—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.
CHAPTER VII
IN THE SOUTH SEAS: THE DISASTER OFF CORONEL
Sunset and evening star