Читать книгу The Navy in Action - Henry Taprell Dorling - Страница 4

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On September 30th the British steamer Clement was sunk near Pernambuco, off the coast of Brazil. The next day the Admiralty broadcast a message to all British merchant ships warning them that a German raider might be operating off the east coast of South America. The nature of the raider was not stated, though on October 2nd, by which time the Clement’s crew had been landed, some newspaper accounts referred to her as a “pocket battleship.”

Of the Admiralty’s immediate and subsequent dispositions to meet the menace we know little, except that a systematic search was begun in all areas, and that on the western side of the South Atlantic there were three British cruisers of the South American Division under the command of Commodore (now Rear-Admiral) Sir Henry Harwood.

The Commodore’s broad Pendant flew in the Ajax (Captain C. H. L. Woodhouse), a modern 7,000-ton cruiser of 32½ knots, armed with eight 6-inch guns. He had also under his orders the Achilles (Captain W. E. Parry)—a sister ship to the Ajax—of the New Zealand Division of the Royal Navy, manned largely from men recruited and trained in New Zealand; and the Exeter (Captain F. S. Bell), which was at home recommissioning on the outbreak of war. The Exeter, was the largest ship of the trio, a cruiser of 8,400 tons and 32 knots armed with six 8-inch guns.

But the menace of a “pocket battleship” at large was a real one. There were three such ships in the German Navy, vessels of 10,000 tons and 26 knots, with six 11-inch guns and eight 5·9’s. Better armed than any cruiser, and well protected against 6-inch gunfire, they are faster than any existing battleships. Indeed, the only ships in the Allied Navies both faster and better armed were the British battle cruisers Hood, Renown and Repulse, and the French Dunkerque and Strasbourg.

The Admiral Graf Spee, according to the published diary of one of her crew, sailed from Wilhelmshaven on August 21st. Skirting the coasts of Denmark and Norway, she passed out into the Atlantic between Iceland and the Faroe Islands.

The Altmark, the Graf Spee’s tender, afterwards to become notorious, left Germany on August 5th and reached Port Arthur, Texas, twelve days later. Having completed with oil fuel for herself and the raider, she sailed again on August 19th.

On August 28th, three days before Germany’s invasion of Poland, and six days before Britain and France declared war upon Germany, the Graf Spee and Altmark met at a rendezvous at sea and the pocket battleship was refuelled and provisioned. At the same time the Altmark received two machine-guns from the warship. On September 2nd, the day before the outbreak of war with Britain and France, the Altmark was repainted and had her name altered to Sogne, of Oslo.

Weighing all the circumstances, it seems probable that the Admiral Graf Spee’s ostentatious sinking of the Clement and the liberation of her crew were deliberately done to mislead. Captain Langsdorff knew that his act must soon be reported. He probably wished it to be reported in the hope of attracting considerable Allied reinforcements for the protection of the important trade in South American waters while he continued his depredations elsewhere. It was Admiral of the Fleet Lord Chatfield who said at this time: “To find a needle in a bundle of hay is an easy task compared to finding a single raider, free to roam the seven seas in those vast ocean spaces in which British trade moves. It would be hard enough if you had perpetual daylight, permanently clear weather and a vast number of warships to hunt each quarry ... let us remember that the dispositions of our hunting forces were mainly the difficult and anxious responsibility of the Admiralty, from the First Lord downwards.”

The Graf Spee did everything to make it difficult. Having disposed of the Clement, she steamed eastward across the South Atlantic to pass between Ascension Island and Saint Helena. Between October 6th and 22nd, working on the trade route to the Cape of Good Hope in the eastern Atlantic, she sank four steamers, the Newton Beach, Ashlea, Huntsman and Trevanion. The officers and crews were transferred to the Altmark, with which the Graf Spee was again in company from October 14th to 18th. The raider’s oil fuel was replenished, and one of the prizes, the Huntsman, looted. As the German diarist writes ... “We take in a large quantity of provisions, of which the most valuable are transported from the Huntsman to the Altmark and Spee. The principal articles taken over were tea, hides, carpets, white shoes and tropical helmets.” We know also that the Germans were at pains to seize all instruments such as chronometers, sextants and binoculars.

The news of these sinkings was not made known until much later. Indeed, it was not until December 6th that the four vessels were announced as being long overdue and must be considered as lost.

Meanwhile, the Graf Spee steamed south-east and rounded the Cape of Good Hope. On November 15th she sank the small British tanker Africa Shell 180 miles north-east of Lourenço Marques at the southern end of the Mozambique Channel, and made a prisoner of her captain. A day later she held up the Dutch steamer Mapia to the southward of Madagascar, and released her.

The sinking of the Africa Shell was the first indication that a pocket battleship raider was at large in the Indian Ocean. It was not known at the time if this was the same ship that had been operating in the Atlantic. In any case, the Admiralty’s dispositions in that ocean could not be relaxed.

Though it was not known until much later, the Graf Spee steamed south and spent several days on the normal trade route between the Cape of Good Hope and Australia. To Captain Langsdorff’s disappointment, he sighted nothing; so he retraced his course round the Cape of Good Hope, and on November 26th rejoined the Altmark in the South Atlantic. The next two days were spent in embarking stores and oil fuel, and on the 28th most of the British officer prisoners from the Altmark were transferred to the Graf Spee.

The next thing heard of the raider by the public, though she was not mentioned by name, was on December 4th, when the Admiralty issued an official communique:

“Information has been received that the s.s. Doric Star has been attacked by a German raider. As no further information has been received, it is presumed that she was sunk.”

The attack occurred on December 2nd about midway between Sierra Leone and the Cape of Good Hope, the Doric Star being on her way home from Australia and New Zealand. In spite of being fired upon to prevent the use of her wireless, the British steamer managed to get off her distress calls. Passed four or five times, her signals were picked up and relayed by other vessels.

On December 3rd those signals thus became known to Commodore Harwood, between two and three thousand miles away on the other side of the Atlantic. His three ships were scattered over two thousand miles, and concentration was vitally necessary if the raider, a pocket battleship, were to be met and brought to action with any hope of success.

The Graf Spee’s secondary armament of eight 5·9-inch guns alone was equal to the eight 6-inch guns carried as the main armament of the Ajax and Achilles. Her six 11-inch guns gave her a huge superiority, the Graf Spee’s broadside being 4,700 lbs. as against the 3,136 lbs. of the Ajax, Achilles and Exeter combined.

Knowing that the raider must be aware of the Doric Star’s report broadcast by wireless, Commodore Harwood judged she would leave the area and cross the Atlantic towards him. Working it out on the chart and making the necessary allowances, he concluded that she could reach the Rio de Janeiro area on December 12th, the River Plate region on that day or the next, and the neighbourhood of the Falkland Islands on the 14th.

These areas are over a thousand miles apart, and there was nothing to show which of them the Graf Spee might choose as an objective. But weighing up all the circumstances, Commodore Harwood decided that the most important region to be protected was the area off the River Plate, which was used by a large amount of shipping. The trade was very valuable, an almost certain bait for a raider bent upon destruction.

So the British Commodore ordered his squadron to concentrate at a rendezvous 150 miles out to sea off the River Plate estuary, and arranged that the ships should not be short of fuel when they arrived. These orders were sent in one short message, after which no further wireless was used. Signals would have told the enemy that British forces were on the move, and concentrating.

To revert to the Graf Spee.

Having sunk the Doric Star on December 2nd, the

The Cruise of “Admiral Graf Spee”. 1939

raider doubled to the south-west, to catch the Tairoa early the next morning. She also was fired upon to prevent the use of wireless, though the operator continued to transmit until his apparatus was hit. Five of the Tairoa’s crew were wounded.

The Graf Spee moved on to the westward, and on December 6th again met her supply ship, to which she transferred certain officers and the crews of the Doric Star and Tairoa. The ships parted company the next day, and that evening the raider met and sank the British steamer Streonshalh.

There were now thirty-nine British officer prisoners in the Graf Spee, and the thirty men forming the crew of the Streonshalh. At daylight each morning, and again in the evening, they heard the raider’s aeroplane catapulted off to seek new victims. It sighted nothing.

For four days the Graf Spee steamed south-west towards the River Plate. Captain Langsdorff may have expected to meet a British warship or two in that area; but according to the British prisoners on board, who enjoyed considerable liberty, the entire crew believed every word of the mendacious propaganda from Berlin, and that their ship was invincible. Most of the British Navy was already sunk, they thought, and all Germany believed that the Hood, Renown and Repulse were out of action, along with the Ark Royal.

At 7 a.m. on December 12th the Ajax, Achilles and Exeter reached their appointed rendezvous 150 miles eastward of the estuary of the River Plate. Commodore Harwood spent part of that day in telling his captains what tactics he intended using in the event of meeting a pocket battleship. The tactics were then exercised. The whole tenor of the Commodore’s instructions was that his captains were to act independently so as to obtain and keep decisive gun range.

Daylight on December 13th broke cloudless and brilliantly clear, with full visibility. There was a breeze from the south-west, with a swell and slight sea from the same direction. Steaming east-north-east at fourteen knots, the British squadron was in single line ahead with the Ajax leading, followed in turn by the Achilles and Exeter.

At 6.14 smoke was sighted on the horizon just abaft the port beam. The Exeter was told to investigate. Two minutes later she reported: “I think it is a pocket battleship.”

The enemy was in sight.

The three British cruisers and their adversary were steering on converging courses, with the Graf Spee to the northward. The British at once started to work up to full speed, and to carry out the tactics practised the day before. The general idea was that the more powerful German should be simultaneously engaged from two different directions. Her six 11-inch guns were in two turrets, and Commodore Harwood’s procedure would either cause her to concentrate one turret upon each of the widely separated British units, or to leave one of them unengaged.

The Exeter, the most powerful British ship with her 8-inch guns, altered course to the westward. The Ajax and Achilles moved rapidly off to the north-eastward, closing in on their much larger opponent.

And at 6.18, four minutes after her smoke had first been sighted, the Graf Spee opened fire at very long range. One of her turrets fired at the Exeter and the other at the Ajax and Achilles.

The distance shortened rapidly, and two minutes later the Exeter opened fire with her two foremost turrets containing four 8-inch guns at a range of 19,000 yards. Before long she brought her after pair of 8-inch guns to bear also. Her gunfire seemed to be worrying the Graf Spee, for before long the German concentrated the whole of her armament on the Exeter. The first enemy salvo fell short, and the second over. The third “straddled,” with one or more shell short and the others over.

At about the same time the Ajax and Achilles opened a rapid and effective fire with their 6-inch guns, the range closing fast as they drew ahead on the enemy.

The Exeter, meanwhile, came under heavy fire, and at 6.23 an 11-inch shell burst just short on hitting the water. Splinters rained on board, killing the torpedo tubes’ crews, damaging the communications and riddling the funnels and searchlights. A minute later she received a direct hit from an 11-inch shell on B turret, immediately before the bridge. It put the turret and both guns out of action, killing outright eight of the fifteen Royal Marines who formed their crews. Splinters made havoc of the bridge, killing or wounding all the personnel except the captain and two others, and wrecking the communications of the wheelhouse.

For a few moments the ship was out of control, until those in the lower conning position took over the steering and the ship was brought back to her

Action between H.M.Ships ‘Ajax’ ‘Exeter’ and ‘Achilles’ and ‘Admiral Graf Spee’ 13th December 1939

course. The bridge was wrecked, and Captain Bell decided to fight his ship from the after conning position just before the mainmast. He made his way there, only to find that the communications had been destroyed. The steering was therefore changed over to the after steering position, and for forty-five minutes the captain conned his ship with a small boat’s compass, his order to the steering position below being passed from man to man through a chain of about ten messengers.

The Exeter was still under heavy fire, and during this period received two more hits forward from 11-inch shells, besides being further damaged by splinters from projectiles bursting short.

The Ajax and Achilles also were in hot action, their fire being so effective that at 6.30 the Graf Spee turned one of her 11-inch turrets upon them. Both the small British cruisers had already been under heavy fire from the German 5·9’s, though without effect.

Shortly afterwards the Exeter fired her starboard torpedoes at the enemy. They missed, for the Graf Spee, disliking the British gunfire, turned through 150 degrees under a heavy smoke screen.

The Ajax and Achilles, which had been steaming at fourteen knots when the Graf Spee was sighted, had worked up to twenty-eight within twenty minutes of the order for full speed being given. The process normally takes two hours; but, as said one of the engine-room artificers of the Ajax: “We knew we were in action, and worked like devils to get the engines round.” Their efforts certainly reflected the greatest credit upon the personnel of the engine and boiler-rooms.

The aeroplane of the Ajax, piloted by Lieutenant Edgar G. D. Lewin, was catapulted off at 6.37, to take up a position on the disengaged bow of the smaller cruisers. The operation was a matter of great difficulty, both the pilot, the observer and the aircraft itself being subjected to severe blast from the guns of the after turret, which were firing on a forward bearing.

At about this time the Exeter made a large alteration of course for the purpose of firing her port torpedo tubes at the enemy. She was again hit twice by 11-inch shells as she turned, one of them bursting in the fore turret and putting both 8-inch guns out of action. The other shell exploded inside the ship, did extensive damage and started a raging fire between decks. As seen from the Ajax’s aeroplane, the Exeter “completely disappeared in smoke and flame, and it was feared that she had gone. However, she emerged, and re-entered the action.”

The devoted Exeter, bearing the brunt of the Graf Spee’s much heavier metal, had suffered severely. Only one of her three turrets, the after one, was left in action. All the compass repeaters had been smashed and the internal communications destroyed, so that messengers had to be used for passing orders. Some of her lower compartments were flooded, and she was ablaze between decks. The ship was listing over and down by the bow; but still steamed at full power. Her port torpedoes were fired, and altering course towards the enemy she steered a course approximately parallel to the Graf Spee’s and fought gallantly on with the two guns that remained, the officer directing them standing in an exposed position on the searchlight platform.

Many deeds of gallantry were performed in the Exeter in the space of just over an hour. One cannot recount them all, but there was the young midshipman who, when a shell burst over an ammunition locker and set it on fire, ordered two guns’ crews to take cover. The locker exploded, wounding some men and setting alight to another locker. As soon as the main fire abated Midshipman Archibald Cameron, with the help of Able Seaman William G. Gwilliam, smothered the flames of the burning woodwork and threw the unexploded shell brass cartridge cases over the side. They were still hot, and at any moment might have exploded. Neither of these two showed the least regard for their own safety.

A Royal Marine, Wilfred A. Russell, refused all but first aid when his left forearm was blown away and his right arm shattered. Remaining on deck, he went about cheering on his shipmates and putting courage into them by his great fortitude. He did not give in until the heat of battle was over. He later died of his wounds. Stoker Patrick O’Brien, ordered to make contact with the main switchboard, made his way through a compartment in which a heavy shell had just burst, and was filled with dense and deadly smoke, escaping steam and the fumes of high explosive. After making contact with the man in the forward dynamo-room, he returned along the upper deck and led a party of men into the reeking compartment.

There were the engine-room artificers who, when a shell burst in the flat where they were stationed, stood fast in the dense fumes with the dead and dying all round them, and, though temporarily stunned, flooded the magazines and fought the raging fires. A wounded stoker, John Minhinnet, refused all attention until he was certain that the message he was taking had been delivered; while a man of the Fleet Air Arm, Eric Shoesmith, his clothes soaked in petrol from the damaged aeroplane, climbed to the top of the machine to free it for jettisoning. The ship was under heavy fire, and an 8-inch turret was firing on a forward bearing.

The Governor of the Falkland Islands sent a despatch to London describing the part played by the Exeter in the action. “Of the heroism of the wounded,” he wrote, “much might be related. As an example of the way which they bore their fate, one man, with both legs shot off, said on inquiry that he was ‘not doing so badly under somewhat adverse circumstances.’ He died on shore.”

In the words of Captain Bell, the behaviour of his officers and men was “superb.” Her subsequent list of honours, like those of the Ajax and Achilles, contains the records of many deeds of individual bravery symptomatic of the fine spirit that animated the men of all three ships while fighting a greatly superior enemy.

At 6.40 the battle had developed into what was really a chase. The Graf Spee had turned off to the westward under another smoke screen, and the Ajax and Achilles, now steaming thirty-one knots and still increasing speed, were steering to the north-westward. The four ships were in the form of a triangle, the Ajax and Achilles fine on the Graf Spee’s starboard quarter, and the battered Exeter, still firing with her after turret with its pair of 8-inch guns, the only ones that remained, just before the Graf Spee’s port beam.

Then an 11-inch shell burst just short of the Achilles, its flying splinters killing three men in the gunnery control position, wounding and half stunning Lieutenant Washbourne, the gunnery officer and several others, and wounding Captain Parry and Chief Yeoman of Signals Martinson on the bridge. Though none of the fire control instruments was seriously damaged, the position was temporarily out of action through the casualties in personnel. However, the Achilles continued to fire, the secondary position taking over the control until the main position again came into action a few minutes later.

It was here that Sergeant Samuel John Trimble, Royal Marines, severely wounded, stood fast without flinching or complaint during the rest of the action, bearing his injuries with great fortitude. When the medical party arrived during the subsequent lull he helped them to remove the wounded, and then made his own way to the sick-bay. His gallantry earned him the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal.

Many others, including a young ordinary seaman, and a seaman boy less than eighteen years of age, displayed the greatest bravery. The boy, Allan M. Dorset, was afterwards awarded the Distinguished Service Medal for behaving with “exemplary coolness, despite the carnage around him,” and continuing to pass necessary information to the guns.

The action continued fiercely, and at 7 o’clock the Ajax and Achilles were still pouring in a heavy fire. They had altered course more or less parallel to their enemy to bring all their guns to bear at a range of about 16,000 yards. Misliking the punishment, the Graf Spee laid another smoke screen to escape. Thereafter she made frequent use of smoke screens and large alterations of course to confound the British gunnery.

A little later, steaming as fast as their engines and boilers could drive them, the Ajax and Achilles again swung in towards the enemy to shorten the range. A few minutes afterwards the Graf Spee poured out another pall of smoke and swerved through nearly ninety degrees to port towards the damaged Exeter. It was first thought that Captain Langsdorff intended to finish off the crippled cruiser, but in a few minutes he again swung the Graf Spee to the north-westward to bring all her guns to bear on the Ajax and Achilles at a range of 11,000 yards. She opened fire with her 11-inch and 5·9-inch guns, though the shooting of the latter was ragged and inaccurate.

Commodore Harwood again turned to starboard to bring the concentrated fire of his two cruisers upon the enemy. The shooting was rapid and effective, a fire being seen amidships in the Graf Spee. The range was still shortening, and at 7.24 the Ajax swung round and fired her port torpedoes at a distance of 9,000 yards. The enemy must have seen them, for she immediately dodged by swinging through 130 degrees to port under cover of a smoke screen, and resuming her north-westerly course three minutes later.

It was just about this time that the Ajax was struck by an 11-inch shell which put both of her after turrets out of action, thus robbing her at a blow of half her armament. Apart from causing a number of casualties, the explosion damaged pipes and electrical gear, besides putting out the lights and starting fires. Once more officers and men worked valiantly—Lieutenant Ian D. De’ath, Royal Marines, in charge of a turret, at once going to the hatch which had been blown open and was vomiting smoke and flame, and setting a fine example of courage and presence of mind by giving the necessary orders to ensure the safety of the ammunition. Many others near the seat of the explosion showed commendable presence of mind and initiative in dealing with the heavy damage.

The Ajax’s aircraft, which had been spotting the fall of shot for the two smaller cruisers, approached the Graf Spee to discover her damage. Coming under heavy anti-aircraft gunfire, she retired out of range.

The Exeter, meanwhile, fighting with her two guns that still remained serviceable, had been forced to reduce speed because of her damage. At about half-past seven this last turret could no longer remain in action because of flooding. She had lost sixty-one killed and twenty-three wounded in an engagement lasting just over an hour and a half. Badly battered by her greatly superior opponent, she had remained in action as long as a gun would fire. She disappeared to the south-east at slow speed, doing her best to repair her damage and make herself seaworthy.

The two lighter cruisers hauled round to the westward to close the range of the Graf Spee still further. Then the Ajax’s aeroplane reported the approach of torpedoes, which the Commodore successfully avoided by a large alteration of course towards the enemy. The Ajax had only three guns left in action, but their fire, with the eight guns of the Achilles, was so accurate and effective that the Graf Spee again turned away towards the west, zigzagging and making smoke.

A little later, galled by the British fire, the Graf Spee again swung to the south-west to bring all her heavy guns into action. It was then that the Ajax and Achilles stood on until the range had shortened to 8,000 yards.

Captain Langsdorff was afterwards reported in an Uruguayan newspaper as having said that the rapidity with which the British manœuvred upset his plans. He mentioned the “inconceivable audacity,” “incredible manœuvres” and “heroic tactics” of the British Commodore. “The Admiral Graf Spee’s advantage in gun range was thus neutralised.... I realised how dangerous the position was and resolved at all costs to break off the action.”

It was at about 7.40 a.m. that it was reported to Commodore Harwood that the firing had been so rapid and continuous that there was a danger of running short of ammunition if the action were much prolonged. He therefore changed his tactics, considering it advisable to shadow the enemy for the rest of the day, and then to close in to decisive range at night to finish the work with his lighter guns and torpedoes.

To carry this into effect he turned away to the east under cover of a smoke screen, and held that course for six minutes before turning and resuming the chase. Just as the ships began to turn one of the Graf Spee’s last shells carried away the main topmast of the Ajax, caused a few casualties and destroyed the wireless aerials. New aerials were speedily rigged.

Thus by eight o’clock in the morning the heavily-armed Graf Spee was steaming to the westward at twenty-two knots, with the two little British cruisers dogging her from astern. The Ajax was on the enemy’s port quarter and the Achilles on the starboard, both at a distance of about fifteen miles.

That both ships had not been vitally damaged in the close range action was entirely due to the speed and skill with which they had been handled. The greatest credit was also due to the men in the engine and boiler-rooms, who had steamed their ships under full power while zigzagging like snipe. Down below in the boiler-rooms the blast of the guns caused the flame to leap out of the furnaces. But the stokers, many of them very young, never ceased their work or moved back from their boilers.

Meanwhile there were sixty-one British prisoners on board the Graf Spee, thirty-one merchant naval officers in one compartment, and thirty ratings elsewhere.

The officers were locked in a central room just below the aeroplane on its catapult. Twenty feet by seventeen, it had a small pantry and wash-room attached.

They had heard the urgent alarm signals when the Graf Spee sighted the British, and the heavy firing that followed. As one of them wrote: “We soon guessed it was something different from an unarmed merchantman, as the Graf Spee was soon vibrating heavily with speed and heeling over at times with quickly-applied helm. We could feel the ship shaken at times, but were unable to tell if it was from her own heavy guns firing, or from the impact of shots hitting her.”

Said another: “You can imagine our feelings, knowing it was the intention of the attacking ship to blow our temporary home out of the water.... Every time a shot hit us we all said, ‘Well hit, sir!’ But we felt like rats in a trap.”

Their first definite knowledge of a direct hit was at about half-past seven, when a shell burst overhead, putting out all the lights but one, fracturing the deck-beams overhead, smashing the steel cover of the skylight and breaking the glass. Some shell fragments and debris fell into the room, but no one was hurt. By standing on a table they could see through the splintered glass that the Graf Spee was being chased, for she was steaming full speed to the westward with her guns firing aft. Heeling violently over to the action of her rudder, she was evidently trying to dodge the British salvoes. They wondered intensely why so powerful a ship was running away.

Taking turns to watch through a small screw-hole in the bulkhead, they were able to see the men at the ammunition hoists outside, who looked very concerned and glum. When a lull in the firing came many dead and wounded were carried past. Several witnesses described unwounded members of the Graf Spee’s crew as being physically sick at the sights which confronted them.

It was not until nearly eleven o’clock that a German officer came to see if any of the prisoners were wounded. A voice shouted from outside, “Are you all right?” They replied, “Yes, but we want some coffee.” There was none available, for the British shell had demolished the galleys, bakeries and store-rooms. After half an hour’s delay a large pannikin of limejuice and water, with four loaves of black bread, were passed into the room, and the door locked again.

We left the Ajax and Achilles at eight o’clock shadowing the Graf Spee to the westward from a distance of about fifteen miles, and about an hour later the Ajax recovered her aircraft, which had been up for two and a half hours.

Because of the Exeter’s departure and his already heavy expenditure of ammunition, Commodore Harwood could not risk further prolonged day action with his greatly superior opponent. As already explained, it was his intention to close in after dark and finish off the business at short range.

But what of possible reinforcements?

The nearest British warship, the 10,000-ton, 8-inch gun cruiser Cumberland was at the Falkland Islands, 1,015 miles away, and at 9.46 the Commodore wirelessed her to steam to the River Plate area at full speed. In point of fact, the Cumberland had overheard confused messages which indicated an action was being fought, and had sailed immediately on the initiative of her commanding officer.

The Admiralty in London, too, had become aware that a battle was in progress. They had sent orders to the aircraft-carrier Ark Royal and the battle-cruiser Renown, which had been operating 3,000 miles away near the Cape of Good Hope, to proceed at once to the coast of South America.

The chase of the Graf Spee continued, and just after ten o’clock the Achilles had closed to a range of 23,000 yards. To shake her off the German yawed sufficiently to fire two three-gun salvoes, the second of which fell fairly close. Captain Parry promptly turned off behind a smoke screen and continued his task of shadowing from a greater distance.

Then, at eleven o’clock, a merchantman was sighted near the Graf Spee. She seemed to be stopped. A little later a wireless signal came through the ether: “Ajax and Achilles from Admiral Graf Spee. Please pick up lifeboats of English steamer.”

But the s.s. Shakespear’s boats were all hoisted when the Ajax came up with her. She was in no need of help. Captain Langsdorff’s signal had probably been made as a ruse to delay his pursuers.

The shadowing of the Graf Spee continued throughout the rest of the morning and the afternoon. Soon after seven o’clock in the evening, however, the German once more swung round. Her guns flashed as she opened fire at the Ajax at 26,000 yards. The British cruiser hauled off under another smoke screen and continued to shadow from out of range.

By now it was sufficiently clear to all concerned that the Graf Spee was making for the estuary of the River Plate. A bank sixteen miles long, known as the “Banco Ingles,” lay across the northern side of the entrance. It was possible that the Graf Spee would circle this large shoal and then dodge back to the open sea. To frustrate this possibility, at any rate to keep his enemy under observation, Commodore Harwood decided to separate his two ships.

The Achilles was already to the northward, and as soon as the Graf Spee passed Lobos Island—some sixty-five miles to the east of Montevideo—the Achilles was directed to continue the shadowing, while the Ajax went south-west to watch the southern end of the Banco Ingles.

It was sunset at twelve minutes to eight, and the Graf Spee was still visible from the Achilles as a dark silhouette against the bright sky over the horizon to the westward. Her distance was 25,000 yards. The better to observe her against the afterglow, which would linger for some time, the Achilles increased speed and closed on her quarry, hauling slightly to the north-westward as she did so. The Graf Spee resented the manœuvre, for a few minutes later she swerved under cover of a smoke screen, and slammed off a salvo with her 11-inch guns. Once more the Achilles replied, turning away at full speed under her own smoke screen.

This action was witnessed by the captain of the Uruguayan cruiser Uruguay, whose report was afterwards published in the official Blue Book of the Uruguayan Government. He wrote:

“At 7.50 p.m. the English ship on a westerly course opens fire when off Punta Negri, about eight miles from the coast and within territorial waters. The German battleship, which is now between the above-mentioned English vessel and the buoy E. of Banco Ingles, returns fire. The action continues in a W. direction. During combat the English ship throws out a smoke screen behind which she makes a complete turn. The other English vessel, which had stopped approximately twelve miles to the S. of Punta Ballena, hauled down her battle signal, which was immediately hoisted by the aforementioned ship, and then makes a W. course, taking no further part in the combat so far as we could see.”

The statement about the Achilles being within territorial waters is not borne out by the facts.

However, after their brief interchange of shots just after sunset, the Graf Spee and Achilles resumed their courses to the westward. The pursuit was inexorable.

Just before half-past nine, by which time it was getting dark, the Graf Spee poured out another smoke screen to shake off the nimble Achilles. The attempt failed, whereupon the German fired a salvo of 11-inch, which the British cruiser dodged.

Twice more the Graf Spee fired single salvoes at the Achilles in attempts to drive her off. Captain Parry, however, refused either to be thwarted in his pursuit, or to open fire in return. Night was approaching, and his ship must be very difficult to see against the dark background over the horizon to the north-east. To have opened fire would give away his position by the gun flashes. Increasing speed, the Achilles was gradually creeping up on her quarry to keep her under observation. By ten o’clock she had closed to within five miles, and it was certain that the Graf Spee was passing to the north of Banco Ingles.

The afterglow of the sunset had vanished from the western sky, and very soon the shape of the Graf Spee became nebulous and indistinct against a background of low cloud and banks of drifting smoke. The better to keep her under observation, Captain Parry hauled slightly to the southward to get her silhouetted against the glare of the lights of Montevideo.

By a quarter to eleven the Graf Spee was about seven miles from the buoy marking the entrance to the dredged channel leading to Montevideo. If it had not been fully certain before, it was now clear that the defeated raider was about to seek the shelter of the neutral port.

At ten minutes past midnight the Graf Spee came to anchor in the outer roads.

A little later an English-speaking German officer, Lieutenant Hertzberg, entered the room occupied by the officer prisoners, most of whom were turned in in their hammocks.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “for you the war is over. We are now in Montevideo Harbour. To-day you will be free.”

“We couldn’t believe it at first,” one of the captains was to say later. “Then we noticed that the engines were stopped. Someone hoisted himself up and looked through the broken skylight, and sure enough there were the harbour lights of Montevideo....”

Then there were cheers, and a babble of excited conversation. There was no more sleep that night so far as they were concerned.

Little wonder.

Commodore Harwood had no means of knowing whether the Graf Spee’s sojourn was likely to last for twenty-four hours or more, or whether she might soon make a dash for the open sea in the hope of catching the Ajax and Achilles before they could be reinforced. The Cumberland, with her 8-inch guns, was on her way up from the Falkland Islands, but it would be some time before she could arrive.

The Graf Spee could not be attacked at anchor in Uruguayan territorial waters. On the other hand, the estuary of the River Plate between Montevideo and Cabo San Antonio, on the Argentine shore opposite, is about ninety miles wide. It has two shoals in the entrance, one, the Banco Ingles, some seventeen miles south-west of Montevideo, with shallow water extending over twenty miles, and the other, the thirteen-mile patch of the Rouen Bank, more or less in the centre of the estuary, with a least depth of three and a half fathoms.

The various routes by which the Graf Spee might escape had to be watched as best they might by the two ships at Commodore Harwood’s disposal. The situation, indeed, was one of some danger. The Ajax and Achilles were greatly inferior to their opponent, and the Graf Spee might emerge at the first gleam of dawn when she would be invisible against the land and dark sky to the westward, while the two British ships would be silhouetted against the brightening sky in the east.

In telling his ships of his intentions, the Commodore began his signal with the brave words: “My object—destruction.” Then he outlined the necessity of keeping to seaward of the Graf Spee, and ordered the Ajax and Achilles to patrol well out during the night and to move back into the estuary after dawn.

The spirit of the officers and men was magnificent. There was no sleep for anyone, nor did they desire it.

One must imagine these two cruisers, without a gleam of light showing, rolling gently in the swell as they patrolled to and fro off the estuary. While men searched the dark mists and watched the dull glow in the sky which marked the position of Montevideo, others were clustered round the guns and torpedo tubes ready for instant action. Men in the engine and boiler-rooms were prepared for full speed at short notice. Those in the wireless cabinets listened to the faint scratching in their earphones which told of messages coming in through the ether, and of the Cumberland coming up at full speed from the south to join them. The wounded were looked after, and repair parties made good what damage they could during the hours of darkness.

For those in the Ajax and Achilles that long night of December 13th-14th was a period of expectation. They had been in hot action during the day, and were under no illusions what the dawn might bring. For all that she had fled, the Graf Spee was still a powerful opponent. One unlucky hit from one of her 670-pound 11-inch shell might finish a smaller cruiser.

Many of those wakeful men must have weighed up the chances in their minds. They would not have been human if they had not. But after the experiences of the day, and seeing the Graf Spee in full flight, they had a blind trust in their captains and officers, and supreme confidence in themselves.

“My object—destruction,” the Commodore had signalled, and the news of it had percolated through both ships, as such signals invariably do. Their minds were at one with the Commodore’s. Let the Commodore lead, and they would follow. If the Graf Spee emerged she should be taught another lesson, or they would sink alongside her. The loss of one or two small cruisers would not matter compared with the destruction or crippling of an enemy pocket battleship.

The night passed, and the first pale fingers of dawn came creeping over the sky from the eastward. As soon as full daylight came the two ships moved in towards Montevideo, keeping watch over what portions of the estuary they could. The day went by, but at ten o’clock that night the welcome Cumberland arrived from the Falklands, having made the passage in thirty-four hours.

The three ships patrolled to seaward during the night, the Commodore planning to shadow the Graf Spee if she emerged with the idea of concentrating his force far enough out at sea to deliver a concerted attack on the same lines as before.

Came the morning of December 15th, and another problem. Unless they replenished with oil fuel, the Ajax and Achilles could not remain indefinitely at sea with steam ready for full speed at short notice. But by wise prevision the Royal Fleet Auxiliary tanker Olynthus was in the neighbourhood, and the Ajax was able to oil from her at sea, while the Achilles and Cumberland covered her. The operation was not easy, the swell carrying away the securing hawsers; but the Ajax obtained the oil she needed.

On that day the Commodore had news that the Graf Spee had been granted an extension of time at Montevideo up to seventy-two hours so that she might make herself seaworthy.

The diplomatic representations to the Uruguayan Foreign Minister by the British and French Ministers, on the one hand, and the German Minister on the other, are hardly germane to the narrative. However, the British and French representatives urgently requested that the Graf Spee should not be allowed to stay for more than twenty-four hours under the terms of the Hague Convention of 1907, while the German pressed for an extension of fifteen days. The Uruguayan Government, basing its decision upon the report of a Technical Commission appointed by the Inspector-General of the Navy, decided that the Graf Spee might stay for seventy-two hours “for the carrying out of repairs necessary to ensure the seaworthiness.”

The Graf Spee’s casualties were thirty-six killed and about sixty wounded. According to the Technical Commission’s report she had been hit at least twenty-seven times, including at least one hit in the control tower.

But waiting outside territorial waters, Commodore Harwood, as he himself wrote in his official despatch, “could feel no security that she would not break out at any moment.” The strain of watching and waiting, in instant readiness for battle, was worse than the strain of battle itself.

Before daylight on December 16th the three British cruisers concentrated in the southern part of the estuary, and the Ajax flew off her aircraft to reconnoitre the enemy, the pilot being ordered not to fly over territorial waters. The aircraft returned later with the news that the mist over the land made it impossible to see.

News came through later that the Graf Spee was still in Montevideo, and was unlikely to sail that night; but Commodore Harwood could not relax his vigilance. In point of fact he had ceased to be a Commodore, for late that afternoon he received the Admiralty’s signal promoting him to the rank of Rear Admiral to date December 13th, the date of the action, and informing him of the K.C.B. bestowed upon him and the C.B.s upon his three captains.

The Ajax, Achilles and Cumberland spent that night patrolling as before, and on the morning of the 17th the Achilles replenished her fuel from the Olynthus, after which they continued to patrol off the Banco Ingles.

That same afternoon came messages that the Graf Spee was preparing for sea. It was expected that she would break out at any moment; but even after four days of weary and anxious waiting the British ships’ companies were full of what their Admiral called “the most cheerful optimism.”

At 5.30 there was news that the Graf Spee was weighing anchor. The three British ships, with their crews at action stations, moved towards the entrance of the five-mile dredged channel leading to Montevideo. The Ajax catapulted her aircraft, with orders to report the Graf Spee’s movements with those of the German Tacoma, to which the battleship was known to have transferred a large number of men.

Captain Langsdorff had until 8 p.m. local time to decide whether to remain in Uruguayan waters and be interned for the duration of the war. During the afternoon his ship weighed one of her anchors after transferring her repair machinery to an attendant vessel. Twenty-one of her wounded men were sent to hospital in Montevideo, and at 6.35, preceded by the harbour-master’s tug, she was seen moving slowly out of harbour. A quarter of a million people watched her progress. By cable and wireless the eyes and ears of the whole world were upon her. In a certain room in London we knew of her departure in seven minutes.

The Tacoma, having embarked about 500 men of Graf Spee’s crew, was preparing to follow.

When the Graf Spee passed out of sight of the watchers in Montevideo, she was steering a south-easterly course. Later she turned westward, steaming towards the entrance of the channel leading to Buenos Aires. She was then reported to have stopped in the estuary of the River Plate, and later to be moving south-westward very slowly, followed by six of her own boats.

We know what happened next from many observers, but here is the account broadcast by a German commentator:

“At sunset the Graf Spee was seven and a half miles from Montevideo. She stopped and commenced manœuvring, while the British fleet waited. The Tacoma approached the Graf Spee, and vessels flying the Argentine flag also appeared on the scene. Boats were seen to leave the Graf Spee. At 7.55 the sun went down behind her.... Suddenly a purple flash 100 metres high. The proud ship exploded. The whole ship was burning, not a victim in the hands of the enemy. The ship was burning ... already only one flag was visible, and then the whole ship disappeared. The English cruiser sent planes over to investigate.... When it was known that all the crew had been taken off, no one in the world can realise the joy that was caused. I saw many men burst into tears, as we did. The moment was too great for us—these fine men, this proud ship.... Half an hour later the High Command announced that the Führer had ordered the ship to be destroyed....”

Captain Langsdorff had been in communication with Berlin by telegraph and telephone, and is known to have spoken directly to Herr Hitler. And an official German news agency announced:

“It is made known that the Führer and supreme commander gave the order to Captain Langsdorff to destroy the ship by blowing it up, inasmuch as the Uruguayan Government declined to allow the time necessary to make the ship seaworthy.”

At 8.54 p.m.[A] the Ajax’s aircraft reported: “Admiral Graf Spee has blown herself up.” The three British cruisers steamed on towards Montevideo, going north of the Banco Ingles. On the way the Ajax stopped to recover her aeroplane, and the Achilles passed close by. Their decks were crowded with men, and a roar of human voices went rolling across the water as the ship’s companies cheered each other—British and New Zealanders.

Switching on their lights, the squadron steamed past the whistle buoy marking the end of the dredged channel leading to Montevideo, and within about four miles of the Admiral Graf Spee. As Admiral Harwood wrote in his despatch: “It was now dark, and she was ablaze from end to end, flames reaching almost as high as the top of the control tower, a magnificent and most cheering sight.”

It matters little who gave the final orders for the Graf Spee’s destruction. She was blown up about five miles from the harbour of Montevideo. A heavy explosion first shook the city, and a great column of smoke arose. Flames quickly began to spread the entire length of the ship. Five minutes later there came another rumbling explosion, which may have been one of the magazines. Much of the superstructure was blown away, but the funnel and control tower could still be seen outlined against the evening sky over a pall of thick smoke. Broken, she sank in about twenty-six feet of water.

Escaping oil fuel caught fire and enveloped the superstructure in flames. For a time an immense area of sea seemed to be blazing, the dramatic effect being enhanced as evening gave way to night and darkness came. There were more explosions, and the fire still raged next morning. At 9.45 a.m. the funnel gave way and toppled into the water, leaving the

Estuary of the River Plate

control tower pointing skywards from the still smoking hull.

The battered remains of the once proud ship lay in a position where they obstructed the outer anchorage, and are visible to travellers voyaging to Montevideo and Buenos Aires. Those remains are not a monument to the prowess of the German Navy, but to British seamanship and gallantry.

As wrote a correspondent of the New York Times:

“This was a battle won when the Graf Spee was forced, despite her more powerful guns, to run for shelter under the naval fighting skill that is a tradition of the British Navy.”

Of the Graf Spee’s 1,153 officers and men, the thirty-six dead were buried at Montevideo, forty remained in hospital and twenty-two in the German Legation or on board the Tacoma. The 1,054 that remained reached Buenos Aires in two German-owned tugs and a lighter, where they were taken charge of by the authorities.

On the night of December 19th, in the Naval Arsenal at Buenos Aires, Captain Langsdorff shot himself with a revolver. It is said that before doing so he gave his camera and other personal effects to his officers as mementoes, and then summoned his officers and men and made them a final speech, in which he warned them of his intention, and said that he would have preferred to have gone out and fought to the end, but had been forbidden to do so by higher authority. His body was discovered in naval uniform wrapped in the folds of the ensign of the old Imperial German Navy, which he had entered in 1912.

The suicide was announced by the German Embassy at Buenos Aires: “The commander of the glorious cruiser Admiral Graf Spee, Captain Langsdorff, last night sacrificed his life for his country by voluntary self-immolation. From the outset he decided to share the fate of his fine ship, and only powerful influences and due consideration of his responsibility for the successful disembarkation of the crew of more than 1,000 men led him to postpone fulfilment of his intention until his duty was done, and his superiors duly informed of the situation. This mission ended, he bowed to destiny, a brave sailor who has written another page to the glory of the German Navy.”

On December 20th the High Command of the German Navy in Berlin issued another communique: “Captain Hans Langsdorff had no wish to survive the sinking of his ship. Faithful to ancient tradition and in accordance with the teaching of the officer corps to which he belonged for almost three decades, he took his decision.... The Navy understands and esteems this act. As a fighter and a hero Captain Langsdorff did what was expected of him by his Führer, the German people and the Navy.”

Nevertheless, the news of the suicide came as a most unpleasant shock to German official circles. The propaganda ministry had difficulty in explaining why a man they said had won a battle and performed an act of honour had chosen to kill himself. According to the accounts of certain correspondents at Montevideo and Buenos Aires, Captain Langsdorff made a serious psychological error which undoubtedly contributed to the disillusionment and depression that led to his suicide. He mistook Montevideo’s sincere homage to the dead members of his crew as a great popular Latin expression of approval of what he and his sailors stood for. He went on to Buenos Aires expecting to be welcomed with open arms, and found instead a great coldness.

Indeed, the defeat of the Graf Spee was as pleasing in all the Americas as it was in the British Empire. Commenting upon the suicide, another American correspondent was to write: “Inevitably the world will set this scene at Buenos Aires beside another in the cold, storm-swept reaches of the North Atlantic, when Captain Edward Kennedy, of the converted merchantman Rawalpindi, saw the Graf Spee’s sister looming up in the mists. Captain Kennedy is buried in the North Atlantic. Captain Langsdorff will lie in a different kind of grave. And the world will be left to wonder whether there is not running, through all the brash structure of the Nazi regime, a melodramatically suicidal tendency.”

Admiral Harwood was to write in his despatch: “I have the greatest pleasure in informing you of the very high standard of efficiency and courage that was displayed by all officers and men throughout the five days of the operation.... Within my own knowledge, and from the reports of the commanding officers, there are many stories of bravery, devotion to duty and of the utmost efficiency.... I am submitting separately a list of officers and ratings whom I consider to be especially deserving of award. I would remark, however, that the standard throughout has been so high that the preparation of this list has been very difficult.

“I would also like to place on record the honour and pleasure I had in taking one of H.M. ships of the New Zealand Division into action, and fully concur with the commanding officer of H.M.S. Achilles’ remark that ‘New Zealand has every reason to be proud of her seamen during their baptism of fire.’”

On February 23rd, 1940, 760 officers and men of the Ajax and Exeter and six of the Merchant Naval captains who had been on board the Graf Spee received a tumultuous welcome from many thousands of London’s citizens. The Achilles had reached Auckland, New Zealand, the day before, to receive another vociferous and wholehearted homecoming.

On the Horse Guards Parade those of the Ajax and Exeter were inspected by the King, while her Majesty looked down on the scene from a window in the Admiralty. Decorations and medals were then presented, and later the Queen moved among the bereaved relatives, speaking to all of them.

We may close with some lines from Mr. Winston Churchill’s speech after the luncheon at the Guildhall which followed: “The brilliant sea fight which Admiral Harwood conceived and which those who are here executed takes its place in our naval annals; and I might add that in a dark, cold winter it warmed the cockles of the British heart. But it is not only in the few glittering hours—glittering deadly hours—of action which rivet all eyes, it is not only in those hours that the strain falls upon the Navy. Far more does it fall in the weeks and months of ceaseless trial and vigilance on the stormy, icy seas; dark and foggy nights when at any moment there may leap from the waves death and destruction with a sullen roar. There is the task which you were discharging and which your comrades are discharging. There is the task from which, in a sense, the fierce action is almost a relief.... The warrior heroes of the past may look down, as Nelson’s monument looks down upon us now, without any feeling that the island race has lost its daring or that the examples which they set in bygone centuries have faded....”