The sun sank into the sea, and eight minutes later, at a range of about 12,000 yards—roughly, seven miles—the leading German cruiser opened fire with her biggest guns. Shells shrieked over and short of the Good Hope within a hundred yards of her, and the Otranto began to edge away to the south-west. The Good Hope and the Monmouth replied as best they could to the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, but their fire was ineffective; the two 9.2-inch guns of the Good Hope could not be brought into action, because they were mounted so near to the water's edge that the waves washed over them. Meanwhile the Glasgow was exchanging shots with the light cruisers Leipzig and Dresden. The shooting of the enemy was deadly, and in a few minutes all was over—the British ships were pounded to pieces by guns which quite outranged those which they carried. "It was as though a man standing at Charing Cross were attacked with deadly accuracy by a foe on Ealing Common, without any possibility of replying." Think of the horror and hopelessness of it all!
Broadside after broadside of powerful guns crashed on the British cruisers. The third salvo set the Good Hope and the Monmouth on fire. The range had now narrowed down to 5,000 yards, and darkness was coming on apace. Many of the shells falling into the sea threw up huge geysers of white spray, which gleamed ghost-like in the twilight. The British could fire only at the flashes of the enemy's guns, and often even these slight indications were hidden from the gun-layers by the heavy head seas.
The Monmouth had been heavily hit, and was rapidly becoming unmanageable; the fore turret of the Good Hope was burning fiercely, and she began to fall away out of line towards the enemy. Suddenly, at about a quarter to eight, there was a roar louder than that of the booming guns; the flames had reached the magazine of the Good Hope, and a terrific explosion took place. A column of fire shot up 200 feet, and the sea was strewn with débris. The Good Hope never fired her guns again. Down she went headlong into the stormy deep, with gallant Sir Christopher Cradock and his crew of nearly 900 officers and men.
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.