LITMIR.BIZ

      Battle of Coronel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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