THE FLEET IN THE DARDANELLES.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume II, Issue 438, 6 July 1915, Page 12

THE FLEET IN THE DARDANELLES.

ALL ENEMY VESSELS SWEPT FROM THE SEA. GIANT WARSHIPS AT WORK. £By E. Ashmead Burtlett, Special Correspondent of the London "Express."! The importance of Malta cannot be over-estimated. Both the English and French fleets and transports arc based on it—over 100 French ships and an even larger number of British. All supplies, munitions, and ammunition are drawn from its arsenals; to it damaged ships retire to be docked and repaired; the wo,unded find accommodation in its spacious hospitals; and it is the port of call for all transports on their way to Egypt and the islands. Happy, indeed, is the nation which has complete command of the sea. It was the unfulfilled dream of the great Napoleon to make the Med-' iterranean "a French lake." His dream has half come true. At the present' moment, when Europe is ablaze, the Mediterranean is a French and English lake. The enemies of the Triple Entente have been Absolutely swept from this highway to Egypt and the East. It is as safe now for unarmed merchantmen, transports, colliers, and warships as it is in times of peace. The smallest and slowest vessels pass up and down it unmolested, without any escort. The Austrian fleet lies securely bottled up in the Adriatic, watched day and night by the latest .and most powerful vessels of the French navy. The GuardeH Highway. There is not a single German warship* left on the high seas. Once an English vessel has left the radius of submarine activity around our shores, and"finds herself in the Bay of Biscay, she can continue her journey in absolute safety to Malta, to the Dardanelles, Egypt, or on to the Far East. Such is the strength of the Allies at sea, and such an ascendency have they established over their enemies, that, while Sir John Jellicoe and the Grand Fleet are blockading the German coast, and, while the French are botling up the Austrian lleet in the Adriatic, practically the whole of our powerful pre-Dreadnought squadrons arc free to attack the Dardanelles and to assist the French and English armies .to open the iron gate which leads to Constantinople. Having travelled overland via Rome, I reached Syracuse on March 31, to find an Italian steamer leaving the same evening for Malta. In Italy I found such conflicting views as to Italy's attitude in the near future that I finally was glad to abandon any further attempts to solve the problem, and was happy to escape to actualities. But there is an interesting point which seems to have escaped the notice of many which may yet act as a powerful inducement to the Italians openly to throw in their lot with the Allies. Italian Booty. In Syracuse I found 10 powerful German and Austrian steamers interned. I am told that the principal Italian ports are full of Austrian and German steamers which have been lying idle ever since the declaration -of war. Now, if Italy declares war, all these vessels will be given 48 hours' notice to clear out.

I am also told that, granted they are given 48 hours to clear from port, they have no crews, and could not get ready in that time. Thus, the moment Italy decides to take the fateful step for which the mass of the population are undoubtedly longing, she will obtain a very important acquisition to her mercantile marine. On arriving the following day at Malta 1 reported myself to YiceAdmiral Limpus, who promised to send me on to the Heel in the first available vessel. It chanced the steamship Sunik, a brand new oil tank steamer, carrying GOOO tons of water to the Fleet, put in to Malta for instructions that same day, and the Admiral informed me I could sail on the following afternoon in her. We are all proud of our Navy, of the great deeds it has performed, and of the exemplary patience under the most trying conditions with which the great blockade has been kept up in the North Sea throughout the winter. But we ought to be equally proud of the officers and men who man our mercantile maring, and without whose cordial and unhesitating co-operation the efforts of the Navy would be largely wasted Fickle Waters. We left Malta on Friday, April 2, under ideal conditions —bright sunshine overhead, and not a ripple on the water. Many of our merchant captains and their crews have never traversed the waters of the Mediterranean; its currents, changing weather conditions, its lights, and the innumerable islands of the Archipelago are a new field of discovery to them. As long as the'weather holds, and you have a long horizon, these difficulties do not count for much, but when the sea is running high, and •everytiling in front is blotted out by spray, and when you are not sure of vciJi' reckoning, and know from

the map ilierc should he an island somewhere on your port how, and two smaller ones to starboard, and j that your correct course lies someI where through a narrow channel between the two —why, then even the stoutest-hearted sailor has moments of anxiety. But we are a Fleet messenger, ! under orders to arrive at our destination without delay; the same i blood and spirit of enterprise of I the Elizabethan era courses through the veins of the officers and men, land we press on, groping our way | blindly and risking bumps with the I Archipelago. | The captain never leaves the I bridge for nearly 48 hours at a I stretch. The sea is breaking over jour decks, leaving the well a huge I bath of raging surf. i That night we have to slow down, j because a well-known island, which I will not name, but which is sacred jto Venus, the Goddess of Love, rej fuses to reveal her whereabouts (under such conditions, and the capitain remarks, "We can't have a love affair in the middle of a war like this." At dawn the sea has risen even (more, but it is rather clearer, and ithe Isle of Love is visible not far | off. Then we sight two little black I dots a long way to port, and the capI tain pronounces them to be trawlers. I They are obviously making frantic efforts to overtake us, so Ave slow down and wait in the trough of the ! sea.

They are having about as rotten a time as any one could wish for. Every sea sweeps them from bow to stein. They roll right under the" waves and disappear from view for minutes at a time, and then come bobbing up again, only to disappear once more. The low bridges are swept by the surf, and even the funnels and masts are hidden in the white cloud of breaking foam. "They are two North Sea trawlers," says the captain, "and wonderful sea boats they are, but a bit uncomfortable in'weather like this." From the North Sea. This mild estimate of what the crews must be suffering sounds almost cruel and callous to the layman's ears. Whenthey come up we can make out on the tiny bridges two figures covered in oilskins, but nevertheless drenched through and looking like drowned rats. They are two young sub-lieutenants, not out of their "teens," who have been placed in charge of these trawlers to take them to the Dardanelles.

They have come straight from the North Sea, and have suffered every imaginable form of discomfort on the way. For the last 48 hours they have been swept fore and aft by the huge waves, and their officers have not been able to leave the bridge. But both are cheerful and happy and perfectly frank. They hail us through the megaphone: "We arc quite lost; haven't an idea where we are. Where are you bound for? Can we follow you in?" Our captain gives our destination, which f am not allowed to do, and once more we get under way. Now we round a bend and come in sight of a portion of the fleet. The first sight which greets our eyes is the fighting-tops of the mighty Queen Elizabeth—the most powerful warship afloat in any waters. Her huge body is hidden by some lowlying land. Shades of Nelson! But suddenly we see a destroyer dashing her way towards us and flying the French flag. It is hard to believe that within 4wo days' gentle steam of where the Battle of the Nile was fought, a century after Trafalgar, a French destroyer is engaged in protecting England's battleships. A Friendly Lead. We give our number and the destroyer retires satisfied and we make our way slowly in. Then a torpedoboat, this time flying British colours, dashes up and asks if we know our way among the rocks and shoals. We do not, and frankly admit the same, so she gives us a friendly lead. Half an hour later we arc among the battleships, cruisers, store-ships, and destroyers. Everything in the navy is organised down to the smallest detail. Our captain sees a com-fortable-looking, unoccupied berth, and makes for il lo anchor. In a battleship close by a sailor sits astride the bridge and starts furiously waving little flags. These cannot be read from our bridge, and both officers and men lack practice at the rapid reading of signals, so we have to turn the ship and go back.

The little flags tell us thai a berth has been assigned for us at the other end of* the bay. When we arc halfway across a pinnace steams up and two officers come on board, who take charge of the ship and conduct us personally to our anchorage. This same pinnace, once we are safely anchored, takes me across lo the Queen Elizabeth to visit the admiral. This, the latest of our superdreadnoughts, is a revelation. She only carries eight great 15in guns, and a secondary armament of (Jin. But those eight make every other gun you have ever seen look ridiculous and contemptible. The gunners say they can almost land on a penny at 15,000 yards, even with three-quarter charges. The great ship has in turn received her baptism of fire, and has been