Prohibited by the six-mile limit from entering the Strait of Messina, Admiral Milne put a guard at both exits. As he was convinced that the Goeben would again head west, he himself on his flagship Inflexible, together with the Indefatigable, guarded the exit to the western Mediterranean while only a single light cruiser, the Gloucester, commanded by Captain Howard Kelly, brother of the Dublin’s commander, was sent to patrol the exit to the eastern Mediterranean.* Also because he wanted to concentrate his strength to the west, Admiral Milne sent the Indomitable to coal nearby at Bizerte instead of further east at Malta. Thus none of the three Inflexibles was in a place where it could intercept the Goeben if she went east.
For two days, August 5 and 6, Milne patrolled the waters west of Sicily with the fixed idea that the Goeben intended to break westward. The Admiralty, which likewise could think of no other course for the Goeben but to break through Gibraltar or hole up at Pola, did not disapprove his arrangements.
During these two days, until the evening of August 6, Admiral Souchon was coaling against difficulties at Messina. The Italians were insisting on the laws of neutrality that required him to depart within twenty-four hours of his arrival. The coaling, which had to be done from German merchant steamers whose decks had to be ripped up and railings torn away to permit the transfer, was taking three times as long as usual. While the Admiral argued points of law with the port authorities, every man in his crew was pressed into shoveling coal. Though encouraged by extra beer rations, band music, and patriotic speeches by the officers, the men kept fainting from exertion in the August heat until blackened and sweat-soaked bodies lay all over the ship like so many corpses. By noon on August 6 when 1,500 tons had been taken on, not enough to reach the Dardanelles, no one was left capable of further effort. “With a heavy heart,” Admiral Souchon ordered loading to stop, a rest for all hands, and readiness for departure at five o’clock.
Two messages had reached him at Messina which increased his peril and faced him with a critical decision. Tirpitz’s order to go to Constantinople was suddenly canceled by a telegram saying, “For political reasons entry into Constantinople inadvisable at the present time.” The reversal was caused by divided counsel in Turkey. Enver had given the German ambassador permission for the Goeben and Breslau to pass through the mine fields guarding the Dardanelles. Since their passage would clearly violate the neutrality that Turkey was still publicly maintaining, the Grand Vizier and other ministers insisted the permission must be withdrawn.
Tirpitz’s second message informed Souchon that the Austrians could give no naval help to Germany in the Mediterranean, and left it up to Souchon to decide for himself where to go in the circumstances.
His boilers, Souchon knew, could not give him the speed necessary to run through the heavy enemy screen in a dash for Gibraltar. He rebelled against holing himself up in Pola, dependent on the Austrians. He decided to make for Constantinople regardless of orders to the contrary. His purpose, in his own words, was quite definite: “to force the Turks, even against their will, to spread the war to the Black Sea against their ancient enemy, Russia.”
He ordered steam up for departure at five o’clock. All on board as well as on shore knew the Goeben and Breslau were preparing to run a gauntlet against heavy odds. All day excited Sicilians crowded the quays selling postcards and last souvenirs to “those about to die” and hawked extras headlined “In the Claws of Death,” “Shame or Defeat,” “Voyage to Death or Glory.”
Expecting to be pursued, Admiral Souchon deliberately chose to leave while it was still light so that he might be seen steering northward as if for the Adriatic. When night fell he planned to change course to the southeast and elude pursuit under cover of darkness. As he lacked enough coal for the whole voyage, everything depended on his being able, unseen, to make rendezvous with a collier which had been ordered to meet him off Cape Malea at the southeast corner of Greece.
When the Goeben and Breslau came out of the eastern exit of the Strait of Messina they were immediately seen and followed by the Gloucester, which was patrolling outside. As the Gloucester was a match for the Breslau but could have been knocked out of the sea by the heavy guns of the Goeben at 18,000 yards, she could do no more than keep the enemy in sight until reinforcements came up. Captain Kelly telegraphed position and course to Admiral Milne who, with all three battle cruisers, was still patrolling west of Sicily, and followed to seaward of the Goeben. As darkness fell, toward eight o’clock he changed course to landward in order to keep the Goeben in the light of the moon as it rose on his right. The maneuver brought him within range but did not tempt the Goeben to fire. In the clear night the two dark shapes, dogged by a third, ran steadily northward, their smokestacks, owing to inferior coal taken on at Messina, blotching the moonlit sky with black clouds, which rendered them visible at a long distance.
Admiral Milne, on learning that the Goeben had left Messina by the eastern exit, stayed where he was. He reasoned that if the Goeben continued on her given course she would be intercepted by Admiral Troubridge’s squadron which was watching the Adriatic. If, as he was inclined to believe, her course was a feint and she should turn west after all, his own battle cruiser squadron would intercept her. No other possibility occurred to him. Only one ship, the light cruiser Dublin, was sent east with orders to join Troubridge’s squadron.
Meanwhile Souchon, unable to shake the Gloucester, could not afford to lead a false course any longer if he was to reach the Aegean on his available coal. Shadowed or not he must alter course to the east. At 10:00 P.M. he turned, at the same time jamming the Gloucester’s wave length in the hope of preventing his change of course from being reported. He did not succeed. Captain Kelly’s wireless, signaling the change of course, reached both Milne and Troubridge about midnight. Milne then set out for Malta where he intended to coal and “continue the chase.” It was now up to Troubridge, in whose direction the enemy was coming, to intercept him.
Troubridge had taken up his station at the mouth of the Adriatic under orders to “prevent the Austrians from coming out and the Germans from entering.” From the Goeben’s course it was clear she was heading away from the Adriatic, but he saw that if he steamed south at once he might be able to head her off. Could he, however, hope to engage her on terms offering a valid hope of victory? His squadron consisted of four armored cruisers, Defence, Black Prince, Warrior, and Duke of Edinburgh, each of 14,000 tons, with 9.2-inch guns whose range was considerably less than the range of the Goeben’s 11-inch guns. The Admiralty’s original order, forwarded to him apparently as an instruction by his superior, Admiral Milne, precluded action “against superior forces.” Failing to receive any orders from Milne, Troubridge decided to try to intercept the enemy if he could do it before 6:00 A.M. when the first light of dawn in the east would give him favorable visibility and help to equalize the disadvantage of range. He set off at full speed southward shortly after midnight. Four hours later he changed his mind.
As naval attaché with the Japanese during the Russo-Japanese War, Troubridge had learned respect for the efficiency of long-range fire. Besides enjoying the correct lineage from a great-grandfather who had fought with Nelson at the Nile and a reputation as the “handsomest officer in the Navy in his younger days,” he “believed in seamanship as a soldier of Cromwell believed in the Bible.” Churchill valued him sufficiently to appoint him to the newly created Naval War Staff in 1912. But seamanship and excellence in staff work do not necessarily aid a commander when he faces imminent and deadly combat.
When by 4:00 A.M. Troubridge had not yet found the Goeben, he decided he could no longer hope to engage her under favorable circumstances. He believed that in daylight the Goeben, if intercepted, could stand off outside his range and sink his four cruisers one after another. While she was engaged in this feat of marksmanship and slaughter, he evidently saw little opportunity for any one of his four cruisers and eight destroyers to reach her by gunfire or torpedo. He decided she was a “superior force” w
hich the Admiralty had said he was not to engage. He broke off the chase, so informed Milne by wireless and, after cruising off the island of Zante until 10:00 A.M., still hoping for one of Milne’s battle cruisers to appear, he finally put into the port of Zante preparatory to resuming his watch for the Austrians in the Adriatic. Thus a third opportunity was lost, and the Goeben, carrying her tremendous cargo of fate, steamed on her way.
At 5:30 A.M. Milne, still crediting the Goeben with intent to turn back to the west, signaled Gloucester “gradually to drop astern to avoid capture.” Neither he nor the Admiralty yet thought of the Goeben as a ship in flight, far more anxious to avoid combat than to court it, and exerting all her skills and speed to reach her distant goal. Rather, under the impression of the Philippeville raid and the years of mounting apprehensions of the German Navy, the English thought of her as a corsair ready to turn and pounce and roam the seas as a commerce raider. They expected to bring her to bay one way or another, but their chase lacked an imperative urgency because, always expecting her to turn, they did not realize she was trying to get away to the East—specifically to the Dardanelles. The failure was less naval than political. “I can recall no great sphere of policy about which the British Government was less completely informed than the Turkish,” Churchill admitted ruefully long afterward. The condition was rooted in the Liberals’ fundamental dislike of Turkey.
By now it was full daylight of August 7. Only the Gloucester, ignoring Milne’s signal, was still following the Goeben as, rejoined by the Breslau, she approached the coast of Greece. Admiral Souchon, who could not afford to meet his collier within enemy view, became desperate to shake off his shadow. He ordered the Breslau to drop back in an attempt to ride off the Gloucester by passing back and forth in front of her as if laying mines and by other harassing tactics.
Captain Kelly, still expecting reinforcements, became desperate on his part to delay the Goeben. When the Breslau dropped back to intimidate him, he determined to attack her with intent to force the Goeben to turn around to protect her, regardless of whether she was a “superior force” or not. In true damn-the-torpedoes style he opened fire, which was returned by the Breslau. As expected the Goeben turned and fired too. No hits were scored by anyone. A small Italian passenger steamer en route from Venice to Constantinople, which happened to be passing, witnessed the action. Captain Kelly broke off action against the Breslau and dropped back. Admiral Souchon, who could not afford to spend precious coal on a chase, resumed course. Captain Kelly resumed his shadowing.
For three more hours he held on, keeping the Goeben in sight until Milne signaled imperatively, forbidding him to continue the pursuit beyond Cape Matapan at the tip of Greece. At 4:30 in the afternoon, as the Goeben rounded the Cape to enter the Aegean, the Gloucester at last gave up the chase. Free of surveillance, Admiral Souchon disappeared among the isles of Greece to meet his collier.
Some eight hours later, shortly after midnight, having coaled and made repairs, Admiral Milne with the Inflexible, Indomitable, Indefatigable, and the light cruiser Weymouth left Malta heading east. Proceeding at 12 knots, perhaps because he thought speed at this stage was a waste of coal, his pursuit was unhurried. At two o’clock next afternoon, August 8, when he was about halfway between Malta and Greece, he was brought to a sharp halt by word from the Admiralty that Austria had declared war on England. Unfortunately the word was an error by a clerk who released the prearranged code telegram for hostilities with Austria by mistake. It was enough to make Milne abandon the chase and take up a position where he could not be cut off from Malta by the possible emergence of the Austrian fleet and where he ordered Troubridge’s squadron and the Gloucester to join him. One more opportunity was lost.
They remained concentrated there for nearly twenty-four hours until noon next day when, upon learning from an embarrassed Admiralty that Austria had not declared war after all, Admiral Milne once more resumed the hunt. By this time the Goeben’s trail, since she was last seen entering the Aegean on the afternoon of August 7, was over forty hours old. Trying to decide in what direction to look for her, Admiral Milne, according to his own later account, considered four possible courses the Goeben might take. He still thought she might attempt to escape westward to the Atlantic, or might head south to attack the Suez Canal, or might seek refuge in a Greek port or even attack Salonika—two rather exotic suppositions in view of the fact that Greece was neutral. For some reason he did not credit Admiral Souchon with intent to violate Turkish neutrality; the Dardanelles as a destination did not occur to Admiral Milne any more than it did to the Admiralty at home. His strategy, as he conceived it, was to keep the Goeben bottled up in Aegean “to the north.”
“To the north” was, of course, exactly where Souchon was going, but as the Turks had mined the entrance to the Straits he could not enter without their permission. He could go no further until he had coaled and communicated with Constantinople. His collier, the Bogadir, was waiting in Greek disguise at Cape Malea as ordered. Fearing to be discovered, he ordered it to make for Denusa, an island farther inside the Aegean. Unaware that the British chase had been discontinued, he lay low all during the day of August 8 and crept in to the deserted coast of Denusa only on the morning of the 9th. Here, all day, the Goeben and Breslau coaled while steam was kept up in their boilers so that they might depart on half an hour’s notice. A lookout post was erected on a hilltop to keep watch for the British who were then five hundred miles away keeping watch for the Austrians.
Admiral Souchon did not dare use his wireless to communicate with Constantinople because a signal strong enough to cover the distance would have at the same time betrayed his location to the enemy. He ordered the General, which had followed him from Messina along a more southerly course, to go to Smyrna and from there transmit a message to the German naval attaché in Constantinople: “Indispensable military necessity requires attack upon enemy in Black Sea. Go to any lengths to arrange for me to pass through Straits at once with permission of Turkish Government if possible, without formal approval if necessary.”
All day of the 9th Souchon waited for an answer. At one moment his wireless operators picked up a garbled text, but its meaning could not be deciphered. Night came without a reply. By this time Milne’s squadron, having discovered the Austrian error, was advancing toward the Aegean again. Souchon decided, if no answer came, to force the Dardanelles if necessary. At 3:00 A.M. of August 10 he heard the wireless signals of the British squadron as it entered the Aegean. He could wait no longer. Just then a different series of syncopated buzzes came over the earphones. It was the General, at last, transmitting the Delphic message: “Enter. Demand surrender of forts. Capture pilot.”
Uncertain whether this meant him to make a show of force to save Turkish face or whether he would have to force his way through, Souchon left Denusa at dawn. While all day he steamed north at 18 knots, all day Admiral Milne cruised across the exit of the Aegean to prevent him from coming out. At four that afternoon Souchon sighted Tenedos and the plains of Troy; at five he reached the entrance to the historic and impregnable passageway under the guns of the great fortress of Chanak. With his crew at battle stations and every nerve on board stretched in suspense, he slowly approached. The signal flag, “Send a pilot,” fluttered up his mast.
That morning there arrived at Constantinople the small Italian passenger steamer which had witnessed the Gloucester’s action against the Goeben and Breslau. Among its passengers were the daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren of the American ambassador Mr. Henry Morgenthau. They brought an exciting tale of the boom of guns, puffs of white smoke, and the twisting and maneuvering of faraway ships. The Italian captain had told them that two of the ships were the Goeben and Breslau which had just made their notorious exit from Messina. Mr. Morgenthau, having occasion to meet Ambassador Wangenheim a few hours later, mentioned his daughter’s story, in which Wangenheim displayed “an agitated interest.” Immediately after lunch, accompanied by his Austrian colleague,
he appeared at the American Embassy where the two ambassadors “planted themselves solemnly in chairs” in front of the American lady and “subjected her to a most minute, though very polite, cross-examination .… They would not permit her to leave out a single detail; they wished to know how many shots had been fired, what direction the German ships had taken, what everybody on board had said and so on .… They left the house in almost jubilant mood.”
They had learned that the Goeben and Breslau had escaped the British fleet. It remained to obtain Turkish consent to let them through the Dardanelles. Enver Pasha, who as War Minister controlled the mine fields, was more than willing but he had to play a complicated game vis-à-vis his more nervous colleagues. A member of the German Military Mission was with him that afternoon when another member, Lieutenant Colonel von Kress, was urgently announced. Kress said that the commander at the Chanak reported the Goeben and Breslau requesting permission to enter the Straits and wanted immediate instructions. Enver replied he could not decide without consulting the Grand Vizier. Kress insisted that the fort required an answer at once. Enver sat perfectly silent for several minutes, and then said abruptly, “They are to be allowed to enter.”
Kress and the other officer, who had unconsciously been holding their breaths, found themselves breathing again.
“If the English warships follow them in are they to be fired on?” Kress next asked. Again Enver refused to answer, pleading that the Cabinet must be consulted; but Kress insisted that the fort could not be left without definite instructions.
“Are the English to be fired on or not?” A long pause followed. Finally Enver answered, “Yes.”
At the entrance to the Straits, 150 miles away, a Turkish destroyer put out from shore and approached the Goeben, watched in tense anxiety by every eye on deck. A signal flag fluttered briefly and was recognized as “Follow me.” At nine o’clock that evening, August 10, the Goeben and Breslau entered the Dardanelles, bringing, as long afterward Churchill somberly acknowledged, “more slaughter, more misery and more ruin than has ever before been borne within the compass of a ship.”