This was at about half-past five, both sides being fully aware now of the strength and disposition of the other; both suffering severely from the strong head wind and high seas that were continually burying them, and both with their eyes upon the setting sun now dropping rapidly toward the horizon. How vital that sun was each had instantly perceived. For the moment, protected by the glare of it, it advantaged Sir Christopher Cradock, von Spee's squadron being brightly illuminated. But the distance was far too great for the British guns, and, in less than an hour, the conditions would be reversed. In less than an hour, himself in half darkness, von Spee would have the British silhouetted against the after-glow; and, in consequence, there had begun a race, which could have but one ending, for the inside or landward position.
Already nearer to the land than Admiral Cradock, and perceiving Cradock's manoeuvre to try and reverse this, von Spee had crammed full speed on, and was racing to forestall him, in the teeth of the wind, at 20 knots an hour. To do so was essential, and to secure this position he outraced the Leipzig and Dresden, his superior speed enabling him to draw parallel with Cradock, while ten miles of sea still parted the squadrons. Here, while keeping pace with the slower British vessels, he was able to slacken down and await the Leipzig and Dresden; and when, at ten minutes past six, these had joined him, he began to draw nearer to the doomed British squadron. This, as all had foreseen, was now a series of dark targets, tossing clearly outlined against the sunset, with the rising moon in the east to render a chance of escape even less possible; and, at a distance of a little over five miles, von Spee ordered the first shot.
The battle was now joined, and with every circumstance conspiring against the indomitable Cradock and his men. Handicapped by the seas as both sides were, the British, farther out, suffered more severely; while, to the expert gunners of the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, discounting this one factor, they formed an ideal objective. Within five minutes the Good Hope was hit, and, though she replied at once, her fire was ineffective; while, during the next quarter of an hour, the Scharnhorst's gunners were finding her time after time. Meanwhile the Otranto had been ordered out of action; the Gneisenau. was pouring shell into the Monmouth; and the Leipzig and Dresden were engaging the Glasgow, who was gallantly spending to the best of her ability.
So the fight went on through the brief twilight and into the early moonlit darkness. Thirty-five hits upon the ill-fated Good Hope were counted by the Scharnhorst's gunners. One of her turrets was destroyed and a fire started, followed presently by an explosion that shook the whole air—the white flames mingling, in von Spee's own words, "with the bright green stars," like some dreadful firework. That as von Spee believed, was the end of her. But Cradock was not yet finished, though his guns were out of action. The opposing vessels were now only two miles apart and the Good Hope was trying to manoeuvre to let off her torpedoes. It was but an expiring effort, however; von Spee stood away a little; the Monmouth, totally outgunned, had already been silenced; a hurrying rain-cloud had added to the darkness; and, though the German gunners, sighting by the red reflection of the fires that they had kindled on the two British vessels, still continued to fire a round or two, their adversaries were powerless to respond.
It was now nearly eight o'clock. To the watching von Spee, the fires on the horizon had died down, the Good Hope's quenched by the seas that covered her, and the Monmouth's put out by the efforts of her crew. Though both vessels must, he knew, have been badly crippled, von Spee was unaware, of course, of their real condition, and had ordered his light cruisers to chase and attack them, himself crossing the British line, and turning his course northward.
Meanwhile the Monmouth, staggering along in the darkness, and slowly sinking by the head, was in touch with the Glasgow—the neighbourhood of the enemy and the state of the sea rendering any assistance from the latter impossible. The Glasgow herself had had an almost miraculous escape, not only from destruction, but even from serious damage. "I cannot understand," wrote one of her officers, "the miracle of our deliverance; none will ever. We were struck at the water-line by, in all, five shells out of about 600 directed at us, but strangely not in vulnerable places, our coal saving us on three occasions—as we are not armoured and should not be in battle line against armoured vessels. We had only two guns that would pierce their armour—the Good Hope's old two 9.2's, one of which was out of action ten minutes after the start. A shell entered the captain's pantry and continued on, bursting in a passage, the fragments going through the steel wall of the captain's cabin, wrecking it completely. Again no fire resulted."
Such was the position, with the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau hunting them through the darkness up from the south, the Dresden and Leipzig between them and the land, and the Nürnberg steaming down from the north. To remain together would be to sacrifice both; the Canopus, still in ignorance, had to be warned; and the Monmouth seems to have signalled to the Glasgow, advising her to part company and make her escape as best she could. As senior officer, however, the decision rested with the Glasgow's captain; and it would be difficult to conceive a more poignant situation. Every instinct not only of himself but of all on board bade him stay with the Monmouth. But the reasons for not doing so were remorseless, and had, in the event, to be obeyed. Moreover, the enemy had already been sighted steaming abreast, about four miles away, morsing with an oil lamp; and the reluctant order to depart at full speed could no longer be delayed. Half an hour later, far behind them, the watchers on the Glasgow counted seventy-five flashes. On her way to rejoin von Spee, and almost by accident, the Nürnberg had run across the Monmouth and sunk her with point-blank fire.
Sir Christopher Cradock was a Yorkshireman, and, upon the monument to his honour, unveiled two years later in York Minster, were inscribed these words from the Book of Maccabees, than which none could have more fully expressed him—
God forbid that I should do this thing,
To flee away from them;
If our time be come, let us die manfully for our brethren,
And let us not stain our honour.