But the great Allied armada never returned to the attack.
About a week after this momentous defeat, I happened to drop in at the German Embassy. Wangenheim had a distinguished visitor whom he had asked me to meet. I went into his private office, and there was von der Goltz Pasha, recently returned from Belgium, where he had served as Governor. I must admit that, meeting Goltz thus informally, I had difficulty in reconciling his personality with all the stories that were then coming out of Belgium. That morning this mild-mannered, spectacled gentleman seemed sufficiently quiet and harmless. Nor did he look his age—he was then about seventy-four; his hair was only streaked with grey, and his face was almost unwrinkled. I should not have taken him for more than sixty-five.
The austerity, brusqueness, and ponderous dignity which are assumed by most highly-placed Germans were not apparent. His voice was deep, musical, and pleasing, and his manners were altogether friendly and ingratiating. The only evidence of pomp in his bearing was his uniform; he was dressed as a Field-Marshal, his body blazing with decorations and gold braid. Von der Goltz explained and half-apologised for his regalia by saying that he had just returned from an audience with the Sultan. He had come to Constantinople to present to His Majesty a medal from the Kaiser, and was taking back to Berlin a similar mark of consideration from the Sultan to the Kaiser, besides an Imperial present of 10,000 cigarettes.
The three of us sat there for some time, drinking coffee, eating German cakes, and smoking German cigars. I did not do much of the talking, but the conversation of von der Goltz and Wangenheim seemed to me to shed much light upon the German mind, and especially on the trustworthiness of German military reports. The aspect of the Dardanelles fight that interested them most at that time was England’s complete frankness in publishing her losses. That the British Government should issue an official statement, saying that three ships had been sunk and that four others had been badly damaged, struck them as most remarkable. In this announcement I merely saw a manifestation of the usual British desire to make public the worst—the policy which we Americans also believe to be the best in war-time. But no such obvious explanation could satisfy these wise and solemn Teutons. No, England had some deep purpose in telling the truth so unblushingly; what could it be?
“Es ist ausserordentlich!” (“It is extraordinary!”) said von der Goltz, referring to England’s public acknowledgment of defeat.
“Es ist unerhört!” (“It is unheard of!”) declared the equally astonished Wangenheim.
These master diplomatists canvassed one explanation after another, and finally reached a conclusion that satisfied the higher strategy. England, they agreed, really had had no enthusiasm for this attack, because, in the event of success, she would have had to hand Constantinople over to Russia—something which England really did not intend to do. By publishing the losses, England showed Russia the enormous difficulties of the task; she had demonstrated, indeed, that the enterprise was impossible. After such losses, England intended Russia to understand that she had made a sincere attempt to gain this great prize of war and expected her not to insist on further sacrifices.
The sequel to this great episode in the war came in the winter of 1915-16. By this time Bulgaria had taken sides with the Entente, Serbia had been overwhelmed, and the Germans had obtained a complete unobstructed railroad line from Constantinople to Austria and Germany. Huge Krupp guns now began to come over this line, all destined for the Dardanelles. Sixteen great batteries, of the latest model, were emplaced near the entrance, completely controlling Sedd-ul-Bahr. The Germans lent the Turks 500,000,000 marks, much of which was spent defending this indispensable highway. The thinly-fortified straits through which I passed in March, 1915, are now as impregnably fortified as Heligoland. It is doubtful if all the fleets in the world could force the Dardanelles to-day.
CHAPTER XIX
A FIGHT FOR THREE THOUSAND CIVILIANS
On May 2nd, 1915, Enver sent his aide to the American Embassy, bringing a message which he requested me to transmit to the French and British Governments. About a week before, the Allies had made their landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula. They had evidently concluded that a naval attack by itself could not destroy the defences and open the road to Constantinople, and they had now adopted the alternative plan of despatching large bodies of troops, to be supported by the guns of their warships. Already many thousands of Australians and New Zealanders had entrenched themselves at the tip of the Peninsula, and the excitement that prevailed in Constantinople was almost as great as that which had been caused by the appearance of the fleet two months before.