Hood's hope was that we could run ahead of the A.J.F. fleet and get to the coast of North America before it caught up with us, but these new ships of O'Bean's were much faster than ours (their fire-power was a completely unknown factor) and I knew that we had no chance. There was a school of thought which said that we should disperse our own fleet, but Hood was against this, feeling that we had a better chance if we concentrated our forces. Also, as was evident, he was prepared to risk almost everything to protect the vast hull we towed (or, at least, the contents of the hull) and I had the impression that he might consider sacrificing everything else so long as that hull arrived eventually in New York.
There was scarcely a ship in the fleet which would not have dwarfed one of the ironclads of my own day. Equipped with long-snouted naval guns which could put a stream of incredibly powerful shells into the air in the time it took one of my world's ships to fire a single shot, capable of cruising at speeds reaching ninety knots, of manoeuvring with the speed and ease of the lightest cruiser, a couple of them could have given our good old British navy a pretty grim time. Hood had a hundred of these alone in his fleet, as well as over fifty underwater battleships and nearly seventy big aerial men-of-war (which, in turn, were equipped with light fighting air-boats capable of leaving the mother ship, striking rapidly at an enemy and returning to safety above the clouds). As well as this massive fighting strength, there were dozens of smaller vessels, many cargo ships, carrying land 'clads and infantry, gunboats and torpedo boats - virtually all the remaining fighting ships of the nations of the world which had taken part in the war.
If I had believed in the cause of the Ashanti Empire I am sure I would have felt a surge of pride when I looked upon the splendour of that fleet as it steamed away from Reykjavik in the early morning of 23 December 1907 - a mass of black and scarlet upon the grey field of the wintry sea. Wisps of fog drifted from time to time across the scene and, standing on
the quarter-deck of the Dinghwayo, listening to the sound of ships' horns bellowing in the distance, I was overwhelmed with a sense of awe. How, I wondered, could anything in the world resist such might? And if there was a God, how could He allow it to have been created in the first place?
It seemed to me, at that moment, that I had been torn from my own world to witness a vision of Armageddon - and, oddly enough, I felt privileged I
I think it was then that the notion first occurred to me that perhaps I had been selected by Providence to be involved in a countless series of what might be called alternative versions of the Apocalypse - that I was doomed to witness the end of the world over and over again and doomed, too, to search for a world where Man had learned to control the impulses which led to such suicidal conflicts, perhaps never to find it. I still do not quite understand my motives in recording my experiences, but it could be that I hope that, if they are ever read, they will serve as a lesson to a world which has so far managed to avert its own destruction.
But, as I have said before, I am neither introspective nor morbid by nature, and my thoughts soon returned to the more immediate aspects of my situation.
It was about 4 p.m. on Christmas Day, 1907, that the Australasian-Japanese fleet was sighted speeding rapidly from ssw. out of the twilight, firing as it came.
Night had fallen by the time we properly engaged and the fighting was confused. The air was full of fire and noise. Above us the air fleets were locked in terrible conflict, while on every side huge guns poured forth destruction seemingly at random, and when, at sudden moments, there came a lull, when there was a second or two of silence and blackness, I experienced a cold and impossible fear, certain that it was all over, that the world itself had been destroyed and that the sun would never rise again.
By means of wireless telegraphy, Hood was able to direct the battle from the Chaka which was riding somewhere above the clouds, and it became evident to me that he was building up a defensive position around the contents of that huge and mysterious hull at the centre of our fleet. The Dingiswajo, also close to the centre, was not therefore immediately engaged in battle, but impatiently awaited orders to have a crack at the enemy, firing occasionally, when so commanded, into the sky at one of the Australasian-Japanese airships, which would return our shots with bombs and concentrated cannon-fire, none of which happily scored a direct hit and all of which failed to pierce our super-strong steel armour.
At last we received an order to break formation and moved at full speed to a position on the starboard flank of the main Australasian-Japanese grouping, where our own ships were sustaining particularly heavy losses.
We seemed at first to be moving away from the main battle - away from the crimson and yellow flashes of the guns, the incessant booming, and into utter blackness. Then, suddenly, as if receiving warning of our presence, two battleships turned their searchlights on us. Powerful beams of white light struck us in the eyes and blinded us for the moment. I was still on the quarter-deck, with precious little to do, not being a regular officer of the ship. I heard the captain shouting from the bridge, saw our long guns begin to swing into position, felt the Dingiswayo roll as she turned at an acute angle, broadside to the enemy, giving me my first clear view of two long lines of battleships, some mere silhouettes in the darkness, and others speckled with reflected light from the gun-flashes to port. Then the air was full of the whine of shells, the chunky, throaty noise of those shells hitting the water ahead and astern of us, but never, thankfully, scoring on either our hull or superstructure. Then all our guns began to go off and the Dingisvqyo shuddered from stem to stern so that I thought she might well shake herself to pieces. Our shells left the muzzles of the guns with a kind of high-pitched yell - almost an exultation - and the enemy ships were grouped so tightly together that we could not miss. The shells hit the battleships and exploded. Heavy smoke drifted back to us and we were all forced to don the special masks designed for the purpose of protecting our lungs in just such circumstances.
The air had been cold, the temperature well below zero, but now it began to heat up, becoming tropical, as far as we were concerned. We went about and sought the darkness again, knowing that we had been lucky and that we could not expect to take on a dozen or more battleships alone.
For a while the searchlights roamed across the sea, trying to pick us out, but we skulked just out of their range, using their own lights to try to get some idea of our best chance. A battleship had detached itself from the main formation and was rushing blindly towards us, apparently unaware of our presence in its path. It was a splendid opportunity for us. I heard the order given to release torpedoes but to hold off firing. There was a faint sound, like the striking of a bell, and the torpedoes sped silently towards their prey, darting from our tubes while the enemy ship remained unaware that she was under attack I
The torpedoes scored direct hits below the battleship's waterline. She was holed in five places and was sinking even before she realized it. I heard a confused shouting from her decks, and her searchlights came on, but already she was keeling over and the lights slowly rose into the sky like the fingers of a clutching, imploring hand. She went down without having fired a single shot. For a little while I saw her electrics gleaming below the surface, winking out slowly as she sank, and then the water was black again, dotted with a few bits of wreckage and a handful of wailing sailors.