Chapter V: Part VI: Victory (4)

By September 1915 it was clear that the Gallipoli expedition could not succeed. All summer the hopeless struggle had continued for the heights of the peninsula. In July reinforcements arrived, and in August these new divisions, together with the Anzacs,[#] made an attack, that of the left wing at Suvla Bay being designed to turn the enemy flank. This supreme effort failed. There was no chance of further reserves, for the entry of Bulgaria into the war meant that the Allies must send troops to Salonika to help Serbia if possible, and in any case to protect the northern frontier of Greece. Only one course was possible--to get off the peninsula as best we could.

[#] So called from the initial letters of the first Australasian Corps--"Australian and New Zealand Army Corps."

After much discussion it was decided to evacuate the positions at Suvla and Anzac, and to retain those at Cape Helles. Nearly everybody concerned in the matter assumed that this would entail a heavy loss. Many estimated it at 15 per cent., and the most hopeful were prepared for the loss of at least one division. An embarkation in the face of the enemy had always meant a stiff rearguard fight and many casualties.

On the 8th December Sir Charles Monro, who was then in command of the British troops in the AEgean, issued orders for evacuation. The difficulties were enormous. It was a question of embarking not a division or two, but three army corps; it was impossible to move them all at once with the available transports; there must be a gap between the operations, and this meant that the enemy would probably be forewarned of the later movements. Moreover, a lengthy embarkation put us terribly at the mercy of the winter weather. Even a mild wind from the south or south-west raised a swell that made communication with the beaches precarious.

The plan was to move the war material, including the heavy guns, by instalments during a period of ten days, working only at night. A large portion of the troops would also be got off during these days, certain picked battalions being left to the last. Everything was to be kept normal during the daylight, and every morning before daybreak the results of the night's work must be hidden. Success depended upon two things mainly--fine weather and secrecy.

From the 8th December onward the troops, night after night, watched the shrinkage of their numbers. There was a generous rivalry as to who should stay till the last--a proof of spirit, when we remember that every man believed that the rearguard was doomed to death or capture. Soon only those in the prime of health and strength were left; all the weak and sickly had gone aboard the transports, which nightly stole in and out of the moonlit bays. Soon the heavy batteries had gone. Then the field guns began to disappear, leaving only enough to keep up the daily pretence of bombardment. It was an eerie business for the last battalions as they heard their protecting guns rumbling shoreward in the darkness. Then the horses and motor-cars were also shipped, and by Friday, the 17th December, very few guns were left. To the Turkish observers the piles of boxes on the beaches looked as if fresh supplies had been landed and we were preparing to hold the place indefinitely.

The weather was warm and clement, with light moist winds and a low-hanging screen of cloud. Coming in the midst of an AEgean winter it seemed to our men a direct interposition of Providence. It was like the land beyond the North Wind, which Elizabethan mariners believed in, where he who pierced the outer crust of the Polar snows found a country of roses and eternal summer. No fisherman ever studied the weather signs more anxiously than did the British commanders during these days. Hearts sank when the wind looked like moving to the west. But the weather held, and when the days fixed for the final embarkation arrived, the wind was still favourable, skies were clear, and the moon was approaching its full. Nature had joined the daring conspiracy.

On Saturday, the 18th December, only a few picked battalions held the Suvla front. The final embarkation had been fixed for the two succeeding nights. The evening fell in a perfect calm. The sea was still as a mill-pond, and scarcely a breath of wind blew in the sky. Moreover, a light blue mist clothed all the plain of Suvla, and a haze shrouded the moon. At 6 p.m. the crews of the warships went to action stations, and in the darkness the transports stole into the bay. Not a shot was fired. In dead quiet, showing no lights, the transports moved in and out. Every unit found its proper place. By 1 a.m. on the morning of Sunday, the 19th, the bay lay empty in the moonlight.

That Sunday was one of the most curious in the war. Our lines looked exactly as they had done during the past four months. We kept up our usual fire and received the Turkish answer, but had any body of the enemy chosen to attack they would have found the trenches held by a mere handful. There were 20,000 Turks on the Suvla and Anzac fronts, and 60,000 in immediate reserve. Had they known it, they had before them the grand opportunity of the campaign. Night again fell with the same halcyon weather. The transports--destroyers, trawlers, picket boats, every kind of craft--slipped once again into the bay, and before midnight the last guns had been got on board. By 3.30 a.m. the last of the troops were on the beach, and long before the dawn broke all were aboard. One man had been hit in the thigh by a bullet, but that was the only casualty.

The operations at Anzac were conducted on the same lines. The beaches at Suvla were 5 miles from the enemy and open to observation; at Anzac, in places they were less than 2 miles distant, but were concealed from view under the steep seaward bluffs. Some of our gun positions there were on dizzy heights, down which a gun could only be brought part by part. The work was brilliantly performed. On the Saturday night three-fifths of the entire force were got on board the transports. On Sunday night the rest were embarked, with two men wounded as the total casualties. By 5.30 a.m. on Monday morning the last transports moved away from the coast, leaving the warships to follow.

Then on the 12 miles of beach, from Suvla Burnu to Gaba Tepe, there was seen one of the strangest spectacles of the campaign. The useless stores left behind had been piled in great heaps on the shores and drenched with petrol. Before the last men left parties of Royal Engineers set time fuses. About 4 a.m. on the Monday morning the fires were alight, blazing most fiercely near Suvla Point. As the beach fires flared up, the enemy, thinking some disaster had befallen us, shelled the place to prevent us extinguishing the flames. The warships shelled back, and all along that broken coast great pillars of fire flared to heaven like giant beacons in some strife of the Immortals. Up to 8 o'clock picket boats were still collecting stragglers; by 9 a.m. all was over, and the last warship steamed away from the coast which had been the grave of so many high hopes and so many gallant men.

We were just in time. That night the weather broke, and a furious gale blew from the south which would have made embarkation impossible. Rain fell in sheets and quenched the fires, and soon every trench at Suvla and Anzac was a torrent. Great seas washed away the landing stages. The puzzled enemy sat still and waited. He saw that we had gone, but he distrusted the evidence of his eyes. History does not tell what fate befell the first Turks who penetrated into our empty trenches, or what heel first tried conclusions with the hidden mines.

The success--the amazing success--of the Suvla and Anzac evacuation made the position at Cape Helles more difficult. No one believed that a similar performance would be possible there after the enemy had been so fully warned; but on the 27th December it was decided to evacuate Helles, and the work went on during the last days of the month and the first week of the new year. On Friday, January 7, 1916, there was a Turkish attack, which the few men remaining managed to repel. Next day, Saturday, the 8th, was calm and fine, and all was ready for the final effort.

About 4 o'clock in the afternoon the weather changed. A strong south-westerly wind blew up; by 11 p.m. it increased to a gale of 35 miles an hour. This storm covered our movements from the enemy, but it nearly made retirement impossible. On some beaches the piers were washed away and no troops could be embarked. Nevertheless by 3.30 the last men were on board.

All night the Turks gave no sign, but when the transports had moved off the stores left behind were fired simultaneously by time fuses. Red lights instantly burned along the enemy lines, and a bombardment began which continued till sunrise. The Turks proclaimed that the retreat had been attended with desperate losses and great captures of guns. The claim was an absurd falsehood. We blew up and left behind the ruins of seventeen old worn-out pieces. Our total casualties at Helles amounted to one man wounded.

To avoid the disastrous consequences of a defeat is, as a military operation, usually more difficult than to win a victory. There is less chance of the high spirit of the attack, for such is the generosity of the human spirit that safety is less of an incentive to effort than the hope of victory. To embark so great an army secretly and without loss in mid-winter was an extraordinary achievement. It was made possible only by an almost miraculous series of favourable chances, and by the perfect organization and discipline of our men. We had failed at Gallipoli, but we had escaped the worst costs of failure. We had defeated the calculations of the enemy and upset every precedent.

Across the ribbon of the Dardanelles, on the green plain of Troy, the most famous war of the ancient world had been fought. The European shores had now become a no less classic ground of arms. If the banks of Scamander had seen men strive desperately with fate, so had the heights of Achi Baba and the loud beaches of Helles. Had the fashion continued of linking the gods with the strife of mankind, what strange myth might not have sprung from this rescue of the British troops in the teeth of winter gales and uncertain seas I It would have been rumoured, as of old at Troy, that Poseidon had done battle for his children.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*THE CAPTURE OF JERUSALEM.*

At the outset of the war the conquest of Egypt was an important aim of the Turkish Government and their German masters. But early in 1915 the Turkish invasion was scattered on the banks of the Suez Canal, and hopes of an easy victory were shattered. Nevertheless, the defence of Egypt remained an anxious problem for Britain. That country was the base both for Gallipoli and for Mesopotamia, and moreover, as Moltke pointed out long before, was the key of Britain's Eastern possessions. It was soon realized that Egypt could not be properly defended on the Canal, but only on the Palestine frontier, beyond the Sinai Desert.

During 1915 and 1916 Turkey and Germany projected many schemes for an Egyptian invasion, and the British generals in Egypt were no less busy. If the war was to be carried into Palestine railways and water pipes must be laid across the desert. Slowly the British front crept eastward. The Turks were defeated in various desert battles, and in the spring of 1917 the British army crossed the frontier of Palestine.

The British purpose had somewhat changed. The offensive had been substituted for the defensive. So far as possible it was desired to do in Palestine what Sir Stanley Maude was doing in Mesopotamia--to pin down large Turkish forces, and so alarm Turkey about the safety of certain key points in her territory that she would demand aid from Germany and thus confuse the plans of the German General Staff.

The land from the Wadi el Arish--the ancient "River of Egypt"--to the Philistian Plain had for 2,600 years been a cockpit of war. Sometimes a conqueror from the north or the south met the enemy in Egypt or in Syria, but more often the decisive fight was fought in the gates. Up and down the strip of seaward levels marched the great armies of Egypt and Assyria, while the Jews looked fearfully down from their barren hills. In the Philistian Plain Sennacherib smote the Egyptian hosts in the days of King Hezekiah, only to see his army melt away under the stroke of the "angel of the Lord." At Rafa Esarhaddon defeated Pharaoh, and added Egypt and Ethiopia to his kingdoms. At Megiddo, or Armageddon, Josiah was vanquished by Pharaoh Necho, who in turn was routed by Nebuchadnezzar. At Ascalon, during the Crusades, Godfrey of Bouillon defeated the Egyptians, and 150 years later that town fell to the Mameluke Sultan after the battle of Gaza. In this gate of ancient feuds it now fell to Turkey's lot to speak with her enemies.

But at first the British advance was checked. In March and April 1917 two battles were fought at Gaza--two frontal attacks which failed. During the summer Sir Edmund Allenby was appointed to the chief command, and slowly and patiently he perfected his plans. He saw that a direct attack on Gaza was likely to fail, but far to the east he observed a weak point in the enemy front where the town of Beersheba constituted a detached and separate defensive system. If Beersheba could be taken, the whole Gaza position could be turned on the flank.

Beersheba was duly taken at the end of October 1917, and on the 7th November Gaza followed. The enemy suffered severely, and was in full retreat, almost in flight. Sir Edmund Allenby's objective was now Jerusalem, and his problem was less one of manoeuvres than of supply. His troops would advance just as fast as water and food could be brought up behind them.

The advance was made in two main directions--one from Hebron due north towards Bethlehem; the other by the coastal plain, aiming at the junction where the Jerusalem railway joined the main line to Damascus. The Turkish army was split into two parts, retreating in different directions. Though Enver came from Constantinople and Falkenhayn from Aleppo it was difficult for them to devise a defence. Allenby seized Jaffa, and then swung eastward into the Judaean highlands. Now the progress became slow, while squalid little villages, whose names are famous throughout the whole Christian world, fell to the British troops. On the 30th November the British line had the shape of a sickle, with the centre of the curve flung far forward towards Jerusalem, and it was necessary to bring up the handle, which consisted of the cavalry and infantry which were at Hebron. By the 7th these had taken Bethlehem, and by the 8th British troops were before Jerusalem on the south and west, and within a mile and a half of its walls.

The Turkish garrison did not await the attack. In the night preceding Sunday, the 9th December, the day of the festival of the Hanookah, which commemorates the recapture of the Temple by Judas Maccabaeus, detachments of broken Turkish soldiers poured in at the western or Jaffa Gate, while an outgoing stream flowed eastward across the valley of Jehoshaphat. Early in the morning the enemy sent out a white flag of surrender, and before noon British patrols were in the city.

Two days later Sir Edmund Allenby entered by the Jaffa Gate. Close by was the breach made in the walls to admit the German Emperor when he made his foolish pilgrimage in 1898. Far different was the entry of the British general. It was a clear, bright day, and the streets and housetops were thronged with black-coated, tarbushed Syrians and Levantines, picturesquely-clad peasants from the near villages, and Arabs from the fringes of the desert. There was no display of bunting and no bell-ringing or firing of salutes. On foot, accompanied only by his Staff, the commanders of the French and Italian detachments, and the military attaches of France, Italy, and the United States, he was received by the newly appointed Military Governor of the city, and a guard representing all the nationalities engaged in the campaign. He turned to the right into the Mount Zion quarter, and at the Citadel, at the base of the ancient Tower of David, his proclamation was read to the people.

Then he quietly left the city. Yet no conqueror had ever entered it with more prestige. For centuries there had been current an Arab prophecy that a deliverer should come from the West, and in 1898 the people of Palestine had asked if the Kaiser was indeed the man. But the prophecy foretold that such would not be the manner of his coming, for the true saviour would bear the name of a Prophet of God, and would enter Jerusalem on foot, and that he would not appear till the Nile flowed into Palestine. To the peasants of Judaea the prophecy now seemed to be fulfilled, for the name of the English general was in Arabic "the Prophet," and his men had come into the land bringing with them the waters of Egypt.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*ALLENBY'S GREAT DRIVE.*

The capture of Jerusalem on December 9, 1917, left a curious military situation. The Turkish army was split into two parts, with its right wing north-east of Jaffa and its left to the north and east of Jerusalem, and between these lay a patch of rocky country without communications. Clearly the next step for Allenby was to cross to the east of the Jordan and cut the Hedjaz railway, with the assistance of the Arab army from the south. If traffic on this railway were interrupted the Turkish forces in Arabia would be at his mercy.

But first he had to secure his advanced bases at Jaffa and Jerusalem. This work was done before the close of the year. He then turned his attention to safeguarding his right flank by driving the enemy beyond the Jordan. Jericho fell to the Australians on the 1st February, and the move eastward across the river began. It proved, however, unexpectedly difficult. The promised Arab assistance was not forthcoming in time, and early in May the British troops, except for a bridge-head garrison, were again on the west side of Jordan. Allenby for a time was compelled to hold his hand. The grave situation in France made it necessary for him to reorganize his forces, for all white troops that could be spared were ordered to the Western front. In their place he received cavalry and infantry from Mesopotamia and India.

We come now to what must rank as one of the most dramatic tales in the whole campaign--an exploit undertaken at the precise moment when its chances were brightest and its influence on the general strategy of the war most vital--an exploit, moreover, which was perfectly planned, perfectly executed, and overwhelming in its success. The little campaign which began three years before on the banks of the Suez Canal had grown slowly to a major operation. In face of every difficulty the Allies had crept forward, first across the Sinai Desert, then, after long delays, through the Turkish defences of the south, and then in a bold sweep to the gates of the Holy City.

This campaign had always been fought with only the margin of strength which could be spared from the greater contests in the West. But it had moved patiently to its appointed end, for it was carried on in the true tradition of those dogged earlier wars of Britain which had created her Empire. Our feet might be stayed for a season, or even retire, but in the long run they always moved forward. The Last Crusade was now approaching its climax, and the Crusaders were such as would have startled the souls of St. Louis and Raymond and Richard of England, could they have beheld that amazing army. For only a modest portion of it was drawn from the Western peoples. Algerian and Indian Moslems, Arab tribesmen, men of the thousand creeds of Hindustan, African negroes, and Jewish battalions were among the liberators of the sacred land of Christendom.

In September 1918 the Turkish armies of Syria held a front from the coast north of Jaffa through the hills of Ephraim to a point half-way between Nablus and Jerusalem, and thence to the Jordan, and down its eastern bank to the Dead Sea. On the right lay the VIIIth Turkish Army, in the centre the VIIth, and east of Jordan the IVth. Far on their left flank they were threatened by the Arabs under Sherif Feisal and Colonel T. E. Lawrence. Allenby's plan was to defeat the enemy west of Jordan, and so either to isolate or compel the retreat of the IVth Army. The communications of the Turkish centre and right wing were poor, and if their front could be broken and our cavalry sent through, it was possible that these might be cut. Allenby therefore thinned his front elsewhere, and concentrated his main energies on breaking up the VIIIth Army in the Plain of Sharon, and thus opening the route for his cavalry.

At 4.30 on the morning of the 19th September British cavalry attacked and won an immediate victory, sweeping through the enemy's defences in the Plain of Sharon. The VIIIth Army was in utter rout, pouring along the northern roads, while the main body of our cavalry was riding for Esdraelon to cut them off. That night the VIIth Turkish Army was also pressed back in the centre. By noon that day the leading troops of our cavalry were 18 miles north of their old front line; that afternoon they were through the barrier of the Samarian hills; and early next morning they reached Nazareth, and all but captured the German commander-in-chief. On the night of the 20th one cavalry division reached Beisan, 80 miles from their starting point, and so shut the last outlet from the south. In thirty-six hours the trap had been closed. Every track and road was choked with the rout. Camps and depots were in flames, and our airmen steadily bombarded each section of the retreat.

There now remained only the IVth Army, east of the Jordan. Till the third day of the battle it had shown no signs of moving, but on the morning of the 23rd it began a leisurely retreat. Meantime the British had joined hands with Feisal's Arabs, and pressed the fugitives along the Hedjaz railway. The game was now wholly in Allenby's hands. His next step was to move on Damascus, and so intercept what was left of the IVth Army in its northward flight. On the afternoon of the 25th, the 4th Cavalry Division moved out of Beisan on its 120 miles' ride, and the Australian Mounted Division followed next day by the northern route. On the 30th British cavalry lay 12 miles south-west of Damascus, and all the northern and north-western exits had been closed. At 6 o'clock on the morning of the 1st October the British and Arabs entered the city.

It was the twelfth day from the opening of the attack. Three Turkish armies had melted away, over 60,000 prisoners and between 300 and 400 guns were in Allenby's hands, and the dash for Damascus had destroyed the faintest possibility of an enemy stand. All that remained was a mob of 17,000 Turks and Germans, fleeing north without discipline or purpose.

Of the many brilliant episodes of those marvellous twelve days, perhaps the most brilliant was the converging movement of the British Desert Corps and Feisal's Arabs on the most ancient of the world's cities. Damascus had been an emporium when Tyre was young, and she was still a mighty city centuries after Tyre had become a shadow. Rich in holy places, she had one shrine of peculiar interest for this last crusade. Within her walls lay the tomb of Saladin, the greatest of those who fought in Palestine in the battle of Asia against Europe. One of Feisal's first acts was to remove the tawdry bronze wreath with which the German Emperor in 1898 had seen fit to adorn the sleeping-place of the great Sultan.

Allenby did not rest upon his laurels. On the 8th he was in Beirut, on the 11th in Baalbek. The next and last stage was Aleppo, that mart through which in the Middle Ages the wealth of Asia flowed to Venice and the West. A cavalry division went forward, and on the 26th October entered the town. Patrols advanced 15 miles farther, and occupied Muslimie railway junction. This last was a fitting conclusion to a great exploit, for it meant the cutting of the Bagdad railway, the line which was to link Berlin with the Persian Gulf and threaten our Indian Empire. Four days later Turkey signed the Armistice which was her surrender. Bulgaria had already laid down her arms, Austria was on the eve of collapse, and Germany was left without allies, and with her front crumbling before Foch and Haig.

*PART IV.*

*THE SILENT SERVICE.*

*CHAPTER XXI.*

*THE SILENT SERVICE.*

The British Navy earned during the war the title of "The Silent Service," and the phrase needs a word of comment, for it is full of meaning. There has always been a feeling in the Service that sea-power is the one thing vitally necessary to the safety of the Empire, and that so long as this is being maintained the less talk about it the better; for where the life of nations is daily and hourly in trust, all advertisement is unworthy and all description inadequate. Then the Great War came, and the landsmen, who form the bulk of our people all over the world, naturally wished to know how the Sea Service was handling the affair; but the rule of silence still held. For the Navy, besides their old tradition, had now the reason of policy on their side; operations at sea can be, and must be, kept secret to a degree which is not possible in a land campaign. To inform the public at home would be to take the chance of being overheard by the enemy.

Moreover the work of the Navy is so multifarious, so technical, and so far-sighted in its aims, that by far the greater part of it would always be difficult to grasp. The ordinary news-reading citizen must be content to judge of it by its results, and he is not always capable of doing even that. Neither in this country, nor in the Dominions overseas, still less in the outer world, has the supreme importance or the decisive achievement of our naval Service been realized. Yet to those who understand, the influence of sea-power on history has never been so conclusively demonstrated. In this war, as in the war of a hundred years before, it was from first to last our ships that lay between a military despot and the domination of the world.

To prove this it is only necessary to make a plain statement of the tasks which the British Navy had to undertake in August 1914, to mark the fact that a failure in any one of them would have involved the ruin of the Allied cause; and to remember that no such failure occurred. The gigantic scope of the effort may then be seen; but even then only by those whose vision is wide enough to survey the whole world at once as one vast field of conflict.

First, then, our Fleet undertook to blockade the enemy; to drive his commerce from the seas; to stop his sea-borne supplies, especially foodstuffs, cotton--the raw material of explosives--and munitions of all kinds; also to disable his credit by the stoppage of his export trade.

Secondly, the protection of our own commerce necessitated the control of all the seas of the world. The Atlantic was our main avenue of supply, but we had also to maintain and guard the routes to and from Australia, New Zealand, India, and China; and a Northern Patrol was necessary to ensure the passage from Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the north of Russia.

Thirdly, the enemy's main naval force had to be put out of action: that is to say, the North Sea must be effectively controlled by a Grand Fleet capable of dealing with the German High Sea Fleet.

Fourthly, the transfer of enemy troops across the sea must be made impossible; and, in particular, strong flotillas and secondary fleets must be maintained on our own coasts as a guard against possible attempts at invasion.

Fifthly, the transport of our own troops and of those of our Allies must be covered from attack. Under this head alone there were included before the end a number of simultaneous operations entirely beyond example in the history of war. An army of some six millions was passed oversea from the British Isles, from India, from Australia, and New Zealand (and at last more millions from America) to France, to India, to Africa (East and West), to Egypt and Palestine, to Gallipoli and Salonika.

Sixthly, the supplies to all these forces, and to most of them simultaneously, had to be maintained for more than four full years and on a scale hitherto unimagined.

Seventhly, in several campaigns the Navy had to co-operate in the military operations, notably in Gallipoli, in battles near the Belgian coast, and in the attack on the fortified harbour of Zeebrugge.

These seven heads cover every recognized department of naval war; but it must be added that when this latest war changed its character and became an unrestricted submarine campaign, new developments were necessary and were immediately carried out. Under the second and third of the above headings, an entirely new fleet of mine-sweepers, trawlers, and anti-submarine patrols had to be provided, manned, and equipped, to secure the safety both of our ships of war and of our mercantile marine.

It will be seen that these tasks, taken altogether, formed a work of which only one Power in the world was capable; while taken separately they appear plainly as seven threads upon every one of which the fate of the common cause depended absolutely. The effort of the Allies in this war was distinguished first by the early heroism of the Belgian, Serbian, and Russian troops; then by the long and desperate endurance of the French, British, and Italian armies; finally, it was reinforced by the large contingent of late-comers from America, and carried to victory by the supreme genius of Foch. But behind and beneath all these lay another force, scarcely thought of at the time, and since almost forgotten, though to it they all owed the very possibility of their military existence. During those four years the British Fleet never ceased to carry great armies over sea; to sweep every ocean clean, and guard the territories along their shores; to shut up the hostile Empire within an impassable barrier. In a word, it retained every day and every night, from the first hour of the war to the last, that control which was the most vital condition of success.

In so doing it suffered some losses and achieved stirring successes, of which one or two are related in the pages which follow. But it must always be remembered that these are but incidents; the business of the British Navy is the right use of the sea, and not conquest or display. For it, therefore, victory is not the affair of a day here or a day there, however rousing to the blood: it lies rather in what is neither spectacular nor resounding--in the monotonous but manifold perfection of an indispensable service.

*CHAPTER XXII.*

*CORONEL.*

The battle of Coronel will always have a peculiar interest for us: there is a mystery about it which can never be finally cleared up. At the outbreak of war a British admiral, Sir Christopher Cradock, was in charge of a large and important area off the coast of South America. It was his business to keep this area clear of the enemy squadron under Admiral Graf von Spee, which was much stronger than his own, but was believed to be scattered on the trade routes. In the end Cradock found the enemy squadron united and in much superior force. He instantly attacked, and went down in the action, with two of his ships.

The problem is to ascertain what were his motives for this swift decision to fight against overwhelming odds. Not a man in the flagship survived, and we must do the best with what evidence we have before us. We know the admiral's general idea of the work he had to do; we know what his instructions were, what force he asked for and what was given him; we know the speed and gun-power of the enemy ships, and what he as an experienced commander must have thought of them. Finally, we know the nature of the choice which was open to him; and in face of all this the mystery remains.

The key to it probably lies in the character of the man who had to make the decision; and from this point of view the story is a fine one. While every one is free to form an opinion on the facts, the judgment of those who knew Cradock best is the simplest and the most favourable one. A certain margin of discretion must be allowed to every admiral in time of war; and at the moment of crisis a man of powerful character and vision may go even further, and take the great responsibility of departing from the line of strict obedience to orders. To Cradock's friends it seems clear that he saw himself and his squadron as representing the prestige of his country in combat with a superior force which might be disabled, if it could not be destroyed; he saw that duty might be fulfilled, and honour and success attained, though victory should be impossible. So he hunted his great enemy both skilfully and fearlessly, but relied at a pinch rather on courage than on caution.

From the outbreak of war the German China Squadron, as we now know, was never wholly dispersed: Spee detached ships from time to time to the coast of South America, but remained himself with the strongest part of his force in the Pacific, where he was heard of only at intervals. He might possibly be intending to go westwards and raid the Indian Ocean, as the _Emden_ actually did. He moved, in fact, on Samoa, but when he arrived there on September 14, 1914, he found Apia already safe in the hands of the New Zealanders, and not a ship in the harbour. He left again for Suvarov Island, coaled in the Society Islands, bombarded the French capital Papiete on the 22nd September, and appeared to be making for South America; he might be thinking of a dash through the Magellan Straits to attack our trade on the eastern coast.

The British Admiralty knew the danger of this. Spee's two principal ships--the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_--were fast ships and well armed, with prize gunnery crews. To hunt them satisfactorily a pair of battle-cruisers were required, and these could not well be spared from the Grand Fleet. The _Indefatigable_ was therefore ordered out from the Mediterranean, with the fast cruiser _Defence_; but the Cabinet refused to spare the _Indefatigable_, and the _Canopus_, an old and slow battleship, with 12-inch guns, was sent, with the _Defence_ to follow. Admiral Cradock was ordered to concentrate meanwhile at the Falkland Islands, with his flagship, the _Good Hope_, the cruisers _Monmouth_ and _Glasgow_, and some ships of inferior armament.

The _Canopus_ was a whole week late in arriving. Cradock was most anxious to prevent Spee from coming round the Horn to raid the east coast, and he feared that if he kept the old 12-knot battleship with him he might be too late to bar the enemy's passage. In this crisis he took his first great risk: he sent the _Canopus_ by the shorter way, through Magellan's Straits, and took the weaker ships boldly round the Horn. Spee, however, was not in the south; he had spent six days in concentrating at Easter Island, and was at this moment making for the island of Mas-a-Fuera, 500 miles west of Valparaiso.

Cradock now had the _Canopus_ with him again. His instructions were that he was not expected to act without her; but her slow speed continued to hamper him in carrying out his definite orders to search for the enemy and destroy them. He accordingly ordered the _Defence_ to join him from the east coast, where she had been sent by the Admiralty, and went north in the meantime to find the cruiser _Leipzig_, which was believed to be in front of him, operating alone. Unfortunately the _Canopus_ was once more in need of repairs, and had to be left behind for twenty-four hours.

The two squadrons, British and German, were now, without knowing it, in the act of converging upon one another. Each admiral believed himself to be in pursuit of a single ship, for, while Cradock was after the _Leipzig_, Spee was in chase of the _Glasgow_ (Captain Luce), who had been sent on to Coronel on the west coast with a message. The force of the opponents was as follows: Admiral von Spee had two powerful ships, the _Scharnhorst_ (flagship) and the _Gneisenau_, each of 11,420 tons, armed with eight 8-inch and six 6-inch guns; and their gunners were of high repute. His other ships, the _Leipzig_, _Dresden_, and _Nuernberg_, were light cruisers, each carrying ten 4-inch guns. Against these Cradock had the _Good Hope_, a twelve-year-old cruiser of 14,000 tons, armed with two 9.2-inch guns; the cruiser _Monmouth_, with 6-inch guns only; the _Glasgow_, a light fast cruiser, with two 6-inch and ten 4-inch guns, and the auxiliary cruiser _Otranto_, which was not sufficiently armed to take part in an action. He knew, as well as any one living, what was the meaning of these figures, and he must have been hoping that the _Canopus_, with her 12-inch guns, would rejoin him before he met his enemy.

The _Glasgow_ despatched her message from Coronel, and at 2.30 p.m. on the 1st November she rejoined her squadron. Cradock was still steaming north when, at 4.40, she sighted and reported to him the _Scharnhorst_, _Gneisenau_, and _Leipzig_, visible to the east. He had found the ship he was chasing, but he had found her in company with her powerful consorts; and the _Dresden_ and the _Nuernberg_ were, in fact, also present, though they were not yet in sight.

Cradock had but a few minutes in which to make his decision. Was he to fight or run? Even the three enemy ships which were in sight were more than a match for his own. His two big guns might make a few lucky hits, but they could not keep down the fire of eight times their number, laid by prize gunners with the choice of range and position. To fight was highly dangerous; yet the alternative evidently looked to him still less attractive. The enemy was nearly due east; the _Canopus_ was coming up slowly from the south, 250 miles away; if he were to turn and run he might be able to join her in nine hours or even in eight. But Spee had the position of advantage inshore; he would be racing down the shorter side of the triangle, and with his 23 knots could overtake the _Monmouth_ for certain, and possibly cut in between the others and the _Canopus_. During the chase he would have a fighting light for three hours, and after that a moonlight equally to his advantage.

We cannot tell whether Cradock weighed these considerations anxiously, or whether he instinctively felt that the tradition of the Navy would be more injured by his flight than by his own defeat and death. He does not seem to have hesitated. At 5.10 p.m. he signalled to his squadron to concentrate on the _Glasgow_--the ship nearest the enemy--and attempted to cross Spee's line so as to gain the inshore position. The German admiral, however, kept away successfully, and at 6.18 Cradock made a wireless signal to the _Canopus_, giving his position, and adding, "I am going to attack enemy now."

At 7 o'clock the sun set, and Spee, having now every advantage of light, opened fire at 12,000 yards. The _Good Hope_ in reply made a hit or two, but her forward 9.2 gun was soon knocked out, and the ship set on fire. The _Monmouth_ was also burning within three minutes. The _Glasgow_ was engaged by both the _Leipzig_ and the _Dresden_, but was saved by the German smoke which drifted towards her. With the sunset glow behind them, our ships were a fair target, while the British gunners could no longer see anything but the flash of the enemy's guns. Both the _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_ were continually on fire, and at 7.45 the flagship blew up with an explosion which sent up flames 200 feet high. By 8 o'clock the _Monmouth_ too was silenced and sinking in the heavy seas; as the moon rose the German ships could just be seen closing on her.

Captain Luce, left alone with the _Glasgow_ and the _Otranto_, had now to face the most painful duty of his life. His ship had been hit by only five shells out of the six hundred aimed at her, and he was in a position to make use of her superior speed by going to warn the _Canopus_ of the danger towards which she was heading. He steered north-west into the darkness, intending to turn south as soon as he was out of sight. The _Monmouth's_ men were all crowded on her quarterdeck, and they cheered the _Glasgow_ as they saw her going away--a cheer that should never be forgotten when the tale is told. At 9.20 firing was heard again, and from the _Glasgow_ seventy-five flashes were counted--"No doubt," says Captain Luce, "the final attack on the _Monmouth_." She went down, like the _Good Hope_, with all hands.

So ended Cradock's forlorn hope, and the mystery of it will remain with us. One thing is certain, that whatever was the motive for his decision, it could not have been a discreditable one--a man does not fling away his command, his professional chances, and his own life out of sheer recklessness. We may safely infer, then, that Cradock was attempting the best that was possible for his country at the hazard of everything that he valued most. For this he took the final responsibility of disobeying his orders; and for this he paid the full price. It is difficult to think him wrong, and not difficult to hold him justified. He gave something to the enemy, but far more to his own Service. When darkness fell on Coronel, Spee's triumph had but thirty-seven days to run. The tradition of Cradock's unflinching devotion will last as long as the British Navy; and it is by such traditions that sea power is built and sustained. Naval supremacy will never be won or kept by the consistent refusal of unequal fights.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*THE FALKLANDS.*

News of Coronel was received by the Admiralty on the 4th November; it was given to the public unofficially on the 5th and officially on the 17th. By that time the counterstroke had been not only prepared, but launched. Speed and secrecy were an urgent necessity, for the Falkland Islands, a valuable coaling-station with a wireless installation and a fine double harbour, were certain to be in danger from the victorious enemy. The population numbered only 2,000, mostly Scottish shepherds, and the inhabitants of the capital, Port Stanley, proposed to abandon the town and take refuge on the moors. But on the 8th November the _Canopus_ and the _Glasgow_ ran in on their way north, and on the 12th the _Canopus_ returned with orders to remain and defend the coaling-station. Captain Grant grounded his ship on the harbour mud, disguised her by dazzle-painting, and made her into a fort. The work took three weeks.

In the meantime the new Board of Admiralty were taking action on the plan originally proposed by their predecessors. The Grand Fleet had now been reinforced, and could spare the battle-cruisers _Invincible_ and _Inflexible_. These two ships came round to Devonport on the 8th November for repairs. On the 9th Admiral Sturdee was appointed Commander-in-Chief in the South Atlantic and Pacific--from Pernambuco to China. The service in hand demanded perfect secrecy and perfect efficiency: a sudden and irresistible counterstroke was to be delivered, and the two principal ships were to be returned immediately with unimpaired fighting value. It was a mission offering unique powers and responsibilities.

The admiral had all the qualities necessary for success and one gift more--that of complete and invariable good fortune. He was to concentrate either off the Panama Canal or the islets known as the Abrolhos Rocks far down towards Rio, according as he could best guess at Spee's intentions. He guessed right, and chose the latter rendezvous, where, on the 26th, he met Admiral Stoddart with the _Carnarvon_, _Cornwall_, _Defence_, _Kent_, _Bristol_, and _Orama_.

On the same day, as it happened, Spee was moving south from St. Quentin Bay for an attack upon the Falklands, and Sturdee was receiving final orders to base himself upon the Falklands and search for Spee round the Horn. The meeting was therefore certain; but the fate of Port Stanley depended on the race between the two opposing squadrons. Fortune again favoured Sturdee: he was delayed at first by false reports, but Spee lost four full days in capturing and plundering a British collier. When he appeared off the Falklands in the early morning of the 8th December, Sturdee had already been nearly eighteen hours in harbour, and his ships had been busily coaling all night.

When Spee was sighted from Port Stanley his arrival was a surprise to the British squadron. The battle-cruisers had not yet received their full supply of coal. But their oil supply was untouched, and by the admiral's foresight steam had been ordered at half an hour's notice for the _Kent_ and the _Inflexible_, and at two hours' for the rest. The signal to prepare to weigh and to raise steam was made at 8.14 a.m. The _Gneisenau_ and the _Nuernberg_, after sheering off at a couple of salvos from the _Canopus_, came on again at 9.30 to attack the _Kent_ and the _Glasgow_, who were already on guard outside the harbour. The German ships were immediately recalled--their admiral may not have known yet that the battle-cruisers were there; but the report he received convinced him that he was in the presence of a superior force, and must therefore avoid action if possible, in accordance with German naval orders or tradition. He was a brave and chivalrous commander, and it was his misfortune that he was not at liberty to stand in to the harbour mouth and fight his enemy at close range while the squadron was coming out ship by ship. His own armour was superior to that of the battle-cruisers, and his guns were effective up to 13,000 yards; he could not have avoided destruction, but he could certainly have inflicted serious damage.

Instead of acting thus, he signalled to raise steam and steer east with all speed. The battle-cruisers were now out of harbour, and visible to him; the _Glasgow_ and the _Kent_ were ahead, keeping touch, and Admiral Sturdee made the signal for "General Chase." The five German ships were hull down on the horizon, but the sky was clear; there was a light breeze and a calm sea; visibility was at its maximum: a combination fatal for the pursued. More fatal still was the character of the pursuer: a scientific seaman and tactician, a commander spirited and self-confident, cool and decisive. There would be difficulties from wind and smoke, and from the differences in the speed of his ships; but Admiral Sturdee had his chance before him, complete though not perfect, and he would grasp it with no uncertain hand.

He began by taking the battle-cruisers ahead at 26-1/2 knots; then slowed down, cleared for action, and piped the men to dinner at 11.30 as usual; changing course at the same time to converge upon the enemy. At 12.20 he increased to 25 knots, and opened fire on the _Leipzig_, now within 15,000 yards. She was soon on fire, and at 1.20 turned away south-west with the _Nuernberg_ and the _Dresden_. Admiral von Spee was dividing his squadron, in hope of saving some part of it. But Admiral Sturdee had foreseen this move. Without any fresh signal, the _Glasgow_, the _Kent_, and the _Cornwall_ at once followed the light cruisers; Captain Luce was to have the honour of a separate action to himself, while the battle-cruisers and the _Carnarvon_ held on after Spee.

The main action began with an experimental stage; the German ships concentrated their fire on the _Invincible_, but could not reach her. On the other hand, her smoke was smothering the _Inflexible_. At 2.5 Sturdee began to close, and Spee, covered by his own smoke, turned to starboard, and went off at full speed after his light cruisers. By 2.45 he was again overtaken. He then turned to port, and reduced the range; he had decided that the time was come to do what damage he could before the inevitable end.

He opened fire with every gun he had; but here, as in the fight of the _Sydney_ against the _Emden_, and afterwards at Jutland, the German gunners, though highly trained, could not long keep their accuracy under British fire. The duel was practically decided in the first ten minutes: the _Gneisenau_ was badly hit by the _Inflexible_, the _Scharnhorst_ was set on fire and lost a funnel; both were staggering and smoking desperately. Sturdee seized his advantage, turned eighteen points, and crossed their wake; under his raking fire the _Gneisenau_ listed till her 6-inch guns could no longer fire, the _Scharnhorst_ lost all her funnels and all her port guns. Spee turned gallantly to bring his fresh broadside to bear, but at 4.0 his flagship ceased fire suddenly, and lay down on her beam ends; soon she heeled over, her stern rose steeply, and she went down head foremost. Admiral Sturdee's chivalrous dispatch records that Admiral von Spee's flag was flying to the last.

None of the sinking crew could be saved, for the _Gneisenau_ was still fighting. The three British ships concentrated on her from three sides; at 5.8 her forward funnel fell, and her fire slackened; at 5.15 she hit the _Invincible_ with a single shell; at 5.30 she turned round and stopped dead. At 5.40 she ceased firing, and hauled down one of her two flags; at 5.50, while her three enemies were rushing in at 20 knots to save life, she lay down on her beam ends very suddenly and plunged. Of her complement of 800, some 200 were still alive, and nearly all of these were rescued: 166 recovered; 14 who died of exhaustion were buried next day with full military honours.

Sturdee's next thought was for Captain Luce and his ships. He gave them his own news by wireless, and asked for theirs. The _Glasgow_ replied that she and the _Cornwall_ were over 70 miles to the south, and the _Kent_ out of sight and hearing of them. It seemed not impossible that the _Nuernberg_ had disposed of her by throwing mines overboard during the chase. But this was not so; Sturdee's good fortune was not to be broken. The _Dresden_, it is true, evaded him, but only because her superior speed and 12 miles' start enabled her to abandon her squadron when she pleased. The other two light cruisers fought gallantly, but failed to escape destruction. In their flight they separated, and the two defeats must be separately described.

When the _Dresden_ decided to run out of action at 27 knots, after the first turn away, Captain Luce wasted no time in chasing her, but laid himself alongside of the _Leipzig_, the rear ship, in hope of tempting her consorts to fall back to her support. His manoeuvre was to close her repeatedly, engaging with his forward 6-inch gun, and forcing her to turn her broadside to reply. Each time she did so, the _Kent_ and the _Cornwall_ drew nearer, till at 3.36 they could attack the _Nuernberg_ and the _Leipzig_ respectively. The _Dresden_ refused to turn back: she disappeared into the mist, not to be seen again till March 1915, when she surrendered and blew up after a five minutes' action with the _Kent_ and the _Glasgow_, who had caught her at anchor.