No one saw the submarine that sank the Persia. She undoubtedly was torpedoed, as it was scarcely reasonable that a stray mine had floated to such an unfrequented spot. One American citizen, Robert Ney McNeely, appointed consul to Aden, Egypt, lost his life. He was en route to his post at the time and the United States Government found itself facing another serious situation. Here was an American official, bound on official business, killed by a friendly nation. There the problem became more complex. It could not be proved to whom the submarine belonged that attacked the ship; it could not even be shown that she had been torpedoed. Germany flatly denied any hand in the affair and Austria, after delay for reports from her submarines commanders, likewise disclaimed responsibility. Official Washington turned inquiring eyes upon Turkey. There were hints in the German press that a Turkish boat torpedoed the vessel. Both Germany and Austria had pledged themselves to respect the lives of noncombatants, but Turkey, having never sank a passenger ship, was bound by no such pledge. It even was hinted that Bulgaria might be the nation to blame. She had entered hostilities on the side of the Teutonic Powers, and was said to have at least one or two submarines.

Amid this welter of excuses, explanations and possibilities the United States Government floundered for several weeks. Then it gave up the problem and ruled that Mr. McNeely should have asked for a warship if he wanted to reach Aden and there was no other way to go. The Persia had several 4.7-inch guns aboard, which compromised her in the view of Washington.

According to the British Admiralty thirty-nine unarmed steamships and one trawler flying the Union Jack were sunk without warning by submarines up to the end of 1915. Thirteen neutral steamships and one sailing vessel were listed under the same heading. Of these, the Gulflight and Nebraskan were American. The Norwegians lost four steamships and the sailing craft, the Swedes four, the Danes one, the Greeks one, and the Portuguese one. It was stated that several vessels believed to have been sunk by submarines, where proof was lacking, had not been taken into account.

Although this compilation included the Lusitania, the Arabic, and other big vessels on which many lives were lost, the list seems of small consequence in view of later raids upon allied and neutral shipping by the German undersea boats. It was destined to reach an ominous length in the succeeding months.[Back to Contents]

CHAPTER XVII

CRUISE OF THE MOEWE—LOSS OF BRITISH BATTLESHIPS

The cruise of the Moewe stands out as one of the heroic, almost Homeric achievements of the war. She left Bremerhaven on December 20, 1915, according to one of her officers who afterward reached the United States, and calmly threaded her way through the meshes of the British navy's North Sea net. After leaving the shelter of home waters, with the Swedish colors painted on her hull, the Moewe boldly turned her nose down the Channel. She answered the signals of several British cruisers and on one occasion at least was saluted in turn. Having a powerful wireless apparatus aboard, her commander, Count zu Dohna-Schlobitten, a captain-lieutenant in the Imperial navy, was able to keep up with the movements of British patrol vessels. Several intercepted messages told of a strange white liner that refused to answer questions. This was the Moewe, and before passing into the Atlantic she had changed her coat to black. She was sighted by probably a dozen British warships before reaching the North Atlantic. By refusing to heed the signals of distant vessels, which she had a good chance of outdistancing in a race, and showing every courtesy to those close at hand, the raider made her escape.

The Moewe had about three hundred men aboard. They were a picked crew, and her commander a man of daring. Within a period of less than three months he sunk fifteen merchant ships, captured the Appam and sent her to Norfolk, Va., then returned home with 199 prisoners and $250,000 in gold bars. And he may have been responsible for the loss of the British battleship King Edward VII, of 16,500 tons, which struck a mine in the North Sea on January 9, 1916. It is certain that the Moewe left a chain of mines behind her on the outward voyage, some of which undoubtedly caused loss to allied shipping.

Once past the British Channel fleet, the Moewe struck for the steamship lane off the Moroccan, Spanish, and Portuguese coasts. There she was comparatively safe from pursuit, and so skillfully were her operations carried on that it was many weeks before the fact became known that a raider actually was abroad. But one by one overdue steamships failed to reach their ports and suspicion grew. Either the Karlsruhe had returned to life as a plague upon allied shipping, an able successor appeared, or a flotilla of giant submarines was at large that could cruise almost any distance. Several vessels brought tales to England of being chased by a phantom ship near the African coast. But such stories had been repeated so many times without any foundation that the British admiralty was in a quandary. To overlook no clue, a flotilla of cruisers swept the seas under suspicion. They came back empty handed.

At dawn, February 1, 1916, a big steamship passed into Hampton Roads, disregarding pilots and the signals of other craft. She hove to at an isolated spot and waited for daylight. When the skies cleared the German naval flag was seen floating at her prow. Newport News could scarce believe the report. Then the city remembered the Kronprinzessin Cecile and the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, both of which had stolen in under cover of night from a raiding career.