Around the World Submerged: The Voyage of the Triton

The Falkland Islands are famous for the naval battle which took place there on the eighth of December, 1914. A month earlier, on November first, a strong German squadron of cruisers under Admiral von Spee had overwhelmed a weaker British squadron under Admiral Cradock off the cape of Coronel on the coast of Chile. The two biggest British ships, including the flagship, were sunk with all hands. Then Von Spee headed for Cape Horn at a leisurely pace, intending to capture the coaling station at the Falkland Islands, refuel, and head back to Germany. His big mistake was in moving so slowly, for when the English heard of the defeat of Cradock, they sent two of their battle cruisers, under Admiral Sturdee, from England direct to the Falkland Islands, with orders to coal at Port Stanley and then search out Von Spee. It was the ideal mission for a versatile British Navy and its new battle cruisers, as they were fast heavily armed ships which far outclassed Von Spee’s armored cruisers in both speed and gunpower.

After a high-speed run the length of the Atlantic, Sturdee reached the Falkland Islands the day before Von Spee showed up. Von Spee’s second mistake was in making his appearance at about eight o’clock in the morning, with a long summer day ahead of him. The Inflexible and the Invincible were coaling at Port Stanley when the German cruisers appeared on the horizon. Hastily casting off, Sturdee set out in pursuit. When Von Spee realized that the two big ships sortieing from Port Stanley were battle cruisers with twelve-inch guns, he turned and tried to escape. This might be termed his third mistake, for, with a fight inevitable, he should have got his own shorter-range guns into action while he could. Once lost, the opportunity never returned. Inexorably, the British overhauled him sufficiently to open fire—and then, when necessary, used their superior speed to stay out of range of Von Spee’s guns.

One of the stories of that battle is that an old sailing ship which happened to be in the area suddenly found herself directly in the line of fire. Great ripping sounds were heard as the armor-piercing shells whistled overhead, but the extreme range of the British caused all the shells to pass harmlessly thousands of feet above her.

Von Spee’s two bigger ships were the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, both of which had held the Fleet Gunnery Trophy in the German Navy and were known as crack ships. But now the tables were turned, and in a few hours Von Spee, with his two fine cruisers, joined Cradock and his Good Hope and Monmouth at the bottom of the sea.

Scharnhorst and Gneisenau went down fighting; there were no survivors. They had not been able to inflict any damage of any kind on the British ships, any more than Cradock had been able to hurt Von Spee in the first encounter. But there was established a proud tradition in the German Navy, commemorated in World War II by some more recently remembered names of men-of-war.

According to Will Adams, we should sight the Falkland Islands at about ten o’clock in the morning. A little before this we came to periscope depth, put up the radar, and there, precisely as predicted, was a “pip” on the radar scope obviously made by land. The photographic reconnaissance party under Dick Harris, with cameras and equipment, was standing by in the conning tower ready for the initial approach, when Jim Stark sought me out. His face was like a thundercloud.

“What’s the matter, Jim? Is it Poole?”

“Yes, sir. Worse than ever.”

Thoughts of the impending reconnaissance vanished. “Let’s have it,” I said.

Choosing his words carefully, Jim explained that in his opinion Poole might still be having trouble with the original stone. It might not have passed at all. Temporary remissions of the type Poole had experienced were not unknown in such cases. On the other hand, it was possible that he had been passing a series of kidney stones and that this was the third one. In either case, said Jim, there was no telling how long this would continue, nor to what condition poor Poole might ultimately be reduced. While we had been heretofore running on with the idea that each attack would perhaps be the last, the Doctor felt that he could no longer leave it at that. As we talked, we neared Poole’s bunk.

Poole himself, though obviously in great pain, was not yet completely under the effects of the injection which Jim had been forced to give him. Sensing the reason for my presence, he croaked out a plea that we not turn back. “This is the last time, Captain. I swear it!” he said, but he was in such pain that he could hardly articulate the words.

I could both see and sense everybody staring at me. Their eyes said much, but nobody spoke a word.

A sort of hiatus descended upon the ship. In the conning tower, Dick Harris and his crew were waiting for the word to go ahead, but, having heard of Poole’s new attack, simply stood by quietly.