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.