Dar-es-Salaam
was left alone for over a month,
but the Senior Naval Officer was
never satisfied that the
obstruction really blocked the
fairway, and he had even less
faith in the pledge of the
governor that the ships would
not try to escape. On 28th
November H.M.S. Fox and Goliath,
with two small vessels in
company, anchored off Makatumbe
Island, which lies a few miles
out to sea from Dar-es-Salaam,
and hoisted the international
signal to the people ashore to
send off a boat. It must be
explained that the situation had
changed completely, since those
early war days, when the Astrea
paid her visit there. The
exploits of the Konigsberg had
clearly indicated that East
Africa was not to be excluded
from the war zone, whatever
might be the pledges of the
local governors; and then came
our military disaster at Tanga,
when we altogether
underestimated the resistance
likely to be offered by the
enemy, with the result that we
came off with 800 casualties -
and some valuable experience.
Moreover, the Navy had been busy
in the Rufigi River, bottling up
the Konigsberg, so that when
they arrived off Dar-es-Salaam
they were there for business,
and in no mood for anything
else.
At
the same time it must be
remembered that Dar-es-Salaam
purported to be an undefended
harbour, and was entitled to be
treated as such, until there was
evidence of hostile intentions
on the part of its inhabitants.
So the Senior Naval Officer
hoisted the signal for a boat
and waited on events. After an
hour or so a motor-boat came out
of harbour, flying a flag of
truce, and brought up alongside
H.M.S. Fox. In it were the
acting governor, the district
commissioner, and the captain of
the port, who all came aboard,
and were conducted to the Senior
Naval Officer's cabin. Mr. King,
formerly British Consul at
Dar-es-Salaam, acted as
interpreter.
The
Senior Naval Officer reminded
the German officials that the
ships in Dar-es-Salaam Harbour
were all British prizes, and
informed them that he had come
to inspect these ships, to take
such steps as might be necessary
to disable them, and to withdraw
from the harbour or disable any
small craft which might be used
against the British forces. Now,
one of the ships in the harbour
was the s.s. Tabora. which had
been painted as a hospital ship,
and according to the Germans was
being used as such, At Lindi we
had found the s.s. Prasident
painted in the same way, and had
been told the same yarn - that
she was being used as a hospital
ship - but we had discovered by
inspecting her that the yarn was
all a tissue of lies, and that
the ship was palpably a collier,
which had recently been used for
supplying the Konigsberg. So we
were naturally suspicious about
the Tabora, and the Senior Naval
Officer pointed out to the
German officials that she had
not complied with the
international regulations,
necessary to convert her into an
accredited hospital ship. He
added, however, that he had no
wish to cause suffering to any
sick persons, who might be
aboard her, and that he would
send a medical officer to
inspect her. He would also send
a demolition party to disable
her engines, but nothing should
be done in this direction if the
medical officer was of opinion
that it would be injurious to
any of the patients on board. He
further assured them that no
damage should be done to the
town or its inhabitants, so long
as no opposition was offered to
the working parties, whom he was
going to send into the harbour,
to do what was necessary for the
disablement of the engines of
the various ships.
The
acting governor was obviously
very uncomfortable and ill at
ease. All he could say was that
he would like to confer with the
military authorities at
Dar-es-Salaam. Military
authorities in an undefended
port seem to be rather out of
place, but the Senior Naval
Officer waived the point, and
merely told him that he would be
given a good half-hour or so
after landing, before the
British boats entered the
harbour. The governor then asked
rather a curious question. Would
these boats carry on their
operations under the white flag
? The Senior Naval Officer,
somewhat surprised at such a
question, naturally answered in
the negative, and at that the
German officials took their
departure and returned to the
town.
A
good deal more than the
half-hour's grace was allowed
before a steam-cutter was sent
in to sound and buoy the channel
into the harbour. It was noticed
that two white flags had been
hoisted on the flag-staff over
against the look-out tower at
the entrance, and these floated
conspicuously in the breeze, so
that they could be seen from all
directions. The occupants of the
steam-cutter, as soon as they
rounded the bend, noticed a lady
driving in a carriage drawn by a
pair of horses along a road
close to the water's edge.
Everything looked so peaceful
that one would have imagined
that our dear German brothers in
Dar-es-Salaam had never heard of
the war.
When
a channel had been buoyed, one
of the tugs (the Helmuth),
accompanied by the Goliath's
steam-pinnace, was ordered to
proceed into the harbour with
the demolition party. The other
tug (the Duplex), owing to some
engine-room defects, did not
enter the harbour, but lay at
anchor about two miles from it.
The two ships. Fox and Goliath,
were about five miles from the
shore, and those on board them
were taking only a languid
interest in the proceedings, for
the two white flags at the
lookout tower were flaunted in
their faces, and war seemed to
them a very tame affair after
all. It is very easy to be wise
after any event, and to say that
this or that precaution should
have been taken, but it must be
borne in mind that there were
the two white flags, conspicuous
to everyone, and the enemy was
not a barbarous tribe from the
African jungle, but purported to
be a civilised European people.
So
the Helmuth proceeded up the
harbour to where two ships,
called the Konig and
Feldmarschall, were lying, and
the demolition party boarded the
Konig, and proceeded to destroy
her engines by placing an
explosive charge under the
low-pressure cylinder, followed
by another one inside it. The
crew of the Konig appeared to
consist mainly of Lascars, and
the only officers on board were
the chief engineer and the
fourth officer. From these it
was learned that all the rest of
the officers and men were
ashore, and at the time it did
not occur to Commander Ritchie,
who was in charge of the
demolition party, that there
could be anything unusual in
this circumstance. He ordered
all the Konig's crew to go down
into the ship's boats, informing
them that they were prisoners of
war.
Shortly
afterwards the Goliath's
steam-pinnace came up, bringing
some more men of the demolition
party, with Lieutenant-Commander
Paterson in charge. Commander
Ritchie instructed this officer
to complete the disablement of
the engines of the Feldmarschall
and Konig, while he himself went
farther up the creek in the
Helmuth to another ship, called
the Kaiser Wilhelm II. The
Helmuth, however, ran on the
mud, and had some difficulty in
getting off, so Commander
Ritchie took her back to the
Konig, and tried the
steam-pinnace in place of her.
In this he successfully reached
the Kaiser Wilhelm II, disabled
her engines, and destroyed two
lighters that were lying near
her. But what first gave him a
sense of uneasiness was the fact
that the Kaiser Wilhelm II was
absolutely deserted. Her crew
were nowhere to be seen, but on
her deck were found some Mauser
clips - one containing three
bullets with the pointed ends
sawn off - suggesting that the
ship's crew had recently been
busy overhauling their rifles.
The absence of the officers and
white ratings from the other two
ships now assumed a new
significance.
Lying
near the ship were five other
lighters, and it occurred at
once to Commander Ritchie that
it might be useful to have one
of these on each side of the
steam-pinnace, by way of
protection, for there was
evidently mischief of some kind
or other brewing.
The
other three lighters he towed
astern, and, thus encumbered,
the pinnace made the best speed
she could down the creek. As she
passed the Konig and
Feldmarschall, Commander Ritchie
saw that the Helmuth had already
started her return voyage, and
though he scrutinised the two
ships carefully through his
glasses, he could see no signs
of anyone in either of them. So
he proceeded down the creek, but
found that the pinnace made such
slow progress that he was
finally obliged to drop the
three lighters astern, only
retaining the two which were
made fast on either side of the
pinnace.
In
order to keep to the
chronological order of events,
we must now return to the
Helmuth and Lieutenant-Commander
Paterson. He was engaged with
his demolition party on the
engines of the Konig and
Feldmarschall, and in the
meantime some thirty prisoners
from the Konig were sitting in
the two boats belonging to that
ship. Lieutenant Orde had
received instructions from
Commander Ritchie to proceed
down the harbour, towing these
two boats, to stop at the s.s.
Tabora and put Surgeon Holton
aboard there to inspect the
ship, and then proceed out to
sea and deliver his prisoners
over to the Duplex, afterwards
returning to the Tabora to pick
up Surgeon Holton. This, at any
rate, was how Lieutenant Orde
understood his instructions, and
he not unnaturally concluded
that Lieutenant-Commander
Paterson and his working party
intended to return in the steam
pinnace with Commander Ritchie.
It is not very clear why he
should have thought that the
sole object of his returning to
the Tabora, after the safe
delivery of his prisoners, was
to pick up Surgeon Holton, for
it had always been intended that
a demolition party should board
the Tabora, and should disable
her engines if Surgeon Holton
was of opinion that this could
be done without injury to any of
the patients. Possibly, however,
Lieutenant Orde was unaware of
this arrangement.
It
may here be stated that the
Tabora was genuinely being used
as a hospital ship. There were
doctors and nurses and some
wounded men in her, and she was
fitted with cots and other
hospital equipment.
And
now we must return to H.M.S. Fox
and the Senior Naval Officer. It
was late in the forenoon when he
ordered the steam-cutter
alongside, and, accompanied by
an army staff officer, went in
to have a look at the sunken
dock at the mouth of the
harbour. It was a morning of
bright sunshine, and through the
clear water he could see the
obstruction lying about ten feet
below the surface, but, without
sounding, it would be difficult
to say whether or not it
effectually blocked the channel.
He then thought he would go
round the bend, and see what the
harbour looked like, and how the
demolition parties were getting
on. He gave the order to the
coxswain to go ahead, and leaned
comfortably back in the
sternsheets of the boat,
enjoying the pleasant sunshine
and possibly wondering why the
Germans had hoisted two white
flags on the flag-staff, when
one would have answered the
purpose.
Suddenly
the sharp crack of a rifle was
heard, and a bullet struck the
water on the port side of the
steam-cutter. Next moment a
blaze of rifle fire came from
either bank, and bullets began
to rain against the sides of the
boat. The hottest fire seemed to
come from the vicinity of the
flag staff, where the two white
flags still floated in the
breeze. "Lie down everyone,”
shouted the Senior Naval
Officer, and to the coxswain he
gave the order “Hard-a-port.”
The bullets were whistling over
their heads, were pouring into
the boat, and were piercing the
thin iron plates, which had been
rigged for the protection of the
boiler and of the coxswain in
the sternsheets.
The
stoker tending the fire was
dangerously wounded, but
Lieutenant Corson ran forward
and took his place. In the after
part of the boat a seaman was
hit in the head, and the
coxswain had a bullet through
his leg, but pluckily stuck to
his job, although another wound
caused the blood to pour from
his mouth. “That's nothing,
sir,” he said. "I'm all right.
We shall soon be out of the
channel.”
No
one in the boat was armed, and
so there was no way of replying
to the fire. To make matters
worse, speed had slackened owing
to the furnace having been
neglected before it was noticed
that the stoker was wounded. But
the efforts of Lieutenant Corson
soon increased the steam
pressure, and after a while the
boat got beyond the danger zone.
The coxswain stuck to his post
in spite of his wounds, and
eventually brought the boat
alongside the Fox about half
-past one in the afternoon.
Stoker Herbert T. Lacey died of
his wounds.
Immediately
afterwards the firing broke out
again, and the Senior Naval
Officer saw that the Helmuth was
coming through the neck of the
harbour, towing astern of her
two boats full of prisoners. She
had put the doctor on board the
Tabora, and was on her way to
the Duplex to hand over the
prisoners, when field-gun,
rifle, and machine-gun fire was
opened on her from the north
bank. The coxswain was
immediately wounded, and his
relief had no sooner taken his
place than he, too, was wounded.
Then Lieutenant Orde. who was in
command, received a wound, but
the worst piece of bad luck was
that a bullet struck the
breech-block of the Helmuth' s
only gun - a 3-pounder - and put
it out of action, so that she
became as defenceless as the
Fox's steam cutter had been. The
bullets came pouring into her,
and some of them punctured the
steam pipes, with the result
that there was a heavy escape of
steam, and the speed of the tug
slackened considerably. There
was a certain amount of grim
satisfaction in seeing a stray
bullet hit one of the boats
astern, and wound a German
prisoner, but this was the only
consolation to be derived by the
Helmuth's unfortunate victims.
The
Senior Naval Officer in the Fox
promptly signalled to the Duplex
to open fire on the shore with
her 12-pounder, and both the Fox
and Goliath bombarded the shore
whence the enemy's fire seemed
to be coming. This had the
desired effect of causing some
slight abatement, and after a
while the Helmuth got beyond the
danger zone. The Goliath was
then ordered to put a few shells
into the governor's palace,
which she proceeded to do with
one of her 12-inch guns, and
after two or three rounds the
palace was reduced to a heap of
ruins. Then there came a lull in
the proceedings, and one would
have supposed that the Germans
hiding in the vicinity of the
look-out tower would have
occupied their leisure in
hauling down the white flags
from the flag-staff. But the
white flags continued to float
serenely in the breeze, and the
Germans beneath them stood
waiting for their next victims.
We
must now return to the
steam-pinnace and Commander
Ritchie. Having satisfied
himself that there was no one
aboard the Konig or the
Feldmarschall, he continued his
way down the harbour, and, as
already related, he dropped the
three lighters which were in tow
astern, in order to increase
speed. When he was approaching
the Tabora he saw Surgeon Holton
put off from her in a boat, and
head towards the steam-pinnace.
He had just eased down the
engines to enable the doctor to
come alongside, when a heavy
fire was opened on him from both
sides of the harbour. The crew
of Surgeon Holton' s boat took
fright, and began to pull back
to the Tabora. At this the
steam-pinnace tried to get up to
the boat, but with her two
lighters in tow on either side
of her, she was difficult to
steer, and finally had to
abandon the attempt. But the two
lighters proved to be her
salvation, for some field guns
were now firing shells at her,
and without the protection of
these lighters she must
inevitably have been sunk.
As
she rounded the bend the shot
and shell came at her from all
directions, and though the Fox
and Goliath again opened fire to
cover her retreat, it did not
seem to make much appreciable
difference. For the enemy were
well hidden among the palm
trees, and from the ships, lying
five miles out to sea, it was
impossible to locate them. Two
men in the steam-pinnace were
hit almost at the outset; one of
them was the coxswain. Petty
Officer Clark, whose place was
taken by Able Seaman Upton. Then
Upton was hit, and Clark, whose
wound had been temporarily
dressed, tried to resume his
place at the wheel, but fainted
away from loss of blood. This
was the critical moment, for the
narrow entrance of the harbour
and the sunken dock still lay in
front of them, and there was
need of a cool head and a steady
hand to steer the boat through.
Commander Ritchie had by this
time been wounded in several
places, and was in considerable
pain, but he saw that the only
chance of escape lay in skilful
steering, and so he took the
wheel himself. Amidst the
ceaseless shower of bullets
whistling over his head and
singing past his ears, he
piloted the boat through the
neck of the harbour, and had
just got clear of it when a
bullet struck him in the leg. It
was his eighth wound;
simultaneously the boat ran on a
sand-bank, and the commander
fainted. Fortunately, however,
the worst of the danger was now
over; the boat got afloat again
without much trouble, the two
lighters, having served their
purpose, were slipped, and in
less than an hour the boat
reached the Fox. In addition to
the commander, one officer and
five men were wounded.
Throughout
the whole or these proceedings,
the two white flags flew
majestically from the flag-stall
- the emblems of Germany's high
ideal of universal peace and the
brotherhood of man. But the
whole of the tale of treachery
is not yet told. It soon became
known that Lieutenant-Commander
Paterson and his section of the
demolition party were missing.
The party included Lieutenant
(E) V. J. H. Sankey, Chief
Artificer Engineer W. E. Turner,
one chief petty officer, and
seven other ratings. The
solution of the mystery of their
disappearance was only revealed
when these officers and men were
released from their captivity
nearly three years later. It
appears that while the party was
at work in the Konig,
Lieutenant-Commander Paterson
became aware that armed troops
were on the river-bank in a
position commanding the deck of
the ship. When the firing
started lower down the harbour,
he realised at once that they
were in for trouble, and, in
fact, he had anticipated it. He
therefore kept the whole of his
party down below, fully
expecting that Commander
Ritchie, when he returned with
the steam-pinnace, would come
alongside the ship. Presently he
saw on the other side of the
estuary two large lighters, with
the funnel of a small steamboat
just appearing above them. At
first he failed to recognise
that this was the steam-pinnace
of his own ship, but when it had
steamed straight past the Konig,
and he was able to get a better
view of it, he realised the
awful truth that there had been
some misunderstanding, and that
he and his party were left in
the lurch. He knew that if he
showed himself on the upper deck
the Askaris would open fire on
him, and he knew that Commander
Ritchie would not be able to
hear his voice, unaided by a
megaphone. There was only one
chance that if they all kept
very quiet the troops on the
bank might think they had left
the Konig, and under cover of
night they might be able to find
a boat and slip out of the
harbour. It was a forlorn hope,
and unfortunately it was doomed
to disappointment. In the early
evening the Germans came and
took them all prisoners.
On
30th November 1914 the Senior
Naval Officer addressed a letter
to the governor of
Dar-es-Salaam, recapitulating
what had taken place, and
warning him that the town would
be subjected to bombardment, but
the Tabora would be spared, not
as an accredited hospital ship,
but because there were reported
to be wounded men in her. The
governor's reply (which was
somewhat belated) was a truly
marvellous piece of composition.
First of all he said that though
he had agreed to the British
visiting the ships in the
harbour, he had never agreed to
allow them to disable the
engines; then he stated that the
British boats came into the
harbour filled with armed men;
and finally he excused the
presence of the white flags by
saying that there was no
possibility of hauling them down
because the fight was so
intensive. Apparently his idea
of an intensive fight is hiding
behind a palm tree, and potting
at defenceless men in open
boats. The letter was a poor
production, even as a specimen
of German mendacity.
At
half-past two that afternoon
there was another "intensive
fight” in Dar-es-Salaam, in
which the government buildings,
the warehouses, the railway
stations, the customs house, and
the barracks received special
attention. The debris of these
buildings was seen flying above
the tree-tops, but only two
small fires were started, as
most of the houses were built of
coral slag. But it is a fair
surmise that, by the time the
entertainment was over, the
governor and people of
Dar-es-Salaam had had enough of
“intensive fighting.”
Commander
Henry Peel Ritchie, for his
heroic conduct in taking the
wheel of the steam-pinnace, and
bringing the boat out of
harbour, after he had received
eight wounds, was awarded the
Victoria Cross.
CHAPTER
II
BOTTLING
UP THE "KONIGSBERG"
(click
map to enlarge)
During
the month of September 1914
H.M.S. Pegasus - an old light
cruiser of about 2,000 tons -
put into Zanzibar Harbour to
repair her boilers. Now Zanzibar
is a British protectorate, but
this fact afforded no guarantee
at that time that the island was
not swarming with German agents,
and lying as it does not far
from the mainland of German East
Africa, it followed as a matter
of course that the Germans were
kept fully informed as to what
was happening at Zanzibar. By
means of wireless stations,
which were quite plentiful down
the coast of German East Africa,
they were able to communicate
interesting news to any of the
German cruisers that were
roaming the seas in those days.
And so it came about that the
German cruiser Konigsberg
received a message to say that a
small British cruiser was lying
disabled in Zanzibar Harbour -
an old third-class cruiser with
out-of-date guns, that could not
be expected to put up any kind
of a fight, and could be easily
outranged by the German guns.
Here was just the kind of job
the Konigsberg enjoyed, and so
on 20th September she pounced
down on her prey, and very
quickly pummelled the poor old
ship to pieces.
Out
of the destruction of the
Pegasus the only compensation to
be gained was the knowledge that
the elusive Konigsberg was oil
the East African coast, and it
was a fair assumption that she
was receiving her supplies of
coal and stores from the shore,
by means of German merchant
vessels. There were several of
these vessels dancing attendance
on the raider, and, according to
information received, one of
them was called the Prasident,
and another the Somali. There
were other ships in
Dar-es-Salaam Harbour, which
were under suspicion, but the
Germans had themselves blocked
the mouth of that harbour by
sinking an obstruction, and for
the present we were content to
believe that the obstruction was
effective, and to leave the
Dar-es-Salaam ships out of the
account. When, therefore, three
British cruisers were told off
to search for the Konigsberg,
they worked upon the basis that
the discovery of the Prasident,
or the Somali, or both, might be
of material assistance.
The
search was not an easy one,
because the coast for the major
part is fringed with thick belts
of palm trees, behind which the
harbours, formed by the
estuaries of the rivers, wind
away out of sight. Thus at
Lindi, near the southern
extremity of the colony, the
Weymouth had a look at the outer
harbour, which was empty, but
could see nothing of the inner
harbour behind the palm trees,
nor of the river beyond it, and,
owing to shallow water, was
unable to approach to such a
position as would command a view
of these. But a few days later
the Chatham called at Lindi, and
sent in a steamboat, armed with
a maxim-gun. Commander
Fitzmaurice went in with the
steamboat, carrying a letter to
the governor of Lindi, which was
only to be delivered if it were
found that a German ship of any
kind was lurking in the inner
harbour. The letter contained an
order to the governor, to send
out to sea any ships that might
be in his harbour, and gave him
half an hour to carry out this
order, before anything
unpleasant should happen to him.
Now,
as soon as the steamboat turned
the corner, the first thing to
meet the gaze of Commander
Fitzmaurice was the Prasident
moored about three and a half
miles up the river. But he had
to rub his eyes to make sure of
her, for, instead of a ship
looking like a collier, or even
like an ordinary merchantman, he
saw what looked uncommonly like
a hospital ship. At her
mast-head the Geneva Cross was
floating in the breeze, and on
her side was painted a large
white cross. And yet she was not
by any means perfect in her
make-up, for she had not painted
her hull white, nor had she the
broad band of either green or
red running from stem to stern,
which is used to denote the
hospital ship. For once the
Teuton lacked thoroughness in
his methods.
Next
came a boat from the shore,
flying a white flag, and in it
sat the governor's secretary, to
whom Commander Fitzmaurice
delivered the letter. Then came
an interval of waiting for an
hour or two, while the governor
was considering his reply.
Presently the secretary came off
again in the boat with the white
flag, and the governor's reply
in his best official German was
duly conveyed to the Senior
Naval Officer. In a tone of
injured innocence the governor
asked plaintively how could he
comply with the Senior Naval
Officer's order. The Prasident
was the only ship in the
harbour, and how could he be
expected to order a hospital
ship to go to sea ? It was
affording shelter to the women
and children of Lindi, and to
all the sick men of Lindi; to
send it to sea would be an act
of barbarism. Moreover, its
machinery was incomplete, and
the wheels would not go round,
so the Senior Naval Officer
would see at once that it was
quite out of the question to
send it out of the harbour.
Meanwhile,
however, the Senior Naval
Officer had been writing another
letter to the governor, which
proved to be a very suitable
reply. He pointed out that the
name of the Prasident had not
been communicated, either to him
or to the British Government, as
a hospital ship, in accordance
with the terms of the Hague
Convention, and that her hull
had not been painted as the hull
of a hospital ship should be
painted. He then briefly
informed the governor that he
was sending an armed party to
board her, and, if possible, to
bring her out of the harbour,
or, if this proved to be
impossible, to disable her
engines.
That
was the end of the negotiations;
the governor made no further tax
upon his powers of romance, but
bowed to inexorable Fate. And so
the armed party was sent into
the harbour in a steamboat, and
went on board the Prasident.
There are still some
strange-minded folk who cling to
their faith in the honesty of
purpose of the much-abused
German; it may come as a shock
to them to learn that the
hospital ship Prasident had no
cots, no medical equipment of
any kind, no doctors, and no
nurses; nor were there any sick
men on board, nor any women, nor
any children. There were,
however, unmistakable traces of
the collier to be seen
everywhere about her; and it was
evident that she had been
recently employed in this
capacity. There are other
strange-minded folk who will
exclaim, “How clever those
Germans are ! “But when they
come to think it out, they will
see that there was nothing
remarkably clever in painting a
white cross on a collier, when
she was threatened with capture
or disablement. It was a
childishly simple trick, as most
of the German tricks are.
The
Prasident' s engines were
disabled by the boarding party,
and they brought away with them
a few useful mementoes, such as
a chronometer, a set of charts,
a set of sailing directions, and
some compasses. So ended the
career of the Prasident, collier
and supply ship to the German
raider Konigsberg.
Nearly
a fortnight later, on 30 th
October, the Chatham lay at
anchor off the Rufigi River
delta, and sent in a steamboat
to the shore, in quest of
information. Three natives were
seen wandering about among the
palm trees, and were persuaded
by cogent arguments that it was
their duty to pay an official
visit to H.M.S. Chatham. In
other words, they were brought
off to the ship in the
steamboat, and through the
medium of an interpreter they
unfolded their tale. Yes, there
were two ships lying up the
Rufigi River behind the forest
of cocoanut palms, and one of
them had big guns, that made a
big noise. Boom ! The other was
like a handmaiden to the fellow
with the guns - like a good and
faithful wife to him, who waited
on him and gave him ghee and
rice and dhurra when he was
hungry. They described the ships
in their own language, and the
description was good enough to
set all doubts at rest. The
Konigsberg and the Somali had
been traced to their lair at
last. From the Chatham's foretop
it was just possible to see the
masts of two ships sticking up
above the palm trees, but
nothing could be seen of their
hulls. One useful piece of
information derived from the
natives was that the Konigsberg
had run short of coal, and that
her men had been felling palm
trees to obtain fuel. This
shortage of coal served to
explain why she had been lying
idle up the Rufigi River ever
since her exploit at Zanzibar a
month ago, when the old Pegasus
met her doom.
It
was one thing to discover the
Konigsberg, and quite another
thing to get at her. To start
with, there was a bar between
the open sea and the mouth of
the river, which the Chatham
could only cross at high water;
then there was a likelihood of
obstructions sunk in the river
channel, and of mines; and then
there was the certainty of
opposition from the shore on
either side of the river mouth,
for the Germans had been busy
digging trenches, rigging up
barbed wire, and making gun
emplacements, in which they had
mounted the guns of the
Konigsberg's secondary armament.
All these defences were well
concealed behind the palm trees
and thick undergrowth.
The
first thing the Senior Naval
Officer did was to inform by
wireless the Dartmouth and the
Weymouth, who were searching the
coast farther south, that their
quest was at an end, and that
they were to rejoin the Chatham.
He then set about sounding and
buoying a channel towards the
river mouth. By the river mouth
must be understood that passage
through the delta where the two
channels, called Simba Uranga
and Suninga, make their exit to
the sea. According to the
information gleaned from the
natives the other three channels
were impassable by large ships.
Meanwhile
the range was taken of the
Somali, which was lying a little
nearer than the Konigsberg. It
was found to be just over 14,000
yards, and so the Chatham opened
fire on her with 6-inch lyddite
shells. The effect of the fire
could not be ascertained, for
the Somali's hull was invisible
behind the palm trees, and even
her masts could only be seen by
the spotters at the mast-head.
One result of the bombardment,
however, soon declared itself.
The masts of the Konigsberg were
seen to move, slowly at first,
but as the ship gathered way,
they glided rapidly past the
tops of the palm trees. For a
moment there was a state of keen
anticipation on board the
Chatham, for they really thought
that the German cruiser was
coming out to engage them, and,
as Alexander Pope says, hope
springs eternal in the human
breast. But the Konigsberg had
no such intention; all she
wanted to do was to make sure of
being outside the Chatham's
range, so she slunk away another
six miles farther up the river,
and there dropped her anchor
again.
Was
she now safe from bombardment?
It must be remembered that the
Chatham was five or six miles
out to sea, but, supposing she
managed to cross the bar and to
reach the river's mouth, it was
just possible that she might
find the Konigsberg within her
range then. At all events it was
worth trying, and so the work of
buoying a channel continued
briskly. One morning, however, a
look-out from the mast-head
reported that the Konigsberg' s
masts had disappeared, and he
could see nothing of her
anywhere.
Here
was a startling mystery, but the
explanation of it was not hard
to guess, and the Chatham
carried on with her work. As
soon as the channel had been
buoyed and the spring tide came
round, she crept in gingerly,
passed over the bar, and
anchored about a mile and a half
from the entrance to the river.
And then the look-out in the
foretop was able to solve the
mystery of the sudden
disappearance of the
Konigsberg's masts. The
top-masts had been struck, and
in their place had been rigged
the tops of two cocoanut palms,
so that in the distance nothing
but these could be seen. It was
a better trick than painting a
white cross on a collier's hull,
and besides having the merit of
being a legitimate device of
warfare, it was worthy of any of
those animals who make a
practice of protective mimicry,
such as the arctic fox, who
changes his coat to white when
the snow comes, or the mantis,
who pretends he is a pink
flower.
The
Chatham opened fire at once, for
she had no time to lose if she
was to get back across the bar
with the ebb of the tide. Her
trouble was that the gunlayers
could see absolutely nothing of
their objective, and her
spotters found it almost
impossible to spot the fall of
the shells amidst the thick
vegetation of the delta. It
became very obvious that there
was very little chance of
settling accounts with the
German raider until some
aircraft arrived to help in the
operations. When the Chatham
recrossed the bar she had less
than a foot of water underneath
her, and her captain made up his
mind that he had had quite
enough of that experiment.
Meanwhile
the Dartmouth and the Weymouth
had arrived on the scene, and
had filled in their time with
frequent bombardments of the
trenches and barbed-wire
entanglements on either side of
the river entrance. The result
was that the trenches at the
extreme ends were evacuated by
the Germans, who came to the
conclusion that life in them had
too many crowded hours to it to
be comfortable. The Chatham
devoted her attentions to the
Somali, and though her fire was
indirect, and the spotting
extremely difficult, she
succeeded in plumping at least
one shell into the ship, and in
causing a fire to break out on
board.
The
next experiment was a scheme to
send in armed picket-boats,
carrying a couple of torpedoes,
to be fired at the Somali, but
it turned out a failure. The
boats were greeted with a heavy
fire from rifles and
machine-guns, which were so
effectually hidden in a mangrove
swamp on the south side of the
river that it was impossible to
locate them. An extraordinary
accident occurred to one of the
torpedoes, which no one was able
to explain. Possibly the
releasing gear was struck by a
bullet, or possibly a torpedo
man lost his nerve amidst the
rattle and clatter of the
enemy's shot; but, anyhow, the
torpedo was released
prematurely, and all it did was
to sink to the bottom without
either a run or an explosion.
The other torpedo was out of
gear, and so the experiment had
to be abandoned, and the boats
returned to their respective
ships, fortunately with nothing
more than very light casualties.
One
result of these experiments was
the decision that, since the
Konigsberg refused to come out
of her retreat, she had better
be locked up inside it. With
this object in view, a large
collier of venerable antiquity
was brought from Zanzibar and
preparations were made to take
her into the river, moor her
athwart the fairway, and then
sink her, so as to block the
channel. Iron plates were fixed
round the steering-wheel of her
forebridge to protect the
helmsman from rifle fire, and
her crew were taken out of her
and replaced by officers and men
of the Chatham. A flotilla of
steam-cutters and a picketboat
belonging to the three ships,
together with a vessel of light
draught, called the Duplex, were
to accompany the Newbridge,
covering her advance, as far as
possible, by their fire, and
assisting her in various other
ways. The picket-boat was to
carry a torpedo, which was to be
fired at the Newbridge, if other
methods of sinking her failed.
One of the steam-cutters was to
stand by to take off her crew
when she was abandoned. Another
steam-cutter was to land a party
on the left bank of the river,
to see what they could find
there. All the men were to wear
life-belts, and to carry their
rifles, and the steamboats and
the Duplex were to be armed with
maxims.
Before
daybreak on 7th November the
flotilla headed for the mouth of
the river, the Newbridge
leading, and arrived there at
half-past five in the morning.
All seemed quiet at first, and
not a soul was to be seen on
shore, but as soon as the
Newbridge turned round the bend,
the music of maxims and rifles
broke the silence, and the
bullets pattered like hailstones
against the iron plates which
protected her crew. But she kept
steadily on her course, entered
the Suninga Channel, and just
before six o'clock reached her
destination.
It
is not very obvious from the map
of the Rufigi Delta why the
Suninga Channel was selected to
be blocked. More direct access
to the sea is afforded by the
Simba Uranga Channel, and it was
in this channel that the
Konigsberg was lying when she
was first discovered. Since then
she had moved up above the point
where the two channels met, and
one might suppose that either of
them could be used by her. This,
however, was not the case,
according to the opinion of the
natives. They were unanimous in
the view that only the Suninga
Channel had water enough to
admit of the passage of a ship
of the Konigsberg's size, and
for the present we had to be
content to accept this view as
correct.
When
the Newbridge arrived at the
position marked C on the map,
she shut off her engines, and
proceeded to anchor bow and
stern. This was carried out to
the accompaniment of a ceaseless
patter of bullets, occasionally
varied by the dull thud of
something heavier striking her
sides and superstructure. The
enemy evidently had some small
guns commanding the spot, and
they were resolved to make
things as unpleasant as they
possibly could. To sink a vessel
in the exact position required
for blocking a channel is not so
easy as it sounds. The Turks
tried it many times up the
Tigris and Euphrates, and
invariably made a mess of it;
the Germans tried it on a large
scale to bar the approaches to
Duala, in the Cameroons, and
they, too, did the work very
badly, using up quite a large
number of ships before they
succeeded in making a barrage.
It is the kind of job which
cannot be done in a hurry, and
to do it under fire requires a
remarkably cool nerve. The
Germans knew this, no doubt, and
by pouring shot and shell into
the Newbridge they hoped to
spoil the operation.
This
hope, however, was doomed to
disappointment. As soon as the
ship was moored securely across
the channel, the main inlet
valve was opened, and she began
to settle by the stern. Her
commanding officer was fearful
at first lest the force of the
current should carry her stern
round, but the anchors held
firmly, and in a short time the
stern had grounded on the
bottom. The crew were ordered to
assemble near the port ladder,
and in spite of the heavy fire
directed at them, they fell in
as unconcernedly as though they
were in Sheerness Harbour and
the quartermaster had piped
“Both watches fall in for
exercise.” The steam-cutter,
which was waiting to take them
off, also came in for her share
of the enemy's fire, but it
failed to disconcert her crew.
The
last thing to do before
abandoning the ship was to place
an explosive charge in her, and
connect it to an electric
circuit, of which the ends were
carried into the steam-cutter,
and, as soon as they were at a
sufficient distance, the charge
was exploded and the ship,
listing to port, sank to the
bottom of the river, where she
lay very nearly at right angles
to the line of the channel. No
one could have made a neater job
of it.
Then
came the exciting business of
getting out of the river again.
The enemy's 3-pounders, rifles,
and machine-guns were busy all
the time, but our boats were
also armed, and replied as well
as they could, though the
Germans took good care to keep
themselves in hiding. The Duplex
was there to lend her support,
and did useful work in keeping
down the enemy's fire. But her
commanding officer, Lieutenant
Triggs, R.N.R., received a nasty
wound in the back of his
shoulder from a bursting shell.
The coxswain of one of the
steamboats and the leading
torpedo man in the picket-boat
were unfortunately killed, and
eight other men were wounded.
But considering the nature of
the work to be performed, our
casualties were remarkably
light.
So
the Suninga Channel was blocked,
and at the time we confidently
believed that the Konigsberg was
bottled up. But after a few days
the Kinfauns Castle arrived,
bringing a seaplane with her,
and the aerial reconnaissances
started. The officers of the
R.N.A.S. would seem to take a
positive delight in upsetting
everybody's preconceived
notions, and they found that the
Rufigi River gave them endless
scope for this pastime. First of
all they said that the Simba
Uranga was a beautiful channel,
such as would delight the heart
of the Konigsberg's navigator;
whereat the Senior Naval Officer
said, "Then we will block it,”
and began to make arrangements
to bring another old packet from
Zanzibar to be sunk as an
obstruction. Then the airmen
said that the Kikunja Channel,
although not so attractive to a
navigator as the Simba Uranga,
was sufficiently tempting to
induce a bold spirit to try his
luck there. Finally they said
they that did not believe that
the Suninga Channel was blocked
by the Newbridge, as there
seemed to be quite a lot of
space between the wreck and the
north bank. And then the Senior
Naval Officer decided that he
would sink no more vessels in
the Rufigi River, for he might
continue that game until he had
sunk the whole of Great
Britain's mercantile marine, and
even then the R.N.A.S. would not
be satisfied. He still had his
own private opinion that the
Konigsberg was securely bottled
up, but in view of these reports
of the airmen there was no
alternative but to keep watch
outside, until measures could be
taken to destroy the Konigsberg
in her lair. He knew that she
was short of coal, even if she
could negotiate the channel, but
in war-time the Navy must take
no risks, and so the Chatham,
the Fox, the Kinfauns Castle,
and the Weymouth by turns kept
guard over all the exits from
the Rufigi Delta.
The
Chatham spent Christmas Day upon
this wearisome job, and it was
only natural that her officers
should have felt that something
should be done to mark the
occasion. In those early days of
the war, before our stubborn
English minds had received an
adequate comprehension of the
German species, the practice of
fraternising was rife
everywhere, and the illustrated
papers of December 1914 contain
many touching little pictures of
Tommy and Fritz expressing their
brotherly love for each other.
It is not easy, however, to
fraternise with an enemy some
twelve miles away, when he
stoutly refuses to come any
nearer. The Chatham's officers
saw this difficulty, and so they
had a raft built, and on the
raft they placed the largest
lump of coal which could be
found in the bunkers, and on
this lump of coal they affixed a
message of Christmas greetings,
and then they let the raft float
up the river with the tide. The
message ran, “Wishing you a
merry Christmas. Get up steam
for fifteen knots, and Come
Out.” But neither the present
nor the invitation was even
acknowledged.
The
occupation of Mafia Island took
place early in January 1915. It
was a necessary preliminary to
the maintenance of a strict
blockade on the coast of German
East Africa. Several dhows,
which had been trading with the
enemy, were captured, and these
we armed and turned into patrol
vessels. Before long the German
forces were faced with the fact
that they must rely upon
internal resources for food and
stores, since the great ocean
highway was completely closed to
them.
CHAPTER
III
DESTRUCTION
OF THE "KONIGSBERG"
(click
map to enlarge)
On
7th November 1914 the Newbridge
was sunk in the Suninga Channel
of the Rufigi River, with a view
to botthng up the Konigsberg,
but shortly afterwards our
seaplanes reported that in their
opinion the German raider could
still find a passage out of the
river. Consequently a strict
guard was kept over all the
outlets, until such time as
means could be found of giving
the raider her quietus.
Six
months later two of our
monitors, the Severn and the
Mersey, arrived on the scene,
and under the directions of
Vice-Admiral King-Hall
preparations were made for the
attack. The Germans were still
strongly entrenched on either
side of the only channels which
were believed to be navigable,
and they had taken the guns of
the Konigsberg's secondary
armament to support their men in
the trenches. Both trenches and
guns were well hidden in the
mangrove swamps, forests of palm
trees, and thick undergrowth,
which fringe the banks of the
river, so that it was impossible
to say what was the strength of
the enemy's forces here. To land
in a mangrove swamp, and make a
frontal attack on hidden
trenches and guns, is bound to
be a costly operation at all
times, and was certainly to be
avoided if other means could be
found of getting at the
Konigsberg. The monitor seemed
to offer the best solution of
the problem, for its light
draught would enable it to
proceed by channels which were
impassable by the ordinary ship,
and its long-range guns would be
able to compete with the guns of
the Konigsberg with some degree
of equality. In fact, the guns
of the two monitors were of
larger calibre than those of the
Konigsberg, but the latter had
the advantage of better
facilities for spotting, and the
still greater advantage of
having the ranges of various
points along the river carefully
calculated.
The
spotting for the monitors could
only be carried out by aircraft,
for in that dense belt of
vegetation it was impossible
from their fighting tops to see
anything more than the
Konigsberg's masts, and even
these were invisible to the
gunlayers below. The hull of the
ship was never seen throughout
the operations by anyone except
the observers in the aeroplanes.
The enemy on the other hand had
no aircraft for spotting
purposes, but a very simple
device took the place of it.
They knew all the possible
positions from which we could
attack, and so they stationed
men in the tree-tops somewhere
in the vicinity of these
positions, and arranged a simple
code of signals. As will be seen
later on, it was some time
before we discovered this
device.
On
6th July 1915, about four
o'clock in the morning, the
Severn and the Mersey proceeded
to cross the bar, and by
half-past five they had entered
the Kikunga Channel of the
river. As will be seen from the
map, this is the northernmost
channel, which, according to
seaplane reconnaissances,
afforded a possible exit for the
Konigsberg, but according to the
opinions of the natives was not
navigable by any large craft.
The monitors were followed as
far as the entrance to the
channel by a variety of craft,
which came in to support them.
The Tweedmouth, a light draught
steamer, bore the flag of the
Commander-in-Chief; two small
whalers, the Echo and Fly, swept
ahead for mines, while the
Childers sounded to find the
channel; and the light cruisers
Weymouth and Pyramus also
crossed the bar.
The
Weymouth then proceeded to
bombard a position on the delta
known as Pemba, where we were
informed that the enemy had a
spotting station. It meant
long-range firing, without the
satisfaction of knowing the
result, for there was no
aircraft spotting for the
Weymouth. It seems fairly
certain, however, that the
German observation station at
Pemba, assuming that it existed,
was of very little service to
them. More important work for
the Weymouth was that of keeping
down the fire of the enemy's
anti-aircraft guns, for it was
essential that our aeroplanes
should be as free as possible
from interruption in their work.
It is at all times
unsatisfactory to fire at an
invisible target in the thick of
a forest, but there is no doubt
that the Weymouth succeeded in
planting shells near enough to
the antiaircraft guns to
restrict their activities within
reasonable limits.
It
must be remembered that the
Konigsberg was defended by a
good deal more than her own
guns, that military forces and
military guns of unknown
strength were hidden in the
thick vegetation, and that the
destruction of a ship, situated
as she was behind an
impenetrable delta, was no
ordinary naval operation. The
operation would, in fact, have
been almost an impossibility had
it not been for the assistance
of the aeroplanes. The aerodrome
was on Mafia Island, some thirty
miles from where the Konigsberg
was lying, and as there were
only two aeroplanes available,
and they necessarily had to
relieve each other from time to
time, there were some wearisome
pauses in the proceedings.
Flight
Lieutenant Watkins started off
at half-past five from the
aerodrome, carrying six bombs,
which he dropped as near as he
could to the Konigsberg, to keep
her attention occupied while the
Severn and the Mersey were
getting into position. The two
monitors on their way up the
river had been liberally fired
on by pom-poms and 3-pounders,
but this had not worried them
much, and by half-past six in
the morning they were anchored
head and stern at their allotted
stations. By this time the
second aeroplane had arrived,
with Flight Commander Cull as
pilot, and Flight Sub-Lieutenant
Arnold as observer, and the
monitors opened fire.
Let
no one imagine that spotting
from an aeroplane is a simple
job. It is hard enough for a
stationary observer to declare
with any degree of accuracy the
number of yards by which a shot
falls beyond or short of its
objective, but when the observer
is moving through the air at a
speed of eighty miles an hour or
more, the problem is rendered a
good deal harder, and when
shells from anti-aircraft guns
are popping all round him like
champagne corks at a banquet, he
is apt to be distracted by the
thought of such pleasant
associations. The aeroplane
observers over the Rufigi Delta
had other little troubles all
their own. The climate was
responsible for the worst of
these, for the effect of a cool
monsoon wind blowing over a
surface of land heated by a
tropical sun is very startling
at times. A “bump“ of 250 feet
is not uncommon, and I suppose
the scientific explanation is
that a stratum of warm air rises
rapidly through the cold air,
and when the aeroplane strikes
it the diminished density has
much the same effect as
releasing the catch on a winch
with a heavy weight at the end
of the hawser. Another trouble
was the thickness of the palm
forests surrounding the
Konigsberg. In these the
monitors' shells fell to explode
unseen, like flowers wasting
their sweetness on the desert
air.
On
6th July the two aeroplanes
between them covered a distance
of 950 miles. The first one
broke down soon after midday,
and the other one followed suit
about half-past three in the
afternoon, whereat it became
useless to continue the
operations, and the two monitors
had to withdraw from the river.
Their
experiences had not been by any
means devoid of excitement. The
Severn had no sooner reached the
river entrance in the early
morning than she saw two men
seated in the boughs of a tree
overhanging the water's edge.
Beneath them was a log, and
alongside the log was a torpedo.
Three rounds of lyddite promptly
fired from one of her guns left
nothing recognisable of either
the torpedo or the log, and the
two men disappeared completely.
When she got into her position
up the river, the Konigsberg
opened fired on her with four
and sometimes five guns, and the
firing was marvellously accurate
for range, but slightly out for
direction. This was a fairly
clear indication that the
Konigsberg's gunnery lieutenant
had been carefully calculating
the ranges of certain points on
the river. Presently the Mersey
was hit twice, one shell
striking the gun-shield of one
of her big guns on the port
side, and killing four men,
while part of the burst shell
went through a bulkhead into the
sick bay, and wounded the sick
berth steward. The other shot
struck a motor-boat lying on the
port side, and sank it, but did
no further damage beyond making
a dent in the ship's bottom. It
was a piece of luck that the
motor-boat was there, or the
Mersey would undoubtedly have
had a big hole below her
water-line.
After
this she retired, and had only
just left her anchorage when
another salvo fell upon the
exact spot. She anchored 500
yards lower down-stream, where
she found the atmosphere rather
more healthy. The Severn then
received the enemy's attention,
and later on, after a long pause
occasioned by the absence of our
aeroplanes. Captain Fullerton
came to the conclusion that it
would be wise to try a change of
billet. As the stern of his ship
swung round three lyddite shells
fell together on the position he
had just vacated, showing beyond
doubt that the enemy had both
range and direction to a nicety.
It
was just about this time that
somebody in the Severn spied a
party of four men up a tree.
Here was a complete explanation
of the Konigsberg's accurate
firing, and it showed that she
had a very shrewd idea as to
where the monitors would come to
make their attack. A few shots
from a 3-pounder gun brought
those four down with a run, and
after that the Konigsberg's
firing was far from accurate.
Captain Fullerton, however,
suspected the presence of
another observation post at
Pemba, and was careful to keep
well in to the west bank, so
that the hull of his ship could
not be seen from that direction.
Soon afterwards the second of
our aeroplanes broke down, and a
withdrawal from the river became
necessary.
The
result of the day's proceedings
was not altogether satisfactory.
According to the aeroplane
observers, four hits were
recorded on the Konigsberg, but
it was quite evident that a
further attack would have to be
made in order to complete her
destruction. It was not by any
means a pleasant occupation to
take ships up that shallow
channel, with every possibility
of running aground at any
moment, and with unseen field
and naval guns firing
continually from the recesses of
the forest to supplement the
shells coming from the
Konigsberg. The Mersey already
had four men killed and four
wounded (of whom two
subsequently died of their
wounds), and one of her port
guns had been put out of action.
The Severn was more fortunate,
having neither casualties nor
damage to report. But the day's
experiences were enough to show
that the task undertaken was far
from being a light one.
Five
days later, on 11th July, the
aeroplanes were again ready for
service, and the two monitors
crossed from Mafia Island and
entered the Kikunga Channel
shortly before noon. Their
progress up the river was
heralded by a chorus of
field-guns, machineguns, and
rifles, mostly from the east
bank, and the Mersey had three
men wounded by a 9-pounder
shell. But our return shot,
crashing blindly through the
thicket in the direction of the
sound of the hostile guns, soon
had the effect of quieting them.
Shortly afterwards the
Konigsberg opened fire with four
guns, concentrating her fire on
the Severn. This was
inconvenient, because the
arrangement was that the Severn
should get into position first,
and the operation of anchoring
bow and stern is not an easy one
under fire. So the Mersey
remained in the open to attract
the Konigsberg's gunners, and in
a very short time the Severn was
in position 1,000 yards nearer
the enemy than she had been
before, and comfortably steady
between her anchors. A sharp
look-out was kept for spotting
parties in the tree-tops, but
apparently they had come to the
conclusion that it might be too
warm up there to be healthy.
None
the less the Konigsberg's fire
was uncomfortably accurate. The
splash of her shells flooded the
quarter-deck more than once, but
fortunately no damage was done.
About half-past twelve one of
the aeroplanes came on the scene
with Flight Commander Cull and
Flight Sub-Lieutenant Arnold,
and the Severn opened fire. The
first five salvoes were lost in
the thick forest of palm trees,
and the aeroplane could give no
account of them. But the officer
in command of the Severn's guns
took upon himself to make a big
reduction in the range, which
turned out to be a fortunate
guess. The sixth salvo was
signalled by the aeroplane to be
100 yards over and to the right.
The necessary adjustment was
made, and the gun fired again.
This time the aeroplane
signalled too much to the left.
Again the direction was
adjusted, and another round
fired. All eyes were impatiently
watching the aeroplane to learn
the verdict. As it gracefully
swooped round in its circle
Sub-Lieutenant Arnold signalled
the joyful message - a hit! The
Severn's guns were all adjusted
to the ascertained range and
direction, and for the next few
minutes Arnold was kept busy
making the same signal.
Occasionally, however, he had to
record a short, or an over, or a
left, or a right, but the
finding of the range had been
accomplished, and the hours of
the Konisgberg were numbered.
In
the Severn they were all so much
engrossed in their task, which
had now for the first time
promised a successful issue,
that they had no time to notice
any peculiarity in the movements
of their friends in the sky. The
aeroplane had been at an
approximate height of 3,200
feet, but just as the first of
the Severn's shells had been
spotted, a lucky shot from the
anti-aircraft guns burst beneath
them, and a piece of it hit
their engine. There was no room
for doubt about it, for the
behaviour of the engine afforded
ample evidence, and in ten
minutes Flight Commander Cull
found that he had descended to
2,000 feet. The situation became
decidedly ticklish, for at that
height a direct hit by a shell
was well within the range of
possibilities, and the chances
of coming out of the ordeal
alive would be remote, to say
the least of it. But Commander
Cull realised that the crucial
moment had come, and that to
leave the scene just when the
Severn was getting on to her
target might very well ruin the
chances of the whole
undertaking. So he set his
teeth, and determined to hang on
as long as ever he could.
Then
Sub-Lieutenant Arnold signalled
the first hit, and the
excitement grew as the hits
became fast and furious. But all
the time the anti-aircraft
shells were bursting round them,
and presently another fragment
struck the aeroplane's engine.
Nothing remained now but to
volplane down as best they
could, so they made a signal to
the Severn, “We are hit; send
boat for us,” and Commander Cull
steered with a view to landing
in the river somewhere near the
two monitors. During the descent
Sub-Lieutenant Arnold continued
to send his spotting
corrections, until the machine
dipped below the tree-tops and
the Konigsberg was lost to view.
The observer's last signal to
the Severn was to bring her
salvoes farther aft, and he had
the satisfaction of seeing her
shells fall into the Konigsberg
amidships before the palm trees
obscured his view. By that time
nine salvoes had been signalled
as having hit the enemy.
The
aeroplane fell into the river
not far from the Mersey, who
promptly sent a boat to the
rescue. Sub-Lieutenant Arnold
was thrown clear of the machine
into the water, but Commander
Cull was strapped to his seat,
and was in an awkward
predicament, as the machine
turned right over. But Arnold
went to his assistance at once,
and managed to extricate him;
within a few minutes both of
them were safely in the Mersey's
boat. The wreck of the aeroplane
was blown up by gun cotton, as a
precaution against its falling
into the hands of the enemy.
By
this time two of the
Konigsberg's guns had ceased
fire; a few minutes later only
one of the guns was firing, and
after another minute or two
there was silence. But the
silence did not last long, for
almost immediately a loud
explosion was heard, and dense
clouds of smoke rose up above
the palm trees, and drifted away
in the wind. The Severn still
continued firing with two of her
guns, and soon there were no
less than seven distinct
explosions heard, and the yellow
smoke made a big cloud over the
tops of the trees.
The
monitors were then ordered to
proceed upstream and close to
within 7,000 yards of the enemy.
The navigation was no easy
matter, as there appeared to be
a bar right across the river,
but they crept up gradually, and
when the soundings showed eight
feet of water, the Mersey put
her helm over and dropped
anchor. By this time the other
aeroplane had arrived with
Flight Lieutenant Watkins and
Flight Sub-Lieutenant Bishop,
and with her third round the
Mersey scored a hit. The
Konigsberg was now visible from
the topmast heads of the
monitors, in their new position,
and Captain Fullerton himself
went aloft to reconnoitre. He
saw that the enemy was on fire
both fore and aft, that her
foremast was leaning over and
looked on the verge of collapse,
and that streams of smoke
enveloped her mainmast. In fact
she was a complete wreck, and at
half-past two in the afternoon
the Admiral, satisfied that the
difficult task at last had been
accomplished, signalled to the
monitors to retire.
Captain
Fullerton of the Severn,
Commander Wilson of the Mersey,
Squadron Commander Gordon in
charge of R.N.A.S. detachment,
Wing Commander Cull, and Flight
Lieutenant Arnold were all
awarded the Distinguished
Service Order for their
respective shares in this
achievement. It was a task which
in many of its features was
unique in the annals of the
Navy. Certainly no naval
engagement has ever before been
fought under circumstances even
remotely similar, for it may be
described as a naval battle in
the midst of a forest. It is
equally certain that the new
branch of the Navy, the Royal
Naval Air Service, had never
before been called upon to carry
out such important work under
such climatic conditions.
Perhaps only flying men can
appreciate how difficult those
conditions were, but the story
of those exciting minutes
when, with damaged engine, the
spotters were guiding the
Severn's shots nearer and nearer
to the target, is dramatic
enough to appeal to the
imagination even of the most
prosaic among laymen.
CHAPTER
IV
AN
AIRMAN'S ADVENTURES
(click
map to enlarge)
At
Chukwani, in the island of
Zanzibar, Squadron No. 8 of the
Royal Naval Air Service
established its headquarters for
the purpose of making
reconnaissances over enemy
territory in East Africa, taking
photographs, dropping bombs, and
otherwise aiding the military
operations. The seaplane
carriers, H.M.S. Himalaya and
Manica were lying off the
island, and the Flag Commander,
the Hon. R. O. B. Bridgeman,
D.S.O., had general charge of
the operations. Although he was
not an airman himself, he was
keenly interested in the
airman's craft, and moreover he
fully appreciated the special
difficulties attending aviation
in that climate. The R.N.A.S.
had every reason to be grateful
to him, for he helped them in
their work as only an officer
with a sympathetic understanding
of their troubles could help
them.
In
January 1917 the Manica and
Himalaya were lying off the
island of Nyroro near the Rufigi
Delta, and on the 5th of the
month the former ship sent
Flight Sub-Lieutenant Deans over
the delta in a seaplane. On his
return journey, when he was just
over the wreck of the Konigsberg
and was circling round to get a
photograph of a pinnace in her
vicinity, he was fired at by
rifles, one shot hitting his
port wing. He was fired at again
lower down the delta, but
suffered no further damage, and
returned in safety. His machine
had refused to ascend with an
observer on board, and he had
therefore made the flight alone.
Since
the Manica's seaplane was
temporarily incapable of
carrying both pilot and
observer, it was decided next
day to send up the Himalaya's
machine, piloted by Flight
Commander E. R. Moon, and with
Commander Bridgeman himself as
observer. Soon after seven
o'clock in the morning they
started off, taking with them a
camera and enough petrol to last
for three hours, and they flew
over the delta with the
intention of making a thorough
reconnaissance of it. As the
hours slipped by, and there was
no sign of them, their shipmates
began to grow anxious, and, when
anxiety had given place to
alarm. Flight Sub-Lieutenant
Deans was sent off from the
Manica to discover what had
happened to them.
He
searched up and down the various
channels and creeks, but at
first could see no trace of
them. On his return, just as he
was passing over the Suninga
Channel, he noticed something
lying on the water at a spot
which he estimated to be about
six miles from the mouth of the
channel, and on descending
towards it, he found it to be
the wreck of the missing
seaplane. He came down close
beside it, and saw that it was
lying upside down with the
bottom of the floats just above
water, and that large portions
of the wings, tail, and rudder
were burnt. For some time he
remained alongside, firing a
Verey's light to attract
attention, but of the pilot and
observer he could see no trace.
So he returned and made his
report.
Several
days later the squadron received
information from the enemy that
Commander Bridgeman had been
drowned, and that Flight
Commander Moon was a prisoner of
war. The full story, however,
remained unknown for nearly a
year, until the progress of the
allied forces brought about the
flight of the Germans and the
liberation of their prisoners.
I
tell the story of Flight
Commander Moon in the form of a
personal narrative, but it must
be understood, of course, that I
do not profess to quote the
exact words in which he told it
to me on his return to England.
He has assured me, however, that
the following account is correct
both in substance and in detail.
I need only add that at the time
when these events occurred he
had been awarded the D.S.O. for
many meritorious performances in
aircraft work, and that he has
since been awarded a bar to the
decoration.
“Commander
Bridgeman and I started off
about a quarter-past seven on
the morning of 6th January
1917 from the Himalaya at
Nyroro Island. It has always
been my practice to wait until
I return from a flight before
taking a meal, because I
believe that work of this kind
is better done on an empty
stomach, and so I had nothing
more than a cup of tea before
leaving. If I had known what
was in store for me, I might
have been tempted to stow
enough inside me to last me a
week, after the manner of the
pelican.
“We
made a very thorough
reconnaissance of the delta,
flying over all parts of it,
and at the end of an hour or
so the commander said he was
quite satisfied, and ordered
mc to return. We were over the
south end of the delta when
the engine revolutions
suddenly began to drop, so
that I was obliged to descend.
I steered for the inshore end
of the Suninga Channel, and
landed in a creek which forms
a junction between this and
Kiomboni Channel to the south
of it. I taxied along the
creek, while the commander
took the pilot's seat to give
me an opportunity of attending
to the motor.
“I
found that the after magneto
drive had failed, and
presently the pressure in the
petrol tank gave out, and the
engine stopped altogether. I
made several attempts to
restart it, but without
success.
"The
only way to discover what was
wrong with it was to take it
to pieces, but of course I had
no idea whether I should be
able to repair the defect when
I had found it. The commander
decided that under the
circumstances there was
nothing for it but to destroy
the seaplane, and to try to
make our escape to the mouth
of the river, where we might
either be picked up by one of
the ship's boats, or find a
native boat in which we could
pull off to the Himalaya.
“We
happened to have come down
close to the spot where a
party of Germans had fired at
the Manica's seaplane on the
previous day, and it was
therefore probable that the
enemy was not far away. Owing
to the windings of the creek
and the thick vegetation on
either side of it, we could
not see far in any direction,
and we quite expected that a
party of Huns might come round
the corner of a bend at any
moment. We felt certain that
they must have seen us coming
down, and must have sent men
to look for us. As a matter of
fact I learnt afterwards that
the search party misjudged our
position, and wandered along
the Kiomboni Creek some miles
to the south.
“The
first thing we had to do was
to destroy our seaplane, which
we did by soaking it with
petrol and setting fire to it
with a Verey's light. We
watched it burn until it was a
useless wreck, and then we
started off down the creek,
swimming across it after a
while with the idea of
covering our tracks. The
commander had a Perrin belt,
which served him in good stead
so long as it remained
inflated, but unfortunately
the air gradually leaked out
of it. I happen to be a fairly
strong swimmer, and
consequently 1 had no need of
anything of the kind. When we
reached the Suninga Channel we
found the bush on either side
so dense that it was
impossible to make our way
through it, but, as the tide
was well down, we were able
for some time to walk along
the mud bank without entering
the mangrove swamp.
“It
must have been about noon when
we saw the Manica's seaplane
flying over the delta. We had
anticipated that it would be
sent to look for us, but we
knew that we should never be
able to attract its attention.
Of course we waved our arms
and did all we could, but it
was quite useless. That the
pilot would see our machine we
fully expected, but it was
clearly impossible for us to
remain in its vicinity if we
wished to escape capture. I
confess that it never occurred
to me that, when he saw the
burnt wings and tail, he would
come to the conclusion that we
had caught on fire before we
descended and had been burnt
to death.
“The
tide was coming in fast, and
it was about high tide when we
reached a point just opposite
the wreck of the Somali. This
was the ship which had been a
tender to the Konigsberg in
the days of her glory, until a
shell from one of our ships
set the old packet on fire,
and she burned herself out
from stem to stern. We thought
we saw a green-painted native
boat lying alongside the bank
close to the wreck, and I
decided to swim across to
examine it. I thought, too,
that I might find a receptacle
of some kind or other on the
wreck where the rain water had
collected, for we were
beginning to get thirsty, and
of course the water in the
channel was as salt as the
sea. I left the commander on
the south bank, as his belt
had become deflated, and it
was a fairly long swim for
anyone but a strong swimmer.
As it turned out, 1 found it
quite an easy swim, for the
current seemed to strike right
across the channel towards a
creek leading northwards to
the Simba Uranga Channel, and
I was carried across with it
fairly rapidly. But, alas, I
found that the boat was no
boat at all - only the trunk
of a tree overhanging the
water's edge. I scrambled on
to the wreck to search for
water, and here again I was
disappointed. There was not a
vessel of any kind, and the
deck had buckled upwards with
the heat of the fire, so that
there was no cranny or hollow
in which a pool of water could
collect. There was just one
small spot where a few drains
had gathered together, and by
lying flat on my face I just
managed to wet the tip of my
tongue.
“My
next task was to swim back to
the south bank and rejoin the
commander, but I found this a
more difficult undertaking
than I had anticipated. The
current which had helped me
across to the Somali was now
against me, and was running at
such a pace that I could do
little more than keep myself
from being carried backwards.
I had to give up the attempt,
but when I heard the commander
shout and fire his revolver to
attract my attention, I made
another effort to get across.
It was equally unsuccessful,
and though I shouted at the
top of my voice to reassure
the commander that I was all
right, I failed to make him
hear me. Five times during the
night I tried to swim to the
south bank, but could make no
headway against the current,
and finally I decided that
there was nothing for it but
to wait for slack water.
“As
soon as the sun goes down the
mosquitoes in the Rufigi Delta
come out in their myriads, and
hang over the surface of the
water. I must have swallowed
some scores of them when I was
trying to swim across, and I
found them a most
unsatisfactory form of diet.
While I was waiting for slack
water, they swarmed round me,
and the only way to keep them
off was to stand in the water
up to my neck and duck my head
from time to time. They had
been bad enough even in the
daytime, but at night the
whole air seemed to be thick
with them.
“It
was just before daybreak when
I managed at last to struggle
across to the other bank. I
found that the commander had
gone on downstream, so I swam
down with the current (for the
tide had turned) until I came
in sight of the deserted
village of Salali, which lies
on the north bank. Opposite to
it on the south bank is a
solitary hut, and here I saw
the commander, but I was
carried past him by the
current some considerable
distance before I could gain
the shore, and I had to wade
back to him. Standing near the
hut was a clump of palm trees,
and we were lucky enough to
find some cocoanuts on them.
In the hut we found two empty
bottles, into which we poured
some cocoanut milk. We next
came across three wooden
poles, which we tied together
with wisps of sisal, and
across them we lashed some old
window frames with lattices.
It was a poor makeshift of a
raft, for the materials were
too scanty to bear our weight,
but it was the best we could
improvise,
“The
commander sat amidships, while
I sat aft, trying to
manipulate an old canoe paddle
which I had picked up, but it
was no easy matter, for the
water was always up to my
shoulders, and occasionally up
to my neck. It must have been
some time after midday when we
shoved off. We soon found that
three submerged poles do not
provide the most comfortable
of craft, especially in a
river where there are plenty
of sharp snags to tear one's
clothes and scratch one's
skin. My stockings were torn
beyond the possibility of
repair by the most
conscientious of darners, and
my khaki shorts also became
considerably less than
respectable. As luck would
have it, I was wearing nothing
better than a service cap,
which is all very well for a
flight in the early morning,
but is hopelessly inadequate
to protect the head from the
noontide sun.
“As
we passed Salali we saw a few
broken boats and canoes lying
on the bank, but they were too
far damaged to be of any use
to us. Just before night fall
we reached Mnasi Moja Point,
where we saw another smashed
canoe, on which we carried out
a rapid survey and decided to
report that in the absence of
docking facilities this vessel
could not be recommended even
for temporary commissioning.
We spent the night near the
Point, dodging the attentions
of the mosquitoes by keeping
as much as possible of their
rations beneath the surface of
the water. The commander
suddenly started laughing, and
when I asked him to let me
share the joke, he said, ' I
cannot help seeing the funny
side of our predicament. There
really is something very
comical about it.' Undoubtedly
there was, and, strange as it
may seem, the humour of the
situation was always uppermost
in our minds, in spite of our
physical discomforts. Of
course we never had any doubt
that we should get back to our
ship somehow or other, and we
talked as though it were a
certainty. I remember the
commander reminding me once
that we were not yet out of
the wood, when I was looking
rather too far ahead, and
discussing future projects
after our return to safety.
“Next
day (8th January) we started
off at dawn, and presently we
sighted the wreck of the
Newbridge - the old packet
which had been sunk to block
the channel before the
Konigsberg was destroyed. I
tried to bring the raft
alongside her, but overshot
the mark, and finally had to
beach the raft some distance
to the east of the wreck. We
now found that the salt water
had penetrated both our
bottles of cocoanut milk,
making it unfit to drink, but
fortunately we still had an
untapped cocoanut, with which
we were able to quench our
thirst. By this time the
necessity of finding food and
drink completely outweighed
all thoughts about the risk of
capture, and we decided that
we must push away from the
river through the mangrove
swamp in the hope of coming
across some natives who might
be able to supply us, and whom
we hoped to bribe into giving
us a passage in a boat or
canoe to our ship.
“It
was a brave decision, but we
had reckoned without the
mosquitoes. I had no sooner
pushed my way into the thicket
than the buzz of a mighty army
sang in my ears, and the swarm
was upon me. The plague of
flies in Egypt may have been a
pretty bad business, but the
virtue of the common fly is
that he feeds on jam and dead
meat, like a civilised human
being. The female mosquito
feeds on live victims, and
with a callous selfishness
almost unsurpassed in the
scheme of creation, she
injects a poison which makes
her food more digestible for
her, but makes her bite ten
times worse for her prey.
Before five minutes were up I
was rushing out of that
mangrove swamp as though all
the furies of hell had been
let loose on me. We had to
give up the idea of getting
away from the river by a tramp
through the bush; for no human
being could endure the ordeal
of it, unless he was armed
like a bee-keeper wrestling
with a swarming hive. Our only
way was to continue our course
downstream until we reached
the river mouth.
“In
the meantime the question of
food and drink was becoming
urgent. We looked across the
river towards the wreck of the
Newbridge, and the hope, which
springs eternal in the human
breast, made us dream of the
possibility of finding
something there which would be
of service to us. As soon as
it was slack water we pushed
off on our raft and managed to
make the wreck without much
difficulty. I don't know
exactly what we really
expected to find there, beyond
perhaps a small pool of rain
water collected in some hollow
of the upper structure, which
was sticking out above the
level of the river, but even
in this we were disappointed.
There was absolutely nothing
on the wreck which could be of
the least use to us in our
predicament. The starboard
stanchion of the bridge, being
painted white, presented to us
the idea of writing a short
note to serve as a guide to
any of the ship's boats which
might happen to come along in
search of us, and the
commander took a pencil from
his pocket and scribbled a few
words on the paint. It is a
curious illustration of how
one loses count of the passage
of time when one is deprived
of the ordinary routine of
regular meals and sleep, that
he and I could not agree as to
the day of the month. It was
really the 8th, but he
insisted upon dating his
message the 10th. Long
afterwards I heard that that
message was seen after several
days by some of our shipmates,
but that they could not make
up their minds whether it was
genuine or not.
“At
nightfall we had another drink
of cocoanut milk, which very
nearly exhausted the supply,
and then we settled down to
the usual game of hide and
seek with the mosquitoes. Once
I tried to snatch a little
sleep by lying down on the
wreck, but I might as well
have chosen a bed of red-hot
needles; sleep was impossible
in the company of that
voracious horde. Only the salt
water could keep them off, so
there was nothing for it but
to get back into the river
again, and to keep my face and
head wet by constant
immersion. It was a process
which soon grew monotonous, so
much so that we did not wait
for daybreak before shoving
off again upon our raft.
“Our
plan was to cross to the east
bank of the river, run the
raft on the mud, and then wade
towards the mouth of the
channel, where we hoped to
come across a native boat or
canoe, or, better still, to
find one of the ship's boats
coming in to look for us. At
first we were carried upstream
by the tide, but when it
turned, we were carried
rapidly towards the sea. All
the time I was struggling hard
with my paddle to bring the
raft to the bank, but the tide
was too strong for me, and,
almost before 1 realised it,
we were being taken right
through the entrance of the
channel. At first I failed to
appreciate the full extent of
our danger. The thought that
we had escaped from that
horrible delta, with its
swarming population of winged
torments, was uppermost in my
mind. But when we reached the
open sea, and found that the
wind was blowing up against
the tide and causing heavy
waves, the full possibilities
of the situation dawned upon
me.
“Our
raft was overturned, and,
though the poles hung
together, they were in a
hopeless tangle, and gave us
little more support than a
single floating spar would
have given us. I watched the
shore gradually recede into
the distance, until I could
not see the tops of the trees
above the waves, and still the
tide seemed to be drawing us
farther and farther away from
land. Of course I knew that
when it turned it would carry
us back again, but the
question was whether we could
remain afloat long enough. Of
those next few hours I cannot
speak in detail, for the
tragedy of Commander
Bridgeman's death blots out
all other memories of them.
When I saw that his strength
was giving out, I tried to
encourage him by telling him
that the tide had turned and
that we should soon be on the
beach, but 1 realise now that
he had lost all consciousness
of his surroundings, and that,
although the instinct of
self-preservation made his
muscles retain their hold, he
was already wrapped in the
long last sleep. I could not
make myself believe this, and
even when his grip relaxed I
still clung to the idea that I
could save him. 1 caught hold
of him and struggled to keep
his head above water. How long
1 struggled 1 do not know; it
may have been but a few
minutes, or it may have been
an hour; but to me it seemed
like a lifetime. And then my
own strength failed, and 1 was
forced to let go of him.
“It
was fortunate that I was not
in a mental condition to
appreciate the full force of
the tragedy. My mind was dazed
through lack of sleep and my
actions had become
subconscious. So long as my
strength had lasted I had
clung tenaciously to the idea
that my one aim and purpose
was to save the commander, and
even though I dimly realised
that he was dead, I could not
relinquish the struggle. When
my strength gave out, I had no
very clear idea of my own
circumstances, but the
ordinary animal instinct kept
me clinging to the remnants of
the raft, until the tide had
carried me well inshore. Then
I struck out with such
strength as I had left in me,
and gained the shallow water,
where I sat down in the surf
to regain my breath. How long
I sat there I have no notion,
but after a while I must have
staggered up the slope of the
beach towards the belt of palm
trees skirting it.
“My
next clear recollection is of
meeting a native - a young man
with only a loin-cloth round
his waist, to whom I uttered
the magic words 'British
man-of-war,' and went through
the motions of paddling a
canoe. Then I said 'Rupees,'
which was a word he well
understood, and I indicated
with my fingers that his
reward should be considerable.
Presently an older man came
up, wearing a pair of blue
trousers, adorned with many
patches. I went through the
same pantomime again, and he
nodded his head in
comprehension. I had four
rupees in my pocket, which I
handed to him as a token of
good faith, but he gravely
returned the money. I also had
a large pocket compass, which
I handed to him, fearing lest
he might suspect that it was
some kind of infernal machine,
and that I was going to
annihilate him. He kept this
at the time, but handed it
back to me next day.
“The
elder man took me by the
wrist, and led me towards a
grass hut, where I remember
sitting down on something or
other - probably a wooden
bench, though I have no
recollection of seeing any
furniture in the hut. By this
time my mental faculties were
almost dormant. I was
conscious that I was in need
of food, but beyond the need
of expressing this elementary
desire I had no definite
thought. I pointed to my
mouth, and the natives nodded
their heads. Presently a woman
appeared on the scene, and
brought me two mangoes, which
she cut into slices for me. I
think of those mangoes now as
the most luscious fruit I have
ever tasted. I am afraid that
my manner of eating them must
have resembled that of a wild
beast rather than a human
creature, for it was nearly
five whole days since I had
had any solid food.
“I
was so much absorbed in
satisfying the first primitive
desire of a live animal that I
had completely forgotten my
surroundings. But presently,
when I had eaten the fruit, I
looked round, and noticed that
the two men had put on blue
tunics, and were winding khaki
puttees round their legs. I
also saw that each of them had
a rifle, but my mental
condition was such that I
attached no significance to
these phenomena. It would have
been all the same to me if
they had put on surplices and
carried a couple of big
Bibles. The one idea firmly
fixed in my mind was that they
were going to take me back to
my ship, and when they made
signs to me to follow them, I
struggled to my feet, and
passed out of the hut.
“Of
that walk through the palm
grove by the seashore, I can
only remember one or two
trivial incidents. I have
since calculated that it must
have occupied an hour and a
half, but I was not conscious
of fatigue; I was not
conscious of anything but a
feeling that the whole
situation was quite unreal,
and that presently I should
wake up. I remember that the
younger of the two natives
showed great concern about my
stockings, which had slipped
down to my feet, and he kept
on making signs to me to
indicate that the mosquitoes
would attack my bare legs. At
last he stooped down himself,
and pulled them up for me.
Later on he took off his red
cap - a very dirty relic of
what had once been a Turkish
fez, but all the stiffness had
long since departed from it,
so that it looked more like a
skullcap. Before I had
realised his purpose, he was
very tenderly wiping my mouth
with it. I suppose that the
remains of the mangoes were
clinging to my lips and
cheeks, and the good-hearted
fellow was shocked to see me
in such a condition.
“The
place to which they brought me
must have been one of the
German outposts. I should
observe that, although all the
harbours and towns along the
coast were by this time in the
hands of the Allies, the
Rufigi Delta had been left in
the undisturbed possession of
the enemy. It was not such a
desirable spot as to be worth
the expenditure of any effort
to acquire it. In an open
space a large number of
natives were congregated round
a fire, stoked with cocoanut
husks, whose smoke drove away
the mosquitoes. Here I sank
down on the ground, and was
dimly conscious that many
pairs of inquisitive eyes were
staring at me; but somehow
they seemed to belong to
another world than my own. I
kept on saying to myself, '
They are going to take me back
to my ship,' and this was the
only idea that my bemused mind
was capable of entertaining.
During the march my guides had
spoken to a group of women
whom we encountered, and I had
assured myself that they were
telling them of the reward
which I had offered, and were
impressing on the women the
need of holding their tongues
about me.
“I
am not quite sure what
happened next. I may have gone
off in a faint, or I may have
simply fallen asleep. The
Germans told me afterwards
that I was in a faint, and it
is not altogether improbable.
The next thing I remember is
that a big man with a beard
was leaning over me, and as I
looked up into his face I saw
that he was a European. He
said something to a smaller
man, who was dressed in the
rig of a sailor, and, as my
scattered wits returned to me,
I recognised the German
tongue. Then, and only then, I
realised for the first time
that I was a prisoner of war.
"For
some time I was allowed to
rest, and then the smaller of
the two men, who spoke quite
good English, told me that I
should have to walk inland
with them. I told him that I
was quite unfit to walk, but
he asked me to make an effort,
explaining that it was
impossible for me to stay
where I was. He turned out to
be a very good fellow, and
before we started he had a
chicken cooked for me. I was
sensible enough to appreciate
this kindness, for roast
chicken is a rare delicacy in
the Rufigi Delta, but when the
food was put in front of me I
found myself quite unable to
touch a morsel of it. I could
see that this genuinely
distressed him, and I told him
how sorry I was, but I could
not explain to him why a man
who has been five days without
food loses the power to eat it
when it is put in front of
him. I only knew that in my
exhausted condition I should
have turned away from the most
tempting delicacy that a Paris
chef could devise. Later on
this little sailor man proved
a good friend to me by rigging
me out in an old suit of khaki
clothes belonging to him - the
only clothes I had from the
Germans during my captivity.
“My
experiences as a prisoner of
war hardly belong to this
story. Suffice it to say that
they were not such as to give
me any great pleasure in
dwelling on them. To start
with, I went down with fever,
and remained on the sick list
more or less continuously for
the next six months. The
prison camps were in a
constant state of being moved
from place to place, as the
progress of the Allied troops
drove the Germans from pillar
to post, I estimate that
altogether I travelled 600
miles during my imprisonment,
walking when I was well
enough, and being carried by
natives at other times. To
make matters worse it was the
rainy season of the year, and
frequently I had no other bed
to lie on than the wet grass.
“One
piece of news, which the
Germans gave me, brought me
some comfort. They told me
that the body of Commander
Bridgeman had been washed
ashore, and had been buried
with full military honours. In
these days of wholesale
carnage, when hundreds of men
are hurled in a few hours
across the gulf between life
and death, many of us have
grown callous about our fallen
comrades. But the thought that
one who had been so closely
associated with me, and had
shared with me the hardships
of those four days in the
Rufigi Delta, had gone to some
unknown resting-place in the
wide ocean had preyed on my
mind. It was an indescribable
comfort to me to know that he
had received Christian burial,
and the honours due to a brave
officer. His memory will long
live in the minds of those who
knew him, and no man can have
a truer inscription on his
monument than that which is
engraved upon the hearts of
his fellow-men.
“I
have to thank a strong
constitution rather than the
German doctors for the fact
that I survived those months
of sickness, and have come
back little the worse for
them. The medical service of
the Germans in East Africa
used to remind me of Alice in
Wonderland, who had jam
yesterday and jam to-morrow,
but never jam to-day. At every
camp the doctor told me that,
although he was unable to give
me proper treatment, I should
receive it all right at the
next camp. Occasionally I was
given a dose of quinine, and
occasionally some ointment for
my sores, but there was an
element of chance as to
whether I got even these, and
the attitude of the doctors
was always perfunctory.
Nevertheless, I had gone far
to regain my health when at
last the rescue came. I shall
never forget those last few
days in the prison camp. We
heard the guns drawing nearer
and nearer as the Allied
forces steadily closed in from
two directions. Then the
commandant gave us the joyful
intelligence that the
prisoners were to be left
behind, together with all the
sick Germans, and those who
were not likely to be of
service in future fighting.
Only about 200 Germans and
some 1,800 Askaris made their
way across the border into
Portuguese East Africa; all
the rest were left behind and
were made prisoners. The
senior German officer in our
camp, accompanied by
Lieutenant Commander Paterson,
and armed with a white flag,
went out to meet our troops.
And then our fellows started
singing 'God Save The King.' I
betook myself to a quiet
corner, for I knew that, if
anyone had spoken to mc, I
should have broken down and
sobbed.”
THE
NAVY IN THE CAMEROONS
CHAPTER
V
THE
STORY OF "KING BELL"
