The Rainbow. A World War One on Canada's West Coast Timeline
- Thread starter YYJ
- Start date
Story began on July 30. Current Date is Aug 20. So the story has been going on for 21 days inclusive, 3 weeks. The war was declared on the afternoon of Aug 4 locally, so events have been on a war footing for 17 days. And the first act of war in theatre was the Nürnberg capturing the Ballymena on the 6th, so 15 days of action.
Just wanted to say I read this straight through over the last day after seeing it mentioned in the Turtledove poll, what a great story. I love the transition to only showing the Canadian perspectives in the last dozen or so chapters showing the confusion and fog of war at play.
I did have one question - the story made it sound like the entrance to the port Prince Rupert was pretty small - is it small (and shallow) enough to scuttle a ship in to block the port to larger vessels? While burning the drydocks is even more damaging, it doesn't seem like they were lacking suitable large tonnage ships. I kept expecting to read that is where the commandeered Prince Rupert that was damaged in the attack was going to end up scuttled, but not familiar with the port or its entrance.
I did have one question - the story made it sound like the entrance to the port Prince Rupert was pretty small - is it small (and shallow) enough to scuttle a ship in to block the port to larger vessels? While burning the drydocks is even more damaging, it doesn't seem like they were lacking suitable large tonnage ships. I kept expecting to read that is where the commandeered Prince Rupert that was damaged in the attack was going to end up scuttled, but not familiar with the port or its entrance.
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I say they are lucky because of the sheer number of times they have been able to escape mishap, because thus far all of their troubles have been surmountable, and because they have had the good fortune to be deployed in a place where the main opposition, that they know of, is an aging training ship.
I do not deny their skills. They and the crew of the Rainbow are both capable, trained professionals, but the Germans have thus far been lucky, and the Canadians less so. I merely hope to see how they behave if their luck truly fails.
Thanks.
Here is a GPS chart of the shipping channel into Rupert harbour. The navigable part is about 500m wide and deeper than the 30m contour but not deeper than the 40m. I believe that is below the lowest tide level. The Rainbow draws 17 1/2 feet, or 5m. Extrapolating wildy, if SS Prince Rupert was sunk crossways in the channel with a depth of 30 m, on an even keel, the top of the hull would be about 18 m below the surface, the top of the superstructure would be about 15 m below the surface, the top of the funnels would be about 8 m below the surface ,and the top of the masts would be 5 m above the surface, at absolute lowest tide. That would constrict the channel, but not block it. If the wreck ended up on its side or upside down it would present less of an obstacle. It would also be difficult to place a wreck with any accuracy at anything other than slack tide, because of the amount of water moving through the narrow channel.
When I read about blockships being used, they are usually sunk in much shallower water. In any case Von Schönberg has not opted to weaponize the scuttling of the Prince Rupert or any other prize in that way, so far.
Sidebar: 5 of Rainbow's sisters served their country by being expended as blockships in raids on Zeebrugge and Ostend in 1918.
http://fishing-app.gpsnauticalchart...t+2+of+2)+boating+app#12.43/54.2706/-130.3836
I was just re-reading a few of the best chapters and reading the comments (first time thru I only hit the threadmarks...) and I realized you have a story post that is missing a threadmark (unless this is intentional?)
The Rainbow. A World War One on Canada's West Coast Timeline
There is that detachment of Militia officers that were dropped off in Anyox. The Germans know that there is some sort of 'garrison' in the town. Though that detachment can't do much against a cruiser. If Anyox can get a warning sent off quickly, how soon can the Rainbow be at the mouth of the...
www.alternatehistory.com
The Secret Chapter! Yes, I had found that, and then lost it again. It is hard to find when there are 80 pages of the thread so far. Thank you.
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Excellent chapter. I love how this is evolving into a game of cat and mouse, at this point the Germans could just leave and the Canadians wouldn't be aware of it for a long time.
Little question.
Would it be of any value for the Germans to force their entry into Vancouver with both the Nürnberg and the Leipzig? While I'm at it, might as well throw in Prince Rupert!
Is there something they could achieve that would be worth the risk of such a move? Could they survive their bravado?
Little question.
Would it be of any value for the Germans to force their entry into Vancouver with both the Nürnberg and the Leipzig? While I'm at it, might as well throw in Prince Rupert!
Is there something they could achieve that would be worth the risk of such a move? Could they survive their bravado?
Green flash
Aug 20, 1100 hours, HMCS Rainbow, Hecate Strait.
The wind had been picking up as the morning progressed, and the turquoise sea was now busy with whitecaps. Rainbow was still working up to her full speed after the rendezvous with Hawk. The smoke from her funnels blew sideways, and due east.
“Set course to take us outside of Cape Scott,” ordered Commander Hose. This route would take Rainbow around Vancouver Island to the west, in the open Pacific. Six Bells was rung on the forenoon watch, and the rum tot was served. As Rainbow headed south, she slowly emerged from the shelter of the Queen Charlotte Islands. The chop of Hecate Strait was joined by, and then replaced by the long swells of the wide Pacific. The cruiser’s bow rose and fell. Green water came over the turtleback foredeck, broke against the V shaped bulwark that served as the lower half of the shield for the forward 6 inch gun, then ran foaming off the sides of the ship.
Sub Lieutenant Brown gave his report to Commander Hose, washed up, then took his station on the aft bridge. From the aft bridge wing he had a clear sight line along the rail, almost to the bow. He noted that the waves rolling along the ship’s side in this sea state almost topped over into the well deck. Consequently the shutters covering the secondary armament embrasures could not be dropped, lest the well deck turn into a swimming pool, and the 4.7 inch and 12 pounder guns could not be swung out. If it came to a fight in these conditions the Rainbow would only be able to use her two fore and aft 6 inch guns.
A messenger brought a wireless transcript to the bridge. RRR SS CORSICAN BEING ORDERED TO STOP BY CRUISER RRR. The message included a position off the west coast of Moresby Island.
Commander Hose looked at the message skeptically. He walked aft to the wireless cabin to consult. “Does the signal strength match the claimed position of the distress call?” he asked the wireless operator.
“It is not inconsistent,” the wireless operator responded. “We would be in a better position with a direction finding set.”
“That we would.” Replied Hose.
The wireless set came to life, and the operator transcribed the message. “Naval Code,” said the operator. He retrieved the current code book and decrypted the message.
DOMINION WIRELESS STATION DEAD TREE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT Y STATION DISTRESS MESSAGES FROM SS CORSICAN SENT BY SAME HAND AS PREVIOUS FALSE MESSAGES STOP MESSAGE IS ALSO MOST LIKELY FALSE STOP
“Surprise, surprise,” said Hose. The messages continued until the phantom Corsican announced her demise.
The day continued, sunny and windy. Periodically, Rainbow received messages of merchant ships being attacked by German cruisers, and the corresponding warning from Dead Tree Station, noting that these were most likely counterfeit. The original signal strengths diminished throughout the afternoon and evening as Rainbow made her way south. But the Dominion Wireless Service relays taunted even as the disk of the sun dipped to the horizon over the open Pacific.
At 2047 hours, Sub Lieutenant Brown on the after bridge, and Commander Hose on the wheelhouse starboard bridge wing, both gasped at the same time as the sun’s last ray dipped below the ocean’s surface and was refracted into that rarest of nautical phenomena, a green flash. To Rainbow’s stern, the Quatsino Sound Lighthouse on Kain's Island blinked. Directly to port, the unbroken wilderness of the Brooks Peninsula was still lit golden on its upper slopes. Some high cloud overhead glowed pink and purple. Tomorrow would be a clear sunny day.
The wind had been picking up as the morning progressed, and the turquoise sea was now busy with whitecaps. Rainbow was still working up to her full speed after the rendezvous with Hawk. The smoke from her funnels blew sideways, and due east.
“Set course to take us outside of Cape Scott,” ordered Commander Hose. This route would take Rainbow around Vancouver Island to the west, in the open Pacific. Six Bells was rung on the forenoon watch, and the rum tot was served. As Rainbow headed south, she slowly emerged from the shelter of the Queen Charlotte Islands. The chop of Hecate Strait was joined by, and then replaced by the long swells of the wide Pacific. The cruiser’s bow rose and fell. Green water came over the turtleback foredeck, broke against the V shaped bulwark that served as the lower half of the shield for the forward 6 inch gun, then ran foaming off the sides of the ship.
Sub Lieutenant Brown gave his report to Commander Hose, washed up, then took his station on the aft bridge. From the aft bridge wing he had a clear sight line along the rail, almost to the bow. He noted that the waves rolling along the ship’s side in this sea state almost topped over into the well deck. Consequently the shutters covering the secondary armament embrasures could not be dropped, lest the well deck turn into a swimming pool, and the 4.7 inch and 12 pounder guns could not be swung out. If it came to a fight in these conditions the Rainbow would only be able to use her two fore and aft 6 inch guns.
A messenger brought a wireless transcript to the bridge. RRR SS CORSICAN BEING ORDERED TO STOP BY CRUISER RRR. The message included a position off the west coast of Moresby Island.
Commander Hose looked at the message skeptically. He walked aft to the wireless cabin to consult. “Does the signal strength match the claimed position of the distress call?” he asked the wireless operator.
“It is not inconsistent,” the wireless operator responded. “We would be in a better position with a direction finding set.”
“That we would.” Replied Hose.
The wireless set came to life, and the operator transcribed the message. “Naval Code,” said the operator. He retrieved the current code book and decrypted the message.
DOMINION WIRELESS STATION DEAD TREE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT Y STATION DISTRESS MESSAGES FROM SS CORSICAN SENT BY SAME HAND AS PREVIOUS FALSE MESSAGES STOP MESSAGE IS ALSO MOST LIKELY FALSE STOP
“Surprise, surprise,” said Hose. The messages continued until the phantom Corsican announced her demise.
The day continued, sunny and windy. Periodically, Rainbow received messages of merchant ships being attacked by German cruisers, and the corresponding warning from Dead Tree Station, noting that these were most likely counterfeit. The original signal strengths diminished throughout the afternoon and evening as Rainbow made her way south. But the Dominion Wireless Service relays taunted even as the disk of the sun dipped to the horizon over the open Pacific.
At 2047 hours, Sub Lieutenant Brown on the after bridge, and Commander Hose on the wheelhouse starboard bridge wing, both gasped at the same time as the sun’s last ray dipped below the ocean’s surface and was refracted into that rarest of nautical phenomena, a green flash. To Rainbow’s stern, the Quatsino Sound Lighthouse on Kain's Island blinked. Directly to port, the unbroken wilderness of the Brooks Peninsula was still lit golden on its upper slopes. Some high cloud overhead glowed pink and purple. Tomorrow would be a clear sunny day.
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Likely.
I'm more curious as to when those submarines will be in action. One hopes they know there is a war on.
With luck, one won't accidentally be run down by a friendly steamer. That happened a decent amount. The danger is probably worse in an area that has not heretofore had many.
A patient man
Aug 20, 1100 hours. Sailing ketch Narzisse, Barclay Sound, Vancouver Island.
Herman Mueller was a patient man, but even he was becoming possessed by the malady that the Canadians called cabin fever. He was a lifetime sailor, and like his son, a licensed pilot on this coast. So he was accustomed to long periods at sea. But the cabin of his boat had become like a prison. The Trade Commissioner sitting opposite him, Augustus Meyer, was a fussy, gregarious, bombastic man, accustomed to a frenetic pace of business deals in cosmopolitan cities. He was not holding up well at all. Meyer had given up on conversation with Mueller a week ago, over some trivial forgotten disagreement. Now, his every whistle, lip smacking, and throat clearing sound drove Mueller into a silent rage.
Meuller’s son Heinrich had taken to sitting on the deck all day, fishing. He almost never caught a thing. Mueller could not understand how anyone could be so unsuccessful at fishing. On this coast! The waters were packed with fish. Perhaps it was the young man’s nervous energy. Or perhaps it was the seals that seemed to have taken up residence under the boat. Heinrich’s poor fishing was of no consequence, however, because Tseshaht fishermen had discovered them on August 3, the day they had arrived, and appeared in a canoe daily around 2 in the afternoon to sell them salmon or rock cod.
The Narzisse was anchored, tucked into a cove on what his chart called Dodd Island, part of the Broken Islands Group in Barclay Sound. This anchorage was somewhat exposed, but it was as sheltered as Mueller could manage and still maintain a vista out through Newcombe and Felice Channels to the Pacific, surveiling the approaches to Ucluelet harbour at the north end of the Sound. All around the broad basin of Barclay Sound marched the green mountains of Vancouver Island. On the sailboat’s deck, the smell of salal was strong.
Mueller absentmindedly turned over in his hand an artifact he had found on the beach of Dodd Island while on an excursion to fetch fresh water. A rusted bolt encrusted to a stone, and overgrown with oyster shells. The Sound was cluttered with small treed islands and surf swept rocks. Every beach and rock cranny held remnants from some shipwreck, recent or a century old. Rusted fragments of iron, corroded and unidentifiable pieces of hardware, lengths of cable, worm eaten planks. Many a ship had lost her bearings in the fog, and overshooting the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca, had ended up on these rocks. He was in the company of ghosts.
Mueller was waiting here for the arrival of the ships of His Majesty’s East Asiatic Squadron, the Nürnberg, or the Leipzig, or both. He had volunteered his services to the Trade Commissioner in Vancouver on the eve of the outbreak of war, now three weeks ago. Mueller figured that two pilots with intimate knowledge of the coast of British Columbia would be of great value to the Imperial German Navy in their imminent war against the British Empire. With no wireless, they had no option but to wait with Narzisse at the announced rendezvous point.
Commissioner Meyer said he had sent the information to the German Intelligence Service through secure diplomatic channels, before the British shut everything down. Now Mueller was less certain that the critical information been delivered. His faith in the Trade Commissioner’s capacity had diminished as the weeks passed. Meyer, the extrovert, deprived of his natural environment of business meetings and gatherings reported in the society pages, became increasingly erratic, and rambled on incoherently, or simply muttered to himself. Mueller did not understand why Meyer had not taken the opportunity to cross over the border to neutral America when he had the chance, and had opted instead for a long and perilous sea voyage back to Germany so unsuited to his nature.
On the day of their arrival in Barclay Sound Mueller had drawn up a list of military and industrial targets for the cruisers. He figured the he would wait here, unseen in his concealed location until the cruisers appeared a few days later. He was so startled when the Tseshaht fishermen knocked on the side of the Narzisse’s hull, he had actually eaten the piece of paper with the list. Still chewing, he had looked over the rail, expecting to surrender to a British naval officer, or perhaps a member of the Fisheries Patrol. Instead a short brown man in overalls stood in a sleek dugout canoe and asked him in a quiet voice, “Do you want to buy… some fish?”
Three weeks later, the brief daily interaction with the fishermen was such a relief to Mueller’s forced isolation that he found himself looking more and more forward to their afternoon meeting. Although the time was still hours away, he glanced up from the cabin table, and noticed a ship approaching the entrance to Ucluelet harbour. He stepped out into the cockpit, and picked up the binoculars hanging from their strap on the binnacle.
Mueller expected to see the CP Princess Maquinna, the coastal steamer that connected so many of the isolated communities on Vancouver Island. But instead of the Maquinna’s single funnel, he saw three funnels, and the unmistakable outline of the Princess Charlotte. This was odd to him. The Charlotte was too large and well appointed for this milk run. She was a racehorse, not a workhorse like the Maquinna. Nevertheless, the big liner entered Ucluelet harbour and left his line of sight.
Half an hour later, a green rocket arced up in front of the Ucluth Peninsula. Soon after, more ships appeared out in the open sea. Mueller’s view down Newcombe Channel was interrupted by a scattering of smaller treed islands and bare rocks, behind which the distant silhouettes disappeared and appeared again as they approached. Through his binoculars, Mueller could make out a large tanker with bridge amidships and funnel on the stern castle, a medium sized steam freighter, a much smaller steamer herding them along, and tucked in formation very close to the port side of the freighter, what looked like a warship.
Was this one of the East Asiatic Squadron’s cruisers? Could it be? Mueller had no sense of the military situation. He had had no contact with the outside world since the war started, save with the Tseshaht fisherman, who was not a loquacious fellow. Why was the warship keeping so close? Was it damaged? Was it coaling? As the ships drew nearer, he noticed that the cruiser, and it was a cruiser, flew the British White Ensign. But that was a ruse to be expected in commerce warfare. Or it could be the actual Royal Navy. But why the close formation? He could see the cruiser was not moored to the freighter, only steaming in its shadow. Like it was hiding from something… The Cape Beale lighthouse 18 miles to the south, had a distant view of the approaches to Ucluelet harbour. If the cruiser stayed behind the freighter, their outlines and smoke would intermingle. He could think of no other explanation, and it was the warship’s apparent attempt at stealth that finally convinced Mueller that the Imperial Navy had arrived.
“Heinrich!” he called. “Prepare to get underway!”
Herman Mueller was a patient man, but even he was becoming possessed by the malady that the Canadians called cabin fever. He was a lifetime sailor, and like his son, a licensed pilot on this coast. So he was accustomed to long periods at sea. But the cabin of his boat had become like a prison. The Trade Commissioner sitting opposite him, Augustus Meyer, was a fussy, gregarious, bombastic man, accustomed to a frenetic pace of business deals in cosmopolitan cities. He was not holding up well at all. Meyer had given up on conversation with Mueller a week ago, over some trivial forgotten disagreement. Now, his every whistle, lip smacking, and throat clearing sound drove Mueller into a silent rage.
Meuller’s son Heinrich had taken to sitting on the deck all day, fishing. He almost never caught a thing. Mueller could not understand how anyone could be so unsuccessful at fishing. On this coast! The waters were packed with fish. Perhaps it was the young man’s nervous energy. Or perhaps it was the seals that seemed to have taken up residence under the boat. Heinrich’s poor fishing was of no consequence, however, because Tseshaht fishermen had discovered them on August 3, the day they had arrived, and appeared in a canoe daily around 2 in the afternoon to sell them salmon or rock cod.
The Narzisse was anchored, tucked into a cove on what his chart called Dodd Island, part of the Broken Islands Group in Barclay Sound. This anchorage was somewhat exposed, but it was as sheltered as Mueller could manage and still maintain a vista out through Newcombe and Felice Channels to the Pacific, surveiling the approaches to Ucluelet harbour at the north end of the Sound. All around the broad basin of Barclay Sound marched the green mountains of Vancouver Island. On the sailboat’s deck, the smell of salal was strong.
Mueller absentmindedly turned over in his hand an artifact he had found on the beach of Dodd Island while on an excursion to fetch fresh water. A rusted bolt encrusted to a stone, and overgrown with oyster shells. The Sound was cluttered with small treed islands and surf swept rocks. Every beach and rock cranny held remnants from some shipwreck, recent or a century old. Rusted fragments of iron, corroded and unidentifiable pieces of hardware, lengths of cable, worm eaten planks. Many a ship had lost her bearings in the fog, and overshooting the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca, had ended up on these rocks. He was in the company of ghosts.
Mueller was waiting here for the arrival of the ships of His Majesty’s East Asiatic Squadron, the Nürnberg, or the Leipzig, or both. He had volunteered his services to the Trade Commissioner in Vancouver on the eve of the outbreak of war, now three weeks ago. Mueller figured that two pilots with intimate knowledge of the coast of British Columbia would be of great value to the Imperial German Navy in their imminent war against the British Empire. With no wireless, they had no option but to wait with Narzisse at the announced rendezvous point.
Commissioner Meyer said he had sent the information to the German Intelligence Service through secure diplomatic channels, before the British shut everything down. Now Mueller was less certain that the critical information been delivered. His faith in the Trade Commissioner’s capacity had diminished as the weeks passed. Meyer, the extrovert, deprived of his natural environment of business meetings and gatherings reported in the society pages, became increasingly erratic, and rambled on incoherently, or simply muttered to himself. Mueller did not understand why Meyer had not taken the opportunity to cross over the border to neutral America when he had the chance, and had opted instead for a long and perilous sea voyage back to Germany so unsuited to his nature.
On the day of their arrival in Barclay Sound Mueller had drawn up a list of military and industrial targets for the cruisers. He figured the he would wait here, unseen in his concealed location until the cruisers appeared a few days later. He was so startled when the Tseshaht fishermen knocked on the side of the Narzisse’s hull, he had actually eaten the piece of paper with the list. Still chewing, he had looked over the rail, expecting to surrender to a British naval officer, or perhaps a member of the Fisheries Patrol. Instead a short brown man in overalls stood in a sleek dugout canoe and asked him in a quiet voice, “Do you want to buy… some fish?”
Three weeks later, the brief daily interaction with the fishermen was such a relief to Mueller’s forced isolation that he found himself looking more and more forward to their afternoon meeting. Although the time was still hours away, he glanced up from the cabin table, and noticed a ship approaching the entrance to Ucluelet harbour. He stepped out into the cockpit, and picked up the binoculars hanging from their strap on the binnacle.
Mueller expected to see the CP Princess Maquinna, the coastal steamer that connected so many of the isolated communities on Vancouver Island. But instead of the Maquinna’s single funnel, he saw three funnels, and the unmistakable outline of the Princess Charlotte. This was odd to him. The Charlotte was too large and well appointed for this milk run. She was a racehorse, not a workhorse like the Maquinna. Nevertheless, the big liner entered Ucluelet harbour and left his line of sight.
Half an hour later, a green rocket arced up in front of the Ucluth Peninsula. Soon after, more ships appeared out in the open sea. Mueller’s view down Newcombe Channel was interrupted by a scattering of smaller treed islands and bare rocks, behind which the distant silhouettes disappeared and appeared again as they approached. Through his binoculars, Mueller could make out a large tanker with bridge amidships and funnel on the stern castle, a medium sized steam freighter, a much smaller steamer herding them along, and tucked in formation very close to the port side of the freighter, what looked like a warship.
Was this one of the East Asiatic Squadron’s cruisers? Could it be? Mueller had no sense of the military situation. He had had no contact with the outside world since the war started, save with the Tseshaht fisherman, who was not a loquacious fellow. Why was the warship keeping so close? Was it damaged? Was it coaling? As the ships drew nearer, he noticed that the cruiser, and it was a cruiser, flew the British White Ensign. But that was a ruse to be expected in commerce warfare. Or it could be the actual Royal Navy. But why the close formation? He could see the cruiser was not moored to the freighter, only steaming in its shadow. Like it was hiding from something… The Cape Beale lighthouse 18 miles to the south, had a distant view of the approaches to Ucluelet harbour. If the cruiser stayed behind the freighter, their outlines and smoke would intermingle. He could think of no other explanation, and it was the warship’s apparent attempt at stealth that finally convinced Mueller that the Imperial Navy had arrived.
“Heinrich!” he called. “Prepare to get underway!”
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Just want to say I am really enjoying this TL and the writing. Still hold that this would have made a great late 30s or a 40s/50s movie staring actors like Peck, Flynn, etc.
Yes, I think the story would fit well as a movie in the golden age of swashbuckling. But I also long for some modern special effects for the bigger explosions.