell of burnt flesh and burnt paint made us sick.

"Took us an hour to bury the dead, it did—about 200 of them. All the blokes what was in 'Q'toiogazine was drowned. When it was pumped out next day in harbour we saw the poor blokes. Some had climbed on top of the charges to dodge the water, and most had tied themselves to the deck to drown quick.

"We reached May Island about 9 a.m. next day. And Beattiel wasn't hurt, only for a gash on his face, and he was on the bridge all the time. The Major of Marines got a V.C-, but a fat lot of good it done him, seeing he was cooked. We got some leave then until the snip was patched up, so we was all O.K. "But the Lion was banged about—see?"