After firing her four 9.2-inch guns at a floating target, the elderly armoured cruiser, limping home to pay off, spent the afternoon of 21 February and all of the following day cleaning the ship, washing clothes and giving the crew leave. They obtained 812 pounds of fresh beef. Having mustered the crew at quarters, to ensure none of them harboured Selkirkian ambitions, the anchor was raised at 8.55 pm, beginning a stately passage to Coquimbo at no more than eight knots, the same cruising speed as Anson’s Centurion. Bickford forgot to mention that Able Seaman John Walter had been lost overboard while hoisting out the target, despite a rapid reversal of course and launching a boat. The old connections of the island persisted, it was a place where sailors died, where ships found fresh food and water, and guns were fired. It is likely some of the Warspite’s officers scratched their names into the rocky walls of the lookout, joining the growing collection that surrounded Commodore Powell’s ferrous testament.
Warspite’s visit, entirely routine for ships on the Pacific Station spoke eloquently of the close relationship between Britain and Chile. The British were in Chile for many reasons, but most revolved around commercial opportunities, with shipping and mining high on the list. Chile was closely integrated into the ‘informal’ British empire of capital, trade and naval protection. This was a relationship of mutual benefit. Both parties made money, Chile acquired a powerful patron, and Britain had access to the best harbour on the coast. After 1830 the country was an attractive place to live and do business, political stability ensured by an oligarchic political system dominated by landowners. British merchants dominated business at Valparaiso, and by 1850 Chilean imports and exports, each worth £4 million. The British held the keys to the Chilean economy, and they outnumbered other foreign merchants by a factor of two or three. By the 1870s there were around 4,000 Britons in Chile, mostly engaged in commerce and mining. British trade surpassed that of France, Germany and the United States combined. British global shipping networks linked supplier to market, enabling both the Californian and Australian gold rushes to be fed with Chilean grain.
The presence of the Royal Navy at Valparaiso, where most of the British community lived, was a useful (if largely latent) source of support. To many observers it seemed that Valparaiso ‘was little more than an English colony’. The Navy ‘remained off the coast, a silent but potent demonstration of British authority’. It upheld law and order at a time when civil wars and instability were not uncommon, reassured the business community, and reduced the risks of regional trade. In large part this was self-interest. British companies dominated Chilean coastal shipping. Later, British submarine telegraph cable companies secured a commanding position on key routes to and through Chile.9 Down to 1879 copper had been Chile’s main export, most ships heading to Swansea for smelting, and a return cargo of Welsh coal. As copper production slowed, the explosive growth of nitrate exports absorbed even more sailing ships. The acquisition of the arid, nitrate rich Atacama region from Peru and Bolivia in the Pacific War of 1879–1881 suited British capitalists. Fearing Peru meant to nationalise their holdings, they funded and supplied the Chilean military. The dominance of extractive industries ensured Chilean industry and transport networks developed to service mining and farming.
While Anglo-Chilean trade largely ignored Juan Fernández, the island was soon back in the headlines. Early in the twentieth century the pursuit of the unusual and romantic saw it join a long list of places hitherto visited only by seamen, castaways and lunatics of many different types among the headline destinations of an oceanic cruise. In 1912 the ‘Round the World Scientific and Sporting Cruise’ company offered passages on the elderly Royal Mail Steam Packet Atrato, a small two-funnelled ship of ancient profile that had served out her time on the West Indies route. The outline itinerary suggested a mammoth undertaking, stopping at any island, port or coast that had some pretension to fame. Juan Fernández followed the Straits of Magellan and Valparaiso, and was in turn followed by Easter Island in a mighty catalogue of wonders suitable for those undertaking ‘off beaten tracks’ shooting, fishing, scientific, antiquarian and historic research. ‘Catering by Messrs Fortnum & Mason’ would ensure there was little danger of scurvy. Despite the fanfare, the cruise never departed.10
NOTES
1 Souhami, Selkirk’s Island, p. 215.
2 D.W. Williams & J. Armstrong, ‘An Appraisal of the Progress of the Steamship in the Nineteenth Century’, in G. Harlaftis, S. Tenold & J. Valadiso (eds), The World’s Key Industry: History and Economics of International Shipping, Macmillan, Basingstoke, 2012, pp. 49–55.
3 Ship’s log, Maritime Museum, Bath, ME. Material supplied by Pedro Niada.
4 Johnson, Thence Round Cape Horn, pp. 144–52.
5 ‘Disasters at Sea’, The Times (31 December 1891), p. 6, col. C. Hotham to Admiralty, 27 January 1892, no. 27: ADM 1/7111 (the report is missing). Melpomene log book, 30 December 1891 to 1 January 1892: ADM 53/14524.
6 Nova Scotian born Slocum (1844–1909) became a naturalised American citizen, serving as a seaman and master mariner before turning to literature. J. Slocum, Sailing Alone, London, 1900, pp. 122–9.
7 Slocum, Sailing Alone, p. 135.
8 ‘Naval and Military Intelligence’, The Times (21 February 1902), p. 9, col. B. Armoured cruiser, 8,500 tons, completed 1886, Captain Colin Keppel. Rear Admiral A.K. Bickford to Admiralty, 7 March 1902, no.56: ADM 1/7592. Warspite log book 21–22 February 1902: ADM 53/16567. Admiral Bickford’s journal: ADM 50/360.
9 H. Blakemore, British Nitrates and Chilean Politics 1886–1896: Balmaceda and North, University of London Press, London, 1974, pp. 12–14; J. Mayo, British Merchants and Chilean Development, 1851–1886, Westview, London, 1987, pp. 6, 66–7, 71–3, 83, 229–33; H. Barty-King, Girdle Round the Earth: The Story of Cable & Wireless, Heinemann, London, 1979, pp. 47, 51, 96, 152.
10 The Times (20 June 1912), p. 4. Atrato sold to Viking Cruising Company later that year, renamed Viking, and was lost with all hands off Northern Ireland on 13 January 1915 while serving as armed merchant cruiser Viknor. See R. Osborne, H. Spong, & T. Grover, Armed Merchant Cruisers 1878–1945, World Ship Society, Windsor, 2007, pp. 56, 134.
26
The Battle of Cumberland Bay
By 1914 it seemed Juan Fernández was no longer of any interest: a small fishing settlement with no commerce, steamships rarely visited. Yet two centuries of intermittent occupation, charting, picnics and assumed ownership left a potent legacy. In the British world view Juan Fernández remained an informal possession, a place to be used. When the First World War broke out Britain’s global network of sea control, oceanic communications markets and supplies had to be secured.
British strategy was primarily economic and imperial, and focused on the need to protect a network of shipping routes, dominated by British ships, and others insured in London, and linked into the British commercial system. France, Russia and the United States no longer threatened British oceanic communications: the new threat came from Imperial Germany, which had far fewer ships and bases outside Europe. In August 1914 the German threat in the Pacific was limited to a handful of regular cruisers, the East Asia squadron of Vice Admiral Maximilian Graf von Spee. This did not constitute a significant danger, and there was no need for a global convoy system to deal with it. Good intelligence, communications dominance and control of the coal supply would suffice. The Germans could only operate as fugitives, hiding in the distant spaces of the broad ocean. While the Pacific coastline of Chile and Peru appeared distant and unimportant in 1914, nothing could be further from the truth. If the British Empire was going to win the war it would need Chilean nitrates, Argentine beef, Australian grain and global communications. Any break in the world shipping system was potentially fatal. Britain relied on communications dominance to keep track on the German ships, but the system was imperfect, especially in the South Pacific, between Tahiti and Juan Fernández, where there were few telegraph cables or wireless relays, and most merchant ships still relied on s
ails.
The vast range of oceanic trade explained why the British were relatively confident about the security of their shipping – steam had become essential for modern warships, and only Britain had the facilities to operate steam warships in the South Pacific. In the sailing ship era the threat had been more substantial; the British planned to secure a Pacific pair for the Falkland Islands, occupying Juan Fernández or one of the San Félix group further north. These islands had been secretly visited, surveyed and assessed. Although very much part of British strategic planning, they were never mentioned in public. The telegraph cable, steam navigation and the local naval dominance of Chile reduced the risk just as exports of nitrates began to rocket, making Chile an essential economic partner, and boosting the demand for large sailing ships to bring the noisome cargoes home to Britain. By 1900 this vital trade seemed secure, and the Pacific Station was greatly reduced. After the construction of an imperial dry dock at Esquimalt in British Columbia in the late 1880s, to service modern warships, it had been hoped that Canada would pick up some of the burden. When Canada took over the dockyard in 1905 the British stood down the Pacific Station, and assets were withdrawn to face the Germans in European waters. This left a gaping hole in the British global trade defence system.
In 1914 Admiral von Spee moved into that vast, empty space. Like Anson he set out to disrupt and damage a global imperial system that he could not hope to destroy. The German Admiral would have to operate on oceans dominated by British ships, communications and coal. His force, two armoured and one light cruiser, with supporting colliers, left the German colonies around Samoa, moving east to attack French Tahiti on 22 September. Although von Spee forced the British and their Japanese allies to concentrate their heavy units, he was comprehensively outclassed by the newer, faster and substantially more powerful battlecruiser HMAS Australia. Having failed to score any decisive blows in the region, and well aware that he faced a superior force von Spee set a course for Chile.
The British had several options. Rear Admiral Patey, commanding the Royal Australian Navy, anticipated Spee’s move and favoured pursuit. His superiors in London preferred to secure Australian sea lanes while troop convoys were sent to seize German Pacific Colonies and to reinforce the European theatre. They kept Patey and the Australia patrolling round Fiji, Samoa and New Caledonia while von Spee set course for South America. Using radio von Spee rendezvoused with two more light cruisers at Easter Island, and summoned vital colliers to Más Afuera, fearing the residents of Juan Fernández had a working radio. In reality they did not. The coal came from commercial stocks in Chile. Later it transpired the colliers were ex-German merchant ships, lately transferred to Chilean owners. Although they flew the Chilean flag, officers, crew and cargo were German. Under international law belligerent merchant vessels could not change their ownership and registration, but the British Foreign Office, without consulting the Admiralty, allowed Chileans to ‘buy’ 25 ships, complete with German crew. They would refuel von Spee.1
There was a certain irony in the indignant Times headline of 23 November, ‘Juan Fernández as a Base’, but only because the base was ‘Coaling German Warships’. The Chileans had tracked the Kosmos Company steamers Negada and Luxor but failed to stop them clearing port. These two ships, along with the newly American registered Sacramento, which had been allowed to proceed from San Francisco, supplied von Spee. The Sacramento’s owners claimed to have ‘sold’ the coal to the Germans, but they brought the crew of the French barque Valentine, sunk by the German cruiser Dresden off Más Afuera. Confronted with clear evidence of German malpractice and local weakness Chile promised to uphold its neutrality, quickly dispatching the armed training ship General Baquedano to check the islands for any residual German presence.2
News that von Spee was heading for the Chilean port of Coronel, which had a large German community and commercial interests, prompted Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock, hurriedly dispatched from the Atlantic, to arrange the rendezvous for his colliers at Juan Fernández. Hurrying north to locate the enemy before he could damage British commerce Cradock left his battleship, HMS Canopus, to escort the colliers. They never arrived. Cradock encountered von Spee off Coronel late on 1 November 1914. Neither admiral had expected to meet the other in full force. Cradock considered his orders were to fight to the end, despite being heavily outnumbered. Von Spee had more ships and heavy guns, the advantage of light and well-trained crews. Cradock’s flagship HMS Good Hope and the armoured cruiser HMS Monmouth blew up; there were no survivors. The light cruiser HMS Glasgow and the Armed Merchant Cruiser Otranto escaped. Although they won the Germans had used half their ammunition, which was impossible to replace.
Stunned by the defeat and galvanised by the return to office of Admiral Lord Fisher, the Admiralty despatched a suitable force to resolve the situation. On 4 November their Lordships directed a pincer movement of battlecruisers, ships built with the speed and firepower to destroy armoured cruisers. Princess Royal went to the Caribbean entrance of the Panama Canal, Invincible and Inflexible set out for Cape Horn, and Australia was belatedly ordered to the west coast of Central America, to check the Panama Canal and then sweep south. Australia left Suva on 14 November, and arrived on the Mexican coast twelve days later. Admiral Patey had orders to visit the coasts and islands of Central and South America: he began by searching the Galápagos archipelago between 4 and 6 December. The islands were clear, so he headed northeast to inspect the Gulf of Panama and follow the coast south to Guayaquil.
These movements were interrupted on 10 December, just as the Australia entered the Bay of Panama, by news that von Spee’s force had been almost entirely destroyed by Invincible, Inflexible and other ships of Vice Admiral Sir Doveton Sturdee’s force off the Falkland Islands two days earlier. With both German armoured cruisers sunk there was no need for British battlecruisers in the Pacific, the South Atlantic or the Caribbean. Only the fugitive light cruiser Dresden remained at large, with a few transports and the armed merchant ship Prinz Eitel Friedrich. Surplus to requirements Patey was directed to take his flagship through the Canal, but the Canal had been closed to heavy traffic and new orders were sent on 12 December to make the long passage south through the Straits of Magellan. The route took in three locations where German ships had called, or were expected to call: Callao, San Félix and Valparaiso. At Valparaiso Australia was to rendezvous with two ships from Sturdee’s force, the armoured cruiser HMS Kent and the armed merchant cruiser HMS Orama, which were working up the coast. Between calling at Callao on 18 December and reaching Valparaiso on the 26th, Australia stopped at San Félix. The inspection reflected more than a century of interest in these islands, dating back to James Colnett’s visit. With Australia heading south the Admiralty recalled Admiral Sturdee’s battlecruisers, just as HMS Inflexible set a course for the Juan Fernández, ‘which the Germans had been using so freely as a rendezvous’.3
After making a powerful impression on those who retained any lingering German sympathies, Australia left Valparaiso on the 27th, stopped off Coronel to lay a wreath at the battlefield the following day, and entered the Straits of Magellan on 31 December. After coaling at the Falklands, Australia captured the 5,000-ton German supply ship Eleonore Woermann, which had been attempting to link up with the Dresden on the 6 December. Superior force, communication dominance and good cruiser work had dismantled German plans for a war on trade.
By December 1914 both Chile and Peru, recognising how blatantly Germany had abused their neutrality, had interned the German colliers, forcing Prinz Eitel Friedrich, waiting for supplies at isolated Easter Island, to leave the Pacific.4 That left the last of von Spee’s warships, the light cruiser Dresden hiding in the maze of inlets around the Straits of Magellan and Tierra del Fuego, violating the rights of belligerent warships to stop for 24 hours in neutral harbours. By this time the British were intercepting German radio traffic, enabling the armoured cruiser HMS Kent to catch Dresden at the rendezvous she had set for her colliers on 7 March.
Once again Dresden escaped, only to limp into Cumberland Bay on 8 March, her boilers almost burnt out by sustained high speed running, desperately short of coal, effectively out of ammunition, short of most stores and without any spare boiler tubes. The German ship was barely operational. Under International Law the Germans had 24 hours to complete their repairs and provisions before leaving, alternatively they could accept internment. Captain Ludecke ignored the Chilean authorities on the island, the lighthouse keeper, because the Chileans had no means of enforcing their neutrality. He pressed on with boiler repairs, hoping to reach the Chilean naval base at Talcahuano before interning his ship.
Once again Dresden was betrayed by coded signals requesting a collier to rendezvous in the Bay sent on 9 March. The message was intercepted by the British light cruiser Glasgow, and decoded by her signals officer. Captain John Luce headed for Juan Fernández with Kent and the Armed Merchant Cruiser Orama. On the morning of 14 March Glasgow approached Cumberland from the west; the more powerful Kent came round the eastern end of the island. They found Dresden still flying German colours, and getting up steam ready to sail, forewarned by lookouts on the mountain ridge. Anxious to complete his mission, Captain Luce steamed into the Bay, carefully placing the Glasgow in a position that ensured any shells that missed the German cruiser would not land on San Juan Bautista. Opening fire at 8,400 yards, Glasgow hit the stationary ship with the first salvo, Kent followed and within three minutes the Germans had hauled down their colours, claiming they were already interned, detonated the forward magazine and scrambled ashore. The Armed Merchant Cruiser Orama joined in just as the ceasefire was ordered. Not all the British shells hit the target; half a dozen unexploded six-inch rounds remain buried in the hills behind the Dresden’s position. Eight Germans died and sixteen were wounded; the latter were treated on board the Orama, which carried them to Valparaiso. Dresden sank an hour later. Her remains lie 200 feet down at the western end of the Bay. Captain Luce settled local claims for damages with the lighthouse keeper and departed: ‘leaving the islands to the age long loneliness from which they had been so rudely awakened by the limitless spread of the war’.5 Any loneliness had always been more apparent than real.
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