August 16, 1914. Esquimalt Naval Dockyard, British Columbia.
Commander Trousdale dropped the remains of another cigarette into the rapidly filling ash tray atop his desk as he let out a smoke covered sigh. He had never been a particularly heavy smoker throughout his career with the Royal Navy but the events of that morning had been weighing down rather heavily on the old salt. What few sailors and personnel remained stationed in this destitute base had occasionally joked that the area itself was afflicted with some type of foul luck; he could not help but agree given his brief yet rather hellish experience in the area. Simply by the virtue of being the highest-ranking officer present on the coast upon his arrival alongside
HMS Shearwater days previous, he had found himself effectively forced into the role of Esquimalt’s commanding officer. That grand position came with all the perks of lording over a sandcastle awaiting the oncoming tide, one was largely forced to sit back and pray for the best if forces outside of his control decided to act. Defensive planning had been ongoing even without a ranking naval officer present as Premier McBride and many junior officers stepped up to the task rather admirably. It had been an interesting experience to have the ranking politician in the province and many concerned citizens on the side of the navy for once, his authority was much appreciated although perhaps unneeded at that point given the treacherous situation at hand. Even with that said though, BC’s defenses hung their hat on a set of ancient coastal batteries, a pair of questionable submarines without torpedoes and a scratch fleet of fisheries trawlers. Throughout these past sleepless nights, he had hoped that
Rainbow had at least done enough damage before going down to have prematurely ended
Leipzig’s reign of terror up this coast. Such things had turned out to be rather naïve assessment of what was to come.
The constant state of alert had taken its toll on the men at every level since the declaration of war, although doubly so after the loss of
Rainbow and with her, any meaningful protection the coast once enjoyed. Himself and the various officers both inside Esquimalt and spread around the coast found their senses dulled by the near constant false reports that flowed into their ears, one can only respond so many times with steadfast bravado before monotony took hold. The eventual result of that came to a head into the early morning hours of August 16. The patrol ship
CGS Malaspina had encountered an honest to goodness suspicious vessel that had attempted to push through the straits of Juan de Fuca while also exhibiting erratic sailing behavior. Himself and many others quickly came to the assumption that the vessel could be a German merchant raider attempting to force its way up through the strait and wreak havoc on the relatively unprotected areas further inshore as at night, the coastal batteries would have had drastically reduced effectiveness. As the situation had further escalated almost to blows due to a communication mishap between the vessels, the cruiser
Leipzig seemingly utilized the commotion to sneak by undetected and make it way further inland past what little patrols existed at the time.
Commander Trousdale broke from his thoughts for a moment to glance at the immense stack of telegram papers haphazardly piled on the corner of the desk, somewhere buried under all of that mornings reports was the lone paper which started this all.
A few hours after the suspicious vessel had been properly identified as simply a Japanese merchant ship that had been lost in unfamiliar waters, another somewhat more alarming event had unfolded further inland. A communication between a pair of United States Revenue Cutter Service ships in the area had been intercepted which revealed that a warship flying a Japanese naval ensign had been spotted traveling northwest at high speed. Both the communication and its contents were equally confusing, it was uncharacteristic of the Revenue Cutter Service to broadcast unencoded transmissions due to the neutral status of the United States. Perhaps it had been a mistake made in the heat of the moment or a sympathetic crew member attempting to warn them of oncoming danger? Regardless of the reasoning behind the communication, it was obvious that an unannounced Japanese vessel was making its way up through Canadian territory and something had to be done. Japan was a neutral party at this time however due to their close ties to Britain, it was projected that they would join as an ally against the Germans soon. Even with that said, repeated wireless hails resulted in radio silence from the would-be Japanese warship which only served to draw increased suspicion from himself and the rest of the naval staff. Nothing could be done but dispatch the local inspections tugboat
Restless to investigate in person. In an ideal world an arrant Japanese warship appearing out of thin air would be a blessing but once both ships came to meet each other,
Restless was quickly reduced to nothing more than splinters in the jaws of what was now obviously to be nothing more than an enemy in disguise.
From the perspective of the men inside Esquimalt, the next few hours would be spent filtering through piles upon piles of sometimes contradictory or exaggerated reports in regard to what was unfolding in the Vancouver area. Himself and the bases chief intelligence officer Commander W.H. James had roughly pieced together a narrative from the scraps of truth that flooded their way.
Leipzig had burst through the ad hoc coastal defenses protecting Vancouver harbor and proceeded to heavily damage every major ship in the harbor, razed the Wallace Shipyard and damaged the local rail infrastructure before fleeing off down Burrard Inlet. The pair of oil refineries there had been taken under fire and alongside the infrastructure in the area, was still being exposed to the Germans guns as he sat inside his office. Her next moves had yet to unfold but James predicted another assault on Vancouver as she would eventually have to depart Burrard Inlet.
Trousdale retrieved another cigarette from the pack perched amidst the chaos on his desk and struck a match, pulling the resulting smoke deep down into his lungs. The pair of framed photographs hanging behind the desk glared through the back of his head like a set of eyes, one of the smiling crew of the
Rainbow and the other of Hose’s wife and children. Trousdale's abrupt appointment did not particularly allow him time to redecorate the office and even if the activity had hooked his fancy, hauling down two dearly cared for elements of the late Walter Hose’s life did not bode particularly well with him. Their mere presence in the room served as motivating light through the fog of helplessness that blanketed the naval command staff at that point, even if he wanted to do something though, there was precious little that could be done to slow the German onslaught of the coast. The coastal guns had ensured that Victoria and Esquimalt remained untouched for the moment, but such things were little consolation for the remainder of the undefended coast. Even if he had both
Algerine and
Shearwater at this command, both of the ships would largely be only a speed bump for a crack ship of the East Asia Squadron. The pair of submarines faired little better, Lieutenant Keyes and Jones had both reported in earlier that morning that both ships would likely be ready to sail before dinner time that afternoon but without torpedoes and considering their limitations, sending the ships would result in little more than front row seats for whatever destruction the enemy would currently be reaping.
HMS Algerine present in her Victorian era paint scheme. As a bit of fun and good Christmas spirit, it seems that her Captain has strung a wreath above the smokestack.
Time began to ebb away as the Commander stared blankly out of a nearby window, watching the billowing black clouds that rolled skywards from the North and fanned out across the confines of the sky. Judging by the distant rumble of cannons that could still be occasionally heard through the offices wood walls, it would seem that the Germans were more than happy to use up ammunition to turn the coast into rubble. This went on for some time before the telephone ringing across the room brought Trousdale out of his slump. As the officer jaunted up to the device and picked up the receiver, he checked the clock slowly ticking by on the wall which read 9:26 am. Pulling his professionalism together, he answered as stoically as he could, “Yes this is Commander Trousdale.”
“Hello Commander.” A calm voice on the other end began, “This is George Hiller, the Mayor of Ladysmith.”
Trousdale rolled his eyes somewhat at the annoyance, “Ah yes Mr. Hiller.” He started again with mock enthusiasm, “Is there something I can help you with today?”
A politician was about the last thing he wanted to hear from at this point, especially some uppity small town mayor with a bone to pick in regards to their lackluster defenses. He had heard this far too many times even through his short tenure on this coast, although sadly Premier McBride was not here to deal with such a farce.
The man started again, “Given what I have heard about the state of the navy as of late, I don’t particularly think so sadly. I called because I wanted to pass on some important information. My town is currently being bombarded by a German warship.”
There was a slight pause as Trousdale attempted to recover from such a straight-faced delivery, “Pardon me sir?”
“A German warship is currently firing on the town of Ladysmith, I am watching through my office window as I am talking to you.”
Trousdale was absolutely dumb founded by the mans sheer gall of this man, what kind of a man entertains such a casual tone through the circumstances at hand? Canadians were a madly confusing people for sure. Perhaps though some information of value could be gleamed from a man of such fortitude.
“I appreciate the warning then.” He stated as he shakily reached for a nearby pen and paper, “Would it be possible then for you to describe the vessel to me?”
Mayor Hiller agreed before pausing briefly, “The ship was flying a British naval flag before she entered the harbor, but I saw her lower it and replace it with a German one before the attack. I believe I have seen her on this coast previously but my memory is somewhat hazy. She is painted gray with three masts and a large pole sticking out from the front. There is one slender smokestack between the first and second masts. I would estimate her to be around 200 ft long with a few guns slung at her sides.”
“Thank you very much for this Mr. Hiller, such information is incredibly valuable. That being said, I don't think it would be above me to suggest that you and your townsfolk should evacuate inland immediately until the attack has stopped.”
A silence came over the line as the officer waited for a response before repeatedly attempted to get an answer out of the Mayor, but it was no use. An errant shell could have easily destroyed the local telephone lines or worse perhaps? Regardless, the Mayor had at least provided vital information with this selfless act. The ship he described almost perfectly matched up with the silhouette of
Algerine, which would mean that she was indeed captured by the Germans after being separated from
Shearwater on their sprint back to Esquimalt. It would explain her long overdue absence and how they acquired a White Ensign in which to enter the port under. The situation had somehow taken an even more drastic turn as it was now clear that the Germans possessed at least two raiders now attacking opposite sides of the coast’s interior.
Algerine was a poor direct combatant but her armament and disguise would have made her the perfect close range raider. Before the officer could fully process his thoughts about the matter at hand, a knock came from the office door. Trousdale called out for whoever it was to come inside and one of the enlisted men serving under the chief intelligence officer entered the room brandishing a pair of telegram messages.
“Apologies for the delay sir, we had a vital message come through just as I was originally leaving to deliver these.”
Trousdale thanked the young man as he gazed upon the messages in his hands. The first telegram as expected was sent from Ladysmith at almost the exact time that the Mayor had called him. It was simply affirming the information that Ladysmith was indeed under attack from a German warship and that the Militia in the town were destroying the coal loading infrastructure to deny the enemy a source of potential fuel. Such things were not a major surprise at this point, but the second message truly did hold a message of vital importance. He felt his heart leap up into his throat as he read the message once, then again, then again and again a fourth time. Was this finally it? A sliver of hope in an impossible situation? If they were to capitalize on this timing, everything would have to go as smoothly and as quickly as humanly possible. The message read:
EXPRESS TRAIN CARRYING TORPEDOES AND MISC EQUIPMENT STOPPED IN PORT COQUITLAM DUE TO VANCOUVER ATTACK. AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS ON SAFE ROUTE OR TIME.
Commander Trousdale quickly scribbled more text onto the piece of paper at hand, using the office wall as a backstop. Before the pen even hit the table, the piece of paper was in the hands of the messenger.
“Bring this message back to Commander James and inform him of the situation. Have him assemble the men listed and report to the intelligence office downstairs with all due haste. This is vital lad, get going.”
The ensign snapped off a quick salute and took off into a back from whence he came, barely touching the floorboards as he went. Trousdale returned to his chair and stared longingly at the small liquor cabinet inhabiting one of the dusty corners of the room. He fought off that time honored Royal Navy tradition as he lit yet another cigarette, drinks would have to wait until after this was all said and done.
Sailors aboard HMCS Niobe post for a photo around one of her torpedoes, sitting in a handling cradle on the main deck.