This incident over, I went aft to my night defence station—a little platform screened by canvas, barely six feet square, and a good fifty feet above the water-line. It is commonly known as the "Eiffel Tower," and in this small space a party of eight had to spend the night. Obviously there was no room to lie down, and, further, it was bitterly cold.
All night the Hun destroyers tried to press home an attack on the Battle Fleet, but our light craft continually beat them off, sinking many in the process. At intervals the whole sky was lighted up with a lurid glare as one or other of the enemy ships flared skyward and crashed to her doom. All around the eastern horizon the flash of guns was distinctly visible, only dying away in one quarter to blaze up in another. Had I been less busy—or less cold—I might have thought of Tennyson's lines in "The Revenge":
Ship after ship the whole night long With her battle-thunder and flame, Ship after ship the whole night long Drew back with her dead and her shame. For some were sunk and many were crippled And so could fight us no more. God of Battles! was ever a battle like this in the world before?
But, as a matter of fact, nothing was farther from my mind than poetry.
The sounding off of "General Quarters" at 2.30 came with a mighty relief, as this meant that we could return to our more comfortable "action stations," and our spell at "night defence" was over.
About 4 A.M. we sighted a Zeppelin, which passed over astern of us. Those ships within range opened fire on her, but at every flash from the salvos she dipped, dropping about 200 feet, and thus avoided the shells. For a long time she was visible—a dark body against the eastern sky—but she finally disappeared in the direction of Heligoland just as the sun was rising.
At six o'clock next morning, Friday, June 2, we entered harbour and dropped anchor without further incident.
Coaling started immediately, and as soon as the collier had shoved off we were invaded by dockyard "mateys," and the cracked boat booms were shored up. We had hoped that the necessary repairs would take long enough to ensure our getting some leave, but in this we were disappointed, for the damage we had sustained in the battle was not considered sufficiently serious to necessitate docking. As we were the only ship in the Grand Fleet that had been hit, we were naturally an object of great interest, and very proud of ourselves in consequence. We really had marvellous luck, for although about seven of the ship's company were wounded—one poor chap having his arm shattered—we did not lose a man.