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 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. 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 part 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 was 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 cheques 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 bonâ 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 resided in 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 particular delight in dressing themselves up in Turkish uniforms and Turkish fezzes, thereby presenting to the world conclusive evidence that these loyal soldiers 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 Ambassador. All solemnly removed their Turkish fezzes and put on German caps. The band played “Deutschland uber 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 two 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 south to 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 Goeben up to the mouth of the Dardanelles, had not been too gentlemanly to have violated 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 should join her forces with Germany’s when the proper moment came. 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, that is, practically gave the Ottoman-German naval forces control of the Black Sea. Moreover, these two ships could easily dominate Constantinople, and thus furnish the means by which the German Navy, if the occasion arose, could terrorise 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 they 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 be made a real one. 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 anyone 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 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.