“The hottest part of the action for us was the first half-hour. We opened fire from our port guns to begin with. I was standing just behind No. 1 port, and the gunlayer (Atkins, First-Class Petty Officer) said: ‘Shall I load, sir?’ I was surprised, but deadly keen there should be no ‘flap,’ so said: ‘No, don’t load till you get the order.’ Next he said: ‘Emden’s fired, sir.’ So I said: ‘All right, load, but don’t bring the gun to the ready.’ I found out afterwards that the order to load had been received by the other guns ten minutes before, and my anti-‘flap’ precautions, though they did not the slightest harm, were thrown away on Atkins, who was as cool as a cucumber throughout the action.
“All the time we were going 25 and sometimes as much as 26 knots. We had the speed on the Emden, and fought as suited ourselves. We next changed round to starboard guns, and I then found the gunlayer of No. 1 starboard had been knocked out close to the conning-tower, so I brought Atkins over to fire No. 1 starboard. I was quite deaf by now, as in the hurry there had been no thought of getting cotton-wool.
“This is a point I won’t overlook next time.
“Coming aft the port side from the forecastle gun I was met by a lot of men cheering and waving their caps. I said: ‘What’s happened?’ ‘She’s gone, sir, she’s gone.’ I ran to the ship’s side, and no sign of a ship could I see. If one could have seen a dark cloud of smoke, it would have been different. But I could see no sign of anything. So I called out: ‘All hands turn out the lifeboats, there will be men in the water.’ They were just starting to do this when someone called out:
“‘She’s still firing, sir,’ and everyone ran back to the guns. What had happened was a cloud of yellow or very light-coloured smoke had obscured her from view, so that looking in her direction one’s impression was that she had totally disappeared. Later we turned again and engaged her on the other broadside.”
But, although she was still fighting gamely, the Emden was in a poor way; her three funnels and her foremast were shot away, and she was on fire aft. To complete the work so well begun, the Sydney swung round again, and opened on her with the starboard guns, which sent her running ashore on North Keeling Island. Then, having fought for an hour and forty minutes, and realising that the Emden could not escape, the Sydney went in chase of the German’s collier. Coming up with her, they found that the crew had opened the seacocks and that she was sinking rapidly. The crew was taken off, and the Sydney steamed back to have a look at the Emden. It was four o’clock when she arrived, and almost immediately the Germans hauled down their colours and hoisted a white flag; they were surrendering. In the ordinary course the Sydney would now have sent boats out on rescue work, but it was too late in the evening to do that, especially in view of the fact that at any moment another German cruiser—the Königsberg—might come into sight, when the Sydney would need to be ready to tackle her. She therefore steamed away till morning, picking up a German sailor as she went, making the fourth they had managed to rescue during the day.
Early next morning the Sydney looked in at the cable station, to find that a landing party from the Emden had smashed the instruments, and then stolen a schooner and escaped.
A little after eleven o’clock the Sydney went back to where the Emden had run ashore, and an officer was sent over to her. He was helped aboard by the Germans, and found the vessel an absolute shambles. One hundred and eighty men were killed. Captain von Müller gave his parole, and the wounded were quickly got over to the Sydney, where they were attended to. The remainder of the crew were then transhipped, and the Sydney sped off for Colombo, where she received a mighty welcome, though she went in silent, for her captain had ordered that there should be no cheering over the defeat of gallant foes, who had always behaved like gentlemen to those whom they had captured.
When we recall that during the days of her marauding cruise the Emden had captured and sunk shipping to the value of little less than four and a half million pounds, it will be seen that the Sydney had done some very good work in bringing her career to an end.
The Königsberg, which the Sydney had half expected to turn up at the Cocos Islands, met her doom at the hands of the British light cruiser Chatham in the Rufigi River, German East Africa. The Königsberg had also been a danger on the seas, but she had only succeeded in sinking one trading vessel and disabling the obsolete cruiser Pegasus. The latter had snapped at the Germans at Dar-es-Salaam in German East Africa, and had then gone over to Zanzibar to repair. She was, however, surprised by the Königsberg while her crew were hard at this work. Before they knew what was what a hail of shells was poured into the Pegasus, which shivered from the shock; her steel work was bent and twisted, men fell dead or wounded, and very soon the Pegasus men knew that they were fighting a hopeless battle. But they fought it as became men with the tradition of unconquerable pluck behind them.