Cape Horn was less unfriendly in high summer – it was cool rather than bitterly cold and the sea was relatively calm, no worse than the Pentland Firth to the north of Scotland, though that was regarded as one of the most vicious stretches of water in the whole of the North Atlantic. They made their passage and turned north within distant sight of the coast of Chile. Passing the exit to the Magellan Strait they turned their glasses hopefully in search of smoke from Canopus and listened for the wireless on Defence, more modern and powerful than that of Good Hope. There was nothing from the British ship but the wireless operator reported picking up distant and incomprehensible traffic. He reported to the bridge in some excitement.
“It’s not British, sir. Most likely Telefunken, sir, slightly different technically to our system. Morse, sir, but too fuzzy to pick out clearly.”
The captain was impressed by the knowledge displayed by the young man.
“Likely to be the Germans, is it?”
“Might be, sir, but Germany sold Telefunken transmitters and receivers widely before the war, sir. I think that some of the South American navies bought the system.”
“Might not be, then… I shall inform the Admiral.”
An hour later Glasgow was detached to Valparaiso.
The light cruiser, much faster than the rest of the squadron, headed away to the north.
“Squadron will make best speed to Valparaiso.”
Admiral Craddock did not explain why but it seemed obvious that he wanted immediate access to the telegrams from the Admiralty, with perhaps further information on the location of Canopus and Defence.
Hector was ignorant of some of the technical details relating to neutrality, asked the Gunnery Commander for a quick briefing.
“What happens if Glasgow finds the Germans in Valparaiso, coaling, say, sir?”
“Difficult! In theory, the Chileans must enforce a twenty-four hours delay between the two sets of ships leaving. If Glasgow spots them, turns about and leaves territorial waters, then Von Spee’s squadron must not go in chase for a whole day.”
“That would leave them at a hell of a disadvantage, sir. We would have all that time to set ourselves up for them, or to hold off and shadow them wherever they sailed.”
“Precisely, Sub! If the Chileans have a battleship or two in port and are willing to enforce the rules, then Von Spee will be obedient. However! And a big ‘however’ it is! The Chileans are thought to be pro-German. Berlin has a lot of business interests in Chile and is said to have bought a number of leading politicians. We have done the same in Argentina and Brazil; the City of London owns half of the cattle ranches in Argentina and all of the politicians. Thing is, the odds are the Chileans will turn a blind eye to the Germans taking off in immediate pursuit. If they are there, we are likely to see Glasgow at full speed flying ‘enemy in sight’.”
“What then, sir?”
“Admiral Craddock will take the action that seems good to him. I expect he will fight. Not one to run away, Kit Craddock!”
There was a general, excited expectation of action, of a real battle. Heligoland Bight had been a confused mess; this would be a proper stand-up fight with the best side winning.
“The Germans outnumber us, having three light cruisers in company, but they are very small and irrelevant in terms of the battle, unless they can close with torpedoes, I suppose… Our six inch will deal with that problem if it arises. Should be able to cripple them before they can get in range in daylight. Not as if they were fast little torpedo boats or destroyers, tiny and agile and hard to hit…”
“Only a threat in night action, you would say, sir?”
“I would judge so, Sub.”
“What if they go after Glasgow, sir?”
“She’s a match for any one of them, might be able to deal with two. She will need to split them up and deal with them separately – not too difficult a task, she has the edge on them for speed, or so the book says. Add to that, the Germans have been away from a dockyard for a good time now – they will be slower than their rating, needing boiler cleans and such. If they get to close quarters, she’ll give them the Gorbals kiss and be done with it!”
This was obviously jolly funny; Guns laughed heartily.
Hector, despite his name, had had very little contact with Scotland but remembered that the Gorbals was a large and depraved slum in Glasgow, and was often said to be the worst place in Britain for casual, drunken, violent crime.
“’Gorbals kiss’, sir?”
“Famous, McDuff! A headbutt in the mouth - ended many a brawl before it has ever really started. They say you see many a fellow in Glasgow with teeth marks on his forehead as his winner’s trophy. The sign of a hard man, so they will tell you – have a look at some of the stokers!”
Hector suspected that he had lived a sheltered existence.
The wireless office reported more and louder Telefunken chatter at intervals through the day, suggesting that the signals were strengthening and presumably closing.
“When will Glasgow make Valparaiso, sir?”
“With the dawn, a little later perhaps to give the Chileans time to wake up. She’ll slow down during the night, so as to see that hard coast in daylight. Rock-bound, all the way. Not a place to be in the dark hours. The squadron can continue at full speed and be only a few hours distant from her. Should be within range of her radio.”
The morning was within reason clear and the squadron made its way towards Valparaiso in close order. Mid-afternoon brought word from Glasgow that she had left the harbour and that the five ships of the Tsingtao squadron were there, in company with a loaded collier. They were completing coaling and showing signs of making ready to chase.
Glasgow rejoined in late afternoon and was sent off with Otranto to hold at a distance from the main action.
The Gunnery Commander had a last word with Hector before sending him down to the after nine point two turret.
“Perfect conditions, Sub. Setting sun behind us and the Germans coming up from the east – their rangefinders will be looking directly into the sun. They’ll be against the mountains and the ships’ white upperworks will be visible against their backdrop. We will be able to smash them while they come to close range. They will have to close on us – they will never be able to hit us from a distance in those conditions.”
It did not seem to occur to the Commander that they could wait until the conditions changed.
The two squadrons came into contact at teatime, which was damned inconvenient of the Germans, spoiling the afternoon cuppa. The men cheered and the ship readied itself for victory.
Monmouth fell into line behind Good Hope and the two massive cruisers slowly sailed northwards, watching as Scharnhorst and Gneisenau paralleled them at nearly twenty thousand yards distant.
Hector sat at the telescope in the after turret, the gun loaded with common shell and at near maximum elevation. Armour-piercing shell might have been better; they had little aboard, however, and the Gunnery Officer had decided to hold it until the range enabled more accurate fire.
He waited on the firing order, trying to keep Scharnhorst in the graticules of the sight, compensating by hand for the roll and pitch of Good Hope.
“Well in range, sir.”
The maximum range of the gun was twenty-nine thousand yards, in ideal conditions, Hector knew. Many of the Mark IX barrels were fitted in coastal batteries, obviously on stable mountings. It was not uncommon for coastal guns to hit within two hundred yards of a target at maximum range. Good Hope had old barrels, coming to the end of their service life and worn; they would be lucky to place a shell within a quarter of a mile of a moving target at twenty thousand.