subject of hostile criticism in the foreign Press. Certainly, in the
second phase of the campaign, the fortune of war had turned in our
favour, but the struggle for India was so important for Russia that she
was unwilling to divide her forces any longer. Hence we were able to
build a golden bridge for Japan, and hence the peace of Nagasaki. The
German Imperial Chancellor is highly popular in Russia also, owing to
the part he took in the conclusion of the peace.
“Have you had the opportunity of approaching the Imperial Chancellor?
This Baron Grubenhagen must be a man of strong personality.
“I am sending this letter to you by way of Berlin, for I do not know
where you are at this moment. I hope it will reach you, and that you
will occasionally find time to gladden your old friend Tchajawadse by
letting him know that you are still alive.”
Heideck had glanced rapidly through the Prince’s letter, written
in French, which he had found waiting for him after his return from
Antwerp. Not even the news of the honourable distinction conferred by
the bestowal of the Russian order had been able to evoke a sign of joy
on his grave countenance. The amiable Russian Prince and his beautiful
page were to him like figures belonging to a remote past, that lay an
endless distance behind him. The events of the last twenty-four hours
had shaken him so violently that what might perhaps a few days before
have aroused his keenest interest now seemed a matter of indifference
and no concern of his.
At this moment the orderly announced a man in sailor’s dress, and
Heideck knew that it could only be Brandelaar. The skipper had already
given the information which he had brought from Dover to the officer on
duty who had taken Heideck’s place. If they were not exactly military
secrets which by that means became known to the German military
authorities, some items of the various information might prove of
importance as affecting the Prince-Admiral’s arrangements.
Heideck assumed that Brandelaar had now come for his promised reward.
But as the skipper, after receiving the money, kept turning his hat
between his fingers, like a man who does not like to perform a painful
errand or make a disagreeable request, Heideck asked in astonishment:
“Have you anything else to say to me, Brandelaar?”
Only after considerable hesitation he replied, “Yes, Herr major, I was
to bring you a greeting--you will know who sent it.”
“I think I can guess. You have seen the lady again since yesterday
evening?”
“The lady came to me last night at the inn and demanded to be taken back
to Dover at once. But I thought you would not like it.”
“So then you refused?”
Brandelaar continued to stare in front of him at the floor.
“The lady would go--in spite of the bad weather. And she would not be
satisfied till I had persuaded my friend Van dem Bosch to take her in
his cutter to Dover?”
“This was last night?”
“Yes--last night.”
“And what more?” persisted Heideck.
“He came back at noon to-day. They had a misfortune on the way.”
Heideck’s frame shook convulsively. A fearful suspicion occurred to him.
He needed all his strength of will to control himself.
“And the lady?”
“Herr major, it was the lady who met with an accident. She fell
overboard on the journey.”
Heideck clasped the back of the chair before him with both hands. Every
drop of blood had left his face.
“Fell--overboard? Good God, man--and she was not saved?”
Brandelaar shook his hand.
“No, Herr major! She would stay on deck in spite of the storm, though
Van dem Bosch kept asking her to go below. When a violent squall broke
the halyard, she was knocked overboard by the gaff. As the sea was
running high, there was no chance of saving her.”
Heideck had covered his face with his hand. A dull groan burst from his
violently heaving breast and a voice within him exclaimed--
“The guilt is yours. She sought death of her own accord, and it was you
who drove her to it!”
His voice sounded dry and harsh when he turned to the skipper and said--
“I thank you for your information, Brandelaar. Now leave me alone.”
XXXIII
THE LANDING IN SCOTLAND
The ninth and tenth army corps had collected at the inlet of Kid
harbour. The town of Kiel and its environs resounded with the clattering
of arms, the stamping of horses and the joyful songs of the soldiers,
who, full of hope, were expecting great and decisive events. But no one
knew anything for certain about the object of the impending expedition.
From the early hours of the morning of the 13th of July an almost
endless stream of men, horses, and guns poured over the landing-bridges,
which connected the giant steamers of the shipping companies with the
harbour quays. Other divisions of troops were taken on board in boats,
and on the evening of the 14th the whole field army, consisting of
60,000 men, was embarked.
Last of all, the general commanding, accompanied by the Imperial
Chancellor, proceeded in a launch on board the large cruiser Konig
Wilhelm, which lay at anchor in the Bay of Holtenall. Immediately
afterwards, three rockets, mounting brightly against the dark sky, went
up from the flagship. At this signal, the whole squadron started slowly
in the direction of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal.
The transport fleet consisted of about sixty large steamers, belonging
to the North-German Lloyd, the Hamburg-America, and the Stettin
companies. They were protected by the battleships Baden, Wurttemberg,
Bayern, and Sachsen, the large cruisers Kaiser and Deutschland, the
small cruisers Gazelle, Prinzess Wilhelm, Irene, Komet, and Meteor, and
the torpedo divisions D 5 and D 6, accompanied by their torpedo-boat
divisions.
The last torpedo-boat had long left the harbour, when, about eleven
o’clock in the forenoon of the 15th of July, the dull thunder of the
English ironclads resounded before the fortifications of the inlet of
Kiel, answered by the guns of the German fortress.
Bright sunshine was breaking through the light clouds when the Konig
Wilhelm entered the Elbe at Brunsbuttel. The boats of the torpedo
division, hastening forward, reported the mouth of the river free from
English warships, and a wireless message was received from Heligoland in
confirmation of this.
The squadron proceeded at full speed to the north-west. The torpedo
division D 5 reconnoitred in advance, the small, swift boats being
followed by the cruisers Prinzess Wilhelm and Irene, which from their
high rigging were especially adapted for scouting operations and carried
the necessary apparatus for wireless telegraphy. The rest of the fleet,
whose speed had to be regulated by that of the Konig Wilhelm, followed
at the prescribed intervals.
When the sharp outlines of the red cliffs of Heligoland appeared, the
German cruiser Seeadler came from the island to meet the squadron and
reported that the coast ironclads Aegir and Odin, the cruisers Hansa,
Vineta, Freya, and Hertha, together with the torpedo-boats, had set out
from Wilhelmshaven during the night and had seen nothing of the enemy.
The sea appeared free. All the available English warships of the North
Sea squadron had advanced to attack Antwerp.
Since the transport fleet did not appear to need reinforcements, it
proceeded on its way west-north-west with its attendant warships, the
Wilhelmshaven fleet remaining at Heligoland.
What was its destination?
Only a few among the many thousands could have given an answer, and they
remained silent. The red cliffs of Heligoland had long since disappeared
in the distance. Hours passed, but nothing met the eyes of the eagerly
gazing warriors, save the boundless, gently rippling sea and the
crystal-clear blue vault of heaven, stretched above it like a huge bell.
“What is our destination?”
It could not be the coast of England, which would have been reached
long ago. But where was the landing to take place, if not there? To
what distant shore was the German army being taken, the largest whose
destinies had ever been entrusted to the treacherous waves of the sea?
When daylight again brought a report from the scouts that the enemy’s
ships were nowhere to be seen, the Commander-in-Chief of the army could
not help expressing his surprise to the Admiral that the English had
apparently entirely neglected scouting in the North Sea, and further,
that they did not even see any merchant vessels.
“The explanation of this apparently surprising fact is not very remote,
Your Excellency,” replied the Admiral. “We should hardly sight
any merchantmen, since maritime trade is now almost entirely at a
standstill, owing to the insecurity of the seas. We have not met a
flotilla of fishing-boats, since in this part of the North Sea there are
no fishing-grounds. We see none of the enemy’s ships, since the
English have most likely calculated every other possibility except our
attempting to land in Scotland.”
“Your explanation is obvious, Herr Admiral; nevertheless, it seems to me
that our enemy must have neglected to take the necessary precautions in
keeping a look-out.”
“Your Excellency must not draw an offhand comparison between operations
on land and on sea. The conditions in the latter are essentially
different. I do not doubt for a moment that there is a sufficient number
of English scouts in the North Sea; if we have really escaped their
notice, the fortune of war has been favourable to us. I may tell Your
Excellency that, even during our manoeuvres in the Baltic, where we know
the course as well as the speed and strength of the marked enemy, he
has sometimes succeeded in making his way through, unseen by our scouts.
Perhaps this will mitigate your judgment of this apparent want of
foresight on the part of the English.”
At last, on the evening of the 16th of July, land was reported by the
Konig Wilhelm. The end of the journey was in sight, and the news spread
rapidly that it was the coast of Scotland rising from the waves.
“We are going to enter the Firth of Forth,” was the general opinion.
Even the brave soldiers, who perhaps heard the name for the first time
in their lives, repeated the word with as important an air as if all the
secrets of the military staff had been all at once revealed to them.
In the red light of the setting sun both shores appeared tinged with
violet from the deep-blue sky and the grey-blue sea, the north shore
being further off than the south. Favoured by a calm sea, the squadron,
extended in close order to a distance of about five knots, made for the
entrance of the Firth of Forth.
Full of expectation, the expeditionary army saw the vast, bold
undertaking develop before its eyes. For nine hundred years no hostile
army had landed on the coast of England. Certainly, in ancient times
Britain had had to fight against invading enemies: Julius Caesar had
entered as a conqueror, Canute the Great, King of Denmark, had subdued
the country. The Angles and Saxons had come over from Germany, to make
themselves masters of the land. Harold the Fairhaired, King of Norway,
had landed in England. But since the time of William of Normandy, who
defeated the Saxons at Hastings and set up the rule of the Normans in
England, not even her most powerful enemies, neither Philip of Spain
nor the great Napoleon, had succeeded in landing their troops on the
sea-girt soil of England.
Would a German army now succeed?
The outlines of the country became clearer and clearer; some even
believed they could see the lofty height of Edinburgh Castle on the
horizon. But soon the distant view was obscured and darkness slowly came
on.
Hitherto not a single hostile ship had been seen. But now, when
the greater part of the squadron had already entered the bay, the
searchlights discovered two English cruisers whose presence had already
been reported by the advance boats of the torpedo division.
In view of our great superiority, these cruisers declined battle, and
by hauling down their flag, signified their readiness to surrender.
From the sea, nothing remained to hinder the landing of the troops. The
transports approached the south shore of the bay, on which Edinburgh
and the harbour town of Leith are situated; and, after casting
anchor, landed the troops in boats by the electric light. The infantry
immediately occupied the positions favourable to meet any attack that
might be made. But nothing happened to prevent the landing. The Scottish
population remained perfectly calm, so that the disembarkation was
completed without disturbance.
The population of Leith and the inhabitants of Edinburgh, who had
hurried up full of curiosity, beheld, to their boundless astonishment,
a spectacle almost incomprehensible to them, carried out with admirable
precision under the bright electric light from the German ships.
The people had taken the keenest interest in the great war of England
against the allied Powers--Germany, France, and Russia--but with a
feeling that it was a matter which chiefly concerned the Government,
the Army, and the Navy. They were painfully aware that things were going
worse and worse for them, but were convinced that the Government would
soon overthrow the enemy. Everyone knew that the Russians had penetrated
into India, but the great mass of the people did not trouble about that.
It could only be a passing misfortune, and trade, which was at present
ruined, would soon revive and be all the more flourishing. But the idea
that an enemy, a continental army, could land on the coast of Great
Britain, that German or French soldiers could ever set foot on British
soil, had seemed to Scotsmen so remote a contingency that they now
appeared completely overcome by the logic of accomplished facts.
About noon on the following day the two army corps were already south of
Leith. A brigade had been pushed forward towards the south; the rest of
the troops had bivouacked, that the men might recuperate after their two
days’ sea journey.
The quartermasters had purchased provisions for ready money in the town,
the villages, and the scattered farmhouses. The warships filled their
bunkers from the abundant stock of English coal, guardships being
detached to ensure the safety of the squadron. The Admiral had ordered
that, after coaling, the warships should take up a position at the
entrance to the bay, the transports remaining in the harbour. In the
possible event of the appearance of a superior English squadron the
whole fleet was to leave the Firth of Forth as rapidly as possible and
disperse in all directions. Certainly in that case the army would be
deprived of the means of returning, but the military authorities were
convinced that the appearance of an army of 60,000 German troops on
British soil would practically mean the end of the war, especially as
an equally strong French corps was to land in the south. The military
authorities consequently thought they need not trouble themselves
further about the possibility of the troops having to return.
The garrison of Edinburgh had surrendered without resistance, since it
would have been far too weak to offer any opposition to the invading
army. Accordingly the German officers and soldiers could move about
in the town without hindrance. A number of despatches and fresh war
bulletins were found which threw some light upon the strategic position,
although they were partly obscure, and partly contained obvious
falsehoods.
A great naval battle was said to have taken place off Flushing on the
15th of July, ending in the retreat of the German and French fleets
with heavy losses. It was further reported that the British fleet had
destroyed Flushing and bombarded several of the Antwerp forts. Lastly,
according to the newspapers, the English fleet which had been stationed
before Copenhagen had entered Kid harbour and captured all the German
ships inside, the loss of the English battleships at the Kieler Fohrde
being admitted. The German officers were convinced that only the report
of the loss of the two battleships deserved credit, since the English
would hardly have invented such bad news. Everything else, from the
position of things, bore the stamp of improbability on the face of it.
The trumpets blew, the soldiers grasped their arms, the battalions began
their march. The batteries clattered along with a dull rumble. In four
columns, by four routes, side by side the four divisions started for the
south.
XXXIV
THE BATTLE OF FLUSHING
The strategy of red tape, by which the Commander-in-Chief’s hands were
tied, was destined, as in so many previous campaigns, to prove on this
occasion also a fatal error to the English.
Sir Percy Domvile, the British admiral, had received with silent rage
the order of battle communicated to him from London--the same order that
had fallen into the hands of the Germans. More than once already he had
attempted to show the Lords of the Admiralty what injury might be caused
by being tied to strict written orders in situations that could not
be foreseen. He now held in his own hands the proof how little the
officials, pervaded by the consciousness of their own importance and
superior wisdom, were disposed to allow themselves to be taught. But
he was too much of a service-man not to acquiesce in the orders of the
supreme court with unquestioning obedience. Certainly, if he had been
able to gauge in advance the far-reaching consequences of the mistake
already committed, he would probably, as a patriot, rather have
sacrificed himself than become the instrument for carrying out the
fundamentally erroneous tactics of the plan of battle communicated to
him. For more was now at stake than the proud British nation had ever
risked before in a naval engagement. It was a question of England’s
prestige as the greatest naval power in the world, perhaps of the final
issue of this campaign which had been so disastrous for Great Britain.
All-powerful Albion, the dreaded mistress of the seas, was now fighting
for honour and existence. A great battle lost might easily mean a blow
from which the British lion, wounded to death, would never be able to
recover.
. . . . . . .
At the time when the Konig Wilhelm entered the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal
at the head of the German transport fleet, the Prince-Admiral, who had
hoisted his flag on the Wittelsbach, led the fighting fleet from the
harbour of Antwerp into the Zuid Bevelanden Canal, which connects the
East and West Schelde, and separates the island of Walcheren from Zuid
Bevelanden. Anchor was then cast.
His squadron consisted of the battleships of the Wittelsbach
class--Mecklenburg, Schwaben, Zahringen, Wettin, and Wittelsbach (the
flagship of the Prince-Admiral), and the battleships of the Kaiser
class--Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, Barbarossa, Karl der Grosse, Wilhelm
II., and Friedrich III.
These ironclads were accompanied by the large cruisers Friedrich Karl,
Prinz Adalbert, Prinz Heinrich, Furst Bismarck, Viktoria Luise, Kaiserin
Augusta, and the small cruisers Berlin, Hamburg, Bremen, Undine, Arcona,
Frauenlob, and Medusa.
The torpedo flotilla at the Prince’s disposal consisted of the
torpedo-boats S 102 to 107, G 108 to 113, S 114 to 125, with the
division boats D 10, D 9, D 7, and D 8, built on the scale of
destroyers.
The three fast cruisers Friedrich Karl, Prinz Adalbert and Kaiserin
Augusta, with the torpedo-boats S 114 to 120, had been sent on as
scouts, to announce the approach of the enemy in good time. The cruisers
had been ordered to post themselves thirty knots west-north-west of
Flushing at intervals of five knots, while the torpedo-boats patrolled
on all sides to keep a look-out. After having reported the approach
of the English fleet to the main squadron by wireless telegraphy,
the scouts were to retire before the enemy out of range into the West
Schelde, and at the same time to keep up such a fire in their boilers
that the clouds of thick smoke might deceive the enemy as to the size
and number of the retiring ships. When out of sight of the English,
they were to wheel round and show themselves, and, if circumstances
permitted, take up the positions previously assigned them; otherwise
they were to act according to circumstances.
The object of this manoeuvre, calculated to mislead the enemy, was
completely attained.
A signal informed the Prince-Admiral that the English were in sight, and
a torpedo-boat detached from the scouting squadron brought more
exact information as to the number and formation of the enemy’s
ships--information which exactly corresponded with the instructions
given in the order of battle, and was a fresh proof that it was intended
to adhere to them.
This provided a sure foundation for the tactical operations of the
German fleet. No alteration was necessary in the course of action
decided upon at the council of war on the previous day, and no fresh
instructions had to be issued to individual commanders.
The order of battle settled at this council of war ran, in the main, as
follows:--
“The squadron will lie at anchor off Zuid-Beveland, fires banked, so
that they can get up steam in a quarter of an hour. The battleships will
anchor in double line, according to their tactical numbers. The cruisers
between Nord-Beveland and Zuid-Beveland. The torpedo-boats with their
division boats behind.
“At the signal ‘weigh anchor’ the ships carry out the order according to
their tactical number; the battleships through the Roompot; the cruisers
will re-enter the West Schelde through the canal and lie off Flushing
athwart.
“The two other torpedo-boat divisions will accompany the squadron.”
The course of events developed exactly in accordance with these
dispositions.
When the approach of the enemy’s ships was announced, the
Prince-Admiral’s flaghip signalled: “Weigh anchor! hoist top pennants!
clear for action! follow in the Admiral’s wake! cruiser division and
torpedo-boats execute orders!”
Keeping close under the coast of Walcheren, the German squadron, full
steam up, advanced to meet the enemy.
Meanwhile the approaching English, having left their hospital and
munition ships and colliers in the open under the protection of the
cruisers and taken up their appointed positions, opened fire at a
distance of about 6,000 yards on Flushing and Fort Frederik Hendrik.
The English Admiral adhered so strictly to his instructions that,
with an incomprehensible carelessness, he neglected to search the East
Schelde with his second squadron, or even with his scouts. The entry of
the German ships which had been sent back from the open into the
West Schelde, evidently appeared to Sir Percy Domvile a sufficient
confirmation of the assumption that the whole German fleet was in this
arm of the river’s mouth, for the clouds of smoke which they emitted
rendered an accurate computation of their strength impossible.
Thus, the Prince-Admiral’s squadron was enabled to approach the enemy
so far unobserved that it would be able to take the British fleet in the
flank, when it had reached the west point of Walcheren.
At the signal: “Full steam ahead!” the German ships in the formation
agreed steamed against the surprised English, and opened fire from
their bow-guns. Naturally, the English Admiral at once ordered the first
squadron to take up its position behind the second, turned left with
both, and went to meet the enemy in double line.
This was the opportune moment, foreseen in the Prince’s plan of battle,
for the advance of the cruisers lying in the West Schelde. In order
to deceive the enemy as to their number, they rapidly approached,
accompanied by the torpedo-boats which again sent up their clouds of
smoke. The English Admiral, completely surprised by the double attack,
was obliged to divide his attention.
Certainly this torpedo attack was still a hazardous undertaking, under
existing conditions. The English shot well, and two German boats were
sunk by the enemy’s shells. Three others, however, hit their mark,
damaging three of the English ships so severely that they were incapable
of manoeuvring.