During the next few weeks Konigsberg met Somali on three occasions without so much as sighting another ship. By the end of August the cruiser’s coal bunkers were only one-quarter full and at the suggestion of Somali’s captain, who had a detailed knowledge of the East African coast, the two ships entered the Rufiji River on 3 September and steamed up the Simba Uranga Channel before making fast. A request for coal and supplies was then despatched to Dar es Salaam. After a while coal lighters began to make their journey along the coast, their contents being sufficient to meet the ships’ domestic requirements and leave a little in hand.
Looff had organised a system of coastal lookouts among the local population and on 19 September he was informed that a two-funnel warship had entered Zanzibar harbour. He calculated that the new arrival could only be the Astraea or the Pegasus and decided to eliminate her at once. Konigsberg left the Rufiji on the afternoon tide and by the following morning was approaching Zanzibar harbour. A blank round was fired at the small harbour guard ship, a former German tug named Helmuth, which her master wisely interpreted as a signal to stay out of the way. Beyond, Looff was able to identify the Pegasus and, satisfied that she was alone, gave the order to open fire at 9,000 yards range. After the first two or three salvos Konigsberg was scoring regular hits. His task was made the easier by the fact that the British cruiser was completely immobile, having entered Zanzibar for a much-needed boiler clean and machinery overhaul. Her commander, Captain John Ingles, tried to raise steam and reply in kind, but his eight 4-inch guns were hopelessly outranged by Looff’s ten 4.1-inch main armament. The contest was akin to that between a fit middle-weight boxer and a bed-ridden invalid. After twenty minutes, with Pegasus on fire and sinking by the bows, Ingles gave the order to abandon ship. Thirty-eight of his men were dead and fifty-five had been wounded. Looff then turned his attention to the Helmuth, killing her Indian engineer and causing some damage before turning away. By evening the Konigsberg was back in the Rufiji with her crew in understandably high spirits. Among the officers, however, this was somewhat dampened by the discovery of a broken piston rod crosshead in one of the engines. In addition, the boiler required the sort of serious maintenance that could only be supplied by a dockyard. The nearest such facility was in Dar es Salaam, 100 miles distant, and that meant that the boilers had to be dragged there and back on wooden sledges. For the moment, there would be no more forays onto the high seas.
Two days after the Pegasus had been sunk by the Konigsberg, the Emden bombarded Madras. This was altogether too much for the Admiralty in London. Something had to be done to rein in the activities of the German cruisers east of Suez, and done quickly. The cruiser Chatham was ordered down from the Red Sea, followed by two more cruisers, Dartmouth and Weymouth. Any one of these was a match for the Konigsberg and together they put an end to Looff’s hopes that once again he might take his ship out into open water, even if he could obtain sufficient coal.
Under Captain Drury-Lowe of the Chatham, the entire effort of the new arrivals was devoted to finding and destroying the German cruiser. Early in September Chatham entered the little port of Lindi in the south of the German colony. Governor Schnee had declared this to be a neutral or at least non-belligerent location. Inside was a German merchantman, the Prasident, which, it was claimed, had been converted for use as a hospital ship and was actually flying a red cross flag. A boarding party discovered neither patients nor the means to treat patients, but did discover orders to deliver coal to a location in the Rufiji River. When questioned, members of the crew confirmed that a cargo had already been delivered to a destination in the river but were unable or unwilling to identify it. A modern German chart containing more detailed information than that in the possession of the Chatham showed a village named Salale in the delta, but no one seemed to have heard of it.
After disabling the Prasident’s engines, Chatham headed north along the coast. As she approached the small island of Komo, lying off the Rufiji delta, a man in khaki uniform was seen running along the beach and disappearing into a palm grove. This in itself was suspicious and a party was landed to investigate. A German officer was found in a hut that served as a signal station, together with a diary in which the Konigsberg was mentioned as well as the mysterious Salale. It looked as though the German cruiser’s lair had been found, but at this point Chatham was called away on a wild goose chase initiated by an agent’s false report that Konigsberg had been sighted in Dar es Salaam harbour, another of Governor Schnee’s non-combatant zones. This was simply not true, but some of Drury-Lowe’s officers thought that they could see the cruiser’s masts inside the harbour, some 6 miles distant. Drury-Lowe hoisted a flag demanding that the German authorities send out a boat and when they did not he opened fire on the town. White flags appeared everywhere and some twenty minutes later a boat appeared, containing some furious German officials. Neither side spoke the other’s language and all that was agreed was that Chatham should fetch the former British consul at Dar es Salaam from Zanzibar. She returned on 22 October and several naval officers accompanied the party into the harbour where it was confirmed that a floating dock had been sunk in the fairway, blocking it. The Germans angrily pointed out that the British were already aware of the fact. This was perfectly true and was contained in a report written by Lieutenant Turner of the Pegasus when the cruiser had visited Dar es Salaam on 8 August. Unfortunately, Turner had been killed when the Pegasus was sunk and no one had bothered to read his report. Drury-Lowe was therefore left with a considerable quantity of egg on his face, but the consequences of bombarding the town were far worse. Governor Schnee had hoped to maintain the colony’s neutrality so that the reforms he had put in place could take root. Against this, Lettow-Vorbeck, his military commander, took a more realistic view that one cannot remain at peace when a state of war had already been declared. The enraged German population of the colony not only rallied to the latter viewpoint but also declared that similar agreements on local neutrality were null and void.
Just what that meant became apparent on 2 November when a British attempt was made to capture the town of Tanga, in the north of the colony, by means of an amphibious landing. While Drury-Lowe took Chatham off to renew the search for Konigsberg, the troops detailed to capture Tanga were sailing south from Mombasa in Kenya. Known as Force B, they were drawn from the Indian Army’s 27th Bangalore Brigade and an Imperial Service Brigade. With the exception of the 2nd Loyal (North Lancashire) Regiment and a battalion of Kashmir Rifles, they were completely inexperienced, semi-trained and semi-disciplined. Despite this, Force B was 8,000 strong and should have experienced no difficulty in taking the town from the 1,000 men that were all that Lettow-Vorbeck could muster, had it not been for its commander, Major General A.E. Aitken, who committed his troops to the attack without the ability to control them once they were in motion, or detailed planning or any reconnaissance of the enemy’s positions. The Royal Navy’s gunfire support, provided by the cruiser Fox, was distributed between British and German troops and the hospital in which staff were trying to treat the wounded of both sides. Even the local bees, famed for their ferocity and enraged by the destruction of their nests by rifle and machine-gun fire, seemed to have a particular dislike for Force B. The majority of the Indian units fled, leaving the Loyals and the Kashmir Rifles to hold their ground. By 4 November a disorderly embarkation was in progress. Having retired to the beach with their discipline firmly intact, the Loyals were disgusted by an order to leave their machine guns behind. The statistics of the action tell their own story. Force B’s casualties amounted to 800 killed, 500 wounded and several hundreds more missing or in enemy hands. Lettow-Vorbeck’s losses came to fifteen Europeans and fifty-four askaris killed. Abandoned by Force B were a dozen machine guns, many hundred rifles, 600,000 rounds of ammunition and huge quantities of clothing and blankets. Aitken’s court martial saw him stripped of his command, reduced two steps in rank and placed on half-pay for the rest of the war.
The gloves were now defi
nitely off. The era of make-believe neutrality was over and in recognition of the fact, as well as a desire to exact some revenge for the disaster at Tanga, the battleship Goliath shelled Dar es Salaam on 28 and 30 November. This caused extensive damage to the town and raised war fever among the population to fever pitch.
Meanwhile, Chatham had returned to a position off the Rufiji. A landing party brought back three natives who, in a state of rum-induced euphoria, confirmed that not only were the Konigsberg and the Somali hiding up the Simba Uranga Channel near a village called Salale, but also that the Germans had covered the approaches with the cruiser’s secondary armament and machine guns, concealed among the mangrove swamps. From Chatham’s masthead a lookout scanned the appropriate bearing and was able to pick out four masts above the tree canopy. Konigsberg had been found but it seemed that there was no way of hitting her. At high tide the closest Chatham could approach the shoreline was 2 miles. From this position a calculation with the aid of a chart showed that the two ships were 14,800 yards apart, and the maximum range of Chatham’s guns was 14,500 yards. Not to be beaten, her captain shifted his ballast to produce a list that gave his guns extra elevation and therefore range. He opened fire on 2 November without result. Five days later, however, he hit the Somali and set her ablaze. Against this, Konigsberg moved further up-river, out of range, and camouflaged her masts.
The question now was what to do next. Goliath’s 12-inch guns might provide an answer but shallow water kept her even further from the shore than Chatham. Konigsberg was now even further away and Looff kept changing her position to confuse her attackers. The problems for the latter remained preventing her escape and actually destroying her. The first was partially solved by sinking an old merchantman, the Newbridge, across the Simba Uranga Channel with the assistance of the tug Duplex.
Given the nature of Looff’s defences at the mouths of the delta, the mission was considered suicidal and open only to volunteers. In the event, only two men were killed despite the hail of fire directed at the ships. Dummy mines were also laid off the mouths of the other channels. As for eliminating the German cruiser altogether the suggestion that she should be captured by a cutting-out expedition in the best Nelsonian tradition was quickly discarded. So, too, was the idea of dropping bombs as the bombload carried by the aircraft of the day was unlikely to cause the German crew much more than a noisy inconvenience. It was, however, agreed that aircraft held the key to some aspects of the problem. A Curtiss flying boat was purchased from a South African mining engineer and a civilian pilot, also named Curtis, was hired to fly it, being granted a commission as a Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Naval Air Service. On 19 November he was able to confirm the Konigsberg’s current position. Thereafter, move the cruiser wherever he might, Looff was rarely free from the attentions of reconnaissance aircraft. These included two Sopwiths and three Short seaplanes. Unfortunately, most of the aircraft had only a brief operational life as the glue holding the fabric to the frame tended to melt in the humid tropical heat.
On 1 January 1915 Chatham was relieved by Weymouth and the decision was reached to tow two shallow-draft monitors out from England via the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. On arrival in the Rufiji delta, they would move up the channel and engage the Konigsberg, their fire being controlled by wireless aircraft. The problem was that their voyage would take several months. In the meantime, Looff received the following signal from Berlin:
Supply ship is on its way to you. Should arrive before spring tides and will signal her approach by pre-arranged code. Bringing 1,600 tons of bunker coal and rifles munitions supplies for von Lettow. Inform Army Commander. Also convey His Majesty’s warm congratulations on his victory at Tanga.
The ship was the 1,600-ton former British freighter Rubens, which had been caught in Hamburg on the outbreak of war. Now, she had been given a Danish identity, re-named Kronberg and was crewed by Danish-speaking Germans. In command was a very capable young officer, Lieutenant Christiansen. On 19 February he sailed from Hamburg amid gales and intermittent snow and gambled successfully that the British would not expect a blockade runner to pass through the gap between the Shetlands and the Orkneys. Kronberg remained undetected during her long passage south through the Atlantic, round the Cape of Good Hope and into the Indian Ocean. At Aldabra Island, approximately 600 miles from the Rufiji delta, Christiansen decided that he must break radio silence and contact Looff regarding Konigsberg’s anticipated breakout into open water, little knowing of the British blockade waiting outside the river mouth. On Madagascar a French radio station picked up a signal originating in the Mozambique Channel. It consisted of the letters AKO repeated several times. The Allies had been in possession of the German naval code for some time and AKO was known to be the Konigsberg’s call sign. It followed, therefore, that as the Konigsberg was known to be locked up inside the Rufiji delta, the origin of the signal must be a blockade runner trying to contact her.
The information was passed to the Royal Navy and two days later the AKO signal was heard again. It was stronger and therefore its origin was much closer. As Admiral King-Hall was now in overall command of the warships blockading the Rufiji and he reasoned, correctly, that as the blockade runner was unable to reach the Konigsberg she would either land her cargo at Tanga or across the beaches of the almost landlocked Manza Bay. He therefore transferred his flag to the Hyacinth and set off northwards, keeping out of sight of the coast on which Lettow-Vorbeck had established a chain of lookout stations that either lit signal fires or hoisted flags whenever a British warship was in the offing. He had read Christiansen’s mind correctly and at first light on 14 April the Kronberg was sighted between Hyacinth and the coast. Christiansen had been heading for Tanga but when a warning salvo from Hyacinth erupted ahead of his bows he turned away immediately and headed for the shelter of the headland at Manza Bay. Hyacinth increased her own speed and was confident of sinking the blockade runner. At this point it began to seem as though Christiansen’s luck would hold, for with a bang heard throughout the cruiser, the joint between the piston and connecting rod in Hyacinth’s starboard engine shattered. Kronberg disappeared round the headland, pursued by some very inaccurate gunnery that only scored one hit. When Hyacinth, limping along on her port engine, finally rounded the headland, Kronberg seemed to be on fire and her crew were heading for the shore in her boats. Christiansen had covered her decks with timber and other combustible materials, but this was only a ruse to suggest that the ship was dying. A boarding party from Hyacinth did manage to scramble aboard and reach the bridge, from which charts and other documents were taken, but left hurriedly when they were fired on from the shore. This was silenced when the cruiser opened fire but the impression received by King-Hall from the boarders was that Kronberg was a complete wreck. Several more rounds were fired into her waterline and then, having repaired her starboard engine, Hyacinth returned to the Rufiji.
Much later, King-Hall was horrified to learn the true state of affairs. Christiansen may not have made contact with Konigsberg but in other respects his mission had been successful. The fires aboard the blockade runner were quickly extinguished and, as soon as sufficient labourers could be rounded up, her cargo was unloaded. In addition to the coal, there were two field guns, four machine guns, 1,800 rifles, 1,000 4.1-inch shells for Konigsberg’s guns, 6,500 miscellaneous artillery shells, a ton of explosives, 200 tents and communications equipment. Some of this was carried to Konigsberg by bearers and the rest was sent to Lettow-Vorbeck by railway.
Meanwhile, conditions aboard the Konigsberg had begun to deteriorate. Supplies of coal, ammunition and food were running very low. There was also a shortage of medicines with which to treat malaria and other tropical diseases that had broken out among the crew. There must have been those aboard who hoped that with sufficient fuel their ship would be able to break out of the foetid environment of the Rufiji with its plague of insects, crocodiles and water snakes and reach the clean freshness of the open sea. Looff was aware that during the s
pring high tides he could probably squeeze his ship past the Newbridge, but beyond that lay only a battle that he could not hope to win and that would serve no useful purpose. Yet, his solitary light cruiser was tying down an unexpectedly large number of Royal Navy warships and keeping them from duties elsewhere.
Nevertheless, this situation could not be expected to last forever and it did not. The two shallow draft monitors, Severn and Mersey, completed their long tow in June and prepared for action by bolting on additional armour. A small airstrip was laid out on Mafia Island and this became the base for two Caudron and two Henri Farman aircraft that would spot the monitors’ fall of shot for them and transmit corrections.
At 06.45 on 5 July the battle was joined. While the rest of the British ships engaged the German advance posts in the swamp, Severn, followed by Mersey, entered the delta’s Kikunja Channel and opened fire at a range of 10,000 yards. Konigsberg did not respond until 07.40 but had the better of the day’s fighting because of excellent corrections signalled by the advance posts. A direct hit on Mersey knocked out one of her guns and killed eight, including an observer on her conning tower. Severn was straddled, her decks being showered with stinking mud and dead fish that attracted little enthusiasm from the ship’s cooks. The British corrections from the air achieved less success, only seventy-eight out of 635 rounds being corrected, only three of which scored hits on the German cruiser, the most important knocking out a forward gun.
Leaking from near misses, the monitors retired to effect repairs. No doubt the debriefing involved a certain amount of frank discussion for during the days that followed the apparent failure of the air-spotting was analysed and the technique improved beyond recognition. On 11 July the monitors returned to the attack with Lieutenant Cull piloting the spotting aircraft and Sub-Lieutenant Arnold acting as his observer. At a little before noon the eighth salvo to be fired scored direct hits on the cruiser’s forecastle. Hits now followed in regular succession and the Konigsberg was shaken by a series of internal explosions. Her return fire dwindled away as one gun after another was silenced and her ammunition was shot off. One of the last rounds to be fired was a shrapnel shell that burst close to Cull’s aircraft, tearing loose one of its two engines. Despite losing height steadily Cull managed to keep the aircraft flying while Arnold continued to send corrections until the cruiser was hidden by trees. When, finally, the plane hit the water, Cull was able to swim to the bank but Arnold was drowned. This was the first occasion in history when a warship was destroyed by indirect gunfire controlled from the air and, suitably adapted for fiction, formed an episode in Wilbur Smith’s novel Shout at the Devil.
The Hunters and the Hunted Page 12
