IN THE SOUTH SEAS: THE DISASTER OFF CORONEL
Sunset and evening star
* * * *
And after that the dark.
During the years 1912 and 1913 the Captain of the British cruiser
_Monmouth_, the senior English Naval Officer on the China Station, and
Admiral Count von Spee, commanding the German Far-Eastern Squadron, were
close and intimate friends.
The intimacy of the chiefs extended to the officers and men of the two
squadrons. The English and Germans discussed with one another the
chances of war between their nations, and wished one another the best of
luck when the scrap came. The German Squadron, which has since been
destroyed, was like no other in the Kaiser’s Navy. It was commanded by
professional officers and manned by long-service ratings. It had taken
for its model the English Navy, and it had absorbed much of the English
naval spirit. Count von Spee, though a Prussian Junker, was a gentleman,
and with Captain von Müller, who afterwards made the name of the _Emden_
immortal, was worthy to serve under the White Ensign. Let us always be
just to those of our foes who, though they fight with us terribly, yet
remain our chivalrous friends. I will tell a pretty story which will
illustrate the spirit of comradeship which existed between the English
and German squadrons during those two years before the war.
In December 1912 the _Monmouth_ was cruising in the Gulf of Pechili,
which resembles a long flask with a narrow bottle neck. Admiral von
Spee, who was lying with his powerful squadron off Chifu, in the neck of
the bottle, received word from a correspondent that the second Balkan
War had brought England and Germany within a short distance of “Der
Tag.” Von Spee and his officers did not clink glasses to “The Day”; they
were professionals who knew the English Navy and its incomparable power;
they left silly boastings to civilians and to their colleagues of Kiel
who had not eaten of English salt. Count von Spee thought first of his
English friend who, in his elderly cruiser, was away up in the Gulf at
the mercy of the German Squadron, which was as a cork in its neck. He at
once dispatched a destroyer to find the _Monmouth’s_ captain and to warn
him that though there might be nothing in the news it were better for
him to get clear of the Gulf. “There may be nothing in the yarn,” he
wrote, “I have had many scares before. But it would be well if you got
out of the Gulf. I should be most sorry to have to sink you.” When the
destroyer came up with the _Monmouth_ she had returned to Wei-hai-wei,
and the message was delivered. Her skipper laughed, and sent an answer
somewhat as follows: “My dear von Spee, thank you very much. I am here.
_J’y suis, J’y reste._ I shall expect you and your guns at breakfast
to-morrow morning.” War did not come then; when von Spee did meet and
sink the _Monmouth_ she had another captain in command, but the story
remains as evidence of the chivalrous naval spirit of the gallant and
skilful von Spee.
In November 1913 the _Monmouth_ left the China Station, and before she
went, upon November 6th, her crew were entertained sumptuously by von
Spee and von Müller. She was paid off in January 1914, after reaching
home, but was recommissioned in the following July for the test
mobilisation, which at the moment meant so much, and which a few weeks
later was to mean so much more. When the war broke out, the _Monmouth_,
with her new officers and men, half of whom were naval reservists, was
sent back to the Pacific. The armoured cruiser _Good Hope_, also
commissioned in July, was sent with her, and the old battleship
_Canopus_ was despatched a little later. Details of the movements of
these and of other of our warships in the South Atlantic and Pacific are
given in the chapters entitled “The Cruise of the _Glasgow_.” The
_Glasgow_ had been in the South Atlantic at the outbreak of war, and was
joined there by the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_.
Meanwhile war had broken out, and we will for a few moments consider
what resulted. The _Emden_, Captain von Müller, was at the German base
of Tsing-tau, but Admiral von Spee, with the armoured cruisers
_Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_, was among the German Caroline Islands far
to the south of the China Sea. The _Dresden_ was in the West Indies and
the _Leipzig_ and _Nürnberg_ on the West Coast of Mexico (the Pacific
side). The Japanese Fleet undertook to keep von Spee out of China waters
to the north, and the Australian Unit—which then was at full strength
and included the battle cruiser _Australia_ with her eight 12-inch guns
and the light cruisers _Melbourne_ and _Sydney_, each armed with eight
sixes—made themselves responsible for the Australian end of the big sea
area. The _Emden_, disguised as an English cruiser, with four
funnels—the dummy one made of canvas—got out of Tsing-tau under the
noses of the Japanese watchers, made off towards the Indian Ocean, and
pursued that lively and solitary career which came to its appointed end
at the Cocos-Keeling Islands, as will be described fully later on in
this book. The Australian Unit, burning with zeal to fire its maiden
guns at a substantial enemy, sought diligently for von Spee and
requisitioned the assistance of the French armoured cruiser _Montcalm_,
an old slow and not very useful vessel which happened to be available
for the hunt. Von Spee was discovered in his island retreat and pursued
as far as Fiji, but the long arm of the English Admiralty then
interposed and upset the merry game. We were short of battle cruisers
where we wanted them most—in the North Sea—so the _Australia_ was
summoned home and the remaining ships of the Unit, no longer by
themselves a match for von Spee, were ordered back to Sydney in deep
disgust. “A little more,” declared the bold Australians, who under their
English professional officers had been hammered into a real Naval Unit,
“and we would have done the work which the _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_
had to do later. If we had been left alone there would not have been any
disaster off Coronel.” While one can sympathise with complaints such as
this from eager fire-eaters, one has to accept their assertions with due
caution. The German High Seas Fleet was at that time a more important
objective than even von Spee. So the _Australia_ sailed for England to
join up with the Grand Fleet, and von Spee had rest for several weeks.
He was not very enterprising. Commerce hunting did not much appeal to
him, though his light cruisers, the _Dresden_ and _Leipzig_, did some
little work in that line when on their way to join their Chief at Easter
Island where the squadron ultimately concentrated. On the way across,
von Spee visited Samoa, from which we had torn down the German flag, but
did no damage there. On September 22nd, he bombarded Tahiti, in the
Society Islands, a foolish proceeding of which he repented later on when
the Coronel action left him short of shell with no means of
replenishment. For eight days he stayed in the Marquesas Islands taking
in provisions, thence he went to Easter Island and Masafuera, and so to
Valparaiso, where the Chilean Government, though neutral, was not
unbenevolent. He was for three weeks at Easter Island (Chilean
territory), coaling from German ships there, and in this remote spot—a
sort of Chilean St. Kilda—remained hidden both from the Chilean
authorities and from our South Atlantic Squadron.
We must now return to the British Squadron which had been sent out to
deal with von Spee as best it might. Cradock with such a squadron, all,
except the light cruiser _Glasgow_, old and slow, had no means of
bringing von Spee to action under conditions favourable to himself, or
of refusing action when conditions were adverse. Von Spee, with his
concentrated homogeneous squadron, all comparatively new and well-armed
cruisers, all of about the same speed of twenty-one or twenty-two knots,
all trained to a hair by constant work during a three years’ commission,
had under his hand an engine of war perfect of its kind. He could be
sure of getting the utmost out of co-operative efforts. The most
powerful in guns of the English vessels was the battleship _Canopus_,
which, when the action off Coronel was fought, was 200 miles away to the
south. She bore four 12-inch guns in barbettes—in addition to twelve
sixes—but she was fourteen years old and could not raise more than
about thirteen to fourteen knots except for an occasional burst. Any one
of von Spee’s ships, with 50 per cent. more speed, could have made rings
round her. Had Cradock waited for the _Canopus_,—as he was implored to
do by her captain, Grant,—and set the speed of his squadron by hers,
von Spee could have fought him or evaded him exactly as he pleased. “If
the English had kept their forces together,” wrote von Spee after
Coronel, “then we should certainly have got the worst of it.” This was
the modest judgment of a brave man, but it is scarcely true. If the
English had kept their forces together von Spee need never have fought;
they would have had not the smallest chance of getting near him except
by his own wish. Admiral Cradock flew his flag in the armoured cruiser
_Good Hope_, which, though of 14,000 tons and 520 feet long, had only
two guns of bigger calibre than 6-inch. These were of 9.2 inches,
throwing a shell of 380 lb., but the guns, like the ship, were twelve
years old. Her speed was about seventeen knots, four or five knots less
than that of the German cruisers she had come to chase! The _Monmouth_,
of the “County Class,” was as obsolete as the _Good Hope_. Eleven years
old, of nearly 10,000 tons, she carried nothing better than fourteen
6-inch guns of bygone pattern. She may have been good for a knot or two
more than the _Good Hope_, but her cruising and fighting speed was, of
course, that of the flagship.
The one effective ship of the whole squadron was the _Glasgow_, which
curiously enough is the sole survivor now of the Coronel action, either
German or English. Out of the eight warships which fought there off the
Chilean coast on November 1st, 1914, five German and three English, the
_Glasgow_ alone remains afloat. She is a modern light cruiser, first
commissioned in 1911. The _Glasgow_ is light, long and lean. She showed
that she could steam fully twenty-five knots and could fight her two
6-inch and ten 4-inch guns most effectively. She was a match for any one
of von Spee’s light cruisers, though unable to stand up to the
_Scharnhorst_ or _Gneisenau_. The modern English navy has been built
under the modern doctrine of speed and gun-power—the _Good Hope_,
_Monmouth_, and _Canopus_, the products of a bad, stupid era in naval
shipbuilding, had neither speed nor gun-power. The result, the
inevitable result, was the disaster of Coronel in which the English
ships were completely defeated and the Germans barely scratched. The
Germans had learned the lesson which we ourselves had taught them.
When one considers the two squadrons which met and fought off Coronel,
in the light of experience cast by war, one feels no surprise that the
action was over in fifty-two minutes. Cradock and his men, 1,600 of
them, fought and died.
Sunset and evening star
* * * * *
And after that the dark.
The _Glasgow_ would also have been lost had she not been a new ship with
speed and commanded by a man with the moral courage to use it in order
to preserve his vessel and her crew for the further service of their
country. Von Spee, who had the mastery of manœuvre, brought Cradock to
action when and how he pleased, and emphasised for the hundredth time in
naval warfare that speed and striking power and squadron training will
win victory certainly, inevitably, and almost without hurt to the
victors. Like the Falkland Islands action of five weeks afterwards, that
off Coronel was a gun action. No torpedoes were used on either side.
Probably it was one of the last purely gun actions which will be fought
in our time.
* * * * *
At the end of October the British and German squadrons were near to one
another, though until they actually met off Coronel the British
commanders did not know that the concentrated German Squadron was off
the Chilean coast. Von Spee knew that an old pre-Dreadnought battleship
had come out from England, though he was not sure of her class. He
judged her speed to be higher than that of the _Canopus_, which, though
powerfully armed, was so lame a duck that she would have been more of a
hindrance than a help had Cradock joined up with her. Von Spee had an
immense advantage in the greater handiness and cohesiveness of his
ships. The _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ were sisters, completed in
1907, and alike in all respects. Their shooting records were
first-class; they were indeed the crack gunnery ships under the German
ensign. Their sixteen 8.2-inch guns—eight each—fired shells of 275 lb.
weight, nearly three times the weight of the 100-lb. shells fired from
the 6-inch guns which formed the chief batteries of their opponents the
_Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_. They were three months out of dock but they
could still steam, as they showed at Coronel, at over twenty knots in a
heavy sea. The light cruisers _Dresden_, _Leipzig_ and _Nürnberg_ were
not identical though very nearly alike. Their armament was the same—ten
4.1-inch guns apiece—and their speed nearly the same. The _Dresden_ was
the fastest as she was the newest, a sister of the famous _Emden_. None
of the German light cruisers was so fast or so powerful as the
_Glasgow_, but together they were much more than a match for her, just
as the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ together were more than a match for
the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_. When, therefore, von Spee found himself
opposed to the British armoured cruisers he was under no anxiety; he had
the heels of them and the guns of them; they could neither fight
successfully with him nor escape from him. The speedy _Glasgow_ might
escape—as in fact she did—but the _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_ were
doomed from the moment when the action was joined.
I have dwelt upon the characteristics of the rival squadrons at the risk
of being wearisome since an understanding of their qualities is
essential to an understanding of the action.
On October 31st, the _Glasgow_ put into Coronel, a small coaling port
near Concepcion and to the south of Valparaiso, which had become von
Spee’s unofficial base. He did not remain in territorial waters for more
than twenty-four hours at a time, but he got what he liked from German
ships in the harbour. The _Glasgow_ kept in wireless touch with the
_Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_, which were some fifty miles out at sea to
the west, and von Spee picked up enough from the English wireless to
know that one of our cruisers was at Coronel. At once he despatched the
_Nürnberg_ to shadow the _Glasgow_, to stroll as it were
unostentatiously past the little harbour, while he with the rest of the
squadron stayed out of sight to the north. In the morning of November
1st out came the _Glasgow_ and made for the rendezvous where she was to
join the other cruisers and the _Otranto_, an armed liner by which they
were accompanied. The wireless signals passing between the watching
_Nürnberg_ and von Spee were in their turn picked up by the _Good Hope_,
so that each squadron then knew that an enemy was not far off. Cradock,
an English seaman of the fighting type, determined to seek out the
Germans, though he must have suspected their superiority of force.
Neither side actually knew the strength of the other. Cradock spread out
his vessels fan-wise in the early afternoon and ordered them to steam in
this fashion at fifteen knots to the north-east.
[Illustration: THE SOUTH SEAS.]
At twenty minutes past four the nearest ships on either side began to
sight one another, and until they did so Cradock had no knowledge that
he had knocked up against the whole of the German Pacific Squadron. The
German concentration had been effected secretly and most successfully.
When the _Scharnhorst_, von Spee’s flagship, first saw the _Glasgow_ and
_Monmouth_ they were far off to the west-south-west and had to wait for
more than half an hour until the _Good Hope_, which was still farther
out to the west, could join hands with them. Meanwhile the German ships,
which were also spread out, had concentrated on the _Scharnhorst_. They
were the _Gneisenau_, _Dresden_, and _Leipzig_, for the _Nürnberg_ had
not returned from her watching duties. Cradock, who saw at once that the
Germans were getting between his ships and the Chilean coast, and that
he would be at a grave disadvantage by being silhouetted against the
western sky, tried to work in towards the land. But von Spee, grasping
his enemy’s purpose, set the _Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ going at
twenty knots due south against a heavy sea and forced himself between
Cradock and the coast. When the two light cruisers drew up, the four
German ships fell into line parallel with the English cruisers and
between them and the land. All these preliminary manœuvres were put
through while the two squadrons were still twelve miles apart, and they
determined the issue of the subsequent action. For von Spee, having
thrust the English against the background of the declining sun and being
able, with his greater speed, to hold them in this position and to
decide absolutely the moment when the firing should begin, had
effectively won the action before a shot had been fired. So long as the
sun was above the horizon the German ships were lighted up and would
have made admirable marks could Cradock have got within range. But von
Spee had no intention of letting him get within range until the sun had
actually set and had ceased to give light to Cradock’s gunners. His own
men for an hour afterwards could see the English ships standing out as
clearly as black paper outlines stuck upon a yellow canvas screen. “I
had manœuvred,” wrote von Spee to a friend, on the day following the
action, “so that the sun in the west could not disturb me. . . . When we
were about five miles off I ordered the firing to commence. The battle
had begun, and with a few changes, of course, I led the line quite
calmly.” He might well be calm. The greater speed of his squadron had
enabled him to outmanœuvre the English ships, and to wait until the
sunset gave him a perfect mark and the English no mark at all. He might
well be calm. Darkness everywhere, except in the western sky behind
Cradock’s ships, came down very quickly, the nearly full moon was not
yet up, the night was fine except for scuds of rain at intervals.
Between seven and eight o’clock—between sunset and moonrise—von Spee
had a full hour in which to do his work, and he made the fullest use of
the time. At three minutes past seven he began to fire, when the range
was between five and six miles, and he hit the _Good Hope_ at the second
salvo. His consort the _Gneisenau_ did the same with the _Monmouth_. It
was fine shooting, but not extraordinary, for the German cruisers were
crack ships and the marks were perfect. At the third salvo both the
_Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ burst into flames forrard, and remained on
fire, for German shell rained on them continually. They could rarely see
to reply and never replied effectively. The _Good Hope’s_ lower deck
guns were smothered by the sea and were, for all practical purposes, out
of action. Yet they fought as best they could. Von Spee slowly closed in
and the torrent of heavy shell became more and more bitter. We have no
record of the action from the _Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_, for not a man
was saved from either ship. The _Glasgow_, which, after the _Otranto_
had properly made off early in the action—she was not built for hot
naval work—had both the _Dresden_ and the _Leipzig_ to look after,
could tell only of her own experiences. Captain Luce in quiet sea
service fashion has brought home to us what they were. “Though it was
most trying to receive a great volume of fire without a chance of
returning it adequately, all kept perfectly cool, there was no wild
firing, and discipline was the same as at battle practice. When a target
ceased to be visible gun-layers simultaneously ceased fire.” Yet the
crews of active ratings and reservists struggled gamely to the end. It
came swiftly and mercifully.
We have detailed accounts of the action from the German side, of which
the best was written by von Spee himself on the following day. There is
nothing of boasting or vainglory about his simple story: though the man
was German he seems to have been white all through. I have heard much of
him from those who knew him intimately, and willingly accept his
narrative as a plain statement of fact. Given the conditions, the speed
and powers of the opposing squadrons, the skilful preliminary manœuvres
of von Spee before a shot was fired, and the veil of darkness which hid
the German ships from the luckless English gunners, the result, as von
Spee reveals it, was inevitable. He held his fire until after sunset,
and then closing in to about 10,000 yards—a little over five
miles—gave the order to begin. He himself led the line in the
_Scharnhorst_ and engaged the _Good Hope_, the _Gneisenau_ following him
took the _Monmouth_ as her opposite number. The _Leipzig_ engaged the
_Glasgow_, and the _Dresden_ the _Otranto_. The shell from the 8.2-inch
batteries of the German armoured cruisers—each could use six guns on a
broadside—got home at the second salvo and the range was kept without
apparent difficulty. The fires which almost immediately broke out in the
_Good Hope_ and _Monmouth_ gave much aid to the German gunners, who,
when the quick darkness of the southern night came down, were spared the
use of their searchlights. “As the two big enemy ships were in flames,”
writes one careful German observer, “we were able to economise our
searchlights.” Then, closing in to about 5,000 yards, von Spee poured in
a terrific fire so rapid and sustained that he shot away nearly half his
ammunition. After fifty-two minutes from the firing of the first shell
the _Good Hope_ blew up. “She looked,” wrote von Spee, “like a splendid
firework display against a dark sky. The glowing white flames, mingled
with bright green stars, shot up to a great height.” Cradock’s flagship
then sank, though von Spee thought for long afterwards that she was
still afloat. The _Otranto_ had made her escape, but the _Monmouth_,
which could not get away, and the _Glasgow_—which at any moment could
have shown the enemy her heels—still continued the unequal fight. The
night had become quite dark, the flames in the _Monmouth_ had burned out
or been extinguished, and the Germans had lost sight of their prey. The
_Scharnhorst_ and _Gneisenau_ worked round to the south, and the
_Leipzig_ and _Dresden_ were sent curving to the north and west, in
order to keep the English ships away from the shelter of the land. Just
then the light cruiser _Nürnberg_, which had been sent upon the scouting
expedition of which I have told, arrived upon the scene of action and
encountered the crippled _Monmouth_. Had the English cruiser been
undamaged, she could soon have disposed of this new combatant, but she
was listing heavily and unable to use her guns. Running up close the
_Nürnberg_ poured in a broadside which sent the _Monmouth_ to the
bottom. The _Glasgow_, badly damaged above water, but still full of
speed and mettle, could do no more. The big German cruisers were coming
up. Her captain took the only possible course. Shortly before the
stricken _Monmouth_ disappeared under the waves he made off at full
speed.
No one was picked up, either from the _Good Hope_ or the _Monmouth_. Von
Spee, who was not the man to neglect the rescue of his drowning enemies,
gives an explanation. He was far from the _Good Hope_ when she blew up,
but the _Nürnberg_ was quite close to the foundering _Monmouth_; why was
no attempt made at rescue in her case at least? It was dark and there
was a heavy sea running, but the risks of a rescue are not sufficient to
excuse the absence of any attempt. The _Nürnberg_ had not been in the
main action, she was flying up, knowing nothing of what had occurred,
when she met and sank the _Monmouth_. Her captain saw other big ships
approaching and thought that one of them was the _Good Hope_. This is
von Spee’s excuse for the omission of his subordinate to put out
boats—or even life lines—but one suspects that the captain of the
_Nürnberg_ had a bad quarter of an hour when next he met his chief.
The German squadron was undamaged, scarcely touched. Three men were
wounded by splinters in the _Gneisenau_. That is the whole casualty
list. One 6-inch shell went through the deck of the _Scharnhorst_ but
did not explode—the “creature just lay down” and went to sleep. “It lay
there,” writes von Spee, “as a kind of greeting.” The light German
cruisers were not touched at all. But though the German squadron had
come through the fight unharmed, it had ceased to be of much account in
a future battle. The silly bombardment of Tahiti, and the action off
Coronel, had so depleted the once overflowing magazines that not half
the proper number of rounds were left for the heavy guns. No fresh
supplies could be obtained. Von Spee could fight again, but he could not
have won again had he been opposed to much lighter metal than that which
overwhelmed him a few weeks later off the Falkland Islands.
On the second day after the action von Spee returned to Valparaiso.
Though his own ship had fought with the _Good Hope_ and he had seen her
blow up he did not know for certain what had become of her. This well
illustrates the small value of observers’ estimates of damage done to
opponents during the confusion of even the simplest of naval fights.
Distances are so great and light is so variable. The destruction of the
_Monmouth_ was known, but not that of the _Good Hope_. So von Spee made
for Valparaiso to find out if the English flagship had sought shelter
there. Incidentally he took with him the first news of his victory, and
the large German colony in the Chilean city burned to celebrate the
occasion in characteristic fashion. But von Spee gave little
encouragement. He was under no illusions. He fully realized the power of
the English Navy and that his own existence and that of his squadron
would speedily be determined. He “absolutely refused” to be celebrated
as national hero, and at the German club, where he spent an hour and a
half, declined to drink a toast directed in offensive terms against his
English enemies. In his conduct of the fights with our ships, in his
orders, in his private letters, Admiral von Spee stands out as a simple
honest gentleman.
He was a man not very energetic. Though forcible in action and a most
skilful naval tactician, he does not seem to have had any plans for the
general handling of his squadron. If an enemy turned up he fought him,
but he did not go out of his way to seek after him. He dawdled about
among the Pacific Islands during September and at Easter Island during
most of October; after Coronel he lingered in and out of Valparaiso
doing nothing. He must have known that England would not sit down in
idle lamentation, but he did nothing to anticipate and defeat her plans
for his destruction. His shortage of coal and ammunition caused him to
forbid the commerce raiding which appealed to the officers of his light
cruisers, and probably the same weakness made him reluctant to seek any
other adventures. For five weeks he made no attempt even to raid the
Falkland Islands, which lay helplessly expecting his stroke, and when at
last he started out by the long safe southern route round the Horn, it
was to walk into the mouth of the avenging English squadron which had
been gathered there to receive him. One thing is quite certain: he heard
no whisper of the English plans and expected to meet nothing at the
Falkland Islands more formidable than the _Canopus_, the _Glasgow_, and
perhaps one or two “County Class” cruisers, such as the _Cornwall_ or
_Kent_. He never expected to be crunched in the savage jaws of two
battle cruisers!
While this kindly, rather indolent German Admiral was marking time off
the Chilean coast, the squadron which was to avenge the blunder of
Coronel was assembling from the ends of the earth towards the appointed
rendezvous off the Brazilian coast. The _Bristol_, a sister of the
_Glasgow_, had come in from a long cruise in the West Indies, during
which she had met and exchanged harmless shots with another German
wanderer, the _Karlsruhe_. The _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_ were racing
down from the north. The _Cornwall_ and _Kent_, burning to show that
even “County” cruisers were not wholly useless in battle, and the
armoured cruiser _Carnarvon_ were already in the South Atlantic. The
poor old _Canopus_ and the _Glasgow_ had foregathered at Port Stanley in
the Falkland Islands on November 8th, but were immediately ordered north
to Montevideo to meet the other cruisers on the passage south. They left
in accordance with these orders, but the _Canopus_ was turned back by
wireless, so that Port Stanley might have some naval protection against
the expected von Spee raid. Here the _Canopus_ was put aground in the
mud, painted in futurist colours, and converted into a land fort. With
her four 12-inch guns she could at least have made the inner harbour
impassable to the Germans. The _Glasgow_ docked for repairs at Rio, and
then joined the avenging squadron which had concentrated off Brazil, and
with them swept down to the Falkland Islands which were reached upon the
evening of December 7th. All the English ships, to which had been
committed the destruction of von Spee, had then arrived. The stage was
set and the curtain about to go up upon the second and final act of the
Pacific drama. Upon the early morning of the following day, as if in
response to a call by Fate, von Spee and his squadron arrived. After
five weeks of delay he had at last made up his mind to strike.