The Rainbow. A World War One on Canada's West Coast Timeline

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2020 hours. Government Wharf, Prince Rupert.

“So,” said Fry rubbing his temples, “if I understand correctly captain, you only saw the Prince Rupert, done up as a raider. You didn’t see any warships.”

“That’s right,” said the CPR captain.

“But the Germans must have come here somehow, in order to capture her. We received a telegraph message saying that the cruiser Nürnberg was seen in Anyox yesterday.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“It’s the fog of war,” said Fry. Some explosions sounded in the distance.

More men appeared and walked up the ramp. A dozen men in CPR steamship uniforms from the crew of the Princess Ena, and half a dozen stevedores and a manager from the warehouse.

The sergeant returned across the overpass and joined them. He began reading from his notes. “The crew of the Camosun swear they were rammed and sunk by a warship, just off Kincolith. Most agree it was named the Nürnberg. Although the warship’s bow was embedded in their steamer, they read the name off the life rings. That was at…” the sergeant checked his notes, “0830 hours this morning. That was 13 hours ago. Then, they say the cruiser ran aground on Pearse Island.”

“That sounds about right, in these conditions,” remarked the CPR captain.

“So the cruiser may be aground!?!,” exclaimed Fry almost ecstatic.

“But then freed themselves on the rising tide,” continued the sergeant.

“Too bad. So the cruiser may be damaged.”

“The Camosun's crew were first interred on the cruiser, but they were transferred to the Prince Rupert before they entered the harbour. A few of the crew said they saw the cruiser launch boats while they were being transferred.”

“Perhaps to the rail bridge, or the wireless station,” interjected Fry, following along.

“Some of the Camosun’s crew have minor injuries, cuts and scratches, from a battle in the harbour. They said fragments were coming through the walls of the ship, but they had no way to see what was happening outside.”

“Sir! More men are coming up the ramp,” said the sub lieutenant.

Fry watched from the saddle. He recognized from their gait that these figures were more released internees, walking to freedom, and not advancing troops. The shapes resolved themselves into men in Fisheries Protection and Naval Reserve uniforms, the crew of the Galiano. Fry made an involuntary groan of disappointment. Had the Galiano been sunk? The men walking past were dry and fairly clean, and did not look like they had just lost a sea battle. The Galiano’s captain walked near the back of the contingent. Behind him walked a pair of men carrying a stretcher.

“Captain, were you sunk, by a cruiser?” asked Fry.

“No. We heard that battle, but it wasn’t us,” said Pope. “The bloody rats coldcocked us, while we were rendering them assistance. Took the ship. Last time I saw Galiano she was still afloat.” Fry noticed in passing that the casualty on the stretcher and one of the bearers were militiamen, the other a Fisheries officer.

“Commandeer a truck and get this man to the hospital,” the police sergeant ordered his constable.

“Lieutenant, as soon as your men are able, we need to arm you as infantry.” said Fry to Pope, “We may have to resist a landing.”

“Umm… I’m afraid we won’t be able to do that,” Pope replied. “We… signed letters of Parole.”

Fry stared at the captain, blinking. He was not aware of any British subject doing such a thing since the War of 1812.

Pope bristled. “Otherwise we’d still be on that bloody German raider…” he started, defensively.

“Alright,” said Fry, “no matter. I expect there will be lots of work for your men, firefighting, or as medical orderlies, or… digging graves.”

“I’ll have none of that!” shouted Pope, and the two men hollered at each other for a minute, with the sub lieutenant and policemen watching in amusement, and the horse watching with indifference.

Some movement in the fog on the dock caught Fry’s eye. A dim figure was standing at the bottom of the ramp, casually waving a small flag from side to side.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2025 hours. Government Wharf, Prince Rupert.

“I almost forgot,” said Lieutenant Pope. “There’s a fellow back there who wants a word with you.” The figure walked partway up the ramp and stopped.

Captain Fry said to his sub lieutenant, “If something happens, you are in command of this contingent, and Lieutenant Fletcher over at the shipyards is in charge of the unit.” Then he spurred his horse forward slowly down the ramp. The horse’s hooves on the planks sounded clop clop clop in the fog.

The figure was dressed in a Kaiserliche Marine officer’s uniform, and the flag he held was a flag of truce. Fry walked his horse right up to the man, and could now see three stretchers, each with a pair of stretcher bearers dressed as German seamen, standing behind. He could also clearly see the bows of both the Princess Charlotte, against the wharf, and the Prince Rupert, rafted outboard. More sailors in German uniform, looked down on him.

“Thank you, for seeing me… Captain is it? I have a humanitarian favour to ask of you,” said the German officer in excellent English. He looked very young.

“I have ordered the coal stocks to be fired,” said Fry. “ You will get no fuel here.”

“That is your prerogative,” replied the German.

“What is stopping me from shooting you, or taking you prisoner right now?” asked Fry.

“Let’s see,” considered the German. “There is this flag of truce, and then the Hague and Geneva conventions as they relate to flags of truce. Failing that there are rifles, machine guns, machine cannon, and deck guns. But let’s get to my point. I have three very seriously wounded men here. We have a surgeon, and an infirmary as good as any warship in the world. But these men will not survive a long sea voyage. They belong in a hospital. I would like to leave them in this city, so they have some chance of survival. It may be that they are too far gone already. That part is up to God. But I want to know that I did all in my power to save them. So I throw myself at your mercy. I cannot compel you to take these men. You gain no advantage from taking them. Perhaps when they recover you can interrogate them, but we will be far away by then.”

“What happened to the crew of the Prince Rupert?” asked Fry.

“They are in the town of Anyox, safe and sound,” said the German officer.

“Can you prove that?,” asked Fry.

“I expect not. Communication is cut off, as you know. You can ask the internees we just released how they were treated. They will tell you that we observed the spirit and letter of the Hague conventions, and the common law of human decency. All persons who we have been forced to inter were treated the same.”

There was a pause.

“Very well,” said Fry. “Have your men bring the wounded to the mid-point of the ramp, then we will send stretcher bearers to take them to the hospital.”

“Bless you Captain,” said the young German officer.

The exchange was completed, and the two sides retreated back into the fog.

Soon, sounds of a steamship coming up to full power rose up from the dock below, and the vague outline of the ships moved, and then shrank into the fog. The sound of the machinery slowly faded.

Fry was left pondering the feeling that despite having so few cards to play, he had still taken the opportunity to do the right thing, when a choice was available to him.

His feeling of wellbeing was short lived.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2035 hours. Government Wharf, Prince Rupert.

“I think the Germans have departed,” said the police sergeant. Shall we inspect the wharf?”

A series of explosions went off somewhere in the fog directly ahead of them, causing the men to jump. Fry swore up and down.

“Maybe we should wait on that then,” said the sergeant. Another series of explosions followed from the same direction. Then an orange glow began to light the fog from behind. “I seem to recall a lot of flammable items in the GTP warehouse. Another job for the fire brigade. Constable! Go pull the nearest firebox!”

The fog became mixed with darker streaks of smoke, drifting from the east, towards the coal dock. The air took on the acrid smell of burning coal. Fry heard more fire bells. A chemical engine might be responding to this fire on the wharf, but it was hard to tell.

Then a ship’s siren began to sound, and a horn. Frequent regular blasts. Coming from further east, at the other end of town. There was a crashing and splintering sound, like a collision except instead of being just one collision sound, it continued, and then continued more. When the collision sounds trailed off the horn became one long continuous note.

“Oh what the blazes!” said the police sergeant. “I thought we were all done, but this just keeps going on and on!”

A fire rig did arrive, but this was just an auxiliary hose reel pushed by two men, the last of the fire brigade’s reserves. “There should be another engine on the way soon,” panted one of the men. “There is a hydrant down on the wharf. Is it safe to go down there? I mean, are the Germans still there?” The orange glow on the wharf was getting both bigger and brighter, and was accompanied by a growing roar and crackling.

“The Germans have gone,” said Fry, “they left some explosives behind, but I think they all went off already. Maybe we should have a look, Fry said to the sergeant.

A shot sounded, to the east, from a naval cannon, followed almost immediately by an explosion. Then another shot and explosion. The horn still continued its wail.

“What is going on?” asked the sergeant.

Then a large series of explosions went off, followed by a huge whoosh. Fry saw and felt a pressure wave pass over them, a whiter line moving through the fog. Then for a second the fog was gone. Standing on top of the railway overpass, Fry had a panoramic view of the city waterfront, lit orange by an enormous ascending fireball. At its base was a scene hard to comprehend. Two blocks away at the coal dock, three coal scows and a bunker on shore burned red at the base of pillars of thick black smoke. Four blocks away, an ocean liner, fully 500 feet long, was driven up on the drydock complex, its bow rearing up onto dry land. One leg of the U shaped wharf was no longer there. The floating drydock pontoons that had formerly dominated the shipyard, were nowhere in sight. In their place was a tangle of wooden wreckage in places to the height of the liner’s deck, like a wreath around the hull. The liner itself was spewing bright yellow flame from its forward cargo hatches, and its bridge structure was beginning to catch fire. To its stern, a concentric series of waves described a half circle out into the harbour. Well astern, two white ships boats were rowing away. And just visible, was the dark ram bow of a warship.

Then the fog flowed in and condensed back out of the air.

“And in military colleges a hundred years from now,” muttered Fry to himself, “they will study Captain Fry’s spirited defence of the port of Prince Rupert.”

“What’s that you say?” said the sergeant.

“I am quite at a loss,” said Fry.

https://search.nbca.unbc.ca/uploads...l-collections/1/5/158536/NBCA_2011_3_3_68.jpg

https://www.gent.name/bc:towns:prince_rupert:drydock

https://search-bcarchives.royalbcmu...t-ship-entering-grand-trunk-pacifics-dry-dock

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2035 hours SMS Nürnberg, Prince Rupert harbour.

Von Schönberg had been too far away in the fog on the Nürnberg to see the Talthybius ram the drydock, but he heard the collision plainly enough. He immediately worried that the impact had been too strong, and that the prize crew had been killed or immobilized. But not too much later, two of the liner’s boats appeared, rowing towards the cruiser. Another lifeboat appeared off Nürberg’s bow, but turned away and disappeared again when it saw the cruiser.

“Fire a shot into the water, short of the hulk,” ordered Von Schönberg. “I want to scare these Canadians away before it all blows up.” Number one gun fired at the empty ocean, and a waterspout rose at the edge of visibility. “Again.” Another shot was fired, another waterspout rose.

When the demolition charges ignited the Talthybius’s after holds, he was again worried, that the explosive power was too much. But when the fireball rose, and peeled back the fog from the harbour, the thought that passed through his head was, “so that’s what 200 tons of alcohol deflagrating looks like.” This quirk of the heat and blast wave momentarily making its own local weather system allowed him to see the rapeseed oil cargo was having the effect he had hoped. A tower of flame was growing out of the forward holds, and with the ship sitting on a hill of kindling, the whole wharf system of the shipyard would soon be involved. Radl had said construction on the drydock had started in 1912. This damage would set the operational date of the dock back another 2 or 3 years.

Satisfied, Von Schönberg recovered his boats and took the Nürnberg back out into the harbour. “I believe our work here is almost done,” he said “We need to find Lieutenant Von Spee, and Lieutenant Adler, and…” he said with a theatrical voice, “… slip away. Keep an eye open for the SS Bengrove, our new collier,”

Nürnberg passed two lifeboats, surrounded by a halo of survivors clinging to pieces of wreckage. The boats seemed to be full of angry Russians. Nürnberg left them astern.

“Ship!” called a lookout. “Capsized on the port bow!”

“Avoid, to starboard,” ordered Von Schönberg. Looking at the upturned hull he mused how every ship had a distinctive appearance, but all became anonymous when capsized. Like corpses.

“Ship!” called the lookout. This was something new. Big, but not as big as the Talthybius. Around 6000 tons, with her bridge on a center castle and her single funnel on her after castle. Her crew was bringing up steam. “Ship is Desalba, Glasgow.”

“Prepare the boarding party,” ordered Von Schönberg. Stabbootsman Lange had lost track of how many times he had launched a boat, and how many ships he had captured that day. One blended into the next. And this went much like the others, The Nürnberg flashed her challenge, and looked menacing, and the merchant’s crew prepared to abandon ship. Lange ordered one contingent to get control of the machinery spaces, and he took his group to capture the bridge. After taking control, one of his first tasks was to find the ships itinerary and cargo manifest.

SS DESALBA CARRYING 4000 TONS OF NUMBER 6 HEAVY FUEL OIL FROM SAN LOIS OBISBO CALIFORNIA TO JUNEAU ALASKA.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Desabla

https://www.flickr.com/photos/8215536@N08/7576044420

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2045 hours. Prince Rupert

Captain Fry gathered his detachment of six riflemen, a corporal and a sub lieutenant, and left his horse tied at the Grand Trunk Inn. He descended towards the wharf, lit by the burning GTP warehouse, to confirm that the Germans had left. The slips were empty, but a pair of masts stuck out of the harbour wharfside where the Princess Ena had been moored. The heat from the blazing building drove the men back. He left the wharf in the hands of the fire brigade. The warehouse was beyond hope, but the wharf below might still be saved. The town depended on it.

Fry took his men east, with the waterfront jumble of docks, fishing boats, and shacks to their left, and the commercial buildings of the downtown to their right. The elevated plank road carried the men over a field of stumps and rock outcroppings. A lifeboat had landed at a fisherman’s flimsy dock, and merchant seamen were making their way inland. Fry continued eastward. The smell of burning coal became stronger, and a glow came out of the fog ahead. “At least we kept the Germans away from the coal,” he said to his sub lieutenant. As they approached the coal wharf, the men had to detour inland to bypass the heat and smoke from the burning bunker and scows. As they watched, one of the scows rolled over and sank in a hissing burst of steam. Past the coal dock, the party descended a long flight of wooden stairs to the level of the harbour.

A roaring and cracking came from ahead. And then, some rifle fire from close by. At first, Fry thought the shots were secondary explosions from the shipyard fire, but as they continued it became clear they were gunshots.

“Form skirmish line!” ordered Fry. “ His men advanced through the stumps and shacks and net drying racks. He soon made out the backs of several men in Canadian militia uniform, their attention attracted to something to the harbour side and out of his sightline. Running at a crouch, he approached an officer he identified as Lieutenant Fletcher, his second in command.

“Report!” he ordered Fletcher. It was hard to hear over the sound of the burning shipyard, lost in the fog to the east. Fry’s detachment took up positions facing the harbour.

“German landing party sir!” replied Fletcher. “Two boats. We have them pinned down.” Several more shots were fired by the militiamen. Fry heard no shots fired in their direction.

“What could they want here?” asked Fry. “You would think they have run out of targets.”

“Beats me sir, but listen,” answered Fletcher.

“Hold Fire!” ordered Fry, and the order was passed down the line.

The burning shipyard made it difficult to make out, but he heard yelling voices. The language was certainly not English. It was a babble to him. But one word seemed to be repeated. He listened closely.

“Ros-si-ya! Ros-si-ya!”

“God damn it!” cursed Fry. “Those are Russians! They must be from that armed merchant cruiser.”

Fletcher looked unhappy.

“Don’t just sit there! Go help them!”

Fletcher holstered his revolver, and waved his men forward.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2050 hours SMS Nürnberg, Prince Rupert harbour.

SS DESALBA CARRYING 4000 TONS OF NUMBER 6 HEAVY FUEL OIL FROM SAN LOIS OBISBO CALIFORNIA TO JUNEAU ALASKA.

“Hmm,” thought Von Schönberg out loud. “That ship would make a perfect tender for the Prince Rupert, if we detach her as an auxiliary cruiser. She is a belligerent ship, but carrying a neutral cargo, and an American cargo at that.” He considered for a moment.

HAVE DESALBA CAPTAIN STAND BY.

The Nürnberg lowered her one good dinghy. The Desalba’s crew were in two boats side by side at the tanker’s landing stage when the dinghy arrived. The Desalba’s astonished captain was handed a hastily written purchase order, and two 50 pound gold ingots. “Please deliver that as payment to the owner of the cargo. And sign this as receipt of payment.” instructed the German petty officer commanding the dinghy.

When the Desalba had enough head of steam to make way, the Nurnberg’s wireless operator ceased jamming, and transmitted.

NURNBERG TO ALL STOP WITHDRAW STOP AM SOUNDING SIREN AND ILLUMINATING

DESALBA ACKNOWLEDGES

BENGROVE ACKNOWLEDGES

KRUGER ON GALIANO ACKNOWLEDGES

VON SPEE ON PRINCESS CHARLOTTE ACKNOWLEDGES

“Very interesting,” said Von Schönberg. “I expect we get the whole story soon.”

The scattered German prize fleet headed for Nürnberg’s siren, at dead slow, until they could see the glow of her powerful searchlights. At times they passed lifeboats rowing towards land. In the distance, from the city of Prince Rupert, could be heard fire bells, and vehicle engines, and the occasional gunshot. Von Schönberg noted that the Prince Rupert was lashed alongside this new coastal liner prize, the Princess Charlotte, and work parties seemed to be passing supplies across to the bigger liner bucket-brigade style. Not visible, between the ships, a bridge had been built of timbers across the gap between the two liners’ side cargo doors. Barrels of fuel oil were being rolled over, and sacks of coal that not been burst by the Anadyr’s shells were being lugged across.

The ships formed up on Nürnberg, and arranged themselves in close convoy with the Princess Charlotte and her experienced navigator in the lead. The Prince Rupert, lashed alongside and uncrewed, caused the Charlotte to move somewhat crabwise, but this was still considered to be much safer than towing her in the narrow current-swept foggy channel. Likewise, the Galiano had been retained rather than scuttled for now, but been left with the barest of skeleton crews to sail her, rather than being towed.

With Radl sounding the fog horn to echolocate their way, the convoy threaded the needle that is the entrance to Prince Rupert harbour. When the ships passed between Lima Point and Ridley Island, they could smell the open Pacific, but also a heavy burnt creosote odor. Red flares appeared overhead, and the two steam powered boats carrying Lieutenant Adler’s landing party approached and were recovered by Nürnberg. The two militiamen were taken below as Prisoners of War. The ships reached the southern end of Chatham Sound and stopped.

https://searcharchives.vancouver.ca...ad8c54-e366-4c00-b2ea-4899d67e9d20-A23982.jpg

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2100 hours. Prince Rupert

Fry continued east towards the roaring shipyard. He at least needed to be able to make a report. As he and his detachment advanced through the waterfront terrain, the fog began to swirl, then burned off entirely. Suddenly revealed, the shipyard was a shattered hellscape. The heat was powerful. A bonfire the size of the Legislature buildings in Victoria was blazing. In its center sat an ocean liner. Her upper works were already fully engulfed and half burned away. Her funnel and masts leaned at crazy angles. The overall effect was as of a giant Viking funeral pyre. It was hard to tell if the hull of the liner was reflecting light, or glowing from the heat. Fry had to blink frequently.

The fire brigade had a truck deployed in the shipyard, hoses spraying. But they had given up on putting out the wharf fire, they were wetting down the machine shop buildings and power plant to keep them from catching fire. A flaming oil slick was spreading on the water of the harbour and igniting the adjoining shipyard eastern wharf from underneath. The roof of a huge ship construction shed was sagging like a wet tarpaulin. Fry had to retreat the way he came, the heat was too intense.

His path took him back past the shoreline where the Russians had landed. Fletcher and his men were helping them carry their worst wounded, including two men that had been shot by the militia. He saw no officers among the surviving Russian crew. A fierce petty officer with a very loud voice seemed to be in command, and as Fry took in the situation, the Russian NCO’s rage seemed to be magnified by his not sharing a language with the Canadian militiamen. The Russian crewmen were very quickly and efficiently improvising stretchers for their most badly wounded from oars and lifeboat sailcloth on the boat benches.

Fry surveyed his men for languages.

“Français?” he asked the Russian.

The petty officer thought for a moment. “Kto-nibud' govorit po-frantsuzski?” he yelled at his men.

“Tol'ko ofitsery govoryat po-frantsuzski”, one replied, apparently insulted.

“Polish? Polski?” asked Fry.

“Kto-nibud' govorit po-pol'ski?” the Anadyr’s petty officer yelled again.

“Polski! Tak!” called out a Russian sailor with a bandaged hand.

Fry asked his Polish-speaking militiaman to tell the Anadyr’s petty officer they should all come with him to the hospital. The militiaman asked the Polish-speaking sailor in Polish, who in turn asked the petty officer in Russian.

“Da. Spasibo,” replied the petty officer.

There were a few more than 70 survivors of the Anadyr on the gravel beach, of whom at least 30 seemed to be badly wounded. With stretchers, piggy-back, or supported on a shoulder, all of the wounded were picked up by their ambulatory comrades, and the group shambled away from the waterfront towards the hospital.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2115 hours. Prince Rupert

Fry ordered Fletcher to keep patrolling, and moved to lead the group, with his detachment. When his men noticed that some of the Russian stretcher bearers were almost as badly wounded as the men on the stretchers, they slung their rifles and grabbed an end themselves. As they walked, Fry asked the Anadyr’s petty officer questions.

“What happened to your ship?” he asked. “Were you attacked by a cruiser?” The chain of translation took the question back and forth.

“First, a small liner, with three funnels.” he answered. The Russian used his hands vigorously when he talked, and he held up three fingers.

“The Prince Rupert.” said Fry. The petty officer gestured at the city, and wrinkled his eyebrows. “Yes, the ship, the city, same name.”

“The small liner tried to capture us, so we shot it up. Then the cruiser came and torpedoed us. Many dead. We had more than 200 men an hour ago.” He made the gesture of a cross with his hand.

The survivor party came to a long set of wooden stairs leading up to the city.

“And you saw the cruiser. Can you describe it?” asked Fry.

“Things happened very quickly. Three funnels, light cruiser… I could not identify it by name. German light cruisers all look much the same. I would expect it to be one from the East Asiatic Squadron from Tsingtao. We saw them in China back in the peace. That would make it the Emden, Leipzig, or Nürnberg.”

The men’s breathing got heavier as they climbed the stairs. Fry felt a bit of a breeze off the sea cooling his forehead. When they reached the top at Third Avenue, some of the Russians were winded, from carrying their comrades or from their own injuries. A flat deck Ford truck with Howe & McNulty Hardware painted on the door came slowly down the road. Fry commandeered the truck and the worst stretcher cases were put 5 on the back deck and 2 crossways on the hood. The truck proceeded at a walking pace, with men beside to stabilizing the stretchers, along the plank road to the General Hospital.

Prince Rupert Fire Automobiles. Photos from the Prince Rupert Archives. princerupertarchives.ca

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2130 hours SMS Nürnberg, Chatham Sound.

The fog had thinned somewhat, and visibility had increased to a kilometer. Von Schönberg could feel the hint of a breeze. From the north came the sound of a foghorn that Radl said was from a lighthouse. At the edge of the fog to the south he could see a tree lined shore. The sea was nearly flat, a grey plain under a grey dome. The light was fading as dusk overtook the coast. It had been a long day.

The ships of Nürnberg’s flotilla ware gathered around. Bengrove, Desalba, and Galiano stood off at a respectful distance. SMS Prince Rupert was lashed to the cruiser’s starboard rail and in turn was still lashed alongside the Princess Charlotte. More than 50 men were assembled on Prince Rupert’s damaged stern promenade decks. Von Schönberg stood on Nurnberg’s fantail, surrounded by as many crew as could be spared from the ship’s vital operations. All held their caps in hand.

“Oh God, the great Creator of Heaven and Earth,” Von Schönberg read, “thou dost whatsoever thou pleasest in the Sea, and in all deep Places; I, the most unworthiest of all thy Servants, am at this time called upon to behold thy Wonders in the Deep, and to perform my Duty in great Waters. Guide me, I beseech thee, in all times and in all Places: Be thou our skilful Pilot to Steer us, and protect us from all Dangers, and rebuke the Winds and the Seas when they Molest us; preserve our Vessel from being rent by the loud cracks of Thunder, or from being burnt by Lightning or any other Accident; keep us and save us from Tempestuous Weather, from bitter Frosts, Hail, Ice, Snow, or Whirlwinds, and from Captivity and Slavery.”

Von Schönberg said a few words about each of the recently deceased crewmen. Their seven corpses lay wrapped in canvas, in two groups each covered with a Naval Ensign. Two bundles lay on the fantail of Nürnberg, five on the lower promenade deck at the stern of the Prince Rupert, right below the bent and blackened gun mount where three of the men had died.

A gap opened in the fog. A ray of sunshine shone through from the sunset to the west. The water was painted turquoise. Some of the attending sailors gasped.

The Naval ensigns were lifted and folded. A party of seven riflemen fired three volleys.

Again Von Schönberg read, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me lie down in green pastures;
He layeth me beside quiet waters.
He restoreth my soul;
He guideth me in the paths of righteousness for the sake of His name.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
for Thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The planks supporting the bundles were tipped up in turn, and the seven dead men sank into the waters of Chatham Sound. A moment of silence was observed.

The silence continued as the men returned to their stations. Nürnberg cast off. Shortly after, the Princess Charlotte cast off from the Prince Rupert. Five minutes later, when the other ships had withdrawn to a safe distance, explosions sounded, and small grey bursts of smoke rose from Prince Rupert’s forward hold, funnels, and ventilators. At first the ship seemed untouched, then she slowly began to settle by the stern. Many men stood at the rail to watch Prince Rupert’s final moments, including Von Schönberg, Von Spee, and Radl.

Her stern disappeared beneath the water, and a great boiling of escaping air wracked the surface. The ship seemed to rotate on an axis below her third funnel. When her bow had reared in the air to a forty-five degree angle, her forward funnel tore loose, and fell against the second, knocking both into the water. As she slid stern first into the depths, her bow continued to rise until it was almost vertical. Her bridge structure slipped below the surface, then she hesitated. Her stern had struck bottom. She stood there momentarily, then her bow lowered and sank down out of sight. The sea bubbled with escaped air, and flotsam bounded up to the surface: life rings and pieces of furniture, and a smashed life boat. The debris swirled on the eddies created by the steamer’s sinking, then slowly drifted away on the current in the last light of the day.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2130 hours. Prince Rupert

The four story hospital building looked like an eccentric mansion or a schoolhouse. Fry ran ahead to alert the staff to receive casualties. The hospital, to its credit, had already called in all the doctors and medical help, including volunteers. He saw some of the Galiano’s crew in attendance. The first of the stretchers were carried in the door, then a doctor had the rest arranged outside on the plank street, while he evaluated the severity of the wounded.

“I figured this out in the Boer War,” the doctor said to Fry, as he went down the line of stretchers. “You’ve got your casualties that need urgent attention to survive, like this one,” he waved, and two bearers in Fisheries Protection uniforms carried the stretcher inside. “Then you have those that will survive in any case.” He examined a heavily bandaged young sailor who looked up at him with terrified eyes. “This one will be alright, lots of wounds, but all superficial.” The doctor looked the boy in the eyes and made the international gesture that all would be fine. The wounded sailor nodded in appreciation and clutched the doctor’s hand to his chest for a moment.

“Then you have those that are beyond saving. They, sadly, have to be put aside to give attention to the ones who still have a chance. Those Germans you sent in earlier are all close to that condition.”

“That was why they were landed here, in your capable hands,” said Fry.

“I’m sure that’s true,” said the doctor. “We are getting quite busy here. There are a dozen-odd wounded from the shipyard, and a militiaman full of shell fragments. And now about forty Russians.” Fry ended up helping to carry stretchers inside, and all were accommodated, even if they were in the hallways.

When he was done, it was fully dark. Some Russians and militiamen were milling in front of the hospital smoking. The ocean breeze was now stronger, and the fog had greatly dissipated. Looking up, Fry could see stars. The waterfront could be seen all the way from the hospital, when not obscured by clouds of drifting smoke. The city was lit by three large fires down by the water: The Grand Trunk Pacific warehouse and wharf, the coal bunker, and the shipyards. A steam tug, the Dola, that had somehow escaped the attention of the Germans, was turning its fire hoses on the wharf fire. The arcs of its steams of water were lit orange by the flames. The burning coal barges seemed to have all sunk, but the bunker on shore was still ablaze, and probably would be for a week.

The shipyard fire was by far the biggest, covering at least two city blocks. The eastern wharf, the construction shed, the ways, and machine shop were all lost to the flames, but the fire brigade seemed to have saved the administration building and power plant, as well as some auxiliary buildings. That was good, because the city got much of its electrical power from that power plant. Now that it was dark, from his raised vantage point Fry could see that the shell of the ocean liner in the midst of the fire was indeed glowing cherry red. The hull sides were drooping and curled, like a piece of birch bark.

Out in the harbour, when not obscured by smoke, he could see the profiles of at least two sailing ships. So the Germans had not sunk everything.

Fry cursed. He realized suddenly that he had become focussed on what was directly in front of him; the wounded, and lost track of his role as leader. His first duty right now was to re-establish communication with his chain of command in Victoria, and report to them the situation here in Prince Rupert. He also realized that he had, almost four hours ago, decided to send a boat to Anyox to make contact, and had become distracted and failed to issue the order.

He saw Lieutenant Pope, late of the Galiano, talking with one of his junior officers in the hospital doorway. He walked over. “Your men are doing good work here,” Fry said.

Pope nodded. “You never know, we may find ourselves digging graves, like you said. Those Russians sure got it in the teeth. Each one of them I look at makes me think that it could easily be my boys in their place.”

“Providence,” said Fry. “Lieutenant, does the Fisheries Protection Service have any vessels remaining in the area? We need to establish communications again.” Pope looked at Fry with scepticism. “Non combatant role. If you have men under your command in town who did not sign a parole contract, use them. Or you could dress your men in civilian clothes. As long as you are not bearing arms you are honouring the agreement.”

“I suppose,” replied Pope. “Those Germans could be anywhere though.”

“All the more reason we need to get the word out,” said Fry.

“The Ka Yex is at anchor in the harbour,” said Pope, “if she didn’t get shelled or run over. She’s a gasoline powered launch. The Linnet is half way to Anyox at Nass Harbour Cannery. The Hawk is on the Skeena River patrol, at Port Essington. Both are gasoline launches as well.”

Fry rubbed his temples. He needn’t bother asking if the launches had wireless sets, he knew they were too small. The first priority was to get word to Victoria. He took a very dog-eared folded map out of his tunic pocket and studied it for a moment. “See what crew you can scrape up, and take the Linnet to the Inverness Cannery. By my guess they are past the cut in the telegraph line.”

“That will take a bit more than an hour at 12 knots,” said Pope, “from when we cast off.”

“Better get started then,” said Fry. He was gradually becoming aware of a buzz of angry voices approaching.

Pope turned to go, then said, “What the hell is that?”

A gang of well over a hundred unruly civilians was advancing down the 5th street plank road.

https://princerupertarchives.ca/search/detail-bare.php?ID=9346

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2215 SMS Nürnberg, Chatham Sound.

A breeze ruffled the Imperial Ensign on Nürnberg’s mainmast. Von Schönberg looked up and saw patches of indigo sky poking through gaps in the fog. To the west he watched the smoke from Hexham and Desalba, his new auxiliary fleet, silhouetted against the last of the red sunset. These ships had been ordered to sail west offshore, then turn south and head for a position off Vancouver Island and wait, out of the shipping lanes.

Von Schönbeg called a meeting of officers on the Nürnberg.

Radl briefed the officers. “Obviously, the Port of Vancouver is the primary industrial target on this coast.” He had placed a large scale chart on the officer’s mess table and was pointing as he spoke. “The city of Victoria is also a major seaport, and adjoins Esquimalt, the Royal Navy’s base on the west coast of North America. The ports of Ladysmith, Nanaimo, and Union Bay where Vancouver Island’s substantial amount of high quality coal is loaded.”

“Vancouver harbour can be expected to be full of shipping. It also has dock facilities and a railhead, a shipyard, an oil refinery, and good numbers of sawmills. Victoria will also have shipping and docks, shipyards, a chemical factory, and sawmills. Esquimalt has the only dry dock the Royal Navy can use on this side of the Pacific, as well as every facility you would expect at a naval base. Esquimalt and Victoria are defended by forts. As far as I know, Vancouver has no coastal artillery at all.”

Von Schönberg took over to describe the defences. “Our agents confirmed that right up until the commencement of hostilities, Canada had only one obsolescent Apollo class cruiser on the west coast, and the Royal Navy has two sloops based out of Esquimalt. Whereabouts unknown, but most likely at or near Esquimalt. None of these warships pose a threat, although we cannot afford to suffer damage in a naval battle. We are so far from His Majesty’s dockyards. The Royal Navy did not have any ships within reach of the west coast of Canada when we left Honolulu, save those two sloops. I cannot see how any could arrive before us, even if they came through the Panama Canal. Japan will not be expected to enter the war until August 23rd at the earliest.”

“The naval intelligence reports on the fortifications defending Esquimalt say there are two batteries of 15 cm guns, and three batteries of 7.5 cm guns. The 15 cm guns are on antiquated disappearing carriages, with an expected rate of fire of one round per minute and a range of 8000 meters. The batteries are not much of a deterrent, but they will prevent our entrance to Victoria or Esquimalt harbours. The intelligence report goes on to say there was also a planned battery of two 23 cm guns, but these were not completed before the Royal Navy handed the base to the Canadians in 1905, and the gun barrels were left rusting in a ditch.” Von Schönberg paused. “23 cm guns. I hope this report is current. The 15 cm guns only range half way to the boundary with the United States, so we can run past them without a danger of violating American neutrality. If we must run past the forts, I prefer to do it at night.”

“There is an alternate route to Vancouver and Victoria,” said Radl. “The Inside Passage is a sheltered route from Vancouver to Prince Rupert. Well, really all the way from Seattle to Juneau. It is like the channel to Anyox, but more than 500 miles long. A natural canal between coastal islands and the main land. When the trade routes across the Pacific were shut down, because of you, domestic shipping was able to continue along it. If we want to take prizes heading south, this is where we should go.

“Mr. Radl, what are there in the way of industrial targets as we travel down the coast to Vancouver?”

“Fish canneries.” Replied Radl. “More than one can count. It is a wonder there are any fish left. Plenty of sawmills. There are also at least two pulp mills on the north coast. Swanson Bay and Ocean Falls. The coal ports are further south on the east coast of Vancouver Island.

“Fish canneries and sawmills do not interest me as targets.” Said Von Schönberg. “I understand they make some nominal contribution to the war effort, and their production could be interpreted to be contraband, but where do we stop? Do we burn down every hardware store and greengrocer in Canada? We are not Visigoths. We are not here to pull down laundry lines and smash the dishes.”

“Pulp mills, however, are clearly military targets. Cellulose is an ingredient in guncotton, so pulp mills are part of the munitions industry. The coal ports are too tempting to leave unmolested. I would like to destroy the oil refinery and chemical factory, if we can reach them. Shipyards again, if possible. And whatever shipping is in the harbour. Esquimalt Naval Base needs to be roughly handled, especially the dry dock. But we are unable to treat it the way we did to the one in Prince Rupert just now. The forts will keep us at a distance. The best we can do is bombardment from long range. Even if only for the symbolic value. Any other thoughts?”

“Isn’t there a trans-Pacific cable station somewhere?” asked Lieutenant Von Spee.

“Yes,” replied Radl. “At Bamfield. In Barkley Sound”

“Well, we have to cut that,” said Von Schönberg. “And we are going right there anyway.”

“We have one more order of business,” declared Von Schönberg. As you know, Mr.Radl has been serving us as a civilian pilot. But we are a ship of war, engaged in hostilities.” Radl perked up, not knowing what came next.

“As captain of a detached warship,” Von Schönberg continued, “I have a great deal of discretion. At the first opportunity, I plan to contact our military chain of command, and invite our allies in Vienna to reactivate Mr. Radl from his status as a reserve officer to active duty in the KuK Kriegsmarine, and second him to us. I would expect that he will be mobilized into his former rank as Korvettenleutnant. As an acting officer in the Kaiserliche Marine, he will serve at the equivalent rank of Leutnant zur See. Since we do not always have the luxury of communication, I declare Lieutenant Radl’s commission to be effective immediately. The staff back in the Empires can fill out the paperwork on their own time.”

“Lieutenant Radl,” said Von Schönberg. Radl snapped to attention and saluted. “We would not have accomplished even a small part of what we have done here without your service. We are very much in your debt.” Von Schönberg saluted himself. “For the moment, your duties will remain the same. Quartermaster. Let’s see if we can find Lieutenant Radl a uniform.”

https://search.nbca.unbc.ca/uploads...bf8a3d1c351931e384bdb6e4679/2009_10_3_006.jpg

https://www.gent-family.com/BC/claxton.html

https://journals.lib.unb.ca/index.php/MCR/article/view/17470/22526

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2300 hours. Prince Rupert General Hospital

A gang of well over a hundred unruly civilians was advancing down the 5th street plank road.

Some of the men were armed with improvised clubs, a few with rifles or shotguns. A looser crowd of onlookers followed, including children. The militiamen and Russian sailors noticed them too, and Fry waved his men over beside him at the hospital entrance. He gestured for the Russians to stay with him.

“I don’t know just what is going on here, but I don’t like it. Go in and get your rifles,” he said to his militiamen. “Corporal, telephone the police and have them send every constable available to the hospital.”

“Lieutenant,” he said to Pope. “bring out all the men you have inside.” When Pope hesitated, Fry said, “You didn’t sign anything that forbids you from taking up arms against the local population.”

The hospital sat at the corner of two plank streets. Because the hillside sloped away, the main entrance crossed a wooden pedestrian causeway. Fry placed himself in a blocking position in front of the bridge, with three Russian sailors on each shoulder. His sub lieutenant dashed out of the hospital to join him. Fry was glad to see the young officer was still wearing his sidearm.

“What’s all this then?” Fry called out to the crowd.

“We’ve come for the Germans!” called out a man who seemed to be a leader. “We know you have some in there!” The crowd was still advancing. Fry took half a dozen paces forward, to allow space for his men to assemble behind. The Russians and his sub lieutenant stayed by his shoulder.

“Stop there!” Fry ordered the crowd. “Tell me what you think is happening here.” He needed to buy time for reinforcements to arrive.

“Look what they’ve done!” called out the leader. “They have to pay!” Fry privately had to concede the burning waterfront did make a convincing backdrop to this rhetorical claim.

“Don’t deny it!” shouted another man. “There’s three of them, from down by the wharf. I seen it with my own eyes.” Voices shouted in agreement.

“It’s true,” Fry allowed. “But those men are no threat. They’re all half dead.”

“So it shouldn’t be much work to make them the rest of the way dead!” shouted another voice. This was greeted by laughter and cheers.

“So what, exactly? You want to lynch them?”

“What are you going to do to stop us, Captain from Vancouver?” shouted the leader. “Who are these goons you have,” yelled another.

Fry tried to say something like “Our Russian allies who gave their lives to defend you lot.” But he was drowned out by shouts. The crowd started to surge forward. The Russians pushed back, but the weight of the crowd forced them to retreat. Fry felt the rail of the hospital bridge pushing into his back. He drew his revolver and fired a shot in the air.

“I will shoot the first man who takes a step on that bridge,” he hollered. The crowd stopped momentarily.

Fry heard boots running on the causeway. A dozen Russian sailors pushed past him and locked arms with their comrades, shoving forward against the crowd. An equal number of Fisheries Protection officers joined the Russians and followed their lead.

“Right behind you sir,” a familiar voice said quietly in his ear. “He turned his head a second, to see five of his militiamen on the bridge, with their rifles.

“Fix Bayonets!” Fry ordered. The sound of bayonets being attached to the rifles, all at once as if at drill, intimidated the crowd. The long blades gleamed in the firelight. “Where is the corporal?” he asked the nearest militiaman.

“On the roof with another rifleman, sir,” the man responded.

“Thomas Doherty! Whose side are you on!” yelled a heckler from the crowd.

“Go home William,” called back the militiaman, “you are making an arse of yourself.”

“Advance!” ordered Fry.

The militiamen stepped forward, their boots tramping on the planks in unison. The line of sailors parted to let them pass through, then as the crowd retreated to avoid the bayonets, all in the riot control line took several steps forward. The crowd moved back, but did not break. Fry saw they still outnumbered his troops, maybe by ten to one.

“Halt!” he ordered, before his men advanced too far and were vulnerable to being flanked. All was suddenly quiet.

“I want to talk with you,” Fry called out to the crowd, “because I think you are usually sensible men. The reason we take good care of enemy prisoners of war, is not because we have gone soft and lost our spines. The reason is that Britain has signed a reciprocal agreement with other nations. We treat their prisoners of war right, according to a set of rules, and they do the same with ours. A lot of our boys are going to be going over to France to fight. Maybe me, maybe you. If the Kaiser learns that some hotheads in Canada murdered his wounded prisoners in their beds, the Germans just might not be inclined to take any prisoners when they meet Canadians in battle. Again, could be me, could be you. This war is already going to be bad enough. Don’t make it worse!”

The crowd jeered and guffawed, unconvinced and still antagonistic. It was a standoff.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2310 hours. Prince Rupert General Hospital

“So you want to fight some Germans do you?” yelled out a voice. A few men cheered in response. A stocky man in his 40s with a handlebar moustache had climbed up on the back of the flatdeck Ford that had carried the stretchers. “You want to get some revenge for what they’ve done here?” More voices cheered.

Fry looked over at his sub lieutenant, not sure where this new direction was going. The young officer shrugged.

“Well if you want to do it like men, lets all go together and fight the Germans in France.” Some men cheered louder, some were less receptive. “Word is out that Canada is forming a new army, not more militia, but a proper army, The Canadian Expeditionary Force. Prince Rupert will be raising a new battalion to take the fight right to the Germans, with myself as an officer. We should have a recruiting office downtown by next week. Some of you know me. My name is Cy Peck. My partners and I run the Cassiar cannery and the Georgetown sawmill. I don’t know if any of my businesses are still standing tonight, but I do know one thing. The Germans are going to regret that they ever messed with Prince Rupert!” The crowd and onlookers all cheered as one. “So who is with me?” The crowd cheered again, even louder.

“Alright,” Peck said, “We’re keeping the casualties in the hospital awake. I’m going to go to the wharf to see if the fire brigade needs a hand. Those who want to can join me. If not, go home and get some rest. Save up your strength. We’re going to need it.” He hopped down from the truck, winked at Fry, and then set off down the street. About 40 men followed him, the rest dispersed.

“Order Arms!” called Fry, and the militiamen lowered their rifles to their sides, butts knocking against on the plank road in unison.

Lieutenant Pope approached with a few more of his sailors across the hospital causeway. “That man should become a politician,” he said. “He certainly has the oratory.”

“That man should get the Victoria Cross,” said Fry.

The police sergeant marched up the side street, too late, with a phalanx of 10 constables armed with truncheons. The crowd ignored them and continued to disperse. The police relaxed formation, and wandered over to Fry’s position.

“So the locals are rioting again?” said the sergeant. “Usual suspects I’ll warrant. How are you enjoying your stay in Prince Rupert so far?”

“Glad to see you,” said Fry to the sergeant, “But things seemed to have sorted themselves out.” In the distance, something exploded or collapsed down at the shipyard. “My God, it has been a long day.”

 

[YYJ]

Aug 17, 2330 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Chatham Sound

“So you have managed to secure yourself another ship with a fine German name,” Von Schönberg said to Von Spee.

“Princess Charlotte, the Kaiser’s sister, of course.” replied the young lieutenant. “Why are the Canadians naming their ships after Prussian aristocracy?”

“Well, the Kaiser’s sister is Queen Victoria’s eldest granddaughter,” said Von Schönberg. “But the ship could easily be named for some other royal Charlotte. There have been a surfeit of them across the last few centuries. There is probably a plaque somewhere, but that will have to wait. More important work is at hand.”

“Yes,” agreed Von Spee. “We have mounted the three 5.2 cm guns, two on the aft top deck and one forward. We also have mounted the two 3.7 cm pom-poms and 4 Spandau guns. Those pom-poms were very effective against the Russian.” Nürnberg had given up two more of her secondary guns, passing them by derrick over to Princess Charlotte.

“I have placed two Spandau guns on the Galiano,” continued Von Schönberg. Krüger only has 50 rounds for that 5.7 cm gun of hers. I don’t know what role she will play, but we can always scuttle her if she becomes a burden.”

“Something that had not occurred to me before about oil fired ships,” shared Von Spee, “is how efficient they are with engineering crews. I can get by with less than half the boiler and engine room crews that I would need with a coal fired ship.”

“Let’s put those engineering crews on notice.” Said Von Schönberg. “It is time to head south. Let’s see what this Inside Passage of Mr… ahem… Lieutenant Radl’s has in store for us.” Von Schönberg saw Lieutenant Von Spee off at the boat back over to SMS Princess Charlotte.

The moon was now showing a slender crescent in the star-filled sky. The ships got underway, and headed south, in close company, with Princess Charlotte in the lead position. The formation worked up to 12 knots, which Lieutenant Radl assured was a conservative nighttime speed for the coastal liners. SMS Galiano had to run at near full speed to keep up. Navigational lights and reflectors marked the Inside Passage well. The seaway narrowed from the south end of Chatham Sound as it became the Malacca Passage. Even without running lights the helmsmen could clearly distinguish the channel from the darker forest on either side. “Keep to the middle of the channel always,” Radl had instructed.

https://www.moonpage.com/index.html?go=T&auto_dst=T&tzone=ut&m=8&d=17&y=1914&hour=23&min=30&sec=50

 

[YYJ]

Aug 18, 0030 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Chatham Sound

The channel narrowed further as it passed between Porcher and Kennedy Islands. After three quarters of an hour the ships passed the lights of a settlement on their port side. “That is Oona River,” said the navigator, reading from the chart, when Von Schönberg asked. Through his binoculars, Von Schönberg could see a cluster of residences, wharves, and what looked like boat construction sheds. Several wooden fishing boats sat up on ways out of the water in various stages of completion.

“I don’t know if I like this route,” said Von Schönberg. “We will be like a train on a track, with everyone watching us go past.” Twenty minutes later, as the fleet rounded the low mass of Gibson Island and lined up to enter Grenville Channel, Princess Charlotte flashed to Nurnberg with her Morse light.

SHIP SHIP SHIP

Princess Charlotte put her rudder hard over to port to avoid collision, and entered into a tight circle in the one nautical mile wide sound.

“Action Stations!” ordered Von Schönberg. He could see, through his binoculars, the bow wave of a blacked out steamer travelling at a good clip emerging into the sound. “Illuminate! Jam Wireless!”

Nürnberg’s searchlights snapped on, destroying everyone’s night vision. Pinned in the pools of light was a steamship, entering the sound at about 12 knots. “Coastal Steamer,” said the lookout. “Approximately 2500 tons. Single funnel. Name Princess Sophia.” The steamer signaled to Nürnberg with her Morse light, barely visible in the brilliance of the searchlight beams.

TURN OFF LIGHTS WE ARE UNDER BLACKOUT ORDERS

“Extinguish forward searchlights,” ordered Von Schönberg, in the hope it would make his own Morse light more legible to the Canadian ship. The foremast searchlights turned off, the mainmast lights remained trained on the liner. “Send challenge.” Through his binoculars, he saw a number of figures emerging onto the deck.

STOP IMMEDIATELY STAND BY TO BE BOARDED OR YOU WILL BE FIRED UPON PREPARE TO ABANDON SHIP, replied Nürnberg.

The Princess Charlotte had completed a 180 degree turn and was now travelling the same direction as the Princess Sophia, on her far side and about a kilometer distant. Nürnberg and the Canadian liner were on converging courses. The Sophia showed no signs of slowing. More and more men came out onto the liner’s decks, shielding their eyes with their hands against the searchlight glare.

“Fire across her bows,” ordered Von Schönberg. Immediately the number two gun fired, and a waterspout rose in front of the Princess Sophia’s bow, looking spectacular in the searchlight beam. The liner slowed, and even more men appeared on deck. It took Von Schönberg a moment to figure out, because some of the men were in shirtsleeves and some in undershirts, but their trousers, and jackets, and peaked hats were all in khaki green. Princess Sophia was carrying several hundred soldiers. Nürnberg maneuvered to block the liner’s path, and she continued to slow. Some of the men on deck began to appear with rifles.

STOP IMMEDIATELY SHOW YOUR SURRENDER OR YOU WILL BE TORPEDOED signaled Nürnberg.

The German cruiser held off 1000 meters off the port bow of the Princess Sophia. The Princess Charlotte sat off her starboard bow, an equal distance away, her Naval Ensign flapping and all guns manned and trained. Galiano lurked in the background.

YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES THROW ALL WEAPONS OVERBOARD Nürnberg signaled, and then fired another warning shot.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Pr...ile:Princess_Sophia_(steamship)_(ca_1912).jpg

 

[YYJ]

Aug 18, 0110 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Grenville Channel

Von Schönberg watched through his binoculars men gathering in huddles on the Sophia’s deck, and arms waving in spirited argument. Then the men altered their postures, signaling to any observer that the matter was resolved. A white bedsheet was produced and waved from the upper deck. A white signal flag was prepared and run up the mast. The armed men on deck held their rifles vertically by the forestock at arms length and then dropped them over the rail. The forward cargo side doors opened, and the movement drawing Von Schönberg’s attention to the spot made him realize the door had already been open a crack. When both doors had swung wide a tripod mounted machinegun was exposed. The gun crew lifted the mount, then gave it a heave-ho into the sound. The profile of the machinegun was unfamiliar to Von Schönberg. Not a Maxim gun, and not a French design either. Whatever it was, three more followed it into the water in short order. For the next few minutes, rifles rained off the upper decks. Crates and more crates were tossed out through the cargo doors, and off the foredeck.

“There goes a lot more ordinance than I would expect that amount of infantry to be issued,” said Von Schönberg as he studied the scene. “They must have some artillery.” He played his binoculars over the foredeck and recognized some tarpaulin covered shapes. “Yes, definitely artillery. Now, the question is, what are we going to do with all these prisoners of war. I don’t suppose they will allow themselves to be paroled like that batch Lieutenant Von Spee rounded up. Prepare to lower a boat!”

Von Schönberg led a boarding party over to the Princess Sophia. He had prepared a sample parole document. The moment the commanding officer of the Canadian militia spoke, in the Sophia’s empty cargo hold, he knew it was for naught. The middle-aged lieutenant stood ramrod straight, and started the exchange with his name, rank and serial number with an Eton accent. Von Schönberg offered the surrendering officer the option of captivity as prisoners of war back to Germany, or parole. No harm in asking.

The Canadian Lieutenant, who maintained the most unflappable expression, was actually surprised. “Parole! I am afraid that is quite impossible!” he managed to respond.

“As you wish,” replied Von Schönberg. He detailed the rights and responsibilities of prisoners of war, and his expectations for the militia prisoners. “We have to get rid of these men somehow,” he said to himself. “Two hundred and fifty soldiers on board will be nothing but trouble.” Von Schönberg opted to lock up the militiamen, and have the Princess Sophia’s crew operate the ship under guard, escorted by the Galiano. He simply could not spare more men to act as a both a full prize grew and guards. Before heading back to the Nürnberg he looked under the tarpaulins on deck. A pair of 10.2cm naval guns were strapped down to the liner as deck cargo, their breech blocks missing and presumably overboard. “My, these would have been a nasty surprise to encounter in Prince Rupert, under different conditions,” he mused.

Von Schönberg addressed the captain of the Princess Sophia on the steamer’s bridge. “I regret that you have become caught up in this war, captain. This may seem not at all real to you, travelling your regular route in these familiar waters. But to be very clear, by carrying troops during wartime, you have made your vessel into a warship. My proper course, and a much simpler one for me, would have been to sink you with gunfire or torpedo, the infantry and all. Instead, I have decided to send your ship under escort to Alaska, put these troops ashore and let the Americans deal with them. According to the Hague Conventions, the soldiers should be interred there for the duration of the war. The Americans may see things differently, but it is in their interest to be scrupulous about their neutrality. In any case I will have done my duty. I am merely telling you so you understand this is the most humane course of action I can take. And by detaching my crewmen to guard the prisoners, I do so at some hardship to my own command. I cannot ask for your cooperation. But I invite you to see that the sooner you get these troops off your ship, the sooner you can go on your way. And I remind you that although my men are carrying rifles, they are sailors. They could sail your ship themselves if need be, although they might be more likely to put it up on some hidden rock.” The captain listened silently, with an expression of smoldering rage.

Von Schönberg also sent over the two militiamen that Lieutenant Adler had captured at the Prince Rupert rail bridge, one with his arm in a sling. A dozen of Nürnberg’s sailors remained on the Princess Sophia, armed with rifles and pistols. Several in the wheelhouse, several in the engine room, one guarding the wireless cabin. The 219 men of the 2nd Company, 6th Regiment, Duke of Connaught’s Own Rifles, and the 44 Naval Reserve gunners and their officers, were gathered in the main deck staterooms and dining room, barricaded from the rest of the ship behind walls of furniture and cargo. Several guards set up in the second class smoking room, watching the other side of the barricade, with a Spandau gun for good measure.

“Although those men surrendered in good faith,” said Von Schönberg, “I don’t want them to get adventurous ideas once Nürnberg is out of sight. The Galiano will escort them. If worse comes to worse, Galiano should be able to sink the Princess Sophia with that erbsenschütze of hers before running out of ammunition.

“You will not be able to catch us up, once we part ways,” said Von Schönberg to Hauptbootsmann Krüger of the Galiano. “When you have delivered those prisoners, rendezvous with the supply ships as best you can. You should move your flag to the Princess Sophia, so you will be able to deal with the authorities in Alaska face-to-face. And please, be careful to avoid annoying the Americans.”

https://avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/hague05.asp

 

[YYJ]

Aug 18, 0145 hours, SS Princess Sophia, Grenville Channel

Nürnberg and Princess Charlotte continued south blacked out in the dark, into the Inside Passage via Grenville Channel, while Princess Sophia and Galiano doubled back towards Chatham Sound and headed north. The captain of the Sophia knew the course well. Now that the war danger had passed, after a fashion, he ignored his standing orders and turned on the ships lights. Galiano remained blacked out and following close astern. At 12 knots, the convoy headed straight for the Holland Rock Lighthouse, surprisingly visible in the clear night now that the fog had dissipated. The wind picked up as the ships came into more open water.

Passing Holland Rock light, they turned due north, and passed by the entrance to Prince Rupert. An orange glow from the burning harbour illuminated the sky to the east over Digby Island. For the first time in what seemed like ages, the German crewmen felt the deck under their feet moving on actual ocean swells. For 5 hours the convoy travelled due north for through Chatham Sound and Oriflamme Pass, with the light from Green Island Lighthouse to their port. At first light, around 0545, the German sailors found themselves looking to the east down Portland Inlet, the maritime route to Anyox, from the spot where they had first encountered the SS Prince Rupert, just two days before. This time they turned west, away from the sunrise.

The sea and wind in Dixon Entrance were at Force Five, with the wave crests showing white horses. The coast of Alaska on their starboard was indistinguishable from the coast of British Columbia, mountainous and heavily treed. From time to time they passed fishing boats of both nationalities, keeping to their respective sides of the border. Neither Princess Sophia nor Galiano drew much attention. Both ships flew the Red Ensign. Both were well known on this coast. At 0845 they were looking down the entrance to Clarence Passage, the approach to Ketchikan, in brilliant sunlight.

“We are about to cross the International Boundary,” said the Princess Sophia’s captain.

Over on the Galiano, the officer of the watch ordered that the canvas cover be placed on the deck gun. “It is clearly a gun, but we look less of a menace with it politely out of sight. And stow away those Spandau guns.”

“Where do we stand, legally, as a belligerent Canadian warship entering a neutral country’s waters?” a junior sailor asked Krüger, on Sophia’s bridge.

“I do not rightly know,” said Krüger thoughtfully. “That’s what you get putting a petty officer in charge. My hope is that we will be in and out fast enough that we won’t need to know. If the Americans think it is important, they will probably shout the relevant articles at us through a bullhorn. I only have the article Captain Von Schönberg gave me relating to Prisoners of War.” The convoy turned north up Clarence Passage. They passed an American fishing fleet, thirty boats or more, all with their nets in the water. Half an hour later they passed a coastal steamer head on, which proved to be the Alaska Steamship Company SS Dirigo. Her bridge crew waved and tooted their whistle cheerily as they steamed by.

“So far so good,” Krüger shrugged. “No one seems to be treating this like an invasion, yet.” The convoy entered Nicholas Passage, towards Ketchikan, with the scenery laid out in the bright sunlight like a postcard.

https://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=1433

https://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=1390

 

[YYJ]

Aug 18, 0145 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Grenville Channel

Nürnberg and Princess Charlotte kept to the centre of Grenville Channel, and continued south for most of the night between Pitt Island and the mainland. The channel narrowed at times to 400 metres and ran straight as a rail, with only the occasional light of a moored boat to be seen. The night passed this way, with the dark forest scrolling by. They encountered no other traffic. At 0230 hours they passed the wharf and cannery buildings of Lowe Inlet. Von Schönberg watched the empty docks, the windows of the buildings, and the moored fishboats with trepidation. But he saw no sign that their fleet had been observed. At about 0415, they left Pitt Island behind and the passage opened into a wider sound, bounded by a number of islands. Here appeared a number of small fishboats up an inlet to their port side, showing running lanterns. Apparently fishermen getting an early start of it. The German fleet passed blacked out in the darkness. Looking back as they passed Von Schönberg saw the industrial buildings of a sawmill, and far off up the channel, the houses of a settlement his chart called “Indian Village.”

Another hour at 12 knots and several small course changes brought them close to the narrow entrance to Graham Reach, bounded on the ocean side by Princess Royal Island. The first glimmers of the dawn were just showing, red over the coastal mountains. The ships entered the channel , and continued south. Half an hour later, Princess Charlotte signaled for Nürnberg to change position so she travelled close by the Charlotte’s port side, line abreast. The liner turned on her running lights, while the cruiser remained blacked out. They passed a small fishing fleet this way, with the bulk of the Charlotte’s hull masking the cruiser. Did any of the fishermen notice? wondered Von Schönberg.

At 0615 the ships passed another cannery town to their starboard. This one was known as Butedale. “Prepare to jam wireless,” Von Schönberg ordered his operator. Again Von Schönberg scrutinized the passing town. A small steamer of about 1000 tons with a single funnel was tied up, the Union Steamship Cowichan. The wharves were alive with activity in the early morning light. European, Chinese, Japanese, and Indian fish plant workers were preparing for a shift. Did any of them see Nürnberg? He looked at the masthead of the Charlotte, to confirm she was flying the Red Ensign. The sunlight was diffuse, not shining directly on the cannery yet. Nürnberg was hidden behind the Charlotte, and dark against the dark background of the mainland. Through his binoculars, Von Schönberg saw no recognition on the faces of the workers that the Imperial German Navy was a stone’s throw away. No wireless transmissions were heard, and Nürnberg’s operator stayed off the key.

When they had left Butedale behind, Charlotte flashed a message:

SWANSON BAY PULP MILL 12 MILES AHEAD

Von Schönberg replied: PREPARE LANDING PARTY NURNBERG WILL COVER

https://search-bcarchives.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca/canneries-at-lowe-inlet

https://www.rdks.bc.ca/content/butedale-cannery-princess-royal-island-bc

 

[YYJ]

August 18, 0600 hours Prince Rupert.

Captain Fry opened his eyes, and lay still for a moment. The cot in his commandeered office was not comfortable, but it served the purpose. Then he sat bolt upright, remembering the events of the day before.

His list of priority actions sprang back into his head. After resolving the fracas at the hospital, he hadn’t managed to get Lieutenant Pope to dispatch the Fisheries Protection launch Ka Yex to the Inverness Cannery at the mouth of the Skeena until around 0100 hours. The launch was their best route to re-establishing contact with the telegraph line and alerting the rest of the province. But the launch would not reach Inverness for another hour, around 0200. The Ka Yex was then instructed to rouse her sister the Hawk at the Point Essington cannery, and then have the faster one of them head back up to the mouth of the Nass River and alert the third Fisheries Protection Launch the Linnet. Again, whichever was faster was ordered to continue to Anyox, to make contact with the smelter town. Once this game of tag was accomplished he would have three Fisheries Protection launches as his personal navy. None of them much bigger than a lifeboat, none armed with more than a rifle and none with a wireless. He needed a wireless.

The tug Dola, fighting the fire at the wharf was so equipped, but not with a very powerful set. She had been transmitting, but so far had received no reply. The Dola’s hoses were too valuable to detach her, and anyway the Fisheries launches were faster. So with those events set in motion, Fry had allowed himself to take some sleep at around 0200, so that his mental faculties would be available when he next needed them. He left orders to have him roused if the situation demanded.

In the morning light, Fry wondered again what had been done with the warning they had sent at 1820 hours the previous evening. Was the rest of the province on full alert? Was the HMCS Rainbow just outside the harbour entrance? He had no way of knowing. Fry got up from his cot, straightened his uniform, and put on his hat and boots. There was a knock on his door.

“Come,” Fry said, his first word of the day emerging as a croak. He cleared his throat. His Sub Lieutenant entered, with a thermos in one hand and a spent artillery shell in the other.

“Hot coffee, from the GTP Inn,” said the Sub Lieutenant. “They remained open all night serving the released detainees and the fire brigade.” The young officer placed the projectile on Fry’s desk with a clunk. “This was recovered from a linen closet on the top floor of the Savoy hotel.”

Fry unscrewed the cup from the top of the Thermos and poured himself some coffee. It tasted very good. He examined the projectile. It was a piece of solid shot, weighing about 6 pounds as he hefted it. The nose was chipped half away, as if it had hit something very solid. On its base it read 57mm, with the lettering in Cyrillic.

“Say,” asked Fry, “have we learned who sent the warning we received yesterday about the attack on Anyox?”

“We have not sir.”

“Hmmm. What other news?” Fry asked.

“The launch Ka Yex has returned. They found an active telegraph office at Inverness, woke the operator, and reported all to Victoria. The crew of the launch said there were lots of requests to ‘please repeat’ from the other end, but the message was passed on. I have learned that the telegraph office at Port Simpson is still active. Port Simpson is 15 miles away by water. Inverness is 12. So it’s a wash which is a better route to connect. I have confirmed that the rail bridge is fully collapsed into the stream. So we are completely cut off here on the island. The telegraph operator said they might be able to shoot a line across the gap with a rocket, and then use the bridge pillars as poles for a temporary repair. There is another cut in the line by Port Edward that will also need to be fixed. He did not expect a temporary telegraph repair to be completed before the end of the day, at best.”

“The Ka Yex also brought a message for you from Victoria, asking if the Princess Sophia had arrived with the 2nd company. She was due sometime around 0100 or 0200 hours. She has not arrived, sir.”

“That is troubling,” said Fry. “Could the Sophia have arrived both too late to deliver her troops and too early to avoid the Germans?” He had the 220 men of his command on board that ship. Fry poured himself a second cup of coffee, although he desired something stronger. The two men walked through the waking town, amazed that most was somehow intact, until they found a vantage point over the harbour.

The sun was coming up into a clear sky. The prevailing wind was brisk off the ocean, blowing most of the smoke eastward. The Government Wharf was reduced to a line of smouldering pilings for most of its length, but its eastern end and the ramp up to the town had been saved. The wharf could still accommodate a single steamer at a time, but the masts of the sunken Princess Ena warned of a hazardous approach from the west. The coal bunker was still aflame, with a red glow and dense black pall blowing east. The Dola now had her hoses playing over the shipyard fire. The shipyard was a steaming smoking ash pile. Most of the pilings had even burned to the waterline. In the middle was draped the sagging rusted wreck of a 500 foot long ocean liner, its sunken stern drooping down below the surface of the harbour.

“Have the Dola continue trying to reach the Princess Sophia,” said Fry. And keep me abreast of the efforts to repair the telegraph,”

https://search-bcarchives.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca/inverness-cannery-on-skeena-river

 

[YYJ]

Aug 18, 0715 hours. SMS Princess Charlotte, Swanson Bay, Inside Passage.

Princess Charlotte slowed, and rounded the point into Swanson Bay. “Take her wide around that point,” ordered Radl. Swanson Bay itself was round, and less than a kilometer in diameter. Swanson Bay, the town, was dominated by a white painted pulp mill complex that stepped up the hillside, topped with a tall brick smokestack encased in a trusswork tower on which was painted Swan Pulp Swan Lumber. The waterfront was built out onto a long wharf, with several large storage warehouses, a sawmill, and some smaller buildings. Behind the mill could be seen a waterfall running through a gap in the hills. To the left along the bay was a line of white peaked-roof houses, sitting above a wooden sea-wall. Smoke rose from each house chimney. The plank wharf-top was littered with cargo and construction materials. At the wharf was moored the 1200 ton Canadian Pacific Railway Steamship Princess Beatrice, with some smoke showing from her single stack. The southern end of the bay held a booming ground of floating logs.

Princess Charlotte pulled up to the wharf, and drew some curious glances from the stevedores due to her unscheduled arrival. When she had tied up, Von Spee had the Naval Ensign run up the mast, sounded the siren, uncovered the guns, and two dozen armed sailors deployed on to the wharf. Nürnberg rounded the point, with her Naval Ensign flying, and sounded her siren.

“Clear the wharves!” shouted the petty officer in charge. The stevedores looked at the Germans like they were crazy. A group of workers who were laying planks on a part of the wharf surface looked up and leaned on their tools. The landing party split into two, and began to clear the wharf-top with fixed bayonets. One section headed for the Princess Beatrice, and started ordering her crew off as they were still approaching down the dock. Workers in the warehouses withdrew in the direction of the mill , seemingly not from fear or desire to comply, but in order to avoid whatever madness had possessed these sailors. The landing party urged them to hurry up, shouting in poor English and German.

The dock workers of Swanson Bay vacated the wharf top, seemingly more irritated than terrified. The party capturing the Princess Beatrice left two men on the wharf as sentries, and two on deck, the rest disappeared below shouting orders. The party occupying the storage sheds called back to the Princess Charlotte, and a pair of men toting a wooden crate ran to join them. Two armed sailors stood guard in front of each storage shed, the rest of the men busied themselves inside.

Civilian sailors began stepping off the Princess Beatrice in ones and twos. The landing party in the warehouses finished their tasks, then emerged and milled about waiting for the rest of their cohort to clear the steamship.

Von Spee and Radl watched from Princess Charlotte’s bridge wing. “I have a bad feeling about this,” said Von Spee. “We are taking too long.” He looked at the wide yard between the wharf and the pulp mill. “We have not even started to approach our main objective yet.” He saw groups of men starting to form at the entrance to the mill, and in the residential area to the west. A knot of CPR sailors walked off the Beatrice, as some argument seemed to be completed. The two German sailors carrying the wooden crate trotted over to the Canadian steamship.

Eight German sailors from the Beatrice boarding party joined the ten assembled in front of the storage sheds, and together they advanced on the mill. When they were halfway across the yard a shot rang out. The CPR crew on the wharf scattered.

“What was that?” exclaimed Von Spee. “Another shot rang out, then another.” Von Spee looked through his binoculars at the landing party. They had stopped advancing and were taking cover behind a chest-high stack of lumber. One man was lying on his back, in the open. A sailor ran out to assist him. Another shot sounded, and the second man fell as well.

https://searcharchives.vancouver.ca...d51215-347c-48d7-9c68-dcc500b5cc44-A63962.jpg

https://searcharchives.vancouver.ca...d7bcc9-8008-49ba-a27c-85b28b6b7de2-A63963.jpg

https://search-bcarchives.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca/swanson-bay-pulp-and-paper-mill