Alistair Maclean
John (‘Jack’) Travers Cornwell was a mere boy of sixteen when he won the Victoria Cross for valour during the naval battle of Jutland, 1916. He served as a gunner aboard the light cruiser HMS Chester. Cornwell remains the youngest recipient ever of the V.C.
On May 30 1916, Admiral Jellicoe, the British commander-in-chief, received information from the Admiralty that the German Battle Cruiser Squadron, under Admiral Hipper, had put to sea, and was instructed to steam out with the Grand Fleet to intercept it. Accordingly he ordered his ships to get under weigh and instructed Admiral Beatty, commander of the battle cruiser squadrons, to put out from Rosyth and steam on sixty-five miles ahead of the main body of the fleet. Both the battle and the battle cruiser fleet were to proceed in the direction of Heligoland Bight until 2 p.m. on May 31 when, if no enemy had been encountered, Beatty was to effect visual contact with Jellicoe’s ships and the combined forces were to make a sweep towards the Horn’s Reef before returning to their bases.
The Chester was attached to the Third Battle Cruiser Squadron under Admiral Hood. With her consorts she took up a position some twenty miles ahead of the main body of the Grand Fleet, and it was the task of these ships to scout ahead and report the presence of the enemy to the British flagship, Iron Duke.
All through the night of the 30th, the mighty armada steamed down the North Sea in the agreed direction, but nothing occurred to excite any suspicion. An occasional steamer was stopped and examined, for the British had to be on constant guard against enemy scouts disguised as trawlers or merchant ships.
Meanwhile Beatty, in a position about seventy miles south of the battle fleet, had met with no better luck. At 2 p.m. on the 31st he had still sighted no enemy, and was just about to give orders for his battle cruisers to turn north and join up with the Grand Fleet as arranged when the Galatea, one of his cruiser screen, announced the appearance of smoke on the horizon and set off to investigate. Twenty minutes later she signalled “Enemy in sight” and reported that she could see two cruisers bearing E.S.E. At 2.28 p.m. she opened fire, and Beatty seeing his cruiser screen engaged moved up in support. Although he did not know it at the time the enemy ships that had been sighted were the scouting cruisers attached to the German Battle Cruiser Squadron which was following them up behind, and consequently it was not long before the two battle cruiser forces came to grips.
Hipper, being inferior in gun power and ships to the British, immediately turned about and retraced his steps: coming up some fifty miles behind him was the German High Seas Fleet, and the German admiral saw a good chance of leading Beatty into a trap. By 3.45 p.m. the British ships, with their superior speed, had got within range of the German battle cruisers and Beatty ordered his squadron to form line on a course E.S.E. in order to get his guns to bear on the enemy. Seeing this, the Germans opened fire and in a few minutes the British ships were replying.
Steaming through giant columns of water and spray from each other’s shell fire, both fleets hurled masses of metal across the eleven miles that separated them. The firing at first was a little erratic, but soon improved, and in the first ten minutes the Germans had scored hits both on the Lion and Tiger. At 4.00 p.m. first blood was drawn. The Indefatigable, the last ship in the British line, was hit by a salvo from the German ship Von der Tann. A burst of flame and smoke hid her completely from view, and she staggered out of the line sinking fast by the stern. A moment later a second salvo hit her; another terrible explosion rent the ship and she turned over and sank. In a few minutes all trace of this great cruiser was gone.
Twenty-six minutes later another disaster befell the British. The Queen Mary was struck by a salvo on her forward deck. A huge pillar of smoke ascended to the sky and she sank bow first taking with her a crew of fifty-seven officers and 1,209 men.
At 4.33 p.m. Commodore Goodenough, commanding the Second Light Cruiser Squadron in the Southampton, disposed some miles ahead of the battle cruisers, reported that battleships were in sight to the S.S.E., and a few minutes later the dim outlines of the German High Seas Fleet were visible. Beatty could not hope to engage such a large force with any success so, at 4.40 p.m., he gave the order for his ships to turn sixteen points to the N.W. from which direction he knew the Grand Fleet was steaming with all haste to his aid.
Meanwhile in the British battle fleet there was great excitement. The Galatea’s signals heralding the opening of the battle cruiser action had been received in the Iron Duke at 2.20 p.m. Although these messages only indicated the presence of enemy light cruisers, Jellicoe ordered full steam to be raised in case of emergency, but did not increase his speed. Later reports, however, made it evident that serious action was impending, and at 2.55 p.m. he ordered his light cruisers to take up a position sixteen miles ahead and altered his course S.E. by S. At 3.30 p.m. an urgent message was received from the Lion informing Jellicoe that the German battle cruisers had been sighted, and a further report twenty-five minutes later told him that the action had begun.
Jellicoe at once ordered speed to be increased to twenty knots and sent the Third Battle Cruiser Squadron with the light cruisers Chester and Canterbury on in all haste to reinforce the battle cruiser fleet.
According to the Official History of the War (Naval Operations, Vol. III), “The Invincible in which Admiral Hood’s flag was flying was then about twenty-five miles on the port bow of the Iron Duke, and a little ahead of station, for when at 3.15 p.m. Admiral Hood heard from the Galatea of the enemy’s light cruisers coming northward, he had inclined to the eastward at twenty-two knots to head them off. Half an hour later, when he knew they had turned to the southward, he altered back to S. 26 E., and when the welcome order came to push ahead he was about forty-three miles from the position the Lion had given S. by W. of him. But as he had no margin of speed there was little hope of overtaking Admiral Beatty on that course. He had therefore altered to S.S.E. . . . and sped away at twenty-five knots.”
When the order came through to push ahead young Cornwell in the Chester, together with the rest of the gun crew, was ordered to take up his position at the forward gun. The prospect of an early encounter with the enemy must have produced a strange mixture of emotions in him as he scanned the horizon in search of the German ships. But the sight of the other ships of his squadron, smoke pouring from their funnels, their bows cutting through the waters of the North Sea like knives, sending up huge bow waves as they rushed southwards, must have filled his heart with pride and confidence.
The squadron was steaming in line ahead with the destroyers Shark, Christopher, Ophelia and Acasta disposed ahead as a submarine screen and the Chester and Canterbury scouting five miles ahead of the destroyers. The visibility was decreasing rapidly, and by five o’clock objects could be distinguished at a distance of sixteen thousand yards in some directions, but in others at only two thousand yards.
At 5.30 p.m. the sound of gunfire was plainly heard by the Chester to the S.W. and she immediately turned in that direction to investigate. Six minutes later she sighted a three-funnelled light cruise on her starboard bow, accompanied by one or two destroyers. She immediately challenged but, receiving no reply closed with them. A moment or so later two more light cruisers appeared out of the mist astern of the first and the leading enemy ship opened fire on the Chester.
Cornwell was stationed at the forward gun. Fixed across his head and over his ears was what is known as a telepad, a sort of telephone, which was connected up with the fire control officer. Through this instrument came all the instructions for the gun crew – orders as to when and how to fire. Cornwell, as sight-setter, had a very important task to perform for upon him more than anyone else depended the accuracy of his gun’s aim. When he received his orders from the gunnery officer he had to make certain adjustments to the mechanism of the gun. In front of him was a brass disc, pinned through the centre, and in some respects resembling a telephone dial. This disc was calibrated in yards, and as it was turned it raised and lowered the gun’s muzzle, thus altering the range. It was essentially a job that required coolness and presence of mind. Moreover, the position in which Cornwell was obliged to stand in order to carry out his duties without interfering with the work of the gun crew, was almost entirely exposed. It was on the left hand side of the gun just by the side of the protective shield.
The visibility at the time the enemy opened fire could not have been more than eight thousand yards, i.e., about four and a half miles, which, in naval warfare, amounts almost to point blank range, and from the moment the fight began the forward turret of the Chester received the full force of the enemy’s fire. One by one the gun crew, consisting of ten men, fell, struck by splinters of shell, until only two were left. But still young Cornwell stood calmly at his post, never flinching, ready to carry out his orders. The enemy’s fourth salvo scored a direct hit and put the gun port right out of action. It also mortally wounded Cornwell.
All alone, with practically no shelter from the fierce tornado of enemy fire, he stood. All around him lay the dead and dying. He himself was torn and bleeding and faint from the pain and horror of the sights and sounds of battle. His job was done, his gun was no longer capable of firing, no orders came through the wire from the control room; they could not have been carried out even if they had, but through his mind echoed the old naval order “a gun must be kept firing so long as there is one man left who is able to crawl.” So he hung on. He thought he might be needed; it was his duty to remain at his post until he dropped.
Captain Lawson of the Chester as soon as he realized the superiority of the force to which he was opposed, altered his course to the N.E. and towards the Third Battle Cruiser Squadron. This incident is vividly decribed by the Naval History of the War in the following words:—
The Chester seemed doomed, but rescue was at hand. Directly Admiral Hood heard the firing abaft his starboard beam he swung round north-west (5.37). As the German cruisers were closing to the eastward the courses quickly converged. In a few minutes our battle cruisers could see emerging from the mist the Chester zigzagging in a storm of shell splashes that were drenching her. A minute later her eager pursuers came suddenly into view. Immediately they saw their danger they swung round to starboard on the opposite course to Admiral Hood, but it was too late. As they passed his guns crashed into them, while the Chester escaped across the Invincible’s bows, firing her last shots as she ran northward into safety. As for Admiral Boedicker, he only escaped the twelve-inch salvoes that were smothering him by recourse to his torpedoes. To avoid them Admiral Hood had to turn away, and the enemy was soon lost in the mist, but not before the Wiesbaden was a wreck and both the Pillau and Frankfurt badly hit.
The Chester then took up a station to the north-east of the Third Battle Cruiser Squadron, and at a later stage in the action joined the Second Cruiser Squadron.
During the unequal action between the Chester and the enemy light cruisers, which proved to belong to the German Second Scouting Group under Admiral Boedicker, the ship had suffered considerable casualties, having thirty-one killed and fifty wounded. Three guns and her fire control circuits were disabled, and she had four shell holes in her side just above the water line. But damaged as she was, she was still in fighting condition.
Cornwell had remained at his post throughout the whole action, and he was still standing there when the British battle cruisers drew off the enemy fire. When the fight was over the wounded were carried below, but it soon became apparent to the doctors that there was little hope of saving the brave young gunner’s life. They bandaged his wounds, and made him as comfortable as possible, and although he must have been in terrible agony, he bore his suffering like a man and never complained.
Throughout the evening, and at intervals during the night the battle continued. The Invincible was struck by a salvo and sank, taking with her the gallant Admiral Hood and all but a few of her officers and men. But when the Grand Fleet came to grips with the High Seas Fleet the enemy were forced to flee. They were cut off from their ports, and twice they tried to break through the rear of the British Fleet and twice they failed. At last, under the cover of darkness they succeeded. Admiral Scheer, the German commander-in-chief had handled his fleet magnificently against superior forces, and the way that he extricated his ships from a position that looked like certain annihilation will go down in naval history as one of the greatest feats of tactics ever achieved.
On the morning of June 1, the Chester was ordered to proceed to the Humber and the wounded were taken off and transferred to hospital at Grimsby. Jack Cornwell was amongst them. He could still talk in whispers but was very weak and in great pain. But his cheerfulness never left him. The matron of the hospital asked him how the battle had gone and he replied in simple, sailor-like fashion, “Oh, we carried on all right.” But he never mentioned the part he had played – never boasted of his heroism. Indeed, it seems that he was quite unaware of the fact that he had done anything extraordinary: all he had done was to carry out his orders to the best of his ability and anyone else, he probably thought, if he thought about it at all, would have done the same.
These words to the matron were almost the last ever spoken by Jack. Occasionally he made a whispered request that he might see his mother, and at the end, just before he died on June 2 he said to the matron: “Give mother my love, I know she is coming.” He was right, his mother was coming. She had received a telegram from the Admiralty and was hurrying to her son’s side. But by the time she reached the hospital it was too late.
Although Jack Cornwell’s action was not spectacular and was done with little prospect of being seen, there was one keen-eyed man who witnessed this splendid example of devotion to duty. Captain Lawson, the Chester’s commander, had noticed Cornwell’s little figure at his post by the forward gun. He had noted how, with the dead and dying all round him and the enemy shells bursting thick and fast, he had never flinched. So Captain Lawson gave a full account of Jack’s heroism when he made his report to his commander-in-chief. Admiral Jellicoe, who, in his official report to the Admiralty on the Battle of Jutland included the following paragraph:—
“A report from the commanding officer of the Chester gives a splendid instance of devotion to duty. Boy (First Class) John Travers Cornwell, of Chester, was mortally wounded early in the action. He nevertheless remained standing alone at a most exposed post, quietly awaiting orders till the end of the action, with the gun crew dead and wounded all around him. His age was under sixteen and a half years. I regret that he has since died, but I recommend his case for your special recognition in justice to his memory, and as an acknowledgment of the high example set by him.”
This recommendation did not pass unheeded. There had been many heroes at the Battle of Jutland, but Cornwell was the only one, apart from officers, mentioned in the original despatches, and he was awarded the Victoria Cross.
In a letter to Mrs Cornwell the Chester’s commander told her how her son met his death: it was a fine letter, and she must have been proud to know that although she had lost her son, she was the mother of such a hero. It read:—
“I know you would wish to hear of the splendid fortitude and courage shown by your boy during the action of May 31. His devotion to duty was an example to us all. The wounds which resulted in his death within a short time were received in the first few minutes of the action. He remained steady at his most exposed post, waiting for orders. His gun would not bear on the enemy: all but two of the crew of ten were killed or wounded, and he was the only one who was in such an exposed position. But he felt he might be needed, as indeed he might have been; so he stayed there, standing and waiting, under heavy fire, with just his own brave heart and God’s help to support him. I cannot express to you my admiration of the son you have lost from this world. No other comfort would I attempt to give to the mother of so brave a lad but to assure her of what he was and what he did and what an example he gave. I hope to place in the boys’ mess a plate with his name on and the date, and the words ‘Faithful unto Death.’ I hope some day you may be able to come and see it there. I have not failed to bring his name prominently before my Admiral.”
The prompt award of the Victoria Cross to Jack Cornwell only partly satisfied the desire of the public to pay homage to the dead hero. His body, which had been buried privately, was exhumed and reinterred with full naval honours. The funeral took place on July 29, 1916, at Manor Park Cemetery. The coffin, covered with the Union Jack, rested on a gun carriage drawn by a team of boys from the Crystal Palace Naval Depot. Vast crowds of people lined the route, and in the carriages that followed were many famous sailors and other notabilities including Dr T J MacNamara, Financial Secretary to the Admiralty.
Six boys from the Chester, all of whom had themselves been in the battle, walked in the procession carrying wreaths from his old ship’s company, and there were countless other floral tributes including one from the Lord Mayor of London and one from Admiral Beatty. On the latter were inscribed the simple words, “With Deep Respect.”