of short duration. The sky became overcast. Soon after four o'clock the
air was thick with rain-mist. From 1.15 onwards for three hours a fierce
duel was maintained between the two British battle-cruisers and the two
German armoured cruisers. The enemy made every effort to get away. They
replied to the British fire for some time, having dropped back to within
13,500 yards. But shortly after two o'clock they changed their course,
and began to haul out to south-east. The _Invincible_ and the
_Inflexible_ had eased their speed, and the range now widened by about
3,000 yards. A second chase ensued. A full-rigged sailing-ship appeared
in the distance at about a quarter to three. Her crew must have beheld
an awe-inspiring scene. Shortly before the hour firing recommenced. The
action began to develop. Great coolness and efficiency were shown on
board the British vessels. Every man was at his battle-station, behind
armour. Fire-control parties were at their instruments. Water from
numerous hoses was flooding the decks as a precaution against fire. The
roaring of the discharges, the screaming of the shells, the clangour of
metal upon metal, the crashes of the explosions, made up a tumult that
was painful in its intensity. During intervals in the firing came the
rushing of the waves and of the breeze, and the grinding and grunting of
the hydraulic engines in the turrets, where swung, training constantly
upon the enemy, the greater guns. The Germans soon began to show signs
of distress. The _Scharnhorst_ particularly suffered. Dense clouds of
smoke, making it difficult for the British accurately to gauge the
damage, rose from her decks. Shells rending her side disclosed
momentarily the dull red glow of flame. She was burning fiercely. The
firing on both sides was deadly, though the German had slackened
considerably. But the British vessels, through their preponderance in
gunfire, suffered little damage. Their 12-inch guns hit their marks
constantly, while 8.2-inch guns of the _Scharnhorst_ were accurate, but
ineffective. She veered to starboard at about 3.30, to bring into play
her starboard batteries. Both her masts and three of her four funnels
were shot away. At length the German flagship began to settle down
rapidly in the waters. It was about a quarter past four. There was a
swirl of the seas and a rush of steam and smoke. The _Scharnhorst_
disappeared. She went down with her flag flying to an ocean grave,
bearing 760 brave men and a gallant admiral, whose name will deservedly
rank high in the annals of German naval history. The _Gneisenau_ passed
on the far side of her sunken flagship. With the guns of both
battle-cruisers now bearing upon her alone, the German was soon in sore
straits. But she fought on gallantly for a considerable time. At
half-past five she had ceased firing, and appeared to be sinking. She
had suffered severe damage. Smoke and steam were rising everywhere. Her
bridge had been shot away. Her foremost funnel was resting against the
second. Her upper deck was so shattered that it could not be crossed,
and every man upon it had been killed. An exploding shell had hurled one
of the gun-turrets bodily overboard. Fire was raging aft. Her colours
had been shot away several times, and hoisted as often. One of the flags
was hauled down at about twenty to six, though that at the peak was
still flying. She began to fire again with a single gun. The
_Invincible_, the _Inflexible_, and the _Carnarvon_, which had now come
up, closed in upon the doomed vessel. Firing was recommenced. The
_Gneisenau_ was not moving. Both her engines were smashed. Shells
striking the water near her sent up colossal columns of water, which,
falling upon the ship, put out some of the fires. She soon began to
settle down in the waves. All her guns were now out of action, and
Sturdee ordered the "Cease fire". There could be little doubt that her
stubborn resistance was nearing its end. The German commander lined up
his men on the decks. The ammunition was exhausted. The ship would soon
go down. Some six hundred men had already been killed. The survivors had
better provide themselves with articles for their support in the water.
At six o'clock the _Gneisenau_ heeled over suddenly. Clouds of steam
sprang forth. Her stem swung up into the air, and she sank. Large
numbers of her crew could be seen floating in the icy waves, hanging on
to pieces of wreckage, and uttering terribly uncanny cries. The sea was
choppy. Drizzling rain was falling. The British steamed up immediately.
All undamaged boats were got out. Ropes were lowered. Lifebuoys and
spars were thrown to the drowning men. But many of them, numbed by the
freezing water, let go their hold and sank. About 180, among them the
captain of the _Gneisenau_, were saved. It is said that much agreeable
surprise, upon the discovery that their anticipations of being shot
would not be realized, was manifested by the German sailors.
[Sidenote: The _Eitel Friedrich_ escapes.]
[Sidenote: The _Leipzig_ is sunk.]
Meanwhile, battle had been in progress elsewhere. The _Bristol_ and the
_Macedonia_ had overtaken the transports _Baden_ and _Santa Isabel_, had
captured their crews, and had sunk the ships. The armed liner
accompanying them, the _Eitel Friedrich_, had, however, made off and got
away by means of her superior speed. The _Kent_, _Glasgow_ and
_Cornwall_ had pursued the German light cruisers in a southerly
direction. The _Dresden_, the fastest, proved too speedy a vessel to
overtake. She was ahead of her consorts, upon either quarter, and made
her escape whilst they were being engaged. The _Kent_ gave chase to the
_Nuernberg_. The _Glasgow_, in pursuit of the _Leipzig_, raced ahead of
the _Cornwall_, and by about three o'clock in the afternoon had closed
sufficiently, within 12,000 yards, to open fire with her foremost guns.
The German ship turned every now and then to fire a salvo. Soon a
regular battle began which was maintained for some hours. Shells fell
all around the _Glasgow_. There were several narrow escapes, but the
casualties were few. Shortly after six a wireless message was received
from Admiral Sturdee, announcing that the _Scharnhorst_ and the
_Gneisenau_ had been sunk. A cheer surged up, and the men set to work
with renewed spirits and energy. The _Cornwall_ had come up some time
before, and the _Leipzig_ was now severely damaged. But she fought on
for three more hours. Darkness came on. The German cruiser began to burn
fore and aft. It was nine o'clock before she at last turned over and
sank.
[Sidenote: The _Kent_ returns.]
[Sidenote: Sinking of the _Nuernberg_.]
The British vessels had, during the course of the action, steamed miles
apart, and far out of sight of land. During the evening and night they
began to get into touch with one another and with Stanley by means of
their wireless. All the ships except the _Kent_ were accounted for, and
reported all well. But no reply was forthcoming to the numerous calls,
"Kent, Kent, Kent", that were sent out. She had, in chase of the
_Nuernberg_, lost all touch with the rest of the squadron. There was
great uneasiness. It was feared that she had been lost. The other ships
were directed to search for her, and for the _Nuernberg_ and the
_Dresden_. Late in the afternoon of the following day, however, she
entered Stanley harbour safely. Her wireless had been destroyed, but she
had sunk the _Nuernberg_, after a very stern struggle. The German
captain, Schoenberg, is reported, indeed, to have said at Honolulu, "The
_Nuernberg_ will very likely be our coffin. But we are ready to fight to
the last". He had fought and died true to his words. The German ship was
ordinarily more than a knot faster than the British. But the engineers
and stokers of the _Kent_ rose magnificently to the occasion. Fuel was
piled high. Her engines were strained to the utmost. Soon she was
speeding through the waves at twenty-five knots, a knot and a half more
than her registered speed. The _Nuernberg_ drew nearer. At five o'clock
she was within range, and firing was opened. A sharp action began which
lasted some two and a half hours. The _Kent_ was struck many times, and
lost several men. She had one narrow escape. A bursting shell ignited
some cordite charges, and a flash of flame went down the hoist into the
ammunition passage. Some empty shell bags began to burn. But a sergeant
picked up a cordite charge and hurled it out of danger. Seizing a fire
hose, he flooded the compartment and extinguished the fire. A disastrous
explosion, which might have proved fatal to the vessel, was thus
averted. Her silken ensign and jack, presented by the ladies of Kent,
were torn to ribbons. The gallant captain collected the pieces, some
being caught in the rigging, and carefully preserved them. The
_Nuernberg_, however, was soon in sore straits. Many shells struck her,
and she was set afire. Day drew into evening, and darkness deepened. The
Germans ceased firing, and the _Kent_, within about 3,000 yards,
followed suit upon the enemy's colours being hauled down. The _Nuernberg_
sank just before half-past seven. As she disappeared beneath the
surface, men upon her quarterdeck were waving the German ensign. The
_Kent_, after picking up some survivors, put about, and returned to
Stanley.
Here the rest of the squadron soon gathered. Congratulatory telegrams
began to pour in to Sir Doveton Sturdee. And the curtain closed, in the
flush of triumph, upon the most memorable and most dramatic episode in
the history of the Falklands.
[Sidenote: Exploits of the _Eitel Friedrich_.]
[Sidenote: The _Eitel Friedrich_ comes to Newport News.]
[Sidenote: The _Dresden_ sinks.]
One further episode remains to complete the story. The _Dresden_ and
the armed liner _Eitel Friedrich_, the sole survivors of the German
squadron, made once more for the Pacific. They were lost sight of for
many weeks. Suspicious movements and activities on the part of German
merchantmen were, however, again observed. The Government wireless
station at Valparaiso intercepted messages from the _Dresden_ summoning
friendly vessels to bring her supplies. Persistent rumours began to be
circulated that she was hiding in the inlets of southern Chili. During
January, 1915, the _Eitel Friedrich_ seized and destroyed six vessels,
chiefly sailing-ships, some in Pacific, most in Atlantic waters. In
February she accounted for four more. Towards the end of the month a
British barque was sunk by the _Dresden_. The position was again rapidly
becoming troublesome. The movement of British shipping, on the Chilian
coast had to be suspended. But the _Glasgow_ and the _Kent_ were on the
_Dresden's_ track. The _Kent_ entered Coronel on March 13, coaled, and
departed the same night. The _Eitel Friedrich_, meanwhile, had arrived
at Newport News, a United States port, with her engines badly in need of
repair. Much indignation was aroused among Americans by the announcement
that one of her victims had been an American vessel. The German liner
had many prisoners on board. Declarations of a resolve, if he had been
caught by the British, to have sunk fighting to the last, were
repeatedly and emphatically declaimed by the German captain. Five days
later he learned that the _Dresden_ had tamely surrendered off Juan
Fernandez after a five minutes' action. The _Kent_, at nine o'clock on
the morning after she had left Coronel, together with the _Glasgow_ and
the auxiliary cruiser _Orama_, came up with the _Dresden_ near the
island. A sharp encounter followed. The German cruiser was hit heavily.
Fire broke out. In five minutes' time she hauled down her colours and
hoisted a white flag. The crew were taken off. The _Dresden_ continued
to burn for some time, until finally her magazine exploded and she sank.
The German officers contended that their vessel was sunk within Chilian
territorial waters. It had not hitherto been noticeable that their
consciences were concerned to maintain Chilian neutrality inviolate.
[Sidenote: Results of the Falkland battle.]
The Battle of the Falkland Islands was the first decisive naval contest
of the war. It removed a formidable menace to the trade routes. It
relieved British convoys and transports from danger of interruption. It
freed many battleships and cruisers, engaged in sweeping the oceans, for
other usefulness. It gave Great Britain effective mastery of the outer
seas. Henceforth German naval ambition, frustrated in its endeavour to
disorganize the trade routes, was forced, within the limits of the North
Sea and of British waters, to seek less adventurous but more
disreputable ends. A series of bombardments of coast towns was planned.
A preliminary success was followed by a galling disaster.
* * * * *
With the exception of the naval engagements described above, the
operations of the Germans in the sea was limited chiefly to preying upon
enemy commerce by isolated vessels. Of these terrors of the sea the most
famous was the cruiser _Emden_, which began her career on October 29 by
sinking the Russian cruiser _Jemtchug_ in Penang Harbor. Her career
until her destruction and the adventures of those of her crew who
escaped are described in the following chapter.
CRUISE OF THE EMDEN
CAPTAIN MUeCKE
[Sidenote: The _Indus_ sunk.]
"We on the _Emden_ had no idea where we were going, as on August 11,
1914, we separated from the cruiser squadron, escorted only by the
coaler _Markomannia_. Under way, the _Emden_ picked up three officers
from German steamers. That was a piece of luck, for afterward we needed
many officers for the capturing and sinking of steamers, or manning them
when we took them with us. On September 10 the first boat came in sight.
We stop her. She proves to be a Greek tramp, chartered from England. On
the next day we met the _Indus_, bound for Bombay, all fitted up as a
troop transport, but still without troops. That was the first one we
sunk. The crew we took aboard the _Markomannia_. 'What's the name of
your ship?' the officers asked us. '_Emden!_ Impossible. Why, the
_Emden_ was sunk long ago in battle with the _Ascold_!'
[Sidenote: Capturing ships a habit.]
[Sidenote: Provisions secured.]
"Then we sank the _Lovat_ a troop transport ship, and took the _Kabinga_
along with us. One gets used quickly to new forms of activity. After a
few days capturing ships became a habit. Of the twenty-three which we
captured, most of them stopped after our first signal. When they didn't,
we fired a blank shot. Then they all stopped. Only one, the _Clan
Mattesen_, waited for a real shot across the bow before giving up its
many automobiles and locomotives to the seas. The officers were mostly
very polite and let down rope ladders for us. After a few hours they'd
be on board with us. We ourselves never set foot in their cabins, nor
took charge of them. The officers often acted on their own initiative
and signaled to us the nature of their cargo; then the Commandant
decided as to whether to sink the ship or take it with us. Of the cargo,
we always took everything we could use, particularly provisions. Many of
the English officers and sailors made good use of the hours of transfer
to drink up the supply of whisky instead of sacrificing it to the waves.
I heard that one Captain was lying in tears at the enforced separation
from his beloved ship, but on investigation found that he was merely
dead drunk. But much worse was the open betrayal which many practiced
toward their brother Captains, whom they probably regarded as rivals.
'Haven't you met the _Kilo_ yet? If you keep on your course two hours
longer, you must overhaul her,' one Captain said to me of his own
accord. To other tips from other Captains we owed many of our prizes. I
am prepared to give their names," Captain Muecke added.
"The Captain of one ship once called out cheerily: 'Thank God I've been
captured!' He had received expense money for the trip to Australia, and
was now saved half the journey!
[Sidenote: The process of sinking.]
"We had mostly quiet weather, so that communication with captured ships
was easy. They were mostly dynamited, or else shot close to the water
line. The sinking process took longer or shorter, according to where
they were struck and the nature of the cargo. Mostly the ships keeled
over on their sides till the water flowed down the smokestacks, a last
puff of smoke came out, and then they were gone. Many, however, went
down sharply bow first, the stern rising high in the air.
[Sidenote: The _Kabinga_.]
"On the _Kabinga_ the Captain had his wife and youngster with him. He
was inclined at first to be disagreeable. 'What are you going to do
with us? Shall we be set out in boats and left to our fate?' he asked.
Afterward he grew confidential, like all the Captains, called us 'Old
Chap,' gave the Lieutenant a nice new oilskin, and as we finally let the
_Kabinga_ go wrote us a letter of thanks, and his wife asked for an
Emden armband and a button. They all gave us three cheers as they
steamed away. 'Come to Calcutta some time!' was the last thing the
Captain said, 'and catch the pilots so that those [unprintable seaman's
epithet] fellows will feel something of the war, too.'
"A few days later, by Calcutta, we made one of our richest hauls, the
_Diplomat_, chock full of tea--we sunk $2,500,000 worth. On the same day
the _Trabbotch_, too, which steered right straight toward us, literally
into our arms.
[Sidenote: Madras oil tanks burned.]
"But now we wanted to beat it out of the Bay of Bengal, because we had
learned from the papers that the _Emden_ was being keenly searched for.
By Rangoon we encountered a Norwegian tramp, which, for a cash
consideration, took over all the rest of our prisoners of war. Later on
another neutral ship rejected a similar request and betrayed us to the
Japanese into the bargain. On September 23 we reached Madras and steered
straight for the harbor. We stopped still 3,000 yards before the city.
Then we shot up the oil tanks. Three or four burned up and illuminated
the city. They answered. Several of the papers asserted that we left
with lights out. On the contrary, we showed our lights so as to seem to
indicate that we were going northward; only later did we put them out,
turn around, and steer southward. As we left we could see the fire
burning brightly in the night, and even by daylight, ninety sea miles
away, we could still see the smoke from the burning oil tanks. Two days
later we navigated around Ceylon, and could see the lights of Colombo.
On the same evening we gathered in two more steamers, the _King Lund_
and _Tyweric_. The latter was particularly good to us, for it brought us
the very latest evening papers from Colombo, which it had only left two
hours before.
[Sidenote: Ships that the _Emden_ captured.]
"Everything went well, the only trouble was that our prize, the
_Markomannia_, didn't have much coal left. We said one evening in the
mess: 'The only thing lacking now is a nice steamer with 500 tons of
nice Cardiff coal.' The next evening we got her, the _Burresk_,
brand-new, from England on her maiden voyage, bound for Hongkong. Then
followed in order the _Riberia_, _Foyle_, _Grand Ponrabbel_, _Benmore_,
_Troiens_, _Exfort_, _Grycefale_, _Sankt Eckbert_, _Chilkana_. Most of
them were sunk; the coal ships were kept. The _Eckbert_ was let go with
a load of passengers and captured crews. We also sent the _Markomannia_
away because it hadn't any more coal. She was later captured by the
English together with all the prize papers about their own captured
ships. All this happened before October 20; then we sailed southward, to
Deogazia, southwest of Colombo. South of Lakadiven on Deogazia some
Englishmen came on board, solitary farmers who were in touch with the
world only every three months through schooners. They knew nothing about
the war, took us for an English man-of-war, and asked us to repair their
motor boat for them. We kept still and invited them to dinner in our
officers' mess. Presently they stood still in front of the portrait of
the Kaiser, quite astounded. 'This is a German ship!' We continued to
keep still. 'Why is your ship so dirty?' they asked. We shrugged our
shoulders. 'Will you take some letters for us?' they asked. 'Sorry,
impossible; we don't know what port we'll run into.' Then they left our
ship, but about the war we told them not a single word.
[Sidenote: Coal steamers captured.]
"Now we went toward Miniko, where we sank two ships more. The Captain of
one of them said to us: 'Why don't you try your luck around north of
Miniko? There's lots of ships there now?' On the next day we found three
steamers to the north, one of them with much desired Cardiff coal. From
English papers on captured ships we learned that we were being hotly
pursued. The stokers also told us a lot. Our pursuers evidently must
also have a convenient base. Penang was the tip given us. There we had
hopes of finding two French cruisers.
[Sidenote: The fourth smokestack.]
"One night we started for Penang. On October 28 we raised our very
practicable fourth smokestack--Muecke's own invention. As a result, we
were taken for English or French. The harbor of Penang lies in a channel
difficult of access. There was nothing doing by night; we had to do it
at daybreak. At high speed, without smoke, with lights out, we steered
into the mouth of the channel. A torpedo boat on guard slept well. We
steamed past its small light. Inside lay a dark silhouette; that must be
a warship! But it wasn't the French cruiser we were looking for. We
recognized the silhouette--dead sure; that was the Russian cruiser
_Jemtchug_. There it lay, there it slept like a rat. No watch to be
seen. They made it easy for us. Because of the narrowness of the harbor
we had to keep close; we fired the first torpedo at 400 yards. Then to
be sure things livened up a bit on the sleeping warship. At the same
time we took the crew quarters under fire, five shells at a time. There
was a flash of flame on board, then a kind of burning aureole. After the
fourth shell, the flame burned high. The first torpedo had struck the
ship too deep because we were too close to it, a second torpedo which we
fired off from the other side didn't make the same mistake. After
twenty seconds there was absolutely not a trace of the ship to be seen.
The enemy had fired off only about six shots.
[Sidenote: French ships fight the _Emden_.]
[Sidenote: A burial at sea.]
"But now another ship, which we couldn't see, was firing. That was the
French _D'Ibreville_, toward which we now turned at once. A few minutes
later an incoming torpedo destroyer was reported. He mustn't find us in
that narrow harbor, otherwise we were finished! But it proved to be a
false alarm; only a small merchant steamer that looked like a destroyer,
and which at once showed the merchant flag and steered for shore.
Shortly afterward a second one was reported. This time it proved to be
the French torpedo boat _Mousquet_. It comes straight toward us. That's
always remained a mystery to me, for it must have heard the shooting. An
officer whom we fished up afterward explained to me that they had only
recognized we were a German warship when they were quite close to us.
The Frenchman behaved well, accepted battle and fought on, but was
polished off by us with three broadsides. The whole fight with both
ships lasted half an hour. The commander of the torpedo boat lost both
legs by the first broadside. When he saw that part of his crew were
leaping overboard, he cried out: 'Tie me fast; I will not survive after
seeing Frenchmen desert their ship!' As a matter of fact, he went down
with his ship as a brave Captain, lashed fast to the mast. Then we
fished up thirty heavily wounded; three died at once. We sewed a
Tri-color (the French flag), wound them in it and buried them at sea,
with seamen's honors, three salvos. That was my only sea fight. The
second one I did not take part in."
Muecke, who had been recounting his lively narrative, partly like an
officer, partly like an artist, and not trying to eliminate the flavor
of adventure, now takes on quite another tone as he comes to tell of
the end of the _Emden_:
[Sidenote: Landing on Cocos Island.]
[Sidenote: Order to weigh anchor.]