The Konigsberg Incident

The Curtis flying boat that located SMS Konigsberg in the Rufiji Delta. Illustration: John Quirk

This feature article originally appeared in AFLOAT Magazine and is the latest edition of Foul Bottoms with John Quirk exploring maritime history, naval warfare and seafaring stories.

Germany came late to the Empire grabbing business, as it was not a unified country until 1871. After their victory in the Prussian-Franco war, an assortment of German States was welded together under Prussian leadership. (Well, I should say riveted because Auguste de Meritens did not use electric arcs to join metal until ten years later.)

Spain, Britain and France had first dibs in colonising parts of the world. The British had the advantage of the Royal Navy to protect their interests around the globe. In the 1880s, Germany grabbed a swathe of East Africa and like Trump and the Kennedy Centre, put their label on it. Unlike the British, who stopped slavery in 1808, the Germans thought it was a sehr gut idea and a way to ensure true Teutonic discipline. The slaughter and complete destruction of local villagers led to uprisings which were brutally suppressed. The guys who brought us Auschwitz, Belsen and Dachau were not known for their HR subtlety.

Warships

To protect their investment, they needed warships. The 378 foot and 5,750 ton Konigsberg was built in a remarkable eleven months in 1905 and was sent to German East Africa. She was armed with four inch and two inch guns and 17 inch torpedoes, manned by 14 officers and 308 men. She could reach 24 knots and using 400 tons of coal gave a range of 5,700 nautical miles. She certainly impressed the locals as she had three funnels instead of British cruisers’ two and was called Manawari na bomba tatu. Swahili is a simple language — if they don’t have a word for it, just add an ‘i’ to the English spelling. Man o’ war + i with three pipes. In the same way, carburettor becomes carburettori.

Two days after the whistle for WW1 had blown, Konigsberg captured the British liner City of Winchester in the Gulf of Aden, pinched all her coal, then sank her. Unknowingly, this was a fatal mistake. With further supplies from the German collier Somalia, she sought out Allied shipping as far as Madagascar. Nothing was found, but all this steaming meant the engines were up for a major service. She then heard that the 2,200 ton HMS Pegasus was at anchor awaiting an overhaul — inexplicably, in British controlled Zanzibar, just 20 miles from German Tanganyika (now part of Tanzania) rather than the far better protected port of Mombasa. This decision sealed her fate.

Konigsberg swept into Zanzibar, a pale shape in a morning mist, and those aboard Pegasus thought she was the Union Castle Gascon, bringing supplies. They gave friendly waves. Konigsberg replied with guns that totally outgunned and out-ranged Pegasus. She was gone in 20 minutes.

Konigsberg was really due for that service now and slunk into the massive Rufiji Delta for the work, setting up watchers and gun emplacements to protect her. I didn’t know how superior Welsh Steam Coal was compared with everything else. This was used by RN ships, but the standard commercial coal used by other vessels was damaging to naval boilers. That’s why Konigsberg needed a major service. Some parts would have to be hauled overland to Dar es Salaam to a naval workshop.

The Royal Navy Responds

The RN captured and searched a German freighter Prasidente and found evidence she had supplied coal to Konigsberg. It was essential to keep her blocked up in the delta to protect the supply and troopships plying the Indian Ocean. But how to find a 400 foot ship in that vast waterway?

Dennis Cutler was a civilian pilot giving joyrides in Durban in his Curtis Type-H flying boat. This had two engines mounted in a push me pull you arrangement. The RN thought the aircraft could bomb the ship or at least spot its position. Cutler was appointed sub-lieutenant and he and his aircraft were chartered by the RN for £150 a month. On his second flight with an RN observer aboard, the heavily camouflaged Konigsberg was spotted, but a damaged radiator cut the flight short. This was fixed by swapping one from a Model T Ford, but on the third flight the aircraft was shot down and both crew members spent the rest of the war as prisoners of the Germans.

Then the Navy brought in two Sopwith seaplanes which were supposed to spot and then bomb the ship. Unfortunately, despite Sopwith’s diligent waterproofing of the structure with marine varnish and cellulose nitrate dope, the glue was not waterproof. Made from butcher’s waste of boiled up animal hides and bone with hooves thrown in for extra gelatin, these aircraft could disintegrate in a damp hangar. So, sitting out on the steaming Indian Ocean in the 85–95% humidity certainly voided the warranty. Where would we be without epoxy?

So now they knew where she was, floating with her 17 foot draft while hiding under a camouflage of jungle cuttings that probably would have won an award at the Royal Easter Show — the navy had nothing that could reach her.

Except in the UK.

The Monitors Move In

Where there were two 266 foot shallow draft monitors, drawing only 5’7″, that had been completed for the Brazilian Navy for use on the Amazon.

These two, questionably seaworthy, vessels were taken over. Renamed Severn and Mersey, they were carefully towed for six months to the mouth of the delta. In July 1915, ten months after she had fled into the delta, Konigsberg was pummelled into a wreck, the crew scuttling her with demolition charges after hauling her guns ashore to be mounted on railway carriages. These were used against Allied troops for the rest of the war.

She was constantly salvaged until my time in the mid-sixties — ironically, initially by John Jingle who was the captain of HMS Pegasus, which was sunk by Konigsberg in Zanzibar. In 1966 I remember her remains turned over and sank into the mud. I knew someone who used one of her polished four-inch brass shell casings as an umbrella stand. A refreshing change, as most of these were the gruesome remains of an elephant’s foot.

This feature article originally appeared in the July 2026 AFLOAT Magazine. To explore more stories like this, browse the AFLOAT Magazine archive or view the latest edition of AFLOAT Magazine.