THE “UNTERSEE” GERMAN
My Kiel Acquaintance--Submarines by Rail--German Submarines
at Constantinople--My Voyage of Discovery--The Exploit of
U51--Captain von Hersing--German Hero-worship--A Daring
Feat--A Modest German!--Von Hersing in England--The German
Naval Officer--His Opinion of the British Navy--A Regrettable
Incident--Dr. Ledera Imprisoned--I Encounter an Austrian Spy--He
Confides to me his Methods--The Carelessness of British Consuls.
An axiom, and a very valuable one, for a man employed in secret service
work for a newspaper should be to stay always at the best hotel in any
city at which he is making investigations. For one thing, big fish swim
in large lakes; for another, the visitors at large hotels are less
noticed and less likely to be suspected than those at smaller places.
At the Pera Palace Hotel I had many interesting conversations with
German officers, for whom I had to swallow my dislike for reasons of
policy. They complained to me bitterly of the absence of amusement,
for all the theatres and picture palaces were closed, and there was no
distraction whatever for the apostles of “Frightfulness.” I was always
ready with sympathy, and we got on very well together.
The officer of the Polish Legion at Vienna who told me about the
terrible fate of the 28th Regiment, had introduced me to a German
foreman-constructor of submarines, who had come from the famous
Germania Shipyard at Kiel. He was a typical German of the boasting
type, and as the result of a little judicious handling, some beer, and
a great deal of flattery, of which any traveller in Germany has to take
with him an unlimited supply, I soon discovered a great deal as to the
mystery of the German submarines in the Sea of Marmora. Of the small
type there are, I believe, not more than four; very likely the number
has been increased since I left Turkey, as I will explain.
A little more than a year ago the English newspapers were engaged in
discussing the possibility of Germans carrying submarines by rail.
Whilst this was in progress the Germans had already solved the problem,
and had conclusively proved that submarines of the smaller type can
easily be manufactured in one place in sections and carried hundreds
of miles by rail to another, where, with the aid of experts, they can
be fitted together. As my new acquaintance informed me, Germany had
already done this most successfully.
I proved the accuracy of the man’s statement when I was at
Constantinople, as I saw no less than four German U boats, Nos. U4,
U18, and U25. I could not detect the number of the fourth craft. They
were of a uniform size and U18 had painted on the conning-tower a huge
Iron Cross, showing that it had achieved some great distinction--great,
at least, to the German mind.
Hiring a rowing boat, and wearing my fez, I discovered the base of the
submarines on the afternoon of January 15th. It was cleverly hidden
behind two big German liners in the Golden Horn, between the Marine
Arsenal and Has Keiul, the little village that had been entirely
destroyed by the powder explosion. By this time, if my informant were
correct--and I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of his statements,
for, like so many Germans, he told me a good deal more than he
ought--the number of submarines has been increased to six; he himself
had been concerned in putting them together at Trieste. As a matter
of fact, soon after my arrival in England I read in different neutral
as well as English newspapers that two more German submarines of
small size had arrived in Constantinople from an Austrian port in the
Adriatic.
The German submarine officers and crews to be met with in
Constantinople are not at all of the swaggering Prussian type.
They wear the usual German uniform, whereas their fellows of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_, which fly the Turkish flag, wear the fez. The
so-called Turkish submarines do not exist save in the imagination of
certain people whose interest it is to write about them. They are
in reality German submarines flying the German naval flag. I have
reason to believe also that there are very few Turkish aeroplanes or
flying-men. An American newspaper suggested that it was possibly a
Turkish submarine that sunk the _Persia_; but as there are no Turkish
submarines, one of them could not possibly have been guilty of this
crime against civilisation.
These smaller submarines must not be confused with U51, which, as the
German newspapers have proudly described, made the great voyage from
Kiel to Constantinople, either through the English Channel or by the
northern passage round Scotland. This took place in the spring of 1915.
The U51 is a huge craft, painted a dark grey, its appearance being very
suggestive of its sinister purpose. It has a big gun mounted on the
forepart. The size of the craft astonished me when I saw it some days
after its arrival at Constantinople, on my first visit, and I think it
must be one of the largest afloat. Unfortunately, I was not allowed on
board: there were limitations to the privileges that my papers were
able to secure for me. Beside this leviathan the U4 and her sisters
would look mere pigmies; but they are vicious little craft, hornets
with sharp and painful stings.
Now that Weddigen has been killed, Captain von Hersing is the popular
hero of the German submarine navy. He is the type of man that possesses
a strong appeal for the English sportsman. He is of the Max Horton
order, and it was he who sank the _Triumph_ and the _Majestic_.
In Germany heroes are made on the slightest possible provocation and
for very indifferent achievements; but Captain von Hersing certainly
deserves his fame. He is modest, a rather rare quality in the
present-day German.
The story of his feat, which he narrated to me during my first visit
to Constantinople, has already been told time after time. As quietly
as any Englishman would have done he described to me that wonderful
voyage; how he picked up petrol in the Bay of Biscay at an exactly
appointed time and place; how he passed by Gibraltar in broad daylight
on the surface of the water; the agonies he suffered during the
imprisonment of his boat for two hours in a British submarine net off
Lemnos; how he eventually escaped with a damaged propeller, and arrived
at Constantinople in the early days of May.
During the whole recital of his achievements the nearest thing to
self-glorification that I was able to detect in his manner was a
momentary flashing of the eye, which no one would deny even to Admiral
Beatty himself. He was disinclined to discuss the war, and I remember
that at the time I thought how correct this attitude was in an officer,
and how different from many of his fellows of the land service, who
will discuss nothing else.
He told me that he had spent a considerable time in England, and that
he liked the English. The promptness with which he denied that it was
his boat that had sunk the _Lusitania_ left me in no doubt as to his
view of that colossal outrage. In fact, I have heard from many sources
that the German Navy regards this discreditable exploit as a blot upon
its name. I talked to him many times at the Pera Club, where there were
comparatively few Germans and plenty of food, the one fact probably
explaining the other.
If all Germans were of the same type as the German naval officers
and men, the word “Hun” would probably never have been applied; it
certainly would not so aptly fit. In their franker moments these naval
officers and men confess that they hate the horrible work they are
obliged to do; but that they have no alternative but to carry out the
orders received from Berlin. There are brutes among them, no doubt, but
such German naval officers as I have met compare very favourably with
their swaggering colleagues of the land service. German sailors are
under no misapprehension as to the might and efficiency of the British
Navy. It is not they who spread the tale of the British Fleet hiding
in ports while German ships proudly sail the North Sea. It is not they
who ask plaintively, “Will the British Fleet never come out?” They are
practical men, and for the most part honest men, and they know that
Germany has it in her own hands to bring out the British Fleet in no
uncertain manner.
The Germans are annoyed because the valuable ships of the British
Navy do not parade up and down in the neighbourhood of Heligoland
and Wilhelmshaven and allow themselves to be torpedoed by German
submarines. The German idea of naval warfare is sometimes childish, but
it belongs to the layman and not to the expert. “Our people started the
war ten years too soon,” was the remark that one German officer made to
me.
It is not difficult to see that there is very little love lost between
the German Army and the German Navy, which is scarcely to be wondered
at. A very casual observer has only to contrast the characters of the
two classes of men, as I saw them at the Pera Palace Hotel; the one
swaggering and strutting about, grumbling at the lack of amusement,
growling if the _Liebesgabe_ (parcel) from Berlin, with its sausage
(_leberwurst_) and the like, cigars, and _pâté de fois gras_, is a day
late; the other quiet, well-mannered, accustomed to great hardship
and danger from childhood, self-respecting and respecting others--the
nearest approach to an English gentleman that the Germans are capable
of producing. Not many naval officers hail from the Hun country of
Prussia.
It is beyond question true that the sinking of the _Lusitania_ is
terribly unpopular in the German Navy, although the German people went
hysterical with joy about it, and still regard it as one of the great
German feats of the war.
The presence of German submarines at Constantinople is not altogether
relished by the Turks. Each of the four submarines I saw had a gun on
the forepart of the vessel; not a powerful weapon, it is true, but
quite sufficient to instil terror into the inhabitants of the city,
should they not behave themselves according to German ideas.
There is still some antagonism shown in Turkey towards the Germans,
but, unfortunately, very little. The German sway is almost supreme,
but for all that they take no risks. They are conscious of an
undercurrent of distrust, and they never allow the Turk too much
ammunition, lest it may be used against themselves. It is notorious
that the shortage of ammunition in Gallipoli was due not entirely to
German inability to convey it there, but rather to the fact that the
master did not trust the servant. A well-munitioned Turkey would be a
danger, and ill-munitioned Turkey is a safeguard.
A little incident which came to my knowledge shows that even now
the Germans have to exercise tact in dealing with the Turks. At the
Hotel Tokatlian, in Pera, there was a daily foregathering of all the
German and Austrian newspaper representatives in the city. One day I
heard them discussing the fate of one of their number, Dr. Ledera, of
the _Berliner Tageblatt_. I gathered that he had offended the Turks
by describing how, owing to the state of the _Goeben_ and their own
shortage of big guns, they had removed two of the largest from that
vessel and taken them down for use against the English at Gallipoli.
This information, which I brought to this country as early as last
June, officially stated in so important a newspaper, intimated to
the Russians and the British that the _Goeben_ was practically out
of action. The Turks were greatly incensed, and promptly arrested
Dr. Ledera. He was sent to an internment-camp in a distant part of
Anatolia, where the conditions were far from luxurious. The German
Ambassador, the late Baron von Wangenheim, had to exert the utmost
possible pressure to secure the release of his indiscreet compatriot.
After six weeks’ imprisonment the erring correspondent was brought
back to Constantinople, escorted over the frontier, and ordered never
to return to Turkey. In spite of this, each day leaves the Turk more
hopelessly under the yoke of his German master.
I have always had my own views about the German spy system in
England. Of one thing I am certain, that it is thorough; but, as I
have previously pointed out, it is not so perfect as so many people
in this country are inclined to believe. The first essential for a
travelling German or Austrian spy is to obtain by fair means or by
foul a passport from a neutral country. Only with this can he hope to
enter England, and return in safety. I encountered one of these spies,
and the conversation I had with him is of considerable interest as
throwing light on German methods. He was an Austrian, and we got into
conversation during my journey from Vienna to the Swiss border. As we
approached the frontier he made obvious efforts to discover my views
and sympathies. I allowed him first to express his own, which were
violently pro-German. Nevertheless, he said, “I have been among those
_Schweinhunden_ twice in the last six months.” (The “Schweinhunden,”
by the way, were the English.) “Fortunately, I did not allow the grass
to grow under my feet during my seven years’ residence there, and I
flatter myself I can speak English as an Englishman. Do you know any
English?” he asked.
“A little,” I replied, in order to draw him out. He then began to
converse with me in that tongue, and he undoubtedly was justified in
his boast that he could speak English perfectly. Furthermore, he looked
a very excellent and presentable specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race, such
as one sees any morning during the London season, before the war, of
course, in Bond Street, Pall Mall or Piccadilly.
In order to obtain a false passport the travelling spy must get first a
false birth certificate. This, of course, involves forgery, but it can
be obtained with no very great difficulty and at a reasonable price by
those who know where to seek it. In the early days of the war there was
a regular trade in passports in several neutral countries, where they
could be purchased for between £10 and £12. Those days are now passed,
for the English Government has awakened to the grave danger arising
from this commerce.
With a birth certificate, in conjunction with a letter from some
commercial firm to the effect that the bearer or person referred to
wishes to proceed to England on certain business, the obtaining of a
passport is not so difficult as it might appear. The documents are
presented at the Passport Office of a neutral country and the necessary
passport obtained. The next step is to get it _visé’d_ by the British
Consul, who is not as often English as he should be. When he is of
English nationality he is frequently too old to be alert and on the
lookout for spies. Once the passport is _visé’d_ the travelling spy of
German or Austrian birth or interests arrives at Folkestone, Tilbury,
Southampton, or some other port where there is no lack of strict
scrutiny. Lately the investigations have been especially severe, but of
what avail is this if the passports and business letters that accompany
it are based upon a forged birth certificate?
Arrived in England, the travelling spy communicates with the resident
spy, cautiously lest the resident spy is being watched. In all
probability they meet at a large hotel, or at a railway station,
nothing is written. If an appointment has to be made it is done over
the telephone or by a message through a third party.
In the early days of the war spies were inclined to be careless, being
so convinced of the obtuseness of the English officials. The result was
that a number of them attended an exclusive little party which gathered
at dawn in the Tower of London. The censorship of letters has doubtless
checked written communication to a very great extent.
To check spying the greatest care should be exercised by the British
consuls abroad; they should never, unless absolutely confident of the
_bona fides_ of the bearer, _visé_ a passport, and, of course, unless
they do so the passport is absolutely worthless. If necessary, the
British Consul should have the assistance of a shrewd international
detective from England with a knowledge of foreign languages, a man who
is accustomed to appraising character and ferreting out information; it
would be difficult for the applicant to smooth away his suspicion, a
thing which is very easy with most consuls.
The statement of my Austrian acquaintance that he had been twice to
England within a period of six months (and I have no reason to doubt
his word) shows that even now there are very obvious imperfections
in the system for keeping spies out of England. In offering my views
it is not with any idea of teaching the authorities their business,
but rather the hint of one who has come into touch with the spies
themselves, and in the hope that my words may be of assistance. It must
be remembered that the authorities at the ports of entry can judge only
on the actual papers produced.