“OUR KAISER IS HERE!”
Getting Out of Constantinople--I Become Suspicious--I Appeal
to Halil Bey--A Gloomy Apartment--I Visit the Prefecture of
Police--I Join a Military Train--Marvellous Engineering--A Subtle
Device--The Kaiser at Nish--I See the Two Monarchs--A Remarkable
Stroke of Luck--I am Invited to the Banquet--Fokker Aeroplanes.
Secret service work in German-governed countries demands astuteness,
resource, and constant watchfulness over words and actions alike, and
a good deal of “Damn the consequences.” To be known within the German
war zone as one connected with an English newspaper would naturally be
fatal.
Getting into an enemy country in war time is always difficult; but
getting out of it is frequently precarious. I began to fear that I
was being watched in Constantinople. The German system of watching is
simple and effective. If the suspect be of sufficient importance three
or four detectives are told off to follow his movements continuously,
but one at a time. He is, therefore, not likely to recognise his
watcher as would be the case if one man only were detailed for the duty.
Intuitively I felt that the few very innocent and harmless, but to
me very important, papers I had with me were being subjected to
examination in my room at the hotel. As a precaution I rearranged them,
carefully noting the order in which they lay. When next I returned to
the hotel in the evening my suspicions were confirmed--my papers had
obviously been disturbed. It might, of course, have been mere curiosity
on the part of the Greek servants, but I remembered that these same
servants work hand and glove with the police or military authorities.
Accordingly, I determined to get away with all possible expedition.
At that time it was announced in the very attenuated Constantinople
newspapers that the Kaiser was going to Belgrade. The movements of
the German Emperor on the Continent are as much of a puzzle to his
own people and his allies as they are to the subjects of the Entente
Powers. There were in Constantinople, too, the same rumours as to his
ill-health which had been spread throughout Europe. On the other hand,
there was the definite statement that he was coming East. The desire
to see him face to face, if possible, and also the wish to get out of
Constantinople, set me to work planning how most speedily to effect my
purpose.
I bethought myself of Halil Bey, the Foreign Minister, who had so
kindly secured for me an interview with Enver Pasha. To my surprise the
old man saw me at once. His is a very different reception-room from
that of his colleague, Enver. Gloomy, miserable, without electric light
or even an oil lamp, and lit only by candles, it was far from the sort
of room that one would expect to be occupied by a Minister of Foreign
Affairs. It was, however, another evidence of the good work of the
Roumanians in cutting off the coal supply of Constantinople.
I explained to Halil that it was my great desire to do myself the
honour of seeing, if possible, the All-Highest War Lord, and that I
wished to leave Constantinople for Belgrade. Halil Bey, in common with
every other Turk, was in high spirits over the Gallipoli evacuation,
and after a little judicious flattery as to his enormous powers, I
succeeded in obtaining a letter to the Prefect of Police at Stamboul,
and in order that he should see me instantly Halil gave me his card,
which is reproduced below.
[Illustration: HALIL BEY’S CARD]
I lost no time in securing one of the few public carriages that are to
be had in the city, and made my way behind the thinnest pair of horses
imaginable to the Prefecture of Police. It was rather like entering the
lion’s den, but it had to be done. If the police were really suspicious
of me I should not be very long left in doubt.
I was a little disturbed to hear from the Prefect that the only way
of getting out of Constantinople to Belgrade was by a German military
train. The first Balkan Express which was to link up Constantinople
with Berlin and Vienna, was not due to start for a day or two, and as
I felt disinclined to wait for it, I determined to push on to Belgrade
and join the Balkan Express there. This would give me a short time in
which to examine that town, which, as I have said, I was most anxious
to see. I mentioned to the Prefect that I had been honoured by Enver
Pasha with an interview, and that I felt sure His Excellency would do
anything in his power to facilitate my movements.
“I will see what can be done,” said the Prefect. “Please leave with me
your passport and call again in the morning.”
With considerable trepidation I returned to the Prefecture next
morning, and to my delight found my passport marked in Turkish not only
with permission to leave, but with actual permission to travel by the
military train to Belgrade. The “visieat” (a written permission from
the police to leave), which usually takes a few days to obtain, was
handed to me at the same time, so I was more favoured than any other
traveller. I felt that the stars were indeed fighting for me in their
courses. At 11.30 a.m. I arrived at the Railway Station at Stamboul,
and soon found myself in a queerly assorted company consisting of men
of the German Red Cross Service, German officers, non-commissioned
officers and soldiers.
During my journey I made some curious and interesting discoveries, all
tending to emphasise German thoroughness and cunning. Probably no one
in England realises the wonderful work done by the Germans in repairing
the broken railway bridges in Serbia. It is the rapid and substantial
rebuilding of these bridges, destroyed by the Serbians in their
retreat, that enables the Germans to get to Constantinople in a little
over two days. These reconstructions are most likely the greatest
engineering feats that the world has ever seen. Tunnels that were blown
up have been restored to their original state with marvellous celerity,
and as I travelled across the bridges, and at a high rate of speed,
the evidences of the Serbians’ tragic retreat were to be seen on every
side. Beside the new bridges lay those which the Serbians destroyed.
Beside the line were the remains of dead horses, broken-down carts, and
the hundred and one things that mark the retreat of an army pursued
by its foes. The ever-careful German had removed the hides from the
horses, obviously with the object of making up the leather shortage.
In the course of my journey I received another instance of German
forethought. I was told that in the event of Greece being invaded
by the Bulgars, and the Greeks loathe the Bulgars as the Prussians
loathe the English, the invaders were to be dressed in German uniforms
in order to deceive the Greeks. Immense quantities of these uniforms,
I later discovered, were lying at Nish.[1] Is there anything against
which the extraordinary German mind does not provide? This, however,
does not convince me that the Germans will attack Salonica. From what
I heard, it would appear that they have a very wholesome respect for
General Sarrail, whose acquaintance they had already made at Verdun,
which they had failed to take owing to his able and stout defence of
that stronghold.
The adaptability of the German is nowhere better emphasised than in
Turkey and the Balkans. Instinctively he knows that a German in a
familiar uniform is not likely to be so obnoxious as a German in a
strange uniform; consequently his method is to disguise himself by
adopting the military uniform of the country in which he is detailed
for duty. This is one of the most important traits in his character.
For instance, as I have already said, German flying-men in Turkey are
to be seen in Turkish uniforms, and scores of German officers are to be
found at the Turkish War Office also wearing the familiar uniform of
the Moslem.
The Turks are by no means optimistic about the Salonica Expedition.
Frankly they are afraid of it, and for that reason have heavily
entrenched themselves to the south of Adrianople. Their fear is that
the Allied troops may make an attack on Constantinople from the
north-west or may attempt to cut the railway.
It has been suggested that my fortunate meeting with the Kaiser was
a matter of luck. In a way it was; but it was more particularly due
to my persistent desire to see Belgrade. I had failed to get there
during my outward journey to Constantinople, but I was determined
not to be baulked. I had no thought of staying at Nish, and it was
not until we were approaching the station of that town that a fellow
traveller, a German non-commissioned officer, looked out of the window
and shouted out so loudly and excitedly that all the travellers in the
corridor carriage could hear, “_Unser Kaiser ist hier_” (our Kaiser is
here). I jumped up and looked out of the window and saw the flags and
decorations, and felt that indeed Fate had been kind to me.
The magic name of the Kaiser was too much for me. I could not think
of letting pass such a magnificent opportunity of seeing the Great
War Lord, and I therefore determined to leave the military train at
the Serbian town so recently the capital, but now in the hands of the
Germans. Nish was under snow. The day of my arrival, January 18th,
1916, was brilliantly clear, just such a day as one finds at Montreal
or St. Moritz. I had hoped to get at least a glimpse of the Kaiser,
but I was far more fortunate than that, encountering him on several
occasions during this to me fateful day. I never for one moment
anticipated being present at that curious and historical Royal Banquet
at which were made the vain-glorious Latin and German speeches that
were telegraphed all over the world.
Just as our train steamed into the station the Kaiser was making
his state entry into the Serbian capital, which has now become the
headquarters of the German, not as many people think the Austrian, Army
in the Balkans. It is a vast arsenal, choked with munitions of war,
in particular shells for big guns and also the guns themselves. The
town is crammed with Serbian military prisoners, who are allowed their
liberty, and roam about freely. They seem comparatively contented with
their lot.
My feelings when I ascertained the presence of the Kaiser can only be
appreciated or understood by a journalist. I soon gathered together my
belongings with the aid of a German soldier I called to help me. I then
decided to look around and endeavour to approach as near as possible to
the Kaiser himself. As a matter of fact I was not far away from him.
King Ferdinand had only a few minutes previously received him on his
arrival from the West, and the Royal pair were walking up and down the
platform arm in arm, and without ceremony. I noticed a handkerchief in
the Kaiser’s hand which he was constantly lifting to his mouth, but the
distance was too great for me to hear him coughing.
I had never seen Ferdinand before, and it was fully eight years since
I had seen the German Emperor, and what a change those eight years
had wrought! The Kaiser is not a tall man, as he is represented to
be in photographs, and by the side of the great massive figure of
the hawk-nosed Ferdinand--who has a duck-like waddle--the Great War
Lord seemed almost diminutive. The Kaiser wore a long grey coat, with
greyish fur collar, and a spiked helmet covered with some khaki-like
material. The place where the monarchs promenaded was held by German
guards. The people, among whom were a great many Austrian and a
few Dutch nurses, did not evince a great amount of either interest
or curiosity. This struck me as strange as, if the Kaiser were to
appear in any other town in Europe, he would create a sensation. I
particularly noticed that the Bulgarian Ministers obsequiously removed
their hats at the sight of the Kaiser, and approached him in an
attitude of great deference and with bared heads. Towards their own
monarch they did not seem to show the same deference. Later I learned
that the relations between Ferdinand and his Court are of a very
informal nature.
What most struck me about the Kaiser was his obvious look of fatigue.
It might have been due to the war, to the effect of his two-day
journey, or to ill-health. I cannot say. But he looked a tired and
broken man. His hair was white, although his moustache was still
suspiciously dark, and his face was drawn and lined. There was also
an entire absence of the old activity of gesture, the quick, nervous
wheeling about, and the unstable manner of the man. All of which I
remembered distinctly from my previous encounter with him in 1908.
In spite, however, of his fatigues the Kaiser was obviously intent upon
making himself agreeable. He examined with apparent interest the medals
of the Bulgarian soldiers, chatting with Royal affability, and smiled
right and left. None the less he was a greatly aged man, and, as I have
said, there was the constant use of the handkerchief, a large Turkish
affair of red, embroidered with the white Turkish star and crescent in
the corner.
As I was standing watching the Royal pair, I was approached by two
Bulgarian officials in civil clothes followed by a handful of soldiers.
Their mission was to inquire my reason for coming to Nish. The one who
addressed me spoke German execrably. At first he took me for a Teuton,
but when I explained my nationality he asked eagerly if I were able to
speak French, and seemed much delighted when he found he could continue
his interrogations in that tongue, which he spoke much better than
German. I told him the object of my journey, flattered his patriotic
feelings by complimenting the Bulgarian Army and nation as a whole,
and was invited to accompany him to one of the rooms of the station,
where he introduced me to the Chief of the Bulgarian Press Bureau, M.
Romakoff. I seemed to have made a good impression on the two Bulgarian
officials. They babbled away in their native tongue to M. Romakoff,
but, of course, I could not understand what they were saying, but the
upshot of the conversation was that I was addressed by the Chief of the
Press Bureau, and asked if I would like on behalf of the neutral press
to attend the Royal Banquet, which was to be given that evening. It
would be simple but historic. I trembled with excitement and joy when
I thought of the sensation that my account of the banquet would make
when it reached England. If M. Romakoff could have read my thoughts it
would not have been the banquet alone about which I trembled, but my
own execution; fortunately he was not psychic.
The Director walked with me up and down the platform and showed himself
extremely friendly. I gathered that I should be one of four journalists
in the room, and I hugged myself at the thought of the surprise of
the august company when they realised that in their midst was the
representative of a hated English newspaper.
I spent the intervening time between my arrival at Nish and the hour of
the banquet in walking about the town with two members of the Bulgarian
Press Bureau, who spoke excellent French. I had no idea what impression
they gleaned as to my personality. I must be a clever actor to have
disguised my excitement into even reasonable coherence.
But a few weeks previously Nish had been gaily decorated with the flags
of the Entente Allies, who were expected to come to the help of poor,
suffering Serbia; yet the town seemed already to have settled down to a
comparatively contented existence. Very little damage had been done to
any of the buildings, as far as I could discover. I was assured that
business had not been so brisk during the whole of the history of the
town. German soldiers were spending their money freely, and nearly all
the larger houses of the town had been turned into hospitals, whose
supplies were being gathered from the surrounding country.
As we strolled about I noticed the departure of the Royal train and the
arrival of a munition train, including several trucks laden with Fokker
monoplanes. I do not claim to any special knowledge of aeroplanes,
but these new Fokkers struck me as having a very great wing expanse.
For the purpose of railway transport the wings were fastened back and
the engines carefully covered. A Fokker monoplane is so long that it
occupies practically the whole of two large trucks.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] As I correct the proofs, February 15th, I read on the authority of
the _Morning Post’s_ Athens correspondent, that some time ago three
of the best Bulgarian divisions on the Doiran front were withdrawn to
Sofia, where they were clothed as Germans, afterwards returning to
their stations!