For the High Seas Fleet, the immediate consequence of the failure at Dogger Bank was that, for the moment, all but a handful of offensive operations became the responsibility of the submarine branch. With effect from 4 February 1915 all merchant vessels in British waters, including those of neutrals, were at risk of being attacked by U-boats. The United States promptly lodged an objection to such a policy, despite which the American tanker Gulflight was sunk on 1 May with the loss of two of her crew. On 7 May the British liner Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk without warning off the southern coast of Ireland. No less than 1,189 passengers and crew lost their lives, including 124 Americans. Although feelings ran high in the United States, it was generally accepted that the strong diplomatic protest delivered lost some of its force as a result of the German Embassy in Washington having issued a prior public warning that Americans should not travel aboard the ship. Again, in addition to her passengers, Lusitania was carrying a war cargo that included a quantity of small arms, ammunition and bullion. However, when four more Americans died when another British liner, the Arabic, was sunk on 19 August, there were no such mitigating factors and such was the fury generated in the United States that the German Admirals were forced to abandon the ‘unrestricted’ aspect of the submarine campaign, instructing its U-boats that they must only deliver their attacks on the surface. Despite this, yet more American deaths resulted from the torpedoing of the cross-Channel ferry Sussex on 24 March 1916. Washington’s reaction stopped just short of an ultimatum and, to avoid the United States’ probable entry into the war, the submarine campaign was abandoned the following month. This process was made a little easier by Pohl’s death on 23 February and his replacement by Admiral Reinhard Scheer, who felt that the High Seas Fleet should be making a greater contribution to the war.
While no major surface operations had taken place in the North Sea since Dogger Bank, there was constant naval activity that included patrolling, mine-laying and minesweeping. By the spring of 1915 the northern entrance to and exit from the North Sea was being permanently patrolled by the Royal Navy’s 10th Cruiser Squadron which consisted of no less than 26 armed merchant cruisers. These were medium-sized merchant vessels ‘taken up from trade’ as the ancient wording of the requisition put it, well-enough armed with guns to give a good account of themselves if they ran into trouble. In 1915 they intercepted no less than 2,555 vessels of various nationalities, 743 of which were sent in for detailed investigation; in 1916 the figures were, respectively, 3,390 and 889.
Another type of vessel, the Q ship, was also entering service. They were small, harmless-looking craft that might resemble a tramp steamer or a schooner. When a U-boat surfaced nearby, some of the crew would enact a panic and run to lower their boats. The Q ship would then unmask its cleverly concealed guns and reduce the U-boat to a sinking wreck before its own crew could man their deck gun. Naturally, when taken aboard, the German survivors complained that this was not playing the game.
The German equivalent of the armed merchant cruiser was the commerce raider. Again, these were medium-sized merchantmen, generally mounting a heavier concealed armament than their opponents, and they had the ability to change their appearance quickly to match genuine vessels listed in Lloyd’s Register of Shipping. Most of their kills took place far from the North Sea, the most successful being Moewe, a former banana boat that was credited with sinking 122,000 tons of Allied shipping; Wolf, a former liner, was credited with 120,000 tons; and Seeadler, a harmless looking sailing ship that sank 18,000 tons. For fuel and rations, these and other raiders lived off their victims before sending them to the bottom.
On the morning of 8 August 1915 one such raider, the Meteor commanded by Captain von Knorr, was returning to Germany after laying a minefield in the Moray Firth. Flying the Russian merchant flag, she was pursued by The Ramsay (sic), a 1,600-ton armed boarding vessel that in peacetime had conveyed holiday makers from Liverpool to the Isle of Man. She ordered the Meteor to stop and prepared to send a boarding party across. Down came the Russian flag, up went the German ensign, hatches clanged open to reveal the muzzles of guns that opened fire immediately, and four minutes later, having additionally been hit by a torpedo, The Ramsay was on her way to the bottom. Knorr picked up her survivors, supplied them with tobacco and held a funeral service for those who had died. The Meteor was run down by a light cruiser and scuttled before she could reach home, with Knorr making certain that his British passengers were picked up while he and his men made good their escape in a commandeered Swedish fishing boat.
Another raider to be caught was the Greif (Vulture), armed with four 5.9-inch guns and two torpedo tubes. She left the Elbe on 27 February 1916 following an unfortunate blaze of publicity arising from a personal visit by the Kaiser’s brother, Prince Henry of Prussia. She was also sighted by a British submarine and clandestine radio traffic to the effect that a commerce raider was leaving the Skagerrak may all have contributed to her destruction. At 09:15 on 29 February she sailed straight into a carefully set trap to the north-east of the Shetlands.
Stopped by the armed merchant cruiser Alcantara, she identified herself as the Norwegian Rena, on passage between La Plata and Trondheim. Although her appearance corresponded with that of the Rena it was decided to send over a boarding party. As the boat was being hoisted out a signal was received from another armed merchant cruiser, the Andes, some fourteen miles distant, to the effect that Greif was the ship they were looking for. This was almost certainly listened to by the enemy’s radio operator, for Greif opened fire immediately, wrecking the boat and seriously damaging Alcantara’s steering.
The raider had chosen a bad opponent, for Alcantara’s commander, Captain T.E. Wardle, had not only made her the best gunnery ship in the 10th Cruiser Squadron, she had already cleared for action. Round after round was slammed into the German raider until her guns were silenced, her upper works were ablaze and she was seriously down by the bows. Through the smoke, her crew could be seen taking to such boats as remained. Clearly, she was doomed for Andes was heading for the scene at full speed, followed by the cruiser Comus and the destroyer Munster. Unfortunately, Alcantara had also sustained a mortal wound, almost certainly from one of the enemy’s torpedoes and had begun to list heavily to port. She had not been built to withstand that sort of punishment and her list increased steadily until, at 11:08, she rolled over and sank. The survivors from both ships were picked up and at 13:00 Greif, now a smoke-shrouded inferno, went down with her colours flying.
For the majority of the German surface fleet, however, morale had suffered severely from the long period of inactivity, and the opportunity now arose to improve this. That opportunity was a chance to provide support for an Irish republican rising in Dublin over the Easter period, the details of which were already known to the German authorities. Direct intervention was out of the question, but another raid on Yarmouth, with nearby Lowestoft and Zeppelin raids over southern England for good measure, would at least show the rebels that they did not lack support. In addition, it was felt that the raiders could complete their task before Beatty’s battle cruisers could reach the area.
As usual, the German battle cruisers, commanded on this occasion by Rear Admiral Boedecker, would carry out a 30-minute bombardment while the High Seas Fleet under Admiral Scheer would cover their withdrawal. At noon on 24 April both groups, totalling 22 dreadnoughts and battle cruisers, five older battleships, 12 light cruisers, 48 destroyers and eight Zeppelins, set off for the English coast. Four hours later Seydlitz struck a mine. Her forward torpedo compartment was flooded and her speed fell away to 15 knots. Some time was lost transferring the admiral to Lutzow, largely because a report of torpedo tracks had resulted in ships moving out of what appeared to be a danger area. Seydlitz then returned home escorted by two destroyers and Zeppelin L7.
One of the most curious aspects of this operation is Scheer’s fixation on Yarmouth and Lowestoft as his objective when, not all that far to the south was a far greater and more spectacular prize. This was an area known as The Downs, situated between Ramsgate and Dover, where, twice in every 24 hours, one hundred or more merchant ships waited for tidal conditions that would enable them to enter the river and reach the Port of London. The arrival of German battle cruisers and their escorts among them would have resulted in a massacre and provided Germany with an immense propaganda victory.
One officer who was fully aware of the threat was Commodore Tyrwhitt, commanding the 5th Light Cruiser Squadron, presently off the Suffolk coast. At first he was unsure of the precise enemy objective, but this became obvious when, at 03:50 Boedecker’s four battle cruisers, six light cruisers and supporting destroyers were sighted, making for Lowestoft and Yarmouth. Tyrwhitt had only the light cruisers Conquest, Cleopatra and Penelope at his disposal, supported by two destroyer flotillas, so any sort of stand-up fight was out of the question. He took the only possible course of action by heading south in the hope that the enemy would pursue. The Germans, however, were temporarily distracted by the return of six Zeppelins that had abandoned their raid on London because of headwinds, poor visibility and strong opposition. Instead, bombs had been dropped in the areas of Norwich, Lincoln, Harwich and Ipswich, to little effect. L21 had caused some damage in Lowestoft at about 04:00 but had been pursued by three Bristol Scout aircraft based at the RNAS airfield at Yarmouth until it vanished into the clouds.
At about the same time the light cruiser Rostock spotted Tyrwhitt’s ships to the south-west. For the moment, the light was too poor for accurate gunnery. At 04:10 the German battle cruisers opened a ten minute bombardment of Lowestoft, destroying or damaging over 200 civilian dwellings, fortunately without heavy loss of life, and then turned north to attack Yarmouth. Here the sighting of a British submarine in the act of diving caused sufficient alarm for Boedecker to turn south again after firing a shorter bombardment.
By 04:30 the light had improved sufficiently for the opposing cruisers to begin duelling ineffectively at 14,000 yards. At 04:45, however, the German battle cruisers arrived, opening a heavy and disturbingly accurate fire. Conquest was hit repeatedly, suffering 38 casualties of which 25 were fatal, but was able to maintain her speed. The destroyer Laertes was also hit and five of her crew were wounded. Having completed their mission, Boedecker’s ships then turned away to rendezvous with the High Seas Fleet off Terschelling.
In Britain, the raid caused almost as much shock and anger as had the attacks on Scarborough, Whitby and the Hartlepools. In particular there was anger that, once again, the Royal Navy had not been able to act decisively. The Mayors of Lowestoft and Yarmouth lodged understandably vigorous protests that their towns should continue to receive regular visits from the Imperial German Navy and its Zeppelins. Fortunately, such was now the strength of the Grand Fleet that the Third Battle Squadron, reinforced by Dreadnought herself, was moved south to Sheerness on 2 May.
As for the Germans, they returned home with the satisfaction of having completed the task that they had set out to do at the cost of one repairable battle cruiser. They had also achieved some measure of revenge for an unfortunate incident that had taken place earlier in the year. During the course of the raid the light cruiser Frankfurt had sunk an armed patrol steamer and the destroyer G-41 had sunk the armed trawler King Stephen. During the early hours of 2 February the King Stephen had been going about her normal civilian business. It was during the watch of her mate, George Denny, who saw distress rockets being fired some distance away. He roused the skipper, William Martin, who ordered the trawl to be brought in and secured while he laid off a course towards the signals. It took several hours to reach the area, where they found Zeppelin L19 in a sinking condition.
In a raging storm rain had battered the enormous envelope, increasing its weight so that it was unable to cope with high winds and had been driven down to sea level. The gondolas were already submerged and the huge hull was obviously filling with water and sinking. Seated on the half-submerged wreck were fourteen survivors. Martin discussed the situation with his eight-strong crew. The consensus of opinion was that some of the Germans were probably armed and that even if they all lacked weapons they heavily outnumbered the trawlermen and would almost certainly take over the vessel and sail her to Germany, where their saviours’ reward would be a long spell in a prison camp. It was a horrible decision for a professional seaman to have to make. Had the King Stephen been fitted with radio perhaps assistance could have been summoned, but she was not and in the circumstances Martin felt that he could only leave the Germans to their fate.
The authorities in Grimsby were not unsympathetic and decided that the matter should not be discussed publicly. Mate Denny, however, had other ideas and sold the story to a reporter from the Grimsby Evening Mail. Soon it had reached the national press. Copies of these editions reaching Germany through neutral countries generated understandable anger and demands for Martin to be punished. In fact, he was already a very sick man and died shortly after.
The King Stephen never sailed again as a fishing vessel. She was requisitioned and equipped as a Q ship. Commanded by a reserve officer, Lieutenant Tom Phillips, she had the misfortune to find herself under the guns of G-41 during the bombardment of Yarmouth. Every German seaman knew the story of the King Stephen and Phillips’ crew were roughly treated when they were taken aboard the enemy ship. It took a great deal of persuasion to convince their captors that an earlier crew had been responsible for abandoning those aboard the sinking Zeppelin. On reaching Germany they spent the rest of the war in Hameln prison camp. Phillips, however, was taken to Berlin for interrogation. Things would have gone badly for him until an English newspaper containing Martin’s photograph was produced, convincing his captors that they had got the wrong man. So ended one of the most unfortunate incidents of the entire war at sea.