The Hunters and the Hunted Read online

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

  Pen & Sword Maritime

  An imprint of

  Pen & Sword Books Ltd

  47 Church Street

  Barnsley

  South Yorkshire

  S70 2AS

  Copyright © Bryan Perrett 2012

  9781783033904

  The right of Bryan Perrett to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  CHAPTER 1 - Turkish Delight

  CHAPTER 2 - Lost – Cause Unknown

  CHAPTER 3 - Atlantic Rendezvous

  CHAPTER 4 - Pacific Odyssey

  CHAPTER 5 - Death in Southern Seas

  CHAPTER 6 - Ghost Ship

  CHAPTER 7 - The Swan of the East

  CHAPTER 8 - African Interlude

  CHAPTER 9 - Queens of the Lake

  CHAPTER 10 - The End of the Greyhounds

  CHAPTER 11 - Following On

  The movements of the German East Asia Squadron, 15 July to 8 December 1914.

  The Battle of Coronel, 1 November 1914.

  The Battle of the Falkland Islands.

  German East Africa and Lake Tanganyika.

  Introduction

  This is a story of ships and men, of battles fought a hundred years ago on the major oceans of the world, battles largely forgotten or unheard of that formed part of a war between empires vanished long since. When war between Great Britain and Imperial Germany began to seem inevitable the German Admiralty gave considerable thought as to how best British mercantile traffic could be damaged. The High Seas Fleet, built at enormous cost, was in any event designed purely for operations in the North Sea and the Baltic and quite unsuited to the guerre de course. The U – boat arm was in its infancy and the number of boats at its disposal was initially small. Again, its activities rarely extended beyond the North Sea, the English Channel, the Western Approaches to the United Kingdom and the Mediterranean Sea. On the other hand, Germany possessed colonies dotted around the world and these provided bases for surface warships. These consisted mainly of cruisers, but there were also a number of gunboats that would provide the armament for passenger liners that were earmarked for service with the Imperial Navy. The major problem involved was to keep regular and auxiliary warships supplied with coal. Colliers were chartered and supplies purchased close to where they would be needed. Inevitably, the German raiders would be operating in a climate of secrecy and an ingenious system was devised in which warships would replenish their fuel in coded grid-squares in remote ocean areas. In this way they were able to remain at sea for long periods, supplementing these supplies with more fuel and provisions taken from their victims.

  Naturally, this course of action was predicted and allowed for by the British Admiralty in its dispositions. The Royal Navy of 1914 was the largest and most powerful in the world, yet its opponents enjoyed a number of advantages. Most of the Royal Navy, including its largest and most modern warships, was concentrated in the Grand Fleet at Scapa Flow in anticipation of a major clash in the North Sea with the German High Seas Fleet. That meant that despite its numerous bases in British colonies and dominions around the world the Royal Navy was required to police the world’s oceans with comparatively few ships in relation to the vast areas involved. This not only required widespread dispersion, but also prolonged employment for its older ships, some of which were on the verge of retirement. It therefore did not follow that in any engagement between British and German cruisers the former would always enjoy numerical and qualitative advantages. It also meant that the Germans enjoyed the benefit of surprise and were able to strike at targets of their choice without warning. At the outbreak of war, for example, most people would have regarded the idea of a German cruiser bombarding Madras on the coast of India as being absurd. Thus, when it actually happened, the shock involved was the greater. Another factor which worked to Germany’s advantage was that, with the exception of troop convoys, the Admiralty refused to introduce a system of escorted ocean convoys until May 1917. Until then, merchantmen made individual sailings, just as they had in peacetime, and were easy prey for the raiders. The provision of a single gun on the poop deck as defensive armament did little to deter the raiders with their multiple armament, although some British masters chose to make a fight of it, with inevitable results, although in one such engagement the raider was so battered that she came close to joining her victim on the bottom.

  This, however, was a war in which those who hunted merchantmen were themselves being hunted by Allied warships. By the middle of 1915 all of Germany’s pre-war cruisers that had been stationed abroad had been sunk or neutralised. They had, however, given a good account of themselves, sinking three British cruisers, one Russian cruiser and a French destroyer, as well as an impressive tonnage of merchant ships and their cargoes. Their loss was, of course, regretted in Germany, where it was decided that their work would be continued by commerce raiders. These were usually converted merchantmen armed with concealed guns and they possessed the ability to disguise their appearance with dummy funnels, upperworks, masts and foreign identities. Some produced good results but others achieved little. Again, they were too few in number and too widely scattered across huge expanses of ocean to have had a decisive influence.

  It might be remembered that the introduction to one of the filmed versions of Anthony Hope’s novel The Prisoner of Zenda informed audiences that the story was set in a time when ‘politics had not outgrown the waltz and history still wore a rose’. Of course such an era never existed although the concept was pleasant enough. Nevertheless, unlike some aspects of the maritime war, this particular area of operations was conducted in a notably chivalrous spirit and in accordance with the life-saving traditions of the sea. Killing could not be avoided altogether, but it was never wanton. Unless sea conditions and the tactical situation prevented it, the crews and passengers of sunken ships were accommodated and received decent if confined treatment until their numbers grew to the extent that raider captains had to send them into a neutral port aboard one of his captures.

  What makes the story so interesting is the manner in which the various characters involved reacted to the situations in which they found themselves, a point recognised immediately by writers of fiction such as C.S. Forester and Wilbur Smith. Careers were ruined because the German warships Goeben and Breslau were permitted to escape into Turkish waters. Vice Admiral von Spee believed that the business of the Imperial Navy was fighting battles and not making war on merchant ships. He got his wish, winning one engagement and losing
another. Rear Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock was a prisoner of his Navy’s tradition that a fight against odds should not be avoided and at Coronel he lost his life and two cruisers because of it. Vice Admiral Sir Doveton Sturdee had once refused to spy on a brother officer for Sir John Fisher and incurred the latter’s lifelong spite because of it. Fisher even attempted to deny him any public credit, despite his having destroyed the enemy’s East Asia Squadron at the Battle of the Falklands, to the extent of trying to prevent him attending an audience at which he was to receive the King’s personal congratulations. Several of the German raider captains, notably von Müller of the Emden, Count Dohna-Schlodien of the Mowe and Felix von Luckner of the converted windjammer Seeadler, would have made very successful pirates in another era.

  Bryan Perrett, April 2011

  CHAPTER 1

  Turkish Delight

  For much of the nineteenth century the Turkish Empire was known as the Sick Man of Europe. During the early years of the twentieth century it had become increasingly apparent that the sickness had reached its terminal stage. The rule of Constantinople over large areas of North Africa had become purely nominal while elsewhere the stirring of nascent nationalism and conflicting racial and religious beliefs provided a background in which further fragmentation seemed inevitable. Even old friends such as Great Britain and France seemed to be turning against her when, together, they formed an Entente with Russia, Turkey’s ancient and bitter enemy. In 1909 the autocratic Sultan Abdul the Damned was deposed in favour of his brother, who became Sultan Mohammed V. The new ruler was, in fact, little more than a figurehead, described as ‘a spider blinking in unaccustomed sunlight’ whenever he made one of his rare excursions beyond the palace walls. The real power lay with a group of progressive revolutionaries known as the Young Turks.

  Other nations were quick to take advantage of Turkey’s weakness. Her 1911-12 war with Italy resulted in her losing Libya, the Dodecanese Islands and Rhodes. In 1912-13 two wars against her Balkan neighbours reduced her once-considerable European holdings to a mere toehold. These defeats led the Young Turks to request German assistance in reorganising and training her army. In fact, German influence within the Turkish Empire had been growing steadily for a number of years and had, in many areas, replaced that of Great Britain.

  This was a policy of which the German Emperor, Wilhelm II, thoroughly approved. It provided a potential ally in the event of war with Russia, which would be denied access to the Mediterranean via the Bosporus and Dardanelles, and concentrate British thoughts on the security of their own Imperial lifeline, the Suez Canal. He had made state visits to Abdul the Damned in 1889 and 1898 during which he insisted upon being addressed as Haji Mohammed Guillermo. This may have impressed the credulous but the more intelligent of his hosts would simply have acknowledged such an absurdity with oriental courtesy. Indeed, to have earned the title Haji he would have had to have made the pilgrimage to Mecca, which, as a Christian, was forbidden to him. Likewise, the name Mohammed had no place in his usual string of titles and the use of the Mediterranean version of Wilhelm was condescending, to say the least. Even stranger was a claim that somewhere in his family tree was the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. However, those of his entourage who were familiar with the Kaiser’s odd ways were prepared to tolerate them for the sake of the international prestige of the Imperial power that Germany had become.

  Turkey had already benefited from the German connection. With mainly German money and engineering expertise, a railway was projected from Scutari on the shore of the Bosporus to Baghdad in Mesopotamia, with a further extension to Basra under consideration. By 1914 good progress had been made but some 300 miles of the central section still had to be constructed. Initially the British government had no objection to the project, but when the line came to be called the Berlin-Baghdad Railway it was clear that German strategic ambitions extended to the oilfields of the Persian Gulf, and this at a time when the Royal Navy was about to switch from coal to oil firing. In addition, a German presence in Basra, uncomfortably close to the shipping routes to Great Britain’s Far Eastern colonies, would have been far from welcome. A second strategic rail route, the Hejaz Railway, ran from Damascus through Syria and down through Arabia to Medina. This was uncomfortably close to another British imperial artery, the Red Sea, and could be used to support military and naval forces capable of preying on this. Completed in the years prior to the outbreak of the Great War, the line ran at a profit made from pilgrims to Mecca, but subsequently provided a fine target for Colonel T.E. Lawrence and his Arab irregulars.

  In 1914 naval contacts still existed between Great Britain and the Turkish Empire. The British naval mission in Constantinople still advised the ramshackle Turkish Navy, much of which dated from the previous century, and two of the most modern dreadnought battleships in the world were being built in British yards for Turkey. One, Sultan Osman I, had originally been ordered by Brazil and then transferred to Turkey. The second, Rashadieh, had been ordered by Turkey from the outset. These ships would mark the beginning of the Turkish Navy’s modernisation programme and become the pride of fleet when they were delivered. The general public in particular took great pride in their purchase and was keenly awaiting their arrival.

  On 2 August 1914 Germany signed an alliance with Turkey, which at this stage did not commit the latter to immediate military action. By now it was apparent that Great Britain would be at war with Germany in a matter of days at most, and the following day both dreadnoughts were requisitioned by the Royal Navy under the respective names of Agincourt and Erin. In Turkish eyes, her former ally and friend had betrayed her. Baron von Wangenheim, the German ambassador to the Turkish Empire, took full advantage of the anti-British feeling that was spreading throughout the country, offering to transfer the two warships of Germany’s Mediterranean Squadron, the Goeben and the Breslau, to the Turkish Navy.

  Goeben was a battle cruiser; a new class of warship that combined the hitting power of a battleship with the speed of a cruiser but possessed only limited protection. Her main armament consisted of ten 11-inch guns and her maximum speed was 28.4 knots. Like all German battle cruisers she was named after a successful military commander, in this case General August Karl von Goeben, who had distinguished himself in the Franco-Prussian War. Breslau, armed with twelve 4.1-inch guns and capable of 30 knots, was, like the majority of German cruisers, named after a town. The two ships had been showing the flag for Imperial Germany since 1912 and since then had visited eighty ports around the Mediterranean. Since 23 October 1913 the squadron had been commanded by Rear Admiral Wilhelm Souchon.

  Following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria on 28 June 1914, Souchon sensed that diplomatic damage control measures would fail and that a full-scale European war had become inevitable. He took Goeben into the Austrian naval base of Pola in the Adriatic for urgent repairs to her boilers, which required no less than 4,460 of their tubes replacing, then sailed for Taranto, where he was joined by Breslau, which had been operating in the eastern Mediterranean. The two coaled at Messina, then sailed westward with the intention of intercepting French troop convoys leaving North Africa for France.

  The protection of troop convoys leaving France’s North African colonies was also to the fore in British minds. Winston Churchill, then First Lord of the Admiralty, despatched the following signal to the commander of the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet, Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne:

  You are to aid the French in the transportation of their African Army by covering, and if possible, bringing to action individual fast German ships, particularly Goeben, who may interfere with that action. Do not at this stage be brought to action against superior forces, except in combination with the French, as part of a general battle. [author’s italics]

  The Mediterranean Fleet, based at Malta, consisted of three battle cruisers (Inflexible, Indefatigable and Indomitable), four armoured cruisers, four light cruisers and fourteen destroyers. Its principle defect lay in its comma
nder, a former Groom-in-Waiting to the late King Edward VII. He had spent a great deal of his time aboard the Royal Yacht and was generally believed to have received his present appointment because of his qualities as a courtier. A good man to have at a party, one of his more memorable asides was that he had never disobeyed an order and never used his discretion. As the reverse constituted part of the Nelson Touch, its absence was to prove disastrous in the present circumstances.

  By 3 August Goeben and Breslau were off the coast of French North Africa. Shortly after dawn next day Goeben carried out a brief bombardment of Philipville (now Skikda) while Breslau shelled Bone (now Annaba). The orders that Souchon had received direct from the Kaiser now permitted him to break out into the Atlantic and return home, at his discretion. Such a course of action would almost certainly have resulted in the loss of both ships, but unknown to the Kaiser fresh secret orders were received from Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz and the German Admiralty to the effect that he should head eastwards immediately and make for Constantinople.

  Having learned that the German ships had headed west after leaving Messina, Milne despatched Indomitable, Indefatigable and the light cruiser Dublin after them. At 09.30 on 4 August they encountered them, approaching on an opposite course. The usual compliments were not exchanged and the British ships swung round behind their quarry, with Indomitable and Indefatigable sailing parallel to each other so that Goeben’s fire would be split if the chase developed into a fight. That began to seem less and less likely when the Cabinet refused permission until the British ultimatum to Germany expired at midnight. Meanwhile, Goeben and Breslau began to pull further and further ahead until they vanished below the horizon. Because of her boiler problems Goeben had only been able to work up to 24 knots and to achieve this Souchon extended the usual two-hour shifts in the stokeholds to four hours. The stokers’ frenzied labour at the roaring furnaces, rendered twice as hard by the tropical Mediterranean summer, killed four of them with heatstroke or scalding.