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IN the world’s history of the last few hundred years, few minutes have been so decisive as that period which passed away between 9.40 and 10.10 on the morning of August 4, 1914.

Now that we are able to look back on events from a sufficient distance, and to sift the facts which have poured in from all sides, it is permissible to draw the following conclusions. No one at the time could have been so far-sighted and prophetic as to have suspected that within this half-hour it was determined that Russia should become isolated from the influence of Western Europe and driven into Bolshevism; that Germany should be allowed to drag Turkey into the impending war, and thus be the direct cause not merely of the wasteful Dardanelles campaign, but of the costly hostilities in Mesopotamia. The spread of unrest and revolution through Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Spain, upsetting thrones on its way, extending even through Egypt to India, and not omitting to have some influence in Great Britain, France, and the United States, is all traceable to a sea event in the Mediterranean on that summer’s morning.

But this is a volume of exciting and gripping gallantries, not an inquiry into political consequences: yet the influence of sea power on history is largely expressed by the great dramas when ships and men have been at death-grips. There have been, however, some occasions when the mind, rather than force, has been on the verge of winning a great victory, only to be thwarted at the last by some curious defect in the controlling system, some failure in the details of its working. Strategy, whether on the sea or land, in sport or commerce, is the art of seizing situations and bespeaking positions or opportunities, so that all is favourable for putting a plan into execution. Checkmating in itself is a mental delight, and the most brilliant victory is that when the enemy sees himself already beaten by his rival’s superior forethought before ever a shot need be fired.

The memorable contest in which the Goeben and Breslau were the principal figures is pretty well unique because it lasted for eight days; the opposing parties were at no time very far distant from each other, yet never was there a serious engagement, and only the briefest action. Nevertheless this week, with its vacillations on both sides, definitely gave to the story of nations a permanent twist. It is illuminative to witness the shortcomings of politicians both British and German, the mistaken and narrow ideas of the higher command through lack of historical study, the ignoring of the main objective whilst being hypnotised by the importance of an inferior consideration, the lack of cohesion in the various departments, an inability to view the problem as a whole rather than a series of parts; but, finally, a defective organisation in regard to communications.

How was it that two German ships, the battle-cruiser Goeben and the small cruiser Breslau, went west and east up and down the Mediterranean as they pleased, and finally got away safely up the Ægean into the Bosphorus in spite of a British Fleet comprising three battle-cruisers, four armoured cruisers, four light cruisers, as well as destroyers and submarines; and a French Fleet which included twelve battleships, six armoured cruisers, four older ships, destroyers and submarines? If this immense force in one sea could not sink two enemy units, there must obviously be something wrong in the policy, strategy, communication of orders, or some unsuspected item. It cannot wholly be a question of luck.

Now during the last decade this break-through has been considered from more than one angle, and a vast controversy has arisen. Recently, however, we have been given the official German version; but I have had placed at my disposal the story as seen from the bridge of the senior British battle-cruiser Indomitable, and thus, by supplementing these with other authentic accounts, it is possible at last to get through the fog into a clear understanding of what actually happened, and why. Even after monographs have been published, interesting and valuable data still keep accruing, which make the mosaic as nearly perfect as we can hand on to posterity.

Apart from the dramatic poet Emil Ludwig (who published Die Fahrten der Goeben und der Breslau in 1916), and one of Goeben’s junior officers Leutnant zur Zee Kraus (who published Die Fahrten der Goeben im Mittelmer in 1917), and one of Breslau’s officers Ober-Leutnant zur Zee Donitz (who published Die Fahrten der Breslau in 1917), we have the narrative by Admiral Souchon himself, as seen from the Goeben’s bridge, written in Unsere Marine im Weltkrieg 1914-1918 under the general editorship of Admiral Eberhard von Mantey. Published in 1927, this personal account together with the official Der Krieg Zur See provides a very fair appreciation: but it is the viewpoint from the Indomitable which will especially and particularly aid us in witnessing the British aspect.

As to the rival Commanders-in-Chief, we have to think of Vice-Admiral Souchon as one who was every inch a naval officer but also something of a statesman: one who would have made an astute Minister for Foreign Affairs. His fine strong face, clear cut, clean shaven, with a firm mouth, cleft chin and distinctive nose, suggested the senior officer accustomed to handling big occasions with confidence. He had been in command of the Mediterranean Division for nearly a year, and at Constantinople he was a considerable personality among the Turks. I have been told on the best authority that on one occasion when lying off that capital a few months before the war he gave a dinner party at which British naval officers were present; at the end of the evening he asked the Captain of a certain British cruiser to remain behind and then told the latter that he was in the Bosphorus with the hope of selling the Goeben to the Turks as she was drawing 1½ feet more than her designed draught, and consequently with a loss of 3½ knots in speed.

Whether this was dust in our eyes, or a statement of fact, it was not forgotten when hostilities were opening: but it is true that in June 1914, the Goeben was steaming very unsatisfactorily, that 14 knots was her best continuous speed and 20 knots possible for only short bursts. So she was retubed, after the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand at the end of June suggested complications, and here we perceive the far-sightedness in looking weeks ahead to a likely logical political conclusion. She could now do her 24 knots.^[1] On July 31 she had come down from Pola to Brindisi where she was joined by the Breslau, whence they proceeded to Messina, arriving there on August 2.

As recently as March 1914 Admiral Souchon and Admiral Hans (Commander-in-Chief of the Austrian Navy) had agreed that in the event of the Triple Alliance (Germany, Austria, Italy) being at war with the Dual Alliance of France and Russia, Admiral Souchon should at once attack the transport of the French Army from Algeria, and that Messina was to be the Triple Alliance Navies’ rendezvous. This then explains why the Sicilian port from the very outset became of prominent value, even though Italy was for a time a doubtful ally but eventually came over to the opposite side, and Austria delayed showing her intentions for a few days. When on August 2 Admiral Souchon had coaled at Messina and received news that war with France was imminent, he waited not for orders but left that night at 17 knots, then steered west in order to arrive off the Algerian coast during the early morning and harass the French by shelling transports and transport gear. On the way he heard about 6 p.m. on August 3 that war had broken out with France, and twelve hours later the Goeben was off Philippeville bombarding the harbour works, whilst the Breslau had shelled Bona harbour works, and did certainly delay the transports for three days from leaving Algeria for southern France. Thus, by reasonable anticipation, Souchon had wasted no time in dealing a notable blow.

Now at 2.35 a.m., August 4, that is to say before reaching the Algerian coast, Souchon received a wireless message from Nauen, Germany, that the Goeben and Breslau were to proceed immediately to Turkey, a Turco-German Alliance having just been concluded. That meant steaming 1500 miles eastward, but Goeben still had boiler defects and needed more coal, so Souchon decided to call first at Messina again. We will therefore leave her for an interval steaming from the north African coast towards Sicily.

At Malta Admiral Sir Berkeley Milne, Bt., G.C.V.O., K.C.B., was in command of the British naval forces, an officer who had been a great personal friend of Queen Alexandra, an admiral who (like the name of his flagship Inflexible^[2]) was rigid in character, most firm in his decisions. This battle-cruiser, like her sisters Indomitable and Indefatigable, was of 17,250 tons, armed with eight 12-inch and sixteen 4-inch guns, as compared with the Goeben’s 22,600 tons, ten 11-inch, twelve 6-inch guns and nominal 29 knots. The German thus had an individual superiority to either of these ships in size, speed, range, and weight of shell. Only a Lion or Queen Mary would have been her match.

On July 24 the Indomitable went into Malta for a much needed annual refit that was now four months overdue. She had not been in dockyard hands since March 1913. But before this overhaul had barely begun, the political horizon looked ugly, bunkers had to be refilled, magazines replenished, and machinery brought back from the dockyard workshops. On Sunday morning, August 2, Admiral Milne sent for Captain F. W. Kennedy, the Indomitable’s commanding officer; at 2 p.m. he was ordered to raise steam for full speed, recall everybody to the ship; and at 9 p.m. she left Malta with Indefatigable temporarily under the orders of Rear-Admiral Troubridge, who had with him the three armoured cruisers Defence, Duke of Edinburgh, Warrior, and the light cruiser Gloucester, preceded by two divisions of destroyers. At 3.15 on the afternoon of August 3 the Indomitable and Indefatigable were detached in order to search for Souchon between Cape Bon (Tunis) and Cape Spartivento (South Sardinia); for, whilst we were not at war, the enemy was carefully to be shadowed.

The question suggested itself: how would it be possible for ships of several knots inferior speed to shadow the Goeben;^[3] and was there any truth in the yarn about her drawing 1½ feet in excess and therefore being unable to do her 29 knots? Only time could answer those questions. But it was known that she had been at Brindisi on August 1, yet at 7 a.m. on August 3 the light cruiser Chatham, which had been sent to investigate the Messina Straits, reported that the enemy was not there. Then whither had they gone?

It may be well here to mention that the dominating official British idea responsible for the subsequent strategy was based on the firm belief that the Goeben and Breslau would operate not in the far eastern Mediterranean, but would either attack the French Transport line, Algiers-Marseilles, some 860 miles in length, and escape through the Gibraltar Straits; or, possibly, run back up the Adriatic to unite with the Austrians. It is to be noted that our authorities did not contemplate Admiral Souchon making Constantinople his genuine objective. The British Admiralty’s primary concern was the safe transit of the French Algerian Army Corps to Marseilles, and on July 30 Admiral Milne was ordered that “your first task should be to aid the French” in this.

But the weakness here lay, paradoxically, in rigidity. These orders were several days pre-war, the political situation was still fluctuating, the intentions of Italy and of Austria were still unknown, and the French Commander-in-Chief, Admiral de Lapeyrère, was altering the transport plan, postponing departures, and organising convoys. Moreover he did not (as we shall presently note) require British aid, but even offered to help us. Thus the three battle-cruisers of Admiral Milne were kept west of Sicily in accordance with the hide-bound plan, and this left an insufficiently barred gate through which Admiral Souchon would be free to break on his way to Constantinople. But the fault was not exclusively that the strategy remained inelastic and never kept up to date: the communication system between the French and British Admirals was seriously deficient. It was impracticable for the one to know what the other was doing as the situation changed. It was regrettable that on August 3, the eve of war, the day when the Goeben and Breslau were on their westward course to bombard Algeria, Admiral Milne was unable by wireless to get in touch with the French Admiral, and had to send a letter by the light cruiser Dublin which should have been employed on a more important duty.

In a highly disciplined organisation such as the Royal Navy, where a Commander-in-Chief of unswerving habit imparts Admiralty orders that have not kept pace with the developments; and the Foreign Office intelligence system has been unable to keep the Admiralty informed that a secret treaty had been signed on August 2 between Turkey and Germany; the whole value of obedience becomes jeopardised, and the perfect machine may revolve in the wrong direction. Whatever individual captains might infer privately from their own observations and being on the spot, it was useless and painful to see the whole weight of authority inclined west instead of east. But if only the secret treaty had been known in time, it would surely have made crystal clear the reason why Admiral Souchon was on August 4 steering east. And there was ample time to make such a concentration in the Ægean that he could never have reached the Dardanelles. It seems curious, too, that no provision had been made on the assumption that the enemy might go through the Suez Canal to assist their sisters in the East, or to go raiding as Emden and the East Asiatic squadron operated. Was it to be expected Souchon would tarry in the western Mediterranean, longer than a spectacular act of frightfulness, when the numerical strength of Britain and France was so preponderating? It is true that, unless Admiral Troubridge’s armoured cruisers could have chosen the range, Goeben could have knocked them out one after the other like ninepins; yet our light cruisers were all more powerful than, though not so fast as, Breslau. And, when the Admiralty on the afternoon of July 29 flashed out the “Warning Telegram,” would it not have been well to have stationed any vessel with wireless off Messina and Cape Matapan to keep the Commander-in-Chief, Malta, informed? But, again, our strategy was defensive rather than to seek out the enemy and sink him wherever he might be found.

Just before 9 p.m. on the night of August 3 the Indomitable and Indefatigable were raising steam for 22 knots, showing no lights, bound for Gibraltar Straits to prevent Goeben leaving the Mediterranean for the Atlantic; and so continued till after breakfast the next morning, ninety extra hands being sent below to assist the stokers. But at 9 a.m. came an extraordinary piece of information that the Germans early this morning had bombarded Dover. It seemed incredible. The respective Captains of Indomitable and Indefatigable suspected that “Dover” should read “Bona,” and twenty minutes later it was learnt that this supposition was correct.

So here was news indeed, and that whilst the two British battle-cruisers were still on their westerly course down the Mediterranean, the enemy a few hours ago were only a hundred miles ahead! It was reckoned that if Souchon was really bound for the Atlantic he would either have to ease down, or else coal at sea soon after reaching the longitude of Gibraltar. The immediate question aboard Indomitable was, therefore, whether to continue at 22 knots, or push on to Gibraltar Straits at full speed, the visibility at this time being about nine miles.

But then happened one of those great dramatic surprises; and the decisive minutes mentioned at the beginning of this chapter commenced.

“In a very few moments,” Captain (now Admiral) F. W. Kennedy, C.B., has been good enough to write, “the question of the Germans’ whereabouts was settled: for at 9.35 a.m. g.m.t., the Breslau appeared 2 points on our starboard bow. We were at the moment steering N.84½W., and she appeared to be steering N.E. by E. at a very high rate, having a large bow wave. One hardly had time to order ‘Look out for Goeben,’ when she was seen on our port bow, steering a bit more to her starboard; then Breslau probably about E. by N., also going fast. Almost as soon as she saw us, she altered course as if to cross ahead of us to the Breslau, but I altered to starboard, whereupon she apparently resumed her original course. We had sounded off ‘Action Stations’ directly Breslau was sighted, and I ordered sundry officers to go to their stations, the Commander and Lieutenant (N) amongst them. I also ordered that the guns should be kept trained to their securing positions; and, carefully, the Goeben was watched. Had she an Admiral’s flag? Were her guns trained on us? She at first was somewhere about 17,000 or 19,000 yards off. No sign of the Admiral’s flag, so no salute had to be fired, and she kept her guns fore and aft. We passed each other on about opposite courses, Breslau on our starboard side and Goeben to port of us. Speed of the Germans somewhere about 20 knots.”

Now just at this stage there arose quite a delicate point. It must be recollected that Britain and Germany were not yet at war with each other; that the Cabinet meeting in London had not yet given its fateful verdict; that not till after two this afternoon did the Admiralty inform all ships the ultimatum to Germany would expire at midnight, and no hostile act was to be committed before that time. Nevertheless both parties knew that in a very few hours the two pairs of ships would be at enmity. “Be prepared for hostile actions on the part of English forces,” was the wireless message which the German Admiralty had sent twenty-eight hours previously. Under these circumstances Admiral Souchon was ready to open fire when the ships passed each other; but, in order that nothing should be visible externally, the guns were left in their securing positions.

“Directly we had sighted the Goeben,” says Captain Kennedy, “the question ‘Has she an Admiral’s flag flying or not?’ was thoroughly investigated from the bridge; for had there been one, I of course had to salute it, by Regulations and Customs of the Sea. I had well considered the question, and I believed that the salute was very likely to be the cause of the German replying by shot and shell: for this I was fully prepared. But there was no such luck: for there was not a flag up.”

Now, precisely the same thought was passing through Admiral Souchon’s brain, who took the view that in any case the British would not be punctilious at such a moment. Nevertheless, it has been suggested in Germany that the Indomitable should have paid the customary respect to a flagship, and when I called Admiral Kennedy’s attention to this interesting episode, he gave a definite answer which should surely settle the matter for all time. “Perhaps,” he remarked, “you will believe me when I say that every sort of telescope, binoculars, as well as range-finders, etc., were on the Goeben—but not a sign of a flag was seen by anyone on board Indomitable or Indefatigable.”

Now supposing Captain Kennedy had anticipated orders and opened fire? The ships passed each other (according to the German official history) at about 9850 yards. If the Indomitable and Indefatigable were ever to have their chance, it was then and then only. During a few moments he had the opportunity, though not the authority, to send Admiral Souchon’s battle-cruiser if not to the bottom at least to incapacity. Looking back on the long chapters of events—the Dardanelles disasters, the Russian collapse, the thousands of lives and millions of pounds destined to be lost—it would have been better for the world that in this moment all four ships should have foundered as gallant victims. If ever there was a temptation, which would afterwards be rightly acclaimed as justly yielded to, it was at this mighty minute.

The position where the enemy had been sighted was Lat. 37.44 N., Long. 7.56 E.; or about fifty miles north and slightly east of Bona; for, after having bombarded the coast, Admiral Souchon had steered west (intentionally to deceive) till out of sight, and then turned north-east. It may be wondered that, since the width of the Mediterranean between the southern extremity of Sardinia and the northern coast of Africa is about a hundred miles, the rival forces did not miss each other; but the Captain of Indomitable, whilst obeying his Admiral’s orders, was employing his private judgment, and that judgment was still animated by the belief (pondered over for days) that the Goeben’s ultimate goal was not the western Mediterranean.^[4]

Captain Kennedy at once wirelessed information of the meeting to Admiral Milne, then proceeded to shadow her at full speed; at 10 a.m. was turning round to port to get in astern of Goeben and Breslau who were opening out to the north; and the ding-dong chase had begun, but by 11.30 a.m. the Breslau was already out of sight from Indomitable and Indefatigable, though the Goeben was being held. The hazy weather, however, got worse and would occasionally obliterate the enemy. “The Germans, at times, from now on altered their speed very considerably,” Captain Kennedy noted. “I had to ease down to 8 knots on one occasion to keep my distance.” This at the time was rather puzzling. Why should a shadowed ship slow down? We now know from German sources that Goeben’s boilers were still giving her considerable trouble, yet Souchon was doing his best to maintain the belief that she was the fastest ship in the Mediterranean. Speed was being increased at a cost of boiler tubes and men. As in the Indomitable, so in the Goeben, seamen ratings had to be employed trimming coal. It was a severe strain in the Goeben; one man next morning was found dead in a bunker, tubes kept bursting, the speed would suddenly drop. Moreover, like the Indomitable, the Goeben badly needed a scrub; it was ten months since the latter’s bottom was cleaned.

Thus, whilst there were spurts when the German flagship’s engines were making revolutions for 24 knots, she was so foul that the average speed over the ground from 8 a.m. till noon was only 17 knots, but for the next eight hours it was 22.5 knots. The Indomitable, with her foul bottom and unfinished refit, was not able to exceed this. Ample distance had to be kept from the enemy, for even 6500 yards meant that the British were well within German torpedo range. Suspicion was roused when Breslau at 1.20 p.m. closed her Admiral, and the two ships began zigzagging. Captain Kennedy, thinking the enemy might be dropping mines, accordingly kept his ships clear of the Germans’ wake.

Now about 2.30 p.m. the light cruiser Dublin was sighted. After her visit to Bizerta, she had been ordered to proceed immediately at full speed in support of Captain Kennedy, and the Dublin with her additional knots was valuable in being able to get ahead. In fact at 6 p.m. she had an opportunity of engaging the Breslau, which had now parted company from the Goeben, having been detached by Admiral Souchon with instructions to hurry into Messina and there make arrangements for 1500 tons of coal to be ready for the Goeben. The position at this time was that the Indomitable was steaming as fast as she could, doing 22 knots, steering N.85 E., Indefatigable about a mile away on her port beam, the Dublin about six or eight miles away fine on the Indomitable’s starboard bow, whilst the German smoke could be seen in the far distance ahead. By 7 p.m., the Goeben with at least half a knot’s superiority over Indomitable, was just becoming to the latter invisible; so the Dublin had the duty of continuing to shadow, but at 9 p.m. the weather thickened and she lost contact with the enemy.

There now followed a period of anxiety for all Captains, friend or foe. What exactly was Italy going to do? Which side of the war would she enter? As the Germans approached Sicilian waters and tried to communicate by wireless, our battle-cruisers of course were doing their best to jamb messages to the shore stations. When the Germans off the north end of Messina Straits sighted Italian torpedo-boats ahead, there were “some minutes of extreme anxiety” on the part of our late enemies, says the German official history. Similarly, says Captain Kennedy, “I did not want to get near any Italian coast, as I still believed it possible the Italians would join in with Germany, and if I continued on too near Italian torpedo-boat destroyer stations—some were at Palermo and some at sundry other places—the Goeben might give my position away to them, and they be able to attack us easily.”

THE DAY OF DECISION

This shows the track of the British battle-cruiser Indomitable from 8.5 a.m. of August 4, 1914, to 11.40 a.m. of the following day. At 9.40 a.m. of August 4 she sighted the Goeben in Lat. 37.44 N., Long. 7.56 E., and at 10 a.m. was turning to port in pursuit of the enemy. At 6.50 p.m. the Indomitable was ordered to steam west. Next day, just before noon, she rejoined Sir Berkeley Milne off Pantellaria. The French Transport line will be seen well to the westward.

So he decided to patrol north and south that night clear of Italian waters and then sweep east at daylight along the north Sicilian coast, “for I strongly suspected that they would communicate with Vittoria^[5] by wireless, and possibly coal off the coast of Sicily.” But just before 7 p.m., to his great surprise and disappointment, Captain Kennedy was ordered to steam west with Indefatigable at slow speed: so the two battle-cruisers now turned their backs on the enemy and jogged along at 7 knots. Admiral Milne was still impressed with the belief that the Goeben might turn westward, and the Dublin had informed Sir Berkeley that a German collier was waiting at Palma in Majorca, this news having been obtained on visiting the French Admiral at Bizerta. The British Commander-in-Chief was therefore still more inclined to think the enemy was not going to tarry off Sicily. Nevertheless, it was a curious situation that the chasers, only five hours before the ultimatum should take effect, were now going away from the chased. Next morning, the first actual morning of war, the battle-cruisers were ordered to concentrate with all despatch on Admiral Milne in the Inflexible, and this rejoining was effected before midday (August 5) off the island of Pantellaria.

Let us now go back to see Messina, in whose roadstead the Breslau let go anchor at five on the morning of this August 5, and just before eight o’clock was followed in by the Goeben with five Italian torpedo-boats ahead and astern. The Germans were badly in need of coal after all this hard steaming west and east, yet here was a neutral port and the period of hospitality limited. In order to appreciate the Teutonic thoroughness, we shall not forget that as early as July 10 the Goeben had begun preparing for war in feverish haste at Pola, the Kaiser having given his Navy and Army a month’s start of his enemies. On July 29 she had gone up to Trieste to coal, but did not complete: she was afraid lest war would burst on her whilst still well in the Adriatic, and that was why she steamed south to Brindisi, where Admiral Souchon came aboard.

On July 31 the officers were given special instruction in Prize Law, identity disks were served out, and preparations made for jettisoning all superfluous woodwork. When on August 2 the ships coaled at Messina, it was in spite of Italian protestations; but the German Ambassador in Rome had overcome the problem, and here three days later the same two ships, after bombarding French colonial ports, were back once more with the same greed for coal. Now the lie has been spread in Germany that this coal on August 5 was obtained from a British collier named Wilster through the influence of whiskey and bribery. It may therefore be well to state the true facts.

The S.S. Wilster, whose master was P. A. Eggers of Sunderland, left Penarth some days before the war bound with a cargo of Welsh coal consigned to the Hugo Stinnes Coal Company at Messina. The collier arrived off the entrance at sunset on August 4 and was met by a tug who ordered Captain Eggers to anchor in the roadstead, and come ashore next morning for instructions. Next day at 8 a.m. he was in his boat coming off when he saw the Goeben arrive and anchor near his ship, and it was only now Captain Eggers learned that war had broken out. He duly received from the consignees the order to bring his ship into harbour and moor alongside a coal hulk.

When he stepped out of his boat and was again aboard his ship, the Chief Officer informed him that a German naval officer during Captain Eggers’ absence had called and left a message instructing Eggers to bring the Wilster alongside one of the two German cruisers. This the British skipper refused to do, and brought his ship into harbour. He was still busy mooring, when a small boat arrived alongside, and a young German naval officer leapt aboard, mounted the bridge, requested Eggers to unmoor again, and take the Wilster alongside a German cruiser. According to a letter which Captain Eggers contributed to the press in February 1920, the young visitor attempted to push some money into the master mariner’s hand saying, “That is for you, Captain.” But the bribe was indignantly thrust aside, the young man was informed that Captain Eggers had nothing to do with the cruisers, and that the cargo was consigned to the Hugo Stinnes Coal Company.

Eggers then went ashore and called at the office, where he found the manager together with several senior German naval officers. The manager requested the Wilster’s master to go into the roadstead and coal the cruisers, but Eggers declined. The latter next interviewed the British Consul, who stated that England and Germany had been at war since midnight, and no coal was to reach the Goeben and Breslau. “On return to the coal office,” says Captain Eggers, “the German officers were still there, and I opened my mind and told them straight what I thought of their action.” The result was that our enemies did not get this British coal.

But we know that 1580 tons were put aboard the Goeben by 11.30 a.m. next day (August 6) and that just after midnight of August 5-6 the Breslau took in 495 tons. Whence were these supplies obtained? Eggers writes as follows:

“The coals procured at Messina by these ships came from the German East Africa liner General, which ship had arrived at Messina a few days previous; she was outward bound, and had worked night and day discharging her general cargo to get at coals which were stowed in the bottom of her holds, and I understood she had several thousand tons of coal on board; they also commandeered the bunker coals of one of the North German Lloyd boats, which had taken refuge in Messina.”

According to the German official history, the Goeben received her coal from the General, the Hansa liner Kettenturm, and the Hamburg-Amerika liner Umbria, as well as from lighters belonging to the Hugo Stinnes Coal Company’s depot; the Breslau coaled from the Umbria, the Hamburg-Amerika liner Barcelona, as well as the Hugo Stinnes lighters. But the statement is added that some of the Stinnes coal had first to be discharged into lighters from the “English steamer Wilster, and then to be brought alongside”; that in spite of the British Consul’s efforts, the Stinnes agent succeeded in placing the coal at the disposal of Admiral Souchon.

Of course the British Consul telegraphed news of the Germans’ arrival at Messina, but the Dublin had been sent back to Malta to coal, and thence was despatched with two destroyers to join Rear-Admiral Troubridge at the approaches to the Adriatic. According to Admiral Milne’s own monograph,^[6] Sir Berkeley on August 4 received the report that the General had landed her passengers at Messina and was remaining. On the 5th he knew that the Goeben and Breslau were within the Messina Straits. Now the distance from Malta to the southern exit of these Straits is less than 150 miles. Lying at Malta were three small British submarines, viz. B 9, B 10, and B 11. What a glorious opportunity these might have seized, if they had been towed till nearly up to six miles from the Italian coastline, and there left to await Admiral Souchon’s emergence! It is true that the light cruiser Gloucester was watching this very spot, yet the Goeben was capable of blowing her out of the water; the ratio being ten 11-inch and twelve 6-inch guns as opposed to two 6-inch and ten 4-inch. Moreover the Breslau with her twelve 4.1-inch guns intensified the formidability. But torpedoes in the narrow waters off this defile would have had almost ideal conditions.^[7]

It is established that the French were far from nervous lest the enemy should come west, for late on August 6 the former offered to lend Admiral Milne four cruisers. On this date the British Commander-in-Chief was cruising off the north-west side of Sicily with the Inflexible, Indefatigable and Weymouth, still expecting the enemy would come west and not east. And then, soon after 5 p.m. of this August 6, came that memorable wireless signal from the Gloucester that Goeben was coming out of the Straits followed by Breslau a mile astern and steering east. The fact that Admiral Milne did not now go in support of Gloucester, but went back to Malta for 900 tons of coal—her maximum stowage room being 2500 tons—has been much criticised. It is admittedly easy enough to be wise after the event, but, having made the error of assuming the enemy might come west by northern Messina entrance instead of east by the southern exit, there would have been a chance to make up for this by remaining at sea and at least injuring the Goeben before she reached the Dardanelles, and possibly of sinking the Breslau.

The Inflexible was back at Malta by noon of the 7th, and did not leave till half an hour after the following midnight, when the Indomitable, Indefatigable and Weymouth went with her, this time at last eastward bound. Thus over thirty hours had passed before any force at all commensurate with Goeben’s warlike strength was sent in pursuit of Admiral Souchon. And of course it was too late, though (as fate fashioned the Dardanelles affair) by the narrowest margin.

At Messina the Germans had a tough time coaling intensively amid the windless heat of a Sicilian summer’s day. Souchon, too, had his troubles and anxieties, so that it must have been a relief when he once more put to sea. The Italians were strictly neutral, and nothing but sheer strength of personality on the part of the German naval officers got over the difficulties in respect of coaling and provisions. Souchon appealed to the Austrian Admiral Hans to come down from Pola and escort him, but that flag-officer was not prepared to help: nor was Austria yet in the war.

Another anxiety was that no sooner had the German Admiral issued his sailing orders for the break-through to the Dardanelles than a telegram from the German Admiralty came announcing that for political reasons it was at the present impossible to arrive off Constantinople. So, just as the ancient seamen used to dread the Scylla and Charybdis of Messina’s Straits, so this modern seaman found himself threatened in a twofold manner: if he remained in Messina he would become interned, and if he went outside his enemies were awaiting him.

But he knew the Turks and their politics better than they knew themselves; he knew that the Turks would be influenced and mesmerised into practical alliance if they saw the big Goeben arrive. Souchon was very much a persona grata at Constantinople, and we must regard him as a gallant gentleman for his independent decision, in spite of everything, to reach the Dardanelles—British cruisers and Turkish politics notwithstanding. At present he was in a most lonely and perilous situation, but with unwavering moral pluck, and in spite of his defective boilers, he resolved to make the original attempt.

The Goeben left Messina at 5 p.m. on August 6, speed 17 knots, followed twenty minutes later by the Breslau. The General (as Captain Eggers witnessed) had painted out her name, and her funnel black. She departed at 7 p.m., having been ordered to make for the island of Santorin, which lies at the southern end of the Ægean some seventy miles north of Crete. The Goeben had barely got under way before she was sighted by the Gloucester (Captain W. A. Howard Kelly) an hour later. In accord with Admiral Souchon’s original intention, the Goeben made a feint to suggest that he was bound up the Adriatic, but by 10.30 p.m. she had reached her farthest north and thence in a south-easterly direction steamed towards Cape Matapan, the southern extremity of Greece, which for thousands of years had seen warships of all sorts row, sail, or steam, past her headland.

THE GREAT ESCAPE

This indicates the track of the Goeben from the time she left Messina on August 6 till she passed Cape Malea next day. The Island of Denusa, where the Goeben and Breslau coaled, will be seen to N.E. of Cape Malea. The position of Rear-Admiral Troubridge’s squadron is shown by a × below Corfu.

The night of August 6-7 was calm, clear and moonlit. Although these three British and German cruisers were to be in sight of each other most of the way to Cape Matapan, and the Germans did their best to shake off Gloucester’s unwelcome company, yet it led to no serious engagement. But why? The answer is that—as regards the Germans—(1) the 6-inch guns of Gloucester were regarded as superior armament to that of Breslau; (2) Admiral Souchon’s main objective was not to destroy, but to hurry towards the Dardanelles where he could do far more harm to the Allies’ cause by influencing Turkey, so driving a wedge between Russia and the Franco-British forces. On the other hand the Gloucester performed the true office of a light cruiser, which is to be the eyes and ears, the intelligence-gatherer, for the main fleet. Captain Kelly withheld his fire, “rightly considering it” (as Admiral Milne has written) “to be his first duty to follow the Goeben.”

Rear-Admiral Troubridge, with his four armoured cruisers Defence, Warrior, Duke of Edinburgh, Black Prince, and destroyers was on the east side of the Otranto Straits ready in case the enemy had come up the Adriatic; but, having learned they had gone south-east, came down to intercept them, though later abandoned this intention, feeling that his primary duty was to remain on his allotted station. About 1 a.m. the light cruiser Dublin, with two destroyers bound from Malta to join Admiral Troubridge, sighted the Breslau, but turned away as she was seeking Goeben whom she hoped to torpedo. She failed to find the German battle-cruiser, so continued on her course to join Admiral Troubridge. Thus to Gloucester was left the solitary task of shadowing the enemy through the night.

Indeed, the one bright spot of this first week’s Mediterranean campaign from our side was the gallant skill with which Captain Howard Kelly (whose brother happened to be the Captain in Dublin) stuck to the enemy and harassed him by making one or the other unit keep turning back to shoo the Gloucester away. Solely with these tactics in mind did the British light cruiser at 1.35 p.m. (August 7) open fire on the Breslau at about 12,000 to 14,000 yards. This had the desired effect of causing the Goeben to turn back and open fire. It is admitted that the firing on both sides was good, but it was all over in fifteen minutes.

The chase then continued as before during three more hours, by which time Cape Matapan had been reached, but the Gloucester getting short of coal turned back in accordance with Admiral Milne’s orders and at 4.40 p.m. laid a course to join Admiral Troubridge. We now know that it was Souchon’s intention to reach the mountainous, wooded island of Cerigo (to the east of Cape Matapan) first, remain at the back of it hidden, let the Breslau lure the Gloucester on in action, and then Goeben would have come forth with a heavy fist.

Captain (now Admiral) Kelly received high commendation from the Admiralty, and decorations followed. His pertinacity won the admiration of the Germans and is still recognised universally as a model achievement in cruiser duties. Not till 4 a.m. of August 10 did Admiral Milne’s squadron round Cape Malea, which is just beyond Cerigo. The last phase of the great German escape therefore begins in the southern Ægean, and again it is full of difficulties for both contestants. So far the German Admiral had succeeded perfectly: by that good luck which so frequently accompanies courageous determination he had for the second time passed through the British net. But now his will, somehow or other, must compel the Turks to admit him through the Dardanelles into the Bosphorus, and he must hide until that insistence could metaphorically open the door. Meanwhile, after rapid and extravagant steaming from Messina, he needed coal.

There are two features of German overseas operations (as have been emphasised in a previous study^[8]) which stand out in a remarkable manner. One is the excellent pre-war arrangement by which the Germany Navy abroad was nearly always able to find colliers waiting at the right time and place; the other is the manner by which they utilised to the full every geographical facility, and especially with regard to lonely islands. The S.S. General we have seen suddenly to change herself from passenger liner to auxiliary, and to be found rich with hidden coal at a critical date. Souchon kept in wireless touch and was able to send her on up the Ægean to Smyrna, where she arrived on August 9 without molestation, and was able thence to send the Admiral’s telegram by land-wire through to Constantinople. This was cleverly worded, and its purport was to obtain permission to pass through to the Bosphorus on the grounds that Russia must be attacked in the Black Sea. Knowing the hatred of Turkey for the Russians, this was an astute effort.

Souchon had concealed himself at the secluded Ægean island of Denusa,^[9] so that he was now conveniently linked up with his objective via the General. To Denusa was directed a German collier from the Piræus disguised as a Greek coaster, and at the very time on the early morning of August 10 when Admiral Milne’s squadron was rounding Cape Malea, both the Goeben and Breslau were being coaled, but about two hours later resumed their voyage to the Dardanelles. For a telegram had come from Constantinople through the General giving the requisite Turkish permission. That evening the two German warships were inside the Dardanelles and being piloted by a Turkish torpedo-boat. Next morning the General arrived also. Admiral Souchon has referred to the period between his arrival in the Dardanelles and the end of October, when hostilities against Turkey began, as the most difficult in all the war from his personal standpoint. It was one thing to have had the secret treaty of August 2 signed: it needed the arrival of Goeben, Breslau, and Souchon’s personality to make Turkey positively hostile to the Allies and thus to render the Dardanelles impassable. Germany was not less surprised than we that the two cruisers reached Constantinople: indeed the Chancellor, Bethmann-Hollweg, could imagine only two alternatives. Either Great Britain intentionally withheld her hand, so as to prevent any decision which might prolong the war; or else there had been “a gigantic mistake of the British Admiralty.”

But, none the less, Admiral Souchon was in real peril all the while he was in the Ægean. At the time when Admiral Milne rounded Cape Malea, the Germans were only a matter of seven hours’ steaming to the north-eastward. To have taken them by surprise would have been impossible by day in any case: for the enemy had at once erected a signal station on the hill (as another of Germany’s commanding officers once did on Easter Island in the Pacific) to give due warning. Both the Goeben and Breslau had steam ready to proceed at half an hour’s notice. But, as we have seen, the departure from Denusa practically coincided with the entry of Admiral Milne into the Ægean off Cape Malea.

Having begun searching that many-island sea, a most difficult area for finding a lurking enemy, the Inflexible at 9.30 a.m., August 10 (relates the British Admiral), did intercept “wireless signals of the note and code used by the Goeben ... but the direction could not be ascertained,” and early next morning the General’s wireless also was heard. Only at 10.30 a.m. (August 11), was the news to reach the Inflexible that quite definitely the two cruisers had slipped into the Dardanelles, and at 3 p.m. it was learned that the General was already at Constantinople.

The whole of this eight-day episode will ever be a subject for interesting discussion, and, whilst it accentuates the need for clarity, perfect co-operation, vision, adaptability, and aggressiveness rather than the attitude of waiting on the defensive; yet conversely there are permanent lessons to be remembered from the brave determination of both Captain Howard Kelly and Admiral Souchon, in their respective situations, that needed bold initiative yet prudent decision.

In the accompanying photograph Indomitable is shown as she appeared in November 1914, with her topmasts still up, and the hull painted in a speckled manner for the deception of enemy submarines; for this was still the time when every commanding officer used his own private ingenuity, and fake bow-waves would even be seen. There were many months to follow before standard dazzle designs were invented. When before the end of 1914 this fine battle-cruiser was required for North Sea work and recalled from the Mediterranean, her sisters of the Grand Fleet found difficulty in recognising her. “I had her painted that fashion,” Admiral Kennedy tells me, “before we came home from Malta. I had meant to have the design bolder, but let it go, so to speak.”

And so in December she reached the North Sea.

“We were wirelessed about the 23rd to rendezvous somewhere E.N.E. of the Forth—about midway between Scotland and Norway. Drove through a gale up the west coast of Scotland, through Pentland Firth, and down into the North Sea. About 1.30 a.m. on Christmas Day we met a British destroyer flotilla coming north. They were 60 miles out of their reckoning! Sighted the Lion (Admiral Beatty’s flagship of the battle-cruiser squadron) next day. Typical North Sea weather—drifting haze and mist. Made our private signals. Ordered signalmen to tell any other ships seen with her. Lion knew we were to meet her, but the others did not. So (the battle-cruiser) New Zealand, seeing a funny-coloured ship with topmasts still up (I kept them up as long as possible to get the best wireless range, but struck them before going under Forth Bridge) was amazed. ‘There’s an enemy—open fire on her at once!’ ordered the New Zealand’s captain.

“Luckily her Commander overheard the Captain and saw us. ‘For Heaven’s sake, sir, don’t,’ he begged. ‘That’s one of the Invincible class.’ So we were saved by pure luck. We kept to our speckled-hen colour for a good few months till it was suggested that we should all be the same colour. Next time we went to sea, Admiral Beatty had a careful and critical inspection of us in North Sea light, to judge which was the best colour—ours or the usual grey. At times, as the various ships passed in and out of mist and rain, sunlight, and so on, sometimes we were least seen, sometimes more seen than the other ships. Roughly speaking, the difference was so small that we painted Indomitable grey again. But I believe we were the first ship to be camouflaged.”

It was not long afterwards that the Indomitable was to play her part in the Battle of the Dogger Bank, and eventually it fell to her lot that she must take the Lion in tow after the latter had been injured by the enemy. The reader will find a unique photograph of this towage in the next illustration; unique, because such a subject often used to be depicted in the old engravings of the Anglo-French wars, when one sailing ship would tow another home, but hitherto there has never been seen an illustration of a modern flagship being thus brought into port after action. It is just such occurrences as these which a contemporary historian might not consider worth while relating: yet posterity cannot fail to be interested by learning how in the steam age enormous men-of-war had to be handled.

“The Lion at the time,” relates Admiral Kennedy, “was down by the bow and heeling over a bit, too. Steaming towards her base—the Forth—slowly. We got ahead of her, and sent a grass-line to her. As she was just tautening it, she signalled to us: ‘Must stop engines.’ And did so. She promptly swung away to starboard and parted the grass line. We had to take up a new position—not handy to do so in a 565-foot ship! Then got a 6½-steel wire to her. Wanted really to get another one also, but time being a factor, trusted to the one 6½. Meanwhile Admiral Beatty was wirelessing us to hustle (as if we were sitting down to a ‘second cup of tea, please’); and the Admiralty, with their large-visioned Winston, wirelessed us that all the German destroyers, etc., were leaving their ports to attack us. Cheery! Wasn’t it?

“But we were splendidly guarded by Commodore Tyrwhitt with his craft and our Forth ones, too. Then the Admiralty sent us another wireless saying, ‘Cancel former signal.’ When we had secured the 6½-inch hawser, we steamed as slow as possible with one engine only, at first; and, as we got way on Lion, increased very gingerly to 13 knots, or rather revolutions which would have given us that speed, had we not got Lion astern. That gave us a bit over 8 knots. We made May Island, and turned up the Forth during the first watch—pitch-dark—saw the Britannia (one of the Fifth Battle Squadron) ashore on Inchkeith, and passed through the boom defence gates. We went on for the open part under the Forth Bridge. It was very badly lighted. Only had a fixed light on it. I had always wished for a flashing light. However, when we got to where we thought we were about 3½ cables from it, and estimated it should be right ahead, we saw a fixed light well on our port bow.”

Anyone who had experience during the war of this bridge will realise the difficulties of towing a big ship through the darkness and not being able to see the iron girders from which the anti-submarine steel net used to be lowered or raised. Nor was it possible for the Indomitable to calculate how much her speed would be diminished by the shoaling of the water acting on the two ships. The tide under the bridge flows strongly, and altogether to-night’s bit of seamanship was a most exacting business at the end of an anxious day when submarines had been expected at all moments. Finally Captain Kennedy decided to anchor short of the bridge for a few hours.

“I anchored and went to bed. Done to a turn! So were some of the others. That must have been about 2.30 or 2.45 a.m. Fog still holding. We had slipped the Lion, of course, in anchoring the two ships. She slipped the wire, too, and it was (I believe) never found—too deep into the mud. Pity of it! Good stuff.” About midday, fog having cleared, the Indomitable again took the Lion in tow, took her up the Forth and turned her round, bringing her right up to her buoy. When one considers that the tide was now flooding, that the Lion had no steam at all—not even for the steering but had to use a hand-wheel—that she was down by the bows and extremely awkward; when we recollect, further, the narrowness of the space above the Forth Bridge, and that the Indomitable was now being assisted by only the weakest tugs (‘the size of the Portsmouth-Gosport ferry-boats sort,’ Admiral Kennedy likens them); we can well claim that this was a most able bit of seamanship which will stand comparison with any of those sailing ship achievements so proudly perpetuated by the eighteenth century artists.

“The whole credit of the tow lies with my Navigator (and still good friend) Commander Morgan Tindal,” insists Admiral Kennedy. But such modesty and unselfish acknowledgment are only part of the great story.

The Lion’s officers were under no delusion as to what they owed for this patient persistence, and presented Indomitable with their gratitude symbolised by a silver trophy “Winged Victory,” which now adorns Admiral Kennedy’s dining-room table.