This is an extract from the bookWarships and Sea Battles of World War I, edited byBernard Fitzsimons (BPC Publishing Ltd, 1973), being an accountof the Battle of Jutland written by the Captain of the Germanbattlecruiser SMS Seydlitz.
The contributor - Edward Wittenburg (ewitten507@aol.com) -introduces the story...While browsing through the stacks at my local library, I came across a workentitled "Warships and Sea Battles of World War I". Since I've always had aninterest in World War I naval tactics (especially those connected withcommerce warfare -- raiders and submarines) I checked it out. In the sectionsdealing with Jutland, I came across an account of the battle from the captainof SMS Seydlitz. I thought it was very well written, and it gives aninsight to the battle which I don't think is often considered in otherhistories. As I enjoyed it immensely, I herewith post it in its entiretyfor the members of the WWI-L to read and hopefully comment upon.
Although the Germans did not lose any of their battle-cruisers in explosions such as those which destroyed HMS Invincible and Queen Mary, they did nonetheless suffer terribly. One ship which took an enormous pounding was SMS Seydlitz: battered almost out of recognition and with her foredeck level with the water, she managed to limp back home. Here we reprint the Seydlitz's captain's [Kaptain zur See von Egidy] account of the feat.
Jutland: A German View
When our battle-cruisers put to sea on May 31, 1916, SMS Seydlitz wasno longer in the van but sailed as "Tactical Number Three", for Vizeadmiralvon Hipper had hoisted his flag in the new SMS Lutzow. As always at thebeginning of an operation, all watertight doors were thoroughly examined,every piece of apparatus tested and spare parts broken out to be handy inemergencies. The watch kept a sharp outlook for submarines, while the menoff watch dozed. When at 1400 hours the message "Enemy in sight" came in,bugles and drums sounded the General March to call all hands to battle-stations. Within minutes, every station reported to the bridge that it wasready for action.
Soon the British light cruisers came in view, and behind themdense clouds of smoke. Then tripod masts and huge hulls loomed overthe horizon. There they were again, our friends from Dogger Bank. At1545 hours we opened fire. After a short time, HMS Indefatigable blewup, followed 20 minutes later by HMS Queen Mary, our target asTactical Number Three. The spectacle was overwhelming, there was amoment of complete silence, then the calm voice of a gunnery observerannounced "Queen Mary blowing up", at once followed by the order"Shift target to the right" given by the gunnery officer in the same matter-of-fact tone as at normal gunnery practice.
Now four fast British battleships came up and directed heavy fireagainst our rear ships. But our main fleet came up, too; the Britishbattle-cruisers turned away to the north, and we took up station aheadof our own battleships. We had not gone unscathed. The first hit wereceived was a 12-inch shell that struck Number Six 6-inch casemate onthe starboard side, killing everybody except the Padre who, on his wayto his battle-station down below, had wanted to take a look at the menand at the British, too. By an odd coincidence we had, at our first battlepractice in 1913, assumed the same kind of hit and by the sameadversary, the Queen Mary. Splinters perforated air leads in the bunkerbelow and gas consequently entered the starboard main turbinecompartment.
Somewhat later the gunnery central station deep down reported:"No answer from 'C' turret. Smoke and gas pouring out of the voicepipes from 'C' turret." That sounded like the time of Dogger Bank. Thenit had been "C" and "D" turrets. A shell had burst outside, making only asmall hole, but a red-hot piece of steel had ignited a cartridge, the flashsetting fire to 13,000 pounds of cordite. 190 men had been killed, andthe two turrets had been put out of action. Afterwards, a throughexamination showed that everything had been done in accordance withregulations. I told the gunnery officer: "If we lose 190 men and almostthe whole ship in accordance with regulations then they are somehowwrong." Therefore we made technical improvements and changed ourmethods of training as well as the regulations. This time only onecartridge caught fire, the flash did not reach the magazines, and so welost only 20 dead or severely burned, and only one turret was put out ofaction. When Beatty turned to the north, we had a wonderful view of theBritish destroyer flotillas going full speed into the attack. They wereintercepted by two of our flotillas, but we did not have much time towatch the furious engagement between the lines. Our foretop reportedfirst one, then more torpedo tracks. We tried to avoid them by sharpturns, but finally one got us a bit forward of the bridge. The blow wasmuch softer than gunnery hits or near misses, no loud report, but only arattling noise in the rigging. It was almost the same spot near theforward torpedo flat where we had struck a mine five weeks before. Forthe damage control party it was a repeat performance, and althoughthey grinned it was otherwise not much of a joke. The torpedo bulkheadheld, but it was seriously strained, as were parts of the armoured deck.Where the rivets had gone completely, the holes could be stopped withwooden pegs. Where they only leaked, which they did in great numbers- more than enough for our needs - they became a distinct menacebecause there was no way to plug them effectively.
Both forward generators were casualties; one stopped entirely,while the other ran but failed to generate any current. Soon all this partof Compartment XIII was flooded, and with one third of our electricsupply gone, all circuits had to be switched to the generators aft. Therethe air leads had been damaged by splinters, and in the dynamo roomthe temperature rose to 72 C (164 F). The men had to on gas masks butsome fainted and had to be carried out. Eventually, the room had to beevacuated, although a stoker returned from time to time to lubricate thebearings. The lights failed, but the petty officer at the electricalswitchboard succeeded in reswitching all the circuits from memory. Inview of the intricate battle arrangements this was quite a feat. He coulddo it only he simply lived for his work and among his work. Besides this,the turbo-fans, the strong lungs of the ship, repeatedly failed becausetheir leads were damaged, casings bent and vents perforated. However,the repair parties took special note of them and got them working againevery time.
In the conning tower we were kept busy, too. "Steering failure"reported the helmsman and automatically shouted down from thearmoured shaft to the control room: "Steer from control room." Theorder: "Steer from tiller flat" was the last resort. We felt considerablereliefwhen the red helm indicator followed orders. The ship handling officerdrew a deep breath: "Exactly as at the admiral's inspection." "No," I said,"then we used to get steering failure at the end whereas now the fun asonly just started." Fortunately, we soon found some springs holdingdown levers in the steering heads had not been strong enough for theconcussions caused by the hits. Quite simple, but try finding that underheavy fire.
The helmsman was a splendid seaman but every six months orso he could not help hitting the bottle. Then he felt the urge to stand onhis head in the market square of Wihlemshaven. Each time this meantthe loss of his Able Seaman's stripe. At Jutland he stood at the helm for24 hours on end. He got the stripe back and was the only AB in the fleetto receive the Iron Cross 1st Class. The first casualty in the conningtower was a signal yeoman, who collapsed silently after a splinter hadpierced his neck. A signalman took over his headphone in addition tohis own. In our battle training we had overlooked this possibility.
Meanwhile, visibility decreased and there seemed to be anendless line of ships ahead. But we saw only incessant flashes, mostlyfour discharges in the peculiar British 'rippling" salvoes. Our shipreceived hit after hit but our guns remained silent because we could notmake out any targets. This put us under a heavy strain which wasrelieved, to some extent, by ship handling, changes of formation andzigzagging towards and away from previous salvoes. The portcasemates suffered heavy damage, and chains had to be formed to getammunition from the lee battery. In 'B' turret, there was a tremendouscrash, smoke, dust, and general confusion. At the order "Clear theTurret" the turret crew rushed out, using even the traps for the emptycartridges. Then they fell in behind the turret. Then compressed air fromNumber 3 boiler room cleared away the smoke and gas, and the turretcommander went in again, followed by his men. A shell had hit the frontplate and a splinter of armour had killed the right gunlayer. The turretmissed no more than two or three salvoes.
In the port low-pressure turbine, steam leaked out and the menhad to put on gas masks. The leak was repaired by a man creeping onhis belly in the bilge directly under the turbine casing. Electric light andboiler room telegraphs also ceased under the frequent concussions.Fortunately we had practiced working in the dark. Our men called theseexercises "blind-man's-bluff" because they were blindfolded to learnhandling valves etc by touch. The stokers and coal trimmers deservedthe highest praise, for they had to wield their shovels mostly in the dark,often up to their knees in water without knowing where it came from andhow much it would rise. Unfortunately, we had very bad coal, whichformed so much slag that fires had to be cleaned after half the usualtime, and grates burnt through and fell into the ash-pits. The spare oneshad to be altered in the thick of the battle because even the beamssupporting the grates were bent by the heat.
Our repair parties were very efficient, the efforts of theelectricians eclipsing all the others. They found solutions for the trickiestproblems, invented new connections, created electric bypasses, kept allnecessary circuits going and crowned their achievements by repairingthe electric baking-oven so that on the morning we got pure wheatbread, a rare treat for us
Our aerials were soon in pieces, rendering our ship deaf anddumb until a sub-lieutenant and some radio operators rigged new ones.The anti-torpedo net was torn and threatened to foul the propellers, butthe boatswain and his party went over the side to lash it. They did it sowell that later, in dock, it proved difficult to untie it again. According toregulations our paymasters were expected in a battle to take down andcertify last wills, but we preferred them to prepare cold food forward andaft, and send their stewards round to battle-stations with masses ofsandwiches.
Around 2000 hours we came under especially heavy fire, andthen there followed a distinct lull, during which turrets could be openedand fresh air blown through the whole ship. When we left the conningtower we stood before a frightful scene. One of the last shells hadpassed through the admiral's charthouse and burst in the lee of theconning tower, killing or mutilating my aide and his party of messengersand signal ratings there.
Now darkness fell, and we had to make preparations for the nextmorning-for we were sure to meet the British again. Searchlights wererepaired, night recognition signals were rigged, and ammunition carriedto the undamaged guns. At first, we could continue to follow the battle-cruiser SMS Moltke, but soon we had to slow down, for water began tocome over the forecastle as our bows settled. Steering was difficult, aswas finding the right course, for the main gyro compartment wasflooded and the after gyro unreliable. Its normal circuit had beendestroyed, and the new connection short-circuited off and on. Theshocks had made the magnetic compass entirely undependable.Sounding had its problems, too. The sounding machines in thecasemates were scrap, while the hand-leads fouled the torn nets andthen parted. Our charts were covered with blood and the spare chartswere inaccessible in a flooded compartment. Under the circ*mstances itwas not at all easy to make the correct course for the Horns Reeflightship. Moreover, all coal near the boilers had been used up, andbringing up more supplies from the more distant bunkers becameincreasingly difficult as a result of damage and the amount of water inthe ship. Fortunately, our boilers could also burn oil, and supplies of thiscontinued to flow, although the oil-pipes needed constant attention tokeep them from clogging.
In this situation, the aft look-out reported: "Several large ships,darkened, approaching from astern." Our night glasses showed fourhuge ships, British, no more than 2,000 yards away. Blast! They musthave seen us and would therefore open fire at any moment. Should wetry to ram? But their guns were still trained fore and aft! Our ship wastoo heavily damaged to attack, and I gave the orders: "Hard-a-starboard,full speed ahead, engine room make as much smoke as possible - giveBritish recognition signal." A yeoman flashed the latter "J", the leadingship promptly answered "O". That was the only light they showed forthey had an excellently darkened ship. In a minute we got up so muchsmoke that they disappeared from view. [Other accounts make it clearthat there was no exchange of signals, but Thunderer did not open fireas her captain thought Seydlitz was a destroyer and to open fire wouldgive away the position of the British. Ed. note]
When we reported this encounter by W/T, bright sparks flashed allover our rigging because torn wires touched the improvised aerialswhen the ship heeled over. At dawn, neither the Horns Reef light vesselnor any other ship was in sight. Suddenly our stern wave rose high, asign of shallow water. Before my order "Full speed astern" could takeeffect our bows scrapped over the sea bottom, but soon the waterbecame deeper again. A buoy gave us our position, and at the lightshipwe got in touch was the rest of our fleet, the light cruiser SMS Pillaubeing detached to pilot us to the Jade river. Now a dogged fight to savethe vessel began. The entire forecastle was riddled like a sieve. Throughrents, holes, leaky seams and rivets water entered one room after theother until only the forward torpedo flat could be held. The big"swimming bladder" gave the forward part of the ship just enoughbuoyancy. But she was so much down by the bows that the sea startedgetting into the forward casemates. Their covers were destroyed or bent,and the wood for shoring up leaks was somewhere under the forecastle.We used everything we could get our hands on, mess tables, benches,eventually even the empty shelves from the shell-rooms to the dismay ofthe head gunner.
Quite a few compartments had to be kept clear by incessantbailing over a period of two days. Some bulkheads had to be watchedcarefully and shored up again from time to time. The whole ship'scompany was kept busy, and so sleep was possible only in snatches.Late on June 1, pump steamers arrived but so also did a stiff breezefrom the north-west. We were off Heligoland then, with a list of eightdegrees and very little stability, and could proceed at no more thanthree or four knots whether going ahead bows first or stern first, whichwe did part of the time. When seas started breaking over the waist, thePillau made a lee on our starboard bow, and a tug laid an oil-slick. Thathelped until the wind abated. We could not have stood a heavy gale.
On June 2, we anchored near the Jade light vessel to wait for thetide, for we drew 47 1/2 forward against 30 feet amidships under normalconditions. But we made it and arrived in the early morning of June 3 offWilhelmshaven locks, where we were welcomed by hurrahs from thecrews of the battleships anchored there. The Seydlitz had been hit by21 heavy shells and one torpedo, lost 98 men killed and 55 injured andhad four heavy and two medium guns put out of action.
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Last Updated: 9 August, 1997.
