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
son-in-law and daughter, 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 realize 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
[Illustration: WANGENHEIM, THE GERMAN AMBASSADOR
In front of his lodge, where he spent much of his time in the
August and September months of 1914, rejoicing in German victories.
From here he directed by wireless the _Goeben_ and the _Breslau_
and brought them into Constantinople
]
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 said 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?”
[Illustration: THE DARDANELLES AND THE BLACK SEA]
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
afterward 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 those 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. Few of us at that time realized their
great 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
[Illustration: THE SULTAN, MOHAMMED V, GOING TO HIS REGULAR FRIDAY
PRAYERS]
[Illustration: TALAAT AND ENVER AT A MILITARY REVIEW
Observing the transformation worked in the Turkish army by its German
drill-masters. Talaat is the huge, broad-shouldered man at the right;
Enver is the smaller figure to the left]
behaviour of these crews, when the news of war was received, indicated
the spirit with which the German navy began hostilities; the men broke
into singing 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 war ships should not
use the Dardanelles except by the special permission of the Sultan,
which could be granted only in times of peace. In practice the
government had seldom given this permission except for ceremonial
occasions. Under 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 on 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 oratory and drink, the two
vessels started at full speed 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
southward and made for the Ægean Sea. The plucky little _Gloucester_
kept close on their heels, and, as my daughter had related, once had
even 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, barring the entrance.
Meanwhile Wangenheim had accomplished his great diplomatic success. 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 dreadnaughts under construction in England
when the war broke out. These ships were not exclusively governmental
enterprises; their purchase 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 sums of money; 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, a few days before the time set to
deliver them, the British Government stepped in and commandeered these
dreadnaughts 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 a 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 and 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 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 were 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 checks 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
_bona 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
remained with 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
delight in putting on Turkish fezzes, thereby presenting to the world
conclusive evidence that these loyal sailors 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
embassy. All solemnly removed their Turkish fezzes and put on German
caps. The band played “Deutschland über 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 more 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 southward for 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 the _Goeben_ up to the
mouth of the Dardanelles, had not been too gentlemanly to violate
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, when the proper moment came, should join her forces with
Germany. 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_, therefore,
practically gave the Ottoman and German naval forces control of the
Black Sea. Moreover, these two ships could easily dominate
Constantinople, and thus they furnished the means by which the German
navy, if the occasion should arise, could terrorize 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 it 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 not be completed. 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 any one 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
[Illustration: BARON VON WANGENHEIM, GERMAN AMBASSADOR TO TURKEY
He was personally selected by the Kaiser to bring Turkey into line
with Germany and transform that country into an ally of Germany in
the forthcoming war--a task at which he succeeded. Wangenheim
represented German diplomacy in its most ruthless and most
shameless aspects. He believed with Bismarck that a patriotic
German must stand ready to sacrifice for Kaiser and Fatherland not
only his life, but his honour as well. With wonderful skill he
manipulated the desperate adventurers who controlled Turkey in 1914
into instruments of Germany.
]
[Illustration: DJEMAL PASHA, MINISTER OF MARINE
In 1914 Djemal headed the Police Department; it was his duty to run
down citizens who were opposing the political gang then controlling
Turkey. Such opponents were commonly assassinated or judicially
murdered. Afterward Djemal was Minister of Marine, and as such
violently protested against the sale of American warships to
Greece. Then he was sent to Palestine as Commander of the Fourth
Army Corps, where he distinguished himself as leader in the
wholesale persecutions of the non-Moslem population
]
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.”