THE MEDITERRANEAN: A FAILURE AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES
War is made up of successes and failures. We English do not forget our
successes, but we have an incorrigible habit of wiping from our minds
the recollection of our failures. Which is a very bad habit, for as
every man realises, during his half-blind stumbles through life, failure
is a most necessary schoolmistress. Yet, though civilians seem able to
bring themselves to forget that in war we ever fail of success, soldiers
and sailors do not forget, and are always seeking to make of their
admitted mistakes, stepping stones upon which they may rise to ultimate
victory. On land one may retrieve errors more readily than at sea, for
movements are much slower and evil results declare themselves less
rapidly. I am now compelled to write of a failure at sea very early in
the war, which was not retrieved, and which had a trail of most
disastrous consequence; and I hope to do it without imputing blame to
anyone, no blame, that is, except for the lack of imaginative vision,
which is one of our most conspicuous defects as a race.
All of those who read me know that the blows which we have struck in
France and Flanders, ever since the crowning victory of the Marne—that
still unexplained miracle which saved western civilisation from
ruin—are the direct consequence of the success in the North Sea of our
mobilised fleets in August, 1914. But few know—or if they do, have
pushed the knowledge testily from their minds—of a failure in the
Mediterranean, also in August of 1914, a failure which at the time may
have seemed of little account, yet out of which grew in inevitable
melancholy sequence, a tragical train of troubles. Though we may choose
to forget, Fate has a memory most damnably long. Nothing would be more
unfair than to lay at the door of the Navy the blame for all the
consequences of a failure which, it has been officially held, the
officers on the spot did their utmost to avert. Men are only human after
all, and the sea is a very big place. We need not censure anyone. Still,
we should be most foolish and blind to the lessons of war if we did not
now and then turn aside from the smug contemplation of our strategical
and tactical victories, and seek in a humble spirit to gather
instruction from a grievous pondering over the consequences of our
defeats. And of this particular defeat of which I write the results have
been gloomy beyond description—the sword in the balance which threw
Turkey and Bulgaria into alliance with our enemies, and all the blood
and the tears with which the soil of the Near East has been soaked.
When war broke out all our modern battleships were in the North Sea, but
of our nine fast battle cruisers four were away. The _Australia_ was at
the other side of the world, and the _Inflexible_ (flag), _Indomitable_
and _Indefatigable_ were in the Mediterranean. We also had four armoured
cruisers, and four light cruisers in the Mediterranean—the armoured
_Defence_, _Duke of Edinburgh_, _Warrior_ and _Black Prince_, the light
fast _Gloucester_ of the new “Town” class, a sister of the _Glasgow_ and
the _Bristol_, and three other similar cruisers. The Germans had in the
Mediterranean the battle cruiser _Goeben_, as fast, though not so
powerfully gunned, as the three _Inflexibles_ of ours. She carried ten
11-inch guns, while our battle cruisers were each armed with eight
12-inch guns. The _Goeben_ had as her consort the light cruiser
_Breslau_, one of the German Town class built in 1912, a newer and
faster edition of the earlier Town cruisers which were under von Spee in
the Pacific and Atlantic. She could have put up a good fight though
probably an unsuccessful one against the _Gloucester_, but was no match
for the _Defence_, the _Warrior_, the _Black Prince_ or _Duke of
Edinburgh_. Our squadrons in the Mediterranean were, therefore, in
fighting value fully three times as powerful as the German vessels. Our
job was to catch them and to destroy them, but unfortunately we did not
succeed in bringing them to action. The story of their evasion of us,
and of what their escape involved is, to my mind, one of the most
fascinating stories of the whole war.
War officially began between France and Germany upon August 3rd at 6.45
p.m. when the German Ambassador in Paris asked for his passports, and
between Great Britain and Germany upon August 4th at 11 p.m., when our
ultimatum in regard to Belgium was definitely rejected. But though then
at war with Germany, England did not declare war on Austria until
midnight of August 12th. A queer situation arose in the Mediterranean as
the result of these gaps between the dates of active hostilities. Upon
August 4th, the German cruisers could and did attack French territory
without being attacked by us, and all through those fateful days of
August 5th and 6th, when our three battle cruisers were hovering between
Messina and the Adriatic and our four armoured cruisers were lying a
little to the south off Syracuse, Italy was neutral, and Austria was not
at war with us. Our naval commanders were in the highest degree anxious
to do nothing which could in any way offend Italy—whose position as
still a member of the Triple Alliance with Austria and Germany was
delicate in the extreme—and were also anxious to commit no act of
hostility towards Austria. Upon August 4th, therefore, their hands were
tied tight; upon the 5th and 6th they were untied as against the German
cruisers, but could not stretch into either Italian or Austrian waters.
The German Admiral took full advantage of the freedom of movement
allowed to him by our diplomatic bonds.
Let us now come to the story of the escape of the two German cruisers,
indicate as clearly as may be how it occurred, and suggest how the worst
consequences of that escape might have been retrieved by instant and
spirited action on the part of our Government at home. Naval
responsibility, as distinct from political responsibility, ended with
the escape of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ and their entry into the
Dardanelles on the way up to Constantinople which then, and for nearly
three months afterwards, was nominally a neutral port.
On July 31st, 1914, the _Goeben_, a battle cruiser armed with ten
11-inch guns, and with a full speed of twenty-eight to twenty-nine
knots, was at Brindisi in the territorial waters of Italy, a country
which was then regarded by the Germans as an ally. She was joined there
on August 1st by the _Breslau_, a light cruiser of some three knots less
speed than the _Goeben_ and armed only with twelve 4.1-inch guns. The
German commanders had been warned of the imminence of hostilities with
France—and, indeed, upon that day French territory had been violated by
German covering troops, though war had not yet been declared. The French
Fleet was far away to the west, already busied with the transport of
troops from Algeria and Morocco to Marseilles. Based upon Malta and in
touch with the French was the British heavy squadron of three battle
cruisers. The _Indefatigable_, a heavier and faster vessel than either
of the sisters _Inflexible_ or _Indomitable_, was certainly a match for
the _Goeben_ by herself; the three battle cruisers combined were of
overpowering strength. Accompanying the battle cruisers was the armoured
cruiser squadron—_Black Prince_, _Duke of Edinburgh_, _Warrior_ and
_Defence_—together with the light cruiser _Gloucester_. The other light
cruisers and the destroyer escort do not come directly into my picture.
The _Gloucester_—which, as she showed later, had the heels of the
_Breslau_ though not of the speedy _Goeben_—was despatched at once to
the Adriatic to keep watch upon the movements of the Germans. So long as
the Germans were in the Adriatic, the English Admiral, Sir Berkeley
Milne, could do nothing to prevent their junction with the Austrians at
Pola, but upon August 2nd, they both came out and went to Messina, and
so uncovered the Straits of Otranto, which gave passage between Messina
and the Adriatic. The English battle cruisers then steamed to the south
and east of Sicily, bound for the Otranto Straits. Rear-Admiral
Troubridge, in command of the English armoured cruisers, remained
behind.
[Illustration: THE MEDITERRANEAN OPERATIONS.]
Upon August 1st, the Italian Government had declared its intention to be
neutral, and upon the 3rd the Italian authorities at Messina refused
coal to the German ships, very much to the outspoken disgust and
disappointment of the German Admiral who had reckoned Italy as at least
passively benevolent. But being a man of resource, he filled his bunkers
from those of German vessels in the harbour, and early in the morning of
August 4th—having received news the previous evening that war had
broken out with France, and was imminent with England—dashed at the
Algerian coast and bombarded Phillippeville and Bona, whence troops had
been arranged to sail for France. When one reflects upon the position of
Admiral Souchon, within easy striking distance of three English battle
cruisers, which at any moment might have been transformed by wireless
orders into enemies of overwhelming power, this dash upon Phillippeville
and Bona was an exploit which would merit an honourable mention upon any
navy’s records. Souchon did, in the time available to him, all the
damage that he could to his enemy’s arrangements, and then sped back to
Messina, passing on the way the _Inflexible_ (flag), _Indomitable_, and
_Gloucester_, which had thus got into close touch with the Germans,
though they were not yet free to go for them. The enterprising Souchon
had cut his time rather fine, and come near the edge of destruction; for
though at the moment of passing the _Inflexible_ and _Indomitable_
England was still at peace with Germany, war was declared before he
reached the neutral refuge of Messina on August 5th. Milne’s hands were
thus tied at the critical moment when he had both the elusive German
cruisers under the muzzles of his hungry guns.
At Messina the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ were again refused coal, and were
ordered to be clear of the port within twenty-four hours. Italy was
resolutely neutral; it was a severe blow. Upon the night of August
4th-5th had come another blow—a wireless message, picked up at sea,
that England had declared war. The position of the Germans now appeared
to be desperate, more so to them than even to us, for Admiral Souchon
had already been warned by the Austrians not to attempt the passage of
the Straits of Otranto, and had also received direct orders at Messina
from Berlin to make a break eastwards for Constantinople. His prospects
of eluding our Squadrons and of reaching the Dardanelles must have
seemed to him of the smallest. It is of interest to note, as revealing
the hardy quality of Admiral Souchon, that these orders from Berlin
reached him at midnight upon August 3rd before he made his raid upon
Phillippeville and Bona. He might have steamed off at once towards the
east in comparative security, for England was not yet at war and our
battle cruisers were not yet waiting upon his doorstep. But instead of
seeking safety in flight he struck a shrewd blow for his country and set
back the hour of his departure for the east by three whole days. He sent
off a wireless message to Greece asking that coal might be got ready for
his ships near an inconspicuous island in the Ægean. Admiral Souchon may
personally be a frightful Hun—I don’t know, I have never met him—but,
I confess that, as a sailor, he appeals to me very strongly. In
resource, in cool decision, and in dashing leadership he was the
unquestioned superior of the English Admirals, whose job it was to get
the better of him.
Upon August 6th, a day big with fate for us and for South Eastern
Europe, the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ were at Messina with steam up. They
had again obtained coal from compatriot ships and could snap their
fingers at Italian neutrality. Watching them was the light cruiser
_Gloucester_, which was no match at all for the _Goeben_, and strung out
to the north-east, guarding the passage from Messina to the Adriatic,
were the three English battle cruisers _Inflexible_, _Indomitable_ and
_Indefatigable_. The English armoured cruisers, _Black Prince_, _Duke of
Edinburgh_, _Defence_ and _Warrior_, were cruising to the South of
Syracuse. It is not contended that these four vessels could not have
been off Messina, and could not have met and fought Souchon, when at
last he issued forth. The contention is—and since it has been accepted
by the Admiralty as sound, one is compelled humbly to say little—that
none of these cruisers was sufficiently armed or armoured to risk action
with a battle cruiser of the _Goeben’s_ class. It is urged that if Milne
had ordered the armoured cruiser squadron to fight the _Goeben_, their
Admiral, Troubridge, might have anticipated the fate of Cradock three
months later at Coronel. Not one of them had a speed approaching that of
the _Goeben_, and their twenty-two heavy guns were of 9.2-inch calibre
as opposed to the ten 11-inch guns of the Germans. That they would have
suffered serious loss is beyond doubt; but might they not, while dying,
have damaged and delayed the _Goeben_ for a sufficient time to allow the
two _Inflexibles_ and the _Indefatigable_ to come down and gobble her
up? It is not for a layman to offer any opinion upon these high naval
matters. But ever since the action was not fought, and the _Goeben_ and
_Breslau_ escaped, whenever two or three naval officers are gathered
together and the subject is discussed, the vote is always thrown upon
the side of fighting. The Soul of the Navy revolts at the thought that
its business is to play for safety when great risks boldly faced may
yield great fruits of victory.
The dispositions of the English Admiral were designed to meet one
contingency only—an attempt by the Germans to pass the Straits of
Otranto and to join the Austrians; he had evidently no suspicion that
they had been ordered to Constantinople and took no steps to bar their
way to the east. The handling of his two ships by Admiral Souchon was
masterly. Until the latest minute he masked his intentions and
completely outmanœuvred his powerful English opponents. Issuing from
Messina on the afternoon of August 6th, he made towards the north-east
as if about to hazard the passage to the Adriatic, and the small
_Gloucester_, which most gallantly kept touch with far superior
forces—she was some two knots slower than the _Goeben_, though rather
faster than the _Breslau_—fell back before him and called up the battle
cruisers on her wireless. Souchon did not attempt to interfere with the
_Gloucester_, for she was doing exactly what he desired of her. He kept
upon his course to the north-east until darkness came down, and then
swinging suddenly eight points to starboard, pointed straight for Cape
Matapan far off to the south-east and called for full speed. Then and
then only he gave the order to jam the _Gloucester’s_ wireless.
He did not wholly succeed, the _Gloucester’s_ warning of his change of
route got through to the battle cruisers, but they were too far away to
interpose their bulky veto on the German plans. For two hours the German
ships travelled at full speed, the _Goeben_ leading, and behind them
trailed the gallant _Gloucester_, though she had nothing bigger in her
armoury than two 6-inch guns, and could have been sunk by a single shell
from the _Goeben’s_ batteries. Twice she overhauled the _Breslau_ and
fired upon her, and twice the _Goeben_ had to fall back to the aid of
her consort and drive away the persistent English captain. The gallantry
of the _Gloucester_ alone redeems the event from being a bitter English
humiliation. All the while she was vainly pursuing the German vessels
the _Gloucester_ continued her calls for help. They got through, but the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ had seized too long a start. They were clear away
for the Dardanelles and Constantinople, and were safe from effective
pursuit.
Vice-Admiral Souchon knew his Greeks and his Turks better than we did.
He coaled his ships at the small island of Denusa in the Cyclades with
the direct connivance of King Constantine, who had arranged for coal to
be sent over from Syra, and ignored a formal message from the Sublime
Porte forbidding him to pass the Dardanelles. He was confident that the
Turks, still anxious to sit upon the fence until the safer side were
disclosed, would not dare to fire upon him, and he was justified in his
confidence. He steamed through the Narrows unmolested and anchored
before Constantinople. There a telegram was handed to him from the
Kaiser: “His Majesty sends you his acknowledgments.” One must allow that
the Imperial congratulations were worthily bestowed. Souchon had done
for Germany a greater service than had any of her generals or admirals
or diplomats; he had definitely committed Turkey to the side of the
Central Powers.
* * * * *
If of all words of tongue and pen
The saddest are “It might have been,”
More sad are these we daily see,
“It is, but hadn’t ought to be.”
—_Bret Harte_.
For the escape of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, the Royal Navy was
responsible, but for the consequences which grew out of that escape the
responsibility rests upon _La haute Politique_ at home. The naval
failure might have been retrieved within forty-eight hours had our
Foreign Office understood the hesitating Turkish mind, and had realised
that Souchon’s breach of the Dardanelles Convention—which bars the
Straits to foreign warships—had brought to us a Heaven-sent opportunity
to cut the bonds of gold and intrigue which bound the Turkish Government
to that of Germany. Every Englishman in Constantinople expected that a
pursuing English squadron of overwhelming power would immediately appear
off the Turkish capital and insist upon the surrender or destruction of
the German trespassers. Just as Souchon had passed the Dardanelles
unmolested, so Milne with his three battle cruisers—had orders been
sent to him—might have passed them on the day following. The Turks own
no argument but force, and the greater force would have appeared to them
to be the better argument. Milne, had he been permitted by the British
Foreign Office, could have followed the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ to
Constantinople and sunk them there before the eyes of the world. Had he
done so, the history of the war would have been very different. Upon the
Cabinet at home must rest the eternal responsibility for not seeing and
not seizing the finest and least hazardous opportunity that has been
offered to us of determining by one bold stroke the course of the war.
The three English battle cruisers could not have seized Constantinople
any more effectively than the English Squadron, without military
co-operation, could have seized it seven months later had it succeeded
in forcing with its guns the passage of the Narrows. But they could have
revealed to the vacillating Turks, as in a lightning flash, that the
Allies had the wit to see, and the boldness to grasp the vital
opportunities offered by war. But our Government had neither the wit nor
the courage, the wonderful chance was allowed to slip by unused, and the
costliest failure of the war was consummated in all its tragic fullness.
All through August and September and right up to the moment when, late
in October, Turkey was forced into the war by German pressure, our
Foreign Office hugged the belief—God alone knows how acquired—that
diplomatic pressure at Constantinople could counteract the display of
successful force embodied in the frowning guns of the _Goeben_ and the
_Breslau_. In the eyes of a non-maritime people two modern warships
within easy gunshot of their chief city are of more pressing consequence
than the Grand Fleet far away. Our Government accepted gladly the
preposterous story that these German ships had been purchased by the
Turks—with German money—and had been taken over by Turkish officers
and crews. It is pitiful to read now the official statement issued on
August 15th, 1914, through the newly formed Press Bureau: “The Press
Bureau states that there is no reason to doubt that the Turkish
Government is about to replace the German officers and crews of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ by Turkish officers and crews.” As evidence of
Oriental good faith a photograph of the _Goeben_ flying the Turkish
naval flag was kindly supplied for publication in English newspapers.
What could be more convincing? Then, when the moment was ripe and there
was no more need for the verisimilitude of photographs, came the rough
awakening, announced as follows:
“On October 29th, _without notice and without anything to show that such
action was pending_, three Turkish torpedo craft appeared suddenly
before Odessa. . . . The same day the cruisers _Breslau_ and _Hamidieh_
bombarded several commercial ports in the Black Sea, including
Novorossisk and Theodosia. In the forenoon of October 30th, the _Goeben_
bombarded Sevastopol without causing any serious damage. By way of
reprisals the Franco-British squadron in the Eastern Mediterranean
carried out a demonstration against the forts at the entrance to the
Dardanelles at daybreak on November 3rd.”
* * * * *
No comment which I might make could bite more deeply than the bald
quotation describing this irruption of Turkey as “without motive and
without anything to show that such action was pending.” _Caeci sunt
oculi cum animus alias res agit_—The eyes are blind when the mind is
obsessed.