The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace
Catalonia had been appeased by the restoration of the constitution, the crops throughout Spain had been excellent, and the opening of the Porta Ciento mines, combined with the extension of the mining industry in the north, had all helped to bring about a condition of financial confidence in Spanish securities.
The “bear” attack, which was made simultaneously on every European Bourse, was, in the face of these facts, madness.
The Spanish Government rose to the situation and with praiseworthy promptness, issued broadcast warnings to the investing public. Ministers seized any opportunity for speaking on the subject of national financial stability, but the “raid” went on. No stock even remotely associated with, or dependent upon, Spain’s national security was left unassailed. Telegraphs, railways, mines — they suffered in common.
Then happened that remarkable tragedy that set the whole of Europe gasping. It was a happening tragic in its futility, comic in its very tragedy. Europe was dumbfounded, speechless. There are two accounts given; there is that contained in Blue Book 7541-09, and that issued by the Spanish Government as a White Paper. The latter, although it is little more than a reprint of a number of articles published in the Heraldo de Madrid and the Correspondencia, is as accurate and contains more detail. I have taken these accounts and summarized the story of the momentous occurrence from both.
On the morning of the 29th of January, the Spanish cruiser Castilia was lying in Vigo Bay. She had been engaged in gun practice on the coast, and had come into Vigo for stores and to give leave to her crew.
The ship had been coaled, ammunition and stores taken on board, and the warship steamed out to sea. Her commander was Captain Alfonso Tirez, a singularly capable officer who had served with distinction in the Spanish-American War.
The movements of the ship subsequent to her departure from Vigo Bay are fairly well known.
She was seen by a fishing fleet heading south, and was sighted level with Oporto by the Portuguese gunboat Braganza. More than this, she exchanged signals with the Braganza, making “All’s well.”
From this point, her voyage is something of a mystery, although it is evident that she continued a straight course.
She was not sighted again until the third of February, four days after her departure from Vigo, and the particulars of her reappearance are contained in the report made by Captain Somburn, R.N., of H.M.S. Inveterate, a first-class cruiser.
The Inveterate was detached from the Atlantic Squadron, then lying at Gibraltar, by order of the Commander-in-Chief, to cruise along the Morocco coast as far south as Mogador, and she was returning when the incident to Captain Somburn, so graphically described, occurred.
“The ship’s (the Inveterate’s) position at 7.45 was approximately Lat. 35 north and Long. 10 west, and we were due west of Cape Cantin when the Castilia was sighted,” wrote Captain Somburn.
“She was making a course as to pass us on our starboard bow. Recognizing her, I ordered the ensign to be flown. Nothing untoward happened, and the ship came nearer and nearer.
“There had been some trouble just before I arrived at Mogador, some little fighting with a Moorish tribe, and thinking that it was on this account that the cruiser was going south, and that possibly the later news I had would be of interest to her captain, I ordered a signal to be made.
“Mogador all quiet; rising quelled.”
“To my astonishment, no notice was taken of this, and not even so much as an answering pennant was hoisted.
“The officer of the watch, who had been looking at the vessel through his telescope, then reported to me that the Castilia was cleared for action, and that her gun crews were standing by.
“I thought that we were interrupting some manoeuvre, such as ‘man and arm ship,’ and readily forgave her commander, who was so absorbed in his drill that he had ignored my signal.
“The next minute, however, the Castilia opened fire on me with her forward guns. Both shots missed, one passing our stern and the other just clearing our quarterdeck.
“I signalled ‘Your firing practice is endangering me,’ for, even then, I could not bring myself to a realization that the captain of the Castilia was in earnest.
“I was soon nndeceived, however. A shell from his after four-inch gun struck and carried away a portion of the navigation bridge.
“I immediately ordered general stations, and in twenty seconds I had cleared the starboard batteries for action. In this time the Castilia had put three shells into the Inveterate. The first killed an able seaman and seriously wounded the gunnery-lieutenant, the second did little or no damage, but the third destroyed No. 3 9.6 gun and killed four of its crew.
“I at once opened fire on the Castilia with two six-inch guns. Both shots took effect, one, as I have since ascertained, below her water line, and she immediately heeled over to port.
“Seeing she was helpless, and sinking rapidly, I ordered away my lifeboats, at the same time signalling ‘I am coining to your assistance.’ No further shots were fired, and the officers and crew of the Castilia, together with nineteen wounded men, were taken off.
“The Castilia sank at 8.19, the action having lasted, from the time of firing the first shot to the moment of crippling, 5 minutes, 48 seconds.
“I made no immediate attempt to ascertain the cause of the extraordinary conduct of the Castilia, because Captain Tirez, when I received him on board, was in a dying condition. He had been struck by a fragment of shell and never regained consciousness, expiring that afternoon, but before my arrival at Gibraltar I interviewed the Spanish officer who was acting as navigating lieutenant. From him I learned the incident was inexplicable to him, as to the rest of the crew. The captain had received a wireless telegram, coded in the secret cypher of the Admiralty. This telegram had perplexed and distressed him, but the only remark he had made to his officers had been —
“‘The Government is sending us to our deaths — but I can do nothing else than obey.’
“From this it would seem that Captain Tirez — whom I know personally to have been a very able and gallant gentleman — was acting on orders which were open to no other interpretation than as direct instructions to shell the Inveterate.”
So much for the laconic report of the officer.
He compressed within the limits of a sheet of notepaper a tragedy, the news of which appalled the civilized world.
The battle occurred at between seven and eight in the morning. The news was in London by ten that the Inveterate had been snnk by a Spanish cruiser and that a fierce and sanguinary battle had preceded its sinking.
Who sent the descriptive telegram from Gibraltar will never be known, though its source was obvious.
It bore the name of a world-famous news agency, and was issued to the Press from the London office of the Agency, but the Gibraltar correspondent had no knowledge of its sending. All England was in an uproar when the official version of the incident came to hand.
Spain! Why Spain! What was the cause? What had we done, what insult had we offered? There were writers in plenty to rush into print to prove that whatever had happened it was England’s fault, but even these gentlemen could offer no elucidation.
Captain Somburn’s report was telegraphed to the Admiralty immediately on his arrival at Gibraltar, and issued to the Press. Side by side in the morning newspapers appeared the official disclaimer of the Spanish Government.
“His Majesty’s Government has no knowledge of any circumstance leading up to or responsible for the recent lamentable disaster off the coast of Morocco. It has issued directly or indirectly no instructions, orders, or suggestions to Captain Tirez, and has had no communication with him other than the conventional exchange of documents, peculiar to routine.”
XIX. The Book