Anyway, these ships were not in a position to carry out the programme laid down for war with England, and so scurried back to the security of their fortified bases. So, also, they were not quite ready for raiding our commerce. Still, they were able to put a good many cruisers, regular and auxiliary, on the ocean highways, and for a time gave us a good deal of trouble. In the Mediterranean they had the big battle-cruiser Goeben and the small cruiser Breslau, and on the morning of 4th August these two ships bombarded Bona and Philippeville on the Algerian coast. They did but little damage; in fact, it was merely a "runaway knock". The next morning they arrived at Messina, a neutral port, where they had either to remain indefinitely and be disarmed or leave within a prescribed period. The German officers decided to leave, and after a theatrical business of devoting themselves to death, and depositing their wills and private papers with the German Consul—taking good care to report this to the Berlin Press, which published glowing accounts of the "mad daring" of their devoted seamen—they got under way and steamed out, with colours flying and bands playing.
Soon after midnight—6th-7th August—the look-outs on board the Gloucester, a light cruiser carrying no heavier gun than a 6-inch, "spotted" them moving along under cover of the land. After steering a parallel course for some time she crossed their sterns to get between them and the land in order to see them better, and hung closely to them all night and morning. "We let the two ships go on under cover of the darkness," wrote one of the crew, "and they were moving without lights at about 23 knots, and then followed almost at full speed. The Goeben went on ahead, and the Breslau not far behind her. Just about two o'clock the Breslau slowed down. . . . As far as we could tell she fired two torpedoes . . . and then discharged several salvoes from her 4-inch guns. We at once replied with our fore 6-inch gun, and, although it was dark, we found that with the second shell we cleared her quarter-deck. . . . Neither the torpedoes nor shells from the Breslau hit their mark. . . . Although they were slightly faster vessels, we kept our distance from them without losing anything all day, and in the afternoon sighted the Greek coast after having made the fastest run across that open bit of water that ever was made. The weather was fine, and there was not a sight of another war-ship except the Germans. . . . When they were off Cape Matapan, the most southerly point of the Greek mainland, the Breslau stopped again, as she had done in the night, and waited for us to come on. This time we did not wait for her to open fire, but discharged our fore 6-inch gun directly we got within range."[89]
"After the first shot," wrote another Gloucester, "our lads were quite happy, and they kept firing as quickly as possible. One chap near swallowed his 'chew of 'baccy' when the first shot fell short. The next one he spat on for luck, and it took half the Breslau's funnel away. He repeated the operation on the next shot, which cleared her quarter-deck and put her after-gun out of action. Then he began to smile."[90]
This interchange of compliments lasted nearly five-and-twenty minutes. The Breslau fired heavily, but, though her gunnery was good, she had nothing bigger than a 4-inch gun, and the Gloucester was so well handled by her captain—W. A. H. Kelly, M.V.O.—that every salvo arrived just after she had left the spot where it arrived. At last the big Goeben turned slowly round and approached the plucky little British cruiser and opened fire, but without effect. As a single shot from her heavy guns would have put the Gloucester out of action, and probably sunk her, she withdrew in accordance with her instructions. The Goeben and Breslau eventually arrived at Constantinople, where the farce of a sale to Turkey was carried out; but they left behind a good deal of the prestige of the German Navy and a new phrase for our bluejackets' vocabulary—the "Goeben glide"—that is, to "skedaddle rather than fight".
About five German cruisers were known to be in the Atlantic, and a considerable force of both our own and the French cruisers set to work to "round them up". The König Wilhelm der Grosse, a big armed mercantile cruiser of 14,000 tons and ten 4-inch guns, was "bagged" by the Highflyer off the Oro River on the West African coast on 26th August. She had sunk three of our merchantmen, and was holding up a couple more when the Highflyer hove in sight. The German, a much faster vessel, was made fast to a captured collier, from which she was coaling, which enabled the Highflyer, which dated from 1900, to get within range with her heavier guns. "If all British ships shoot as straight as the Highflyer," said the captain of König Wilhelm der Grosse, "I shall be sorry for our poor fellows in the North Sea." Nearly a month later the Carmania, a big armed liner, sank the Cap Trafalgar, a similar vessel—which was disguised as a "Castle" liner with grey hull and red funnels—off the Island of Trinidad to the eastward of Rio de Janeiro.
"We sighted the German", wrote an officer on board the Carmania, "about 10 a.m. on 14th September, in the South Atlantic. She was coaling from a collier, and two others were standing off. On sighting us the Cap Trafalgar hurried off, smothering the colliers, and soon after the latter steered to the eastward and the Cap Trafalgar to the southwards. We steamed after her at top speed, and when about 4 miles off, she turned and steered towards us. We were cleared for action, and had been standing by our guns for some time, all strangely fascinated by the movements of our enemy. When about 3½ miles off we fired our challenge shot across her bows, and immediately after this she displayed her colours at the masthead, and fired her first shot from her starboard after-guns. This shot came right close over our heads, dropping in the water. Then the firing from both ships became fast and furious. Projectiles and splinters from bursting shells showered around us. The engagement began at 12.10 midday and lasted hot until about 1.10 p.m., when she showed signs of having been badly hit, and was taking a heavy list to starboard, and was on fire fore and aft. We were also on fire on our fore-bridge. Our bridge-telegraphs and steering-gear were completely wrecked, and the captain's cabin, the chart-house, and a number of officers' quarters were gutted. We were also badly holed by her fire. When we found we had crippled our enemy, and that she was sinking, we ceased firing, although her colours were still flying. She gradually listed over till her funnels nearly touched the water. Then she settled down forward till her second funnel almost disappeared. At last she rolled over, showing her keel and propellers, stood up on end, and gradually assumed a perpendicular position and dived out of sight.
"We could make out some boats with survivors, and one of the colliers rendered assistance. We had to clear away, because low down on the horizon the signalman saw smoke and what appeared to be the Dresden. We steered away south, and then doubled on our course. By that time darkness was setting in, and we thus escaped her clutches."
An auxiliary cruiser, of course, would not stand much chance in a duel with a man-of-war cruiser, as was shown by that between the Highflyer and the König Wilhelm der Grosse, a much newer, larger, and faster ship. Rather later in the year the Navarra, another German auxiliary cruiser of the Hamburg-Amerika line, was sunk also in South Atlantic waters by the British auxiliary cruiser Orama, an Orient liner. The Germans do not appear to have put up much of a fight, and the British gunnery proved much superior, but details are wanting.[91]
If space permitted, a good deal more might be written about the cruiser operations in the Atlantic, but we have now to turn our attention to the Indian Ocean. The first incident to be noticed is an adverse one to the British. The Pegasus, a small cruiser dating from 1899, after having in conjunction with the Astrea destroyed the German wireless station at Dar-es-Salem, and sunk the gunboat Möwe and a floating-dock, was caught while overhauling her machinery in the harbour of Zanzibar by the German light cruiser Königsberg, a much newer vessel.
The Königsberg approached at full speed at five o'clock on Sunday morning, 20th September, and, having sunk the British patrol boat by three shots, opened fire on the Pegasus from 5 miles distance, closing to 7000 yards. The Pegasus, being at anchor, presented an easy target, and the German fire was so well directed that in a quarter of an hour the only guns she could bring to bear were put out of action.