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.