MODERN CORSAIRS
How the German Rovers were Destroyed
THE outbreak of the Great War of the Nations found various German warships in the Atlantic and Pacific, ready to prey upon the Allies’ shipping, and day by day the news flashed across the world of merchant ships sunk or captured, and this despite the fact that Great Britain, France, Russia and Japan were scouring the seas to find the destroyers. First one and then another of the German marauders was caught and sent to its doom. But even then a fair number were abroad; several of them—the Dresden, the Nürnberg, Leipzig, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau—were tackled by Admiral Craddock, in command of a British squadron of much inferior strength. The Germans won, only a few weeks later to be trapped by Admiral Sturdee and a strong squadron off the Falkland Islands. In the battle that ensued the Germans lost, and the vessels were sent to the bottom.
Before the battle of the Falklands took place, however, there had been certain other events of scarcely less importance—namely, the hunting down of the Königsberg and the Emden, the most noted of the German corsairs. That they did fine work for their country, even British tars will admit. They were as slippery as eels, and turned up in the most unexpected places and at the most inconvenient times for the British trading vessels. But at last Nemesis overtook them.
There was the Emden, for instance. She was at Tsing-tau when war broke out, and immediately started out on her marauding cruise. Slipping out of the harbour she steamed off for the Straits of Malacca, with enemies hot upon her track. She hoodwinked them, and while they were going southward, she swept into the Bay of Bengal, sinking various vessels as she went, and finally shelling Madras, setting fire to the oil tanks there.
Thence she went to Ceylon, sending four more boats to the bottom, making nine in all. Another she sent into port with the crews of the sunken ships, and yet a further one—the collier Buresk—she held on to for the sake of the coal she carried. So, aided by wireless installations in different places and by supply ships, she kept on her destructive way, until by October 19 she had captured half a dozen more ships.
Then something happened to annoy her. H.M.S. Yarmouth, which had been following her doggedly, seized some of her supply ships; and the Emden slipped into hiding for a while, though trading vessels still went in dread, expecting her to turn up suddenly.
She did turn up suddenly, though her quarry was something better than merchant shipping. On October 21—Trafalgar Day—a four-funnelled cruiser swept into Penang roadstead, and the French destroyer Mousquet and the Russian light cruiser Jemtchug little thought that this was the Emden, which they knew had only three funnels. What had happened was that Captain von Müller, her commander, had rigged up a jury funnel out of woodwork and canvas, thus altering altogether the appearance of his ship.
The Jemtchug saluted her with “Who are you?”
“Yarmouth!” was the audacious answer. “Coming to anchorage!” And the Emden immediately swung round stern on to the Jemtchug. Forthwith she loosed one of her deadly torpedoes at the Russian, following it up with a shower of shells from her 4-inch guns. Down went the Jemtchug, the French boat going after her almost immediately, stricken to death by the crafty Emden.
Having thus completed the destruction of her unsuspecting foes, the German corsair went into hiding again, but on November 9 appeared off the Cocos Islands—to meet her doom.
For the Australian cruiser Sydney received an interrupted wireless message from the Cocos to the effect: “Strange warship ... off entrance,” and at once sped off at full steam, and at 9.15 the look-out saw the tops of the coco-nut trees of the Keeling Islands in the distance. Five minutes later the Emden’s funnels were sighted, twelve or fifteen miles away. Game, the German opened fire at a long range, the Sydney waiting for a little while, and then sending her explosive replies. It was a gallant fight; the Emden made some fine firing practice, smashing the Sydney’s No. 2 starboard gun almost immediately, and putting practically all the crew out of action. The Australian’s aft control was blown to pieces, and a fire broke out, which her men soon got under while the fight raged.
The crew of the Sydney worked well that morning, as the letter of one of her officers testifies:
“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.
Their ensign was sent hurtling to the deck by a lucky shot; a man seized it in his hand and held it aloft, a sign of defiance to their overwhelming opponent. That man died waving the flag; another snatched it from his dead hand, and flaunted it bravely; and when the Königsberg, her work done, steamed away, the British ensign still floated in the breeze above the shattered Pegasus.
This one-sided action took place on September 19, and just over a month later the Königsberg was run down by the Chatham, and her career came to an end. The Chatham found her hiding in the Rufigi River, six miles up stream. The British cruiser, owing to her great draught, could not go up after her, and the Königsberg landed part of her crew, who dug themselves into entrenchments on the Mafia island at the entrance of the river, expecting an attempt to assault them. The Chatham, however, shelled her and the entrenchments, but the dense palm groves amid which she lay made it impossible to tell with what effect. To ensure that she should not escape, the Chatham took measures to bottle her up; a German East African liner, the Somali, was sunk in the mouth of the river, and later the s.s. Newbridge was also used for this purpose. This ship (Captain Willett) had a cargo of coal on board. She was protected aft by sandbags and sacks of coal, and her steering gear and engine-room were shielded by steel sheets so that the Königsberg’s fire might not prove too destructive as the Newbridge made her way up river.
The men in the entrenchments on Mafia Island were prepared for the coming of the Newbridge. By some means the Germans had discovered that she was to be sent; and as they were armed with Maxims and quick-firers, it looked as though the collier would receive a pretty warm reception. She did!
Lieutenant Lavington, in command, and Captain Willett and two other lieutenants were the sole officers on board, six or seven bluejackets and a few artificers and stokers comprising the crew—a gallant company going on a dangerous errand. As soon as the Newbridge got within range the Germans on the island began firing, without much effect. Then, having passed the island, in spite of a perfect hail of bullets and shrapnel, she was moored into the position decided upon, and the last stages of the work begun. Down in her hold were several charges of guncotton, with an electric wire connected to the launch that had followed the ship. Having opened her port tank, so that the water might pour in and give the Newbridge a list up stream, and make her satisfactorily withstand the strong current running, the crew slipped into their boats alongside, the connection was set up; and there followed three loud explosions. The Newbridge sank; and the Königsberg was effectually bottled up.
For the men who had hazarded everything on this mission the serious task now before them was to get back to the open sea; and to do this they had, of course, to pass the island, with its force of Germans. They sped back as quickly as they could, meeting a shower of shot, which caused considerable damage; but at last the gantlet was run and the intrepid men were safe on board.
Less than a week later the Königsberg was sunk. As she was hidden by the dense foliage, and had taken the precaution of covering herself with leaves, the British had, as we have said, much difficulty in telling whether the shell fire was effective. In order to get the exact position, therefore, an aeroplane, brought by the Kinfauns Castle, was used. The whirr of her engine, as she reconnoitred over them, told the Germans that the end was very near, and they were quite prepared for the well-placed shots which quickly followed the dropping of smoke bombs, signalling the position of the lurking cruiser. The great, destructive shells smashed into her, wrought havoc all through her, broke her as though she had been a cardboard toy; and very soon she sank. The Pegasus had been avenged.
These two cases are typical of the way the British Navy dealt with the modern corsairs and showed Germany that Britannia still rules the waves.