HMS Benbow, 0835 June 6, 1915, Cromarty Firth
Captain Lord Robert Herrick chafed with impatience. He sat at his desk
in his sea cabin, just a few quick steps from the bridge. Not that he
would be needed there in the foreseeable future. Far from it. Benbow lay
in the drydock at Cromarty Firth with the rest of the Grand Fleet’s harbor
queens.
Instead of chasing after the Germans, he fought a losing battle with reams
of paperwork. Reports from Campbell and his junior engineers detailed
Benbow’s battle damage and necessary repairs. Piled on top of these were
After Action reports. Next to that was a stack of individual reports from
Sub-Lieutenant Connor, the Acting Purser, detailing main gun ammunition,
secondary ammunition, coal bags and oil levels, and food supplies. Below
those were the lists Herrick wanted to see the least. The casualty lists.
As he worked his way through Connor’s listing of main gun rounds, there
was a knock on the hatch. “Yes?”
“Commander Callaghan, sir. I have the new personnel recommendations.”
Wonderful. More bloody paperwork. “Very well, George.”
A dapper commander in his late twenties came through the hatch and dropped
a folder on the desk. “As you know, we have several positions to fill.
Lt. Commander Spaulding and his junior gunnery officer are dead: Lieutenant
Garland in the starboard 6” casemates and Commander Spaulding this morning
in hospital. Paymaster Lieutenant Dawson is also dead.”
“I know. I just put Spaulding up for the VC.” Posthumously. Like so
many others. How many others would stay at their post, keep the guns firing
and on target, knowing they were going to die? How many would have kept
going with half their leg just gone? Why must we always lose such good
men? The VC is too little for him.
“Good, sir. Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple and Sub-Lieutenant
Dobson are also still in hospital. Dobson will be back on Thursday, but
Dalrymple will have to be invalidated out. Surgeon Commander Browne tells
me he is lucky to be alive. He will be in hospital for months, and then
spend another few months learning to walk again.” And he’s the lucky
one, Callaghan thought.That was the hit that took out the starboard
6” casemates, along with fully half their crews. Including Lieutenant
Garland and most of Dalrymple’s damage control party. If he hadn’t thrown
Dan down that hatch . . . .
“Damn!. He was a very good officer. A bit unorthodox, and willing to do
a lot more than any other purser I knew. He was a lot more competent too.”
That, if anything, was an understatement. Dalrymple took over Damage Control
from Engineering, freeing up one more badly needed engineer for Commander
Campbell. He also ran Medical’s stretcher-bearer teams, freeing up that
many more doctors to save more lives. “I also put him up for the VC for
his sacrifice.” I usually didn’t think much of Supply. They were a
bunch of scheming incompetents. Dalrymple changed that. His junior officers
followed his example too. And now, he too is gone. Thank God, he is alive.
Thank God he got Dan out.
Callaghan’s continued report brought Herrick back from his musings. “Sir,
Commander Campbell’s deputy has been promoted out and transferred to Erin.
He will be hard to replace, but she needs him more than we do.”
“What about the enlisted men?”
“We have fifty discharged dead and another hundred still in hospital.
Doc Browne expects that thirty or so should be back by the time we are
fully repaired. The port gunnery watch took the greatest number of casualties.
We are getting a draft of personnel from Erin tomorrow, but we
will still need another seventy or so. The port admiral will have a draft
of New Zealanders tomorrow or the next day. That should get us back to
full complement.
“I suggest that we keep Thompson as Acting Gunnery Officer. He managed
to handle the guns very well during that scrap with the Germans after
Spaulding collapsed. I suggest we keep Dobson in the port casemate. He
was carrying Garland anyway.”
“Who will replace Dalrymple?”
“Sir, Dan is doing a fine job in his place. He’s a good lad.” And
I owe Dalrymple more than I can ever replay for throwing him down that
hatch.
“How much is that Commander Callaghan talking, and how much is Dan’s Uncle
George?” It was no secret to the captain that Callaghan’s nephew was their
acting supply officer. They had been friends for far too long. Herrick
knew that George Callaghan and his wife had no children of their own yet.
He knew that George regarded Dan Connor as his son. Herrick had watched
Dan Connor grow up too. His own sons had played with him. Commander Callaghan’s
sister, Charlotte, had personally asked him to keep Dan Connor safe. He
too had family at war. His eldest son Davin was a Sub-Lieutenant in Queen
Elizabeth, and his brother Andrew was a Major in the Essex Regiment.
Like Charlotte Connor, Herrick and his wife Kate had asked Captain Dave
to keep their son safe. Yet, despite their friendship and his own pride
in the boy, Herrick had a duty to make sure that there was no favoritism
in Callaghan’s judgments.
“Sir, Uncle George wants him off the ship and out of the Navy.” And
out of the whole damned war. “Barring that, I would want him in a
branch where he could get his own flag one day. Commander Callaghan recognizes
that he is a good lad and the best one for the job.”
“Very good George. Anything else?”
“Yes sir. Mr. Campbell’s repair crews have managed to patch up the hole
amidships. He stopped the flooding, and his men have been working round
the clock to repair the penetration in the belt armor. We should be able
to leave the drydock on the ninth. Unfortunately, all of the bulkheads
inside the starboard casemate are badly damaged. All of the starboard
six inch guns are also inoperative and need to be replaced.Thompson also
reports that the main gun director was damaged by the hit we took at 1912.
He says we need to recalibrate it for the main guns and then fire several
rounds to check it. He wants at least a week on the Gunnery range. Finally,
Cromarty reports serious shortages of steel and six inch guns, sir. Mr
Campbell managed to steal enough from Erin for the repairs to the
hull, but he doesn’t have enough for all of the bulkhead work he needs
to do. While officially, we are on the 1-month+ list for repairs, Commander
Campbell says he could get it done in 2 to 3 weeks if he can get the necessary
steel.”
“Does Mr. Campbell always multiply his repair estimates by a factor of
two, George?” For the first time in a long time, the characteristic Herrick
grin.
“Usually three sir. He’s being circumspect today.” A matching wide grin
covered his face.
“Very well, Mr. Callaghan.” Captain Herrick fought a battle against his
laughter. He failed. A few laughs and a guffaw slipped out of his captain’s
face. “Thompson and Connor have the positions. Go give Dan his new cuff
ring.”
“With pride, sir. Also, the Admiralty courier brought these.” Callaghan
laid the papers on the captain’s desk.
“That will be all, George. Dismissed.”
Captain Herrick flipped them over. The back still bore the seal of the
First Sea Lord. He shivered with dread. He expected a massive shake-up
in the Grand Fleet’s command structure. He did not expect to be one of
the victims. Things must be really bad for the sackings to reach his level.
Filled with trepidation, he carefully removed the seal and opened his
orders.
To Captain Lord Sir Robert Herrick, Commanding His Majesty’s Ship Benbow:
Their lordships request and require you to proceed to Scapa Flow as soon
as practicable. Upon your arrival, you will take on board Acting Admiral
John De Robeck, commanding officer of the Grand Fleet, and assume the
duties of Flag Captain. Fail not in this charge at your peril.
For His Majesty, the King
Admiral of the Fleet Sir George Callaghan,
First Sea Lord of the Admiralty
The first thing that crossed Herrick’s mind was surprise. He did not expect
to see either of those names. He knew that Jellicoe would go. Yet he expected
Fisher to survive. The man had the skills of an alley cat, and knew every
newspaperman by name. Fisher had survived the worst his enemies could
throw at him, attained a peerage, and came back to confound them again.
Apparently, the old man’s enemies had used this last round with the Germans
to drag him down again.
De Roebuck was unexpected. While what he had heard about De Roebuck’s
abilities was good, the words from his father the Earl about the Dardanelles
had been far from complementary. The reports of pre-dreadnoughts lost
on the mines and damaged by the shore batteries were unsettling. The loss
of HMS Irresistible was a downright shock. While he had been
her captain for only a few months at the beginning of the war, Captain
Herrick had loved every inch of the old girl. Now she too was among the
lost, sailing forever with Captain Vanderdecken’s squadron, escorting
the Flying Dutchman for all eternity.
Still, this is two back-to-back stints as a Flag Captain, for two very
different admirals. And, out of all the captains in the fleet, they chose
me. Somebody down at the Admiralty must like me. Good things tend to happen
to Flag Captains.
He grabbed the phone on the bulkhead. “Mr. Callaghan, please report to
the Captain’s Cabin.”
2203, Purser’s Cabin, HMS Benbow
A Sub-Lieutenant’s berth is rarely comfortable. Paymaster Sub-Lieutenant
Dan Connor’s was less so. Like so many recently graduated officers, he
still slept on top of the sheets: an uncomfortable night was well worth
the time saved. Midshipmen did not have the time to spend every morning
remaking their beds, crafting hospital corners and measuring the fold
with a one-pound note. Fewer still had the one pound note to measure with.
Connor desperately wanted to be a good Sub-Lieutenant. That Uncle George
was Benbow’s Executive Officer made this more important. That his
best friend Davin’s father was the Captain made it even more imperative
that he do well. He was so new that his petty officers privately joked
about the need to oil him.
He tossed and turned on his bunk. The only reason that he had any room
at all is that Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple’s berth had been
turned over to him as the acting purser. The fact that a German 12”/50
shell had decided to commandeer his former quarters made the adjustment
easier. On his desk lay all the paperwork of his position and a framed
picture of his family. The glass was cracked and the frame scotched. Miraculously,
the picture was intact. His mother and father held hands in the middle.
Connor and his sister sat in front of them. Uncle George and Aunt Caroline
stood to the right. It was an old picture, from happier days. In the right
corner of the frame, Connor had tucked another small picture. This one
was of a pretty redhead, Laura.
Yet Connor’s tossing and turning had nothing to do with his nervousness
and desire to do well. It had everything to do with the German shell that
occupied his former quarters.
Connor stood at his battle station down in Main One. On Benbow, Main
One had been tied together with Damage Control Central. His Boss, Paymaster
Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple was an ambitious man. Somehow, he had talked
Commander Campbell into placing him in charge of Damage Control. Now,
Connor stood with one other officer and one hundred enlisted men in Main
One. Down lines similar to the one Connor stood watch over would come
damage reports, casualty reports, and requests for spare parts. Up Connor’s
line would go damage reports to the bridge.
Benbow shook with the first hit.
A wash of terror floated over him. Benbow was one of the biggest, newest
and most powerful ships in the fleet. Her captain was one of the best.
How could she be hurt by the Germans?
A ring interrupted his ruminations. “Sir, a hit forward and to starboard.
Lieutenant Garland reports problems with the ammunition flow to his guns”
Paymaster Lieutenant Charles Dawson’s reported.
“Very well. Mr. Dawson, go to the port casemates and take charge of the
ammunition passers. Get that ammo to the guns.” Dalrymple was in his element.
He coolly dispatched orders. “Mr. Connor, inform the bridge of the hit,
minimal damage. Then take Dawson’s station.”
Connor dutifully picked up his phone and reported to the bridge. He then
moved to Dawson’s station to take damage reports as a petty officer took
his station. To him, it seemed like reports were flooding in. In reality,
Benbow had taken no further hits. Finally, a report came down
his line.
“Sir, a hit forward in the superstructure. Lieutenant Dawson is down sir,
along with half the forward DC party. Lieutenant Garland reports damage
to the secondaries, but all guns are still working.”
“Mr. Connor, go forward and take ten men to handle the casualties. I will
be forward to handle Damage Control as soon as I inform Commander Campbell.”
Like so many officers, Dalrymple would rather be anywhere than behind
a desk.
Connor raced out the watertight hatch and down the passageway, a stretcher
party hard on his heels. As he passed the sick bay, they grabbed five
stretchers and a first aid kit. He climbed up a few decks, and through
another armored hatch. He soon emerged in the starboard casemate. Forward,
he could see the sea and fire through a gaping hole in Benbow’s port side.
He ran further forward and saw Dawson lying on the deck. Death at sea
has always been prettied up. Here it stared at Connor in all it’s hideous
splendor.
Dawson lay on his back. Below his neck he looked fine. Above it, he was
a bloody mess. Half his face had been ripped off by the blast. A piece
of armor that had spalled off was lodged in his other eye. His brains
mixed with his blood and ran down the deck. Around him were the bodies
of part of the ammunition passers. Connor ‘s stomach rebelled at the sight
and smells in the casemate. He tried to control his nausea. The nausea
won, and Connor vomited on the deck.
Sub Lieutenant Dobson came up to him. “Belay that, Dan. Get control of
yourself and your men. We have work to do.” That tone from Dobson was
surprising. As a midshipman, Dobson was quiet and a bit of a loner. Like
Dalrymple, he blossomed under fire.
“Aye Bob.” Connor weakly croaked.
“Better.” A grin washed Dobson’s face. “We have several wounded forward.
You can’t help these men.”
“Stretcher party!Come forward with me.” The men from Main One followed
Connor deeper into the forward casemates. Some wounded men cried and screamed,
others were deathly silent. Connor ran from man to man, checking their
injuries. Some were too far gone to save. Others could be if he acted
fast. Connor gave one man who had lost an arm a quick shot of morphine
before the stretcher bearers carried him off.
Finally, they carried the last man from the compartment. Connor followed
the stretcher barer toward the hatch. Through the hatch came Lieutenant
Commander Dalrymple. “Report, Connor.”
“Sir there were four dead and ten wounded. I regret to report that Lieutenant
Dawson is dead.”
“Very well. Return to Main One.”
As Dalrymple spoke, Benbow bucked as another German shell found
her. Again, it penetrated the armor like it was tissue paper and detonated
inside. The blast wave sucked all the air of the compartment and blew
it back in a massive fireball. Forward, the deck bent, buckled and broke
in nanoseconds. The fireball rolled up from below and spilled into the
forwardmost compartment of the casemate.
Mercifully, the men manning the forward most 6” gun died instantly as
they were immolated. Those further aft were not so lucky. They had a few
seconds to scream in agony as their subdermal fat boiled and they burst
into flames.
The armored doors that connected the casemates were open to allow the
stretcher bearers to pass through. Only the furthest forward one had been
dogged shut. That bulkhead bulged at the force of the explosion, aided
by the cooking off of 6” high explosive shells. After a second or two
of torture, the bulkhead failed.
Splinters from the failed bulkhead flew through the air as the fireball
rolled aft. Lieutenant Garland was caught by several splinters as he was
ordering the evacuation of the casemate. One splinter burrowed through
his back and emerged from his chest. Another one cut off his right arm,
and a third vented it’s fury against his head. Other splinters ripped
through the crews serving the six inch guns. Some managed to live because
they were shielded by the mountings. Others were not so lucky.
As the storm of metal blew through the casemate mountings, Dobson threw
himself to the deck and ordered the rest of the men to do the same. Those
who obeyed lived with a few minor shrapnel injuries. Those who didn’t
obey their superior dropped to the deck with serious and fatal injuries.
As soon as the shell went off, Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple
knew exactly what would happen. He too was a friend of both the Captain
and the XO. He too had sons who regarded Dan Connor as a beloved older
brother. He too knew if anything happened to him, both the XO and the
Captain would be unable to deal with it. In the split second he had, Dalrymple
made his decision.
He was standing between Connor and the hatch belowdecks. Dalrymple quickly
turned. He kicked Connor’s legs out from under him and threw him down
the hatch. Connor landed sprawled on the deck below as the splinters and
flash finally claimed Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple.
Connor woke up as soon as he hit the deck. He was in his bunk, wet with
sweat and fear. The covers were tousled and he was shaking. It was
just a dream. Just a dream. It was a nightmare that would plague
thousands of men in iron ships of many nations for days to come.
###
by Rob Herrick
