I'd argue quite the opposite. With this mayhem, the Admiralty is going to be under acute pressure to send something there. Spee's squadron is accomplishing nothing comparatively, so there's less pressure to do anything about them.
The Rainbow. A World War One on Canada's West Coast Timeline
- Thread starter YYJ
- Start date
I'd argue quite the opposite. With this mayhem, the Admiralty is going to be under acute pressure to send something there. Spee's squadron is accomplishing nothing comparatively, so there's less pressure to do anything about them.
Of course you've got to consider the Admiralty thinking about the carnage Spee could do with his ships, therefore they're going to want reinforcements sent ASAP to the Eastern Pacific including some to Craddock
Oh please! They could have burned all of BC to the bedrock and it would only have a minor affect on the outcome of the war. Nothing coming out of BC would have any affect in the 1914 campaigns that resulted in the trench lines. By the time the attritional warfare that followed would reach any sort of stage where resources from the far corners of the empire became more impactful, much of the productive capacity would have been rebuilt (or sourced from elsewhere).
The impact of this raid will be primarily psychological and probably not to Germanys benefit in the long term. Canada was divided on it's participation and not just Anglo/Quebecois, as the majority of the volunteers for the army were of UK origin and tended to be first generation. This will unify the country much more and probably take some of the steam out of Quebec opposition. I can see higher volunteer rates, much less tolerance of idiots like Sam Hughes and an overall greater war effort.
ferdi254
Banned
I agree it won’t do anything short term but It was a pretty close run thing in 1917. Just the lack of shipping and the copper lost might have made the race between Germany getting so desperate to go USW and send Zimmermann and the UK running out of money go the other way around.
Here's the thing if need be the UK can always use the resources its Empire provides it as an enormous source of collateral for loans.
Makes for stirring stuff but back then Britain ran the worlds finances and the worlds freight - it would take a 2nd WW to break that monopoly
Shirred Eggs
Aug 22, 0630 hours. SMS Nürnberg and Niagara, Newcombe Channel, Barclay Sound.
Von Schönberg stood on Niagara’s starboard bridge wing, observing the transfer of Nürnberg’s remaining pair of torpedoes, while he jotted down notes for the burial at sea that he had scheduled for 0700 hours. The engineering crew had made an ingenious solution to bypass the damaged torpedo lifting gear. They made a ramp of shoring timbers, and dragged the almost 700 kilo C/03 torpedo tail first up the reloading chute with block and tackle until it emerged into the burned-out compartment of the number 3 gun sponson on Nürnberg's port side. From there it was slung under the liner’s forward cargo derrick, the straps adjusted, and then was swung over to Leipzig.
Haun had to maneuver Leipzig to present her port side to receive the torpedo, and thereby turn his ship to face towards the back of the Sound. Von Schönberg noticed that this made Haun scowl, but Leipzig’s captain was willing to endure this hardship briefly, in exchange for two torpedo reloads. Von Schönberg also managed to trade 50 Armour Piercing shells from Niagara’s stock for the same number of High Explosive Shells from Leipzig.
“You may end up fighting the Royal Navy again,” Von Schönberg had said. “AP could come in handy. We will only be taking prizes.”
“Do you want our solid shot as well?” Haun had offered.
“I am reserving what I have of solid shot for firing warnings.” Von Schönberg had replied. “You may want to do the same. Every shell remaining in our magazine is so precious.” Haun nodded in agreement.
Von Schönberg returned to writing his funeral notes. All of Nürnberg’s crew lists had been burned up in the action off Esquimalt, so he had to recall the lost men’s names from memory. This he could do, but it required some concentration. He had just learned that the prize crew sailing Galiano and her landing party had lost half their number killed, another 18 dead, but on the other hand, the 18 survivors were now back with him aboard Niagara. Nine of these men were resting in the liner’s excellent hospital. He had also retrieved his wounded and some of Haun’s to boot, now that he had the best hospital under his command. He also learned that his most badly wounded had been turned over to the Canadians Navy as part of a prisoner exchange, a wise judgement call Haun had made last night.
As all these thoughts passed through his head, Von Schönberg kept getting distracted by the smells wafting up from Niagara’s kitchen. And busy the kitchen should be, he though. There are more than 600 mouths on this liner at present.
Von Schönberg had 94 names on his list of Nurnberg’s dead this day, now that he included those who had been killed on or around Galiano. He had significantly fewer bodies than that to bury at sea, but the ceremony was also for those who had gone missing. And, he thought, what of the crew of Princess Charlotte? They seemed also to have vanished. Should he count them as presumed dead? Princess Charlotte had another 51 men on her crew, including the high achieving Lieutenants Von Spee and Radl. Where had they gone? Would he ever know?
“Sir?” All of a sudden, something smelled very good close at hand. “Shirred eggs Portugaise?” asked a waiter with a New Zealand accent, holding a loaded tray. We have made a simplified menu this morning, with a selection from the regular breakfast menu. I…”
“Yes,” interrupted Von Schönberg. “That will be fine.” He selected the ramekin holding the custardy baked eggs, and quickly placed it on the binocular shelf on the bridge wing.
“Careful,” warned the waiter too late. “The dish is hot.”
“Are those sausages under that cover?” asked Von Schönberg. “I’m sure I can smell sausages.”
“Broiled Palethorpe sausages, sir” answered the waiter.
“Give me two of those, please,” said Von Schönberg, “Yes, right on top of the eggs.” He was noticing that the waiter was very tall, a mountain of a man, and very dark. “Pardon my asking,” he said to the waiter, “Are you Samoan?” He had spent much time in German Samoa, in Nürnberg.
“Maori, sir,” the waiter answered.
“Ahh,” replied Von Schönberg, “Of course. Your people have been sailing this ocean for millenia.”
“That we have, sir,” replied the waiter, and he was off to feed other crewmen.
The breakfast was, of course, delicious. As Von Schönberg ate, he watched one of Niagara’s cargo derricks feed the last of the pair of spare torpedoes through the open shutters of Leipzig’s port forward gun sponson at a 45 degree angle. Sailors tugged and pushed on the torpedo to adjust the long body of the weapon on its path below, keeping careful to stay clear should it suddenly twist or fall. A wireless runner arrived at a brisk trot.
“A message from Bengrove, sir, announced the runner.
SMOKE TO THE NORTHWEST STILL OVER THE HORIZON STOP APPEARS TO BE CLOSING STOP
“Reply: WE ARE EXPECTING PRINCESS SOPHIA AT THIS TIME AND LOCATION PLEASE CONFIRM IDENTITY WHEN THEY COME OVER THE HORIZON STOP.”
Von Schönberg ordered a detail to bring up the bodies of the fallen from belowdecks on Nürnberg, and arrange them on the cruiser’s fantail. At 0700 the funeral commenced. Von Schönberg, the honour guard, and a party of men to handle the shrouded bodies stood on the rusty and distorted deckplates of Nürnberg’s stern. All other available personnel lined the starboard promenade decks on Niagara and the port rail on Leipzig.
“Oh God, the Great Creator of Heaven and Earth, Thou dost whatever thou pleases in the sea…” The Mariner’s Prayer came easily to Von Schönberg’s lips. This was the seventh funeral at sea he had conducted, in the 9 months he had been captain of Nürnberg with the East Asiatic Squadron. Sailors died from disease or misadventure fairly regularly in the Far East and South Seas. One petty officer had been killed by a thrown rock on a landing party in Mazatlan. A young sailor had stepped on a lionfish on Yap. He had committed 7 of his men to the deep 6 days ago in Chatham Sound. But here he was burying one third of his crew in a single ceremony. As he spoke, he looked up at the somber faces of his men, their caps clutched in hand. He was sharply aware that any and all of them would likely be dead in the coming days, weeks or months. And the last of them would receive no friendly prayers or speeches, just the embrace of the deep, and perhaps some platitudes from their enemy.
Some of the bodies, he knew, had only been identified by their Erkennungsmarke tags, and some had not been able to be identified at all. Forty-one shrouded bodies lay on Nürnberg’s afterdeck. Six were laid on scorched planks, the remnants of messroom benches. An Imperial Ensign was laid overtop. Von Schönberg said a few words about each of the dead. The Ensign was lifted and folded. The honour guard fired a rifle volley. The assembled men saluted. The planks were tipped up, and the bundled bodies splashed into Newcombe Channel. Von Schönberg looked up at the peak of Mount Ozzard, to their north, its eastern face lit by the rising sun. A moment of silence was observed, then the exercise was repeated. Gulls disturbed by the rifle salutes whirled overhead. With each repetition the sunlight moved further down the mountain slopes. After 6 cycles through the ceremony, the last of the bodies dropped into the Channel, but Von Schönberg was just getting started on his list. He read the names of the missing men with equal solemnity to those whose mortal remains were interred. He had to pause before he finished the list for a drink of water, as his throat had become dry. A final rifle volley was fired.
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…” Von Schönberg read Psalm 23. The sun rose over Mount Blenheim, and bathed all the mariners in the dawn’s warm light. The assembled men observed another moment of silence.
SMS PRINCESS SOPHIA HAS ARRIVED, Bengrove announced by wireless.
A horn sounded. A steamer had rounded the George Fraser Islands off the entrance to Ucluelet Harbour.
Von Schönberg stood on Niagara’s starboard bridge wing, observing the transfer of Nürnberg’s remaining pair of torpedoes, while he jotted down notes for the burial at sea that he had scheduled for 0700 hours. The engineering crew had made an ingenious solution to bypass the damaged torpedo lifting gear. They made a ramp of shoring timbers, and dragged the almost 700 kilo C/03 torpedo tail first up the reloading chute with block and tackle until it emerged into the burned-out compartment of the number 3 gun sponson on Nürnberg's port side. From there it was slung under the liner’s forward cargo derrick, the straps adjusted, and then was swung over to Leipzig.
Haun had to maneuver Leipzig to present her port side to receive the torpedo, and thereby turn his ship to face towards the back of the Sound. Von Schönberg noticed that this made Haun scowl, but Leipzig’s captain was willing to endure this hardship briefly, in exchange for two torpedo reloads. Von Schönberg also managed to trade 50 Armour Piercing shells from Niagara’s stock for the same number of High Explosive Shells from Leipzig.
“You may end up fighting the Royal Navy again,” Von Schönberg had said. “AP could come in handy. We will only be taking prizes.”
“Do you want our solid shot as well?” Haun had offered.
“I am reserving what I have of solid shot for firing warnings.” Von Schönberg had replied. “You may want to do the same. Every shell remaining in our magazine is so precious.” Haun nodded in agreement.
Von Schönberg returned to writing his funeral notes. All of Nürnberg’s crew lists had been burned up in the action off Esquimalt, so he had to recall the lost men’s names from memory. This he could do, but it required some concentration. He had just learned that the prize crew sailing Galiano and her landing party had lost half their number killed, another 18 dead, but on the other hand, the 18 survivors were now back with him aboard Niagara. Nine of these men were resting in the liner’s excellent hospital. He had also retrieved his wounded and some of Haun’s to boot, now that he had the best hospital under his command. He also learned that his most badly wounded had been turned over to the Canadians Navy as part of a prisoner exchange, a wise judgement call Haun had made last night.
As all these thoughts passed through his head, Von Schönberg kept getting distracted by the smells wafting up from Niagara’s kitchen. And busy the kitchen should be, he though. There are more than 600 mouths on this liner at present.
Von Schönberg had 94 names on his list of Nurnberg’s dead this day, now that he included those who had been killed on or around Galiano. He had significantly fewer bodies than that to bury at sea, but the ceremony was also for those who had gone missing. And, he thought, what of the crew of Princess Charlotte? They seemed also to have vanished. Should he count them as presumed dead? Princess Charlotte had another 51 men on her crew, including the high achieving Lieutenants Von Spee and Radl. Where had they gone? Would he ever know?
“Sir?” All of a sudden, something smelled very good close at hand. “Shirred eggs Portugaise?” asked a waiter with a New Zealand accent, holding a loaded tray. We have made a simplified menu this morning, with a selection from the regular breakfast menu. I…”
“Yes,” interrupted Von Schönberg. “That will be fine.” He selected the ramekin holding the custardy baked eggs, and quickly placed it on the binocular shelf on the bridge wing.
“Careful,” warned the waiter too late. “The dish is hot.”
“Are those sausages under that cover?” asked Von Schönberg. “I’m sure I can smell sausages.”
“Broiled Palethorpe sausages, sir” answered the waiter.
“Give me two of those, please,” said Von Schönberg, “Yes, right on top of the eggs.” He was noticing that the waiter was very tall, a mountain of a man, and very dark. “Pardon my asking,” he said to the waiter, “Are you Samoan?” He had spent much time in German Samoa, in Nürnberg.
“Maori, sir,” the waiter answered.
“Ahh,” replied Von Schönberg, “Of course. Your people have been sailing this ocean for millenia.”
“That we have, sir,” replied the waiter, and he was off to feed other crewmen.
The breakfast was, of course, delicious. As Von Schönberg ate, he watched one of Niagara’s cargo derricks feed the last of the pair of spare torpedoes through the open shutters of Leipzig’s port forward gun sponson at a 45 degree angle. Sailors tugged and pushed on the torpedo to adjust the long body of the weapon on its path below, keeping careful to stay clear should it suddenly twist or fall. A wireless runner arrived at a brisk trot.
“A message from Bengrove, sir, announced the runner.
SMOKE TO THE NORTHWEST STILL OVER THE HORIZON STOP APPEARS TO BE CLOSING STOP
“Reply: WE ARE EXPECTING PRINCESS SOPHIA AT THIS TIME AND LOCATION PLEASE CONFIRM IDENTITY WHEN THEY COME OVER THE HORIZON STOP.”
Von Schönberg ordered a detail to bring up the bodies of the fallen from belowdecks on Nürnberg, and arrange them on the cruiser’s fantail. At 0700 the funeral commenced. Von Schönberg, the honour guard, and a party of men to handle the shrouded bodies stood on the rusty and distorted deckplates of Nürnberg’s stern. All other available personnel lined the starboard promenade decks on Niagara and the port rail on Leipzig.
“Oh God, the Great Creator of Heaven and Earth, Thou dost whatever thou pleases in the sea…” The Mariner’s Prayer came easily to Von Schönberg’s lips. This was the seventh funeral at sea he had conducted, in the 9 months he had been captain of Nürnberg with the East Asiatic Squadron. Sailors died from disease or misadventure fairly regularly in the Far East and South Seas. One petty officer had been killed by a thrown rock on a landing party in Mazatlan. A young sailor had stepped on a lionfish on Yap. He had committed 7 of his men to the deep 6 days ago in Chatham Sound. But here he was burying one third of his crew in a single ceremony. As he spoke, he looked up at the somber faces of his men, their caps clutched in hand. He was sharply aware that any and all of them would likely be dead in the coming days, weeks or months. And the last of them would receive no friendly prayers or speeches, just the embrace of the deep, and perhaps some platitudes from their enemy.
Some of the bodies, he knew, had only been identified by their Erkennungsmarke tags, and some had not been able to be identified at all. Forty-one shrouded bodies lay on Nürnberg’s afterdeck. Six were laid on scorched planks, the remnants of messroom benches. An Imperial Ensign was laid overtop. Von Schönberg said a few words about each of the dead. The Ensign was lifted and folded. The honour guard fired a rifle volley. The assembled men saluted. The planks were tipped up, and the bundled bodies splashed into Newcombe Channel. Von Schönberg looked up at the peak of Mount Ozzard, to their north, its eastern face lit by the rising sun. A moment of silence was observed, then the exercise was repeated. Gulls disturbed by the rifle salutes whirled overhead. With each repetition the sunlight moved further down the mountain slopes. After 6 cycles through the ceremony, the last of the bodies dropped into the Channel, but Von Schönberg was just getting started on his list. He read the names of the missing men with equal solemnity to those whose mortal remains were interred. He had to pause before he finished the list for a drink of water, as his throat had become dry. A final rifle volley was fired.
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…” Von Schönberg read Psalm 23. The sun rose over Mount Blenheim, and bathed all the mariners in the dawn’s warm light. The assembled men observed another moment of silence.
SMS PRINCESS SOPHIA HAS ARRIVED, Bengrove announced by wireless.
A horn sounded. A steamer had rounded the George Fraser Islands off the entrance to Ucluelet Harbour.
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ferdi254
Banned
And for the food of the sailors. Actually in WW2 the Scheer managed to catch an allied vessel with so much food on it (especially eggs) that they dubbed it „food station Wilhelmshafen south“ (do not complain I tried to make it easy) and in the end were sore of eggs) Passenger ships carry a vast amount of food with them.
Probably in between the two. Worse than Von Schonberg as either he'll die or be captured (There's no way he's making it back to Germany) but better than Muller as he'll do more damage and has actually fought and defeated Navy ships (Even if they're in bad condition)
I would say not. He will be lauded for his achievements, certainly, but Lettow-Vorbeck and Muller earned their notoriety while facing off against vastly superior forces, whereas Von Schönberg has had the weight of metal on his side in this campaign (so far). He has been successful at taking candy from babies against bush league opposition, and when it came to an actual battle, he has had a proper light cruiser wrecked by a Victorian relic and a couple of submarines more likely to founder than engage the enemy.
Were this saga to end now, Von Schönberg would be remembered as a seaman and a gentleman, more like Langsdorff than Muller.
Of course, if Leipzig sinks Izumo in the next chapter, then I'll reverse my position rather hastily.
Driftless
Donor
But that would be Capt. Haun deserving the kudos, I believe.
Otherwise, I think your assessment of how Von Schonberg would be remembered is spot on
Von Schonberg will be, IMVHO, far more memorable. History buffs remember Lettow-Vorbeck and Muller, whereas a whole country will remember Von Schonberg for as long as Canada endures. Emden's raids resulte in missing ships; Von Schonberg's raids resulted in widespread detstuction where everyone can see it. Publicity matters.
Not to mention that it will be in the interest of the Navy and any organization or political party that is in favour of naval spending/expansion to keep it in the forefront of memory for as long as possible. Much the same way as the quote from James Forrestal regarding the Marines, "The raising of that flag on Suribachi means a Marine Corps for the next five hundred years". As you stated, publicity matters.