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

[YYJ]

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.

 

[YYJ]

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!”

 

[YYJ]

Aug 20, 1300 hours, HMC Dockyard Esquimalt.

The Senior Intelligence Officer was attempting to stave off despair. If the glut of reports of suspicious ships and activity had been overwhelming on days previous, it only became more so with each passing day, even discounting the wireless distress calls that were known to be bogus.

CGS Newington had been dispatched to chase down reports from fishermen of a Chilean barque coaling a German cruiser in Belize Inlet, off Queen Charlotte Sound.

CGS Alcedo was investigating an overheard plot that German merchants were provisioning a warship at Minstrel Island in Knight inlet.

CGS Malaspina, sister ship of the missing patrol vessel Galiano, was responding to reports that a gang of German Americans and Fenian Irishmen were gathering a fleet of expediently armed vessels at Roche Harbour at San Juan Island, and were preparing to mount an invasion of Victoria. The United States Revenue Cutter Service vigorously denied this claim, and had a ship mirroring the Malaspina’s every move, each on their respective side of the maritime border.

Captain Blake of CGS Falcon was also having sharp words with the United States Revenue Cutter Service as he tried to confirm the veracity of reports that a cruiser had recently been coaling off Prince of Wales Island in Alaska. Yes, the USRCS was aware of these reports. Yes, the United States of America took its responsibilities as a neutral very seriously. No, the Falcon cannot enter American waters to investigate herself.

None of these reports were themselves impossible. Recent events had shown that the German Navy was behaving aggressively almost to the point of recklessness. But the local population had become so jumpy that every sea lion head had now become a U-Boat periscope.

So when he received yet another report of suspicious activity, well, it had to take its turn.

CAPE BEALE LIGHTHOUSE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT SIGHTED THREE LARGE OCEAN GOING SHIPS IN CONVOY ENTERING NEWCOMBE CHANNEL STOP

The Intelligence Officer reported this to RNO Trousdale at their now hourly briefing.

“Does Cape Beale Light have its own wireless?” asked Trousdale.

“The light is in close proximity to Bamfield Telegraph Station, sir,” replied the Intelligence Officer, “so they have a telegraph line to the town, then to here by the All Red Line.” The All Red Line was the British Empire’s global telegraph system, with the Pacific terminus of the submarine cable at Bamfield.

“Hmm, so these ships… A German prize fleet finding a sheltered place to coal?” Trousdale floated this as a question.

“Or ships caught at sea running to the first anchorage,” countered the intelligence officer. Then he shrugged.

“What of the lighthouse at Amphitrite Point, at Ucluelet?” asked Trousdale.

“That light was destroyed by a tidal wave in January,” answered the intelligence officer. “Only the most rudimentary temporary light is in place, until the new tower is built.”

“Query the harbour master at Ucluelet, ordered Trousdale, unconcerned. “Their telegraph line is particularly bad, as I recall. But the lifeboat station has some kind of wireless do they not?”

“I believe they do”, answered The Intelligence Officer, already turning the page to the next item.

For the next half hour the Intelligence Officer received updates.

TELEGRAPH LINE TO UCLUELET NOT OPERATIONAL AS OF 1130 HOURS STOP

DOMINION WIRELESS STATION PACHEENA POINT TO HMCD ESQUIMALT UNABLE TO MAKE CONTACT WITH UCLUELET STOP WILL CONTINUE AND UPDATE STOP

At 1400 hours the Intelligence Officer received, in the constantly growing pile on his desk, CAPE BEALE LIGHTHOUSE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT SIGHTED ANOTHER LARGE OCEAN GOING VESSEL HEADED INTO NEWCOMBE CHANNEL IN COMPANY WITH SMALL STEAMER STOP THIS OCEAN LINER OF 10000 TONS PLUS STOP

His curiosity was piqued enough to ask for clarification.

HMCD ESQUIMALT TO CAPE BEALE LIGHTHOUSE QUERY ARE ANY OF THESE VESSELS WARSHIPS STOP HOW MANY FUNNELS ON THE BIGGEST LINER STOP

CAPE BEALE LIGHTHOUSE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT NO WARSHIPS STOP SMALLER STEAMER IS PERHAPS WHALER STOP BIG LINER HAS TWO FUNNELS STOP

When the Intelligence Officer next met with Trousdale they lingered on this item.

“What the devil is going on in Barclay Sound all of a sudden?” asked Trousdale.

“Considering the extent of excitement hereabouts, I expect it is nothing. Perhaps, as the latest message suggests, something happening at the Sechart whaling station,” answered the Intelligence Officer. “But it could be the Nürnberg’s prize fleet. Or if you want me to speculate on a darkest scenario, according to Royal Navy Intelligence, the German East Asiatic Squadron has two armed merchant cruisers. Currently unaccounted for. The Prinz Eitel Friedrich, and the Ryazan. Russian and Japanese Intelligence report that the steamer the Ryazan was captured by a German cruiser off Korea on the 4th of August, and taken back to Tsingtao to be armed.”

“Wonderful.” said Trousdale dryly. “The more the merrier. How large are these German merchant cruisers?”

“The Prinz Eitel Freidrich is fully 16,000 tons, the Ryazan is smaller, but I can’t say offhand.”

“Could those ships actually make it to this coast in this time?” asked Trousdale. “We are still waiting for the Newcastle to arrive from Yokohama.”

“Unknown, sir,” answered the Intelligence Officer. “They are both fast ships, but we don’t know their starting positions.”

“Don’t those biggest German liners all have four funnels?” asked Trousdale.

“Prinz Eitel Freidrich has two sir. I checked,” answered the Intelligence Officer. “Next order of business, sir?”

“Hold on,” said Trousdale, “I suppose we should investigate.” I will order Bamfield telegraph station to put some of their militia garrison in a boat and pop over to see what is going on. What is our closest armed patrol vessel?”

“The CGS Restless is off Sooke at the moment, patrolling the Strait,” answered the Intelligence Officer.

“Hmph,” snorted Trousdale, “Restless is too slow. Can we send the Malaspina?”

“Malaspina is occupied off the San Juans, but we could dispatch her to Barclay Sound when she is finished there.”

“Yes, I will order her to do that, at the captain’s discretion,” said Trousdale. “And then the Rainbow will be passing right by. That would be something, if the Rainbow could bag a whole fleet of German prize ships and merchant cruisers, wouldn’t it? When will she be off Barclay Sound?”

The Intelligence officer did some math. “She is observing wireless silence, but if she has kept to her original timetable Rainbow should arrive off Barclay Sound around 0500 hours tomorrow morning.”

“First light,” said Trousdale. “Very good. One really does not want to trifle with Barclay Sound in the dark.”

Cape Beale Lighthouse

Photographs, history, travel instructions, and GPS coordinates for Cape Beale Lighthouse.

www.lighthousefriends.com

Amphitrite Point Lighthouse

Photographs, history, travel instructions, and GPS coordinates for Amphitrite Point Lighthouse.

www.lighthousefriends.com

 

[YYJ]

Aug 20, 1400 hours. SMS Nürnberg, Ucluelet Harbour.

Ucluelet was a fishing port and supply hub for the Barclay Sound and peninsula population: a scattering of optimistic homesteading farmers straight from England pitting their willpower clearing fields against the stubborn primeval rainforest, the even more optimistic placer gold miners sifting the stingy black sand of Wreck Bay, and missionaries that attended to the number of Indian reserve settlements. Ucluelet, Toquaht, and Tseshaht people made up most of the local population, but around 100 whites lived in the town and were responsible for the church missions, the shops and stores, the lifeboat station, the small sawmill and shingle mill, and, as the German landing party discovered, an extraordinary diversity of bright luscious Rhododendrons gardens. Further west in the harbour inlet, a small herring saltery was operated by several Japanese families. The non-Indian population was small enough, in fact, that they all fit inside Saint Aiden’s on the Hill, the Anglican church overlooking the harbour, when Lieutenant Von Spee’s landing party politely but firmly rounded them up at bayonet point and corralled them there.

Princess Charlotte had created quite a stir among the locals when she had arrived at the government dock, built for ships a third of her size. Much of the population had turned out to gawk, which had helped Von Spee’s landing party take them all prisoner, and seize the telegraph office. Two boats with boarding parties were poised to rapidly capture any wireless equipped ships in port. Von Spee’s quick survey of the visible masts of the moored fishing fleet revealed only two wireless antennas, on a pair of rusty whaling ships rafted together at anchor, tarpaulined and showing no smoke. When boarded, the whalers proved to have no crews aboard. So the town appeared to be deserted when Nürnberg, and her supply fleet entered the harbour.

Nürnberg, had only been anchored in the harbour outer basin for a less than half an hour, when a very attractive two masted sailing ketch of about 15 metres came alongside, escorted by SMS Galiano. Captain Von Schönberg met the crew of the sailboat at the rail. He had Nürnberg’s steam launches and Galiano patrolling Newcombe Channel, rounding up any stray fishing boats. But this boat had not been captured, they had come to meet him. This must be that Trade Commissioner from Vancouver he had been ordered to pick up so long ago.

First up Nürnberg’s ladder was a tall broad self-important man who was clearly a career bureaucrat. He introduced himself as Augustus Meyer, Trade Commissioner, and immediately treated Von Schönberg to a speech so turgid that the captain half expected he was about to be made a Knight of the Order of the Black Eagle.

When Meyer was finished, he proudly introduced the other two sailors. “Captain Von Schönberg, may I present Herman and Heinrich Mueller, licensed pilots in the waters of British Columbia. These men wish to offer any service that can be of use to His Majesty’s Imperial Navy.”

Von Schönberg shook the men’s hands. “Welcome aboard gentlemen. I can think of several things you can do for us, offhand. Come this way.” Well, well. Herr Meyer does know how to present a gift after all. The captain ordered SMS Galiano back offshore as an overwatch picket, then lead his two new pilots up to Nürnberg’s bridge.

Outside, the harbour of Ucluelet was a hive of activity. Four large seagoing vessels were engaged in fueling operations. After disembarking the armed landing party, Princess Charlotte had backed out into the harbour outer basin and moored alongside the tanker Desalba. Hoses were rigged, pumps turned on, and the liner’s fuel oil tanks were quickly replenished.

“If only fueling Nürnberg was so easy,” Von Schönberg sighed, jealously.

Nürnberg was anchored a ship’s length away from the liner and tanker, alongside the collier Bengrove. The crew of both ships labored under a dark pall of coal dust, topping up the cruiser’s bunkers. Nürnberg was not exactly low on coal, but Von Schönberg wanted to be able to chase or run without worry, and he did not know when, after today, he would have such a perfect setting to coal. Nürnberg sat with her bow facing the harbour mouth, and her boilers fully stoked.

The bay was criss-crossed by German ship’s boats running a variety of errands. Food was being purchased from the town’s chandleries and stores. Since the proprietors of these businesses had been herded into the church, the German crews did their own math and paid with piles of Canadian dollars from the confiscated Anyox payroll, left sitting on each store counter along with a written tally and held in place with a paperweight.

Ucluelet’s fishing fleet amounted to several score of assorted fish boats tied up to wharves, sitting at anchor, or pulled up on the beach. These the Germans ignored. The two rusty whaling ships, each the general size and design of the Galiano, sat idle at anchor and unmanned, waiting to be refit and sent out on their next voyage to feed the voracious whale rendering factory up the Sound at Seshart. The whalers had critical engine parts removed and thrown overboard, and were then scuttled in place.

At 1415 hours the shore party watch station set up in the ruins of Amphitrite Point Light sent the semaphore message FRIENDLY SHIPS APPROACHING. At 1445 hours, Galiano rounded Francis Island and entered the harbour. Von Schönberg noted with surprise that the patrol ship was followed by a great column of smoke, showing over the rock outcroppings and trees of the harbour mouth. But the Galiano was maneuvering as if all was well, and sounded no alarm. In minutes his curiosity was satisfied. First he saw five funnels moving over the intervening terrain, and four masts with a pair of Imperial Naval Ensigns flying high, then emerging from behind the point, the distinctive ram bow of SMS Leipzig.

SMS Leipzig - Alchetron, The Free Social Encyclopedia

SMS Leipzig (His Majesty's Ship Leipzig) was the sixth of seven Bremenclasscruisers of the Imperial German Navy, named after the city of Leipzig. She was begun by AG Weser in Bremen in 1904, launched in March 1905 and commissioned in April 1906. Armed with a main battery of ten 10.5cm (4.1in)

alchetron.com

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9e/View_of_fishing_boats_in_Spring_Cove%2C_Ucluelet%2C_Vancouver_Island%2C_B.C.%2C_May_2_%2817081448721%29.jpg

Ucluelet. - RBCM Archives

RBCM Archives

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Ucluelet - RBCM Archives

RBCM Archives

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Wharf At Ucluelet - RBCM Archives

RBCM Archives

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St. Aidan’s congregation alive and thriving in Ucluelet

No church, no problem for local congregation and Reverend Will Ferrey

www.westerlynews.ca

 

[YYJ]

Aug 20, 1500 hours. SMS Nürnberg, Ucluelet Harbour.

On Von Schönberg’s orders, the Nürnberg sounded her siren in a series of short greeting whoops. A great hurrah rose up from the German sailors on Nürnberg’s fleet and ashore, and an answering cheer was heard faintly across the water from Leipzig. The newly arrived cruiser turned and entered the harbour at dead slow. Following close behind Leipzig, Von Schönberg was astonished to see an ocean liner of no less than 10,000 tons. The liner did not even consider entering the small outer basin anchorage, and slowly drew past the harbour mouth up the channel outside. Clearly, there were stories to be told, and plans to be made.

Nürnberg had been coaling for hours and was essentially topped up, so she cast off to make space for Leipzig. After rafting beside Bengrove, and commencing to top up his own bunkers, Friggattenkapitan Haun took a boat over to Nürnberg, to meet with his superior officer.

Nürnberg anchored at the very mouth of Ucluelet harbour, concealed from seaward except for her smoke, but ready to dash out to sea on very short notice. Galiano passed her by and headed out to resume her role as patrol ship.

“Well, well!” said Von Schönberg, as Captain Haun climbed Nürnberg’s ladder. “I see someone has been busy.” The men shook hands, having last met off the coast of Mexico well over a month ago, before there was even a hint of a war.

“I could say the same of you,” responded Haun jovially. “Not enough to just find a secluded inlet, eh? You have to invade Canada, again.”

“Yes, well, I was bought here by the same orders you were,” said Von Schönberg, “to meet with this trade commissioner, and I have some good news about that. But once we came here, we simply had to take measures to prevent our presence from being reported, for now.” He gave Haun a quick briefing on their situation. Then he fed Haun the opening for what he was obviously dying to talk about. “So what is it with that great big liner? I’m surprised such a prize is available for the catching these days.”

“Yes, she is fine, isn’t she,” answered Haun, beaming. “RMS Niagara, from the Union Line of New Zealand. Apparently they consider their commerce to be so important that they continue, despite the shipping stop. Which is fortunate for us. We ran into her out of the blue this morning, well off shore, but in the shipping lane to Vancouver. She had the nerve to try an outrun us! If you can imagine. And it took us a while to chase her down. She got up to faster than seventeen knots. Over 13,000 GRT. We have been completely dry for our whole time here, not a prize to be had on the entire coast of America. They we bag 13,000 tons in one go!”

Von Schönberg had been nodding along with Haun’s story. “She would make an excellent armed cruiser,” he remarked.

“Yes, and the Brits won’t be able to use her for that now, or as a troopship. She is taking up 70 of my men, as the barest skeleton crew and gaurds. Unfortunately,” said Haun sadly, “she is oil fired, so we can only do so much with her.”

“As things turn out,” Von Schönberg interjected, smiling, “We picked up a full oil tanker in Prince Rupert harbour. We have four thousand tons of fuel oil on tap.”

“You seem to have had some success in these waters,” offered Haun appreciatively.

“That we have.” Von Schönberg replied, with false modesty. “Thirty three vessels, thirty five now if you count those whalers,” he said, gesturing at the tilting masts sticking out of the north end of the harbour. “A total of 85,000 tons sunk or captured. As well as destroying a copper smelter, two wood pulp mills, a 20,000 ton floating dry dock, a key railroad bridge, and capturing and interning a company of infantry.”

Haun raised his eyebrows and whistled. “Yes, I read about that last one in the San Francisco Chronicle. Did you know I was interviewed in the San Francisco Chronicle?”

“How about that?” said Von Schönberg. “Performing your role as a cultural ambassador in neutral America, no doubt.” He chuckled, then said with mock exaggerated enthusiasm, “And I, in turn, was interviewed in the Anyox and Alice Arm Herald.”

The two captains’ conversation was interrupted by a great laughter close at hand. Lieutenant Radl had been approaching the officers, and caught the last half of the conversation. “Oh my lord!” he exclaimed. “If that is the kind of pissing contest you two are going to get into I am terrified of our next adventure.”

“Captain Haun,” said Von Schönberg, “let me introduce Lieutenant Radl.”

https://searcharchives.vancouver.ca/uploads/r/null/9/3/937312/1ce75365-2dad-4c7f-843e-7bb7bce185cd-A29851.jpg

Screw Steamer NIAGARA built by John Brown & Co Ltd. in 1913 for Union Steamship Co. of New Zealand Ltd., London, Passenger / Cargo

Screw Steamer NIAGARA built by John Brown & Co Ltd. in 1913 for Union Steamship Co. of New Zealand Ltd., London, Passenger / Cargo 19/06/1940 ran on to a mine in 35.53S - 174.54E laid by the German auxiliary cruiser ORION off Bream Head, Whangarei on passage Auckland for Vancouver.

www.clydeships.co.uk

 

[YYJ]

Aug 20, 1600 hours, SMS Galiano, Barclay Sound

Hauptbootsmann Krüger found it amusing that he was on the sharp edge of the flotilla, with this captured fisheries patrol vessel. Despite the armament, the Galiano was simply not a warship. He was grateful to have command of his own ship, at the rank of petty officer first class. And he supposed if he was back home in Germany, he could just as well be commanding a boat this size on some river emptying into the Baltic, being sniped at by irate Poles or Cossacks, or Lithuanians. This was probably better.

Still, the landscape in this country unnerved him, with these huge trees and tall mountains, and exotic wild animals. The way of the world before people had crawled out of their caves. As Galiano pulled out of Ucluelet harbour, into Newcombe Channel, one of the rocks to his starboard was covered with creatures that looked like walruses, but that couldn’t be right. At closer glance, they seemed to have no tusks, so maybe they were some other kind of giant sea cow. He had never paid attention to these things in grade school.

Newcombe Channel, according to the Galiano’s charts, was 2 nautical miles wide and 4 long, bounded on the north and west by the mass of Vancouver Island, the level forested shoreline rearing up into a range of mountains inland. To his starboard was the rest of Barclay Sound. The Broken Islands Group formed a maze of channels more land than water. Beyond the Broken Islands was another open stretch of water called Imperial Eagle Channel, then another wall of Islands, then narrow Trevor Channel then, 15 nautical mile to the south east, Bamfield Transpacific Cable Station. All the solid ground above the high tide level was green with cedar and fir trees, and the bare black wave swept rocks were draped in golden seaweed.

It was a testament to Captain Von Schönberg’s bravado, reflected Krüger, that he was hiding his fleet in this bolthole, mere miles from a telegraph station that was instantly connected to the farthest corners of the British Empire. In their briefing, the captain had emphasized that this would be another brief stopover. Lieutenant Radl had spelled out the security hazards for the patrols to be aware of: the tall lighthouse at Cape Beale had a commanding view of the entire Sound, but at 18 miles south east of Ucluelet, was unlikely to be able to see much detail. Only time would tell if the ruse of hiding the warships behind the large merchant ships had been effective. At the north end of the Sound was the Seshart whaling station. This was presumed to be still connected by telegraph to the rest of Canada, so it was to be avoided. And Radl had also repeated, if it was not deadly obvious, that the Sound was full of concealed reefs. Of this, Krüger had no doubt. Looking out towards to open Pacific, he could see surf breaking on a number of rocks, like jagged black teeth.

Just outside Ucluelet harbour, the Liepzig’s prize liner was anchored. The giant stern, with Niagara – London painted on the fantail loomed over Krüger’s head as Galiano steamed past. The tanker Desalba was following the patrol ship out of the harbour, so as to top up the liner’s fuel tanks with oil. Galiano had already coaled earlier. He marveled at the handsome vessel, completely incongruous in this wilderness setting. She was like a floating city, over 150 meters long. What was Von Schönberg going to do with that? Faces of the interned passengers and crew looked morosely out from portholes on the lower decks.

A red flare rose above the waters of the Sound. Krüger stepped out onto the bridge wing, and focused his binoculars on the Nürnberg’s steam cutter two miles north of his position. The cutter was running east at full speed, chasing something. The men were lying low in the boat. Rifle barrels were aimed over the cutter’s stem. A splash as from a rifle bullet rose from the water beside. Krüger swung his binoculars to the right, until he found their quarry, a motor launch with a small cabin. Three men in green militia uniforms crouched behind the stern gunwales, aiming rifles. Several more heads peeked out inside the cabin, just high enough to be able to see over the foredeck. The rifles occasionally flashed, but the sound did not carry over the distance and wind and noise of Galiano’s passage. If there was any doubt, the launch flew a red ensign. As Krüger watched, the wind took one of the militiamen’s peaked hats and flipped it into the sea. The Nürnberg’s steam cutter was doggedly chasing the launch, but the interval between boats was neither opening nor closing. Both boats were bouncing over waves, slowing them and making marksmanship impossible. It was a low speed chase. The launch was making for a gap in the Broken Island chain, at what he estimated to be about 7 knots. The Galiano might not be fast, but she was twice as fast as that.

“Action Stations! All ahead full!” ordered Krüger. “Helm, set a course to lead and intercept! Navigator, keep your eyes on that chart! We need to stay off any hidden rocks!” The Galiano accelerated up to her full speed of 14 and a half knots. The crew of the 5.7cm deck gun, the gun the British called a 6 pounder, rammed a shell into the breech. The bridge crew heard tramping sounds on the wheelhouse roof as the Spandau gun up top was made ready.

In 15 minutes the Galiano closed the range to the Canadian launch to 2000 meters. The launch changed course to the north east. “The Canadians are trying to lure us up on a reef,” warned the navigator. “Two points to starboard.”

“Two points to starboard,” ordered Krüger.

“Two points to starboard,” echoed the helmsman.

The launch was steering for a small treed island, perhaps half a kilometer end to end. Kruger looked to the east, and saw that the sightline to Point Beale was masked by intervening islands.

“Fire a warning shot across their bow,” he ordered.

The 6 pounder boomed. A waterspout rose off the bow of the launch, a little too close. Splinters broke the windshield and small holes appeared in the hull. The launch did not slow, but did change course again, this time to run behind the approaching small island. The Nürnberg’s steam cutter was glued to the launch’s tail, 500 meters behind.

“Forty-nine shells left,” said Krüger. “We will not catch them before they get behind that island. Take us around the far side, and we will get them in a pincer.”

“That is Hankin Island,” said the navigator, reading off the chart. “We are good for depth, as long as we keep 50 meters off shore.”

The Galiano heeled over as she made a high speed turn to run around the island. The launch disappeared behind the rocks and trees. Then Nürnberg’s cutter was masked by the island as well.

Five minutes later, Galiano rounded the island, still leaning over in a turn. The launch had vanished. The Nürnberg’s cutter was there. The German boat had cut her throttle and was coasting to a stop. Sailors stood up and pointed at the shore, then ducked as rifle bullets whizzed past them.

“Stop!” ordered Krüger. Galiano put her engines astern and all grabbed on to the nearest fixture as the ship came to a sudden halt. A bullet smashed a bridge window. The stern of the launch was just visible in a small steep cove, run up on a shell beach, close against a tangle of driftwood logs. One of the militiamen was still scrambling up the steep rocky bank. Another bullet ricocheted off the foredeck, right beside the deck gun. The 6 pounder crew was very exposed, with no gun shield.

“Suppressive fire!” ordered Krüger. “All astern one half!” The Spandau gun on the wheelhouse roof opened up on the treed slope of the island. Galiano began to back away. The cutter had turned away as well, and was also putting some distance between itself and the belligerent militiamen. “Sink that boat!”

The 6 pounder fired. The shell exploded against the rock cliff face of the cove, just above and the right of the launch, pummeling the boat and the tree line with splinters and rock fragments. One of the Galiano’s gun crew was hit by a bullet, and fell to his knees. The 6 pounder fired again, this time into the trees. The explosion was lost in the thick forest, apparently to no effect. Galiano continued to back away.

“Forty seven shells left,” said Krüger to himself. “Clear the foredeck!” he ordered. The deck gun crew abandoned their position, dragging the wounded man with them. “Sink that boat with the Spandau gun!” The machinegun shifted its fire to the receding grounded launch. Bursts of dust from bullet impacts walked down the rock slope, then played over the launch. The boat’s hull was obscured by splashes. A small orange fire broke out. Then the stern began to sink, and the fire was extinguished. Galiano continued to back away. The launch came to rest on the bottom of the cove, with the bow up on the tiny beach, and sea lapping inside the cabin. Splashes from rifle bullets still rose from the water around Galiano, but she was too far off for accurate fire.

“Enjoy your castle,” said Krüger towards the distant militiamen. “I hope you like swimming.”

HMCS Galiano - Wikipedia

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[YYJ]

Aug 20, 1630 hours. SMS Nürnberg, Ucluelet harbour.

“I have my men going over all of the newspapers we could gather in the town,” said Von Schönberg conversationally to Haun. “To see what intelligence we can gather. It is amazing what information you can find in the shipping pages. They came up with this letter to the editor. I thought you might find it amusing.” The men sat at the table in the Nurnberg’s Captain’s cabin, sternmost compartment on Nürnberg’s upper deck. As it had been since the age of sail, the cabin had warlike duties when battle called, a 5.2 cm gun on each side of the cabin flanked the table, sitting behind folded shutters. These guns were, for the moment, uncrewed, as Von Schönberg had allocated his scarce manpower to the main armament. As he read, men shuffled into the room and stood waiting.

“This is from the August 19th edition of the Victoria Daily Colonist, page 11. ” Von Schönberg held up the paper and read. “Sirs, Having read in the local papers today the remarks reported to have been uttered by the captain of the German cruiser Leipzig before he left San Francisco, with reference to ‘the traditions of the German Navy,’ from which one would gather the navy had been long in existence, I cannot help recalling to my mind that the foundation of the present German navy was laid as recently as 1855. In that year the Prussian Government exchanged two double-ender paddlewheel gunboats of light draught for the 36-gun sailing frigate Thetis, to be used as a training ship for their future navy.” Haun raised his eyebrows as he listened, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning.

Von Schönberg continued reading. “The Thetis, under the command of Captain Kuper, was on this station in 1851-’52-’53. The names of the ship and her officers have been given to many islands etc. in these waters.

“Many of the officers and men of the Thetis were shipmates of mine in the Nile, and we had little thought when, on our return from the Baltic in 1855, and saw the old ship lying in the Hamoaze in Devonport, that she was to be the school for training sailors for a navy that 50 years afterward would threaten our shores.

“From this you will see that as the German Empire, founded in 1871, is one of the youngest of empires, so their navy, started by the Prussians, is not very old, and can hardly boast of many traditions.

“Thanking you for your courtesy in finding space for this letter. P.W. Rolston, Fleet Surgeon, R.N. (retired). Victoria, August 18, 1914.”

“How about that!” exclaimed Haun. “A history lesson. Thank you, Doctor Rolston.”

“Well then,” said Von Schönberg sardonically, “Let’s make some history of our own, shall we?”

While Liepzig was coaling, Von Schönberg had called a war council in Nürnberg’s commander’s cabin. Present were the captains of the two cruisers and their seconds in command; Lieutenants Von Spee and Radl from the Princess Charlotte, and the two newly arrived pilots. The Trade Commissioner Meyer was invited as a representative of the Imperial German Government, and also for his knowledge of the area’s economy and industry.

“Gentlemen, please sit.” began Von Schönberg. Chairs squeaked on the linoleum, and then were still. “We are gathered to our fullest strength,” he nodded to Captain Haun, “and we are coiled to strike. We are here on this coast in the enemy’s territory at a historical moment when our local superiority is almost absolute. It is incumbent on us to use this moment to the greatest effect to the war effort, for the glory of the Kaiser.”

All the voices in the room joined in with “Hear, Hear!”

“Tomorrow we are going to embark on our boldest strike yet, at the heart of the enemy’s port facilities in Vancouver, Victoria, and Nanaimo, and at their military establishment in Esquimalt. More than any other, I understand how risky a proposition this is, but we will never again be presented with such an opportunity. We would be delinquent in our duty to let this moment pass through an excess ofcaution.”

“Even now, this meeting could be interrupted at any second if our lookouts spot approaching naval units. But our best intelligence says that Royal Navy is still occupied trying to find Admiral Von Spee’s forces in the central Pacific, and Japan will not enter the war for another three days. Canada’s sole naval vessel on this coast is chasing phantom wireless messages 400 miles to the north. In any case either the Leipzig or Nürnberg could singlehandedly defeat this one obsolete Canadian cruiser without much difficulty.”

The naval officers perked up as the scope of the upcoming action was unveiled. Captain Haun in particular seemed enthused. “And what of the disposition of the submarines?” he asked.

“Submarines?” responded Von Schönberg blankly.

“Yes, the submarines the Canadians have at Esquimalt,” replied Haun.

Von Schönberg was speechless. He finally managed, “I have heard nothing of this. Please enlighten us.”

“I learned of them on the 6th,” replied Haun seriously. “From American marine wireless when we were off San Diego. I was surprised, but I did not expect their presence would change anything. If we were operating out of Wilhelmshaven we would have to be alert for submarines.”

“Yes,” replied Von Schönberg, “I suppose you are right.” He paused to internalize this information. “It should not affect our strategy. But we will need to adjust our tactics. We will have to post submarine watch, and keep our ships in motion all the time. A cruiser at speed will make a difficult target. But then, submarines or not, we were already intending to blow through the enemy waters like a gale.”

“Any other surprises?” he asked. “Vancouver is said to be without any coastal artillery. Is that still true? Gentlemen?” Von Schönberg gestured towards Meyer and the Muellers.

The Germans from Vancouver all looked at each other. “Yes,” said Meyer. “That is correct. Vancouver had no coastal artillery when we left, and there was no talk of obtaining any. Of course, we have been incommunicado for three weeks. I cannot speak of what I do not know.”

“Alright. I have crewmen reading all the newspapers we gathered in the Ucluelet,” said Von Schönberg, “We will see if they contain any intelligence on this front. In the meantime, I would like to present our objectives as I see them. Lieutenant Radl?”

Radl produced some charts, and laid out 3 sheets on the table: a large scale one of Georgia Strait and the Gulf Islands, and two of smaller scale, of Vancouver harbour, and of Howe Sound.

“Tonight, fortuitously, will be sailing under a new moon, which will be much to our favour,” Von Schönberg continued. “In order to arrive off the approaches to Vancouver at first light tomorrow, we will have to leave the harbour here at 2230 hours sharp. We will have just passed from maritime dusk to absolute darkness at that point, which gives us the added advantage of shielding our passage from all of the lighthouses along this coast. This far south some lighthouses are connected by telegraph, and they could spoil our surprise if they report our passage. I am leaving the Galiano here to cut the transpacific cable at first light. I am also going to take the residents of Ucluelet aboard the Niagara for the duration of the raid, to avoid any heroics. The residents may be able to be landed back here later, or they may just have to come along to Apia, or Panama, or wherever we next make landfall.”

“We will be starting with concrete objectives, but if targets of opportunity present themselves, we can strike those, at captain’s discretions. My criteria for action are maximizing economic damage to war industries, preventing or at worst minimizing civilian casualties, and getting us all safely back out to sea as quickly as possible. Once we reveal ourselves, we will be able to use wireless freely to coordinate our movements. Due to our need for swift action, we will be unable to stop and board vessels or occupy shore installations in most cases. We will be relying on our guns. So we will use our sirens and warning shots to give civilians notice to get clear. Again, God willing, we should be able to achieve our objectives with out harming any civilians.”

Von Schönberg moved over to the chart and began to point with his finger. “I have looked at the timeline, and we should be able to strike all of our targets on the Strait of Georgia and be headed seaward past Esquimalt again by 1400 hours. We will be using the chaos we create to prevent enemy response. I do not want to give them any time to consolidate their situational understanding.”

“Nürnberg will attack Vancouver. Leipzig will attack Nanaimo and targets to the north. Princess Charlotte will attack Ladysmith, and targets on Vancouver Island to the south. We should, God willing, rendezvous and return in convoy, to bombard Victoria and Esquimalt in company. For specific targets, I have a few in mind, but I now invite you all to contribute to the list, drawing from your familiarity with the locality.”

The men leaned over the charts and there was much discussion. Lists were made and notes were taken. The long lists were winnowed down to a manageable set of targets, and objections discussed until all were satisfied.

Gentlemen, it looks like we are agreed, said Von Schönberg. “Let us get some rest if we can.”

A junior officer arrived at the wardroom door. “Sir!” he addressed Von Schönberg, “I have found a reference to submarines in the August 6 Victoria newspaper, The Daily Colonist.”

“Please read it to us,” said Von Schönberg.

The junior officer held up the paper to his eyes. “Uhh… , here it is. Page 4. ‘The Premier's Assistance. It will be a matter of great satisfaction to the people of British Columbia to learn of the part which Sir Richard McBride has taken during the past few days in placing his personal services and those of his Government at the disposal of the naval and military authorities. What he has done towards securing the two submarines which arrived here yesterday involved the devotion of more time and energy that can be very well told…’ and then it goes on like that, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Von Schönberg. “So submarines it is. Lets rest those eyes, we leave the harbour in five and a half hours.”

The Daily Colonist (1914-08-19) : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

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The Daily Colonist (1914-08-06) : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

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Vancouver · Metro Vancouver, BC, Canada

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[YYJ]

Aug 20, 2030 hours. SMS Nürnberg, Ucluelet harbour.

A procession of lifeboats carried the population of Ucluelet out to the RMS Niagara, moored just outside the harbour mouth. The sun had set over the town, behind the Ucluth peninsula to the west, and the high wisps of cloud overhead were lit pink and purple. As the line of boats approached the harbour mouth a teenage boy sprang up, jumped overboard and swam for the treed north shore of the bay. The citizens of Ucluelet watched with hushed apprehension as the strokes of his arms crossed the water, then they and the German crews alike cheered as he arrived at the shore. A pair of German sentries met him at the waterline, and brought him back to the lifeboat, tired and dripping, in Leipzig’s dinghy.

Princess Charlotte topped up on ammunition for her 5.2 cm guns, her 3.7cm pom-poms, and her machineguns. Leipzig continued coaling as the sky dimmed, then darkened, and had finished loading her bunkers to their full 850 ton capacity at 2100 hours. The cruisers juggled their prize crew allotments, so that the collier Bengrove and tanker Desalba were now crewed by sailors from Leipzig, allowing Nürnberg to take back 54 sailors for the coming action.

Twenty of those men were immediately placed on the Galiano, to give her a landing party with which to carry out her coming foray against the Bamfield Transpacific Cable Station. The facility would reasonably be expected to have a garrison, and the presence of armed militiamen on the patrol launch that Galiano had driven aground earlier in the day tended to confirm the suspicion. “How large a garrison, we can only guess,” said Von Schönberg to Krüger, in their mission briefing. “The small number of men on the launch suggests a small unit, but we just don’t know. Destroying the shore facilities will be more effective, and interrupt the telegraph service for longer, but if the station proves to be too well defended, then cutting the land cable and the submarine cable will have to do. At least you will have that erbsenschütze of a deck gun to serve as a support weapon.”

Niagara, Bengrove, and Desalba headed directly out to sea in the very last light of the day. Von Schönberg watched their silhouettes shrink against the last glow of dusk, then disappear into the murk of darkness. All ships were blacked out.

At 2230, when it was pitch black, Nurnberg, Liepzig and Princess Charlotte left the harbour, passing the unattended dim temporary light on Amphitrite Point. The ships’ navigators had carefully studied the rocks lining Felice Channel on charts and in daylight, so as to stay off them in the dark. The warships headed west at first, to put safe distance between them and the darkened shore, and then turned south, towards the Strait of Juan De Fuca. Once they had sea room the ships proceeded in loose line ahead formation, with Nürnberg in the lead, followed by Leipzig then Princess Charlotte, with a kilometer between vessels and steaming at 18 knots.

As the warships moved off shore, the light of Cape Beale became clear. The ships were too far away to be illuminated by the lighthouse, but appreciated its guidance.

By 2330 the fleet was well off shore riding on ocean swells, and could make out the next lighthouse at Pacheena Point. “There is a Dominion Wireless Station located with that lighthouse,” said the pilot Mueller senior to Von Schönberg. “They could report our position on the way back.”

“Good,” said Von Schönberg. “I am glad to hear you are talking about the way back. I see I have inspired confidence.”

When August 21st, 1914 arrived at 2400 hours, the ships could clearly see in the blackness Carmanah Point Lighthouse ahead to their port, and the Cape Flattery light to starboard. These lighthouses defined the entry to the Strait of Juan de Fuca between southern Vancouver Island and Washington State in the neutral United States of America. The chart showed the Strait to be uniformly 10 nautical miles wide and 60 long, until it widened at Victoria, and branched into a T, south to Puget Sound and Seattle, and north to Vancouver and Georgia Strait, separating Vancouver Island from mainland British Columbia.

The international boundary ran down the length of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, on the centerline, leaving a 5 mile wide strip of Canadian waters for the Germans to use. Von Schönberg intended to be very scrupulous about observing American neutrality. Still he kept the fleet as close to the boundary as he dared, in order to keep his ships removed from anyone who might be looking towards the sea from the Canadian side. The Perseid meteor shower was waning, well past its peak, but still provided an orange trail in the sky every few minutes. The stars were bright in the black sky, and gave some perspective on their path where they were eclipsed by distant jagged mountains on either side of the Strait.

At 0100 hours, charts showed the squadron to be off Port Renfrew, a logging and fishing hamlet at the southern end of the West Coast Lifesaving Telegraph Trail. The trail was established in 1906 after the deadly wreck of the SS Valencia, to provide some hope of salvation to the survivors of the frequent shipwrecks on this wild rocky shore. Here the blacked out squadron passed within 3 miles of HMCS CC-1, running on the surface with her diesel engines, also blacked out, and on the northern end of her patrol pattern. Neither of the forces noticed the other in the dark Strait, over the sounds of their own machinery. At 0115 hours, GGS Malaspina, steaming west at 14 knots blacked out, missed the German squadron in the dark at a distance of 4 nautical miles, and they passed each other oncoming at a combined speed of 32 knots.

At 0145, the German squadron passed Jordan River, where a logging camp lay on the estuary at waters edge, and far upstream, lost in the forest, sat the hydroelectric plant providing electricity to the city of Victoria. Von Schönberg, on Nürberg’s bridge, was in the midst of commenting to Mueller how he felt reassured to be under the same constellations as in Germany, when all were blinded by a sudden bright light. A searchlight was playing over the bridge. “Action Stations!” called Von Schönberg, even though the guns were already fully manned.

The searchlight lingered on the Nürberg’s bridge windows for a few seconds, then wandered over her hull and rigging, looking for her ensign. Von Schönberg did not need binoculars to see the vessel in detail. She was a steam tug, with a large deckhouse and single funnel, and a small gun on her foredeck manned and pointed at Nürnberg. A British Red Ensign flew from her jackstaff. The tug was perhaps 20 metres long, and only 500 meters off Nürnberg’s port bow.

“Illuminate!” Nürnberg’s four powerful searchlights pinned to tug to the spot. “Fire!” he ordered. Five 10.5 cm guns fired as one. The tug was surrounded by waterspouts. “Prepare to jam transmissions!” As Nürberg’s gun crews reloaded, the Liepzig straddled the tug with her opening salvo from 1000 metres astern, then Nürnberg hit her again with another broadside. The tug was saturated with splashes, and orange flashes marked a number of hits, but the small vessel was so obscured that it was hard to tell.

“Cease fire!” Von Schönberg ordered. The tug emerged from the spray, listing twenty degrees and missing large parts of her upperworks. Her hull was clearly of wooden construction, judging by the way it was coming apart. The crew of the deck gun had disappeared, if they had gotten a shot off there was no evidence of where it might have gone. The wheelhouse roof was missing. Grey steam poured from the ruin of her deckhouse amidships. Another three shell salvo from Leipzig lifted the sea skyward around the tug, and her funnel fell over. “Signal Cease Fire!”

The sinking tug rapidly drew astern, surrounded by rings of churned water, and still pinned in the white searchlight pools, as Nürnberg maintained her course at 18 knots. Several men dashed from the after deckhouse and jumped into the sea. The tug continued to list until she capsized and her upturned hull slowly sank. Leipzig passed the capsized hull by. Princess Charlotte lit the sinking wreck with her own searchlight, and began to slow.

STOPPING TO PICK UP SURVIVORS, the liner signaled by morse light. She was already swinging out a boat.

“Extinguish illumination!” Von Schönberg ordered. “Someone is bound to notice that!” he said. His eyes surveyed the shore, five miles or so away on either side of the Strait. Other than the distant lighthouses, not a light was to be seen on either shore, or on the sea. “I was so hoping to maintain surprise.” He lingered silently in thought.

“Wireless reports no transmissions from enemy vessel sir,” reported a sailor. “No jamming transmissions were made in response.”

Herman Mueller stood transfixed beside him, his face white, and knuckles as well from gripping the bridge rail. “So sudden…” he muttered to himself.

“Yes,” Von Schönberg answered. “This is war.” A thought struck him. “Signals, send a message to Leipzig…” A morse light message was flashed aftward to Leipzig, and moments later a strong wireless message was received, in clear, with the correct call sign.

RMS NIAGARA BLACKED OUT IN STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA COLLIDED WITH SMALL PATROL VESSEL STOP VESSEL CAPSIZED AND SANK WITH BOILER EXPLOSION STOP RENDERED ASSISTANCE BUT AFRAID ALL HANDS LOST STOP

The Tug Boat and Former Naval VesselRestless

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Carmanah Point Lighthouse

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[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0145 hours. CGS Malaspina, Near Port Renfrew, BC.

Lieutenant Allen McFarlane, CGS Malaspina’s Naval Reserve captain, noticed the distant sound of explosions and a play of lights on the water, perhaps 10 nautical miles astern in his wake.

RMS NIAGARA BLACKED OUT IN STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA COLLIDED WITH SMALL PATROL VESSEL STOP VESSEL CAPSIZED AND SANK WITH BOILER EXPLOSION STOP RENDERED ASSISTANCE BUT AFRAID ALL HANDS LOST STOP

The message included a position, actually 8 miles to the east. Malaspina had been within 2 miles of that position, just half an hour ago. So they had passed the Restless in the dark. That was no surprise, on a night like this. Even missing a liner like the Niagara, which he knew to be a giant of the New Zealand Union Steamship Line, was not at all unexpected, given the new moon and the shipping blackout. Crikey, he thought, a collision with a ship like that would be sudden and final. Far too many similar tragedies had happened in these waters, in the fog.

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO RMS NIAGARA ACKNOWLEDGE STOP MAINTAIN WARTIME BLACKOUT AND WIRELESS SILENCE STOP

“Helm,” ordered McFarlane, “reverse course, bring us about.” He ordered a heading to the reported position of the Niagara’s collision with Restless.

CGS MALASPINA RESPONDING TO EFFECT SEACH AND RESCUE STOP

McFarlane had been ordered to proceed to Ucluelet to investigate reports of mystery ships lurking, earlier in the afternoon. But he had been caught up in reconnaissance of a presumed invasion of Canada massing at Roche Harbour on American San Juan Island. It sounded absurd, but it seemed that with the declaration of war all previous points of reference had been lost, and anything was possible. The Malaspina had ended up toe-to-toe with the United States Revenue Cutter Unalga, staring at each other across the maritime boundary.

McFarlane had been briefed by Captain Trousdale, the Ranking Naval Officer, on the role of His Majesty’s naval forces on the West Coast of Canada, vis-à-vis neutral American authorities. On the one hand, it was important to make clear to the Yanks that despite the current paucity of forces in British Columbia’s waters, this was still the Royal Navy, and there would be absolutely no tolerance of American territory being used to marshal attacks against the Empire. On the other hand, the United States was Canada’s natural trading partner, and the friendship, family, and commercial relationships had evolved in place here since frontier days.

If the war went on for any length, it was likely that the US would come aboard on Britain’s side at some point sooner or later. This relationship was to be maintained and all incidents were to be avoided. It was a difficult tightrope to walk, and McFarlane was satisfied that he had given a credible performance. As he and the American Revenue Service captain had barked at each other, stone faced, through their loud hailers, he could tell that the Yank was irritated that shenanigans were being perpetrated on his soil, on his watch. So message successfully delivered, then!

And all most likely a wild goose chase. These mystery ships lurking were likely another one. After steaming away from San Juan Island at 1000 hours, he had put in at Esquimalt Harbour to embark part of a militia platoon, 30 men from the 88th Fusiliers, in case a landing force was needed in Ucluelet. This had set back his timetable so that Malaspina would be arriving off Barclay Sound no sooner than first light. Even later now that they were engaged in search and rescue.

Within the next few minutes, Malaspina received a number of messages, encrypted in either Merchant Marine or Naval code.

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO CGS RESTLESS PLEASE REPORT STOP
This message was repeated a number of times.

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO CGS MALASPINA SHERINGHAM POINT LIGHTHOUSE REPORTS LIGHTS AND APPARENT NAVAL GUNFIRE 8 MILES WEST OF THEIR LOCATION STOP

The claim of naval gunfire was familiar to McFarlane. The Authorities had prohibited all blasting for the first few days after war was declared, but had rescinded the ban. Since then every construction blast along the new Otter Point road and every farmer dynamiting stumps in Metchosin had elicited storms of reports of naval gunfire. There had even been a report of a Zeppelin attack in the hills of Colwood. The report had proved to be false.

On the other hand, this was the middle of the night. McFarlane had just heard explosions with his own ears, moments ago, even if they were far off and indistinct over Malaspina's engines. Could it have been the sound of a collision, followed by a boiler explosion? This description of the sounds did not quite ring true, but he could not testify. And the suggestive effect of the Niagara’s wireless report had him reviewing his fresh memory over and over.

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO CGS MALASPINA CAPE FLATTERY LIGHTHOUSE REPORTS SEEING LIGHTS AND HEARING SERIES OF EXPLOSIONS STOP

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO CGS MALASPINA JORDAN RIVER WORK CAMP REPORTS LIGHTS AND MUFFLED EXPLOSIONS DUE SOUTH STOP

Muffled explosions, agreed McFarlane. That was all he could really say for sure. He consulted with the navigator. Jordan River would be the closest report to the transmitted position, save for the liner Niagara herself. So he settled his mind on believing the Jordan River report to be the definitive one.

HMC DOCKYARD ESQUIMALT TO CGS MALASPINA CGS RESTLESS NOT RESPONDING TO WIRELESS QUERIES STOP FEARED SUNK IN COLLISSION STOP

Victoria was a small town, socially, and the Naval Reserve was a small cohort within. McFarlane knew almost every man on the Restless. The chief engineer was his estranged brother in law. The liner Niagara had reported performing a search, but had been ordered by the Navy back to blackout and silence. What had they missed? As the Malaspina settled into her new eastward course, retracing her last hours passage, he vowed that if any overlooked survivors were floating in the Strait, by God he would find them. “Give me every revolution you have!” he called down to the engine room.

Malaspina had recently passed the surfaced and blacked out HMCS CC-1 to the north at a distance of 2 miles westbound, as the submarine ran a north-south patrol circuit at 8 knots. Neither Canadian vessel noticed the other. Then as she turned back eastward, Malaspina passed CC-1 again to the south, this time at a range of only 500 yards.

HMCS Malaspina - Wikipedia

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[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0145 hours. HMCS CC-1, Near Port Renfrew, BC

Lieutenant Willie Maitland-Dougall was grateful that he was running these patrols in the month of August. He could not imagine what the sea keeping characteristics of this submarine would be in a winter storm. Boat One’s patrol circuit tonight off Port Renfrew placed her almost in the open Pacific, and the way the submarine rode the swells meant the bridge crew on top of the conning tower could only see when she crested the peak of a wave. Perhaps see was not the right word. With the new moon, the ocean was pitch black. The outlines of the mountain tops on either side of the Strait against the stars, and the distant blinking of the Carmanah and Cape Flattery light houses were the only points of reference in the dark tossing sea. The diesel engines roared their constant note in the background.

Lieutenant Commander Bertram Jones, the nominal commander of the submarine, stood behind Maitland-Dougall. He was taking a very hands-off manner in his training regime now, offering only a few words of encouragement or direction when required. The young sub lieutenant had executed a flawless practice torpedo attack the night before, and seemed to need no direction.

The boat’s wireless operator had been sending up steady reports of the chatter involving Malaspina, Restless, and Niagara, so the bridge officers knew the Canadian side of the Strait was lousy with blacked out ships travelling full speed ahead. A collision, although tragic news, was hardly unexpected. Maitland-Dougall was also out here in the middle of the night, rather than in his warm bed, because he was looking for the German Navy. It was incredible to him that despite the presence of the Germans off the coast of British Columbia as a documented fact, the enemy still possessed the ethereal quality of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. They had to be somewhere. He swept the Strait with his binoculars.

“Ship!” called the starboard lookout, facing the open Pacific. “… at least I think so sir. There is some movement off the port beam.”

Maitland-Dougall aimed his binoculars where the lookout indicated. He saw nothing in the blackness. He looked off to the side of his target. Using an old mariner’s trick, he allowed his peripheral vision to linger on the spot he wished to see, and there it was, a slightly darker motion against the wider darkness.

“Go to electric power!” ordered Maitland-Dougall. Within a few seconds the diesels were uncoupled and clattered to a halt, and the submarine moved almost silently on her electric motors. Now they could hear the engine noises of another ship. A small steamship, moving quickly. She was nearby, and closing, eastbound. “Prepare to fire torpedoes! Set for 28 knots!” he called. He could hear the splash of the vessels wake. He quickly sized up the situation. The ship would pass to the south of his boat, he now could tell. Right across his bow. He need not fear a collision. Could this be this the Malaspina? The vessel sounded smaller than a cruiser, but he supposed it could possibly be the Rainbow as well. Commander Hose had been maintaining wireless silence, so Esquimalt had not been updating her position.

He really had only seconds to decide on an attack or not. Boat One was slower than any possible adversary, doubly so running on her batteries, so once a ship passed by it was gone. There was no point in firing at a fleeing target. Any naval vessel would outrun his torpedoes in a stern chase. In this cold water, his Mark IV 18 inch torpedoes would be expected to have a range of around 600 yards at 28 knots, or perhaps 1400 yards at 20 knots. The weapons lacked gyroscopes, and he knew from sea trials that the torpedoes wandered lackadaisically at longer ranges. His best chance was close in, so he needed to fire side-on with a lead, from under 600 yards.

Challenging the ship would be suicidal, if it turned out to be the German Navy. Cape Flattery light flashed to the south, off the mystery vessel’s bow. Now was the time to fire, or not. Maitland-Dougall’s heart was in his throat. “I am not going to fire at an unknown ship,” he said aloud. He did not give the order. The lighthouse flashed again, as the ship passed in front, now too late for a firing solution. He recognized the silhouette of a Malaspina class patrol ship. A small red glow showed on the bridge wing, the cherry of a cigarette. He heard Lieutenant Commander Jones exhale loudly behind him. “Stand down torpedoes,” he ordered. His heart was pounding, but his mind was clear. “Resume patrol pattern.”

“Well done,” said Jones.

The noise of the passing patrol vessel faded to the east for several minutes afterward. Over the salt air and the diesel of Boat One’s engines, Maitland-Dougall could faintly smell tobacco smoke.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0200 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Strait of Juan De Fuca.

Von Schönberg stood on Nürnberg’s bridge wing, looking ahead into the blackness. He found the salt air and breeze had a way of clearing his mind. He had known he was gambling by attempting to slip past the patrols on the approaches to Victoria in the dark. Now he had lost that wager. The enemy defences were surely alerted. Still, he was committed to this action. His orders clearly said that his number one objective was commerce warfare. And he would have no greater opportunity to disrupt the commerce of the British Empire than this coming day. He was prepared to lose his command in the effort, if necessary. But with speed, and a little luck, they might just strike like a thunderclap, and then vanish again. Even now, with the alarm raised, he still may be able to baffle the Canadian defences by moving too quickly for them to react.

Nürnberg’s wireless operator reported traffic, in code, seemingly from all around, ahead and behind. Without direction finding equipment, the sources of the transmissions were not possible to plot. The ruse of the false message from Niagara had a double edge. It provided a tidy plausible explanation for both the noise out in the Strait, and the loss of the patrol craft, but had also drawn the attention of the Canadian command structure. Somewhere ahead in the dark, a man not unlike himself was busy tearing his hair out.

But what could the Canadians do? The fortresses at Esquimalt were unassailable, yes. But their guns, which had been state of the art around the time of Queen Victoria’s death, had depreciated in value with the rapid progress of technology in the intervening years. Nürnberg’s guns had fifteen to thirty times the rate of fire of the Canadian 15cm coastal artillery, but even that was of no consequence, because he had no intention of putting himself within their range. With a maximum range of 12,000 meters, his own guns had 4000 meters longer reach than the guns of Esquimalt.

Bombarding the Canadian port facilities from long range would mean reduced accuracy for Nürnberg and Leipzig, and therefore would waste more ammunition, that was true. He would have to closely watch consumption of his irreplaceable main battery shells. At this point, the part of his brain that was forever counting his coal and ammunition tally reminded him that Nürnberg had fired 69 main battery shells, all High Explosive, since August 16, so he had 1399 10.5 cm shells of all types remaining. In any case, the primary value of bombarding the Royal Navy’s only base in the Eastern Pacific, and the capitol of one of Britain’s colonies, would be symbolic. Poking John Bull in the eye with a stick. And thus an exercise in propaganda. For the newspapers. At naval college he had read the works of Mikhail Bakunin, and other radical thinkers, who had influenced the actions of men like Gavrilo Princip. Princip had, in turn, started this whole war with a pistol shot. The radicals had coined the term “Propaganda of the Deed.”

Haun’s revelation that the Canadians possessed submarines was unsettling. Von Schönberg had considered, for a moment, cancelling the whole operation. And the only intelligence he had was that word. Submarines. Apparently two. He had no information on the capacities of these boats, so he had to make some educated guesses. He imagined, for example, that they could not see in absolute darkness. He also imagined that the submarines would be slower than his ships, surfaced or submerged. He knew what his own torpedoes could do. Landing a coup de grace on a stationary and helpless foe was really what they excelled at. Not much more. But perhaps the Royal Navy had refined the technology to make something more deadly. If so, German Naval Intelligence was unaware. Ultimately, Von Schönberg was a traditional naval sailor, and his prejudices led him to regard unterseeboots as both inelegant and ungentlemanly. He held them in low esteem, in the same way that cavalry officers scorned the upstart technology of the machine gun as being incapable of constraining their service’s time honoured role on the battlefield.

At 0200 hours, the German squadron passed Sheringham Point Lighthouse. Von Schönberg was keeping his ships within 1000 metres of the International boundary as best he could. The lighthouse passed to his port at a range of 9-10,000 metres.

They passed the Lighthouse at Whiffin Spit, marking the entrance to the fishing port at Sooke Basin, just before 0230 hours, steering towards the lighthouse at Race Rocks, dead ahead.

The squadron rounded Race Rocks at 0240 hours, making a series of gradual turns to port that took them from an east-southeast coarse towards one of east-northeast, and still 10,000 meters off shore. As they did, the ports of Esquimalt and Victoria came into view. Powerful searchlights swept the black waters off the ports, one on each side of the mouth of Esquimalt harbour. In between flashed the beacon of Fisgard Lighthouse.

“I suppose those searchlights mean the harbour defences are on the highest level of alert,” said Von Schönberg. “For all the good it will do them.” The city lights appeared to be mostly blacked out. He surveyed the shore through his binoculars. “I estimate those searchlights are illuminating to a range of 5000 meters. They will not throw any light on us all the way out here.” The German ships hugged the International boundary and passed to the south of the sleeping ports at a range of 20,000 meters. Von Schönberg and the lookouts kept careful watch to see if any Canadian patrol vessels were lit up or silhouetted by the sweeping searchlight beams, but none were apparent.

At 0300 Von Schönberg passed due south of Trial Island Lighthouse, and soon left any evidence of the city of Victoria behind. “Don’t worry,” he reassured the dwindling city lights, “We’ll be back soon.” The ships turned northeast, towards Lime Kiln Point Lighthouse on the American side of the Strait. “Awfully generous of the Canadians to leave all their lighthouses on for us to navigate by,” he said.

“I could guide us through these waters with only the American light houses, if need be,” said the pilot Mueller, “even on a night as dark as this.”

Around 0330 the squadron again turned, this time north-northwest, up Haro Strait, on the main shipping lane to Vancouver, and aiming for Turn Point Lighthouse on American Prevost Island. Following the International boundary they wove a path through the Canadian and American Gulf Islands, and dark landmasses scrolled by on either side. The ships slowed in respect of the narrower channel.

The stars still shone brightly overhead in the black sky. At 0400 the ships passed the north end of American San Juan Island, and could see to starboard the lights of Roche Harbour, leisurely glowing with a neutral’s lack of concern for the war. “That is Sidney Island to our port,” said Mueller. “Just on the other side is James Island, with that Canadian Explosives Company plant I told you about.”

Von Schönberg consulted the chart. “That is less than 8000 meters from our current position,” he said. “We could bombard the factory from here, if we had a Zeppelin correcting our fall of shot. Well,” he said regretfully, “it will have to wait. And I believe Lieutenant Von Spee has been given that particular honour.”

Soon, almost imperceptibly, the stars began to dim. By the time Mueller directed Nürnberg to make a sharp turn eastward at 0430, the sky was noticeably turning from grey to deep blue, and the fainter stars had vanished, leaving a sparser field of stars on an navy background.

“Raise the Japanese Naval Ensign,” ordered Von Schönberg. “I had neither the time nor inclination to raise extra funnels or paintjobs and suchlike,” he said as an aside to Mueller. “So a simple false flag will have to do. I don’t imagine the Canadians are inclined to be unguarded towards strange warships showing up unannounced in their inshore waters at this point in the war, whatever flag we are flying, but this could bring a moment’s hesitation in our favour. And,” he said, pausing to consider the Japanese ensign as it rose up the main mast, “the rising sun does seem appropriate.” A kilometer astern, the Leipzig raised the Tricolore.

The Germans steamed through Boundary Pass towards American Patos Island Light, with the Canadian lighthouse at East Point on Saturna Island to their port bow defining the northern end of the channel. The dark shapes on either side of the pass gradually resolved themselves into treed islands in the faint but growing light. Leipzig and Princess Charlotte could now be seen, following. Smoke from the ships’ funnels made a dark smudge against the indigo sky.

“Ship!” cried a lookout.

“Guns!” ordered Von Schönberg. “Prepare to fire!” And he thought, these lookouts have remarkable eyes.

Race Rocks Lighthouse

Photographs, history, travel instructions, and GPS coordinates for Race Rocks Lighthouse.

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Fisgard Lighthouse

Photographs, history, travel instructions, and GPS coordinates for Fisgard Lighthouse.

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Category:Harbor Defense of Victoria - FortWiki Historic U.S. and Canadian Forts

Historic US and Canadian fortifications

www.fortwiki.com

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0445 hours, SMS Nürnberg, Boundary Pass

“Ship!” cried a lookout.

“Guns!” ordered Von Schönberg. “Prepare to fire!”

A steamer was emerging from behind American Waldron Island, ahead of the squadron and to the south-east. The vessel was really only visible as a dark shape moving against the dark backdrop of Orcas Island behind.

“Single funnel, no lights, armed, range 6000 meters,” called out the lookout. “In American waters.”

“Guns! Stand down!” ordered Von Schönberg. “Train fore and aft. Helm, keep our heading. Bring us back up to 18 knots.” The Germans were coming out of the confines of the shipping channel through the southern Gulf Islands and into the more open waters of Georgia Strait. They could not yet come up to full speed, since they would soon have to make several turns to follow the line of the International boundary and avoid straying into American waters. Especially now that the Americans are observing, though Von Schönberg.

“Wireless reports transmission, sir,” reported a sailor, “most likely from the unknown vessel. Message appears to be in code. Shall we jam sir?”

“No,” replied Von Schönberg. “Leave be.”

The mystery ship turned north-east, to match the squadron’s course, and turned on her running lights. “Unknown ship is approximately 1000 tons displacement,” called the lookout. “50 meters in length. Two guns forward, one aft.” Minutes passed. The Germans squadron swiftly overtook the American vessel, despite the latter producing an impressive amount of smoke from its tall single stack. To the east an orange glow showed the location of the city of Bellingham, in Washington State. Behind, with the morning’s light starting to define the edges of the sky, the silhouette of Mount Baker’s volcanic cone dominated the eastern skyline.

At 0500 hours, on Mueller’s instructions, Von Schönberg ordered a course change to due north. The squadron rounded East Point on Saturna Island with its flashing lighthouse a mere 2000 meters distant. The American vessel also turned north, following the International boundary, attempting to maintain its relative position of to the German squadron, but continuing to fall behind.

“Unknown vessel is flying stars and stripes,” reported the lookout. “Name on bow is USRC Unalga. Ship seems to be making no more than 12 or 13 knots. ”

“The American has not signaled us,” noted Von Schönberg. “They seem content to just follow the boundary, and make sure we stay outside.

When 0515 hours came, Von Schönberg ordered a turn to the north-west, and the ships accelerated to 20 knots. Unalga continued faithfully to shadow the Germans, but now rapidly fell astern. Before them, in rising light, was laid out the Strait of Georgia, an inland sea separating Vancouver Island from the mainland of British Columbia. This body of water was the highway for the province’s industry. At this hour, on this morning, it was smooth as glass. Ahead, at the narrowest spot between Point Roberts and Mayne Island, the Strait was 9 miles across, but it soon opened wider. A smoky haze to the north was lit by the pre-dawn light.

“Vancouver,” said Von Schönberg. “That is where we are bound. Ah, what a morning it is. And this sea state is particularly good for spotting periscopes.”

To the north, the mountains behind the city brooded in dark green, the low light casting the valleys in deep shadow. To the east, the sky was lighting up pink and orange over the Fraser River valley. In the ships’ wakes, to the south, the cones of Mount Baker and more distantly, Mount Rainier, loomed above all the other terrain, their eastern faces already catching the rising sun. Gulls fell into formation alongside the squadron, effortlessly keeping up where the hapless Unalga was unable.

“Ship!” called a lookout. “Dead ahead!”

A smaller cloud of smoke had separated from the smudge of Vancouver’s urban pall.

“Steamer,” continued the lookout. “Distance approx. 15 nautical miles. Oriented end on, so details unclear. Appears to be a on southerly heading.”

Von Schönberg took his own binoculars to survey the oncoming ship. The unidentified steamer appeared to be a merchant, and was just off the mouth of the North Arm of the mighty Fraser River, where it met salt water south of Vancouver. “Soon we shall have a better view,” he said. At a speed of 20 knots, the German squadron was covering a nautical mile every three minutes. Looking over his shoulder he noted that his ships were making quite a smoke cloud of their own. “We certainly have no time to stop and take a prize at this juncture.”

At 0545 hours the range had closed to 9 nautical miles. By now, all the stars had disappeared, and the sky was a speckless blue. The steamer ahead was indeed southbound and still approaching head on. She had a black hull, and what appeared to be a single funnel, with masts fore and aft. From the derricks on the masts, Von Schönberg took her to be a passenger cargo liner, and judging from the width of her bridge structure, he estimated her displacement to be around 5000 tons. Her single funnel featured a wide horizontal stripe on centre with a narrow stripe above and below. He had a crewman consult the Lloyd’s Registry, and determined this was the livery of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha Line. So a neutral. He looked at the bridge chronometer. For another couple of days, or more like 38 hours give or take.

Nürnberg crossed a sharp line in the ocean. South of the line, the sea was blue, north the water was brown. “The silt from the Fraser River,” said Mueller. “That river drains half this province. Your ship will actually be sitting a bit lower, in the sweet water.” A huge number of shorebirds circled over the mudflats at the shoreline. “The shallows extend two miles or more out into the Strait. This is where we want to be, in nice deep water.” Fishboats became visible close inshore, first a few, then more and more, maneuvering around each other for position. Soon it became apparent that the fishboats were attracted to the mouth of a great river, the South Arm of the Fraser. Now visible along the north bank of the river stood rows of hungry canneries, processing the bounty of the river for export to the wide world.

Shortly after 0600, the oncoming ships passed each other at a distance of 1000 meters. The liner proved to be the 6200 ton Shidzuoka Maru. Bridge crew on the Japanese ship were lined up at the rail with binoculars. A spirited discussion seemed to be taking place among them. “They are saying to each other, that is not the Japanese navy,” said Von Schönberg.

“Prepare to jam their transmissions, sir?” asked a runner from the wireless cabin.

“I believe it is too late for that,” said Von Schönberg. “Either the Japanese transmit who we are, or we jam them and by doing so announce who we are. I expect word has already come from some lighthouse, or perhaps the American Revenue Cutter. No we have passed the time for stealth, we have arrived at the time for action.”

“There is a Dominion Wireless Service station on Point Gray,” Mueller said, pointing to a headland at the entrance to Vancouver harbour. “They would immediately detect and interpret your jamming.”

“Ah,” said Von Schönberg, interested, “Perhaps we can shell the station.”

Mueller was taken aback. It is so hard to adjust, he thought. I am too used to these waters. I keep forgetting what we are here to accomplish. With the Japanese ship running south at 12 knots, and the Germans headed north at 20, the ships passed one another by quite rapidly.

“It is a pity,” mused Von Schönberg, “that we do not still have aboard the Kincolith Brass Band. Some Wagner would be very inspirational just now.”

At 0610 hours, Von Schönberg had a semaphore message sent to Lieutenant Von Spee on the Princess Charlotte. DETATCH AND MAKE WAY TO YOUR OBJECTIVES STOP GODSPEED STOP. The liner acknowledged and turned west, her coarse diverging from the cruisers. Princess Charlotte turned decisively towards the east shore of Vancouver Island and shrank away. Dark mountains bounded the scene in every direction. Directly ahead, the broad expanse of the Strait of Georgia extended to the horizon. In the distance to the west, a faint black soot cloud hinted at the coal fields of Nanaimo. To the east, another of the innumerable channels on this coast lay, this one the entrance to Howe Sound, and further east, Vancouver harbour.

At 0630 hours, Leipzig turned westward, and Nürnberg made a corresponding turn to the east. At this moment the disk of the sun rose over the mountain tops to the east, and lit the long Fraser Valley a golden yellow. Nürnberg’s bridge crew all squinted, dazzled from looking directly into the sun.

Unalga - Revenue Cutter

East Point (Saturna Island) Lighthouse

Photographs, history, travel instructions, and GPS coordinates for East Point (Saturna Island) Lighthouse.

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https://searcharchives.vancouver.ca/uploads/r/null/9/3/938983/b261c052-34b1-4666-8d50-d84782880808-A30163.jpg

Mt Baker Sunrise

Pink daybreak skies over Mt Baker and Puget Sound

www.iandewarphotography.com

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0500 hours, SMS Galiano, Barclay Sound.

“We attack Bamfield Cable Station at dawn,” Hauptbootsmann Krüger had said to his crew, in preparation the night before. But even something as simple as dawn comes in matters of degree. Astronomical Dawn on August 21st arrived at 0408 hours, as the stars began to dim against the sky. The crew rose, prepared the ship, and steamed from silent Ucluelet harbour, blacked out at dead slow. Krüger had studied the channel from charts and in daylight enough to be able to find his way out into open water, but with no experienced local pilot on board, he dared not attempt to weave a path through the treacherous reefs and islets of the Sound in the dark, and instead headed out into the swells of the open Pacific, far enough off shore to ensure deep water below Galiano’s keel. The patrol vessel followed the coast south-east.

“Raise the Red Ensign,” Krüger ordered.

From time to time wireless messages were received, in unreadable code. Nautical Dawn arrived at 0456 hours, when Krüger could see the horizon clearly to seaward, and could distinguish the mountaintops from the sky and shoreline from the background in the maze of islands and passages of the Sound to the east. With this improvement in visibility, Krüger ordered his helmsman to take Galiano north-east up the 3 nautical mile wide stretch of open water called Imperial Eagle Channel. To the south-east, on Cape Beale, he could now clearly see the tapered white tower and black cap of the lighthouse 4 miles off. And so, the lighthouse keeper could also see Galiano’s every movement.

Galiano was making a course down the center of Imperial Eagle Channel in the low light at around 0510, with a mile of open water on either side and the smooth surface of the channel perfectly reflecting the indigo eastern sky, when a cruiser appeared to seaward 6000 meters to Galiano’s stern. The warship was a dark grey mass against the grey western horizon. Krüger startled, then took his binoculars to view the new arrival. The ship was a light cruiser, with two funnels, one large gun behind a shield on her turtleback fo’c’sle and another astern. She was flying the British White Ensign.

So, that Canadian training cruiser Captains Von Schönberg and Haun were so dismissive of, though Krüger. The Rainbow. Just when and where I am utterly helpless. Doesn’t God just have the best sense of humour.

The cruiser flashed Galiano a greeting by Morse light, then asked WHAT STATE ARE MATTERS IN THE TOWN OF UCLUELET? The question made no sense to Krüger. He was so alarmed by the sudden appearance of this enemy bearing his immanent death, that he considered he might be taking leave of his senses. Then he realized, the Canadians think we are a different ship! We are silhouetted by the light conditions, and end on. Galiano must be part of a class of patrol craft on this coast.

ALL IS WELL IN THE TOWN, Krüger had Galiano signal. TELEGRAPH IS STILL BROKEN BUT ALL IS OTHERWISE WELL. That sounds so suspicious, he thought. Next we will be stopped and boarded.

But instead the cruiser signalled farewell and turned to her starboard, making a course due south. If she maintained that heading, she would end up off the US coast, outside of the 3 mile limit. Despite the rising light, the warship soon disappeared into the seaward gloom, leaving only a smoke trail to show her location. For the next while, Galiano received wireless messages, in a code they could not decrypt. I hope none of those messages are for the ship Rainbow thinks we are, though Krüger, for we will not be able to reply.

The cruiser did not reappear. As Krüger’s head cleared, he recalled that he had encountered the name Malaspina on some of the manuals he had skimmed when familiarizing himself with this ship. And he also realized that this doppelganger must be expected to be in his immediate area, or else the Rainbow would not have so easily mistaken the two vessels. Did this endanger his mission? He might need to be extra vigilant, but if Captain Von Schönberg was steaming strait into Vancouver harbour, then Krüger could hardly stray from his target for fear of running into another fisheries patrol vessel. Galiano steamed onward.

It would be very useful, Krüger thought, for Captain Von Schönberg to know that there was a Canadian cruiser here, 6 hours from Esquimalt and blocking the squadron’s path of retreat back to the ocean. But he also knew that there was a Dominion Wireless Station nearby at the Pacheena Point light, and if they received a wireless message in an unfamiliar code they would sound an alarm. It had been Captain Von Schönberg’s hope that he could maintain surprise until his ships appeared right among the merchants in their target harbours. If this surprise was still holding, Krüger did not want to spoil it himself. Once his men severed the cables to the Telegraph Station, he might attempt a warning. The Canadian cruiser was still a minimum of 6 hours away from meeting Von Schönberg. Much could happen in that time.

At 0522 hours, SMS Galiano entered Satellite Passage, taking her through the Deer Group of islands from Imperial Eagle Channel into narrower Trevor Channel. No sooner had Galiano disappeared into the passage, that CGS Malapina, her identical sister ship, rounded Cape Beale, steaming on a north-westerly heading, just offshore for headed for Ucluelet at her full speed of 14 and a half knots. By the time the German ship fully emerged into Trevor Channel ten minutes later, its Canadian twin had passed by and disappeared behind King Edward Island to the north-west, leaving only a wake and faint trail of coal smoke. The lighthouse keeper, atop his tower, casually observed these movements, of Canadian flagged patrol vessels patrolling, and thought them unremarkable.

Now in Trevor Channel, Krüger sized up the situation, and compared the land and water he saw in front of him to his charts. The channel itself was about a mile wide, running on a southwest to northeast axis, bounded by the Deer Group of islands generally to the north and the main body of Vancouver Island to the south. If one followed Trevor Channel far enough, it turned into fjordlike Alberni Canal, and one could steam all the way to the mill town of Port Alberni, another 25 miles inland.

Krüger could see a notch in the coastline on the far shore to his south, the entry to the small inlet where lay the hamlet of Bamfield, to the seaward end of the peninsula. As Galiano steamed north and the aspect changed, some wood frame buildings could be seen through the narrow gap into Bamfield Inlet. The Cable Station building was not visible from this angle. North of Bamfield, Krüger could follow the land portion of the telegraph line on its poles as in snaked along the shoreline, headed inland.

“Landing party, form up!” ordered Krüger. 18 men lined up on the port main deck, sheltered by the overhang of the upper deck above, with Stabbootsman Lange in command. The two petty officers carried stocked Navy Luger carbines, the rest carried rifles. All wore webbing with magazine pouches for their respective weapons. A wooden crate with rope handles held Dynamite, blasting caps, fuses, and various wire cutting pliers. Two riflemen also carried axes. Overhead, the sound of boats being swung out could be heard.

“You have your orders,” said Krüger. “Once the cables are cut, Galiano will return to provide you with cover. Naval gunfire support,” he said in an exaggerated tone, gesturing towards the 6 pounder deck gun. “We will have to use discretion. If the Cable Station proves to be too well defended, we may have to withdraw. That could prove to be trouble depending on how far we have committed. I would personally be happy if we manage to burn down the Cable Station building, even if we must resort to throwing some Dynamite through the windows before retreating.”

Two gasoline engine powered boats were lowered, and the landing parties embarked. All 18 men could have fit in the single larger boat, but Krüger decided that since the landing party might, in a the worst case, be performing something of an opposed amphibious landing at the cable station, that redundancy was a benefit. The boats cast off and headed for the shore.

Galiano turned about and travelled to seaward down the channel. She steamed past the entrance to Bamfield Inlet, her Red Ensign flapping high on the mast. The Transpacific Cable Station revealed itself, sitting high atop a narrow peninsula that divided the inlet in two. The four story wood frame building looked very handsome, appearing to Krüger like a jolly resort hotel. Various smaller buildings servicing the station and for other miscellaneous purposes were scattered around the peninsula and on the opposite side of the inlet. A long wooden ramp descended to the wharf below the station, and several smaller wharves served the opposite shore. A few small boats were moored here and there. Krüger noticed a few figures moving about, none of them seemed to be in a state of alarm. Then the Galiano passed by, and the trees of the forest intervened in his view. Civil Twilight, the period that is effectively daylight before the sunrise, arrived at 0539 hours.

Krüger had Galiano continue down the center of Trevor Chanel for another 2000 meters, then the ship reduced her speed to dead slow. From this position, he could not see the Cape Beale lighthouse. On the either shore were large signs saying No Anchorage, Submarine Cable. Galiano’s charts confirmed the approximate location of the cable, at a depth of 75 meters, but it took nearly 15 minutes of dragging with a hawser and anchor from a ship’s boat to hook the cable and bring it to the surface. Kruger had given orders for the landing party to cut their telegraph cable at 0600 precisely. The work party on Galiano’s fantail had to hurry to synchronize cutting the submarine cable at the same time, then worked up a sweat as two men with axes chopped repeatedly at the 5 centimeter diameter cable, hacking through first the gutta-percha waterproofing, then the steel armour cables, and finally the copper transmission strand. Krüger could not tell if the resulting sparks were from the axes striking the steel of the cable, or if it was a final telegraph message, cut short.

History of the Atlantic Cable & Submarine Telegraphy - Bamfield Cable Station

Cable Stations – Bamfield & Fanning Island – Bamfield Historical Society

www.bamfieldhistory.com

Bamfield | S.P.A.R.C. Museum

sparcradio.ca

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0600 hours. HMC Dockyard Esquimalt.

Premier McBride preferred to take his morning briefing with The Ranking Naval Officer at the Dockyard, when possible, and this was such a morning. The walk through the military buildings helped clear his head, and remind him of his purpose. In comparison, the time spent in the company of members of the Legislature was dull and onerous. And the coffee brought from the officer’s mess was always hot and strong. The morning was revealing itself to be bright and clear.

As usual, Captain Trousdale dove into the business at hand without preamble. “We received this piece of good news from Halifax early this morning, Sir Richard.”

NSHQ HALIFAX TO 5TH REGIMENT ESQUIMALT FORT MCNABB HAS DISCOVERED SPARE WATKIN POSITION FINDER SUITABLE FOR 9.2 INCH FIRE DIRECTION STOP WILL SHIP BY RAIL THIS AFTERNOON STOP

“That instrument will allow the 9.2 inch counter-battery guns to fire with some accuracy to their full range.”

“That is a positive development, at least,” said McBride.

“It would be even better if they saw fit to ship us some more ammunition for those guns,” Trousdale continued, “We stated the war with only 50 rounds in the Signal Hill Battery magazine. Now only 45 remain after practice fires. But more importantly, the most salient matter this morning is the Saxonia affair.”

“A new crisis?” asked McBride. “I had not even heard of this last night.”

“Yes. It did not seem to be an issue, until it was,” related Trousdale “The Hamburg America Line steamer Saxonia has been sheltering, first in Tacoma and then Seattle since the declaration of war. The American Collector of Customs in Seattle assured the British Consul that the ship would not be granted clearance to sail, and furthermore, that the captain of the Saxonia feared capture by Canadian naval forces and had no intention of leaving a nice safe neutral port.”

“Then,” continued Trousdale, “earlier in the week, the German ship commenced loading a new cargo, including lubricating oil and 1000 tons of steaming coal, in sacks. The captain gave her destination as Apia, in German Samoa, and the German consul posted a bond and signed a declaration stating:” Trousdale read from a telegraph transcript, “’that the coal shipped by the Saxonia will not be delivered to any German war vessel that has already received coal in a United States port since the outbreak of hostilities within three months after such receipt and that if the coal be delivered to any other German war vessel, the fact of such delivery will prevent the last-named war vessel from receiving coal in any United States port within a period of three months after said delivery.’”

“Preposterous!” exclaimed McBride. “Why would the Americans believe such tripe for a moment?”

“Agreed,” replied Trousdale, “Samoa is not even likely to be in German hands any more by the time a ship steams there from Seattle. But the German consul has been protesting that the Americans are biased towards the British, and a precedent seems to have been set in San Francisco, where the Germans are doing the same thing with a Mexican freighter called the Mazatlan. The Americans appear to be settling into a pro-commerce interpretation of the Neutrality Act. The British consul will protest of course. But the American Collector of Customs granted the ship clearance to sail last night, and our agents in Seattle report the Saxonia sailed at 2000 hours yesterday evening.”

McBride lifted his glasses onto his forehead and rubbed his temples. “Explain to me the implications.”

“Well,” said Trousdale, “on the one hand, if the Nürnberg and company obtain a secure supply of coal, they may not need to take the riskier measure of seizing coal from one of our coastal ports. That would be a positive development, for us here. On the other hand, the Germans having an adequate coal supply will give them much more freedom of movement, and be worse for the larger war situation.”

“Right,” said McBride, listening.

“There is some evidence that the Nürnberg took time to coal at Anyox. And reports also say that she coaled in Dixon Entrance, or Knight Inlet, or Queen Charlotte Sound. Some but not all of those reports are possible.”

“Because..?” prompted McBride.

“The Nürnberg’s presence in one location,” answered Trousdale, “would make impossible her presence in others, at the same time.”

“And what of the Nurnberg’s prize fleet?” asked McBride. “Does another auxiliary matter at this point?”

“Any piece that helps the German cause harms Britain,” answered Trousdale. “Furthermore, we know the Prince Rupert, Princess Charlotte, Princess Sophia, and Galiano have been taken. All of those ships have undeniably been witnessed to be operated by the Germans at one time or other. Some of those ships may now be scuttled, and other ships may be captured and kept as auxiliaries, we don’t know. But all of the known prize ships, save for the Galiano are oil fired, so none would normally be carrying coal that could be used to fuel the German cruisers.”

“Cruisers. Plural.”

“There are reports of cruisers everywhere,” said Trousdale. “Take this, for example.” He read a telegraph transcript. EAST POINT LIGHTHOUSE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT THREE CRUISERS TRAVELLING FAST THROUGH BOUNDARY PASS AT FIRST LIGHT STOP TURNED NORTH INTO GEORGIA STRAIT STOP. “See? Cruisers everywhere. Leipzig was seen leaving San Francisco at midnight on the 18th. She has been reported many places since then, including off Mexico. Again, the reports contradict each other.”

“In any case, to remedy the Saxonia affair,” he said decisively, “I have issued orders for the Rainbow to intercept her when she is safely into international waters. The Rainbow was due off Barclay Sound at 0500, an hour ago. So she should be boarding the Saxonia presently. Hose is generally observing wireless silence, but he did acknowledge receipt of those orders.”

“That is fortunate timing,” said McBride, perking up. “But wasn’t Rainbow supposed to be investigating that odd business at Ucluelet?”

“I believe bagging a known German auxiliary is of a higher priority,” answered Trousdale. “The Malaspina will be at Barclay Sound soon. She was headed there already, but stopped to search for survivors from the Restless. No report on that yet.”

A rating knocked on Trousdale’s office door, and entered. “ Wireless message sir!” Trousdale read VANCOUVER HARBOUR MASTER TO HMCD ESQUIMALT NYK LINER SHIDZUOKA MARU REPORTS ENCOUNTERING TWO CRUISERS ONE LINER O600 HOURS OFF POINT ROBERTS IN CANADIAN WATERS NORTHBOUND AT HIGH RATE OF SPEED STOP ONE CRUISER FLYING JAPANESE FALSE FLAG

Moments later, another wireless message arrived.

HIS MAJESTY’S CONSUL SEATTLE TO HMCD ESQUIMALT UNITED STATES REVENUE CUTTER SERVICE AS A COURTESY INFORM US THAT THE CUTTER UNALGA HAS BEEN SHADOWING TWO CRUISERS AND A THREE FUNNELLED LINER IN CANADIAN WATERS IN BOUNDARY PASS FROM 0445 HOURS STOP SHIPS STEAMING AT 20 KNOTS ESTIMATED AND FLYING JAPANESE FRENCH AND BRITISH ENSIGNS RESPECTIVELY

“These messages are starting to converge into a grim picture,” said McBride.

“The information in the message from the Seattle consul is an hour and a half old,” said Trousdale.

“I expect there were some conversations at high levels in the US Diplomatic Corps whether to share with us,” replied McBride.”

Another message arrived.

BAMFIELD CABLE STATION TO HMCD ESQUIMALT LAND AND SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH CABLES BOTH OUT OF SERVICE TIMING SUGGESTS CABLES WERE INTENTIONALLY CUT STOP LIFESAVING TELEGRAPH VIA PORT RENFREW AND PACHEENA WIRELESS STATION STILL OPERATIONAL AT THE MOMENT STOP

McBride instinctively rose to his feet, but was for a moment not certain of what else to do.

“August 21st. It is looking like this will be a day to go down in history,” said McBride. “Is there an alarm to be sounded?” he asked Trousdale.

“All of our forces are already at the highest level of alert,” said Trousdale.

The two men looked soberly at each other, for a moment. Then their eyes lingered on a framed photograph on the office wall, of the Indefatigable class battle cruiser HMS New Zealand visiting Esquimalt harbour in 1913. If only, both of the men’s eyes seemed to say.

Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States, 1914, Supplement, The World War - Office of the Historian

history.state.gov 3.0 shell

history.state.gov

Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States, 1914, Supplement, The World War - Office of the Historian

history.state.gov 3.0 shell

history.state.gov

Submarine Tender Photo Index (AD)

www.navsource.org

Hamburg-American Line

File:Visitors aboard HMS New Zealand Vancouver 1913.jpg - Wikimedia Commons

commons.wikimedia.org

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0600 hours. HMCS Rainbow, Off Cape Flattery.

Commander Hose was relieved that after a seemingly interminable time spent chasing the phantom German Navy, he now had a genuine quarry with a genuine position. At 0130 he received orders to capture the German auxiliary SS Saxonia, which had slipped out of her neutral port haven of Seattle earlier in the evening. At 0430, the submarine CC-1 had reported spotting the Saxonia at first light, nearing Cape Flattery, travelling on the American side of the Strait. Hose had earlier been ordered to inspect the port of Ucluelet for some irregular civilian vessel activity, but he quite frankly considered this to be below his station. So he was happy when he learned CGS Malaspina would be arriving at the same time as Rainbow. Let the patrol vessel check on the town and free up his cruiser to capture the German auxiliary. He made the call to bypass Ucluelet and not lose an hour or so off his pursuit.

And just as well. At 0510 he had encountered the Malaspina in Imperial Eagle Channel. Malaspina had signalled that they already inspected the town and found nothing amiss, as Hose had suspected. He bid adieu and shaped his course south to intercept Saxonia. Later, he again spotted Malaspina. This time the patrol vessel was close to shore, but outside Barclay Sound, northbound in the direction of Ucluelet at a healthy rate of speed. Then at 0545 he spotted Saxonia’s smoke in the rising light. By 0600 he had the German liner in sight at a range of 10 nautical miles, two tall masts and then a single funnel sitting at the base of her column of smoke. The German liner saw Rainbow as well, and turned to run south, outside the American 3 mile limit. A stern chase ensued, with Rainbow making 15 knots and the Saxonia seeming incapable of more than 10 or 11.

“Let’s see you escape this time,” Hose muttered, referring to his elusive German adversaries collectively. “Keep an extra eye to the south,” he ordered the lookouts. “It is possible this auxiliary may be leading us towards the Leipzig, just over the horizon.” Rainbow was diving into the swells, with green water coming over her bows. At their current differential speeds, Rainbow was gaining a nautical mile on the Saxonia every 12 minutes. The pace of the pursuit was not rapid, but nevertheless Hose was gripped with intensity. This was, after all, actual war. He stood on the bridge wing, watching the distant liner, under its smoke trail.

The wireless operator began to bring messages to Hose. The captain was fixated on his quarry such that he was at first only annoyed by the interruptions.

0610 hours PACHEENA POINT TO HMCD ESQUIMALT Bamfield CABLE STATION REPORTS LAND AND SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH CABLES BOTH OUT OF SERVICE TIMING SUGGESTS CABLES WERE INTENTIONALLY CUT STOP LIFESAVING TELEGRAPH VIA PORT RENFREW AND PACHEENA WIRELESS STATION STILL OPERATIONAL AT THE MOMENT STOP

0615 HOURS VANCOUVER HARBOUR MASTER NYK LINER Shidzuoka Maru REPORTS ENCOUNTERING TWO CRUISERS ONE LINER O600 HOURS OFF POINT ROBERTS IN CANADIAN WATERS NORTHBOUND AT HIGH RATE OF SPEED STOP ONE CRUISER FLYING JAPANESE FALSE FLAG

0620 HIS MAJESTY’S CONSUL SEATTLE REPORTS UNITED STATES REVENUE CUTTER SERVICE AS A courtesy informs us that the cutter unalga has been shadowing two cruisers and a three funnelled liner in CANADIAN WATERS IN boundary pass FROM 0445 HOURS STOP SHIPS STEAMING AT 20 KNOTS ESTIMATED AND FLYING JAPANESE FRENCH AND BRITISH ENSIGNS RESPECTIVELY

Were these reports the product of more overactive imaginations? He would hardly call the dour US Revenue Cutter Service excitable. The risky diplomatic position this report put the American sender in, vis-à-vis the Neutrality Act, alone suggested that this was a serious sighting. And yet, if it turned out to be in error, turning away to respond now would mean allowing a bona fide enemy ship to escape. He looked at through his binoculars again at the fleeing Saxonia. She was now 8 nautical miles distant.

HMCS RAINBOW TO HMCD ESQUIMALT AUXILIARY SAXONIA IN SIGHT AND WITHIN REACH TO CAPTURE PLEASE ADVISE STOP

HMCD ESQUIMALT TO HMCS RAINBOW DEFENDING COASTAL CITIES OF UTMOST URGENCY CAPTURING ENEMY AUXILIARIES ALSO HIGH PRIORITY USE YOUR DISCRESSION STOP

At this closing rate, Rainbow would come within range to fire a shot across the Saxonia’s bow in three quarters of an hour. That was a big liner, he noted. She must be 10,000 tons. That would make for a lot of coal to keep German raiders working the coast. He could not spare that much time to catch her.

“Bring us up to 19 knots,” ordered Hose calmly. “We’re going to run that liner down smartly and get back to Esquimalt. Chief Engineer, let’s keep those engines lubricated. I have a feeling we are going to be asking much of them today.” Moving at her maximum practicable speed, her rated speed, Hose could bring Saxonia into range of his forward 6 inch gun in twenty five minutes. If his old ship did not shake itself to pieces first.

0625 CGS MALASPINA TO HMCD ESQUIMALT TOWN OF UCLUELET COMPLETELY DESERTED EMPTY STREETS EMPTY HOUSES STORE SHELVES EMPTY OF SUPPLIES TWO SHIPS SUNKEN IN HARBOUR SUSPECT GERMAN RAIDERS STOP

Hose shook his head in disbelief at this message.

HMCS RAINBOW TO CGS MALASPINA YOU REPORTED UCLUELET FINE AT 0510 HOURS THIS MORNING WHEN WE SIGNALLED YOU IN IMPERIAL EAGLE CHANNEL STOP

MALASPINA TO RAINBOW WE HAVE NOT COMMUNICATED DIRECTLY WITH YOU THIS DAY STOP WE HAVE NOT BEEN IN IMPERIAL EAGLE CHANNEL THIS AM STOP

“Now what is this nonsense?” said Hose. He recalled the captain of the Malaspina. Al McFarlane, now reserve lieutenant. An old salt on this coast, and an eminently sensible fellow in Hose’s recollection. “We exchanged Morse light messages with Malaspina an hour ago. Did we not?”

The bridge crew to a man concurred. “Yes, sir! We saw it with our very eyes.”

Hose had a sudden terrible feeling. If the latest message, ostensibly from Malaspina in Ucluelet was of a kind with those from Dixon Entrance in the past few days, then he was now in a live conversation with a German agent, bent on deception. He was forced into a quick mental inventory of what, if anything he could trust. But… if the messages claiming to be from Malaspina were false, that would mean the agent was using Malaspina’s proper secret call sign, and a current naval code.

0630 BAMFIELD CABLE STATION UNDER ATTACK FROM LAND AND SEA SEND IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE STOP

Or false messages could be coming from other sources. Yet this latest message from the Cable Station was also in proper naval code. Or… alternately, all these messages could be true, and the Morse light exchange an hour ago with the ship he had believed to be the Malaspina could have been with an imposter. Like the captured Galiano. The sun chose this moment to rise over the distant coastal mountains, illuminating all. Of course! Morse light messages are sent in clear. And Hose had wished the German raider Galiano a good day, and left her alone to wreak more havoc. Damn. Damn. Damn.

0635 CGS MALASPINA TO BAMFIELD CABLE STATION ON THE WAY TO RENDER ASSISTANCE STOP

Rainbow had now closed Saxonia’s lead to 6 miles, 12,000 yards. The extreme range of Rainbow’s 6 inch Quick Firing Mark II guns was 10,000 yards. The German liner turned east, perhaps to run into American territorial waters to be interned, but she was too slow. At 0645 Hose ordered the forward 6 inch gun to prepare to fire a warning shot, and several minutes later, when the gunnery officer had the range, Rainbow fired her first shot of the war. The shell landed short, and well off Saxonia’s bow, but it had the desired effect. The gun crew loaded a second shell, but this was not necessary. The liner began losing speed immediately, and soon was hove to. Rainbow covered the remaining distance in 15 minutes.

“Prepare boarding party and prize crew!” ordered Hose. Men assembled, boats were swung out, and at 0700, Rainbow lay alongside the Saxonia, bobbing in the swells, with the wild shores and tall peaks of the Olympic peninsula 7 miles to the east.

HMCS RAINBOW TO HMCD ESQUIMALT HAVE DETAINED SAXONIA AND AM BOARDING STOP AFTER PRIZE CREW IS EMBARKED CAN RENDER ASSISTANCE TO BAMFIELD OR ELSEWHERE PLEASE ADVISE

HMCD ESQUIMALT TO HMCS RAINBOW VANCOUVER COASTAL BATTERIES ARE ENGAGING HOSTILE CRUISER BELIEVED TO BE NURNBERG

https://www.cnrs-scrn.org/northern_mariner/vol16/tnm_16_3_33-51.pdf

About The Ship

onlineacademiccommunity.uvic.ca

HMCS RAINBOW - CFB Esquimalt Naval and Military Museum

navalandmilitarymuseum.org

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21 0615 hours. Bamfield Inlet, Barclay Sound.

Cutting the land cable, one strand of the British Empire’s global telegraphy network, had been the easy part. As simple as some sailors climbing the poles. Destroying the station and its equipment would be harder. Stabbootsman Lange ordered his men out of the forest and back to the boats waiting at the shoreline. As they shoved off into Trevor Channel, Lange could see the Galiano three kilometers to the south, towing the Pacific end of the severed cable out towards deeper water. That was fine, his men needed time to maneuver their boats into position. Lange kept the two boats close to the steep shoreline and shielded from the eyes of any sentries, as they motored the kilometre to the entrance of Bamfield Inlet.

The Bamfield Transpacific Cable Station he was about to assault sat atop an arrowhead shaped peninsula called, not surprisingly, Station Point. This point was flanked by two narrow but long inlets. Ideally, his route of attack would have been to leave the boats pulled up on a beach outside the inlet, and approach the station over land, but their objective was like a castle with a moat, really. It was hard to imagine a better natural defensive position. Lange would have also preferred his initial attack to be by surprise, but he considered they had given that away when they cut the cable, so the remaining tool, if surprise was not available, would need to be élan.

Lange’s chart, and the scant reconnaissance he had managed to do from the deck as Galiano had steamed past Bamfield Inlet earlier, showed that he had a short 250 meters of open water to motor across between entering the inlet in sight of the station, and his landing site on the steep rocky beach. But this could become a nasty killing zone if the Canadians had thought to set up a machine gun on the point. He held his boats in Trevor Channel, behind the unnamed point at the entrance to Bamfield Inlet, out of sight from any Canadian lookouts.

“You!” Lange ordered, selecting his two best marksmen, “Grab some extra ammunition and set up there on the point. You will control the mouth of the inlet and the end of Station Point from here.” The distance was an easy rifle shot. But he regretted having to split his forces. He had few enough men to start with.

“Just don’t forget us when you withdraw,” said one of the newly recruited sharpshooters to the sailor at the boat controls. The men clambered over the side of the boat into the shallows, then up the bank and into the forest.

Looking back seaward, Lange saw that Galiano had dropped the cable, and turned back north up the channel. Lange signaled by semaphore, FOLLOW TWO MINUTES BEHIND US. If he could get most of the way across the narrow inlet before the Canadians could react, the appearance of Galiano should help distract the defenders as he made his landing.

At 0625, by his watch, Galiano signalled GO. Well, thought Lange, I hope it did not occur to the Canadians to emplace a battery of howitzers on Station Point.

“For the Kaiser!” he called, and motioned for the boat throttles to be opened.

“For the Kaiser!” fifteen voices responded in unison.

The boats gathered speed and rounded the point into Bamfield Inlet. The sailors lay low in the boats, with only their heads and rifle barrels rising above the gunwales. The helmsmen steered for the stretch of water to the left of Station Point. The boat engines were not particularly loud, thought Lange, as the two boats motored down the inlet now fully exposed to view from Bamfield. Not loud enough to cover up the cries of the Canadian sentries, or the engine sounds of the fish boat loaded with Canadian militia that appeared, headed towards them, already in the center of the harbour.

A fierce firefight opened up almost immediately between the two German launches and the Canadian fish boat. None of the boats were stable firing platforms, and many shots went wild. Still the range was around 75 meters and very quickly the boats became riddled with holes. Lange was hollering something about “plans surviving contact with the enemy,” while alternately firing his Navy Luger carbine as fast as he could pull the trigger at the Canadian boat, and urging his boat operator to make better speed to the landing beach. With the Germans so distracted, no one in the boats noticed that several Canadian militia riflemen on Station Point had begun to fire on the German boats, both from the top of the cliff, and from some of the upper windows in the Cable Station building.

Lange’s landing party may have met complete annihilation at this point, save for two factors. The marksmen he left behind at the entrance to the inlet were unmolested, and they began to fire carefully aimed shots at the militia riflemen in and around the Cable Station. Militiamen began to fall, and the volume of fire from the Station dropped off. Also, at this moment Galiano rounded the point and entered into the fray. The Spandau gun on top of the wheelhouse immediately opened up on the fish boat from 300 meters, and maintained a steady stream of fire, surrounding the Canadian boat with splashes and causing much visible damage. The fish boat turned sharply towards Lange’s boats. The Spandau gun was forced to stop firing, lest it hit the German landing party. It was unclear whether the Canadian skipper attempted to ram, or if his boat was out of control, but the fish boat ran up on top of Lange’s boat and stove in the side. The boats remained tangled together, and began to circle in the middle of the inlet.

“Stop!” Lange ordered his boat operator, and the German engine dropped to idle, but the Canadian boat was still under power. Lang noticed water in his damaged boat rising to his knees. Without a word, Lang vaulted up onto the foredeck of the fish boat, and emptied his Luger carbine into the cabin rapid fire. He dropped to prone on the deck, inserted a fresh magazine, and repeated the exercise. His men saw him disappear into the cabin, and the fish boat motor cut off. Lange jumped back up on the fish boat foredeck, waved his arm, signalling the second boat to come over to his position. Then he realized how exposed he was and jumped back into his sinking launch. The crack of rifle shots still sounded over the inlet. Galiano took the headland where the German marksmen were emplaced under machine gun fire, until Lange’s frantic empty-handed semaphore caused the Spandau gun to shift to the upper floors of the Cable Station.

The wounded were passed over to the second German launch, the able bodied men climbed over, and the damaged boat was abandoned, by this time filled up to the gunwales. Lange took stock of his men. Two were dead, one badly wounded, and two had minor wounds. Lange counted again and noticed one man missing. He looked all around the inlet, but there was no sign of the missing man. He still had ten combat capable men under his command, including his second petty officer, and the two lightly wounded men capable of some action.

A pair of rifle shots sounded, and a bullet struck his boat. The Galiano’s deck gun fired, and an explosion collapsed the verandah of the manager’s wooden house on Station Point. The gun fired again, this time the shell exploded deep inside the house, and blew out all the ground floor windows. As the explosion echoed around the inlet, Lange could hear no more shooting.

“We continue,” he said.

i-Boating : Free Marine Navigation Charts & Fishing Maps

fishing-app.gpsnauticalcharts.com

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0635 hours. CGS Malaspina, Ucluelet Harbour.

Lieutenant McFarlane had Malaspina run a search pattern for the missing CGS Restless for half an hour, between 0215 and 0245 hours. He had used his discretion, and turned on Malaspina’s searchlight, in violation of the blackout orders. How else was he going to spot any survivors? Ultimately, he did not find any crew of the Restless, living or dead. He did find a life ring stenciled with Restless, a crushed lifeboat capsized and awash, and some broken woodwork that may or may not have come from the missing tug. No wreckage he recovered confirmed or refuted McFarlane’s suspicion that the disappearance of Restless was something other than an accidental collision. Eventually, he was forced to conclude that no survivors were to be recovered, and nothing more was to be learned in the dark strait, so ordered the Malaspina back to her northerly course bound for Ucluelet.

Around 0315 Malaspina and the submarine CC-1 again completely missed each other in the dark off River Jordan. Just after 0400 the stars began to fade. By 0500, McFarlane was following the coast 5 nautical miles south east of Cape Beale, when she saw the welcome sight of HMCS Rainbow off Barclay Sound, cruising on an opposite course to his own. The east facing side of the cruiser was lit by the pre-dawn glow, while Malaspina was invisible as a dark shape against the dark coastline. A few minutes later, McFarlane saw Rainbow communicating by Morse light with an unseen ship, but Malaspina’s signalman could not read the message at that range and angle. McFarlane opted not to communicate with Rainbow at this point, having nothing particular to say. No challenge protocol had been established that required him to signal, and he had no doubt he was looking at Rainbow. He watched the cruiser turn due south, and head out to sea. He presumed Rainbow was chasing the German auxiliary liner Saxonia. This had been the subject of wireless transmissions throughout the night.

The dawn came bright and clear. Malaspina arrived off of Ucluelet at 0600. McFarlane could see no smoke from the unfamiliar ships Cape Beale lighthouse had reported seeing the previous day, and saw no large oceangoing vessels either in Barclay Sound or inside Ucluelet harbour. He saw no smoke rising from the chimneys of the town either. Malaspina slowly entered the inlet. McFarlane’s knew Ucluelet well. His first impression as he rounded Amphitrite Point was that the town was unnaturally quiet. He would normally expect to see fishboats already out in the Sound, and others preparing to cast off. Instead, the boats were all tied up, and the wharves and streets were empty.

Malaspina came alongside the Government wharf. Not a soul walked the streets. On Whiskey Landing Road, three stray chickens were scratching in the dirt. As McFarlane watched, a bald eagle swooped down on top of one of the hens, and began pulling it apart. The captain turned around and noticed, further down on the far side of the harbour, two pairs of masts appearing to be from two small steamships, jutting out of the bay.

“Landing party!” he ordered, “Arm yourselves! And keep full steam up!” he instructed the bridge crew. McFarlane was glad he had the detachment of 30 militiamen from the 88th Fusiliers on board. He strapped on his Webley revolver, and led a militia officer and dozen armed men ashore. He and several militiamen entered a dockside chandlery, and found the shelves nearly empty of supplies, and a pile of Canadian banknotes on the counter, weighed down with an empty ginger beer bottle. Beside the impressive brass cash register was half a sandwich, with one bite missing, and a cup half full of tea. McFarlane crossed himself.

The other men fanned out across the town, and found scenes much the same. A pack of dogs and a single pig were helping themselves to the contents of a butcher shop, surrounded by the buzzing of flies. Greengrocers and dry goods stores likewise had empty shelves, but sizable piles of cash on the counters, or in one case where a window had been left open, money scattered all over the floor. And in every store the stack of money on the counter was accompanied by a handwritten tally and bill. McFarlane picked up the bill at the greengrocer’s and read the figures. The total was written as $287,50. With a comma, not a decimal point. In the European fashion.

“We need to get out of here,” said McFarlane, and led his men back to the Malaspina.

The wireless operator met him on the wharf top.

“We received this message just after you left sir!” said the operator.

PACHEENA POINT TO HMCD ESQUIMALT BAMFIELD CABLE STATION REPORTS LAND AND SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH CABLES BOTH OUT OF SERVICE TIMING SUGGESTS CABLES WERE INTENTIONALLY CUT STOP LIFESAVING TELEGRAPH VIA PORT RENFREW AND PACHEENA WIRELESS STATION STILL OPERATIONAL AT THE MOMENT STOP

“Get underway!” yelled McFarlane, and hurried his landing party back aboard. He followed the wireless operator to his cabin. “Send the following message,” he ordered.

CGS MALASPINA TO HMCD ESQUIMALT TOWN OF UCLUELET COMPLETELY DESERTED EMPTY STREETS EMPTY HOUSES STORE SHELVES EMPTY OF SUPPLIES TWO SHIPS SUNKEN IN HARBOUR SUSPECT GERMAN RAIDERS STOP

As the operator was tapping out the message, McFarlane felt the movement of Malaspina pulling away from the dock, and coming about so as to leave the harbour. He was just about the step out of the wireless cabin door when the operator told him, “incoming message sir.” The operator spent a moment decrypting with the codebook.

HMCS RAINBOW TO CGS MALASPINA YOU REPORTED UCLUELET FINE AT 0510 HOURS THIS MORNING WHEN WE SIGNALLED YOU IN IMPERIAL EAGLE CHANNEL STOP

“What the devil!” exclaimed McFarlane. Had Hose taken leave of his senses? He quickly drafted a response.

MALASPINA TO RAINBOW WE HAVE NOT COMMUNICATED DIRECTLY WITH YOU THIS DAY STOP WE HAVE NOT BEEN IN IMPERIAL EAGLE CHANNEL THIS AM STOP

McFarlane expected a reply almost instantly, so he waited in the wireless cabin, but none was forthcoming. He felt the deck under his feet become a bit more lively as Malaspina left the shelter of Ucluelet harbour. Several minutes later, when a message came, it was not from Rainbow, as he had expected.

BAMFIELD CABLE STATION UNDER ATTACK FROM LAND AND SEA SEND IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE STOP

He drafted a reply, before dashing to the bridge.

CGS MALASPINA TO BAMFIELD CABLE STATION ON THE WAY TO RENDER ASSISTANCE STOP

“Action Stations!” he yelled, before he had even finished climbing the ladder to the wheelhouse.

McFarlane took his place on the bridge. The crew of the 6 pounder on the foredeck busied themselves preparing the gun. Malaspina’s bridge crew all squinted and shielded their eyes with their hands, as the ship steamed directly towards the rising sun.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21 0630 hours. Bamfield Cable Station, Barclay Sound.

The surviving German launch covered the distance to the northern branch of Bamfield Inlet, on the left side of Station Point, in just a couple of minutes. Above them, the stately and architecturally beautiful Cable Station had lost most of the glass in its upper story windows. The manager’s house on the tip of the point was on fire. As the boat drew into the northern branch of the Inlet, the rock and trees of Station Point masked the buildings from view. The boat came to a gentle stop against a rocky beach, emerald green with seaweed. Some of the German sailors jumped out, and pulled the boat up higher. One of the sailors with a leg wound remained in the boat to care for the badly wounded man, and the dead. The spare ammunition from the dead and incapacitated men was quickly distributed. The rest of the landing party, eleven including one sailor with a bandaged arm, gathered their weapons and the wooden crate holding the explosives, and climbed up the steep treed bank. At the top, they emerged into a level forest. Within a few dozen meters, the trees abruptly stopped, and beyond sat the back of the four-story Cable Station. A water tower on spindly legs stood to their left. Between the landing party and the station building was a 50 metre wide clearing full of stumps, shrubs, tall grass, and a few outbuildings. One Canadian militiaman lay dead in the grass a ways to their right. No others were visible.

“You,” Stabbootsman Lange said to his second petty officer. “Keep four men here and cover us. The rest of you, come with me. That will be our objective.” He pointed at his chosen entry point, a door on the nearest end of the station’s main floor. The German riflemen fixed bayonets. “Now, let us run like the wind. Go!”

Lange and five men sprinted across the open space. Muzzle flashes appeared in two second-story windows. One of the running sailors fell, then another. The covering section opened fire on the militia shooters, the petty officer rapid firing his Luger. Lange arrived at the building, ran up the short flight of steps, broke in the door with his shoulder, and disappeared inside. Three more German riflemen entered, right on his heels. Gunfire sounded from inside, including rapid fire from a Luger. Then the five men of the covering section charged the building. Two of the men ran in a pair, carrying the wooden crate between them. As they ran by, a fallen sailor got back to his feet and joined them. “I tripped,” he confessed. They passed a second fallen sailor, who was clearly dead. The noise of fighting continued from inside, fierce and involving bayonets, but was over quickly.

When the petty officer and his section arrived, Lange and his riflemen had already secured a large area on the western end of the ground floor. The first room they had entered was a dining room, paneled in dark wood. Framed pictures of the King and Prime Minister Borden hung on the wall. Three Canadian militiamen sat on the floor unhappily, two of them with bandaged wounds. Three more lay dead. Canadian rifles, empty brass cartridges, and broken window glass littered the floor.

Lange reloaded, waved his men forward silently, and together they began to systematically clear the ground floor. As it turned out, there were no more militiamen on the ground floor, only some angry and disgruntled telegraph technicians and operators. The German clearing squad shrank, as Lange detached a man to guard the prisoners here, and to watch the approaches to the building there.

A small group of Canadian militiamen attempted to storm down the main stairs from the second floor. A firefight erupted in the entry hallway, and once again the fire of the semi-automatic pistols had a decisive effect. The sally ended with one militiaman dead on the stairs, boots still on the top landing and head lolling down, and the assault repulsed with the rest of the militiamen retreating back upstairs.

The Germans heard gunfire close at hand, and bullets emerged through the tongue-and-groove fir ceiling, as the Canadians fired their rifles blindly through the hallway floor above. The Germans responded by firing up into the ceiling. Lange grabbed a copy of the Victoria Daily Colonist from an entryway side table, and lit it on fire, then blew out the flames and let the smoke from the smoldering paper rise into two story tall entryway hall. Gradually the smell of burning paper mixed with and then replaced the smell of burnt cordite. The building grew silent.

“Surrender!” yelled Lange in English, “or we will burn down the building! With you inside!”

Murmuring sounded from the floor above.

“Surrender now! Throw down your weapons.”

More murmuring ensued, then “Alright!” called out a voice in English. “We surrender. We’re coming down! Don’t shoot!” The Germans heard the sound of rifle bolts being cycled, and hard objects falling on the fir floor above.

The butt of a rifle appeared around the corner at the top of the stairs and was given a push. The gun slid down the stairs, bumping on every step. Another followed, and another, until a pile of a dozen Canadian rifles lay on the hallway carpet runner like pick-up-sticks. A white bed sheet was waved. “We are coming down now!” called the voice. “We have some wounded we will need to carry.”

Four militiamen trudged down the stairs single file, their hands held high, the first still holding the white bedsheet. Then a pair of ambulatory wounded men in uniform were helped by other other men in civilian clothes. Six wounded militiamen and one wounded man in civilian clothes were carried by a civilian on each end, then a few more civilians brought up the rear, all holding their hands in the air.

“Obermatt,” Lange said to the petty officer. “Search the upstairs and the basement.” The petty officer took two men and headed up the stairs, weapons at the ready. “This way,” Lange said to the Canadians, and he led the prisoners back to the first room the Germans had stormed, the station dining room. Out of the corner of his eye, Lange saw a body pass by the window, as if jumping from the floor above.

“Ow!” yelled an English voice with a Canadian accent from outside, followed by a stream of cursing.

“Collect that man as well,” he ordered one of his sentries.

Soon, in the ground floor dining room Lange had assembled 15 militia prisoners, five unharmed and 10 with varying degrees of non-life threatening injuries, including one man with a broken leg. Their shoulder patches identified them as members of the 50th Gordon Highlanders. The highest ranking militiaman was a sergeant. Lange also had 22 civilian captives, including the station manager, his wife, and teenaged son. The manager was particularly irate, having just watched his house on the point burn to the ground.

The German petty officer returned and reported the entire building cleared. He noticed six dead bodies of militiamen were scattered about the upstairs, including a lieutenant. His men had covered the bodies with blankets or fallen curtains. They had also extinguished several trash can fires, presumably fed with code books and secret documents, and made a cursory effort to destroy the telegraph transmitting and receiving equipment with a fire axe.

Lange’s men were stretched impossibly thin. He posted a man at a window or door on each corner of the ground floor as sentries, and a pair of men to guard the wounded. He pulled the two demolition men aside. “Place dynamite charges on the place where the cable enters the building,” he ordered. “We want to destroy this station quickly, and return to Galiano, before more soldiers arrive.” Lange surveyed the area around the station. A wooden ramp supporting a tramway led down to the station wharf. Various outbuildings ringed the station building to its east, further down the peninsula, and beside the wharf.

Across the inlet an open motorized boat obviously designed for very rough weather, was waving a flag of truce as it approached the listing, drifting fish boat that was still embedded in the wreckage of Lange’s former boat. As he watched, the rescuers boarded and carried the dead and wounded across to their boat, then took the fish boat in tow. The Galiano, still hovering off at the mouth of the inlet, did not interfere. On the opposite shore, the red painted buildings of the Bamfield Lifeboat station sat beside the harbour, civilians gathered around the ramp leading up to its boathouse.

The men returned from rigging the basement with explosives. “Sir, we discovered a large amount of rifle ammunition downstairs, in a bowling alley.”

“That will burn up with the rest of the building when we leave,” said Lange. “Prepare some bonfires out of furniture and what have you, one on each end of the building. It is soon time to retire.” His watch read 0700 hours.

“Alright sergeant,” Lange said to the ranking Canadian militiaman, “it is time for us to move on. We are going to release you before we burn down this station. Gather up your wounded, and head out the front door. I suggest you hold this flag of truce high, in case you have any comrades still itching for a fight.” He passed the white bed sheet to the sergeant. The unwounded men began to rise to their feet.

“This station,” exclaimed the manager in horror, “was designed by Canada’s leading architect!”

“Well,” said Lange, “more work for him when it is built back again. Along with you now.” The Canadian sergeant opened the main entrance, waved the white flag in the opening, and then walked out onto the front verandah, his arms held high. The rest of the Canadians followed single file, with the healthy carrying the wounded, down the front stairs and then along the tramway ramp towards the harbour. As the last Canadian departed, Lange closed the door behind them.

“Alright,” ordered Lange. “Let’s light those fuses, and make haste. We have been here on Canadian soil too long already. I will bring up the rear. The petty officer lead the first handful of sailors out the dining room back door, retracing the landing party’s original approach to the building. Lange awaited the return of the men setting the fuses.

When the petty officer was ten steps away from the building, he fell dead from a single rifle shot. A fusillade opened up on the back of the cable station. The German sailors already outside dropped to the ground, and began to return fire at their unseen attackers. Lang saw muzzle flashes coming from outbuildings to his right, from the base of the water tower ahead, and from the forest on the path down to their waiting boat. The Canadian militia had infiltrated along the reverse slope of the bank to cut their escape route.

“Put out those fuses!” he yelled back at the demolition crew still inside the station building. “We might be here for a while yet!”

At the mouth of the inlet the Galiano turned and steamed out into Trevor Channel, producing a large cloud of coal smoke from her funnel. Before she disappeared from sight, he heard the shot of a naval gun, sounding not unlike Galiano’s own deck gun, and he saw a waterspout from a near miss rise out of the water just behind the Galiano.

 

[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0635 hours, CGS Malaspina, off Barclay Sound.

Lieutenant McFarlane steeled himself for battle, as CGS Malaspina cut through the swells at full speed, racing south towards Bamfield. The Rainbow was only a few hours away, and eminently more capable than his ship for fighting anything short of a German light cruiser. Perhaps even one of those, if luck fell her way. But Rainbow was off at sea capturing the Saxonia right now. Wireless traffic left McFarlane with an unclear picture, but it sounded to him like something was happening in the Strait of Georgia as well, so Hose may be called away to take care of that.

CGS MALASPINA TO PACHENA POINT WIRELESS STATION WHAT IS SITUATION IN BAMFIELD

PACHENA POINT WIRELESS STATION TO CGS MALASPINA LIFESAVING TELGRAPH LINE TO BAMFIELD BROKEN MINUTES AGO

He knew the Dominion Wireless Station at Pacheena Point Lighthouse, was about 9 miles by boat or 6 by forest trail to Bamfield. The lighthouse at Cape Beale was closer, but was connected by telegraph through Bamfield. If that telegraph line was cut then Cape Beale was isolated and unable to give him any reports of activity, presuming they could see anything. So he would be entering the scene blind.

At the very least, McFarlane reasoned, he could land his force of infantry to reinforce Bamfield’s militia garrison. And he could perform reconnaissance. Any intelligence he gathered could be relayed via Pachena Station up the command chain. Then following units would have some clarity, a commodity that has been exceedingly rare in these parts since the beginning of the war. Depending on what the Germans brought to the fight, Malaspina might even be able tangle with a raider. He had 150 rounds for the 6 pounder in Malaspina’s hold. Commandeered merchant cruisers carried no armour, so Malaspina might even be able to land a lethal blow in these confined waters.

HMCS RAINBOW TO HMCD ESQUIMALT HAVE DETAINED SAXONIA AND AM BOARDING STOP AFTER PRIZE CREW IS EMBARKED CAN RENDER ASSISTANCE TO BAMFIELD OR ELSEWHERE PLEASE ADVISE

HMCD ESQUIMALT TO HMCS RAINBOW VANCOUVER COASTAL BATTERIES ARE ENGAGING HOSTILE CRUISER BELIEVED TO BE NURNBERG

“Dear God,” said McFarlane to himself. “So here we are, on our own.”

At 0700 Malaspina was nearing Trevor Channel, the approach to Bamfield. The wireless messages gave him a bit of intelligence to work with. He could expect no help from Rainbow in the coming confrontation. And the Nürnberg seemed to be elsewhere, so at least he would not be encountering her just around the corner. Directly ahead was the tower of Cape Beale light, with a view up Trevor Channel, and with the telegraph line cut, mute. “Send a semaphore message to Cape Beale lighthouse,” McFarlane ordered.

GCS MALASPINA ASKS WHAT IS THE SITUATION AT BAMFIELD

McFarlane watched the lighthouse keeper on the rail by the lantern, through his binoculars.

THOUGHT YOU WERE ALREADY AT BAMFIELD, came the reply. THE WAR HAS ARRIVED MUCH RIFLE FIRE SOME NAVAL GUNFIRE TELEGRAPH OUT DO NOT HAVE LINE OF SIGHT INTO INLET OR EAST SHORE OF CHANNEL

“Thought you were already at Bamfield” said McFarlane as he read the semaphore message out loud. “What does that mean?”

Malaspina rounded the hazardous reefs off Edward King Island and entered Trevor Channel. The lookout up the foremast had a lead of about a minute seeing over the intervening terrain, and called down. “No ships in sight! Lots of smoke to the north!”

A minute later McFarlane could see for himself, all the way up Trevor Channel as far as the entrance to the Alberni Canal. Indeed, lots of smoke was rising from the direction of Bamfield, and no ships were in sight at the moment. “Set course due east,” he ordered the helmsman. “I want to get us to the far shore right away.”

“Lieutenant,” he said to the officer from the 88th Fusiliers. “My first concern is to get you and your men landed. I don’t want to go into a naval battle packed with troops. But I want to get you as close as possible to the fight, so you can have some effect right away.”

“Sir,” said the boatswain on the bridge wing beside McFarlane. “I have spent some time at Bamfield. If the troops land at First Beach Cove, right there,” he pointed at a spot on the coastline ahead, “there is only a thin stretch of land maybe 50 yards across connecting the peninsula. Pretty flat too. Then you are in the water of Grappler Inlet again and it is a strait shot up the inlet, maybe not quite 2 miles to Station Point. The Indians used it as a portage.”

The officers referred to the chart. “I agree,” said McFarlane. “If you land and cross that isthmus, you may be able to find boats to commandeer on the other side.”

“We can do a portage ourselves,” said the Fusiliers lieutenant. “Thirty lads can carry a ship’s boat. Give us your two lightest ones.”

“Very well,” said McFarlane. “Get your men and gear ready. “We will be in position for you to disembark in less than ten minutes, if a warship does not come out of the harbour and sink us before then.” The ship’s officers had their binoculars trained on the mouth of Bamfield Inlet. They could see plenty of smoke, some perhaps from the stack of a steamship. At times they could faintly hear what sounded like rifle shots. Two oar-powered boats were swung out. Boxes of ammunition, a tripod, and machinegun were loaded into the first boat. No enemy ships appeared. The boats were lowered and soon the Fusiliers were leaning on their oars, heading for the cove as fast as they could manage. The militia commander had even refused to have any naval crew aboard, insisting that his men could handle the boats just fine themselves. McFarlane did not argue, he preferred to keep all his men on Malaspina.

With the militia away, McFarlane headed north.

CGS MALASPINA TO HMCD ESQUIMALT SOME KIND OF FIGHTING IN BAMFIELD AM ABOUT TO RENDER ASSISTANCE STOP GOD SAVE THE KING

Sending a wireless message might tip off the Germans that they were close, but McFarlane wanted to make sure the command structure had some information to work with. Especially if he was about to go down fighting. He had had enough of running around in the damn dark. Sure enough, within a minute of sending the wireless message, over the Mills Peninsula he saw a column of smoke increase, and begin heading out towards the entrance of the inlet.

Then, from between the tree covered promontories on either side of Bamfield Inlet, emerged a ship. A ship identical to his own, except for the German naval ensign flying from the mainmast. The Galiano. “Well, how about that!” McFarlane declared.

“Fire!”

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[YYJ]

Aug 21, 0645 hours. SMS Nürnberg, Strait of Georgia, near Vancouver.

Nürnberg approached Vancouver harbour at 20 knots, still flying her Japanese naval ensign, but the cruiser slowed as she came within 10,000 meters of the cliffs of Point Grey, the western end of the city. The ship was fully rigged for action, and all crews stood at their guns. To the north rose mountains still fringed with snow. The hillsides were forested with giant trees, but showed evidence of large areas being burned, or logged until bare, or both. To port was the green mass of Bowen Island, at the entrance to Howe Sound. A steam tug was just now pulling a barge loaded with railway cars past Point Atkinson lighthouse.

“We want to keep to the center in Burrard Inlet,” instructed Mueller, “north of those anchored sailing ships. The water at Spanish Banks to the south is very shallow. Those mountains there,” he said, pointing to the North Shore, “they are called The Lions. See the shapes?”

“No.” said Von Schoenberg, without turning his head. He was not here for sightseeing.

“Well,” replied Mueller, “you have to look at them just so…”

Vancouver harbour occupied a body of water called Burrard Inlet, bounded to the north by the slopes of West Vancouver, dotted with cottages and the occasional ferry wharf, and to the south by the sandy cliffs of Point Grey, and further east, the wood-framed peak-roofed residential neighborhood of Kitsilano. In between lay an anchorage 3 nautical miles wide and 5 long, Several sailing vessels lay anchored at the roads off Spanish Banks to the south, awaiting space at the docks, several more lay off English Bay at the east of the Inlet. English Bay itself sported a long sandy beach complete with a gingerbread bathhouse, swimming floats and tall slide. Beyond could be seen more residential neighborhoods, the commercial buildings of a substantial downtown, and to the right, the entrance to the industrial district of False Creek, under a brownish haze. The downtown ended at a wide, tree-covered peninsula, extending to the north.

“Stanley Park,” said Mueller, gesturing, “The Royal Navy kept that piece of land as a reserve, so they could use the big firs for masts. In the early 1800s.”

“How about that,” said Von Schönberg. “Lets hope that is as close as we come to the Royal Navy today.”

Between the rocky treed cliffs of Stanley Park and the coastal flats of the north shore Von Schönberg had his binoculars trained on the First Narrows, also known as the Lion’s Gate, the entry into Vancouver’s inner commercial and industrial harbour. This was Nürnberg’s destination. Some movement on the water caught the captain’s attention. A small steam tug was directly approaching Nürnberg.

WHAT SHIP? Challenged the tug, by semaphore.

“Steady. Respond with HIJMS Izumo,” ordered Von Schönberg. Then he shrugged. “Let’s see what they do with that.”

Von Schönberg read on the tug’s bow, CGS Heron Wing. She seemed to be crewed by men in naval uniform. The tug responded with a jumble of letters.

“She is challenging us sir,” reported the signalman, “for a password.”

“Send ‘please repeat,’” ordered Von Schönberg.

This exchange itself repeated several times, as the range closed.

STOP IMMEDIATELY FOR INSPECTION ordered the Heron Wing.

“Send ‘please repeat,’” ordered Von Schönberg, again.

STOP IMMEDIATELY OR BE FIRED UPON, ordered the Heron Wing. Then the tug put her rudder hard over and turned sharply away.

“Fired upon?” asked Von Schönberg.

The whine of an incoming shell passed by overhead, and a waterspout rose out of the sea off Nürnberg’s bow.

“Where did that come from!” Von Schönberg demanded.

Another shell fell from the sky and exploded in the cruiser’s wake.

“Two guns, on the cliff to our starboard,” answered the gunnery officer. He gave a bearing. “Range approximately 6000 meters.”

Von Schönberg observed through his binoculars. “Mueller!” he barked. “ You told us there was no coastal artillery!” The guns fired again, within seconds of each other, kicking up clouds of brown dust with their muzzle blasts.

“There were not!” Mueller answered, his voice rising in his distress. “There was no talk of guns. These must be new!”

The shells landed, both short and behind by at least 200 meters.

“Orders sir?” prompted the gunnery officer.

“Hold fire,” answered Von Schönberg, focusing on the Canadian artillery position on top of the Point Grey cliffs. “Those look like field guns, dug in. We will never hit them in those positions. But… they will never hit us either. Army field guns. They have no traverse. We will continue. Lets put some range between us and those guns. ‘A ship’s a fool to fight a fort.’”

“Make smoke!” he ordered. “Helm to port!” Nürnberg heeled over in a tight turn, and headed directly for Point Atkinson to the north. The black smoke coming from her stacks increased, until a dense cloud trailed behind and obscured the shore battery’s line of sight to the cruiser’s run northward. A pair of shells straddled Nürnberg, one close enough that shell splinters could be heard rattling off the hull plates.

The Canadian artillery kept up a steady fire, despite the smoke, and shells continued to land in the sea, wild. Mueller gave the helmsman instructions, how close he could approach the north shore before depth became a problem.

“Helm to starboard!” ordered Von Schönberg. Nürnberg turned east and hugged the shore, steaming towards the Lion’s Gate at 15 knots, soon emerging from her smoke screen. “Raise the Imperial Ensign!” Down came the Rising Sun, up went the Black Cross and Imperial Eagle. Range to the guns on Point Grey was now 5000 meters and growing, as the Nürberg steamed deeper into Burrard Inlet. Shells continued to land around the cruiser but rarely close. Some overshot and landed on the soil of West Vancouver.

“Sir!” called a lookout who had been observing the Canadian gunnery. “There was just a flash, and smoke unlike the usual muzzle blast.”

Von Schönberg looked himself, through his binoculars, and saw a cloud of dark smoke rising from the left-hand gun position, and perhaps some flames as well. Indeed, the next salvo only brought a single shell.

“Drill failure?” wondered Von Schönberg. “Equipment failure?” These were the kind of things a captain always feared, but he had the utmost confidence in both his men and his guns. As his gaze lingered on Point Grey he noticed a tall pair of masts supporting a long wireless antenna. One of those Dominion Wireless Stations. “Perhaps we will come back for that later,” he said to himself.

At 0720 hours, Nürnberg was still steaming due east at 15 knots, keeping as close to the north shore of Burrard Inlet, and as far from the now single angry gun at Point Grey as geography allowed. “When we reach the Lion’s Gate, favour the cliffs on the south,” directed Mueller. “The Capilano River estuary creates a bank of shallows to the north. It is dredged, but groundings are still common. If you look ahead at the cliffs there, just at the point, can you see that free-standing pinnacle? That is Siwash Rock. The stuff of Indian legend.”

A pair of waterspouts landed in Nürnberg’s path, a mere 100 meters short. Von Schönberg heard shell splinters strike the wheelhouse.

“Coastal defense guns! More of them!” yelled the gunnery officer, unable to hide his emotion. “Atop that cliff ahead!” He gave a bearing. “Range 6500 meters!”

“Guns! Return fire!” ordered Von Schönberg. “Suppress those guns!” This time he saw two muzzle flashes, as the new coastal battery fired a second salvo. “Mueller!”

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