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Chapter 32 : War
Each day was something to be survived; to be got through as painlessly as possible. For a while, when every cable brought with it more bad news, time slowed. The Major was conscious of his own movements, almost as if his being had become separated from his physical entity. And throughout was the pervading sense of helplessness, of trying to control forces which could not be controlled. Tuesday, 4 August, was to be the last day of peace for the members of His Britannic Majesty’s Legation in Athens. The first news over the wire that day confirmed the inevitable: Germany and France were now at war. Rendel handed Samson a copy of the cable and offered his opinion: ‘Willie was right yesterday, Major. The game is up for us. With this,’ (he airily waved a hand at the offending piece of paper), ‘coming on top of Grey’s speech yesterday, we cannot stay out. Honour would not allow it.’ Samson had seen too much fighting in the previous two years to be swayed by such considerations. ‘What price do you put on honour, George? How many lives will be forfeited before honour is satiated?’ ‘You misunderstand me, Major. Honour has no price. One does one’s duty and that is all.’ Samson went off to help Tommy Cuninghame. The Military Attaché was, on his own initiative, drawing up a major strategic plan to assist Serbia in her unequal struggle against Austria-Hungary. For the greater part of his term of service in Greece “initiative” and “Cuninghame” had been mutually exclusive terms, and Samson had an idea the War Office preferred matters that way. However Tommy would not be shifted in his belief of the merit of his plan. Assuming that it would eventually become Entente policy to assist the beleaguered Serbs, Tommy proposed an ambitious overland assault from Salonica. In the political divisions evident within the Legation, Tommy and Mark Kerr were firmly in the King’s camp, balanced by Erskine’s and Rendel’s unwavering support for Venizelos. The irony that Tommy was now unwittingly suggesting a scheme which was a major plank of Venizelos’ ambition to entangle Britain and France in his country’s affairs, so as to claim the prize of Smyrna, was not lost on the Major. However, try as he may, Samson found in impossible to cool the Military Attaché’s enthusiasm. Tommy’s consistent refrain of late had been how the King would never permit his country to become embroiled in a fresh war, prompting Samson’s obvious retort that this desire for neutrality was incapable of being squared with granting permission for British and French troops to advance towards Serbia from Greek-held Salonica. Tommy could offer no cogent argument save that His Majesty was bound to accede to the Entente’s wishes in the matter; it would be the right thing to do.
While
Samson grieved at the onset of war that Tuesday, others anticipated the
possibilities which would now be presented. When the telegram arrived from the
Greek Minister in Berlin that afternoon, Mark Kerr was with the King at his
summer retreat in Tatoï, fondly recalling a previous meeting between them when
the course of world events had been set fair. The pine scented air of the
surrounding woods drifted in, reminiscent of peaceful summers past, and neither
wished at first to refer to the latest news. It was with some annoyance that
Constantine greeted the entrance of George Melas. ‘An urgent cable from Berlin, Sir.’ As soon as he had handed the message over, Melas was dismissed. An observer at the door would have noticed that, as soon as his back was turned, the expression on Melas’ face changed. It was the self-satisfied expression of one who has accidentally been admitted into a secret; one who now knows more than he should. Just as he was closing the door behind him, the King called him back: ‘Melas! Does Monsieur Venizelos know the contents of this message?’ The mask descended abruptly; Melas’ eyes narrowed. ‘I could not say, Sir. Although as it has come through Theotokis I believe he would have addressed it to the Foreign Ministry … ’ ‘That will be all.’ Constantine read through the message. As he did so Kerr noticed the profound change in the King’s demeanour: from puzzlement to annoyance to outright anger. “ … Every link between Greece and the German Empire will be broken,” he murmured, as he struggled to absorb the contents. ‘Sir?’ queried Kerr after a time. ‘That fool!’ continued the King, in earnest conversation with himself. ‘What is he telling me this for? What good will it do? I will not submit to threats, I tell you … ’ Constantine placed the dispatch on the desk and gazed out the open window as Kerr tried to read the message from where he was seated. He had almost leaned off the edge of the chair when Constantine turned suddenly to face him: ‘He threatens me, Admiral. My own brother-in-law! What possible use can Greece be to him when he has just secured Turkey’s adherence to his cause? How does he think that Greece and Turkey can fight side by side as allies of Germany? Is he mad?’ Kerr, who had by now perceived the gist of the cable, inquired solicitously: ‘What will you do?’ ‘Sugar the pill, Kerr, sugar the pill! Neutrality is the only option for Greece, as I am sure you agree. Willy must be made to see reason. But first we must wait.’ ‘Wait for what, Sir?’ ‘I don’t trust him, Kerr. I need proof!’ ‘Proof of what?’ Admiral Kerr felt as if his presence in the room was superfluous. Constantine did not answer, but rang for his Private Secretary. ‘Melas, arrange an audience with Herr Quadt immediately.’ The King retrieved the dispatch from the desk, folded the sheet of paper, and placed it in his breast pocket. ‘You will have to excuse me now Kerr. We shall continue the conversation tomorrow, when I have made sure.’ Admiral Kerr hurried back to the British Legation.
News of the British ultimatum to Germany was received late that afternoon: if a satisfactory response was not forthcoming by eleven o’clock in London, Britain would be at war. No-one left the Legation that evening. The sight of Rendel or Goodhart proceeding hurriedly to the cipher room became a familiar one. Samson could no longer concentrate on Cuninghame’s Salonica scheme but watched instead with morbid fascination, as if peering into the works of some monstrous infernal machine. Presently Rendel sought out the Major to show him the intercept of a cable from Admiral Milne to London: ‘This should interest you — it’s about Goeben. It appears that, at dawn this morning, she shelled Philippeville in French North Africa, and was last seen heading west.’ Samson raced for an atlas to locate the port. So, he thought, Souchon had decided to disrupt the transportation of the Algerian Corps; but what was he to do next? Surely an escape through Gibraltar would be an impossible feat, yet where else could he go if he was heading west?. He tried to place himself in Souchon’s position, but this did not help. Samson did not have enough information at his disposal to allow him to make a reasoned guess. He replaced the atlas and walked to the front door of the Legation, a captive of his thoughts; the ornate clock in the entrance hall mocked him, while a strange perfumed smell hung in the air. The Major, feeling disconnected from the events around him, went back towards his old, shared, office. He, like the others, wanted nothing so much now as for it to be the time for the expiration of the ultimatum; they wanted to know the worst. Yet the clocks throughout the Legation stuck resolutely to their routine. A minute was a minute; there were laws governing such things. Rendel approached once more with a cable. ‘Still too early, George, we have a little time left yet,’ Samson noted. ‘Time to ponder our past mistakes, perhaps?’ Rendel handed a sheet of paper across. ‘I don’t know what to make of this one, Major. Apparently, by the purest chance, Goeben and Breslau were intercepted this morning by two of our battle cruisers and chased back to Messina.’ ‘Back to Messina? Surely not! What a galling experience it must have been for Milne, not to have been able to open fire. So, the westward course was a bluff — I should have realized. Souchon is sometimes so obvious that one ignores the obvious because it is too obvious.’ ‘I’m sorry, Major, I don’t follow.’ ‘He must have struck a bargain with the Italians. Would they be so brazen as to flout international law so soon after declaring neutrality? It doesn’t make sense, George. However, we must anticipate that they will coal again in Messina; then what? Another dash west to interfere with the French transports again, or safety in the Adriatic, or … ’ ‘Or?’ ‘Do you know how much coal a battle cruiser consumes daily, George? Tons of the stuff. So, either the ship has to come to the coal, or the coal has to go to the ship.’ ‘I’m too tired for riddles, Major.’ ‘Plok, the German coal merchant at the Piraeus, has a huge stockpile of coal he is keeping for some use … ’ ‘Surely we have covered this territory before,’ protested Rendel. ‘Yes, but I have ascertained that a German collier was due in today. And when she sails Souchon could meet her anywhere: the Aegean or the Levant, to attack the trade routes, or off Alexandria, to intercept the Canal traffic. He becomes a free agent.’
‘Not so free, Major. You obviously haven’t
heard. Venizelos has today placed a prohibition on the sale of coal by private
individuals. Plok may have the coal,
but he cannot now dispose of it!’ Samson leapt to his feet. ‘George, do you own a motor?’ ‘Why, yes, though I don’t have much call … ’ ‘Can I borrow it?’ ‘Do you know how to drive, Major?’ ‘No, but I have seen it done; it can’t be too difficult.’ ‘Perhaps I should come with you?’ Rendel inquired a little too insistently. ‘Where is it you think I am going?’ ‘Piraeus!’ ‘Thank you, George, but your place is here. I would be grateful, however, if you could give me some elementary instruction.’ Rendel’s car, an open tourer, was parked behind the Legation. After a perfunctory examination of the controls the Major set off into the warm, still night watched anxiously, until he disappeared from sight, by Rendel. A final clash of metal upon metal, echoing harshly along Euripides Street, indicated that the Major had yet to master the idiosyncrasies of the clutch. Rendel looked at his pocket-watch: the time limit for the British ultimatum to Germany had just expired.
George Rendel returned early on Wednesday morning to find Samson already at the Legation and his motor parked where it had been the previous day, none the worse for wear. ‘Well?’ he inquired. ‘I told you, George, there is something up. I am convinced of it! Bogados has arrived all right. And there was some activity last night, although there were no signs of loading; but I am sure the attempt will be made. She was riding high in the water. I intend to return tonight to see if she has settled any lower.’ ‘I think Herr Quadt will have something to say about that. He cannot afford to have the prohibition breached by a German citizen; the Greeks must not be allowed to fix upon a quarrel with any German just yet. The best Quadt can hope for is neutrality, but even that would represent a victory of sorts.’ ‘I thought Venizelos was against intervention.’ ‘Against intervention on behalf of Serbia. He will intervene all right — when the prize has become worthwhile.’ ‘George, you’re turning into a cynic.’ ‘I’m not quite as naïve as people make out; though I must say the business about Serbia has removed some scales from my eyes.’ ‘Tell me, George, what do you know of the Adramyti scheme?’
Rendel was about to reply when they were
interrupted by Erskine, who strode in, trying to look forceful, but succeeding
only in looking flustered. ‘Ah, there you are, Rendel. I have a task for you;
an urgent task.’ He was evidently out of breath. ‘I’ve just had an
important interview with the Premier. As soon as I complete my dispatch I would
like you personally to encipher it.’ It was not till late that afternoon when Samson next saw Rendel. ‘The Minister is keeping you busy, George. I wish I could say the same about Tommy. He has finished his plan and wants to put my name to it as well as his own in the hope that it will thereby carry more weight with the War Office. Yet I know it is a hopeless scheme. In any event, he’s been distracted momentarily. A cable has just come through for him from Admiral Milne to report any rumours as to the whereabouts of the German cruisers. We know they are still in Messina, but Milne has evidently decided to take his large ships back towards the French lines of transportation. I fail to see the sense in it myself — if you know where the enemy is, why not blockade him there? But obviously Milne must know what he is doing, though it appears he has as little notion of their next move as we do.’ Samson had added the final comment in the expectation that Rendel would take the bait and make a derisory reference to Plok’s coal. Instead Rendel seemed as if he had not taken in a word the Major had said. The colour had drained from his face. ‘Lionel,’ he responded, eventually, ‘I think you should see this.’ It was the first time that Samson could remember being addressed as “Lionel” by Rendel. The Acting Second Secretary handed him a copy of the dispatch which had just been sent to Sir Edward Grey. “Athens, no. 137 5 August 1914 Indications have recently reached Greek Government from several sources that Germany is pressing Turkey to make common cause with her, and M. Venizelos told me this morning that Greek Minister at Berlin had just learnt from Government circles that military convention has now been concluded with Turkey. His Excellency informed me in confidence that German Government had recently been and still are exercising strongest possible pressure on Greek Government to throw in their lot with Triple Alliance and apparently wish them to attack Servia, or at least allow Bulgaria to do so in order to divert Servian army from Austrian frontier. German Emperor, too, has sent repeated telegrams to King of Greece appealing to family ties, and threatening permanent rupture of personal relations if Greece does not comply. Emperor’s introduction of personal element is deeply resented by Greek Government, and even by the King. German overtures have been firmly declined on the ground of treaty engagements. So far no bait has been offered, but M. Venizelos believes German Minister intends to make a proposal this afternoon. On my urging him to stand firm, his Excellency asked me to assure you that in no circumstances, and no matter how great an inducement might be offered, would Greece range herself against a combination of Powers including Great Britain. When I informed him of state of war with Germany, he expressed the greatest satisfaction, considering that England’s intervention will save Europe from either German or Slav hegemony. His Excellency does not see what inducements could be offered to Turkey unless at expense of Greece, but thinks that possibly Greek Minister may have been deliberately misled by German Government as to convention with Turkey in order to frighten Greece into compliance with their wishes. Erskine”
After he had read it through and handed it back,
Samson looked thoughtfully at Rendel, who spoke first: ‘I think you were right
after all, Major. Souchon is heading
for Constantinople.’ Samson did not reply immediately, prompting Rendel to
inquire: ‘Surely that is the only interpretation which can now be placed upon
matters in the light of this?’ The Major should have been gratified that his supposition seemed about to be proved; instead he bore the look of one whose empty bluff had finally been called. Concern was etched deeply on his face. ‘What of the last paragraph, George. What if it is a trick? We alert Milne to the possibility, he sends his heaviest units to the Aegean to block Souchon’s move, and Souchon promptly doubles back to attack the French once more.’ Samson’s tone betrayed the fact that he was trying to convince himself of a dubious proposition. ‘I see; so you’re going to funk it.’ Samson had not expected this. ‘George, that was beneath you. I merely say that more information is required. Here, give it to me.’ Samson snatched the dispatch back from Rendel’s grasp and went at once to see Erskine. Having moved out of the small office Samson had once shared with Beaumont, Erskine was clearly relishing his temporary posting as Minister in Elliot’s absence. Erskine looked up as the Major entered unannounced: ‘I’m very busy, Major. What is it?’ ‘This dispatch to Sir Edward … ’ Erskine slammed his pen down on the desk. ‘How the deuce did you get hold of that! No, don’t tell me: Rendel. You have just earned him a sharp reprimand, Major.’ ‘I couldn’t care less about your petty discipline,’ Samson shouted. ‘How sure was Venizelos that his Minister in Berlin was duped? How sure?’ Erskine, taken aback at this outburst, answered with sudden meekness: ‘He was fairly sure. Theotokis is impressionable. In any event, we ourselves have heard nothing about any pact. Fitzmaurice …’ ‘Fitzmaurice isn’t in Constantinople any more. What would he be able to hear?’ Erskine had recovered some of his composure. ‘In that case, if there has been an agreement then it is up to Beaumont to pick up the rumours.’ ‘You can’t shift your responsibility that easily.’ This was finally too much for Erskine: ‘I will not be talked to like that Samson. In Sir Francis’ absence I am the Minister. You were not there this morning, Major — I was. Venizelos voiced an opinion which I believe carries weight and with which I, personally, happen to agree. It is a blatant attempt at deception on Berlin’s part which will not work, and you, Major, are again seeing phantoms where none exist. Now, you will return to your duties at once having first asked Rendel to see me immediately.’ Samson screwed up the sheet of paper and threw it disgustedly on the floor. He stormed out of the Minister’s office, with the intention of returning at once to Academy Street to collect his belongings and then catching a steamer to any destination, when he again caught sight of Admiral Kerr, about to leave the building. His anger disappeared almost at once. ‘Admiral!’ he called after him, ‘just the person I’ve been looking for. Have you any more information about the intentions of Goeben?’ ‘You seem very curious about naval affairs,’ Kerr smiled. ‘Perhaps Cuninghame would allow you to be seconded to my staff.’ ‘This is serious, Admiral. I believe she may be heading for Constantinople.’ Samson observed closely the Admiral’s features. If Kerr was surprised by this information, he showed no outward signs of it: ‘What on earth for, Major? That could mean only one thing — internment. No, you are on the wrong track, there.’ ‘Not if Turkey were secretly allied to Germany.’
‘But we would have heard; there would have been
some indication.’ ‘It’s possible they have kept it secret. If only Fitzmaurice were there,’ Samson complained with perhaps too much emphasis. ‘But don’t you see, where else can Souchon go? He’s trapped in the Mediterranean. The French bar his path to the west, the Italians cannot help, and I understand that Milne’s forces will soon conduct a sweep to the east.’ ‘Surely he will re-join the Austrians. That is what I would do in his place. I believe he is back in Messina as we speak?’ Samson nodded. ‘Very well, then. It is only a short distance from there around the heel of Italy and he is in the Adriatic. What bars his passage? Milne’s battle cruisers, from the last reports received here, are on the wrong side of Sicily, and Troubridge’s heavy cruisers patrolling the entrance to the Adriatic are out-gunned and too slow. No, Major, as I say, I think you are way off the beam with this.’ ‘Not you, too?’ Samson spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. ‘How do you mean?’ ‘Erskine had an audience with Venizelos this morning at which he was told that a military convention had been concluded between Germany and Turkey; but he refuses to consider the obvious because Venizelos says it may be a trap.’ ‘And it may well be, Major. I’ll tell you what — come along with me. I am just off to see His Majesty. Perhaps he can throw some light on the subject?’ At the Palace they were met by a breathless George Melas who showed them to the ante-chamber. ‘Have you been running?’ Kerr inquired of the still panting secretary. ‘An urgent errand, Admiral. I do apologize.’ They had reached the door to the King’s room. Kerr motioned to the Major: ‘Just wait here a moment, Samson. I want a quick word with His Majesty and then I will have him call you in.’ Kerr left Samson in Melas’ company; however the Major did not feel like idle conversation with the obsequious Private Secretary, particularly after the incident at the National Assembly. ‘A terrible business for everyone, Mr Samson,’ declared Melas as they waited. ‘Nevertheless, I am sure that the entry of England and France into the war will result in a swift victory for the Entente. Your sea power is unmatched.’ Samson did not answer. ‘Is it, may I inquire, Admiral Souchon’s whereabouts which has brought you here?’ Samson had not expected this and blurted out, ‘Why yes — but what do you know of … ’ before checking himself. Melas continued, as if he had not heard Samson’s interruption. ‘I should not be too concerned Mr Samson. We have just learned that the Italians have decided to interpret the neutrality laws rigorously. They have no choice in the matter, after all. Admiral Souchon has been given twenty-four hours in which to leave Messina. Don’t you see? It means he cannot take on board sufficient coal and therefore he can steam no further than the Adriatic. We have also heard that the Austrian Fleet has just left Pola. The inference is obvious — they are steaming south to come to Souchon’s aid and cover his escape.’ ‘You seem particularly well informed. Can I ask … ’ Admiral Kerr emerged. ‘I’m sorry Samson, the King has asked me to convey his apologies, but time is pressing hard on him and he cannot spare us any further of it. But he has asked me to reassure you that the reports of any secret compact between Germany and Turkey are not to be believed. It sits uneasily with him, but for once he has to agree with his Premier! Shall we return to the Legation?’
There was in fact nothing to be done; he had nothing but his thoughts with which to occupy his time. He walked slowly back along Stadium Street, idly wondering if it was too late to catch Achilles. But what could his informant tell him that he did not already know? He thought then of returning to the Legation, but did not want to face Rendel. He thought of the war, and how it would affect his plan to return to England in September. He thought of Rachel Summers, who he had hoped to see once more, but who had gone on leave with her husband. The dying day mirrored his mood. The light had all but been drained from the sky, leaving only the gas lamps flickering uncertainly to illuminate the way. It was while crossing University Gardens that Samson first experienced the sensation. It was a feeling he could not quite identify, a sixth sense perhaps, that warned him he was in danger. Samson had the uncomfortable thought that he knew something he was not supposed to know, yet he himself did not realize whatever this dangerous knowledge might be. He decided therefore to return first to his room to collect his revolver. While there, he spent half an hour observing casually the entrance to the German Legation. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and no sign of his informant. Growing bored, he locked the door behind him and went to the Panhellenion for dinner. He saw only Goodhart there, but did not want to become involved in any further in Legation business and, other than acknowledging Goodhart’s presence, he dined alone. The advent of a kind of normality convinced him: he had, he could now see, been too inclined to jump to conclusions. It was rare enough for the King and Venizelos to agree on anything, but both were apparently adamant that the ‘convention’ rumour was a German ruse and, if Melas was correct about the Italian action, Souchon would after all have no option but to steam to the Adriatic. He lingered over his coffee, though it was now approaching ten o’clock and he was tired, having been up half the previous night. It was time to return to his room and a sound night’s sleep. As he was leaving the café, Rendel was entering it, after a fourteen hour day. Now that he was acting Second Secretary, Rendel too frequented the Panhellenion: ‘Just leaving, Major? Not off to the Piraeus again, I hope?’ he inquired good naturedly. ‘No, George; the Italians have saved me the trip.’ Rendel looked blankly at the Major, who then wished him good night. The Major’s sleep was disturbed but once. Just before two o’clock he was awoken by a commotion outside. Rising wearily from his bed, he noticed lights on in the German Legation and, reaching for his glasses, was just in time to see a car drive off hurriedly, down Academy Street. Thinking no more of it, he returned to bed. Next morning he found, slipped under his door, a note from Achilles requesting a meeting urgently: his informant would be waiting by the fountain in the University Gardens at one o’clock that afternoon and, if the Major could not make that rendezvous, he would be there again at six o’clock. Samson destroyed the note, wondering, as he did so, why Achilles had not delivered it himself; for surely he would have knocked? Samson did not like the idea of a third party becoming involved in their dealings.
Late on Wednesday night, Admiral Kerr pored over the map spread out before him in his office at the Naval Ministry. He now knew the contents of the Kaiser’s appeal; it was still too early, however, to verify the one piece of information which concerned him directly. He shifted uneasily in his chair, before searching for a pair of compasses. Every extra hour that Souchon was allowed to coal in Messina added a few more miles to his cruising radius. Kerr carefully worked out the approximate distance each additional hour of coaling would allow, based on his knowledge of the battle cruiser’s consumption, and proceeded to inscribe a series of concentric circles radiating out from Messina. If Souchon received the full measure of coal in the allotted twenty-four hours he would have enough to reach the Aegean but not enough to steam for the Dardanelles with a margin for safety. Surely, Kerr reasoned, Souchon would not dare risk being caught, wallowing in the northern Aegean with his bunkers empty and his boilers extinguished? He must make for the Adriatic after his enforced departure from Messina; no other sensible option was available to him. But a nagging doubt persisted. What if Wilhelm were right? If, somehow, Souchon could bring it off? Kerr leaned back: what harm, he thought to himself, could Goeben do if she managed to reach Constantinople? The Turks were not involved in the war and, from what he knew of their navy, would show little inclination to become involved. Even then, who could they fight but the Russians in the Black Sea? For all his attempts to rationalize the situation, he could not erase from his mind the signal which Captain Kennedy, on one of Milne’s battle cruisers, had sent the previous day, when he had made the fortuitous interception: “Enemy in sight.” ‘Enemy in sight,’ he repeated aloud to himself, ‘Enemy in sight.’ The one signal guaranteed to set a sailor’s pulse racing. What was he to do with the King’s confidence? If Souchon did break east, what was he to do?
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