Part 21

For the Australian cruiser _Sydney_ received an interrupted wireless message from the Cocos to the effect: “Strange warship ... off entrance,” and at once sped off at full steam, and at 9.15 the look-out saw the tops of the coco-nut trees of the Keeling Islands in the distance. Five minutes later the _Emden’s_ funnels were sighted, twelve or fifteen miles away. Game, the German opened fire at a long range, the _Sydney_ waiting for a little while, and then sending her explosive replies. It was a gallant fight; the _Emden_ made some fine firing practice, smashing the _Sydney’s_ No. 2 starboard gun almost immediately, and putting practically all the crew out of action. The Australian’s aft control was blown to pieces, and a fire broke out, which her men soon got under while the fight raged.

The crew of the _Sydney_ worked well that morning, as the letter of one of her officers testifies:

“The hottest part of the action for us was the first half-hour. We opened fire from our port guns to begin with. I was standing just behind No. 1 port, and the gunlayer (Atkins, First-Class Petty Officer) said: ‘Shall I load, sir?’ I was surprised, but deadly keen there should be no ‘flap,’ so said: ‘No, don’t load till you get the order.’ Next he said: ‘_Emden’s_ fired, sir.’ So I said: ‘All right, load, but don’t bring the gun to the ready.’ I found out afterwards that the order to load had been received by the other guns ten minutes before, and my anti-‘flap’ precautions, though they did not the slightest harm, were thrown away on Atkins, who was as cool as a cucumber throughout the action.

“All the time we were going 25 and sometimes as much as 26 knots. We had the speed on the _Emden_, and fought as suited ourselves. We next changed round to starboard guns, and I then found the gunlayer of No. 1 starboard had been knocked out close to the conning-tower, so I brought Atkins over to fire No. 1 starboard. I was quite deaf by now, as in the hurry there had been no thought of getting cotton-wool.

“This is a point I won’t overlook next time.

“Coming aft the port side from the forecastle gun I was met by a lot of men cheering and waving their caps. I said: ‘What’s happened?’ ‘She’s gone, sir, she’s gone.’ I ran to the ship’s side, and no sign of a ship could I see. If one could have seen a dark cloud of smoke, it would have been different. But I could see no sign of anything. So I called out: ‘All hands turn out the lifeboats, there will be men in the water.’ They were just starting to do this when someone called out:

“‘She’s still firing, sir,’ and everyone ran back to the guns. What had happened was a cloud of yellow or very light-coloured smoke had obscured her from view, so that looking in her direction one’s impression was that she had totally disappeared. Later we turned again and engaged her on the other broadside.”

But, although she was still fighting gamely, the _Emden_ was in a poor way; her three funnels and her foremast were shot away, and she was on fire aft. To complete the work so well begun, the _Sydney_ swung round again, and opened on her with the starboard guns, which sent her running ashore on North Keeling Island. Then, having fought for an hour and forty minutes, and realising that the _Emden_ could not escape, the _Sydney_ went in chase of the German’s collier. Coming up with her, they found that the crew had opened the seacocks and that she was sinking rapidly. The crew was taken off, and the _Sydney_ steamed back to have a look at the _Emden_. It was four o’clock when she arrived, and almost immediately the Germans hauled down their colours and hoisted a white flag; they were surrendering. In the ordinary course the _Sydney_ would now have sent boats out on rescue work, but it was too late in the evening to do that, especially in view of the fact that at any moment another German cruiser--the _Königsberg_--might come into sight, when the _Sydney_ would need to be ready to tackle her. She therefore steamed away till morning, picking up a German sailor as she went, making the fourth they had managed to rescue during the day.

Early next morning the _Sydney_ looked in at the cable station, to find that a landing party from the _Emden_ had smashed the instruments, and then stolen a schooner and escaped.

A little after eleven o’clock the _Sydney_ went back to where the _Emden_ had run ashore, and an officer was sent over to her. He was helped aboard by the Germans, and found the vessel an absolute shambles. One hundred and eighty men were killed. Captain von Müller gave his parole, and the wounded were quickly got over to the _Sydney_, where they were attended to. The remainder of the crew were then transhipped, and the _Sydney_ sped off for Colombo, where she received a mighty welcome, though she went in silent, for her captain had ordered that there should be no cheering over the defeat of gallant foes, who had always behaved like gentlemen to those whom they had captured.

When we recall that during the days of her marauding cruise the _Emden_ had captured and sunk shipping to the value of little less than four and a half million pounds, it will be seen that the _Sydney_ had done some very good work in bringing her career to an end.

The _Königsberg_, which the _Sydney_ had half expected to turn up at the Cocos Islands, met her doom at the hands of the British light cruiser _Chatham_ in the Rufigi River, German East Africa. The _Königsberg_ had also been a danger on the seas, but she had only succeeded in sinking one trading vessel and disabling the obsolete cruiser _Pegasus_. The latter had snapped at the Germans at Dar-es-Salaam in German East Africa, and had then gone over to Zanzibar to repair. She was, however, surprised by the _Königsberg_ while her crew were hard at this work. Before they knew what was what a hail of shells was poured into the _Pegasus_, which shivered from the shock; her steel work was bent and twisted, men fell dead or wounded, and very soon the _Pegasus_ men knew that they were fighting a hopeless battle. But they fought it as became men with the tradition of unconquerable pluck behind them.

Their ensign was sent hurtling to the deck by a lucky shot; a man seized it in his hand and held it aloft, a sign of defiance to their overwhelming opponent. That man died waving the flag; another snatched it from his dead hand, and flaunted it bravely; and when the _Königsberg_, her work done, steamed away, the British ensign still floated in the breeze above the shattered _Pegasus_.

This one-sided action took place on September 19, and just over a month later the _Königsberg_ was run down by the _Chatham_, and her career came to an end. The _Chatham_ found her hiding in the Rufigi River, six miles up stream. The British cruiser, owing to her great draught, could not go up after her, and the _Königsberg_ landed part of her crew, who dug themselves into entrenchments on the Mafia island at the entrance of the river, expecting an attempt to assault them. The _Chatham_, however, shelled her and the entrenchments, but the dense palm groves amid which she lay made it impossible to tell with what effect. To ensure that she should not escape, the _Chatham_ took measures to bottle her up; a German East African liner, the _Somali_, was sunk in the mouth of the river, and later the s.s. _Newbridge_ was also used for this purpose. This ship (Captain Willett) had a cargo of coal on board. She was protected aft by sandbags and sacks of coal, and her steering gear and engine-room were shielded by steel sheets so that the _Königsberg’s_ fire might not prove too destructive as the _Newbridge_ made her way up river.

The men in the entrenchments on Mafia Island were prepared for the coming of the _Newbridge_. By some means the Germans had discovered that she was to be sent; and as they were armed with Maxims and quick-firers, it looked as though the collier would receive a pretty warm reception. She did!

Lieutenant Lavington, in command, and Captain Willett and two other lieutenants were the sole officers on board, six or seven bluejackets and a few artificers and stokers comprising the crew--a gallant company going on a dangerous errand. As soon as the _Newbridge_ got within range the Germans on the island began firing, without much effect. Then, having passed the island, in spite of a perfect hail of bullets and shrapnel, she was moored into the position decided upon, and the last stages of the work begun. Down in her hold were several charges of guncotton, with an electric wire connected to the launch that had followed the ship. Having opened her port tank, so that the water might pour in and give the _Newbridge_ a list up stream, and make her satisfactorily withstand the strong current running, the crew slipped into their boats alongside, the connection was set up; and there followed three loud explosions. The _Newbridge_ sank; and the _Königsberg_ was effectually bottled up.

For the men who had hazarded everything on this mission the serious task now before them was to get back to the open sea; and to do this they had, of course, to pass the island, with its force of Germans. They sped back as quickly as they could, meeting a shower of shot, which caused considerable damage; but at last the gantlet was run and the intrepid men were safe on board.

Less than a week later the _Königsberg_ was sunk. As she was hidden by the dense foliage, and had taken the precaution of covering herself with leaves, the British had, as we have said, much difficulty in telling whether the shell fire was effective. In order to get the exact position, therefore, an aeroplane, brought by the _Kinfauns Castle_, was used. The whirr of her engine, as she reconnoitred over them, told the Germans that the end was very near, and they were quite prepared for the well-placed shots which quickly followed the dropping of smoke bombs, signalling the position of the lurking cruiser. The great, destructive shells smashed into her, wrought havoc all through her, broke her as though she had been a cardboard toy; and very soon she sank. The _Pegasus_ had been avenged.

These two cases are typical of the way the British Navy dealt with the modern corsairs and showed Germany that Britannia still rules the waves.

THE WRECKERS

Stories of Human Ghouls

There are few things more fiendish to be found in the story of the sea than the wholesale system of wrecking which was in practice from early times up to comparatively recent years. The wreckers were nothing less than ghouls who preyed upon mariners whom they had lured to destruction. Very severe laws were made to deal with them, but it is to be feared that they were very ineffective.

On September 11, 1773, the _Charming Jenny_, Captain Chilcot, was battling bravely against a storm off the Isle of Anglesea. For a while all went well, and Chilcot thought that he could weather the storm. Away in the distance there suddenly appeared lights as of ships passing in the night. But, had he known it, they were false lights--lanterns tied around horses’ necks. Scoundrelly men were leading the horses along the cliff-heads, taking care that they were near the rocks which poked their cruel noses above water. Chilcot, taking these lights for those of ships passing in the night, steered his vessel towards them, thinking he would thereby be safe.

Then, when it was too late, he discovered his mistake; there was a crunching, grinding noise as the _Charming Jenny_ hurled herself on the rocks, and in an incredibly short time went to pieces, carrying all her crew to destruction with the exception of Chilcot and his wife, who were fortunate in getting on to a piece of wreckage, and after some hours of agony and exposure were washed ashore in an exhausted condition and were scarcely able to move. There, on the beach, they lay for a while, hoping for succour, instead of which there came--the wreckers. These, when they were satisfied that their fell work had been successful, hurried down from the cliffs and, searching the shore, came upon the almost lifeless bodies of the man and woman.

Chilcot they seized and took away, stripped him of his clothes, even cut the buckles from his shoes, and then left him to shift for himself. His first thought was for his wife, and hurrying as fast as he could to the shore, he found her--dead. The wreckers had killed her and carried away the bank bills and seventy guineas she had in her pocket.

The significant thing about this incident was that Chilcot, getting assistance from two kindly people near by, put the authorities at work, with the result that three men were arrested, and found to be well-to-do folk--one of them, indeed, so wealthy that he could offer £5,000 bail when he was arraigned at Shrewsbury Assizes! Probably these gentry had fattened on the misfortunes of dozens of other unfortunate mariners.

An incident of wrecking in Cornwall in 1838 is typical in many respects. The wreckers in this case were the miners of Sennen, who one day noticed a ship trying to beat up the Channel against a fierce storm. As it was daylight, the miners grumbled at the fate which seemed as though it had sent a prize to taunt them, for they could not lure the ship to destruction while it was light. But knowing, with that instinct of the coast-dwellers, that the storm would hold on for some time, and that the ship could not hope to make much headway, they set a number of men on watch on the cliffs to keep the ship in sight until night fell. Meanwhile the wreckers went on with their mining. When night fell they rushed to the coast, and soon were sent to a particularly dangerous part. They carried a lantern, which they set on a cliff-head.

To the mariners on the battling ship it seemed like a beacon. Where they had been buffeting blindly before, with no light to guide them, now they were able to take bearings. The captain set his course by the light, but, past masters in their craft, the wreckers manipulated the light so that the skipper was deceived, and, although he did not know it, he was gradually getting closer and closer to the shore.

Crash! The ship hit the rocks, and at once realising that he had been trapped, the skipper shouted commands; men flew to do his bidding, but the ship refused to budge; she was fast on the rocks.

Then the wreckers fell to work. There were no fewer than two thousand of them, and while the captain and crew were intent on getting ashore, the wreckers busied themselves in taking out everything of value, stripping the ship clean. The captain, knowing that the fiends had lured him to destruction, rallied his men together to oppose them. But what could a handful of men do against such a horde? Although the mariners put up a gallant fight, they were defeated and many of them cut down.

Then the coastguard turned up. Again only a handful to oppose thousands, who, in possession of a rich prize, were determined nothing should rob them of it. So there was another fight, fierce hand-to-hand tussles at first, for the coastguards did not wish to kill; then, when the wreckers began to menace their very lives, the coastguards opened fire. This only enraged the wreckers more, and they fell upon the officers, who were at last driven off, unable to cope with the force arrayed against them.

Then the wreckers completed their fell work.

In 1731--during the reign of George II., that is--there sailed from Copenhagen a Danish East Indiaman, the _Golden Lion_, with a valuable cargo, including twelve large chests of silver valued at about £16,000. Captain Heitman, of the _Golden Lion_, after encountering bad weather in the Channel and being driven northward to the Kerry coast, at last put into the Bay of Tralee, near the northern shore of which there lies another bay, called the Bay of Ballyheigue, abounding with sunken rocks and sandbanks, a place of terror to mariners.

How it happened is not clear, but on October 28 the _Golden Lion_ entered this treacherous bay. It has been asserted that the men of Kerry lured her by false lights, though they vowed their innocence. In any case, the _Golden Lion_ was in a serious fix, and the only way to save the crew was for Captain Heitman to steer his ship ashore. This he did, and succeeded in saving the sixty men comprising the crew, and also the £16,000 of silver and various other things, though the _Golden Lion_ herself became a total wreck.

To the credit of the Kerry men be it said that for a long time the Danes were hospitably treated by them; the officers were housed at Ballyheigue House, and their treasure was allowed to be stored in an old tower, at the south-west corner of the court belonging to the house. The crew were taken in to billet at various houses round about. Meanwhile, Heitman sent news to London and Copenhagen of his misfortune; but it would appear that these never reached their destination, being held up in Ballyheigue, and the Danes had to wait long, and as patiently as they could, for news that never came.

Then there began to be a change in the attitude of the Kerry men. Thomas Crosbie, owner of Ballyheigue House, died, and a relative named Arthur Crosbie came to the help of his widow and mother, executors of the late host. Now, Arthur Crosbie was a queer customer--hard up, crafty, always with his nose in other people’s business. He felt that the Danes should be made to pay something out of their hoard for all the hospitality shown them. Heitman, nothing averse to doing so, objected, however, to the charges put down by Crosbie--namely, £4,000--and he sent a letter of complaint--though how it got through goodness only knows--to Dublin. The authorities at Dublin sent back a message that the Danes were not to be imposed upon; and Crosbie knew that he had been foiled.

But only in one direction, for his crafty mind soon set to work to devise a plan whereby he could get some of that treasure in the vaults beneath the square tower of Ballyheigue House; and he was not alone in his plotting, for others of the Kerry men were of much the same mind as he was.

A pretty plot was in the way of being hatched.

A man named Cantillon (a distant relative of the Crosbies) started things seriously. He conferred with David Lawlor, who kept an inn at Tralee, in April, 1732, and the result of their confab was that they paid a visit to the farm at Beinaree belonging to the Protestant Archdeacon of Ardfert, the Rev. Francis Lauder, who was also a J.P. The plotters told their scheme to one named Ryan, tithe-proctor and steward to the archdeacon, and he eagerly threw in his lot with them. The prize was worth it. He promised to do his best to get other helpers, and that night he tackled John Kevane, a labourer on the farm.

Now, Kevane was wary; he was not at all opposed to the plot, but he wanted to be sure that it had substantial backing in the shape of “the gentlemen of the county.” Ryan was evasive on this point.

“I’m going to see the master,” he said, “and feel sure that the gentry will consent to it.” But Kevane was not at all convinced, and reserved his opinion.

Having so far committed himself, Ryan naturally had to follow the matter up with Kevane and get him into the plot, lest he gave information; and next day he tried again to persuade him.

“If the gentry are really in it,” said Kevane at last, “then some of them ought to appear in it, so as to spirit up the folk.”

“We can’t ask them to do that,” answered Ryan craftily; “it would hardly do. But I can tell you, Kevane, that their servants are going to help us.”

This sounded reasonable to Kevane, who therefore agreed to enter into the conspiracy, and very soon Cantillon, Lawlor, and Ryan found themselves with a fairly respectable (or disreputable) following, including William Banner, the butler, and Richard Ball, the steward at Ballyheigue, Captain Stephen Macmahon, and John Malony, his mate.

There was one other man Cantillon was anxious to have in with him. This was Denis Cahane, a poor smallholder at Kilgobbin, who refused at first, but at last asked time to think it over. Thinking it over, he felt he would like advice, and, having been told that the gentry were in it, had a talk with his landlord, Mr. John Carrick, a J.P. The magistrate soon put Cahane right, and told him to have nothing to do with the matter, and the poor chap gave his promise.

“Keep it quiet, sir,” he said tremblingly, “or they’ll kill me for an informer!”

Cahane knew Cantillon and his roguish comrades!

The following Sunday, May 16th, Cantillon was coming for Cahane’s answer, and the smallholder, worried almost to death, interviewed the Protestant vicar in the morning, after the service at Kilgobbin. To him he poured out his story, asking him to keep his informant’s name secret. The vicar promised, and then went to see Mr. Carrick, whom he asked to warn Lady Margaret Crosbie of the plot, so that she might put the Danes upon their guard. Carrick promised, and then broke his word; whereupon, some days later, the vicar himself called upon Lady Margaret and told the whole of the tale.

Lady Margaret thanked him, and promised to warn the Danes and get them to remove the chests of silver from the vault to her house, where it would be quite safe.

As a matter of fact, the good kind lady was in the plot, and she did not warn the Danes. The conspirators were able, therefore, to set about maturing their plans which, with so many people concerned, it is not surprising became common knowledge amongst the peasants, rumours even reaching Tralee Custom House, whence Heitman was advised to obtain a guard of troops from Tralee barracks.

One would have thought that, in view of this information, Heitman would have taken every precaution; but he did not. Instead of applying for soldiers he contented himself with asking Lady Margaret to let him have some of the arms which had been put under lock and key when the _Golden Lion_ was wrecked; and when his request was refused, and yet another that he might gather all his crew into the ground floor of the square tower, he apparently shrugged his shoulders and let the matter slide!

Then Dick Ball turned traitor; he confided to one of the Danes, John Suchdorf, that there was going to be an attempt to steal the silver. But for sheer foolishness these mariners want beating. Suchdorf shrugged his shoulders, laughed all over his honest face, and told Ball it was a really fine joke he was trying to play on him! And he doesn’t even seem to have told the captain, though perhaps it would have done no good if he had.

It came about, then, that when the plotters considered the time ripe everything was clear. The day determined on was June 5, when Lady Margaret had a few friends come to her house on a visit.

At dinner that evening Captain Heitman and his officers were invited to join the party, probably to keep them out of the way, for while the convivialities were in progress our old friend Suchdorf noticed that three men were prowling about the foot of the square tower; and a little later saw Lawlor and a companion go into Ballyheigue House. In view of what he had been told previously, had Suchdorf been anything but a muddle-headed man, he would have suspected what was afoot and rushed off to Captain Heitman; but he did nothing, said nothing, not even when, about seven o’clock, he came upon Ball and Malony and three or four others gathered about the tower. So the plot, which was coming to a head, was allowed to progress unimpeded, and soon after midnight, when everyone had retired to rest, there was a fine hullabaloo--guns were firing, men were shouting, women screaming, and doors being banged, opened and shut noisily as folk awoke.

The work was in hand!