WANGENHEIM SMUGGLES THE “GOEBEN” AND THE “BRESLAU” THROUGH THE
DARDANELLES
On August 10th I went out on a little launch to meet the _Sicilia_, a
small Italian ship which had just arrived from Venice. I was especially
interested in this vessel because she was bringing to Constantinople my
daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Maurice Wertheim, and their three
little daughters. The greeting proved even more interesting than I had
expected. I found the passengers considerably excited, for they had
witnessed, the day before, a naval engagement in the Ionian Sea.
“We were lunching yesterday on deck,” my daughter told me, “when I saw
two strange-looking vessels just above the horizon. I ran for the
glasses and made out two large battleships, the first one with two queer
exotic-looking towers, and the other one quite an ordinary-looking
battleship. We watched and saw another ship coming up behind them and
going very fast. She came nearer and nearer, and then we heard guns
booming. Pillars of water sprang up in the air and there were many
little puffs of white smoke. It took me some time to realise what it was
all about, and then it burst upon me that we were actually witnessing an
engagement. The ships continually shifted their position, but went on
and on. The two big ones turned and rushed furiously for the little one,
and then apparently they changed their minds and turned back. Then the
little one turned around and calmly steamed in our direction. At first I
was somewhat alarmed at this, but nothing happened. She circled around
us with her tars excited and grinning, and somewhat grimy. They
signalled to our captain many questions, and then turned and finally
disappeared. The captain told us that the two big ships were Germans
which had been caught in the Mediterranean and which were trying to
escape from the British fleet. He says that the British ships are
chasing them all over the Mediterranean, and that the German ships are
trying to get into Constantinople. Have you seen anything of them? Where
do you suppose the British fleet is?”
A few hours afterward I happened to meet Wangenheim. When I told him
what Mrs. Wertheim had seen, he displayed an agitated interest.
Immediately after lunch he called at the American Embassy with
Pallavicini, the Austrian Ambassador, and asked for an interview with my
daughter. The two Ambassadors solemnly planted themselves in chairs
before Mrs. Wertheim and subjected her to a most minute, though very
polite, cross-examination. “I never felt so important in my life,” she
afterwards told me. They would not permit her to leave out a single
detail; they wished to know how many shots had been fired, what
direction the German ships had taken, what everybody on board had said,
and so on. The visit seemed to give these allied Ambassadors immense
relief and satisfaction, for they left the house in an almost jubilant
mood, behaving as though a great weight had been taken off their minds.
And certainly they had good reason for their elation. My daughter had
been the means of giving them the news which they had desired to hear
above everything else--that the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ had escaped
the British fleet and were then steaming rapidly in the direction of the
Dardanelles.
For it was those famous German ships, the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_,
which my daughter had seen engaged in battle with a British scout ship!
The next day official business called me to the German Embassy. But
Wangenheim’s animated manner soon disclosed that he had no interest in
routine matters. Never had I seen him so nervous and so excited. He
could not rest in his chair more than a few minutes at a time; he was
constantly jumping up, rushing to the window, and looking anxiously out
toward the Bosphorus where his private wireless station, the
_Corcovado_, lay about three-quarters of a mile away. Wangenheim’s face
was flushed and his eyes were shining; he would stride up and down the
room, speaking now of a recent German victory, now giving me a little
forecast of Germany’s plans, and then he would stalk to the window again
for another look at the _Corcovado_.
“Something is seriously distracting you,” I said, rising. “I will go,
and come again some other time.”
“No, no!” the Ambassador almost shouted. “I want you to stay right where
you are. This will be a great day for Germany! If you will only remain
for a few minutes you will hear a great piece of news--something that
has the utmost bearing upon Turkey’s relation to the war.”
Then he rushed out on the portico and leaned over the balustrade. At the
same moment I saw a little launch put out from the _Corcovado_ toward
the Ambassador’s dock. Wangenheim hurried down, seized an envelope from
one of the sailors, and a moment afterward burst into the room again.
“We’ve got them!” he shouted to me.
“Got what?” I asked.
“The _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ have passed through the Dardanelles!”
He was waving the wireless message with all the enthusiasm of a college
boy whose football team has won a victory.
Then, momentarily checking his enthusiasm, he came up to me solemnly,
humorously shook his forefinger, lifted his eyebrows, and said, “Of
course, you understand that we have sold these ships to Turkey!
“And Admiral Souchon,” he added with another wink, “will enter the
Sultan’s service!”
Wangenheim had more than patriotic reasons for this exultation; the
arrival of these ships was the greatest day in his diplomatic career. It
was really the first diplomatic victory which Germany had won. For years
the Chancellorship of the Empire had been Wangenheim’s laudable
ambition, and he behaved now like a man who saw his prize within his
grasp. The voyage of the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ was his personal
triumph; he had arranged with the Turkish Cabinet for their passage
through the Dardanelles, and he had directed their movements by wireless
in the Mediterranean. By safely getting the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_
into Constantinople, Wangenheim had definitely clinched Turkey as
Germany’s ally. All his intrigues and plottings for three years had now
finally succeeded.
I doubt if any two ships have exercised a greater influence upon history
than these two German cruisers. Not all of us at that time fully
realised their importance, but subsequent developments have fully
justified Wangenheim’s exuberant satisfaction. The _Goeben_ was a
powerful battle-cruiser of recent construction, the _Breslau_ was not so
large a ship, but she, like the _Goeben_, had the excessive speed that
made her extremely serviceable in those waters. These ships had spent
the few months preceding the war cruising in the Mediterranean, and when
the declaration finally came they were taking on supplies at Messina. I
have always regarded it as more than a coincidence that these two
vessels, both of them having a greater speed than any French or English
ships in the Mediterranean, should have been lying not far from Turkey
when war broke out. The selection of the _Goeben_ was particularly
fortunate, as she had twice before visited Constantinople and her
officers and men knew the Dardanelles perfectly. The behaviour of these
crews, when the news of war was received, indicated the spirit with
which the German Navy began hostilities; the men broke out into song and
shouting, lifted their admiral upon their shoulders, and held a real
German jollification. It is said that Admiral Souchon preserved, as a
touching souvenir of this occasion, his white uniform bearing the
finger-prints of his grimy sailors! For all their joy at the prospect of
battle, the situation of these ships was still a precarious one. They
formed no match for the large British and French naval forces which were
roaming through the Mediterranean. The _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ were
far from their native bases; with the coaling problem such an acute one,
and with England in possession of all important stations, where could
they flee for safety? Several Italian destroyers were circling around
the German ships at Messina, enforcing neutrality and occasionally
reminding them that they could remain in port only twenty-four hours.
England had ships stationed at the Gulf of Otranto, the head of the
Adriatic, to cut them off in case they sought to escape into the
Austrian port of Pola. The British Navy also stood guard at Gibraltar
and Suez, the only other exits that apparently offered the possibility
of escape. There was only one other place in which the _Goeben_ and the
_Breslau_ might find a safe and friendly reception. That was
Constantinople. Apparently the British Navy dismissed this as an
impossibility. At that time, early in August, international law had not
entirely disappeared as the guiding conduct of nations. Turkey was then
a neutral country, and, despite the many evidences of German domination,
she seemed likely to maintain her neutrality. The Treaty of Paris, which
was signed in 1856, as well as the Treaty of London, signed in 1871,
provided that warships should not use the Dardanelles except on the
special permission of the Sultan, which permission could be granted only
in times of peace. In practice the Government had seldom given this
permission except for ceremonial occasions. In the existing conditions
it would have amounted virtually to an unfriendly act for the Sultan to
have removed the ban against war vessels in the Dardanelles, and to
permit the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ to remain in Turkish waters for
more than twenty-four hours would have been nothing less than a
declaration of war. It is, perhaps, not surprising that the British in
the early days of August, 1914, when Germany had not completely made
clear her official opinion that “international law had ceased to exist,”
regarded these treaty stipulations as barring the German ships from the
Dardanelles and Constantinople. Relying upon the sanctity of these
international regulations, the British Navy had shut off every point
through which these German ships could have escaped to safety--except
the entrance to the Dardanelles. Had England, immediately on the
declaration of war, rushed a powerful squadron to this vital spot, how
different the history of the last three years might have been!
* * * * *
“His Majesty expects the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ to succeed in
breaking through!” Such was the wireless that reached these vessels at
Messina at five o’clock in the evening of August 4th. The twenty-four
hours’ stay permitted by the Italian Government had nearly expired.
Outside, in the Strait of Otranto, lay the force of British
battle-cruisers, sending false radio messages to the Germans instructing
them to rush for Pola. With bands playing and flags flying, the officers
and crews having had their spirits fired by speeches and champagne, the
two vessels started at full speed head on toward the awaiting British
fleet. The little _Gloucester_, a scout boat, kept in touch, wiring
constantly the German movements to the main squadron. Suddenly, when off
Cape Spartivento, the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ let off into the
atmosphere all the discordant vibrations which their wireless could
command, jamming the air with such a hullabaloo that the _Gloucester_
was unable to send any intelligible messages. Then the German cruisers
turned south and made for the Ægean Sea. The plucky little _Gloucester_
kept close on their heels, and, as my daughter had related, had even
once audaciously offered battle. A few hours behind the British squadron
pursued, but uselessly, for the German ships, though far less powerful
in battle, were much speedier. Even then the British admiral probably
thought that he had spoiled the German plans. The German ships might get
first to the Dardanelles, but at that point stood international law
across the path and barring the entrance!
Meanwhile Wangenheim had accomplished his great diplomatic triumph. From
the _Corcovado_ wireless station in the Bosphorus he was sending the
most agreeable news to Admiral Souchon. He was telling him to hoist the
Turkish flag when he reached the Strait, for Admiral Souchon’s cruisers
had suddenly become parts of the Turkish Navy, and, therefore, the usual
international prohibitions did not apply! These cruisers were no longer
the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_, for, like an oriental magician,
Wangenheim had suddenly changed them into the _Sultan Selim_ and the
_Medilli_. The fact was that the German Ambassador had cleverly taken
advantage of the existing situation to manufacture a “sale.” As I have
already told, Turkey had two dreadnoughts under construction in England
[Illustration: “Goeben” in the Sea of Marmora.
[_To face p. 48._
]
[Illustration: “Breslau” (left) at the Golden Horn.]
when the war broke out. These ships were not exclusively governmental
enterprises; their purchasers represented what, on the surface, appeared
to be a popular enthusiasm of the Turkish people. They were to be the
agencies through which Turkey was to attack Greece and win back the
islands of the Ægean, and the Turkish people had raised the money to
build them by a so-called popular subscription. Agents had gone from
house to house, painfully collecting these small subscriptions; there
had been entertainments and fairs, and, in their eagerness for the
cause, Turkish women had sold their hair for the benefit of the common
fund. These two vessels thus represented a spectacular outburst of
patriotism that was unusual in Turkey, so unusual, indeed, that many
detected signs that the Government had stimulated it. At the very moment
when the war began Turkey had made her last payment to the English
shipyards and the Turkish crews had arrived in England prepared to take
the finished vessels home. Then, very soon before the time set to
deliver them, the British Government stepped in and commandeered these
dreadnoughts for the British Navy.
There is not the slightest question that England had not only a legal,
but a moral, right to do this; there is also no question that her action
was a proper one, and that, had she been dealing with almost any other
nation, such proceeding would not have aroused any resentment. But the
Turkish people cared nothing for distinctions of this sort; all they saw
was that they had two ships in England, which they had greatly strained
their resources to purchase, and that England had now stepped in and
taken them. Even without external pressure they would have resented the
act, but external pressure was exerted in plenty. The transaction gave
Wangenheim the greatest opportunity of his life. Violent attacks upon
England, all emanating from the German Embassy, began to fill the
Turkish Press. Wangenheim was constantly discoursing to the Turkish
leaders on English perfidy. He now suggested that Germany, Turkey’s good
friend, was prepared to make compensation for England’s “unlawful”
seizure. He suggested that Turkey go through the form of “purchasing”
the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_, which were then wandering around the
Mediterranean, perhaps in anticipation of this very contingency, and
incorporate them in the Turkish Navy in place of the appropriated ships
in England. The very day that these vessels passed through the
Dardanelles the _Ikdam_, a Turkish newspaper published in
Constantinople, had a triumphant account of this “sale,” with big
headlines calling it a “great success for the Imperial Government.”
Thus Wangenheim’s manœuvre accomplished two purposes: it placed
Germany before the populace as Turkey’s friend, and it also provided a
subterfuge for getting the ships through the Dardanelles and enabling
them to remain in Turkish waters. All this beguiled the more ignorant
part of the Turkish people, and gave the Cabinet a plausible ground for
meeting the objection of Entente diplomats, but it did not deceive any
intelligent person. The _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ might change their names,
and the German sailors might adorn themselves with Turkish fezzes, but
we all knew from the beginning that this sale was a sham. Those who
understood the financial condition of Turkey could only be amused at the
idea that she could purchase these modern vessels. Moreover, the ships
were never incorporated in the Turkish Navy; on the contrary, what
really happened was that the Turkish Navy was annexed to these German
ships. A handful of Turkish sailors was placed on board at one time for
appearance’ sake, but their German officers and German crews still
retained active charge. Wangenheim, in his talks with me, never made any
secret of the fact that the ships still remained German property. “I
never expected to have such big cheques to sign,” he remarked one day,
referring to his expenditures on the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_. He
always called them “our” ships. Even Talaat told me in so many words
that the cruisers did not belong to Turkey.
“The Germans say they belong to the Turks,” he remarked, with his
characteristic laugh. “At any rate it’s very comforting for us to have
them here. After the war, if the Germans win, they will forget all about
it and leave the ships to us. If the Germans lose, they won’t be able to
take them away from us!”
The German Government made no real pretension that the sale had been
_bonâ fide_; at least, when the Greek Minister at Berlin protested
against the transaction as unfriendly to Greece--naïvely forgetting the
American ships which Greece had recently purchased--the German officials
soothed him by admitting, _sotto voce_, that the ownership still resided
in Germany. Yet when the Entente Ambassadors constantly protested
against the presence of the German vessels, the Turkish officials
blandly kept up the pretence that they were integral parts of the
Turkish Navy!
The German officers and crews greatly enjoyed this farcical pretence
that the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ were Turkish ships. They took
particular delight in dressing themselves up in Turkish uniforms and
Turkish fezzes, thereby presenting to the world conclusive evidence that
these loyal soldiers of the Kaiser were now parts of the Sultan’s Navy.
One day the _Goeben_ sailed up the Bosphorus, halted in front of the
Russian Embassy, and dropped anchor. Then the officers and men lined the
deck in full view of the enemy Ambassador. All solemnly removed their
Turkish fezzes and put on German caps. The band played “_Deutschland
uber Alles_,” the “Watch on the Rhine,” and other German songs, the
German sailors singing loudly to the accompaniment. When they had spent
an hour or two serenading the Russian Ambassador, the officers and crews
removed their German caps and again put on their Turkish fezzes. The
_Goeben_ then picked up her anchor and started south to her station,
leaving in the ears of the Russian diplomat the gradually dying strains
of German war songs as the cruiser disappeared down stream.
I have often speculated on what would have happened if the English
battle-cruisers, which pursued the _Breslau_ and _Goeben_ up to the
mouth of the Dardanelles, had not been too gentlemanly to have violated
international law. Suppose that they had entered the Strait, attacked
the German cruisers in the Marmora, and sunk them. They could have done
this, and, knowing all that we know now, such an action would have been
justified. Not improbably the destruction would have kept Turkey out of
the war. For, the arrival of these cruisers made it inevitable that
Turkey should join her forces with Germany’s when the proper moment
came. With them the Turkish Navy became stronger than the Russian Black
Sea Fleet, and thus made it certain that Russia could make no attack on
Constantinople. The _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_, that is, practically
gave the Ottoman-German naval forces control of the Black Sea. Moreover,
these two ships could easily dominate Constantinople, and thus furnish
the means by which the German Navy, if the occasion arose, could
terrorise the Turks. I am convinced that, when the judicious historian
reviews this war and its consequences, he will say that the passage of
the Strait by these German ships made it inevitable that Turkey should
join Germany at the moment that Germany desired her assistance, and that
they likewise sealed the doom of the Turkish Empire. There were men in
the Turkish Cabinet who perceived this, even then. The story was told in
Constantinople--though I do not vouch for it as authentic history--that
the Cabinet Meeting at which this momentous decision had been made had
not been altogether harmonious. The Grand Vizier and Djemal, it was
said, objected to the fictitious “sale,” and demanded that it should be
made a real one. When the discussion had reached its height Enver, who
was playing Germany’s game, announced that he had already practically
completed the transaction. In the silence that followed his statement
this young Napoleon pulled out his pistol and laid it on the table.
“If anyone here wishes to question this purchase,” he said quietly and
icily, “I am ready to meet him.”
A few weeks after the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ had taken up permanent
headquarters in the Bosphorus, Djavid Bey, Minister of Finance, happened
to meet a distinguished Belgian jurist, then in Constantinople.
“I have terrible news for you,” said the sympathetic Turkish statesman.
“The Germans have captured Brussels.”
The Belgian, a huge figure, more than six feet high, put his arm
soothingly upon the shoulder of the diminutive Turk.
“I have even more terrible news for you,” he said, pointing out to the
stream where the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_ lay anchored. “The Germans
have captured Turkey.”