A German commerce raider, harried by the Royal Navy, is tracked down to a muddy corner of an East African backwater. This action included one of the very first uses of aircraft in naval combat – both to bomb the Konigsberg and to act as spotters for British naval gunfire. No fewer than 11 aircraft of five different types and two airfields were used during 9 months stalking Königsberg.
Zanzibar, 20 September 1914. The British 3rd‑class cruiser Pegasus lays in harbor. Commander John Ingles would have much preferred his ship’s overhaul to take place at the British stronghold of Mombasa, but the Royal Navy had already suffered some loss of face in East African waters early in World War I. It was sound policy that Zanzibar’s inhabitants should realize the Navy’s resolution to protect them. Ingles was uncomfortably aware that the 2,135‑ton Pegasus‑her fires drawn while the residue of long steaming on poor‑quality coal was cleared from her boilers‑was a sitting duck. He ordered his gunners to take it in turns to sleep at their posts and sent the armed tug Helmuth to patrol the harbor approaches.
A little before 0500, Helmuth sighted what looked like a large merchantman making her way cautiously through the shoals of Zanzibar’s south channel. The stranger’s reply to Helmuth’s challenge was sudden and shocking. Breaking out the German battle‑flag, she gathered speed and brushed Helmuth aside with two warning shots. His Imperial German Majesty’s light cruiser Königsberg drove in towards Pegasus. The first salvos from five of Königsberg’s 10 4.1 in guns opened up from 9,000 yards and bracketed the motionless Pegasus, whose eight old 4in guns were outranged by about a half a mile. By 0525, when Pegasus had fired some 50 rounds to no more effect than a graze on Königsberg’s 2 in armored deck, the British cruiser was ablaze amidships. One by one her guns fell silent as the German scored hit after hit.
Shrouded in smoke and with fires breaking out along her entire length, Pegasus ceased firing. For about five minutes, while Königsberg closed to under 7,000 yards, the German guns were also mute. A German account states that the British raised a white flag. But then showed signs of recommencing action. A British source claims that although Pegasus’s ensign was momentarily struck‑-shot away‑-it was bravely held aloft by Marines, one man taking another’s place as they were shot down. For whatever reason, Königsberg opened fire again, inflicting casualties among damage and medical parties on the British ship’s torn decks. After 10 minutes’ more bombardment, during which she put a few shells into the town but completely ignored the big collier Banffshire moored nearby, Königsberg steamed out to sea. She had scored around 300 hits on Pegasus killing 31 men, wounding over 50. She sank at 1300.
Königsberg triumphed in an unequal contest that began some days before the War Telegram brought the ships of Rear‑Admiral Herbert King‑Hall’s Cape Squadron to battle stations. Late in July 1914, Pegasus was sent to Dar-es-Salaam‑-capital of German East Africa‑to keep an eye on Königsberg. It was 16 years since Pegasus had made 21.2 knots on her trials. On 31 July 1914, she could only watch as the 10‑years‑younger, 3,400‑ton Königsberg‑still capable of approaching the 24 knots for which she had been designed and completed at Kiel in 1907‑raced from Dar‑es-Salaam and disappeared over the horizon. Like Ingles of Pegasus, Fregattenkapitan A. D. (Max) Looff had advance orders for the coming hostilities. Königsberg was to be a hit‑and‑run commerce raider along the sea lanes linking Britain with her far‑flung empire. A few hours after losing Pegasus, Königsberg slipped past the second of King‑Hall’s old cruisers, his flagship, the 2nd‑class cruiser Hyacinth, during the night. War was declared four days later. By then the German cruiser was at large somewhere in the vast expanse of water between Cape Town and Singapore.
King‑Hall heard nothing of her again until 21 August, when news reached him of the fate of the 6,000‑ton liner City of Winchester, out of Ceylon with the best of the season’s tea. She was attacked by Königsberg some 280 miles east of Aden on 6 August. A week later, when her crew had been transferred to two German steamers and her bunkers emptied of coal to keep Königsberg running and fighting, Looff sank the liner in Khorya Morya Bay, SE Arabia. News of the sinking affected British station commanders from the Mediterranean to the China Sea. Their prime duty was to guard the routes along which Imperial troops and supplies were being rushed to Europe, to the vital Suez garrison, and to East Africa, where an able German commander, Oberstleutnant Paul von Lettow‑Vorbeck, was building a powerful force of German and African askari soldiers.
The sea lanes were not only threatened by lone wolves like Königsberg, the light cruiser Emden, armed merchant cruisers like the fast 9,000‑ton liner Prinz Eitel Friedrich and as yet unknown numbers of smaller steamers, but also by Admiral Graf Maximilian von Spee’s heavy-cruiser China squadron. Despite the Royal Navy’s impressive superiority in capital ships (most, however, kept in home waters) and the help of Japanese and Russian cruisers, Britain’s eastern admirals were forced to work their ships and crews to the limit.
The loss of one out‑of‑date warship could be borne. But the threat to the prestige of the Royal Navy in the eyes of the Empire was more serious. The Admiralty despatched old battleships whose guns could guard the convoy routes while cruisers hunted down the raiders. With German bases closed, the Japanese navy guarding the China seas, and German colliers and supply‑vessels sunk or interned wherever they appeared, the hit‑and‑run ability of ships like Königsberg must have become increasingly limited. But with the raiders’ early successes, the governments of Australia and New Zealand, in particular, became reluctant to risk their troops at sea. In October 1914, New Zealand refused to sail more convoys until their security improved. Every available ship was now deployed in search of the raiders. Off East Africa, the three modern 25‑knot cruisers Weymouth, Chatham and Dartmouth, each mounting 8 x Gin guns, looked for Königsberg.
Königsberg vanishes again
As far as Königsberg’s hideout was concerned, preparations were made early in 1914, when the 650‑ton survey vessel Möwe charted the tortuous waterways of the Rufiji Delta‑‑a 30‑mile wide, 200‑square‑mile wilderness of forest, bush and swamp through which the Rufiji river flows into the Indian Ocean in three main channels and several smaller branches. Möwe’s charts, as well as fine seamanship, enabled Looff to ‘vanish’ after the sinking of City of Winchester. He took the 378ft‑long Königsberg deep into the delta. It was from this secret base‑where close liaison was made with German land forces‑that Königsberg ventured out to sink Pegasus.
Had Looff stayed at sea after destroying Pegasus; relying for fuel on coal taken from prizes and on contacts with supply‑ships in remote anchorages, Königsberg might have had a career as spectacular as Emden. Instead, warned of the three Gin gun cruisers hunting him and of the arrival of the pre‑dreadnought Goliath at Mombasa, Looff decided to go into hiding again in the Rufiji. Here minor engine repairs could be safely carried out. By early October, Königsberg had ‘vanished’ once more.
Germany’s carefully deployed supply‑ships were, ironically, the means of Königsberg’s betrayal. Early in October, Captain Sydney Drury‑Lowe of Chatham, following yet another false trail in the Mozambique Channel, captured the 250‑ton German tug Adjutant. The tug’s papers linked her with the 3,385‑ton liner President, whose movements had already aroused suspicion. Adjutant was bound for a rendezvous with Prasident in Lindi Bay, south of the Rufiji. This date was kept by Chatham. Although not registered as a hospital chip or painted white as international law, demanded, President flew the Red Cross flag. Turning a Nelsonian blind eye, Drury‑Lowe sent a boarding‑party. His action was proved legitimate by the liner’s papers. These showed that she had off‑loaded coal into lighters in September. These had taken it up the Rufiji. This, combined with a study of President’s charts, gave Drury‑Lowe the clue he needed.
Chatham arrived off the Rufiji on 30 October. Lookouts reported the German collier Somali about three miles up one main channel, three small steamers up another‑and what looked like the upper‑works of a bigger vessel much farther inside the delta. Local Africans confirmed that there was a large warship about 12 miles up‑river and added that the main channels’ banks were strongly held by German and askari troops and that the waters were mined. Chatham‑ outweighing Königsberg by about 2,000 tons‑could not enter the delta.
Rightly, Drury‑Lowe was reluctant to risk a ‘cutting‑out’ expedition in launches. He also doubted that Königsberg was really so far up‑river and hoped that if her location was pinpointed she could be sunk by long‑range fire. The old Goliath arrived to hurl salvos from her four 12in guns in Königsberg’s direction. This was to no avail and Goliath was forced to withdraw with engine trouble. After sinking Somali with gunfire, Drury‑Lowe could only settle down to blockade the Rufiji, supported by Weymouth and Dartmouth.
The Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) was officially established on 1 July 1914. It had no strength in East Africa. But Admiral King‑Hall remembered the summer sensation of Durban‑the exhibition flights of two 90hp Curtiss seaplanes. They were then known as ‘hydro‑aeroplanes’. The aircraft, their pilot, Mr H. D. Cutler, and a Union Castle liner were smartly requisitioned. On 6 November 1914, Flight Sub‑Lieutenant Cutler RNAS sailed from Simonstown with one of the seaplanes aboard the armed merchant cruiser Kinfauns Castle. Bad weather on the way north damaged the aircraft. Parts from the second Curtiss were taken aboard off Durban. Helped by Midshipman A. N. Gallehawk, Cutler strove to put together one airworthy plane. By 20 November, Kinfauns Castle lay at Niororo Island‑18 miles from the Rufiji. The monsoon season of clammy heat and torrential rain was imminent. Cutler and Gallehawk labored feverishly to plug the seaplane’s leaky hull and adjust its engine to run efficiently in tropical conditions.
On 22 November‑his aircraft stripped to its bare essentials ‑Cutler took off from Niororo and headed for the coast, into the raging monsoon. He had no compass and only enough fuel for about an hour’s flight. When he failed to return, many aboard Kinfauns Castle gave him up for lost. He might easily have been, had not the crew of a native sailing boat reported sighting an aircraft flying south down the coast. Launches were sent to search and found Cutler unharmed. His plane was damaged by an emergency landing on an uninhabited islet. Two days later, the airman took off again in his patched‑up plane, and this time returned successfully. What he had to say disappointed Drury‑Lowe. Königsberg was indeed 12 miles up the Rufiji, heavily‑defended and apparently ready for a sortie should the blockade relax. Another flight was ordered with Captain Crampton of Kinfauns Castle as observer. It was made early in December ‑after the remains of the second Curtiss were brought from Durban and cannibalized to make a single airworthy machine. Crampton confirmed what Cutler had reported Königsberg lay beyond the range of Drury‑Lowe’s guns.
The cruiser had, however, shifted position a little. On 6 December Cutler again took off to check on her. The Curtiss’s hull was waterlogged and its engine on its last legs. One mile up‑river the aircraft could take no more. Cutler landed in the river right under the guns of a German patrol. He was trying unsuccessfully to set his plane on fire as they waded out to capture him. Cutler remained a prisoner for three years, but he had one comfort‑the enemy failed to capture his aircraft. From the tug Helmuth, Midshipman Gallehawk saw Cutler’s landing. In an action resembling the plot of a boy’s comic book, Gallehawk and a motorboat’s crew roared into the Rufiji supported by 3pdr fire from Helmuth, drove off the askaris who were dragging the Curtiss ashore, got a line to the aircraft and, under heavy fire, towed it out. A gallant gesture; but of little material value. The Curtiss proved beyond repair and was eventually consigned to Durban Museum.
Chatham retired to Bombay for a refit and Rear‑Admiral King‑Hall himself arrived at the Rufiji aboard Hyacinth. Like Drury‑Lowe, the Admiral called for aircraft‑for bombing. He also proposed a surprise attack by improvised torpedo‑boats, and an assault by monitors (shallow‑draft vessels mounting heavy guns) which had acted successfully as fire‑support ships off the Belgian coast in October. This was vetoed by the Admiralty. No monitors could yet be spared for East Africa, but aircraft were available. Two Sopwith float‑planes‑-experimental variants of the ‘Tabloid’ land‑plane‑powered by the 100hp Monosoupape‑Gnome Rotary engine developed for the 1914 Schneider Trophy event, were sent from Britain with a 20‑man RNAS party commanded by Flight Lieutenant J. T. Cull.
When the Sopwiths arrived at Niororo on 21 February 1915, Flt.‑Lt. Cull agreed to make an immediate bombing-run. But the Sopwiths’ delicate air‑cooled engines‑even when stripped of their cowlings‑failed to provide anything approaching full power in tropical conditions. Cull began with full fuel, maximum bomb‑load (two 501b, four 161b) and an observer. After four days’ wave‑hopping he at last got aloft‑but with no bombs, no observer, a ceiling of about 1,500ft and fuel for only an hour’s flight. Within a few days both Sopwiths were unserviceable, their wooden frames and propellors warped by the heat (and many of the RNAS contingent down with heat‑stroke or sunburn).
Early in April there arrived three Short ‘folder’ seaplanes aboard the auxiliary cruiser Laconic out of Durban. They were old and cranky but at least airworthy. On 25 April, newly‑promoted Flight Commander Cull took off with an observer, Air Mechanic Boggis, who carried a 7×5 Goerz camera. Laboring on at under 1,000ft, the Short came under heavy fire from ground troops and from Königsberg’s position. She appeared to be still ready for a sortie. The camera did not show that more than a third of her 330‑strong crew had left to serve with von Lettow‑Vorbeck’s army. And although a South African professional hunter, Pieter Pretorius, with a team of African trackers, claimed to have got within 300 yards of Königsberg early in 1915, there is no record that he reported the shrinking crew‑although he confirmed the strength of the land‑forces guarding her. ,
Where were the monitors?
The Shorts’ climate‑imposed ceiling made bombing a near‑suicidal undertaking. Therefore Rear‑Admiral King‑Hall concentrated on tightening his blockade while awaiting the monitors. In mid‑April intercepted wireless messages told of a supply‑ship bound for the Rufiji. Hyacinth steamed to intercept. On 14 April, off Tanga, a 3,600‑ton steamer (the captured British vessel Pubens, masquerading as the neutral Norwegian Kronberg) was set ablaze and run aground. Engine failure caused King‑Hall’s premature withdrawal, however, and the Germans were able to salvage part of Kronberg’s cargo of arms and ammunition. There were more rumors of relief‑ships, and King‑Hall’s command was strengthened by the 3rd‑class Australian cruiser Pioneer, the armored cruiser Cornwall and the refitted Chatham. But by mid‑May, when the two latter ships were ordered to the Dardanelles, the monitors had still not arrived. All three Shorts were unserviceable, and although an airfield had been prepared on Mafia Island, about eight miles off the Rufiji, no more aircraft had come.
In fact, the monitors were on their way. Severn and Mersey had been designed by Vickers as 1,260‑ton river gunboats for Brazil. Like other export craft being built in Britain, they had been requisitioned by the Royal Navy in August 1914. Their design‑267ft long, 49ft in beam, but drawing only 4ft 9in, with an extremely low freeboard reflected their intended role, and mode them totally unsuited to the voyage from Malta, through the Red Sea to Aden, and down the African coast. The Aden to Mafia stage alone took 19 days, during which time the monitor’s tender Trent and their collier had often to assist the four tugs towing the unwieldy craft‑capable of a mere 12 knots under their own power. Captain E. J. A. Fullerton of Severn and Commander R. A. Wilson of Mersey and their crews more than earned the special commendation given them by the Admiralty before they had even fired a shot over the Rufiji.
The monitors finally reached Mafia on 3 June 1915. But they were not ready for action. Mounting two 6in guns-one forward and one aft, with one 4.7in howitzer also aft for high‑trajectory fire‑they were built to give punishment rather than take it. Before they were risked in the heavily-defended delta, armor plate was added to their decks and sides. Sandbags were placed at such vulnerable spots as bridge, magazine and gun‑mounts. On 18 June, while the work was still going on, the auxiliary cruiser Laurentic delivered new aircraft. These were land‑planes‑two Caudron GIII biplanes with 80hp Gnome engines and two Henri Farman HF27 ‘pushers’ with 140hp Canton‑Unné engines. The Farmans were from a small batch specially built for operation in the tropics, with frames of steel tubing, and had a four‑hour endurance with a maximum bomb‑load of 550lb. Squadron Commander R. Cordon took command of the Mafia airfield, which now boasted a large corrugated iron hangar as well as native‑style grass huts for personnel.
Late in June the aircraft were assembled and work on the monitors completed. Training in combined air‑surface operations then began. A simple ‘clock‑face’ code was adopted for spotting. The new aircraft had wirelesses, but an alternative hand‑and‑flag‑signal code was devized in the case of failure. The Laurentic was sent to escort a small contingent of Indian troops in a feint landing at Dar‑es-Salaam‑-intended to divert German forces that might otherwise be rushed to the Rufiji. King ‑Hall’s fleet was strengthened by Pyramus (sister‑ship to the ill‑fated Pegasus), with the 2nd‑class cruiser Challenger due to arrive early in July.
Laurentic’s mock attack was mounted on 5 July. On 6 July, King‑Hall launched his intended knock‑out blow on Königsberg. Preceded by three ‘mine sweeping’ whalers, the monitors entered the Kikunja‑northern branch of the Rufiji‑at 0520. In the remaining Caudron‑one Caudron and a Farman were wrecked in training‑-Flight Lieutenant Watkins bombed Königsberg from 6,000ft. He scored no hits but provided a diversion. As the monitors ploughed on, answering heavy fire from the banks with their 3pdrs and MGs, Flight Commander Cull arrived in the Farman, with Flight Sub‑Lieutenant H. J. Arnold as observer. Weymouth, with King‑Hall aboard, and Pyramus at the Kikuja mouth shelled enemy gun‑emplacements and observation posts on high ground. At the same time, Hyacinth and Pioneer engaged similar targets while guarding the Simba Uranga channel.
The monitors anchored at 0630, supposedly more than 11,000 yards from Königsberg. Here their 6in guns should outrange her 4.1 in. Because of inaccurate charts, however, Severn and Mersey were much closer‑in sight of observation posts with telephone links to the cruiser. Severn opened fire at 0648. Almost immediately she was straddled by the first of many accurate four‑ and five‑gun salvos from Königsberg. Severn’s first shots were signalled by the Farman as 200 yards short and off to the left.
First blood in the clash went to Königsberg. At 0740 a direct hit on Mersey’s forward 6in disabled the gun, killed three men and wounded more. Minutes later, a motorboat alongside was sunk and another shell holed the monitor near the waterline. Commander Wilson wisely retreated about 1,000 yards. Severn was faring better. At 0751, Arnold signalled ‘H T’ (hit). Five more hits were signalled inside 20 minutes, but then Arnold made ‘WO’‑meaning the aircraft must leave. By 0810, when Flight Lieutenant Blackburn with Assistant Paymaster Badger as observer arrived in the Caudron, Mersey had again started firing while Severn retreated. Severn’s move was lucky. It brought in view a German observation post in a tree about 400 yards away. Its destruction saw a marked decline in Königsberg’s accuracy.
The monitors closed in once more, but wireless communications with the Farman‑piloted now by Squadron Commander Gordon with Arnold, who spent nine hours aloft that day as observer‑failed. The Caudron, relieving it at 1145, had to leave almost immediately with engine trouble. At 1400, when the Farman returned with its wireless repaired, both monitors were firing briskly. But no more hits were signalled and many shots went unmarked. In fact, the monitors were firing better than they realized. Many shells landing very near Königsberg fell into deep mud and failed to explode. Of 635 rounds fired only six were signalled ‘hits’, but by the time the monitors withdrew‑at about 1545-they had had many remarkable escapes from near‑misses and the cruiser’s ammunition reserves were depleted. It had also become apparent that in a subsequent attack the monitors should fire in turn rather than on their own time. This would allow the aerial observers to make their reports more specific.
On 11 July, just before 1200, Severn and Mersey steamed again into the delta. Cull and Arnold were overhead in the Farman. Fire from the banks was as fierce as before. Mersey had two men wounded before reaching her firing position. Her orders were to draw Königsberg’s fire while Severn closed the range. But the Germans were not deceived. Mersey received only brief attention, while Severn was soon straddled by four‑gun salvos that spattered her decks with mud from near‑misses. At 1230, however, when Severn anchored well inside 10,000 yards (5.6 miles) and opened fire. Königsberg’s accuracy suddenly crumbled. Severn’s opening shots broke the telephone line linking the most important German observation post (said to be an officer in a barrel sunk in the mud only 50 yards from Severn) to the cruiser.
In spite of heavy small‑arms and 12pdr fire, Cull and Arnold swooped over Königsberg below 3,000ft to spot for Severn, whose eighth salvo brought ‘H T’ from Arnold. Of the next 12 shots, eight hit. The cruiser was reduced to three‑gun salvos. But she continued firing at the aircraft. At about 1250 a shell‑burst sheared two cylinders from the Farman’s engine. Cull began a shallow glide towards the river while Arnold asked Mersey to send a boat‑still keeping up the report on Severn’s fire. His final signal‑’HT All forward’‑was made just before the Farman hit the water some 150 yards from Mersey. It somersaulted and threw Arnold clear. But Cull, strapped firmly in his seat, narrowly escaped drowning before Mersey’s boat arrived.
Arnold’s last signal proved vital. Lowering sights a fraction, Severn hit Königsberg amidships‑causing a massive explosion marked by a column of yellow‑black smoke. Only two guns answered from the cruiser‑then only one. For nearly an hour Severn fired a salvo every 90 seconds. By the time Mersey moved up to join her, seven big explosions had been counted. Aboard Königsberg, Looff realized his ship was doomed and ordered scuttling‑charges, rigged from torpedo‑warheads, fired at about 1330. As her crew splashed ashore, the cruiser toppled to starboard and settled deep into the mud. At 1344‑seeing Königsberg ablaze along her whole length and listing sharply, Lieutenant A. G. Bishop, observer in the Caudron flown by Flight Lieutenant Watkins, signalled ‘O K’. Severn and Mersey continued firing until King‑Hall ordered their withdrawal. Soon after 1420, the Admiral stood at the salute on the bridge of Weymouth‑her decks lined with cheering men‑as the monitors steamed out of the delta.
As sunset approached, a party of Germans re‑boarded Königsberg to lower her battle‑flag, still just above water‑level, and disable her guns by dumping the breech‑blocks overboard. As a commerce raider, Königsberg had had little success, but she had kept a strong force of British cruisers–cruisers that might have hunted down Emden earlier, or reinforced Vice‑Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock’s squadron and prevented its destruction by von Spee at Coronet on 1 November 1914‑tied up for some eight months. Now her men went to join von Lettow‑Vorbeck’s force, while her name was passed on to a 5,440‑ton cruiser launched in December 1915. She later surrendered to France and was renamed Metz. Königsberg’s career was still not quite over. King‑Hall was to regret that, because of the strong land forces in the delta, he did not order a final attack to completely wreck the cruiser. Early in August 1915, a Caudron from Mafia flew over the delta on a photo‑reconnaissance mission. The airmen reported the cruiser a total wreck, but photographs showed a lighter alongside. Salvage of some kind was going on. (Her remains lay there until 1962, when the Tanzanian government sold them to a scrap‑metal firm.)
The salvage work was directed by Commander Schönfeld, a naval reservist who had spent many years in East Africa as a planter. With the help of African and German divers, he recovered all 10 of the 4.1 in guns’ breech‑blocks from the Rufiji mud, as welt as salving a number of 12 and 3pdrs and MGs. The 4.1 in (105mm)‑as powerful as any artillery then in East Africa‑were mounted on wheeled wooden platforms each pulled by up to 400 native laborers. In March 1916, when the British attacked German‑held Kahe (more than 300 miles from the Rufiji), they were initially repulsed by guns from Königsberg, which played no small part in enabling von Lettow‑Vorbeck to hold out until the Armistice. Perhaps the most ironic instance of the guns’ use was at Kondoa Irangi in May‑June 1916‑where Königsberg’s guns bombarding the British‑held settlement were answered by guns salvaged from Pegasus!
Richard O’Neil with additional material.
