Chapter 31 : The Adramyti Plan

Major Samson awoke on the morning of Saturday 1 August to the news that, on the previous day, Germany, Austria-Hungary and France had all mobilized following the Russian example. There would be no backing down; he hoped against hope that England would be able to keep out of it. When he looked out the window at the German Legation, it was to notice that, during the night, two guards had been posted at the entrance. He dressed and went immediately to his own Legation; the difference was profound. No-one could be found at first, until the conscientious Rendel emerged from the cipher room.

                ‘Good morning, Major. It doesn’t look good I’m afraid. The Germans have issued an ultimatum to St Petersburg to halt mobilization. You and I know it can’t be done. There will be war tomorrow.’

                ‘Russia and Germany?’

                ‘And France — the terms of the alliance — there is no way around it.’

                ‘Monsieur Venizelos seems to have found a path around a very similar difficulty.’ Samson made little effort to hide his contempt, for this was the other dominant story that morning: the terms of the alliance between Greece and Serbia bound Greece to come to Serbia’s aid should the latter be attacked. And Belgrade was being shelled by Austrian artillery as they spoke. Yet Venizelos, using all his lawyer’s wiles, had found a let-out. Serbia, he argued, had acted provocatively and therefore the terms of the treaty, in so far as they related to mutual defence, could not be honoured.

                But George Rendel did not see it that way. ‘Different circumstances, Major,’ he countered. ‘In any event, the Germans are looking for a fight; the Greeks want nothing but peace. Even if Poincaré denied the treaty with Russia I am convinced Germany would invade France in any event. They have to protect their rear before they fall on Russia.’

                Treaties, alliances, conventions: just words on paper for each signatory to interpret, define or deny. They meant nothing. Samson tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and pencilled a cable: ‘Can you send a wire for me to Cunliffe-Owen in Constantinople? He should know that Admiral Souchon has apparently requested a stock of coal to be available here. If true, I believe it means Souchon will try to enter the Black Sea. If that is so, the Turks must be in league with them.’

                ‘Certainly, Major, I shall send it at once.’ Rendel showed not the slightest hint of surprise at this information, which Samson attributed to his conscientiousness and his professional ability to take everything in his stride.

                When he had finished writing, Samson looked around him: ‘By the way, where is everyone?’

                Rendel grinned sheepishly as if in some way the behaviour of the other members of the Legation was his responsibility. ‘Tommy Cuninghame has gone shooting in the country; Willie is trying to improve his golf handicap so he can give Sir Francis a run for his money when he returns; Goodhart has gone sailing at Phaleron … let me see … ’

                ‘That’s enough; I get the picture.’

The Major returned to the Piraeus early that afternoon. There was a simple method of checking the accuracy of Achilles’ information. Samson located, without difficulty, the stores of the well-known German coal merchant, Emil Plok, in the Port d’Halæ. Even from a distance, it was obvious that the coal was piled high on shore yet there was no German merchant ship then at the port and, from what he could gather from the local shipping office, none was expected to arrive in the next few days. It appeared certain to him that the coal must be for Goeben. What Samson had not counted on was that loading facilities at the port would not be capable of easily accommodating a battle cruiser over six-hundred feet in length. Furthermore, if Greece declared her neutrality, the German ship’s stay in port would, of necessity, be limited to twenty-four hours. It would be a dangerous gamble for the German ships to appear at the Piraeus and expect to be able to coal and, from what he knew of Souchon, the German Admiral only bet on sure things. The only other alternative was to rendezvous with a collier out in the Aegean and complete the coaling away from prying eyes and in perfect safety. And if Souchon was as thorough as his reputation insisted, he would have more than one collier waiting for him along his planned route. Find the collier and you would perhaps learn his intentions. But Samson had first to be sure of his facts: if his report resulted in French ships being sent east to shadow the German ship, on the supposition that France would soon be involved in the war, French possessions in the westerm basin of the Mediterranean would be left relatively unprotected. Perhaps it was no more than a ruse to lure the French away and open the way for the Austrian and Italian navies?

                Adopting a disguise he felt comfortable with — that of a prosperous Dutch merchant — Samson approached the offices of Plok and Company attempting to purchase coal for a Dutch vessel supposedly due in within the week. Explaining that his regular supplier was holding back for the price to increase because of the international tension, Samson pleaded with Plok’s representative to release five hundred tons for which he would pay cash with no questions asked. The under-manager would not budge: the company needed all the stock currently at its disposal. When Samson protested that he could see for himself the company was overstocked the discussion became heated: What they had, asserted the under-manager vehemently, could not be spared. ‘What was the need for all that coal,’ inquired Samson refusing to be dissuaded: ‘There are no German ships in the harbour; no colliers are expected.’

                ‘Tuesday!’ insisted the under-manager. ‘Bogados will arrive on Tuesday. We have no coal to spare and there is an end to it. Now, I have work to do.’

                Samson returned to Athens that evening. The mood of the city had changed in the few days since his arrival. The belief that, even at this late hour, the crisis could be resolved, had given way to certainty that war was now inevitable. The question remained, which countries would be involved. There was no clamour for war evident in the streets of the city; no enthusiasm; just the hope that, after two local wars in as many years, the Greeks could be spared this time when bigger stakes were being played for. The nervous tension permeated everywhere — even the Panhellenion was only half full.

                The following day, Sunday, brought with it the expected news: Germany and Russia were at war. As soon as he found out, while enjoying a late breakfast at the Panhellenion, Samson went straight to the Legation. In marked contrast to the previous day, the building bustled with activity. As usual, it was Rendel he saw first: ‘Major, I’m glad you’ve arrived. We’ve just received this “urgent priority” cable from Mr Beaumont for you.’

                Samson unfolded the flimsy sheet of paper. “Have received official notification from Admiralty, London that transfer of Sultan Osman and Reshadieh to Ottoman Navy has been embargoed on personal order of First Lord. News will create serious difficulty here. No need remain Athens. Return soonest. Beaumont.”

                ‘So it was all for nothing,’ the Major said to no-one in particular, ‘ … all for nothing.’

                Rendel, aware of the contents, offered his advice: ‘If I were you Major I would leave as soon as possible. If the Greeks are to get their battleships while the Turks are denied theirs, trouble will result. I suspect you may find the greatest difficulty in obtaining passage; at times like these the steamship owners tend to suspend operations rather than risk damage to their vessels.’

                And yet, with the prospect now of a speedy return to Constantinople, Samson hesitated. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right. Tell me, though, has there been any word from Captain Boyle in Rome?’

                ‘Why yes, something came through an hour ago. I’ll get it for you.’ Rendel returned with the cable from the Naval Attaché. According to the latest information, Goeben had left Pola and was believed to be heading for Messina. Breslau, which had been off the coast of Albania as part of the International Squadron, had also disappeared the previous day sailing west, and was believed, similarly, to be heading for Messina.

                ‘Rendezvous!’ Samson was talking to himself.

                Rendel shook his head; he dislike disagreeing with the Major, but Boyle’s news left him with no option. ‘It looks as if your theory is incorrect Major. My guess is that Goeben has gone to meet the Italian Fleet. We know that the transfer of troops from French North Africa is to commence today as a precautionary measure. That, if you want my opinion, is their real target. Supposing they did get through into the Black Sea, how would they get out again?’

                Before he could answer Rendel’s legitimate objection Erskine appeared at the top of the stairs: ‘Rendel! A minute of your time please.’

                Rendel cast a final apologetic glance at the Major, who turned to leave the Legation and collided awkwardly with Admiral Kerr rushing in. Kerr looked surprised: ‘You! What are you doing in Athens?’ he blurted out.

                ‘A wild goose chase, Admiral. Can you spare me a moment?’ Samson took hold of Kerr’s elbow and guided him outside before he had a chance to object. ‘Have you heard the news of the embargo of the Turkish dreadnoughts?’

                ‘Yes, just now. The Minister is beside himself with delight. I must say however it was not unexpected.’ The Admiral was nothing if not omniscient.

                ‘Now that the danger of the ships being damaged on their journey out has passed,’ Samson inquired casually, ‘can you answer something for me — how real was the danger?’

                ‘Non-existent if you ask me. Look here Samson, this country has fought three wars against the Turks in the last fifteen years. The people want peace. And the King is determined to see that that is what they get. But to do this he has to stop war mongerers like Venizelos.’ Kerr uttered the Premier’s name with obvious distaste.

                The Major was taken aback by the forcefulness with which the Admiral denounced the Premier: ‘But surely,’ he countered, ‘Venizelos has found a let-out for going to Serbia’s assistance. How is that war-mongering?’

                ‘He’s after bigger game. The time is not yet ripe. Let me tell you, Major, that there is no action performed by the Premier which is not part of his overall scheme.’

                ‘What is it you know?’ Samson demanded.

                Kerr stopped. They had walked inadvertently to the Ministry of Marine. The Admiral looked up to the window of the Minister’s office. There, returning his gaze, was Demerdgis, the new Minister in place of Stratos. Kerr ostentatiously turned his back on the Minister and drew Samson to him. ‘You would be surprised by what I know, Major. Venizelos might not trust me, but he cannot afford to alienate me either. The support of England hangs in the balance. One word from me to Churchill and Greece will be left to fend for herself. I have that power and Venizelos knows it. So he keeps me occupied preparing a great plan for the taking of the Dardanelles. He gambles that the prospect of leading my forces into battle will be too great a temptation; but I know what it is he is really after.’

                ‘You don’t mean the prophecy?’ The Major had had his fill of the Greeks and Constantinople.

                ‘Humbug! A blind, a useful blind, that’s all it is. That’s what Venizelos hopes I will believe: the capture of the Gallipoli Peninsula is the first step on the road to Constantinople. Do you think for a moment that the Russians would countenance a Greek occupation of Constantinople? Not when they have yearned for the city themselves all these years.’ Samson’s reputation for perspicacity was, the Admiral was on the point of concluding, sadly inflated.

                ‘Well, what is Venizelos’ objective?’

                ‘Smyrna and its hinterland! The population is mostly Greek now in any event; no Power would seriously object; certainly not to the extent of sending troops or ships to prevent it. Who would fight a war on behalf of the Turks, Major? I leave that for you yourself to answer. But Venizelos dare not move at least until he is assured of the backing of England and France. That is why he is so desperate to avoid becoming entangled in Serbia’s affairs just now. His plan is to light upon a quarrel — a legitimate grievance mind you — with the Turks and then launch his attack after he has secured our support. English or French intervention could then be explained away by the necessity to land our troops at Salonica so that, should the need arise to assist Serbia, they may be marched overland. That way, we can look after his Bulgarian flank while his troops occupy Asiatic Turkey. Believe me, Major, it will be a bluff. Serbia’s fate has already been decided. Our troops at Salonica will do no more than keep the Bulgarians at bay to give Venizelos a free hand at Smyrna. If you doubt me, ask the Premier, should you happen to see him, ask him what is the “Adramyti Plan”; you may find his response enlightening. Perhaps it would have worked too, if the Sarajevo assassination had not taken place.’

                ‘And it won’t now?’

                ‘Not if the King has anything to say about it. He wants no more fighting for his people. I believe we already have certain ministers on our side.’ (Samson noted, but did not comment upon, Kerr’s use of “we” and “our”.) ‘If Venizelos expects to prevail in the Council of Ministers he is in for a rude shock.’ They had now returned to the entrance to the Legation.

                ‘Tell me, Admiral,’ Samson asked before they parted, ‘what do you know of Goeben?’

                ‘An excellent ship, Major. More than a handful for Milne’s battle cruisers at Malta. Why do you ask?’

                ‘She has not been mentioned with regard to any Greek plans?’

                ‘None that I am aware of. I cannot see how she would. Venizelos, I believe, would not even allow her harbour facilities, if ever it came to that.’

                ‘And the King?’

                ‘Neutrality, Major: that is the watchword — neutrality!’ Kerr disappeared inside the Legation.

                Samson spent the rest of the day at the Acropolis, as he had done once before when his mission then looked like failing. This time the therapy did not work. After two hours, during which he found it impossible to concentrate, he was sure he spotted, amongst a gaggle of tourists, Rachel Summers. Although it made no sense, he followed the group at a distance, until the tour was at an end. As the group separated, he approached her: ‘Rachel?’ There was such a quality of sadness in his voice that the woman was not startled at all. She looked sympathetically at the lost soul before her.

                ‘My name is Mary. Can I help you?’

                At that point an older woman intervened: ‘Mary, I’ve told you before … ’

                ‘No, mama, I am quite all right. The gentleman has lost someone. That is right, isn’t it?’ Samson nodded tearfully as the young woman was led away.

                That night he paid his last visit to Patissia Road and left Achilles a message releasing him from his service. The Major wanted nothing more whatsoever to do with Greece.

Monday’s news had all the dramatic quality of the previous days’. The world had gone mad. Germany had occupied Luxembourg and was threatening Belgium, and the Russians had invaded East Prussia. The French were already transporting their army corps across from North Africa while the British Cabinet debated about whether or not to enter the war. However, the item which caught the Major’s attention was one overshadowed by these seemingly greater events. Italy had declared her neutrality. That meant only one thing to Samson: with Italy neutral, under international law, Goeben must depart from Messina within twenty-four hours or risk internment. The prospect of the Triple Alliance navies working in unison was now destroyed. The war was only hours away and already Souchon’s options were narrowing. Rendel was probably right. Souchon would try to disrupt the passage of the Algerian Corps. Even so, just say that this was his intention, and he succeeded — what then? He was trapped in the Mediterranean. There would be no escape through Suez or Gibraltar and, if he needed to take refuge, the only safe course would be to join the Austrian fleet in the Adriatic. However somehow Samson did not believe that a life of enforced inactivity in the Adriatic would suit Admiral Wilhelm Souchon.

                The Major went, after breakfast, to the Athens’ office of Messageries Maritimes to book passage for Constantinople, only to find that Rendel had been right about this also: fearing that the war might suddenly escalate, all sailings had been cancelled for the immediate future. He dare not return to Pera aboard an Austrian Lloyd steamer in case England were to be dragged into the war while he was on board. And all the smaller Greek companies had also suspended operations. That left only the Navigazione General Italiana, now unaffected as a result of the declaration of neutrality; but he had just missed their weekly Sunday sailing and would now have to wait six days. If only he had taken Rendel’s advice and left immediately. There was nothing left now but to return to the Legation and offer his services. He must be able to help in some way; otherwise, what was there for him to do?

                Erskine accepted the situation better than he had hoped. Perhaps the stand-in Minister realized that events were now moving faster than his capacity to deal with them; if so, it was a realization that had come to many over the course of the previous days. The war machine had been designed and was now set in motion, but with no means of stopping it. Past enmities forgotten, the Major busied himself assisting Tommy Cuninghame. The Colonel was content that he was serving his country best by remaining where he was; not so Admiral Kerr. Anxious that if, as expected following Venizelos’ desertion of the Serbs and the King’s avowed declaration, Greece declared her neutrality, he would take no active part in the war, the Admiral had had a heated discussion with Erskine before finally demanding that a request be cabled to London ending the work of the Naval Mission. Erskine relented, as he knew in advance what the answer would be: while there was a chance yet that Greece may eventually participate, Kerr must remain where he was; and so Churchill ordered.

                That afternoon, when Cuninghame had spared him for an hour, Samson found himself drawn to the National Assembly. With difficulty he obtained a seat in the gallery to witness Venizelos’ spirited defence of the indefensible: the abandonment of Serbia. The Premier’s mellifluous voice rose and fell relentlessly during the course of the well-rehearsed set-piece. Strangely, although he could not understand every word, yet Samson found himself able to follow the twisted logic employed, until, eventually, the rhythmic incantation combined with the torpid atmosphere of the afternoon and he felt himself drifting off. He was aroused rudely from his slumber by a violent outbreak of applause as Venizelos, wiping his brow and gracefully acknowledging the captive audience, resumed his seat, his work done. He had made a squalid act appear virtuous. Now, Samson believed, was the time to deflate his monstrous ego by asking him what he knew of the Adramyti Plan. As the ecstatic reception for the speech refused to die away, so the Major’s annoyance increased: were these people blind? They had been carried aloft by debased rhetoric; it was time to send them tumbling to earth once more.

                Samson stood and shouted: ‘What of the Adramyti Plan?’ His voice was drowned out by the continuing tumult. He cupped his hands and shouted anew. At first there was no discernible difference in the level of the sound. Then, commencing with those around him and proceeding as a ripple outwards from there, quiet slowly descended upon the chamber. Heads began to turn. Samson started to speak once more: ‘I said, what of … ’

                He was broken off by a hand placed on his shoulder; turning, he failed to recognize the young man who sought to interrupt him. ‘Now is not the time, Major Samson. Allow the Premier his moment of triumph. You will not receive an answer in this forum. Here, come with me.’ He gently guided Samson out of the gallery. Below, unaware of precisely what had transpired, Venizelos rose again to renewed cheers.

                Outside, the air was less close than in the packed chamber and Samson rested in the shade of a nearby tree. ‘How do you know me?’ he inquired at last.

                ‘We have met before, though only briefly, on one of my visits to your Legation. I am George Melas, the King’s Private Secretary.’ Samson, who prided himself on his memory for faces, still could not place the earnest young man. ‘If you like,’ Melas continued, ‘I will try to get a message delivered to the Premier.’

                ‘Why did you not let me speak?’ asked Samson after an interval.

                ‘It would have served no purpose.’ Across the street Venizelos emerged from the building, surrounded by acolytes, and climbed into a waiting carriage. He looked, to the untrained observer, like one who had faced an onerous challenge and fought manfully to overcome it; a flicker of a smile played on his lips as he acknowledged the cheers. Then the handkerchief was withdrawn once more and he buried his face in it, in seeming relief. Samson, however, saw an accomplished performer who had just played his part with consummate aplomb. His face registered disgust as the carriage slowly moved off.

                ‘He’ll be off now to your Legation I’ll wager,’ ventured Melas, ‘anxious to secure support.’

                ‘And will he get it?’ inquired Samson dejectedly.

                Melas was intent on following the progress of the carriage down Stadium Street. ‘Your Mr Erskine has not the experience of Sir Francis — a pity! If you are feeling better now, I must return to my duties at the Palace.’

That evening, unable to relax, most of the Legation staff retired to the Panhellenion where they chatted in subdued tones until disturbed by the shouting of a newspaper vendor. ‘What’s that?’ inquired Cuninghame, ‘something about England?’

                Rendel purchased a copy and quickly scanned the headline. ‘Grey has made an impassioned speech in the Commons.’ He read the transcript of Grey’s speech out aloud, slowly and solemnly:

“On Sunday I gave the French Ambassador the assurance that, if the German Fleet comes into the Channel or through the North Sea to undertake hostile operations against the French coasts or shipping, the British Fleet will give all the protection in its power … I understand that the German Government would be prepared, if we would pledge ourselves to neutrality, to agree that its fleet would not attack the northern coast of France. That is far too narrow an engagement for us … The French Fleet is now in the Mediterranean (Cheers) and has been for some years concentrated there because of the feeling of confidence and friendship which existed between the two countries. If we are to say nothing at this moment, what is France to do with her Fleet in the Mediterranean? If we say nothing, it may be that the French Fleet is withdrawn from the Mediterranean. We are in the presence of a European conflagration. Can anybody set limits to the consequences which may arise out of it?… If, in a crisis like this, we ran away from our obligations of honour and interest with regard to the Belgian Treaty, I doubt, whatever material force we might have at the end, whether it would be of very much value in face of the respect we should have lost … We have not yet made an engagement to send the  Expeditionary Force out of the country. The mobilization of the Fleet has taken place; that of the Army is taking place, (Loud cheers.) … We cannot issue a proclamation of unconditional neutrality. We must be, and are, prepared for the consequences of having to use all the strength we have at any moment — we know not how soon — to defend ourselves and take our part … ”

                There was silence around the table, punctuated at last by Erskine. ‘That’s it, gentlemen. The game is up. Nothing will keep us out now.’

                ‘And the Greeks?’ inquired Goodhart.

                ‘I believe they will come in,’ ventured Erskine. ‘Mark you, this is my personal feeling only. I know the King is firm on remaining neutral. Monsieur Venizelos, I think, has yet to decide. Turkey holds the key. It is important for the Premier not to fasten upon any quarrel just yet with the Turks, which would put Greece in the wrong.’ Samson thought of his conversation with Kerr earlier, and wondered if Erskine was privy to the Adramyti Plan. Erskine continued: ‘We all know the extent of the German influence at the Porte. No — let the Turks make the first wrong move. That will be his policy. Once that happens, as I am sure it will, he will ask for, and receive, the backing of the Entente. And now gentleman, if you will excuse me, I would like to be with my wife and daughters now.’

                The gathering broke up suddenly, as each member sought solace either privately or in the company of his own family. The Major was the last to leave. He began to walk dispiritedly back to Academy Street. Before he had gone twenty paces he became aware of a presence behind him. He turned abruptly: it was Achilles.

                ‘I got your note, Major.’

                Samson did not understand: ‘But I released you from any further commitment. You are free! If you want my advice, return to Chicago. There are great possibilities in America and you will be safe from the war. In any event you must still be careful — we could be seen.’

                ‘I do not care. So what if we are seen? I am on your side now.’ There was real emotion in his voice.

                ‘This sudden burst of patriotism is most unexpected.’

                ‘Do not mock me, Major. I have good reasons for doing as I do. Maybe you agree with some of them when it suits you, maybe not. But this war changes everything. You should have seen Quadt today — German troops, he proclaims loudly, will be in Paris by the end of the month and in St Petersburg by the end of September.’

                ‘But Germany and France are not yet at war!’

                ‘It is only a question of a few hours.’

                ‘There may be some last-minute development.’

                ‘The war has been decided upon, Major. Maybe as long as a month ago the final decision was made. I do not know. But it is not a time to be alone. Please, come with me to my brother’s house. I want you should meet his wife, Anna, and her children. Stay and eat with us.’

                As they walked along, openly, Achilles provided the Major with two other pieces of information: Professor Georg Karo of the German Archaeological Institute had just left with a large team of “mining engineers” to carry out a new survey of the ruins of Troy. ‘Dardanelles,’ Samson had muttered to himself, although this news was, perhaps, not entirely unexpected. The other news was: Professor Geroulanos had recently returned from Leipzig, to take up his teaching duties once more at the University Medical School.

To the west two sinister shapes sliced through the water that night: grey ships upon a grey sea. On board the battle cruiser Goeben Admiral Souchon, advised by his flag captain to try to get some sleep before dawn, found that the state of calm he expected to experience, having decided upon his course of action, was proving elusive. The action of the Italians in declaring neutrality was perhaps foreseeable; even so, to compound this by refusing adequate facilities in Messina, and by making everything as awkward as possible, was unforgivable. After taking in a small amount of coal of varying quality Souchon had been able to slip quietly out of the port under cover of darkness on the first stage of his mission. His intentions were simple: to harass and delay the transportation of the French army corps, and, to accomplish this, at daybreak the following morning, Goeben would appear off Philippeville and Breslau off Bona on the French North African coast. All French ships lying in the harbours were to be sunk.

                Souchon’s unaccustomed nervous state was the result of a sense he could not define, but which presaged danger. Not the danger to be posed by the puny French shore batteries, but something unexplained; a feeling that decisions were be taken over which he had no control. What he could not have known was that, the previous Sunday, the Turkish Grand Vizier had secretly agreed to the alliance terms proposed by the German Ambassador. And, when he became aware of the signing, Admiral Tirpitz in Berlin had immediately issued an order that Goeben was to set course for Constantinople. Souchon received the unexpected message just two hours before his ships were due to open fire. He could not bring himself to turn his ships around; instead he held to his course and to his intention. Constantinople could wait. That morning the opening shots in the Mediterranean were fired.