Whether, in the long run, it would not have been to Germany's advantage for these cruisers to have played their lone hands on the commercial trade routes; to have followed the example of the Emden and Karlsrühe rather than to have formed a fighting squadron, is a matter for argument. Coronel was their justification. The Falkland Islands saw their end. It was finally in the neighbourhood of Easter Island that they united with von Spee, who had in his turn eluded both the China and Australian squadrons, sinking a small French gunboat off Papeete, and bombarding the town on September 22d.
By this time, the Glasgow had been reinforced in Brazilian waters by Sir Christopher Cradock in the Good Hope and Captain Brandt in the Monmouth, with the armed liner Otranto in attendance; and they, too, after similar secret coaling, were making their way round Cape Horn into the Pacific. Time after time they had heard, faint and far, the wireless calls of the Dresden and her colliers—they had even, on more than one occasion, quite unsuspectingly, been within a comparatively few miles of her—but they had never found her and were but slowly able to divine her intention of joining von Spee.
That this admiral, with the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau, was making his way eastward was now probable, and the old battleship Canopus was in consequence on her way to strengthen Cradock with her 12-inch guns. Up to the last, however, all were uncertain of the enemy's exact whereabouts and strength; and this was the position when, on the last day of October, 1914, the Glasgow was detached to run into Coronel—not unknown to von Spee, who had instantly ordered the Nürnberg to hover outside and watch her movements.
Such had been the steps whereby, across so many leagues of water, the opposing squadrons had been collected; had felt their way tentatively, and, as it were, half blindfold, into the neighbourhood of each other; and were now, off the coast of Chile, each so far from home, on the verge of their fatal collision. With the character and strength of von Spee and his forces we have already briefly dealt; and, in Admiral Cradock, he had an opponent of an essentially British and traditional type. A lover of sport, particular as to his wines, of medium stature, bearded and swarthy, Sir Christopher Cradock was less identified with the modern and scientific school of naval officer than with those light-hearted adventurers, of whom Sir Richard Grenville in his little Revenge stands as an historic example.
Entering the navy in 1875, he had been attached in 1891 to the East Soudan Field Force, had acted as A.D.C. to the Governor of the Red Sea, and been present at the Battle of Tokar. For his services in that campaign, he had received the Khedive's Bronze Star and the fourth class of the Medjidieh. Nine years later saw him with the British Naval Brigade in China at the capture of the Taku Forts and the relief of Tientsin, and for this he had received the China Medal with clasps, and, in 1902, the C.B. In 1904 he was given the testimonial of the Royal Humane Society for saving the life of a midshipman in Palmas Bay, Sardinia; in 1909 he was A.D.C. to the King, and received the K.C.V.O. in 1912. At the outbreak of the war, as we have seen, he was in charge of the West Atlantic Squadron.
Such was von Spee's opponent—a man perhaps, if anything, too ready to fight, whatever the odds though it must not be forgotten that, until retreat was impossible, he could hardly have been certain of the forces against him. Whether or not he should have deduced these—whether he had in fact done so—must remain a matter of opinion; the captain of the Canopus seems to have entreated him not to join issue without him; but it is equally clear that, if he had waited for the slow old battleship, von Spee, had he so desired, could have avoided action indefinitely.
Considered in the light of after events, indeed, no action of the war seems to have depended less on human prevision, or to have been so determined by natural forces and a leisurely and inscrutable destiny. From the beginning, the odds were against Cradock, just as, six weeks later, they were against von Spee; and when the Glasgow, the first to sight the enemy, saw the four funnels of the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau, there could have been little doubt, save for extraordinary good luck, of the final issue of the battle.
Opposed to these two cruisers, each faster than the Good Hope or the Monmouth, the Good Hope had an armament of two 9.2-inch guns as against the eight 8.2-inch guns of the Scharnhorst, while the Monmouth in reply to the Gneisenau, with an equal armament to the Scharnhorst, could oppose nothing more powerful than 6-inch guns which were therefore completely outranged. The Good Hope herself, indeed, owing to faulty construction and the heavy seas, was but little better off; the Otranto, an unarmoured liner, was wholly useless in such an emergency; the middle-aged Canopus, with her superior gun-power, was still plunging along 200 miles away; while the Glasgow, speedy and efficient as she was, was no match for the combined Dresden and Leipzig—to say nothing of the Nürnberg, who came up later to complete the destruction of the Monmouth.
It was about a quarter past four on the afternoon of November 1, 1914, Admiral von Spee being then some forty miles north of the Bay of Arauco on the Chilian coast, and the Nürnberg, which had returned after her vigil, having been once more detached on a scouting cruise, that the Glasgow and Monmouth, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau first sighted and identified each other. It had been a day of strong sunshine, sudden showers, high wind and a rough sea, and all the ships, especially the smaller cruisers, were rolling heavily and shipping a lot of water. When first sighted, the Glasgow and Monmouth, soon to be joined by the Otranto, were to the southwest of the German admiral, fifteen miles distant and pursuing a southerly course—obeying the order of Admiral Cradock to join up with the Good Hope. This was still invisible to the German squadron, but was sighted about forty minutes later, when Admiral Cradock took the head of the British line and both sides moved into battle formation.
The position at this moment—with the long prologue over and the curtain rising upon the first act was as follows: a little to the north and nearer to the land, that is to say somewhat east of the British line, the Germans were steaming south, the Scharnhorst leading, followed by the Gneisenau and the Leipzig. The Dresden was some miles astern, and the Nürnberg not yet in sight, though she had been recalled from her second patrol. On the British side, also steaming south, farther to sea, Admiral Cradock was leading, followed by the Monmouth and the Glasgow, the Otranto bringing up the rear, and with the Canopus far to the south, steaming north, but of course out of the picture.