THE LAST OF THE "EMDEN," AND THE SEA FIGHT OFF CORONEL.
If you look at a map of the Indian Ocean, you will see, some 700 miles
south of Sumatra and 1,200 miles south-west of Singapore, a group of
about twenty atolls,[142] known as the Cocos-Keeling Islands. They are
covered with palm groves, and they export cocoa-nuts and copra. The
"king" of the islands is Mr. Sydney Ross, a descendant of the Captain J.
C. Ross who settled on them in 1825. It was to these remote islands that
Captain von Müller brought the _Emden_ in the early days of November.
His object was to destroy the important British wireless station
established on Direction Island.
On the morning of 9th November the operators in charge of the station
saw a cruiser in the offing. At first they believed the vessel to be a
British warship, but they were soon undeceived. Before a boat could be
lowered and a landing-party sent ashore, the operators at the wireless
station, with true British coolness, sent off distress signals, and
warned the adjacent stations, by means of the three submarine cables
which come ashore on the island, that the Germans were about to land.
One launch and two cutters, containing three officers and forty men,
arrived about 7.30; the wireless mast was blown up; the instruments were
smashed, the storerooms and workshops were completely wrecked, and a
dummy cable and one real cable were cut and a third damaged. The
remaining cable was left uninjured, probably because the Germans did
not know that it existed. In less than two hours the work of destruction
was completed. Then suddenly loud and repeated siren calls were heard
from the _Emden_. Before the boats could return she was off at top
speed.
She had been trapped at last. In the wireless room of H.M.S. _Sydney_,
then engaged in escorting Australian transports, a message had been
received: "Strange warship off entrance." In a moment Captain Glossop
guessed that it was the raider that had so long eluded him. Immediately
he worked up to twenty knots an hour, and with the "white bone" in his
ship's teeth sped towards the island. At 9.15 the feathery tops of the
cocoa-nut trees were sighted, and a few minutes later the _Emden_ was
seen bearing down on the _Sydney_ at a great rate. Captain von Müller
knew that the _Sydney's_ 6-inch guns could destroy his ship at a
distance too great for his 4.7-inch guns to do much mischief. He
therefore tried to close in with the _Sydney_, which endeavoured to keep
sufficiently far off to obtain the advantage afforded by her bigger
guns.
Then began a running fight which lasted for an hour and forty minutes.
At first the _Emden_'s fire was very rapid and accurate, but as the
_Sydney's_ shells began to burst on her decks it slackened quickly. The
foremost funnel of the _Emden_ was shot away, then the foremast, then
the second funnel, and lastly the third funnel. She was now burning
furiously, and her deck was strewn with dead and dying. A few minutes
later and she was seen to be making for the beach on North Keeling
Island, where she grounded at 11.20 a.m. Captain Glossop gave her two
more broadsides, and then left her to pursue a merchant ship which had
come up during the action.
The merchantman was overhauled, and found to be a captured British
collier in a sinking condition. As she was past repair she was sent to
the bottom, and the _Sydney_, with the crew of the collier on board,
returned to the _Emden_, now a dismal wreck amidst the surf foaming on
the reef. Her colours, however, were still flying at the masthead. When
called upon to haul them down her captain replied that he would never
surrender. Very reluctantly, Captain Glossop again fired at the _Emden_.
Five minutes later white flags fluttered aloft, and her ensign was
hauled down.
[Illustration: German Landing Party on the Cocos-Keeling Islands.
_Photo, The Sphere_
The yacht shown in the photograph is the _Ayesha_, in which the landing
party escaped from the island.]
About six o'clock that night the _Emden's_ landing-party seized and
provisioned Mr. Ross's 70-ton schooner, the _Ayesha_, and made off. For
months they were unheard of, though all sorts of rumours were current as
to their fate. On March 1, 1915, it was reported that they had reached
Damascus, and were on their way to Constantinople.
Captain von Müller was captured unwounded, and amongst his officers was
Franz Josef of Hohenzollern, a nephew of the Kaiser. As a tribute to the
gallantry and humanity which Captain von Müller had exhibited, he was
permitted to retain his sword. While the German soldiers were making
their name a byword of loathing in Belgium, Captain von Müller had been
behaving as a sailor and a gentleman; consequently he was regarded in
Britain as something of a hero. He had fought staunchly, and although he
had perhaps violated the laws of war on several occasions, his sins were
forgiven him because he had been merciful to the defenceless and the
captive.
The _Emden_ lost some 250 killed and wounded, while the _Sydney_ had
four killed and twelve wounded. Only about ten hits seem to have been
made on the British vessel, and the damage done was surprisingly small.
Australians were overjoyed to hear that a ship of their own navy had rid
the seas of the famous raider. Their satisfaction was all the greater
when they remembered that the victorious crew consisted largely of young
and untried sailors.
Let me tell you of a pleasing little incident that happened when the
_Sydney_, with prisoners on board, returned to the transports which she
and the _Melbourne_ were convoying. Captain Glossop had given orders
that there was to be no cheering, as he had German wounded on board, and
some of them might be dying. The _Sydney_ steamed past forty transports,
whose decks and rigging were crowded with patriotic men; but not a cheer
was raised, though all were deeply stirred by the good news. Two German
officers asked Captain Glossop the reason of the silence. When he
explained, they were much affected. One of them shook him by the hand
and said, "You have been kind, but this crowns all. We cannot speak to
thank you for it."
* * * * *
The news was received with great delight by our soldiers in Artois and
West Flanders. At one place where the opposing trenches were close
together the men cheered, and passed on the information with appropriate
comments to the enemy, who replied with a vindictive volley. At
Lloyd's[143] the old _Lutine_ bell[144] was rung, and when, amidst tense
silence, the crier announced that the _Emden's_ career of destruction
had ended, underwriters,[145] brokers, and clerks burst forth into
excited cheering, which was repeated again and again. During the past
two months the insurance companies had been heavily hit; freight for the
East had been difficult to obtain, Indian tea had gone up twopence per
pound, the jute trade had been paralysed, and tin and rubber had largely
increased in price. All this was now over, and shipping in Eastern
waters resumed its normal course.
* * * * *
Almost equally good news arrived the same day. The _Königsberg_, after
her attack on the _Pegasus_ in Zanzibar harbour, had gone into hiding
somewhere along the German East African coast. A diligent search was
made for her by H.M.S. _Chatham_, and on 30th October she was discovered
in shoal water about six miles up a river opposite Mafia island. The
_Chatham_, owing to her greater draught, could not ascend the river; but
she sank colliers in the only navigable channel, so that the German
cruiser could not come out. She lay amidst dense palm groves, and was
aground, except at high tide. Part of her crew had been landed and
entrenched on the banks of the river. Both the entrenchments and the
_Königsberg_ were shelled, but owing to the thick foliage shrouding the
ship it was not possible to estimate what damage had been done.
From the end of October 1914 until the beginning of July 1915 the
_Königsberg_ lay in this position. She was most difficult to attack, as
only shallow-draught ships could get sufficiently close to engage her.
In May 1915 the Admiralty decided to send to German East Africa two of
the monitors--the _Severn_ and the _Mersey_--which had done so much to
foil the coast dash towards Calais. Aircraft accompanied the vessels,
and discovered the exact whereabouts of the _Königsberg_. On 4th July
the monitors entered the river and opened fire. The _Königsberg_
replied, and fired salvos of five guns with great accuracy, twice
hitting the _Mersey_, and causing some casualties.
The aeroplanes found great difficulty in "spotting" the effects of the
monitors' fire, because of the dense jungle. For six hours the monitors
continued firing, and the _Königsberg_ was hit five times, though her
masts were still standing. Then a salvo struck her, and she burst into
flames. For a time she continued to fire with one gun, but during the
last part of the engagement she made no reply, either because her
ammunition had run out or because her guns were disabled. On 11th July
another attack was made, and the _Königsberg_ was battered into
shapeless ruin.
* * * * *
During November 19 a British squadron approached the harbour of
Dar-es-Salaam,[146] in which three German vessels had taken refuge. The
entrance had been blocked by a floating dock, and only vessels of light
draught could pass the obstruction. On November 28 a British flotilla
supported by a cruiser entered the harbour, and after a parley the
governor of the town hoisted the white flag. Commander Henry Peel
Ritchie, R.N., who was in charge of the operations, now boarded the
German ships, but soon discovered that the surrender of the town was a
trick to destroy him and his men. A heavy fire was opened on the boats
from trenches on shore, and Commander Peel Ritchie had the greatest
difficulty in getting them safely out of harbour. He himself was one of
the first to be hit, but he continued at his post until his eighth
wound, received twenty-five minutes later, rendered him unconscious. The
cockswain of his pinnace, though hit twice, gallantly stuck to the wheel
until the boat was out of gunfire. For his splendid courage, and for the
inspiring example which he set to his men, Commander Ritchie was awarded
the Victoria Cross. The cockswain, Leading Seaman Thomas Arthur
Gallagher, received the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal.
* * * * *
We will now follow the fortunes of the German squadron under Admiral von
Spee. You will remember that it left Kiao-chau early in August for the
South American coast. Von Spee's squadron, which consisted of modern
ships, comprised two armoured cruisers, the _Gneisenau_ and the
_Scharnhorst_; and three light cruisers, the _Dresden_, _Leipzig_, and
_Nürnberg_. The first two vessels had a speed of at least 23 knots, and
were armed with eight 8.2-inch guns, six of 5.9-inch, and eighteen
21-pounders. The _Dresden_ was a sister ship to the _Emden_, the
_Nürnberg_ was slightly smaller, and the _Leipzig_ smaller still. The
object of this squadron was to prey on British commerce in the Pacific.
The _Emden_, as you know, was detailed for similar work in the Indian
Ocean, and the _Karlsruhe_ in the South Atlantic.
I have told at length of the short and merry life of the _Emden_. The
_Karlsruhe_ was not so successful, but she destroyed no fewer than
thirteen steamers in the course of a week or two. She was remarkable for
the number of attendant vessels which accompanied her, some of them her
own captures. These she employed as scouts to warn her of danger, and to
give notice of vessels which might be seized. It is said that she had
many hairbreadth escapes from British cruisers. Towards the end of
November she disappeared, and though many rumours were afloat, nothing
was certainly known of her whereabouts. In March 1915 it was reported
that she had gone down off the West Indian island of Grenada.
[Illustration: Destruction of the German Raider Emden by H.M.S. Sydney
of the Australian Navy, November 9, 1914.]
You can easily understand that without a regular supply of coal and
provisions the German commerce-raiders could not long keep the seas.
When a fighting ship in time of war puts into a neutral port, she may
not receive more coal and provisions than will carry her to the nearest
harbour of her own land, and she may not obtain any further supplies at
that port for three months. Some of the South American states, however,
were very slack in observing the rules of naval warfare, and two of
them--Ecuador and Colombia--actually permitted German coaling and
provisioning bases to be set up on their coasts, and allowed their
wireless stations to be used for the purpose of ascertaining the
movements of the British cruisers which were trying to catch the
raiders. When Admiral von Spee sailed for the western coast of South
America, he was going into waters where there were many harbours in
which he could coal, and many friends who would see that he was well
supplied. German merchants abound in Chile.
On 14th September von Spee's squadron touched at Apia, and on the 22nd
two of his cruisers arrived off Papeete, in Tahiti, one of the loveliest
of the Pacific Islands. A small French gunboat was sunk, and the town
was bombarded. Then his squadron of five warships with attendant
colliers concentrated near Valparaiso, and he was ready, like a
twentieth-century Drake, to prey ruthlessly upon the merchantmen that
came round the Horn.
Von Spee did not expect that he would go unmolested. He knew that
Britain had a squadron which was even then cruising northwards along the
coast of Chile, under the command of a renowned seaman, Sir Christopher
Cradock. But this squadron was all too weak to meet him in fair fight.
It consisted of two armoured cruisers, the _Good Hope_ and the
_Monmouth_, the light cruiser _Glasgow_, and an armed liner, the
_Otranto_, the latter being incapable of engaging a ship of war. None of
the vessels was speedy, and none was heavily armed. The _Canopus_, a
seventeen-year-old battleship, was on its way to meet him, but had not
yet arrived. Von Spee could count on sixteen 8.2-inch guns, and to
oppose them Cradock had but two 9.2-inch guns. When the _Canopus_ joined
him his big-gun armament would be increased by four 12-inch guns, but
even then the British squadron would be inferior in weight of broadside
to the German squadron. Nor had the British any advantage of speed. The
_Glasgow_ could do 26 knots an hour, but the _Monmouth_ could only do
23. In big guns, speed, and armour the Germans were greatly superior.
Cradock was hourly expecting reinforcements, but for some reason they
were not forthcoming. One of his officers wrote as follows on 12th
October: "We think the Admiralty have forgotten their trade-route
squadron 10,000 miles from London town. Five German cruisers against us.
Pray that we may prevent them concentrating."
They had concentrated, as we know, and Cradock had now to decide whether
he would give battle with his three cruisers or wait for the arrival of
the _Canopus_. He was a dashing, fearless officer, and he took the risk.
He sent off a wireless message to the _Canopus_: "I am going to attack
the enemy now," and ordered speed to be increased to 17 knots. It is
doubtful whether the _Canopus_ ever received the message, for the enemy
was "jamming the wireless"--that is, was sending out bogus messages to
interfere with the messages of the British flagship. At any rate, the
_Canopus_ did not join Cradock, and he steamed without her towards the
foe.
The _Glasgow_ swept northward, and about four o'clock in the afternoon
of 1st November sighted the enemy. She sent off wireless signals to the
flagship, _Good Hope_, but they were jammed. The _Monmouth_ and
_Otranto_ joined the _Glasgow_ soon after, and at five o'clock the _Good
Hope_ came up. Both squadrons were now moving southwards, the Germans
having the inshore course. At the head of the British line was the _Good
Hope_, with the _Monmouth_, _Glasgow_, and _Otranto_ following, one
behind the other. The German line was headed by the _Scharnhorst_, with
the _Gneisenau_, _Dresden_, and _Nürnberg_ following.
Try to imagine the scene. The sea was running high; there was a stiff
wind blowing, and away in the west the sun was sinking in a flaming sky
of crimson and gold. Against the bright sunset the British ships stood
out sharp and clear, while the German vessels were shrouded by the
gathering gloom and the dark background of the land. Behind them were
the long ridges and lofty peaks of the Andes, their eternal snows
glowing red in the light of the setting sun. Amidst the roar of sea and
wind the two squadrons raced south in the teeth of the gale. The day was
speeding fast to its close, and the German admiral, owing to the
superior speed of his ships, was able to choose the range at which the
battle was to be fought.
The sun sank into the sea, and eight minutes later, at a range of about
12,000 yards--roughly, seven miles--the leading German cruiser opened
fire with her biggest guns. Shells shrieked over and short of the _Good
Hope_ within a hundred yards of her, and the _Otranto_ began to edge
away to the south-west. The _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_ replied as
best they could to the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, but their fire was
ineffective; the two 9.2-inch guns of the _Good Hope_ could not be
brought into action, because they were mounted so near to the water's
edge that the waves washed over them. Meanwhile the _Glasgow_ was
exchanging shots with the light cruisers _Leipzig_ and _Dresden_. The
shooting of the enemy was deadly, and in a few minutes all was over--the
British ships were pounded to pieces by guns which quite outranged those
which they carried. "It was as though a man standing at Charing Cross
were attacked with deadly accuracy by a foe on Ealing Common, without
any possibility of replying." Think of the horror and hopelessness of it
all!
Broadside after broadside of powerful guns crashed on the British
cruisers. The third salvo set the _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_ on
fire. The range had now narrowed down to 5,000 yards, and darkness was
coming on apace. Many of the shells falling into the sea threw up huge
geysers of white spray, which gleamed ghost-like in the twilight. The
British could fire only at the flashes of the enemy's guns, and often
even these slight indications were hidden from the gun-layers by the
heavy head seas.
The _Monmouth_ had been heavily hit, and was rapidly becoming
unmanageable; the fore turret of the _Good Hope_ was burning fiercely,
and she began to fall away out of line towards the enemy. Suddenly, at
about a quarter to eight, there was a roar louder than that of the
booming guns; the flames had reached the magazine of the _Good Hope_,
and a terrific explosion took place. A column of fire shot up 200 feet,
and the sea was strewn with _débris_. The _Good Hope_ never fired her
guns again. Down she went headlong into the stormy deep, with gallant
Sir Christopher Cradock and his crew of nearly 900 officers and men.
[Illustration: The Good Hope going down with her last Guns firing.
(_From the picture by Norman Wilkinson. By permission of the Illustrated
London News._)]
The _Monmouth_, too, was in dire distress. She was so badly damaged by
the terrific cannonade that she could no longer fire. She was down by
the head, and was obliged to turn away to get her stern to the sea. The
little unarmoured _Glasgow_ was now left alone, and on her the
_Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ concentrated their fire. Again and again
she was hit, but fortunately not dangerously. The sea was now running
higher than ever; rain and mist came on, though the moon was rising. The
_Glasgow_ could render no aid to the _Monmouth_; she could not rescue
her crew in the raging sea, and she could not contend with the
heavily-armoured vessels of the enemy. There was nothing for it but to
abandon the _Monmouth_ and seek safety in flight. If she stayed to the
end she would be needlessly sacrificing herself and her crew; and the
_Canopus_, now coming up from the south, could not be warned of the
destruction that awaited her.
So with a heavy heart Captain Luce swung his vessel to the north-west,
and steamed off at full speed. As he did so the doomed men on the
_Monmouth_ gave her a pealing cheer. Before the sinking vessel was lost
to sight another and another cheer was heard. At twenty minutes past
nine o'clock Captain Luce counted seventy-five flashes of fire stabbing
the darkness. The _Nürnberg_ had come up, and was dealing the _Monmouth_
its death-blows. It is said that the British ship in her final throes
made a gallant attempt to ram the enemy. For a few seconds the watching
men on the _Glasgow_ saw the play of her searchlight. It disappeared,
and all was over; the _Monmouth_ had gone down with her flag flying.
"Toll for the brave--the brave that are no more."
The sole survivor, the _Glasgow_, sped away at 24 knots an hour, and as
she gained on her pursuers she bore round gradually to the south. Her
wireless was working in the hope of picking up the _Canopus_; but the
enemy again jammed her messages, and only after several hours did she
get in touch with her sister ship. At length they fell in with each
other, and steamed in company southward, threaded the wild,
glacier-fringed Strait of Magellan, and in due time reached Stanley
Harbour, in the wind-swept Falkland Isles.
* * * * *
This disastrous sea fight will go down to history as the Battle of
Coronel, for the little Chilian port of Coronel was the nearest place to
the stretch of wild waters in which the _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_
went down. We shall never learn the full details of the action, for
those who played the leading part in it on the British side are no more.
The Germans have called their victory "the fairest sea fight of the
war." No more misleading description can be imagined--even in Germany.
The enemy had swifter, better armed, and more heavily armoured ships
than we had, and his victory was due to superior speed and greater gun
power.
Captain Luce tells us that "nothing could have been more admirable than
the conduct of the officers and men throughout. Though it was most
trying to receive a great volume of fire without the chance of returning
it adequately, all kept perfectly cool. There was no wild firing, and
discipline was the same as at battle practice. . . . The serious reverse
sustained has entirely failed to impair the spirit of officers and
ship's company, and it is our unanimous wish to meet the enemy again as
soon as possible." We need no assurance that on that dread November day
our tars fought and died as Britons are wont to do.
* * * * *
The Falkland Islands lie some three hundred miles to the east of the
Strait of Magellan. They were discovered by John Davis, the Arctic
explorer, as far back as 1592, but were first settled by the French in
1764. Seven years later they became British. The group consists of two
large islands and of about one hundred islets, rocks, and sandbanks. The
two large islands are East Falkland and West Falkland, and the only town
of importance is Stanley, in the north-east of the former island.
Berkeley Sound and Port William are the two most important sounds in
East Falkland. Stanley Harbour, on which the capital stands, is a large,
safe, and easily entered inlet of Port William.
If New Zealand may be said to be the most English of all British
possessions, the Falkland Islands are certainly the most Scottish. In
appearance they resemble the Outer Hebrides, and a large part of the
population is of Scottish descent. The winters are cold and misty, but
not very severe. So violent are the winds that tennis and croquet can
only be played on sheltered grounds, and unless walls are erected the
cabbages in the gardens are blown clean out of the soil. There is only
one real tree on the islands, and that stands in the governor's garden.
Penguins are so numerous on the smaller islands and in the lagoons, that
the governor is sometimes nicknamed King of the Penguin Islands. The
total population is about 2,300, and the people are mainly occupied in
sheep-farming and seafaring. The colony is prosperous, and Stanley,
which has a wireless installation, is a refitting and coaling station
for ships rounding Cape Horn.
* * * * *
When the _Canopus_ and the _Glasgow_ reached Port Stanley, and the
defeat off Coronel became known, great was the alarm of the colonists.
They felt sure that the victorious German squadron was about to swoop
down on the islands. Their alarm was increased when the two British
battleships were ordered by wireless to proceed to Rio de Janeiro,[147]
where they were to be repaired.
One morning the church and dockyard bells pealed out an alarm; the
lookout on the hill above the town had sighted a cruiser, cleared for
action, and making straight for the wireless station. The volunteers
paraded; non-combatants streamed out of the place, and all waited for
the firing to begin. Signals were exchanged between the vessel and the
shore, and the colonists breathed freely once more. It was a false
alarm. The newcomer was not a German cruiser, but the _Canopus_.
Obeying orders, she and the _Glasgow_ had made for Rio de Janeiro, but
when two days from that port she had been instructed to return to
Stanley, for a reason which we shall learn later. She came about at
once, and tried to get into touch with the wireless station. As she
could not do so, she concluded that the Germans had raided the island
and destroyed the wireless station. Decks were immediately cleared for
action; the guns were loaded and trained; and with every man at his
post, ready to fight the whole of von Spee's squadron if necessary, the
_Canopus_ steered into Stanley Harbour. You can easily imagine the
relief of the colonists when they discovered that the newcomer was a
friend and not a foe.
* * * * *
Von Spee was a victor, but even while celebrating his victory he knew
that his hours were numbered. He was well aware that the British would
take good care to send an overpowering squadron against him, and that
there would be only one end to the battle which could not be long
delayed. It is said that when the German colony at Valparaiso gave a
banquet to the admiral in honour of his victory, the steps near the door
of the hall were strewn with flowers. Von Spee noticed them, and said,
"I think you had better keep these for my grave; they may be wanted." He
spoke the simple truth: they were wanted--in less than forty days.
[Footnote 142: Coral islands, consisting of a more or less oval belt of
coral rock, within which there is a lagoon.]
[Footnote 143: At the Royal Exchange, London. The chief business of
Lloyd's is connected with the insurance of ships.]
[Footnote 144: _La Lutine_, a 32-gun frigate launched in 1785. It
originally belonged to the French navy, but was captured by Admiral
Duncan.
It sailed from Yarmouth Roads on the morning of October 9, 1799, for
Hamburg, and was wrecked the same night off the island of Vlieland, one
of the Frisian Islands. All on board were lost, except one man.
The frigate had on board a large amount of specie--gold and silver--the
destination of which appears to be somewhat of a mystery. If the specie
was merely sent by London Merchants to Hamburg on purely commercial
transactions--as is alleged--how was it that a frigate ship was
employed, and how did it come to be so near the Zuider Zee? To explain
this some say that the specie was intended for the pay of British troops
then in the Netherlands.
Up to the present, treasure to the value of £100,000 has been recovered;
but it is estimated that gold and silver worth a million pounds still
lie buried in the shifting sands north of the Zuider Zee.
Various attempts have been made to recover the specie. On July 17, 1858,
divers brought to daylight the bell of the frigate. It was well
preserved, and weighed 80 lbs. It now stands at the footboard of the
table in the library at Lloyd's, where other relics of the _Lutine_ are
also to be found.]
[Footnote 145: Men who undertake the insurance of ships.]
[Footnote 146: See p. 173.]
[Footnote 147: Capital of Brazil, on the beautiful bay of Rio.]