CHAPTER VI
THE MEDITERRANEAN: A FAILURE AND ITS
CONSEQUENCES
War is made up of successes and failures. We English do not forget our successes, but we have an incorrigible habit of wiping from our minds the recollection of our failures. Which is a very bad habit, for as every man realises, during his half-blind stumbles through life, failure is a most necessary schoolmistress. Yet, though civilians seem able to bring themselves to forget that in war we ever fail of success, soldiers and sailors do not forget, and are always seeking to make of their admitted mistakes, stepping stones upon which they may rise to ultimate victory. On land one may retrieve errors more readily than at sea, for movements are much slower and evil results declare themselves less rapidly. I am now compelled to write of a failure at sea very early in the war, which was not retrieved, and which had a trail of most disastrous consequence; and I hope to do it without imputing blame to anyone, no blame, that is, except for the lack of imaginative vision, which is one of our most conspicuous defects as a race.
All of those who read me know that the blows which we have struck in France and Flanders, ever since the crowning victory of the Marne—that still unexplained miracle which saved western civilisation from ruin—are the direct consequence of the success in the North Sea of our mobilised fleets in August, 1914. But few know—or if they do, have pushed the knowledge testily from their minds—of a failure in the Mediterranean, also in August of 1914, a failure which at the time may have seemed of little account, yet out of which grew in inevitable melancholy sequence, a tragical train of troubles. Though we may choose to forget, Fate has a memory most damnably long. Nothing would be more unfair than to lay at the door of the Navy the blame for all the consequences of a failure which, it has been officially held, the officers on the spot did their utmost to avert. Men are only human after all, and the sea is a very big place. We need not censure anyone. Still, we should be most foolish and blind to the lessons of war if we did not now and then turn aside from the smug contemplation of our strategical and tactical victories, and seek in a humble spirit to gather instruction from a grievous pondering over the consequences of our defeats. And of this particular defeat of which I write the results have been gloomy beyond description—the sword in the balance which threw Turkey and Bulgaria into alliance with our enemies, and all the blood and the tears with which the soil of the Near East has been soaked.
When war broke out all our modern battleships were in the North Sea, but of our nine fast battle cruisers four were away. The Australia was at the other side of the world, and the Inflexible (flag), Indomitable and Indefatigable were in the Mediterranean. We also had four armoured cruisers, and four light cruisers in the Mediterranean—the armoured Defence, Duke of Edinburgh, Warrior and Black Prince, the light fast Gloucester of the new “Town” class, a sister of the Glasgow and the Bristol, and three other similar cruisers. The Germans had in the Mediterranean the battle cruiser Goeben, as fast, though not so powerfully gunned, as the three Inflexibles of ours. She carried ten 11-inch guns, while our battle cruisers were each armed with eight 12-inch guns. The Goeben had as her consort the light cruiser Breslau, one of the German Town class built in 1912, a newer and faster edition of the earlier Town cruisers which were under von Spee in the Pacific and Atlantic. She could have put up a good fight though probably an unsuccessful one against the Gloucester, but was no match for the Defence, the Warrior, the Black Prince or Duke of Edinburgh. Our squadrons in the Mediterranean were, therefore, in fighting value fully three times as powerful as the German vessels. Our job was to catch them and to destroy them, but unfortunately we did not succeed in bringing them to action. The story of their evasion of us, and of what their escape involved is, to my mind, one of the most fascinating stories of the whole war.
War officially began between France and Germany upon August 3rd at 6.45 p.m. when the German Ambassador in Paris asked for his passports, and between Great Britain and Germany upon August 4th at 11 p.m., when our ultimatum in regard to Belgium was definitely rejected. But though then at war with Germany, England did not declare war on Austria until midnight of August 12th. A queer situation arose in the Mediterranean as the result of these gaps between the dates of active hostilities. Upon August 4th, the German cruisers could and did attack French territory without being attacked by us, and all through those fateful days of August 5th and 6th, when our three battle cruisers were hovering between Messina and the Adriatic and our four armoured cruisers were lying a little to the south off Syracuse, Italy was neutral, and Austria was not at war with us. Our naval commanders were in the highest degree anxious to do nothing which could in any way offend Italy—whose position as still a member of the Triple Alliance with Austria and Germany was delicate in the extreme—and were also anxious to commit no act of hostility towards Austria. Upon August 4th, therefore, their hands were tied tight; upon the 5th and 6th they were untied as against the German cruisers, but could not stretch into either Italian or Austrian waters. The German Admiral took full advantage of the freedom of movement allowed to him by our diplomatic bonds.
Let us now come to the story of the escape of the two German cruisers, indicate as clearly as may be how it occurred, and suggest how the worst consequences of that escape might have been retrieved by instant and spirited action on the part of our Government at home. Naval responsibility, as distinct from political responsibility, ended with the escape of the Goeben and Breslau and their entry into the Dardanelles on the way up to Constantinople which then, and for nearly three months afterwards, was nominally a neutral port.
On July 31st, 1914, the Goeben, a battle cruiser armed with ten 11-inch guns, and with a full speed of twenty-eight to twenty-nine knots, was at Brindisi in the territorial waters of Italy, a country which was then regarded by the Germans as an ally. She was joined there on August 1st by the Breslau, a light cruiser of some three knots less speed than the Goeben and armed only with twelve 4.1-inch guns. The German commanders had been warned of the imminence of hostilities with France—and, indeed, upon that day French territory had been violated by German covering troops, though war had not yet been declared. The French Fleet was far away to the west, already busied with the transport of troops from Algeria and Morocco to Marseilles. Based upon Malta and in touch with the French was the British heavy squadron of three battle cruisers. The Indefatigable, a heavier and faster vessel than either of the sisters Inflexible or Indomitable, was certainly a match for the Goeben by herself; the three battle cruisers combined were of overpowering strength. Accompanying the battle cruisers was the armoured cruiser squadron—Black Prince, Duke of Edinburgh, Warrior and Defence—together with the light cruiser Gloucester. The other light cruisers and the destroyer escort do not come directly into my picture. The Gloucester—which, as she showed later, had the heels of the Breslau though not of the speedy Goeben—was despatched at once to the Adriatic to keep watch upon the movements of the Germans. So long as the Germans were in the Adriatic, the English Admiral, Sir Berkeley Milne, could do nothing to prevent their junction with the Austrians at Pola, but upon August 2nd, they both came out and went to Messina, and so uncovered the Straits of Otranto, which gave passage between Messina and the Adriatic. The English battle cruisers then steamed to the south and east of Sicily, bound for the Otranto Straits. Rear-Admiral Troubridge, in command of the English armoured cruisers, remained behind.
THE MEDITERRANEAN OPERATIONS.
Upon August 1st, the Italian Government had declared its intention to be neutral, and upon the 3rd the Italian authorities at Messina refused coal to the German ships, very much to the outspoken disgust and disappointment of the German Admiral who had reckoned Italy as at least passively benevolent. But being a man of resource, he filled his bunkers from those of German vessels in the harbour, and early in the morning of August 4th—having received news the previous evening that war had broken out with France, and was imminent with England—dashed at the Algerian coast and bombarded Phillippeville and Bona, whence troops had been arranged to sail for France. When one reflects upon the position of Admiral Souchon, within easy striking distance of three English battle cruisers, which at any moment might have been transformed by wireless orders into enemies of overwhelming power, this dash upon Phillippeville and Bona was an exploit which would merit an honourable mention upon any navy’s records. Souchon did, in the time available to him, all the damage that he could to his enemy’s arrangements, and then sped back to Messina, passing on the way the Inflexible (flag), Indomitable, and Gloucester, which had thus got into close touch with the Germans, though they were not yet free to go for them. The enterprising Souchon had cut his time rather fine, and come near the edge of destruction; for though at the moment of passing the Inflexible and Indomitable England was still at peace with Germany, war was declared before he reached the neutral refuge of Messina on August 5th. Milne’s hands were thus tied at the critical moment when he had both the elusive German cruisers under the muzzles of his hungry guns.
At Messina the Goeben and Breslau were again refused coal, and were ordered to be clear of the port within twenty-four hours. Italy was resolutely neutral; it was a severe blow. Upon the night of August 4th-5th had come another blow—a wireless message, picked up at sea, that England had declared war. The position of the Germans now appeared to be desperate, more so to them than even to us, for Admiral Souchon had already been warned by the Austrians not to attempt the passage of the Straits of Otranto, and had also received direct orders at Messina from Berlin to make a break eastwards for Constantinople. His prospects of eluding our Squadrons and of reaching the Dardanelles must have seemed to him of the smallest. It is of interest to note, as revealing the hardy quality of Admiral Souchon, that these orders from Berlin reached him at midnight upon August 3rd before he made his raid upon Phillippeville and Bona. He might have steamed off at once towards the east in comparative security, for England was not yet at war and our battle cruisers were not yet waiting upon his doorstep. But instead of seeking safety in flight he struck a shrewd blow for his country and set back the hour of his departure for the east by three whole days. He sent off a wireless message to Greece asking that coal might be got ready for his ships near an inconspicuous island in the Ægean. Admiral Souchon may personally be a frightful Hun—I don’t know, I have never met him—but, I confess that, as a sailor, he appeals to me very strongly. In resource, in cool decision, and in dashing leadership he was the unquestioned superior of the English Admirals, whose job it was to get the better of him.
Upon August 6th, a day big with fate for us and for South Eastern Europe, the Goeben and Breslau were at Messina with steam up. They had again obtained coal from compatriot ships and could snap their fingers at Italian neutrality. Watching them was the light cruiser Gloucester, which was no match at all for the Goeben, and strung out to the north-east, guarding the passage from Messina to the Adriatic, were the three English battle cruisers Inflexible, Indomitable and Indefatigable. The English armoured cruisers, Black Prince, Duke of Edinburgh, Defence and Warrior, were cruising to the South of Syracuse. It is not contended that these four vessels could not have been off Messina, and could not have met and fought Souchon, when at last he issued forth. The contention is—and since it has been accepted by the Admiralty as sound, one is compelled humbly to say little—that none of these cruisers was sufficiently armed or armoured to risk action with a battle cruiser of the Goeben’s class. It is urged that if Milne had ordered the armoured cruiser squadron to fight the Goeben, their Admiral, Troubridge, might have anticipated the fate of Cradock three months later at Coronel. Not one of them had a speed approaching that of the Goeben, and their twenty-two heavy guns were of 9.2-inch calibre as opposed to the ten 11-inch guns of the Germans. That they would have suffered serious loss is beyond doubt; but might they not, while dying, have damaged and delayed the Goeben for a sufficient time to allow the two Inflexibles and the Indefatigable to come down and gobble her up? It is not for a layman to offer any opinion upon these high naval matters. But ever since the action was not fought, and the Goeben and Breslau escaped, whenever two or three naval officers are gathered together and the subject is discussed, the vote is always thrown upon the side of fighting. The Soul of the Navy revolts at the thought that its business is to play for safety when great risks boldly faced may yield great fruits of victory.
The dispositions of the English Admiral were designed to meet one contingency only—an attempt by the Germans to pass the Straits of Otranto and to join the Austrians; he had evidently no suspicion that they had been ordered to Constantinople and took no steps to bar their way to the east. The handling of his two ships by Admiral Souchon was masterly. Until the latest minute he masked his intentions and completely outmanœuvred his powerful English opponents. Issuing from Messina on the afternoon of August 6th, he made towards the north-east as if about to hazard the passage to the Adriatic, and the small Gloucester, which most gallantly kept touch with far superior forces—she was some two knots slower than the Goeben, though rather faster than the Breslau—fell back before him and called up the battle cruisers on her wireless. Souchon did not attempt to interfere with the Gloucester, for she was doing exactly what he desired of her. He kept upon his course to the north-east until darkness came down, and then swinging suddenly eight points to starboard, pointed straight for Cape Matapan far off to the south-east and called for full speed. Then and then only he gave the order to jam the Gloucester’s wireless.
He did not wholly succeed, the Gloucester’s warning of his change of route got through to the battle cruisers, but they were too far away to interpose their bulky veto on the German plans. For two hours the German ships travelled at full speed, the Goeben leading, and behind them trailed the gallant Gloucester, though she had nothing bigger in her armoury than two 6-inch guns, and could have been sunk by a single shell from the Goeben’s batteries. Twice she overhauled the Breslau and fired upon her, and twice the Goeben had to fall back to the aid of her consort and drive away the persistent English captain. The gallantry of the Gloucester alone redeems the event from being a bitter English humiliation. All the while she was vainly pursuing the German vessels the Gloucester continued her calls for help. They got through, but the Goeben and Breslau had seized too long a start. They were clear away for the Dardanelles and Constantinople, and were safe from effective pursuit.
Vice-Admiral Souchon knew his Greeks and his Turks better than we did. He coaled his ships at the small island of Denusa in the Cyclades with the direct connivance of King Constantine, who had arranged for coal to be sent over from Syra, and ignored a formal message from the Sublime Porte forbidding him to pass the Dardanelles. He was confident that the Turks, still anxious to sit upon the fence until the safer side were disclosed, would not dare to fire upon him, and he was justified in his confidence. He steamed through the Narrows unmolested and anchored before Constantinople. There a telegram was handed to him from the Kaiser: “His Majesty sends you his acknowledgments.” One must allow that the Imperial congratulations were worthily bestowed. Souchon had done for Germany a greater service than had any of her generals or admirals or diplomats; he had definitely committed Turkey to the side of the Central Powers.
If of all words of tongue and pen
The saddest are “It might have been,”
More sad are these we daily see,
“It is, but hadn’t ought to be.”
—Bret Harte.
For the escape of the Goeben and Breslau, the Royal Navy was responsible, but for the consequences which grew out of that escape the responsibility rests upon La haute Politique at home. The naval failure might have been retrieved within forty-eight hours had our Foreign Office understood the hesitating Turkish mind, and had realised that Souchon’s breach of the Dardanelles Convention—which bars the Straits to foreign warships—had brought to us a Heaven-sent opportunity to cut the bonds of gold and intrigue which bound the Turkish Government to that of Germany. Every Englishman in Constantinople expected that a pursuing English squadron of overwhelming power would immediately appear off the Turkish capital and insist upon the surrender or destruction of the German trespassers. Just as Souchon had passed the Dardanelles unmolested, so Milne with his three battle cruisers—had orders been sent to him—might have passed them on the day following. The Turks own no argument but force, and the greater force would have appeared to them to be the better argument. Milne, had he been permitted by the British Foreign Office, could have followed the Goeben and Breslau to Constantinople and sunk them there before the eyes of the world. Had he done so, the history of the war would have been very different. Upon the Cabinet at home must rest the eternal responsibility for not seeing and not seizing the finest and least hazardous opportunity that has been offered to us of determining by one bold stroke the course of the war. The three English battle cruisers could not have seized Constantinople any more effectively than the English Squadron, without military co-operation, could have seized it seven months later had it succeeded in forcing with its guns the passage of the Narrows. But they could have revealed to the vacillating Turks, as in a lightning flash, that the Allies had the wit to see, and the boldness to grasp the vital opportunities offered by war. But our Government had neither the wit nor the courage, the wonderful chance was allowed to slip by unused, and the costliest failure of the war was consummated in all its tragic fullness.
All through August and September and right up to the moment when, late in October, Turkey was forced into the war by German pressure, our Foreign Office hugged the belief—God alone knows how acquired—that diplomatic pressure at Constantinople could counteract the display of successful force embodied in the frowning guns of the Goeben and the Breslau. In the eyes of a non-maritime people two modern warships within easy gunshot of their chief city are of more pressing consequence than the Grand Fleet far away. Our Government accepted gladly the preposterous story that these German ships had been purchased by the Turks—with German money—and had been taken over by Turkish officers and crews. It is pitiful to read now the official statement issued on August 15th, 1914, through the newly formed Press Bureau: “The Press Bureau states that there is no reason to doubt that the Turkish Government is about to replace the German officers and crews of the Goeben and Breslau by Turkish officers and crews.” As evidence of Oriental good faith a photograph of the Goeben flying the Turkish naval flag was kindly supplied for publication in English newspapers. What could be more convincing? Then, when the moment was ripe and there was no more need for the verisimilitude of photographs, came the rough awakening, announced as follows:
“On October 29th, without notice and without anything to show that such action was pending, three Turkish torpedo craft appeared suddenly before Odessa. . . . The same day the cruisers Breslau and Hamidieh bombarded several commercial ports in the Black Sea, including Novorossisk and Theodosia. In the forenoon of October 30th, the Goeben bombarded Sevastopol without causing any serious damage. By way of reprisals the Franco-British squadron in the Eastern Mediterranean carried out a demonstration against the forts at the entrance to the Dardanelles at daybreak on November 3rd.”
No comment which I might make could bite more deeply than the bald quotation describing this irruption of Turkey as “without motive and without anything to show that such action was pending.” Caeci sunt oculi cum animus alias res agit—The eyes are blind when the mind is obsessed.