2004 - Mimi and Toutou Go Forth (22 page)

Shankland takes his cue from Dr Hanschell, who was watching from the bluff. He thought the German captain suddenly baulked at the size, or apparent size, of the vessels approaching him through the haze:

The Doctor, seeing the natives gazing at the sky, looked up and saw something prodigious was happening: he made out magnified images of the
Hedwig
and of the Allied flotilla suspended stationary in the air, each vessel many times its natural size. The mirage must have deceived the
Hedwig
, for she came straight on until only six miles separated the combatants…

Even at the moment of attack, it must have seemed to Odebrecht that he did not have too much to worry about. When the lead boat,
Fifi
, fired at him at 10
AM
, and missed, it was clear that her big gun was simply too big. Its recoil stopped the steamer dead. Odebrecht took advantage and speeded ahead, leaving
Fifi
to drop astern. He gave orders for oil to be thrown on the wood in the
Hedwig
’s furnace to increase speed. Smoke pouring from her funnel, she pulled further away from the line of pursuing boats.

Fifi
was commanded by Spicer, with Dudley and Goor in attendance on deck and Lament down below. Spicer gave the same order: soak the logs in oil. It didn’t work, as Shankland reports, though Lamont and his new stoker did their best:

In vain in the sweltering engine-room, Fundi raked out the ashes and piled on the oil-soaked logs until the funnel became so hot that Goor and Dudley had to relieve each other frequently at the wheel. Still the pressure in the boiler dropped: she was making only eight knots to the enemy’s nine. The
Hedwig
was escaping.

As
Fifi
slackened,
Mimi
began to gain on her. Even though the Belfast railwayman had never taken a launch on to the lake before, Spicer had put Wainwright in command of
Mimi
, with Flynn as gunner and Mollison at the helm (his fellow Scot, Tait, was on
Fifi
).

Toutou
was out of commission. After smashing her bows against the harbour breakwater at night, she had sunk during another storm, but had been recovered. So at the crucial moment,
Mimi
had to go forth without her sister ship. When she eventually overhauled
Fifi
, Spicer began to semaphore from the steamer’s deck for Wainwright to get back in line. Taking no notice of the gesticulating, sun-helmeted figure as he roared past, the beak-nosed Belfast man got within 3,000 yards of the
Hedwig
and opened fire.

The shots missed, but Odebrecht knew he was in trouble. His stern-mounted Hotchkiss machine-gun did not have the range of the three-pounder on
Mimi
. The German swung
Hedwig
round and let fly with his forward-mounted six-pounders. Proper artillery that could do proper damage, they fired high explosive.

‘Turn to the right!’ Wainwright the land-crab shouted to Mollison as the two shells sped through the air. ‘Over to the right!’ (He should have said ‘starboard’ but of course he wasn’t a seaman.)

Mollison manoeuvred the boat out of the way of the falling shells—which flashed as they hit the water—and seconds later
Mimi
was firing again at the
Hedwig
from the side. Once again Odebrecht swung round, to give his front-mounted guns purchase. The two boats circled each other in this fashion for half an hour, neither inflicting significant damage.

Meanwhile Fundi’s hard work down in the engine-room was paying off.
Fifi
was gaining again. On deck, Waterhouse fired shell after shell from her big gun. On
Mimi
, Wainwright, who was close to where they were falling, could see they were missing the target. He called off his own attack on the
Hedwig
and circled back to tell Spicer that the range was wrong. He was greeted, says Shankland, by a storm of abuse from Spicer and more frantic semaphore: ‘When Spicer paused for breath, Wainwright shouted back in his piercing high-pitched Belfast voice, ‘No use signalling to me, Captain. We can’t read you or make any signals in reply. The
Hedwig
’s in easy range now. All your shots are going a long way over.’’

Spicer had only three rounds left. Waterhouse had shot off nearly all the ammunition. If the
Hedwig
turned again now,
Fifi
would be at her mercy. If
Fifi
could hit the
Hedwig
with one of the three remaining rounds, she might just save the day. Spicer almost called off the action, but decided to try his luck.

He gave the order to fire and Waterhouse pulled the trigger, steadying himself for the twelve-pounder’s resounding boom. Nothing happened. It was a misfire. They had to wait 20 minutes before the hot shell could be removed from the breech and dumped over the side. Spicer and the others could only watch as the
Hedwig
pulled away.

When the British stopped firing, Odebrecht realised he had a chance. They were now nearing the rendezvous point with Zimmer on the
Götzen
, which would blow the British away. He lifted his binoculars and scanned the horizon, looking for the familiar massive shape of the symbol German dominance on the lake. It was nowhere to be seen.

While Odebrecht was looking for the
Götzen
, another shell was prepared on
Fifi
. Waterhouse took careful aim this time and fired. A hit at last! It smashed through the
Hedwig
’s hull. Water started pouring into the ship as, almost immediately, another shell landed, exploding in the
Hedwig
’s engine-room and bursting the boiler. Five African crew members and two Germans were killed. A seaman named Kasemann had his hand shattered by the splinters. As steam poured out, the oily logs that had been piled up caught fire.

Overwhelmed by fatigue and frustration, Odebrecht realised the game was up. He gave orders to abandon ship. The crew donned life-vests and leapt overboard. Some tried to launch the steamer’s lighter, but there were too many of them and it sank under their weight.

Odebrecht and an engineer called Mewes were the last to leave the
Hedwig
, which was now enveloped in smoke and flames. Before abandoning ship they set explosive charges to destroy her, so that she could not be captured by the enemy. They jumped overboard as the ship began to list and as they were swimming away the charges exploded. Bow first, the
Hedwig
slipped beneath the waves.

When the Allied flotilla reached the place where she went down, pieces of wreckage and cargo were coming to the surface among the bobbing heads of survivors.
Mimi
and
Fifi
picked up the remaining German crew, and as they did so, Spicer spotted a flag locker among the flotsam. He at once put
Fifi
about to pick it up.

Opening it, he was delighted to find a large German naval ensign—the first to be captured intact in the whole war.

It was afternoon by the time the victorious flotilla arrived back at Albertville with its prisoners. Stepping ashore, Spicer received a hero’s welcome. Stinghlamber and the other Belgian officers kissed and embraced him. The Holo-holo crowding the bluff—over a thousand in number now roared their approval and streamed down to engulf him. As the prisoners were lined up on the breakwater and handed over to the Belgians and their
askaris
, only Spicer’s sun-helmet could be seen as he was mobbed by the ululating men and women. This time handfuls of sand were sprinkled over his head—to signify, says Shankland, ‘the land is thine!’

‘The wives of the chief came to greet me as I landed,’ recalled Spicer. ‘Their message of saluting is rather uncomfortable. The idea is to pick up a handful of earth and present it to you…but when, as in this case, they pick up handfuls of gravel and throw them at you it is not so pleasant.’

The Belgians were elevated by association. When they had first arrived at the lake, the Africans had called them
Bula Matari
(‘omnipotent force’), but this practice ceased when the Belgians began to lose to the Germans. Now they had a fighting chance of being
Bula Matari
again.

Standing on the breakwater beside Kasemann, a despondent Leutnant Odebrecht watched the rejoicing crowds. He felt weak with fatigue and had lost most of his clothes; he’d had to strip off in the lake to swim and was now wearing only socks and trousers. But Kasemann, cradling his bleeding hand, was in worse shape. Realising the seaman needed urgent attention, Odebrecht spoke to one of their Belgian guards. He and Kasemann were marched off to see a man who introduced himself as ‘
Der Herr Doktor hier
‘.

Dr Hanschell decided an operation was necessary. Kasemann was taken to the large hospital hut in the new camp, where ‘Tubby’ Eastwood administered chloroform. Odebrecht stood by to comfort him, until the cotton pad over Kasemann’s mouth took effect and he lost consciousness. As Rupia held down Kasemann’s arm, the doctor amputated two and a half fingers.

While Kasemann slept off the anaesthetic, Dr Hanschell noticed that Odebrecht was exhausted and gave him a glass of hospital brandy. As Odebrecht drank, he signed his parole, which had been brought in during the amputation. It was a promise not to escape, in return for which he would, as an officer and a gentleman, be accorded certain privileges.

One of these was an invitation from Spicer to dine in the British mess, which Odebrecht accepted, subject to shoes and a shirt being found for him. There being no spare shoes in the camp, Dr Hanschell had to give him his long, brown-leather mosquito boots (‘it hurt him to the heart to part with them,’ notes Shankland). According to Magee, Odebrecht put on an Iron Cross medal for dinner, in which case he must have kept the precious decoration in his pocket or held it when he jumped off the
Hedwig
.

It was dark by now, but the Holo-holo were still celebrating up in the hills, beating drums in the firelight. As Odebrecht followed Dr Hanschell over to the mess-hut, he saw the silhouettes of dancing figures, swaying and quivering in the firesmoke. Inside the hut, he was introduced to Spicer. The British commander’s short-sleeved shirt revealed arms covered with writhing tattoos. Odebrecht brought sharply together the heels of the doctor’s mosquito boots and gave a stiff bow. Spicer bowed in return and they sat down to eat.

It was a strange meal. Barely a word was spoken, even by Spicer, and the only sound was the rush of the insect-besieged kerosene lamps and the revellers outside. Like the Holo-holo, the lower British ranks were celebrating enthusiastically. Fuelled by some wine the Belgians had sent over, they were singing anti-German songs around a bonfire. Back in the mess-hut, Spicer’s servant Tom served the officers tinned soup, beef stew and coffee. There was also some broiled catfish: it was supposed to be an entree, but came too late. As Dr Hanschell recalled: ‘Tom, gazing with awe at the snakes on Spicer’s arms and forgetting to serve the fish, was sharply recalled to his duties by a jab in the stomach from Spicer’s fork.’

Despite this delay, dinner lasted a mere 20 minutes, upon which Spicer rose, nodded goodnight to Odebrecht, and disappeared into his tent. The other officers soon followed his example. It was left to Dr Hanschell to escort Odebrecht back to the hospital hut. The German complained of a bad headache, so the doctor administered a sedative injection. Within a few minutes the exhausted Odebrecht was asleep, relieved for a while of the terrible burden of defeat.

So ended the second battle of Lake Tanganyika. While Odebrecht slept, Spicer was busy writing up his report to the Admiralty. It had been a great success, he said, describing it as ‘a naval action in miniature’. He even claimed to have ordered Wainwright forward in
Mimi
(rather than telling him to get back in line) and praised the Belfast man for following his orders. The news was well received, once the Morse had been transcribed back at Admiralty House. In his notes on Spicer’s report, the First Sea Lord Sir Henry Jackson wrote: ‘I doubt whether any one tactical operation of such miniature proportions has exercised so important an influence on enemy operations.’ Now the joint Belgian-British advance across the lake could begin.

What the Admiral didn’t know was that a few days after Spicer had made practice runs in
Mimi
and
Toutou
on the Thames in June 1915, the German supership the
Graf von Götzen
had been launched on Lake Tanganyika. Spicer was all too aware of the fearsome
Götzen
and he knew it made a mockery of his toy navy. But the Admiralty was still in the dark about the mighty German warship.

T
he morning after the victory meal saw Odebrecht much rested. The morphine in Hanschell’s injection had worked its magic. Kasemann, too, was doing well. Over breakfast with Dr Hanschell, Odebrecht seemed to have come to terms with the sinking of the
Hedwig
, but there was one thing that worried him: the strange pattern of the battle led him to believe that he had been bested by a bunch of amateurs. Spicer’s skirt and tattoos had only reinforced this impression. So the German was much relieved when the doctor told him that despite appearances Spicer was a trained naval officer.

This allowed Odebrecht to give purely technical reasons for his defeat. In their paper, Bishop and Dobold refer to a letter Odebrecht sent to Otto Schloifer, the man who had built the
Hedwig
on the lakeshore in 1900. Odebrecht ‘justified his defeat by stating that he simply ran into a superior enemy force consisting of four vessels which were superior in speed and armament and which opened fire from a distance of 8,000 metres, while his own guns had maximum ranges of only 3,000m and 2,500m respectively’.

Schloifer wasn’t the only shipbuilder for the German naval forces in Africa. In 1913 a German shipyard run by Joseph Meyer had received an important new contract. Meyer, whose yard was at Papenburg on the Ems River, was commissioned to build a twin-screw cargo and passenger ship of 1,200 tons, with a draught of four metres. The proposed vessel—about two-thirds the length of a football pitch—was due for service on Lake Tanganyika.