On the afternoon of 18 September 1914, little more than a month after the outbreak of World War I, the Royal Navy’s Pegasus dropped anchor in the harbor of Zanzibar, a British-controlled island in the Indian Ocean 20 miles off the coast of German East Africa (now Tanzania). A third-class protected cruiser mounting eight 4-inch guns, the Pegasus, launched in 1897, was one of eleven 2,200-ton Pelorus-class cruisers. The ships had not been a successful design—heavy rollers with the tendency to be very wet in rough weather. While the cruisers reached a designed speed of 20 knots on trials, the water- tube boilers were a constant source of trouble, and by 1914 the ships could hardly attain 16 knots. At this time, the Pegasus was the only British warship on the East African coast and the sole naval protection for British East Africa (now Kenya) and Zanzibar.
Prewar relations between the various colonies along the East African coast usually had been cordial, so there had been no reason for the Admiralty to have provided the Cape of Good Hope Squadron, which had the responsibility of protecting British interests in this very large area, with the best naval vessels. Consequently, the squadron had only two other aged cruisers, the Hyacinth (built in 1900, with eleven 6-inch guns), and the Astraea (1894; two 6-inchers). In addition, the Admiralty, for whatever reason, had prohibited the use of good Welsh coal in the squadron and the poor- quality briquettes from the Natal collieries only worsened the problem and caused a slow, aged force to be even slower and more prone to breakdown. The Pegasus put into Zanzibar harbor for an overhaul.
Despite the warnings of Admiral Herbert King-Hall, the squadron commander, the Admiralty had sent the Hyacinth and Astraea on convoy and patrol duty. Thus, the Pegasus was alone, at anchor under boiler repair. Mombasa, on the mainland in British East Africa, would have been a safer harbor, but the people of Zanzibar felt uneasy and unprotected without a naval presence, so Royal Navy Captain John Ingles had taken his ship there as ordered. The reason for Admiral King-Hall’s reluctance to have the Pegasus alone and vulnerable while under overhaul was the result of an ominous threat—the German cruiser/raider Konigsberg was loose somewhere in the Indian Ocean, but the Royal Navy was unsure where.
To protect its new colonies and trade routes and put down native rebellions, Germany needed a navy. It rapidly began to build fast, long-range, well-armed cruisers, and the yards of Krupp and Vulkan were turning them out as good as—and in some ways better than—anyone else. Soon these slim, graceful, three-funneled ships, their bows emblazoned with the gilded Imperial eagle, were found on all the world’s oceans.
The colonists in German East Africa long had clamored for an adequate naval representation. June 1914 saw the arrival in Dar es Salaam, capital of the German colony, of His Imperial Majesty’s light cruiser Konigsberg, Fregattenkapitan Max Looff commanding. The Konigsberg was only seven years old and could make 24 knots. Displacing 3,400 tons and 378 feet long, her armament was ten 4.1-inch (105-mm) guns. The Krupp 4.1-inch was a high- velocity weapon that could outrange the 6-inch guns on the older British cruisers and had a much higher rate of fire. Thus the Konigsberg had an overwhelming advantage over the Cape Squadron cruisers.
The initial mission of the Konigsberg in German East Africa essentially was to keep the peace between the colonists and the indigenous population, who had a recurring tendency toward often quite bloody insurrection. In frequent visits to the harbors along the coast, the Konigsberg became a source of pride to the colonists and awe to the native population.
By the end of July, the threat of war in Europe was almost certain, and on 31 July, the Konigsberg left Dar es Salaam and disappeared into the vast Indian Ocean. Admiral King-Hall and the three cruisers of the Cape Squadron searched the coast to find and shadow the German cruiser, with no success, and it was this patrolling and nosing up muddy estuaries that finally sent the Pegasus to Zanzibar for overhaul.
The Konigsberg Takes Action
Then, on 6 August, two days after Britain and Germany went to war, the Konigsberg reappeared to sink the British liner City of Winchester in the Gulf of Aden, almost 2,000 miles to the north—the first British ship to be lost at sea in the war. The war was barely 48 hours old, and the news was kept from the British public for weeks.
Captain Ingles was a cautious man, and despite assurances from London that by then the Konigsberg was probably on the other side of the ocean, he did all he could to protect his immobile ship with what he had available. But what he had was not very much. At war’s outbreak, the small German tug Helmuth had been seized at Zanzibar. An officer, a few ratings, and some minor armament from the Pegasus were put on aboard, and the Helmuth was sent to patrol the South Channel leading to the harbor. Except for the guns of the Pegasus, that was the extent of the defenses.
But even if Ingles had known that the Konigsberg— far from being on the other side of the ocean, or even 1,000 miles north—had been little more than 100 miles away, it is doubtful that he could have done much to change the outcome of subsequent events significantly.
Coal became a problem for the Konigsberg, because the main source of supply for German cruisers was supply colliers, and their number—never great—gradually was being reduced by the Royal Navy. Looff took the Konigsberg 100 miles south of the capital to an improbable haven: the delta of the Rufiji River, a 200-square- mile miasmic mangrove swamp intersected by five river branches. While the British cruisers chased shadows up and down the coast, the Konigsberg resupplied, bothered only by the malarial mosquitoes, hippos, and crocodile that ruined the swimming.
On 19 September, Looff learned that a British cruiser with two smokestacks had entered Zanzibar harbor alone. It had to be either the Astraea or the Pegasus—but even if it were the larger Astraea, he knew the odds would be still in his favor. The Konigsberg left the Rufiji, setting course for Zanzibar harbor, less than a ten-hour run to the north.
The Pegasus Under Attack
Shortly before dawn the next morning, the tug Helmuth was finishing patrol in the Southern Channel. It had been another dull night. Then a large vessel came out of the dawn mist. The Helmuth’s captain, Sublieutenant Charlewood, believed it to be the Union Castle liner Gascon, arriving with supplies and replacement crew for the Pegasus, and he steamed toward her to inform her she was approaching Zanzibar by a forbidden channel.
“In a brief matter of moments the short tropic dawn turned into broad daylight,” Charlewood later wrote, “and the rapidly approaching vessel altered course a few degrees. To my horror I saw that she had three funnels and I knew it must be the Konigsberg. At that instant, German colours were broken from her foremast head and the peak and the gaff, and a blank shot warned us not to pursue our enquiries further. The German cruiser opened fire on the Pegasus immediately and after two or three salvos every shell was finding its mark.”1
Captain Ingles stated: “The Konigsberg had the range correct at the second salvo which was before we could open fire. She opened fire at 9,000 yards and closed to 7,000. Her shooting was very accurate while our shots were falling considerably short.”2
The Pegasus could not reply until the enemy’s third salvo, but her 4-inch guns were ineffective against the modern German 4.1s. The Konigsberg fired salvo after salvo, turning to allow port, then starboard guns to bear. Captain Ingles reported: “All our engaged broadside guns were disabled after eight minutes and fire ceased from us.’” Fires broke out around the ship, and a direct hit on the stokers’ mess killed 11 men. The gun crews were cut down rapidly by the hail of splinters, and the dead and dying littered the decks. Captain Ingles ordered the ensign struck and the white flag hoisted.
Looff noted: “The battle had already lasted twenty minutes when the Gunnery Officer reported that he believed he saw the white flag put up by the enemy. What? White flag on an English warship? Ignore it, I answered, and allowed the firing to continue. Such a disgrace I rejected fully. . . . Nevertheless, it was a fact.”4
The engagement lasted less than half an hour. The Pegasus was afire and out of action, so the Konigsberg ceased fire and turned south. But Looff recounted one more part of the operation: “There was a wireless station at Zanzibar, the chart showed it to be on a hill. We fired some salvos but could not be sure of the results until a few days later when we heard an English report: ‘Wireless station destroyed; two of four masts knocked down.’ In any event, the Zanzibar station was silent for a week.”5
Lieutenant Charlewood tried desperately to maneuver the Helmuth out of range as the Konigsberg left the channel. But “. . . the German opened fire on us with one of the small-caliber guns. The first round fell short, the second one over. We did not wait for the third.” He ordered his crew overboard and “. . . we were all in the water as the third shell severed the Helmuth’s main steam pipe.”
Another Trick Up the Sleeve
There was yet one more opportunity for the Konigsberg to play a joke on her opponents, which turned out to be an effective strategy. In the Rufiji, the Konigsberg had found a number of old gasoline drums. Although the naval lists showed the Konigsberg as a mine-laying cruiser, she had not brought any mines from Germany. The drums were stored on the quarterdeck in plain view of the shore, and as the Germans left the harbor they made a big show of throwing the drums overboard, then sending a wireless message: “Keep clear of the Southern Channel.” The British told ships to avoid Zanzibar until the “mines” were cleared, and for a time, the Royal Navy believed that British and German ports in East Africa were mined.
The Pegasus had been badly holed at the waterline, and she listed considerably. Moored 500 yards from the Pegasus was the collier Banffshire, whose lifeboats evacuated the wounded to a hospital and brought the dead ashore. Captain Ingles ordered the fires drenched and had a tug brought to tow the cruiser into shallow water where, within two miles, she grounded forward. Lieutenant Charlewood boarded the Pegasus with two volunteers but suddenly found the ship settling fast under him, and for the second time that day had to swim for his life. Tide and wind drove the ship into deeper water, where at 1420 she heeled to port and sank, leaving her mastheads above water.
The effect of the Konigsberg coup panicked residents of Zanzibar, who thought they were about to be invaded and occupied. Britain’s only naval protection in the area had been wiped out, and British naval prestige had suffered a major blow. Worse, the Konigsberg was still at large.
As great as the victory was, Looff made a major error in not undertaking one more task. He had no wish to be caught in the harbor and fled as rapidly as possible. Had he chosen to remain, the whole place could have been his. Most important was the Banffshire, whose tons of coal would have been a godsend to his dwindling supply.
The loss came at a particularly bad time for the British. Two days after the destruction of the Pegasus, the Royal Navy lost three more cruisers in one day, sunk by a primitive U-boat in the North Sea; six weeks later came a disaster at Coronel. The British public was not ready for such losses, and the Admiralty took pains to cover up something as embarrassing as the Pegasus striking her colors.
To the contrary, the Zanzibar action was presented as an example of naval heroism. War artists produced a series of paintings with captions such as: “A marine holds aloft the Union Jack of the Pegasus which had been shot from its staff. Another ran forward, picked it up and waved it aloft. He was also struck down but another came forward to take his place. Until the end the flag was kept flying.”6 But that the striking of the colors, an almost unheard-of act in the history of the Royal Navy, took place is beyond doubt. Ingles, in his report to the commander-in-chief of the Cape Squadron, wrote: “I regret to report that I was obliged to strike the flag after severe bombardment.”
What Actually Happened?
How severe the bombardment was in terms of actual destruction is an open question. If the ship were burning as severely as reported, how was the crew able to put out the fires and remove the dead and wounded from below decks so quickly considering the lack of firefighting equipment? The ship was hit or straddled by more than 200 shells, holed at the waterline, and listing considerably, according to Captain Ingles. If so, why did it not sink at the mooring rather than be in a condition to be towed up the harbor to Malindi Spit where it did finally sink?
Further questions are raised by salvage expert Kevin Patience, who operates a diving and salvage company in the Persian Gulf at Bahrain and has dived the wreck in Zanzibar harbor. He comments, “I have studied the original photographs in detail and do not believe the fire aboard was anything like it was made out to be. I have been on a number of ships that have been fire-damaged either from rockets [during the Gulf War] or from general fires, and the steel work usually distorts out of all proportion. An examination of the photograph of the Pegasus taken midmorning on September 20, shortly before she sank, is very revealing. For example, the lifebelts are in place; the canvas dodger on the bridge is unburned and also undamaged; the rigging wires are still standing; the funnels and ventilators are still upright and undamaged; and the hull paintwork looks in good condition. An anchor party is even on the foredeck.”7
Without a doubt the death of 38 and the wounding of 55 more out of a crew of 224, all in 20 minutes, would be terrible and unnerving for any captain, but others have suffered proportionately greater casualties and destruction without capitulation. But Ingles was neither court-martialed nor subject to a court of inquiry, probably because the Admiralty had no desire to shed any light on the white-flag incident.
Sinking the Pegasus was the last victory for the Konigsberg, which, low on coal, retreated again to the Rufiji where she was discovered by the Royal Navy at the end of October. After an eight-month siege, she was destroyed in July 1915 by two shallow-draft monitors towed all the way to the East African coast from Britain.
Today, a 4-inch gun from the Pegasus and a 4.1-incher from the Konigsberg stand side by side at Fort Jesus overlooking Mombasa harbor, silent reminders in an African backwater of a naval action long forgotten.
1. Tanganyika Notes and Records, Tanganyika Historical Society.
2. Report of Ingles to Commander-in-Chief, Cape Squadron, 29 September 1914.
3. Ibid.
4. Looff, Kreuzerfahrt und Buschkampf (Neudeutsche Verlag, 1927), p. 28.
5. Ibid., p. 30.
6. Artist H. G. Stanwick produced a series of pictures on the action for the publication Deeds That Thrill the Empire all with such captions.
7. Correspondence, Kevin Patience and the writer, 1992-95. I am indebted to Kevin for material used in this article.