The Naval Spirit of the Chilean
Considering its necessarily short history, probably no navy has won a greater sheaf of laurels than that of Chile.
From: 1879 C.E. To: 1879 C.E.
Location: Iquique, Tarapacá Region, Chile
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
Excerpted from Modern Chile by W. H. Koebel, 1913.
Note: This article preserves the original publication’s spelling of Chilean as the archaic “Chilian”. Modern citizens of Chile are Chileans.
Considering its necessarily short history, probably no navy has won a greater sheaf of laurels than that of Chile. As an infant it came to life during the stormiest period of South American events. Nursed vigorously by Cochrane, the fleet was enveloped in the smoke of battle almost as soon as its sails were first unfurled. The glory with which this improvised fleet covered itself at the very start of its career has, fortunately for the nation, never become worn or sullied.
On May 21, 1879, in the course against Peru, this was exemplified to the full. The day is one of the most famous in the naval history of the Republic. Then, it happened that two small Chilian vessels, the Esmeralda and the Covadonga, were lying off the port of Iquique. In size neither approached eight hundred and fifty tons. Each of these ships was wooden, entirely innocent of armour, and the armament of each was twelve 4-pounder guns.
As those two were lying off the nitrate port two vessels of the hostile fleet came down upon them. These were the Huascar and the Independencia. The inequality in the striking power of the two forces was all but ridiculous. The Huascar was a turret ship of over a thousand tons, carrying guns which discharged 300 lb. shell. The Independencia, for her part, was an ironclad of over two thousand tons, carrying, among her other armament, twelve 70-pounder guns.
For all this astonishing discrepancy in naval strength the Chilians never flinched. The Esmeralda stood up to the Huascar, and for hour after hour suffered a pitiless avalanche of the heavy shell, blazing away her own small popguns in sublime defiance all the while. At the end of four hours the Esmeralda was a shambles; nevertheless the courage of the surviving crew was as undaunted as ever. Then at the last the Huascar bore down upon her small opponent with all the force of her iron weight, and rammed her fairly to the sound of smashing and splintering woodwork.
Even this appalling moment found the Chilians prepared and eager for revenge. As the ram of the Peruvian ship pierced the Esmeralda, Captain Arturo Prat, the commander of that vessel, leaped on to the deck of the Huascar, sword in hand, shouting for boarders to follow him. The men, welcoming the attack with an ardour as great as that of their leader, were rushing in his wake. But only one of these had succeeded in gaining a foothold on the Peruvian vessel when the warships suddenly drew apart, and Captain Prat and Sergeant Aldea, alone on the hostile deck, fell beneath the Peruvian bullets, victims of their own gallantry.
The Esmeralda was now without her commander and the majority of her crew. For all that, none on board dreamed of surrender. Twice again was the helpless wooden vessel rammed, and then she sank with the Chilian colours still flying gallantly from her mastheads.
The tale of the Covadonga is less tragic, but equally stirring. The little Chilian ship made as though she were fleeing in terror from the burly iron Independencia. The Peruvian, smoke rolling in clouds from her funnel, followed in pursuit, until—in yachting language—she “took the mud,” and remained stranded. This was exactly what the captain of the Covadonga had intended should happen to her. No sooner was the Independencia fast by the heels than the Covadonga returned, and steaming within close range peppered the Peruvian ship with her little guns, regardless of the ironclad’s formidable armament. It was a piece of colossal and heroic impertinence.
In the end when the Huascar, the hull of her own opponent now beneath the waves, hastened up to the rescue, the captain of the Covadonga considered it time to depart. So he fired his last shot, and steamed away, well satisfied with his share in one of the most gallant naval actions on record. No wonder the 21st of May, 1879, is a great day in Chilian naval history.
There are navies which are marine merely in name. They savour of the land rather than of the sea. The Chilian fleets, on the other hand, are salt front anchor chain to rudder. The spirit of the men is that of the ocean; they are, in fact, sailors as we in England understand the tribe. The breath of this is strangely evident in their literature—for the Chilians have a literature of the sea, unconscious of any other passion but that of the waves, strong, clean, and very briny, something, indeed, redolent of the art of a Marriott or a Clark Russell.
Among the writers of these rollicking sea-tales is the retired admiral Silva Palma, and when one has read his book, “Cronicas de la Marina Chilena,” it is obvious that the work can be no other but that of a sailor. With his permission I am culling a chapter from this. It is true that this particular fragment is not descriptive of work in the open ocean; but it possesses the merit of historical accuracy, and is eloquent of the part which the Chilians played in the war against Peru.
This is the beginning of the admiral's tale:—at daybreak on November 2, 1879, a section of the Chilian Squadron and a goodly number of transports were advancing towards the port of Pisagua.
As soon as the dawn routed the mists which had covered the peaks on the coast, the Cochrane and the O' Higgins, comprising the first division, and the Magellanes and Covadonga, forming the second, dashed resolutely inside the harbour in order to bombard the forts which guarded its entrance to the north and south.
On board reigned complete silence and calm. Nothing broke the stillness but the throb of the engines and the rushing of water against the ship's sides. No bugle note, nor voice of command? there Was nothing to show that in those ships were hundred of men full of spirit and life—men who were prepared to die for the flag which would cover them and serve as their shroud should the fortune of war so will it.
Everybody was at his post; the guns were loaded, and, obedient to the training hands of the gunners, were turning slowly, to point their mouths in the direction of the forts which it was intended to bombard. The commanders, for their part, were directing the course of each ship by signals. The navigating officers were marking off the distances which separated the vessels from the forts—three thousand five hundred metres!—three thousand!—One thousand nine hundred metres! The southern fort opened fire, and her shell passed whistling overhead. This was the signal for the four vessels to blaze away in turn and to begin the fight.
The Cochrane and the O'Higgins had been told off to deal with the southern fort. Maintaining an accurate and deadly fire, they kept its parapets continually covered by the dust and smoke produced by the explosion of the shells. This engagement lasted until a shot from a gun commanded by the petty officer Francisco Brito striking one of the hostile cannon placed it out of action, and disabled almost the entire garrison of the fort. After this the batteries were silenced, and the mission of the vessels fulfilled.
The transports now approached the shore, and the boats which held the troops of the first landing party were lowered. Simultaneously the warships, no longer occupied with the batteries, drew near in order to cover the disembarkation, as the forces of the enemy were posted in readiness behind rocks, houses, and mounds of nitrate.
Before the boats had reached the shore this second engagement became general. The warships came into action again, blazing away at the enemy who, for their part, fiercely engaged the advance parties of the Chilians as they landed. It was not long before the town was in flames, and not only the town but the nitrate as well, producing a conflagration and clouds of smoke which in many places was asphyxiating.
To add to all this, the configuration of the bay, bordered by its lofty mountains, formed a tremendous and echoing amphitheatre for this action, in which every cannon and rifle shot, every explosion of nitrate, was repeated hundreds of times, making the most hideous and terrific din. The place had become a genuine inferno.
I have said that the first contingent of troops was disembarked from the boats. I was wrong. The boats had missed the landing-stage, and had drawn up alongside a mass of rocks. Worst of all, this particular spot was situated in the centre of a halfmoon of land occupied by the Peruvians who, secure in their trenches on the hills, were enabled to shoot down our men with impunity. But Amador Barrientos never faltered. Snatching up the flag from his boat, he leaped ashore, and standing on a hill, unfurled for the first time on that soil the Chilian tri-colour in order to point out the way of glory to those in the boats.
The second contingent arrived at this same spot under even worse conditions than did the first.
Crowded on to rafts they were towed towards the rocks. There, for some reason or other, they were left, ere they had actually reached their destination. It looked like good-bye to all. What was to become of these poor fellows, unable to land or to pull out to sea, while their crowded state did not even permit than to make proper use of their arms? They could only wait and recommend their souls to God.
While this was occurring the enemy had entrenched themselves just above on the zig-zag line of the railway, and thus, absolutely dominating the steep slope of the hill, were able to prevent any of our men from scaling it The situation was critical, and the discontent general. On. all sides bitter complaints arose as to the haphazard way in which the operation had been carried out.
This handful of brave men was undoubtedly in a trap. Neither the troops who had disembarked nor the warships could dislodge the entrenched bodies of the enemy who were causing such damage. Staff officers returned to the vessels to implore the commanders to open fire on the mountain-side. In every case the answer was the same. The elevation was too great to permit of any gun being trained on it.
The situation had become serious; faces grew grave and anxious. As luck would have it, the gunnery lieutenant of the O'Higgins was struck with a good idea. He pointed out to his captain, Montt, the advantage of running all the guns, with the exception of one, to the port Side, so that the vessel might heel over to such an extent as to make possible an attempt to reach the desired spot on the mountain by means of the only gun left on the starboard side.
Within five minutes the O’Higgins was completely careened. On the starboard side only one gun remained, its muzzle seeming to point to the sky.
Lieutenant Herrera gave the distance; nine hundred and fifty metres! Brito, the captain of this gun, prepared himself to handle it. Quite indifferent to the probability that, placed at such an angle, the peril of the weapon’s recoil would be considerable, he put his whole soul into the business of aiming. We on board were hanging breathlessly on that shot Brito, with all the calm of a veteran, refused to hurry himself. With his twisting fingers he signalled to the right to the left. All our minds and eyes were centred on the man. The gun roared, and Brito was crushed back by the recoil. He remained upright and gazed at the trench. A general hurrah! and a roll of drums from all the vessels was Brito’s reward for a famous shot.
The shell fell into the very midst of the enemy’s position, and thus opened the way for the troops who were able to charge up the mountain without further delay. At the same time, seizing the opportunity, the boats which had carried ashore the first contingent were able to return to their ships in search of reinforcements.
The O' Higgins had sent several, among them a boat in command of Lieutenant J. Santa Cruz, which had for a crew a coxswain and twelve oarsmen.
This boat, which a short while before had set out with stout hearts beating for their country, now returned toilfully, pulled only by four rowers, and steered by Lieutenant Santa Cruz’s one sound arm. The other hung wounded by his side, and the rest of the crew, dead or wounded, lay in the bottom of the boat, where floated a great pool of blood.
The boat was immediately relieved of its mournful cargo, and a new crew proceeded, with the work of disembarkation. Brito, his gunnery work over, was the first to jump in. He took charge of the helm and went in search of fresh adventure.
Here ends the admiral’s tale, which I have translated literally, thinking that to attempt to amend it would probably be to mar it.
Koebel, William Henry. Modern Chile. G. Bell & Sons, 1913.
About TOTA
TOTA.world provides cultural information and sharing across the world to help you explore your Family’s Cultural History and create deep connections with the lives and cultures of your ancestors.
