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Title: My Secret Service: Vienna, Sophia, Constantinople, Nish, Belgrade, Asia Minor, etc.

Author: Man who dined with the Kaiser

Release date: April 29, 2022 [eBook #67951]
                Most recently updated: August 18, 2022

Language: English

Original publication: United States: George H. Doran Company

Credits: Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY SECRET SERVICE: VIENNA, SOPHIA, CONSTANTINOPLE, NISH, BELGRADE, ASIA MINOR, ETC. ***


MY SECRET SERVICE

BY THE MAN WHO DINED WITH THE KAISER




MY SECRET
SERVICE

VIENNA, SOPHIA, CONSTANTINOPLE,
NISH, BELGRADE, ASIA MINOR, Etc.

BY

THE MAN WHO DINED
WITH THE KAISER

[Illustration: Logo]

NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY




Copyright, 1916,

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




TO

LORD NORTHCLIFFE

IN GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION
OF THE KEEN INTEREST HE
HAS SHOWN IN THESE
ADVENTURES, THIS VOLUME IS
DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I
                                          PAGE
INTRODUCTORY                                19

“Were You Afraid?”--About Myself--War
Finds Me in England--The German
War-Machine--My Travels--The German
Spy System--My Three Journeys--I Become
a Workman at Krupp’s--I Travel in
Chocolate--My Most Important Trip--The
Risks--Proofs--My Reception in England.

CHAPTER II

VIENNA IN WAR TIME                          26

I Set Out for the Enemy Country--The
German Official Mind--Turned Back at the
Frontier--Arrived at Vienna--The Kindly
Hofrat--Hatred of the English--A Subdued
City--Hardships--The Hidden
Scourge--The Toll of War--Austria’s Terrible
Casualties--The Tragic 28th Regiment--“Mr.
Wu” in Vienna--Interned Englishmen.

CHAPTER III

IN THE BALKANS                              48

I Leave Vienna--Gay Bucharest--The
Bandmaster’s Indiscretion--“_À bas les
allemands!_”--Roumania Eager for War--German
Devices--An English Cigarette--A
Terrible Journey--The Spoils of War--The
Wily German--Bulgarian Poverty
Under the Germans--Austrian Satisfaction
over the Serbian Victories--Compulsion in
England--Bulgarian Anxiety about the Attitude
of Greece--The German Language in Bulgaria.

CHAPTER IV

CONSTANTINOPLE                              69

I Leave Sofia--A Valuable Document--The
Change in Adrianople--The Bulgars in
Possession--The Turk Determined to Fight--I
Adopt the Fez--War Pressure--The
Fate of Enemy Subjects--A Way They
Have in Turkey--The Financial Situation--Enver
Goes to Berlin--A Turkish Girl
Clerk--A Quick Change--A City of Darkness.

CHAPTER V

I INTERVIEW ENVER PASHA                     87

Germanising the Turkish War Office--Halil
Bey--Wireless Disguised as a
Circus--Enver Pasha Receives Me--The
Turkish Napoleon--Something of a Dandy--“If
the English Had Only Had the Courage”--“To
Egypt!”--Turkey’s Debt to
Great Britain--Affairs before Manners--A
German Tribute to British Troops--Their
Designs in the Suez Canal--German War
Plans--Where to Kill Germans--The Baghdad
Expedition--German Officers in Mufti.

CHAPTER VI

I VISIT ASIA MINOR                         104

A Remarkable Railway Station--I Leave
for Konia--The Anatolian Railway--How
to Get to Baghdad--Elaborate
Instructions--Necessity for Caution--English
and French Prisoners--Instructing the Turk in
the Arts of Peace--A Noisy Sleeper--Hamburg’s
Hatred of Great Britain--Sops
to Austria and Turkey--Field-Marshal Von
der Goltz--I Return to Constantinople.

CHAPTER VII

CONSTANTINOPLE FROM WITHIN                 120

A City of Maimed and Wounded--I See
the Sultan--Enver’s Popularity--Talaat
Bey the Real Administrator--Gallipoli
Day--Constantinople “Mafficks”--The Return
of the Ten Thousand--How the _Goeben_ and
_Breslau_ Escaped--Their Fateful Arrival at
Constantinople--German Privileges--Mendacities
of the Turkish Press--The Egyptian
Situation--A German Camel Corps--The
Turks a Formidable Factor.

CHAPTER VIII

THE “UNTERSEE” GERMAN                      135

My Kiel Acquaintance--Submarines by
Rail--German Submarines at Constantinople--My
Voyage of Discovery--The Exploit
of U51--Captain von Hersing--German
Hero-Worship--A Daring Feat--A
Modest German!--Von Hersing in
England--The German Naval Officer--His
Opinion of the British Navy--A Regrettable
Incident--Dr. Ledera Imprisoned--I
Encounter an Austrian Spy--He Confides
to Me his Methods--The Carelessness of
British Consuls.

CHAPTER IX

“OUR KAISER IS HERE!”                      152

Getting Out of Constantinople--I Become
Suspicious--I Appeal to Halil Bey--A
Gloomy Apartment--I Visit the Prefecture
of Police--I Join a Military Train--Marvellous
Engineering--A Subtle Device--The
Kaiser at Nish--I See the Two Monarchs--A
Remarkable Stroke of Luck--I
am Invited to the Banquet--Fokker Aeroplanes.

CHAPTER X

THE BANQUET AT NISH                        169

The Banqueting Hall--A Small Gathering--The
Menu--The Kaiser and King Ferdinand--Von
Falkenhayn--An Impressive
Figure--The Kaiser’s Health--His Poor
Appetite--Constant Coughing--King Ferdinand’s
Triumph--The Bulgarian Princes--German
Journalism--A Bombastic Oration--“Hail,
Cæsar!”--The Kaiser’s Unspoken
Reply--The Hour of “The Fox”--The
End of an Historic Function--The
Post Office Closed.

CHAPTER XI

THE BALKAN EXPRESS                         191

Existence of the Balkan-Zug Denied--A
Great Strategical Factor--The Publicity
Train--German Economy--I Join the Balkan-Zug
at Nish--King Ferdinand a Fellow-Passenger--His
Condescension--Excellent
Food--Ruined Belgrade--Arrival at
Buda Pesth--A Tremendous Ovation--Russian
Prisoners at Work--Arrival at
Vienna--Another Tremendous Reception--Remarkable
Punctuality.

CHAPTER XII

FRENCH THOROUGHNESS                        213

I Leave Vienna--I am Ordered Back--I
Risk Proceeding on My Journey--A Friendly
Hungarian Officer--Over the Swiss Frontier--My
Frankness My Undoing--The
French Super-Official--I am Detained
Somewhere in France--My Protests Unavailing--I
am Suspected of the Plague--Left
Behind--_The Daily Mail_ to the Rescue--Profuse
Apologies--I Proceed to
Paris--“You Will Never Convince England”--London
at Last--Rest.

CHAPTER XIII

THE GERMAN MENACE                          229

After Thoughts--The Great Factor--National
Service--False Ideas as to the German
Soldier--The Danger of Under-estimating
Germany’s Resources--Great Britain’s
Helpers--Crush the German--“Wait
Till We Get to England.”




ILLUSTRATIONS

                                        PAGE
VIENNA BREAD TICKET                       38

HALIL BEY’S CARD                         155

MUSIC PROGRAMME AT THE NISH BANQUET      170

MENU AT THE NISH BANQUET                 172

MY TICKET ON THE BALKAN EXPRESS          196




MY SECRET SERVICE




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

     “Were You Afraid?”--About Myself--War Finds Me in England--The
     German War-Machine--My Travels--The German Spy System--My Three
     Journeys--I Become a Workman at Krupp’s--I Travel in Chocolate--My
     Most Important Trip--The Risks--Proofs--My Reception in England.


I am not a spy, that I wish to make abundantly clear; I am a
journalist, and I love my profession. Equally well I love adventure
and sport, the greatest sport in the world, in which the stake is the
player’s life.

“Were you ever afraid?” a young and charming English girl recently
asked me.

“Afraid!” I replied. “Listen! Imagine yourself with two maps next to
your skin, each marked with German submarine bases, military works,
and the like. Then you are interrogated by half-a-dozen German Secret
Service officers. The least hesitation, the slightest faltering in a
reply and, at a motion of the hand two German soldiers take you into
an adjoining room, strip you, and--ten minutes later you are dead.”

The girl blushed: in my earnestness I had forgotten. Yes! I have been
afraid many times; yet, with the gambler’s instinct, I have continued
the game which, sooner or later, will probably end in a little episode
in which the protagonists will be myself and a firing party--somewhere
in the enemy country.

I am a citizen of a neutral country. Those in high places whom it
concerns know all about me, have seen my passports, examined what
remains of my ticket on the Balkan Express with its perforation
“18--1--16,” and can testify from the chain of documents I possess,
from which not a link is missing, that I have actually been where I say
I have.

When war broke out I found myself in England, and I immediately saw in
the terrible struggle great possibilities for myself. I am twenty-six
years of age and speak, besides my native tongue, English, German,
French and Flemish. I had lived in England before the war broke out,
and have learned to love it second only to my own country. I was
anxious to help in the great struggle, and I determined to try and
find out as much as I could about the great German War-Machine. For
twelve months I have been engaged upon this interesting task, visiting
Frankfurt, Hanau, Neuwied, Essen (and other cities in Germany), Vienna,
Buda Pesth, Bucharest, Sofia, Constantinople, Brasso, Rustchouk,
Adrianople, Nish, Belgrade, Konia (Asia Minor), etc. Incidentally,
I have proved that the German spy system is not so perfect as it is
considered by many in this country.

In all I have paid three visits to the enemy countries, each time
using the same name, but following a different trade or profession.
First I was a workman, and crossed the frontier in shamelessly shabby
clothes and with very little impedimenta in the way of luggage. I
professed to be a steel-driller, having had a very slight experience in
that occupation, obtained for the purpose of my visit. In this guise
I penetrated the German Holy of Holies, the famous Krupp factories
at Essen. Here for some days I worked, until it was discovered what
an execrably bad workman I was. Summary and ignominious dismissal
followed, but never did a man take his dismissal less to heart than I.
I had gathered some interesting and valuable information, and had seen
many remarkable things. This was in March, 1915, although the account
was not published until February, 1916, as the Censor prohibited my
story appearing in the press, no doubt for very good reasons.

My next journey was to Constantinople as a commercial traveller
representing a chocolate firm in a neutral country. On this occasion
I interviewed Captain von Hersing, and heard from his own lips the
account of his wonderful journey in a German submarine (U51) from
Wilhelmshaven to Constantinople. I also obtained a great deal of
information which was published at the time. This trip was made in
June, 1915.

My third trip was by far the most successful. This I made as a
journalist, ostensibly on behalf of a leading neutral paper, but
in reality for _The Daily Mail_. It will be readily understood that
these journeys required most careful forethought. It sounds so easy on
paper, but in point of fact it requires much energy, and most careful
and cunning preparation. One mistake, one careless word, and there
is suspicion with, in all probability, a fatal result. I began to
understand what must be the feelings of a soldier going into battle.
When he enlists he thinks of all the dangers in a detached sort of way,
and regrets leaving his dear ones behind, but as soon as he is in the
thick of the fight he forgets all else but the clash of battle; so it
was with me.

On my third journey I knew that at any moment I might be recognised by
one of the countless German spies that seem to spring up everywhere.
I was, however, determined to see the thing through and, once in the
enemy country, my nervousness seemed to vanish.

It must be remembered that no one could undertake such journeys as mine
in war-time without the assistance of prominent and influential men
abroad, and I desire to make what are very inadequate acknowledgments
to many distinguished diplomatists in neutral countries, without whose
invaluable help I could not have crossed the border into Austria, or,
what is far more important, have returned to England.

I quite anticipated that my adventures would be challenged, for they
must seem so extraordinary when read in a country where the German
Secret Service is regarded as absolutely infallible. So far from this
being the case, I have received letters from all sorts of people
congratulating me on my return, and not a word of doubt has been raised
in any quarter. I was prepared to meet scepticism with documents that
no one could refute.

It has also been a source of great gratification to me to know that
my discoveries and the information I have accumulated have been of
assistance to the Allies, with whom I am in entire sympathy. I have
also had the satisfaction of reading in neutral as well as English
newspapers that some of the Kaiser’s most trusted and efficient Secret
Service Agents have been dismissed and _aides-de-camp_ suspended.

I have received at the hands of many distinguished and notable
Englishmen nothing but kindness. They have examined my proofs, not
with suspicion but with the keenest possible interest, and they have
embarrassed me with their congratulations. My invariable reply to these
touching tributes has been that I owe to England much; she has given to
me many friends and shown me great hospitality, and if anything that
I have done can help her in the least degree, I shall always regard
myself as a privileged person.




CHAPTER II

VIENNA IN WAR TIME

     I Set Out for the Enemy Country--The German Official Mind--Turned
     Back at the Frontier--Arrival at Vienna--The Kindly Hofrat--Hatred
     of the English--A Subdued City--Hardships--The Hidden Scourge--The
     Toll of War--Austria’s Terrible Casualties--The Tragic 28th
     Regiment--“Mr. Wu” in Vienna--Interned Englishmen.


It was during the early days of November, 1915, that I conceived the
idea of making another journey to Turkey. From various sources I had
heard that the Germans, in conjunction with the Turks, were preparing
for their great and much-advertised attack upon Egypt. I determined to
find out if they were seriously planning this adventure, or if it were
merely “bluff” for political purposes. My arrangements were carefully
made, because the whole result of an expedition such as this depends
upon the precautions taken at the outset. I first went to a neutral
country where, some years previously, I had worked as a journalist. I
did not find much difficulty in obtaining from the newspaper with which
I had been connected papers and credentials in which it was set forth
that I was acting as the special correspondent of that journal.

After careful consideration, I decided upon the shortest route to
Turkey, which would take me through Germany, Austria, Roumania, and
Bulgaria, and I made my plans accordingly. I failed, however, in my
object. At the town of Emmerich, on the German border, I was informed
by the officials that my papers were unsatisfactory. At first I
was somewhat puzzled, knowing the care that I had taken to procure
everything necessary, but I soon discovered what the trouble really
was. On my passport my name was spelt with an “i,” whereas on my
special correspondent’s card it was spelt with a “y.” I verily believe
that the meticulous mind of the German officials would refuse to admit
the bearer of a passport in which a comma appeared in place of a colon.

I did my utmost to convince the officers that the mistake was
trifling, and that I was a _bona fide_ journalist. After much
discussion and excited expostulation on my part, I was permitted to
travel to Munich; but my papers were taken from me, and I was told that
I must apply for them in that city at the Kommandantur.

Convinced that everything was now satisfactorily arranged, I resumed
my journey. When we reached Düsseldorf I became aware that my name was
being loudly called from the platform. For a moment I was thrilled
with a sudden fear that my association with an English newspaper
had been discovered and that trouble was brewing; but I quickly
recovered myself. When the station-master, a lieutenant, and two
soldiers--nothing less than this imposing display of force would
satisfy the German official mind--presented themselves at the door of
my compartment, I confessed to my identity, and was promptly told that
I must leave the train, and furthermore, that I should not be allowed
to proceed upon my journey until my papers were perfectly in order.
The upshot of this incident was that I was forced to return to the
frontier, all on account of a careless consulate clerk using an “i” for
a “y.”

I considered it far too risky to have the correction made and start
again. I had acquired some knowledge of German official psychology.
Knowing that the Austrian authorities are less difficult than the
German, I decided to return to England and journey through France and
Switzerland into Austria. In Switzerland I obtained a new passport, and
was soon on my way to the Austrian frontier.

On the journey I had some unpleasant meditations. The Austrian
authorities might have been informed of my unsuccessful endeavour to
cross the German border, and as some eight months previously I had
already entered Austria by that same route I now proposed to take,
I found myself hesitating as to the advisability of continuing the
adventure. “Perhaps,” I argued with myself, “it would be advisable to
return to safety.” I soon, however, overcame this trepidation by the
simple process of telling myself that hundreds of thousands of men in
the trenches were facing what I should soon be facing--death. I was a
soldier, I told myself, as indeed I am holding a commission in my own
country as a Reserve officer. Finally, by the time I reached Feldkirch,
I was prepared to face the Austrian officials with a stout heart and a
grim determination to get through at all costs.

With my fellow travellers I was conducted to a large hall where
soldiers, with fixed bayonets, were on guard. To understand my feelings
as I stood there awaiting my turn to be taken before the officers for
interrogation, one must have been in a similar position oneself.

One by one my companions were admitted to the adjoining room, and when
at last my own turn came, I found myself confronting five Austrian
officers, all of whom seemed to have developed that inquisitive state
of mind which seems to exist only in war-time. In Switzerland I had
obtained from the Austrian Ambassador, Baron Gayer, a _laissez
passer_, which was of the greatest possible value to me. After an
unpleasant ten minutes I found that I had passed with honours, having
not only satisfied the officers’ demands for information, but earned
their goodwill to the extent of being wished good luck and a pleasant
journey. An hour later the train left for Vienna, twenty-four hours
distant, through the beautiful Austrian Tyrol. I was, however, too
tired and travel-weary to be much concerned with the beauties of
nature. There was no sleeping accommodation upon the train, and what
rest I had was snatched sitting in an upright position.

On the evening of December 8th, 1915, I arrived in Vienna, where I
decided to stay at the Park Hotel in preference to one of the more
fashionable hotels in the gayer part of the city. I did this with a
deliberate purpose, as the Park Hotel is situated close to the two
railway stations, Sud Bahnhof and Ost Bahnhof. From my point of vantage
I hoped to be able to watch the movements of troops marching to the
stations.

I planned to stay only a short time in Vienna, my real objective being
Turkey, but I particularly wanted to see Belgrade, which possessed for
me a great interest on account of the recent desperate fighting that
had taken place there. I had secured an introduction to a distinguished
official in the Austrian Foreign Office (Ministerium des Aussern) upon
whom it was my first object to call. This important personage, a Hofrat
(the German equivalent, I believe, of the English Privy Councillor),
received me courteously, and without that suspicion that seems to be
the inevitable attribute of the German, listened to my explanation
as to the object of my journey, and very kindly promising me all the
facilities that he had it in his power to grant.

He gave me an introduction to the War Office (K.U.K. Kriegsministerium)
Press Bureau. His letter stated that I was well known to the Foreign
Office, and that all possible facilities should be granted to me on my
journey to the Near East. This letter eventually produced a document
which was of the utmost assistance to me in my subsequent journeyings,
and which I still have in my possession.

As he handed to me the introduction to the Kriegsministerium
Pressbureau, which was to prove for me my open sesame into Turkey, he
remarked: “I am always very careful of giving introductions to the War
Office; you yourself, for instance, might be the biggest spy (grosze
spion) in the world.” I smiled inwardly as I thanked him for his
kindness, and congratulated myself that I had been so fortunate as to
impress favourably a man who possessed so much authority. When I asked
him to furnish me with a passport, enabling me to travel through to
Belgrade, he replied that it was not in his power to do so, but that he
would do what he could to assist me, and that I should hear from him in
due course.

In the meantime I determined to look about the city to discover what
changes had taken place during the eight months that had elapsed
since my previous visit. The first thing I noticed was the increased
hostility on the part of the Viennese towards the English. For this
there were two very obvious reasons: first, the pinch of hunger,
“stomach pressure” as it has been called, the work of the British Navy;
second, the intervention of Italy, the work of British diplomatists.
The Austrian is not so dramatic in his hatreds as the German; but there
is a bitter and burning feeling in his heart against a nation that has
robbed him of most of the luxuries and many of the necessaries of life,
and, in addition, has precipitated him into another war at a time when
his hands were already over full.

Unlike London, Paris, and Constantinople, Vienna is brightly lit at
night; but the atmosphere of gaiety of this gayest of cities no longer
exists. Now it is dull; cafés, which in peace time remained open
all night, are forced to close at 11 p.m.; some, but very few, have
obtained permission to remain open until midnight. There in Vienna, as
everywhere else in the Teutonic war zone, the all-absorbing topic of
conversation was the question of food-supply.

There is a humorous side to the situation; humorous, that is, to the
Allies. The people of Turkey confidently anticipate obtaining supplies
from the Central Powers; whereas the Central Powers are equally
optimistic about Turkey’s ability to supply them with foodstuffs. The
Berlin Press is responsible for the Teutonic error, on account of its
bombastic articles on the advantage of opening up Turkey and Asia Minor
with their vast resources. For one thing this was to produce butter for
Berlin. In Vienna they do not grumble so much as in Berlin about the
shortage of butter; but they bitterly resent the absence of cream. One
of the chief delights of the city is the famous Vienna coffee, with
its foaming crest of whipped cream extending half way down the glass.
During my previous visit this had been easily obtainable, but eight
months of war had resulted in the prohibition of the sale of milk and
cream save for infants, all the rest being used in the manufacture of
explosives. When I learned that I should be forced to drink black
coffee, I felt a momentary grievance against the Allies.

Of the 1,600 taxis that in peace time whirled gay parties about Vienna,
only forty remained, and these are extremely shabby, their tyres having
a very decrepit appearance. With the exception of these forty taxis
all vehicular traffic stops at 11 p.m., and the Viennese ladies, famed
for embonpoint, will long remember the war if only for the amount of
walking that they have had to do.

There is also a great scarcity of petrol, tyres, and glycerine, all
having been requisitioned by the Government. Lard and other fatty
substances used in the preparation of food are of a very inferior
quality. I have good cause to remember this as, for four days, I was
extremely ill on account of the odious stuff used in the cooking of
some food I had eaten.

Curiously enough, I found the bread of a much better quality than
during my previous visit; but there was very little of it, for the
reign of the bread-ticket was not yet over. Meat was scarce and very
expensive. As a rule, I dined at the Restaurant Hartmann, in peace time
a well-known place for good dinners. I found, however, that it had
greatly deteriorated, that the food was far from good and ridiculously
expensive. For a meal consisting of soup, meat and vegetables, with
some fruit, I had to pay eight kronen (a kronen being 10d.), double the
peace price. Some idea of the scarcity of meat may be obtained from the
fact that a single portion of roast beef costs about four kronen (3s.
4d.). I should explain that Hartmann’s is not a place like the Ritz
Hotel, but a middle-class restaurant where in time of peace the prices
are extremely moderate.

That terrible scourge, which seems to follow in the footsteps of
civilisation, has increased alarmingly in Vienna since the outbreak of
war. Soldiers go to the vilest part of the city deliberately inviting
contagion so that they may not be sent to the front. The eyes of
the military authorities have been opened to the seriousness of the
situation, and the men are very seriously punished.


[Illustration:

Niederösterreich.

Tages-Ausweis
über den Verbrauch von

210g Brot

Gültig nur am

---- 1915.

Verkauf nur nach Gewicht gegen
Vorlegung der Ausweiskarte
und Abtrennung eines entsprechenden
Abschnittes zulässig.

Nicht übertragbar!
Sorgfältig aufbewahren!
Nachdruck verboten!

Strafbestimmungen.

Zuwiderhandlurigen werden an dem
Verkäufer wie an dem Käufer mit
Geldstrafen bis zu 5000 K oder mit
Arrest bis zu 6 Monaten geahndet.
Bei einer Verurteilung kann auf den
Verlust einer Gewerbeberechtigung
erkannt werden. Fälschung der Ausweiskarte
wird nach dem Strafgesetze
bestraft.

70g Brot

70g Brot

70g Brot

A VIENNA BREAD-TICKET]


Vienna is full of wounded; in fact, I have never seen a city in which
there were so many. I tried to find out as much as I could about the
number of Austrian wounded throughout the country, but it was extremely
difficult to glean information. In order that the public shall not
be unduly depressed, the wounded are carefully scattered about in
different towns and villages, particularly in Bohemia. Germans have
told me that they have heard the same thing in regard to England, where
hundreds of little Red Cross hospitals were to be found in provincial
towns and villages all over the country!

The German method is also to keep the wounded away from the big
towns as much as possible. The smaller villages are used for Red
Cross stations. When in Frankfurt on one of my former trips I one
day remarked to an old woman, a farmer’s wife with whom I got into
conversation, that I could not understand why there were so few
wounded in a large town such as Frankfurt. “Come and have a look at our
village,” she answered, “we have them in our houses.” I accordingly
went to Andernach, which was the name of the village. She gave me
coffee and war bread, and treated me very kindly. There were six
wounded soldiers in her house, and I learned that there was hardly a
village on the slopes of the Rhine where wounded soldiers were not
billeted to benefit by the invigorating air of the Rhineland hills,
having first been treated in the hospitals. I was told by one of the
wounded soldiers that in a hospital about half-an-hour’s run from
Cologne 180 soldiers were lying disabled.

The Austrian authorities have their own particular methods; they
arrange, for instance, that only a third of the convalescent soldiers
shall be allowed out at the same time. Thus, if there are three hundred
wounded in a hospital who are able to walk, only one hundred are
permitted out at the same time for fresh air and exercise.

The number of blind soldiers is amazing. It was one of the most
terrible sights I saw. Before Italy participated in the war the total
number of Austrian soldiers who had lost their sight was 10,000, now it
is 80,000. I was informed of this by Dr. Robert Otto Steiner, the head
of the largest hospital in Vienna, probably the largest in the world,
the Wiener Allgemeines Krankenhaus, which has 8,000 beds, and 3,000
being occupied by men who have lost their sight.

The reason for this terrible number of blind soldiers is that in the
mountains the troops cannot dig adequate trenches, and the Italian
shells burst against the mountains and send showers of rock-fragments
in all directions. It was with a mournful expression that Dr. Steiner
told me of the 70,000 Austrians blinded within six months. I asked
him what was to happen to these poor fellows after the war, and he
confessed that they presented a problem which seemed beyond the power
of any Government to solve. Whether or not a monument be erected to the
Kaiser in the Sieges-Allée, there will be throughout Europe thousands
of living monuments to his “greatness” in the shape of the blind, the
mad, and the paralysed, who will breathe curses upon the name German
Militarism that has robbed them of nearly all save life itself.

In the course of my wanderings about the city I heard an amusing story
about recruiting in England. It was told me by some Austrian officers,
who were convinced that recruiting in this country had been a success.
Their explanation was that the aristocracy had obtained from the
Government an assurance that they would be retained for home service,
whereas the poor would be sent to the front. Nothing that I heard
showed a greater ignorance of the sporting instinct of the English
gentleman than this grotesque statement, and that in spite of the
ubiquitous Wolff and his wireless war news. Speaking of Wolff reminds
me of a saying among the supporters of the Allies in Constantinople
which runs: “There are lies, there are damned lies, and there are
Wolff’s wireless messages.”

One night I had an interesting conversation with a captain in the
Austrian Polish Legion, whose name is in my possession, but which
in his own interest I refrain from printing. He told me several
things which showed clearly the difficulties which the Germans are
experiencing in combining their vastly varied forces. “I am with
the Austrians now,” he said, “fighting the Russians because of the
comparatively good treatment we Poles received from Austria. After the
war we are promised a Polish Republic. If, however,” he added, “it
comes to fighting for Prussia against the Russians, I for one shall
desert and join Russia.”

It has been known in this country for some months that something had
gone wrong with regard to the Austrian 28th Regiment of the line, the
Prague Regiment, which consists entirely of Bohemians principally drawn
from Prague, who being Slavs hate the Germans. From this officer I
heard the story of the tragic 28th. In the National Museum in Vienna
there are several flags draped in black--they are those of this
ill-fated regiment of Bohemians.

It was the intention of the whole of the regiment to desert to the
Russians, the plot including officers as well as rank and file. One
day, seeing before them what they took to be Russian regiments, the
soldiers threw down their arms and held up their hands in token of
surrender. But the “Russians” were Prussians! The Bohemians were
unaware that the round cap of Russia is practically the same as
that worn in the Prussian armies. The Prussian officers immediately
grasped the situation, and turned machine-guns on the defenceless men,
massacring hundreds of them. The remainder were taken prisoners, and
eventually one out of every five was shot, and of the officers one in
every three was executed. The men who remained were sent to the most
dangerous part of the front, and there are now very few left to tell
the terrible story. The flags in the National Museum are a record of
the disgrace of a regiment whose name no longer appears in the Austrian
Army List.

One thing that struck me in particular was that the most popular
play in Vienna should be the English success, “Mr. Wu.” It was
advertised all over the city, beneath the title in smaller letters
appearing the words “Der Mandarin.” The original title being in heavy
letters, whilst the German title is added in smaller type, it being
evidently considered that the words “Mr. Wu” required some explanation
for Austrian eyes. I was at a loss to account for this anomaly. I
remembered having seen the play several times in London, but this did
not supply any information as to its popularity in an enemy city.

One evening I went to the Neues Wiener Stadtheater, a handsome building
erected since the outbreak of war. The audience was mostly composed of
women, less than a fourth being men. The play was admirably staged,
but I missed Matheson Lang. I soon discovered the reason for its
popularity. An English business man is shown to great disadvantage
beside a Chinaman, and this seemed greatly to please the audience. At
the end of every act the curtain was raised time after time and the
performers loudly applauded.

To me the real tragedy of Vienna is that of the Englishmen of military
age who cannot leave the city. They are well-treated and allowed their
liberty so long as they do not leave the city, which shows how much
milder is the Austrian as compared with the German rule. They are,
however, expected to be within doors by 8 o’clock at night. Notices
have appeared in the papers to the effect that subjects of belligerent
countries are to be freely allowed to use their own language in public
places as long as they do so in a way that is not offensive. The poor
fellows are hungry for news. The last English paper they had seen was
_The Times_ of September 3rd. They speak feelingly of the hated war
bread, but they admit the great improvement in its quality during the
last two months. They spoke well of the Austrian treatment, but for all
this their position is far from enviable. They are in the midst of a
hostile population, knowing nothing of what is actually happening to
their country, and eager to be in the trenches beside their fellow
countrymen.

There was much talk about the Baghdad and Egyptian campaigns, and
also about the depreciation in the value of the kroner, the Austrian
standard coin, which is now worth only half its original value.
Far-seeing men among the Viennese regard this as significant.

Great precautions are taken with regard to people arriving in Vienna
from Hungary. For some time past cholera and the Plague have been
raging in some parts of that country, although very little information
leaks out on account of the severity of the censorship. Occasionally,
however, news comes through that proves the situation to be far from
favourable. For months previously Hungary was the scene of the great
concentration of the German and Austrian armies for the fighting in
the Balkans. The massing of these troops in a comparatively small area
inevitably results in the spread of disease.




CHAPTER III

IN THE BALKANS

     I Leave Vienna--Gay Bucharest--The Bandmaster’s Indiscretion--“_À
     bas les allemands!_”--Roumania Eager for War--German Devices--An
     English Cigarette--A Terrible Journey--The Spoils of War--The Wily
     German--Bulgarian Poverty Under the Germans--Austrian Satisfaction
     over the Serbian Victories--Compulsion in England--Bulgarian
     Anxiety about the Attitude of Greece--The German Language in
     Bulgaria.


At the end of about a fortnight I left Vienna, having received my
passport. I had become convinced of the uselessness of endeavouring
to travel over Serbia to Turkey, and therefore decided to go round by
way of Roumania. As a matter of fact, this was the only course open
to me. By way of Buda Pesth, where the Austrian State Railway ends,
and that of Hungary begins, I went to Brasso, the last station on
Hungarian territory. On my previous journey the frontier station had
been Pre-deal, but this being on Roumanian territory the Austrians
found that they had no power to act in the event of catching spies,
consequently they removed to Brasso. I arrived at Brasso at 5 a.m.,
after a thirty hours’ journey. As the train for Bucharest did not
leave until noon, I had time to look round the delightful little town,
nestling among the Carpathian mountains.

Although small, Brasso is of considerable importance at the present
moment, owing to its being the headquarters of the Austrian army
destined to act against Roumania should difficulties arise. The place
was full of soldiers, foot, horse and artillery, with guns of every
kind and calibre. The civil population seemed to have disappeared
entirely. On the surrounding mountains military manœvres were
everywhere in operation. I was told that there were 80,000 troops
concentrated at Brasso.

It was at Brasso railway station that I first discovered the great
value of the War Office passport I had obtained in Vienna. Without
looking at my luggage, and scarcely glancing at my papers, the
officials allowed me to pass, and I blessed my good friend the
Hofrat. A more miserable journey I have never experienced than that to
Bucharest. All the blinds in the carriages were lowered as a military
precaution, although Roumania is not at war. This circumstance,
however, testifies to the precautions being taken by the Roumanians
against the invasion of their territory. A Roumanian gentleman
travelling in the same carriage assured me that everywhere trenches and
field-works were in course of construction.

The difference between Vienna and Bucharest, “Little Paris,” as it is
called, where I arrived at seven in the evening, is most striking.
The Roumanian capital, always noted for its gaiety, is the Mecca
of pleasure lovers, and so far from the war having diminished this
spirit it seems greatly to have increased it. The population has been
considerably augmented, money is spent and wasted everywhere, cafés
and theatres do a thriving trade, and the number of motor cars and
pair-horse carriages is astonishing considering the smallness of the
city. Now that the export of wheat from Russia to the Central Empires
is no longer possible, Roumania has become the wheat market of the
Balkans. I was told that the third crop of the year had just been
harvested, and every quarter of cereals that can be produced is readily
sold. The result is that money flows everywhere like water.

I look back upon my stay in Bucharest as an oasis of peace in a desert
of danger. The Roumanians are a delightful people, and the Allies
should appreciate how much they owe to the strictly neutral attitude of
Roumania in regard to the war. The Roumanian Government prevented food,
coal, or other necessities from reaching either Austria or Turkey.
Owing to the new Balkan Express, the Roumanian preventive measures do
not now possess its former significance.

The Bulgarian attitude towards the Entente Powers was always a little
difficult to determine; the mass of the Bulgarian people is by no means
cordial to either Germany or Turkey. The politicians most likely
became nervous, and German gold did the rest. Nevertheless, I failed to
find any evidence of Bulgarian affection for Great Britain. The people
in general know hardly anything about this country. There is a vague
remembrance of Gladstone in the minds of the better-educated. About
Germany, however, every Bulgarian knows, thanks to the indefatigable
newspaper work, the German schools, the ubiquitous German kinematograph
exhibition, and the “peaceful penetration” by German bagmen, German
music, and other elements of German Kultur propaganda.

Little Roumania occupies an extraordinary position in the war.
Surrounded by the warring nations, she herself is at peace. There is no
doubt as to her friendly feelings towards the Quadruple Entente.

In Bucharest I stayed at the Hotel Frascati, where I spent four
delightful days entirely free from all anxiety. It was on the second
day of my visit that I received the first evidence of Roumania’s
attitude. In the evening I went to the Casino de Paris, where the
audience formed quite a cosmopolitan crowd. When the band played the
_Marseillaise_ a party of Germans, who had evidently been dining well
rather than judiciously, expressed their feelings by whistling loudly
and making other noises. The audience, however, loudly applauded the
band, and the incident terminated.

Shortly afterwards one of the thick-skinned Teutons offered the
bandmaster a 20 mark note (£1) to play _Die Wacht am Rhein_. The
bandmaster was willing to take the 20 marks, but expressed some doubt
as to whether the musicians would play the required air. Furthermore he
expressed himself as very doubtful as to the effect of the melody upon
the people assembled in the Casino. He eventually overcame alike the
compunction of his band and his own misgivings, but the orchestra had
hardly started before pandemonium broke out. “_À bas les Allemands!_”
and other cries were shouted on every side, with an occasional “_À bas
les bosches!_” and the band came to a sudden stop. The Germans left
the Casino in some haste, to the accompaniment of the hisses of the
audience.

Roumania is all for the Entente Powers, and in particular she is
pro-French. Her especial hatred is for Austria, and in a superlative
degree for Hungary. One evening I went to a kinematograph exhibition
entitled “Under the Yoke of Austria-Hungary,” which depicted the
sufferings of Roumanians living under Austrian rule. At one particular
incident the audience rose to their feet and shrieked “Down with
Austria! Down with Hungary!” These demonstrations are by no means
rare, and they show very clearly the general trend of Roumanian public
opinion.

The whole Roumanian army is eager for war. I reveal no secret in
stating this, for Roumania is overrun with German spies. During
my short stay I came in contact with many Roumanian officers, who
expressed themselves as very dissatisfied with the slowness of the
Entente operations. They are, however, firm believers in the eventual
victory of the Allies, and they assured me that no influence, no
pressure, political or otherwise, could induce them to join with
Germany. They do not appreciate quite all the difficulties with which
the Allies have to deal. Germany has been preparing for this war
for more than a generation; the Triple Entente Powers were taken by
surprise and have been greatly handicapped. This I strove to point out
to my Roumanian acquaintances, urging them to “wait and see.”

I hesitate to offer advice to the British Government; but I wish in the
interests of itself and its Allies that it could be persuaded as to
the necessity--no milder word is suitable--of making known in Roumania
the magnificent work of the British Army and Navy. The instinctive
sympathy of the Roumanians is with the French and Italians; for it must
be remembered that they are a Latin people. Their newspapers publish a
great deal about the French and Italian armies. The Germans have their
own newspapers, printed in the Roumanian tongue. German propaganda and
German gold are to be encountered everywhere, the chief object being to
keep Roumania neutral.

A favourite device with the Germans is to exaggerate every mishap to
the Allies, magnify every success of their own into a great victory,
and above all to point out to Roumania the magnitude of the task that
the Entente Powers have undertaken. When I was in Bucharest the chief
theme of the German newspapers was the Dardanelles. Long accounts of
English defeats appeared in their journals, all lavishly illustrated.
The Roumanian is not devoid of intelligence, and he can fairly well
appraise Prussian character, and he would rather fight to the last man
than share the fate of Belgium, Serbia, or Montenegro; still he cannot
be entirely indifferent to the clever German propaganda.

From the plenty, the music, and the white bread of Bucharest I set out
for Sofia. At Giugiu, the Roumanian frontier-station on the Danube, I
took the ferry across to Rustchouk, in Bulgarian territory. Here I had
to spend a day and night waiting for the train. Rustchouk is a terrible
little place, ankle-deep in mud, and I looked forward with dismay to
the dreary hours I should have to spend in this awful hole. But all
things have their compensations, and I was able to glean some very
interesting information.

On the Danube I noticed four Austrian monitors, which were there, I was
told, to protect the Austrian and Bulgarian cities on the river bank
against Russian attack. I also noticed with the keenest interest huge
quantities of light railway material, mostly rails and sleepers, which
were being brought down by boat and landed at the Bulgarian port on
their way to Turkey. All this material, I was told, is destined for the
campaign against Egypt.

I found the Bulgarian authorities much more difficult than the
Austrian; this I remembered from my previous trip, and I had taken the
precaution of obtaining a special passport at the Bulgarian Legation
in Vienna. Even with this invaluable document in my possession
I experienced considerable difficulty, and was subjected to much
questioning before I was allowed to pass. These unpleasant and
nerve-racking interrogations were dreadful ordeals, to which I never
seemed to be able to accustom myself. Perhaps I was too imaginative,
but the consequences of a possible slip were always before me.

During my first visit to Vienna in war time I had a very unpleasant
experience, showing the necessity for constant care. One day I
encountered in the streets of Vienna a young Englishman I had known
in London, who had not been interned. He gave me a cigarette, and
subsequently came to my hotel. I was promptly challenged for smoking
an English cigarette, which, coupled with the fact that I had some
acquaintance with an Englishman, resulted in my arrest, and I spent
an unpleasant day in an Austrian prison. This little incident, which
involved endless mental strain, shows how necessary it was for me to be
for ever watchful. It must be remembered that my journey occupied some
seven weeks.

As I slopped through the abominably muddy streets of Rustchouk, I
noticed German soldiers and non-commissioned officers everywhere; they
seemed to be in charge of everything, including the port works and all
the military buildings. I discovered that there was a serious shortage
of sugar, and I had to drink my tea and coffee without it. Milk
likewise was unobtainable, and if there is one thing in life above all
others that is necessary to me it is milk and cream. Some one once told
me that I must have been intended for a kitten.

I was obliged to stay in a very dirty hotel that rejoiced in the name
of the Hotel Bristol, where the available accommodation was of the
most primitive description. The bed was so dirty that I gave it up as
a bad job, and slept in two arm-chairs. The next day I left for Sofia,
a journey which occupied twenty hours, largely owing to the shortage
of coal. I have never had a more monotonous train journey. The windows
were painted white, as the suspicious Bulgars are determined that
no one shall learn any military secrets by looking out of the train.
Imagine the monotony of sitting for twenty hours in a small compartment
without a chance of glancing out at the countryside. I had no
newspapers, no cigarettes, and no food. Nothing but the opposite side
of the carriage at which to gaze, or the whited panes of glass with
which to occupy myself, for nearly a day and a night. I passed most of
the time by sleeping in fitful snatches.

At every little station where the train stopped I got out and
endeavoured to purchase food. At one place, to my great joy, I
succeeded in obtaining some stale bread and a piece of chocolate of
obviously pre-war manufacture. I did not dare to drink water for fear
of cholera, and when I eventually arrived in Sofia I was in a state of
collapse and was thankful to get to the “Splendid” Hotel, which lies in
the heart of the city.

There was none of the gaiety of Bucharest about Sofia. For four days
I had forgotten war, but here it was brought once more vividly to
my mind. Swaggering German officers were everywhere; for the German
occupation is firmly established, and nearly as complete as at
Constantinople. There seemed to be no social life, dulness reigning
supreme, and I longed for the brightness and plenty of Bucharest.
Curiously enough, the most striking thing about Sofia is the Turkish
Baths, which have their place in a wonderful new building; they are
considered the finest Turkish Baths in the world.

It was in Sofia that I heard another instance of German thoroughness
and subtilty. When, through the medium of Turkey the Germans were
bribing Arab chiefs to fight against the British, the gifts consisted
not only of money, jewellery and horses, but of Circassian beauties
from the Turkish harems. I had not the pleasure of seeing these ladies
who had the honour of cementing international alliances. In dealing
with the Bulgar the German is equally wily, and magnanimously hands
over to him all the tragic booty dragged from the poor Serbian homes.
Guns, munitions, rifles, household furniture and jewellery, and loot
of every possible description, from little Serbia, was to be found
everywhere in Sofia.

Nor has this system of bribery been without its marked effect, for I
saw everywhere German and Bulgarian officers mixing together and having
a good time, and a good deal of sweethearting was going on between
German soldiers and Bulgarian girls.

In Sofia only black bread is obtainable. Sugar was absolutely
unprocurable, coal was short, but prices were not so high as in
Constantinople. The Bulgarian people, however, are suffering the lot
which seems to follow inevitably in the wake of the German wherever he
goes--shortage of food and other supplies.

I wish that I could have had with me one or two British Cabinet
Ministers; not that they might suffer any harm, or endanger their
valuable lives, but that they might have learned to appreciate the
value of the weapon which they have not yet learned how to use--the
British Navy. One of the most certain ways of shortening the war is to
bring about dissensions, not only in Germany, but among the population
of her subjugated allies--Austria-Hungary, Bulgaria and Turkey--and
this can best be done by what the Germans call “Stomach Pressure.”

There seems to be still a small amount of silver in circulation in
Sofia, but the Bulgars, who have always been poor, are now realising an
unprecedented degree of poverty under their German masters. If properly
emphasised this must, in my opinion, bring about eventual trouble with
the Prussian Bully, who is at present cajoling them with gifts, but
principally with promises.

The conquest of Serbia has unquestionably greatly heartened the
Austrians, who are more anti-Serbian than anti-Russian. Since the war
broke out there have been periods when the Berlin taskmasters found
themselves in some difficulty as to how to maintain the enthusiasm of
their Austrian allies. Upon this I am absolutely convinced, there is
no such difficulty now. It is so many years since unhappy Austria has
had cause to celebrate a victory that the novelty of the sensation
has had a remarkably stimulating effect upon the whole country. Their
history has been a story of retreat and defeat. Prussia crushed them in
a few weeks in 1866, now they begin to regard themselves as the equals
of their overlords. In addition to their new port of Antivari on the
Adriatic, they confidently anticipate securing Venice and Northern
Serbia. For the moment they are intoxicated with victory which they
fondly imagine to be their own, but underneath there is the same hatred
of the Prussian that existed before the war.

The compulsion campaign in England has aroused great interest in
Austria, and has been the cause of innumerable heated arguments in
the thousands of cafés throughout the land. The popular idea that
Englishmen fight only when they are paid to do so, with extra for
battles, has been so assiduously fostered by Berlin propagandists that
it has become almost an article of Austrian faith. It is practically
impossible for them to understand the spirit of the new British
armies, to which men have flocked from all parts of the Empire. In
Vienna, as in other places, I was solemnly assured that the rich would
stay at home and play football, or live in their castles, hunting and
enjoying themselves. Not even eighteen months of war have dispelled the
Austrian belief in English “sportkrankheit” (sport disease).

The day after I arrived in Sofia, I had an interesting talk with two
Bulgarian officers who were staying in the same hotel. They told me of
the retreat of the Franco-British forces from Serbian territory into
Greece. The Bulgarian soldiers liked very much to fight the English,
for the reason that when they defeated them the booty they find is so
considerable. For instance, many of those Bulgarian farmers had never
seen or eaten chocolate in their lives, and were delighted to find,
when the English had to evacuate the camp, that they left behind them
considerable quantities of chocolate and marmalade.

In particular, these Bulgarian officers were keen to know something of
the situation in Greece. As I came from a foreign country they thought
I should be able to tell them much about what Greece was going to do.
After talking with them for a little while I got the impression that
they seemed to fear the participation of Greece in the war. They do
not like the Greeks; in fact, they hate them. There have always been
quarrels between these two countries; but, at the same time, these
Bulgarians were not particularly keen to fight the Greeks just then.
When I asked the reason why, they told me that a great part of the army
had to be ready for eventualities against Roumania and Russia, and that
the rest would not be sufficient to meet the Grecian army with any
chance of success, reinforced as it could be by a large Franco-British
army. I thought to myself, if only the leading Greek statesmen with
their pro-German king could hear this, what a fine opportunity it would
be for Greece to settle her old quarrels with Bulgaria.

One thing struck me very much, that wherever the Germans go a shortage
of food and other things seems to follow on their heels. When I had
visited Bulgaria eight months previously, there was not what one would
call an abundance of food, but there was enough to keep people going.
As soon as the Germans got the Bulgarians to march with them the
scarcity of food began. The first Sugar Ticket had just been issued
when I entered Bulgaria, and I dare say other tickets will soon follow.
People, particularly women, were worrying the officials as to where
these tickets were available, and shouts of all kinds showed abundantly
that the people were very little pleased with the new regulations.
The financial situation as well seems to be hopeless. There is paper
money everywhere. Of silver there is very little, and gold of course is
unknown.

It is a remarkable thing that of all the Balkan countries Bulgaria
is the only one where the German language is known to any extent.
They call themselves proudly “Little Germany,” but to the honour of
the Bulgarians I must say there is a marked difference between the
Bulgarian and the German. He is not brutal, very simple, and extremely
polite, three things of which no German can be accused. The officers go
about with the soldiers in the same way as the French. They are very
simple and unassuming. I saw in the train a Bulgarian captain produce
from his pocket a piece of sausage and start eating it sitting before
us, a thing a German officer would never do.

In most schools previous to the war French was the first language
taught; now they all start with German. All the same, fifty per cent.
of the Bulgarian officers I saw and spoke with completely ignored the
German language, and the only language in which we could make each
other understood was French.




CHAPTER IV

CONSTANTINOPLE

     I Leave Sofia--A Valuable Document--The Change in Adrianople--The
     Bulgars in Possession--The Turk Determined to Fight--I Adopt the
     Fez--War Pressure--The Fate of Enemy Subjects--A Way They Have in
     Turkey--The Financial Situation--Enver Goes to Berlin--A Turkish
     Girl Clerk--A Quick Change--A City of Darkness.


I stayed only a few days in Sofia, and soon continued my journey to
Constantinople. The train left about two in the morning, but as we
were told on the afternoon previous that the train would leave at 11
p.m. that night, we, my fellow passengers and I, were all there at the
railway station at 10 o’clock, and had to wait four hours in a nasty,
dirty-looking waiting room, filled with German soldiers and Bulgarian
soldiers and officers. It was uncomfortably warm in the room. Most of
the Germans were playing cards, and I was longing to get out into the
fresh air, but no one was allowed on to the platform.

My _laissez passer_ from the Bulgarian Minister at Vienna again proved
invaluable, and I found out to my great satisfaction that this paper
would serve me in many ways. As soon as I showed it to the Bulgarian
Commandant I was allowed on the platform. There I found myself, the
special correspondent of an English newspaper, allowed more privileges
than even German civil travellers--a thing that made me smile. Most of
the German soldiers were on the way to Constantinople and Asia Minor,
and some of them told me that they had not seen their homes since the
beginning of the war. They were not complaining, however, as they
seemed to be convinced that the victory would be theirs. They were
well-clothed, and looked well-fed also, and I did not notice any old
Landsturm men. We in this country are too often inclined to believe
that the German man supply is exhausted. The men they send to the
Balkans, however, have by no means the appearance of being the last of
the bunch; in fact, no one could wish for better soldiers, every one
of them being of excellent physique.

When I eventually left Sofia I was faced with a journey of twenty-four
hours, once more with carriage windows painted white; but this time
I had the good fortune to secure sleeping-car accommodation, and I
promptly turned in; there was nothing else to do. We were four in a
sleeping-car compartment. The man opposite to me was a German merchant
on his way to Asia Minor to buy wool, which, as is well known, is one
of the great products of Turkey. He seemed very tired, and did not
respond at all well to my efforts to engage him in conversation. Soon
he was snoring with such earnestness that I had considerable difficulty
in getting to sleep myself.

The next morning we arrived at Adrianople. What a change from the
Adrianople I had seen eight months before! There were no Turkish
soldiers, no Turkish flags, no Turkish lettering at the station.
Bulgarian soldiers were guarding the line, Bulgarian flags were flying
from the railway station, and Bulgarian letters indicated the name of
the place.

During the last few years the Holy City of the Turks has experienced
many vicissitudes. In the first Balkan War it was captured by the
Bulgars, aided by the Serbs. When difficulties arose between the
various members of the Balkan League, owing to the treacherous conduct
of Bulgaria, the Turks retook the town, but their reign was short, and
now they have surrendered it once more to the Bulgars. There was not a
single Turkish soldier to be seen at the railway station, and, to add
to the irony of the situation, the Turks have almost completed a fine
new railway station, which I suppose the Bulgars will presently take
over, allowing a minimum sum as compensation.

As soon as my train drew up at Adrianople, German soldiers rushed into
the different carriages to ask for German newspapers. While I was in
Constantinople I found that the only paper printed in English that was
allowed to be sold was _The Continental Times_, a German propagandist
journal with a very obvious purpose.

It should interest English readers to know that everywhere the Turks
regard themselves as fighting for their very existence. Such being
the case, the Allies must not deceive themselves as to the desperate
character of the resistance which the Turks will continue to offer. All
are convinced that war with the Allies was inevitable, for the reason
that Constantinople had been promised to Russia. A Turkish deputy
“friend” of mine was never tired of harping on this note.

At Lule Burgas there were further interrogations, and once more I
had to go through the ordeal of cross-examination, but thanks to the
personal letter I carried from the Turkish Ambassador in Vienna to
Halil Bey, the Turkish Minister for Foreign Affairs, my difficulties
were soon over. In fact, the officials were very polite, and wished me
a good journey.

Not only has Adrianople become merged in Bulgarian territory, but Lule
Burgas, the station beyond, has also passed into the possession of the
Bulgars. It was not until I was past Lule Burgas that I met the first
Turkish soldiers.

The impression I got of Turkey in Europe was that of a poor and
monotonous country; nowhere did I discover anyone cultivating the
soil, and, with the exception of the miserable little villages that
we passed, it was quite possible to imagine oneself in an uninhabited
country.

It was one o’clock in the morning when I reached Stamboul, the Turkish
part of Constantinople. I went direct to the Pera Palace Hotel, being
conveyed in an old carriage, the only one I found available. Not a
light of any description was to be seen, the town being in utter
darkness. The Pera Palace Hotel is well known to many Englishmen
as being the only good hotel in the place. It is now more than
ever expensive, prices having been greatly increased. I could live
cheaper at the Ritz Hotel in London than in the Pera Palace Hotel in
Constantinople. After a few hours’ sleep, I set out upon an exploration
of the city, which I knew from my previous visit. What a change!

My first precaution was to adopt the fez as a head covering. When in
Rome do as Rome does, is an excellent maxim, more particularly so in
war time. Over and over again I had noticed that some sort of uniform
is the best means of facilitating travel in a country occupied by
soldiery. In Constantinople the fez is almost an introduction. But of
the changes I noticed: bad food, bread-tickets, or rather bread-books,
the bread itself practically uneatable, the hotel swarming with German
officers grumbling bitterly at the fare, and all talking bombastically
of Egypt.

In Constantinople one realises the war pressure better than in any
other of the great capitals in the war zone that I have visited. The
dearth of the necessaries of life has become alarming. None the less
the Germans who swarm the streets, the Government offices, and the
railway trains see to it that they themselves are well fed and well
provided with every requisite. The more I saw of the German side of
the war, the more I realised that the care and attention of the entire
German people is being concentrated on the Army, that, while all the
other Government offices in Constantinople were shabby, as they have
always been, while electric light and gas light exist no longer, the
German-controlled War Office had been entirely redecorated inside and
out, and looks as spick and span as if it were in reality Prussian.

The defenceless subjects of the nations at present fighting the Turks
who are still in Constantinople have to suffer many indignities. It is
disheartening to describe. To my great satisfaction I found that nearly
all the English colony had left before hostilities broke out, but many
French and Belgians remained, also a number of Russians, who for some
reason or other stayed behind. They are in a deplorable condition.
Many of these people before the war belonged to the wealthy classes,
but at present they are poor and dependent. One Belgian with whom I
had become acquainted on my first visit, a very reliable and honest
business man, told me many interesting things.

When war broke out he was living with his wife and three children on
the Asia Minor coast, the other side of the Bosphorus, which must be
considered a suburb of Constantinople. Nearly every business man has
only his office in Constantinople, ninety per cent. of them living on
the Asia Minor coast, which is far more healthy, clean, and agreeable.
This Belgian possessed, besides the house in which he was living, four
other houses, and a farm some 20 miles inland. He was the owner of
a motor car, three carriages, two motor boats, and a number of cows
and horses. The houses he owned were requisitioned by the Turkish
Government for hospital purposes, and they used them for the worst
cases, such as cholera, the Plague, and other dreadful diseases.

My Belgian friend was compelled to leave the house in which he was
living, and seek refuge in a hotel in Constantinople. His own house
was stripped, everything being taken away; his beautiful collection of
rifles, pistols, pictures and furniture was stolen by the soldiers. His
horses, cows, and in fact everything he had was taken away, and not
even a requisition-bond handed to him. The Turks even appropriated his
balance at the bank.

In stripping a man of his possessions, the Turk shows a thoroughness
that would make a German green with envy. The Belgian has become a poor
man who can hardly find food for his children. If it were not for some
subjects of neutral countries, who had known him before the war, he and
his family would be actually starving. The American Ambassador, Mr.
Morgenthau, to whom was entrusted the care of these people, does not
seem to be able to render them much assistance. Not only the Belgian
of whom I have just spoken, but many others, complained to me that
whenever they went to the American Embassy when something had been
stolen from them by the Turks, they were put off with the assurance
that nothing could possibly be done for them.

In all probability the French and British warship commanders
were unaware of the Turkish method of dealing with the question
of compensating the Faithful whose property had been damaged by
bombardment. Whenever a house belonging to a Turk had been demolished
by the French or British shells the property of one of the subjects
of the enemy countries then living in Turkey was confiscated, and the
owner with his family sent to the interior of Asia Minor. All his
belongings were handed over to the Turk whose property had suffered
through the bombardment.

The financial situation in Turkey is of an alarming nature, I found to
my great delight. I myself had never been a real enemy of the Turks. I
considered them a simple, good-hearted race, and in many ways superior
to the inhabitants of the surrounding countries. What I found out
during my last visit has, however, entirely changed my opinion. In
many desirable ways they can claim the honour of equalling their German
masters, but in cruelty, barbarism, and utter unscrupulousness they
now excel even the Germans. No! I am no longer a friend of the Turks.
Especially am I no friend of their Government.

When eight months previously I was in Turkey, I was astonished at the
amount of gold that was in circulation. I had always heard that Turkey
was such a poor country, and I was greatly surprised, when I entered
a bank for the purpose of changing Austrian bank-notes, to find that
I could get as much gold in exchange as I wanted, and I was puzzled,
especially as that gold looked suspiciously new. I afterwards found
that it was part of the gold that Germany had lent, or given, to her
Turkish friend to get her to participate in the war. Gold had also been
given for the purpose of paying requisitions, which were many, for the
Turks as a result of the Balkan War had exhausted nearly all their war
material. I found out that many of those requisitions had, however,
not been paid. In fact, of the new war requisitions not one had been
paid, most of the gold having been peculated by the Turkish officials
in high places. The result was a bitter quarrel with the Germans,
which, however, had been kept secret.

For obvious reasons the Germans refused to send any more gold--they had
none themselves. Some months ago Enver Pasha went to Berlin to try and
settle the affair, and his mission seems to have been successful.

On this visit to Constantinople I found the financial situation
was critical. All the gold had disappeared, and, what is even more
significant, silver was hardly to be obtained either. This is due to
the fact that the new Treasury bonds recently issued by the Turkish
Government are refused in the interior of Turkey, which is where the
farms are situated. The Anatolian farmers promptly refused to accept
paper money in exchange for their products, and the Turkish merchants,
in order to purchase the harvest, etc., were compelled to pay the
farmers in silver money. The result is that there is hardly any silver
left in Constantinople, but there is any amount of it circulating in
the interior of Asia Minor.

The shortage of currency has paralysed the Turkish trade, and therefore
the Government had to think of something. Just a few days before I left
Constantinople I witnessed the appearance of the funniest paper money
I have ever seen. Just imagine the situation. In Turkey, on £1 notes
(the original value of a £1 note is about 17s. or 18s.), even at the
Government offices or State Railways, one has to lose about ten per
cent. in exchange. To meet the shortage of currency the Turks decided
it would be legal to cut a £1 note in half, so when I took my meal one
day in the Tokatlian Restaurant, in the Pera Street, I received my
change in this new fashion. It was a very odd sight to see a man get
his knife out of his pocket and cut the bank-note in half.

It has always been my desire to see a Turkish woman face to face,
unveiled, of course. They seem so mysterious with their covered
faces, and one imagines them much nicer than they really are, on
account of the mysterious way in which they go about. On my previous
visit I had not succeeded in seeing one; this time I was more lucky.
One day I entered the post-office in Stamboul, where no Europeans
live, and went to the Poste Restante box to find if there were any
letters for me. A young girl was answering my questions, and she
was a pretty Oriental-looking creature. At first I took her for one
of the innumerable Jewish or Grecian girls who are to be found in
Constantinople. She spoke the French language very well, and after
I had spoken for a few minutes I asked her if she were Grecian or
Armenian. She answered me at once, “No, I am a Mussulman girl.” “What!”
I exclaimed, “are you Turkish, _real_ Turkish?” “Yes, I am,” she said,
and then went on to tell me that during the last fortnight a few
Mahommedan young girls had entered the Government service, and she told
me that others were to follow. If all Turkish women are as charming as
she was, then a harem must be far more interesting than I thought it
could be.

Several times I had noticed black Turkish troops passing me in the
streets, men of the typical African negro type, and I could not
understand from what part of Turkey they had come. I soon found out,
however, that they were not Turks at all, but French native soldiers
who had been taken prisoners during the Gallipoli campaign. These
soldiers, being Mahommedans, were soon turned into Turkish soldiers.
The Turks treated them well, put them into Turkish uniforms, and now
they fight against the French!

Tall and well-dressed German soldiers were on duty everywhere. A
lot has been written about old men, belonging to the Landsturm, and
boys, being taken prisoners on the Western front, but the Germans
are not sending this class of men to the Near East. Their army in
Constantinople consists of really first-class troops. It has been
stated by the Salonika correspondent of _The Times_ that there are
50,000 troops in Constantinople. That number may have passed through
the city. In my opinion, arrived at after careful calculation, the
number of German soldiers actually in Constantinople may be put down at
about 10,000.

When I was in Constantinople eight months previously there was
comparative gaiety in the city. It is extraordinary to see the
difference that has been made by the absence of electricity and gas.
It has at once closed theatres, cafés, kinemas, and all other places
of amusement. Nearly all the shops are closed. With the cutting off of
the coal supply the whole life of the city has thus been destroyed. In
London there is at least some light, but in Constantinople the only
means of getting about at night is by the aid of electric torches, the
very smallest of which cost me 8s.

The condition of affairs in the city approached famine; the electric
tramway service, as far as the public is concerned, has practically
come to a standstill. I took careful note of the prices of necessaries;
sugar is 5s. a pound, coffee 6s. a pound, and cigarettes have been
advanced by 40 per cent. Anyone who knows Turkey will understand
what this means for a people that smokes practically all day long.
Matches are 3d. a box. The stock of paraffin oil has been exhausted,
likewise that of chocolate, and all cheese, save the horrible Turkish
variety, is no longer procurable. Mutton has advanced 40 per cent. in
price and beef is not to be had. The small Turkish eggs, which used
to cost one farthing each eight months ago, are now twopence each.
Soap is ridiculously expensive, but the Turk does not suffer much in
consequence! There is very little rice, but fish, of course, is as
plentiful as ever, thanks to the unique situation of Constantinople.

Despite all these difficulties and inconveniences, the German
War-Machine seems to move with its customary precision. If the Turkish
citizen goes short of food the German private soldier gets his full
ration every day. This is as it should be, according to the German view.




CHAPTER V

I INTERVIEW ENVER PASHA

     Germanising the Turkish War Office--Halil Bey--Wireless
     Disguised as a Circus--Enver Pasha Receives Me--The Turkish
     Napoleon--Something of a Dandy--“If the English Had Only Had the
     Courage”--“To Egypt!”--Turkey’s Debt to Great Britain--Affairs
     Before Manners--A German Tribute to British Troops--Their Designs
     in the Suez Canal--German War Plans--Where to Kill Germans--The
     Baghdad Expedition--German Officers in Mufti.


The principal object of my visit to Constantinople was to find out from
the Turks what were the German plans. I determined to take the bull
by the horns, and accordingly called at the Turkish Foreign office
to see Halil Bey, the Foreign Minister. It must be remembered that I
was in possession of a personal introduction to him from the Turkish
Ambassador in Vienna. After four unsuccessful attempts, I succeeded
in seeing him by reason of my credentials, which have enabled me to
gather so much valuable information. The Foreign Office, like every
other Government department, is infested with Germans. Halil Bey, who
received me courteously, is a prosperous-looking Turk, who might be
described as fat. He was frankly pro-German.

“What we Turks need,” he remarked, “is German business initiative. We
do not possess it yet. Look what Germany did for Roumania; she has
reorganised her and set her on her feet. Roumania is now rich and
prosperous, and full of enterprise. The Germans are with us only for
the duration of the war,” he added, “and they will help Turkey to
become a wealthy nation. See what they are doing for us in Anatolia.
There we have 200 German non-commissioned officers teaching the people
modern farming.”

I decided that Halil Bey was an optimist, and a very poor student of
history. Also an equally bad judge of German character.

My object in seeking out Halil Bey, however, was not so much to obtain
his own opinions, as to get an introduction to Enver Pasha. I pressed
the Foreign Minister very hard.

“It is my desire,” I said, “to have a few words with the Napoleon of
the Balkans.”

“That,” he replied, “is very difficult. Twenty or thirty Austrian and
German journalists have been here, but the Minister of War has been so
occupied that he has been unable to see any of them; but I will try,”
he added, and taking up the telephone he called up the War Minister,
and had some laughing conversation with him in Turkish, the nature of
which I did not understand. So far as I was concerned, it was obviously
satisfactory, and I was told to go to the War Office on the following
morning, when Enver Pasha would grant me an audience.

The Turkish War Office stands on the top of a hill in the very heart of
Stamboul, the native quarter of the city. It is a huge squat building
surrounded by a railing some five yards high. The hill commands a
magnificent view of Stamboul and the Sea of Marmora; but to a poor
and over-tired journalist, unable to procure a carriage, who has for
half-an-hour toiled laboriously up the hill to reach his goal, the
glories of nature are somewhat discounted.

During my previous visit to Constantinople I had made the acquaintance
of the War Office, then sadly dirty and neglected and typically
Turkish in appearance. Now everything was so changed as to be scarcely
recognisable. Inside and out it had been redecorated. It was obviously
the intention of the Germans that, however neglected the other Turkish
Government buildings might be, the War Office was to be a place that
would impress itself upon the imagination.

Again I was struck by the number of German officers to be seen, albeit
in Turkish uniforms for the most part. They were to be seen everywhere,
and clearly the entire direction of affairs was in their hands.

On my arrival I was ushered into an anteroom, where I spent a few
minutes in conversation with Enver’s German _aide-de-camp_.

As we sat chatting together I recalled an incident that occurred
during my previous visit to the Turkish War Office in May, 1915.
Through one of the windows I had noticed a huge mast belonging to the
great wireless station of Osmanli.

“What do you think of it?” inquired a German lieutenant with whom I had
been conversing. “With that wireless station we can communicate with
Berlin.”

I doubted this at the time, but I have since discovered that the
statement was quite correct. I inquired if it were the wireless from
the _Goeben_, deliberately assuming innocence in order to stimulate the
German to further disclosure.

“Oh, no,” was the reply, “ships do not carry masts of that size. This
one came from Germany.”

“From Germany!” I exclaimed. “But surely Roumania would not allow to
pass a wireless apparatus. That would be a violation of neutrality.”

The officer smiled, a German smile, a smile of superior knowledge.
“Well,” he replied, “as a matter of fact it was not passed as a
wireless apparatus, but I will explain to you the little device that we
used to get it there. We had to think out some plan, as we badly needed
a strong apparatus, so we got it here as a circus!”

I laughed outright, but my companion did not appear to see anything
funny in the incident. It seemed to strike him as clever rather than
humorous--he was a typical German. Humour does not exist where the
needs of the Fatherland are concerned.

Presently an electric bell rang, summoning the _aide-de-camp_, who
conducted me into the War Minister’s presence. My first impression of
Enver Pasha was that he was on very good terms with himself. He is a
small man, standing perhaps some five feet five inches, with coal-black
eyes, black moustache, and generally rather handsome features. He is
about thirty-five years of age, but looks younger, and has obviously
taken great care of himself. On his face was a pleased, contented
expression that never for one moment left it. I could not say whether
this was habitual or whether it was assumed for my special benefit. He
was well-dressed and well-groomed, with something of the dandy about
him; low down on the left breast he wore the Iron Cross of the First
Class. He spoke German perfectly, Halil speaks only French.

Enver smiled as he shook hands with me, not only at my fez, but at
my card which was printed in Turkish characters. There was a merry
twinkle in his eye, and he had an extremely easy manner. It is said
that he models himself, not upon the Great War Lord but upon Napoleon,
even to the extent of riding a white charger. The general impression
in Constantinople was that he has no little conceit of himself. Never
for one moment did he allow me to forget that he was graciously giving
me some of his valuable time. His first act was to produce a big gold
cigarette case, from which he invited me to take a cigarette, having
first carefully selected one himself. He then leaned back comfortably
in his arm-chair and awaited my questions.

To make him talk I asked whether it was true that Great Britain was
prepared to make a separate peace with Turkey, and, if so, what would
be the result of such overtures.

“It is too late,” he replied, smiling. “They may have had that design,
and it might have succeeded; but we learn that the Entente”--or as he
called them jocularly the mal-Entente--“Powers have designs to hand
over Constantinople to Russia, and that compelled us to remain with the
Central Powers.”

Referring to the Gallipoli campaign, he said: “If the English had only
had the courage to rush more ships through the Dardanelles they would
have got to Constantinople, but their delay enabled us thoroughly to
fortify the Peninsula, and in six weeks’ time we had taken down there
over two hundred Austrian Skoda guns.

“But,” he continued, “even had the British ships got to Constantinople
it would not have availed them very much. Our plan was to retire our
army to the surrounding hills and to Asia Minor and leave the city at
their mercy. They would not have destroyed it, and the result would
have been simply an _impasse_. With the Germans we can strike at the
British Empire through the Suez Canal. Our motto is, ‘To Egypt!’”

I told him that in my country we found it extremely difficult to
realise that Turkey was actually at war with England and France, seeing
that but for the efforts of these two countries Turkey would long since
have ceased to exist as a separate kingdom in Europe.

“That is quite correct (sie haben recht),” he replied without pausing
to think. But in the same breath he murmured, “Whatever England did
for Turkey was not dictated out of love, but rather from consideration
for her own interests. England feared the competition of Russia in the
Mediterranean.”

I was a little suspicious of Enver’s complacent attitude, but I believe
he was sincere in what he said to me. I watched him very carefully when
he told me that the sacrifice of a few more ships would have got the
English to Constantinople, and I am convinced that this is his firm
opinion. I could not help thinking of the pity of it all, and that
200,000 casualties might have been saved by a little more enterprise. I
learned that this opinion was general in Constantinople, even in high
diplomatic quarters.

At the end of ten minutes Enver rose and remarked: “You must excuse
me now, I am busy.” He shook hands with me and abruptly left the
room. I was a little surprised at this, but concluded that in his
many responsibilities he had never had the leisure in which to study
manners, and the courtesy due even to a journalist. Had I been English
I could better have understood his attitude; for, some years ago, he
visited England, where he did not receive the attention he expected.
The result was that he returned to Constantinople strongly anti-British.

Enver’s view as to the possibility of Great Britain forcing the
Dardanelles, had they shown a little more vigour and indifference to
the loss of a few ships, I found echoed by the German officers whom I
met both at the Pera Palace and the Continental Hotel, where I stayed
on my return from Asia Minor, only in their case it was more vehemently
expressed. The Turks have no real dislike for the English and none
for the French, although all French words have been removed from the
shop-signs in Constantinople.

German officers, however, were very free in expressing their loathing
of the British, though full of admiration for the fighting capacity
of their soldiers. On every hand I heard the remark that they wished
they had British, Australian and Canadian Tommies to command. The
general view expressed in Constantinople is to the effect that the
united German-Turkish army will destroy the Suez Canal from one end to
the other, if necessary, filling it up with its ancient sand and thus
render it impassable.

“But if you do that,” I remarked to more than one of them, “the British
will merely return to their old route to India _via_ the Cape of Good
Hope.”

Never once did they vouchsafe an answer to this. The German has an
extraordinary capacity for seeing no further than his particular goal.
He is a creature of cries “To Paris!” “To Calais!” “To Warsaw!” “To
Egypt!”; and when he finds himself baulked he forgets his object, just
as a child forgets a toy when something more interesting presents
itself.

One and all, however, admitted that there was no chance of the Germans
getting to Paris. Their contention was--and it must be remembered that
many of them had been fighting in the West--that they had effectually
walled off the English and French armies and rendered them to all
intents and purposes impotent, thus enabling themselves together with
their allies--Austrian, Turkish, Bulgarian, and Arabian--to operate
freely on the Eastern front.

As I have said, my instructions were to find out what were the German
plans in the East. With this object I mingled freely with as many
Germans and Turks as possible. I lost no opportunity of entering into
conversation with anyone who showed the least inclination to converse.
Fortunately I speak French perfectly, and German almost as well. French
enabled me to talk to the Turks, and my German permitted me to “get
close,” as the Americans say, not only to the German soldiers, but to
officers and civilians, who are stationed at, or are passing through,
Constantinople on their way to Asia Minor.

It appears to be part of the German economic plan to turn Turkey into a
great German dependency, and to force the Turk to cultivate the soil,
which in some places is the richest in the world. The true humour of
the situation will develop when the Turk discovers what he has let
himself in for. As to the German military plans, they are, so far as I
could gather, three in number. My own view is that they will attempt
the whole three simultaneously, and then allow them to develop as
fortune may decide. These plans are (1) the Baghdad-Persia-India plan;
(2) the Caucasus plan, with which to tackle the Russians; (3) Egypt
and the Suez Canal plan.

One afternoon a German said to me, “If the English and French only
knew, the proper place to kill Germans is between Nieuport in Belgium
and Mülhausen in Alsace; but owing to their inferior staff work, lack
of munitions, fear of our guns, gas, mines, and machine-guns, they
leave us comparatively quiet in the Western theatre, and enable us to
menace the line of communication to India and the ridiculous Townshend
Expedition, which will never get to Baghdad.”

There is among the German officers a general contempt for the English
and French, particularly the English, staff work. At the Sachim Pasha
Hotel in Stamboul I encountered a pleasant old Turk who spoke French
extremely well. He was the Vali of Baghdad (a sort of Justice of the
Peace, I believe), who had come to report to the Germans the condition
of the English and Turkish forces. What he said was practically a
repetition of what Enver had said to me a few days previously about
Gallipoli: “We were very alarmed when we heard they were coming,” he
remarked, “for our defences were in a bad condition, and we had nothing
but a few old guns. Our spies, however told us that General Townshend’s
force was a small one, and we therefore took courage and held the
English in check until we could get our reinforcements; now, thanks to
Allah, they will never reach our holy city, their relief force is too
late.”

It is not for me to offer advice to the British Government. As I have
said, I love the country just as I hate the Germans, but I wish the
British Ministers could appreciate how often the term “too late,” in
connection with the operations of the Allies, has cropped up during
this journey of mine.

The German authorities in Constantinople were urged by the people at
Baghdad to send every available man there, whereas the immediate wish
of the Turks is to get to the Suez Canal and so regain their fair
province of Egypt and the Nile. Turkish sentiment combined with German
hatred of England may probably precipitate the immediate advance on
the Canal. I have been told frequently since my return to England that
this is impossible, that it is only “bluff.” I remember the same things
being said when Enver Pasha announced, months ago, that the Germans
were coming to relieve Constantinople. My own opinion--which, of
course, may be worth nothing, but it is formed as the result of talking
to scores of Turks and Germans in Constantinople and Asia Minor--is
that unless there be great combined efforts in France by the British
and French, and in the Caucasus by the Russians, the Germans and Turks
may achieve one--at least one--of their three objects, possibly two,
perhaps all three even. The determining factors are the pressure by the
hated British Navy and greater activity in France, Belgium, and Russia.

At four o’clock every afternoon the German officers, who are constantly
arriving from Berlin at the Pera Palace Hotel to receive their
instructions, remove their military clothes and appear in mufti. Here
again we have evidence of German subtlety. No man in the world loves
his uniform as does the German officer, but, as one waggish Bavarian
lieutenant said to me, “We must not give the Turks the impression that
we are a flight of German locusts. We do not want the Galata Bridge to
look like Unter den Linden all the time, so as soon as we have finished
our duty we go about as civilians.” They are wise. Constantinople
already looks quite German enough; that is, to Turkish eyes. There
are German newspapers printed in the city, there are the crews of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ wearing the Turkish fez, and of the submarines,
and swarms of miscellaneous Germans, all with their particular object
in view. These facts in themselves are enough to cause misgiving in the
heart of the most pronouncedly pro-German Turk. My own impression is
that whatever may be the result of the war the Germans are getting such
a hold on the Near East that it will be next to impossible to drive
them out. Money is scarce in Germany, but the Germans seem to have
plenty to spend in Turkey and Asia Minor.




CHAPTER VI

I VISIT ASIA MINOR

     A Remarkable Railway Station--I Leave for Konia--The Anatolian
     Railway--How to Get to Baghdad--Elaborate Instructions--Necessity
     for Caution--English and French Prisoners--Instructing the Turk
     in the Arts of Peace--A Noisy Sleeper--Hamburg’s Hatred of Great
     Britain--Sops to Austria and Turkey--Field-Marshal Von der
     Goltz--I Return to Constantinople.


After I had been nine days in Constantinople I determined to undertake
what I clearly saw would be the most dangerous portion of my journey.
At that time I did not anticipate encountering the Kaiser and his
detective bodyguard at Nish.

I knew that for ordinary civil travellers the Anatolian Railway is
closed, because the whole of Asia Minor is what we call here in “the
War Zone.” After my interview with Enver Pasha, however, I thought
it would not be so difficult to get permission to travel into the
interior of Turkey, and in fact, after two days’ ceaseless effort
and many hours spent in ante-rooms, I was lucky enough to secure the
so much-desired permission. It was stated on my passport in Turkish
characters, under the stamp of the Turkish War Office, that I was to be
allowed to travel in the military zone--in other words, that I could go
into Asia Minor.

I took the ferry boat across the Bosphorus to the Haidar Pasha railway
station, a palatial edifice, the starting place for all the great
German ventures in the East. It has been built quite recently by a
German company, and stands there as a monument of the enterprise and
ability of that astonishing nation. Haidar Pasha itself is a mere
village on the Sea of Marmora, and the station stands out in one of the
most beautiful positions of its kind in the world. The heart of every
patriotic Teuton thrills as he struts about the great hall, and reads
the various notices in his native tongue.

The rest of the world has a good deal to learn from the German
railway station, and this one at Haidar Pasha is an object-lesson in
cleanliness to the Turks. The surrounding country looks poor, all the
houses are small and ill-kept, and the more one looks at the beautiful
station the more obvious is its contrast with its surroundings. It
must be remembered that every Turkish or German soldier going to the
Caucasus, Mesopotamian, or Egyptian front will have to pass through the
station of Haidar Pasha, the terminus of the Anatolian, and in fact all
the Turkish railways in Asia.

My dark complexion, coupled with my habitual wearing of the fez, caused
me to attract less attention than would otherwise have been the case.
I had fortunately struck up a slight acquaintance with Enver Pasha’s
German _aide-de-camp_, and he most kindly obliged me with official
directions of how to get to Baghdad, where to stop, what to pay at the
so-called hotels, and so forth. I can only hope, for his own peace of
mind, that he never reads this book.

This list of instructions is a typical example of German thoroughness,
and is printed in French because, although Germans now swarm in Turkey
and Asia Minor, the only language possible for a visiting traveller in
out of the way places is French--that is, provided he does not know
Turkish.

I regard the document as of such interest that I reproduce it below,
together with a translation.


     BULLETIN DES RENSEIGNEMENTS

     sur le voyage de Haidar-Pacha à Rees-el-Ain.

     1. Départ de Haidar-Pacha, arrivée le soir à Eski-Chehir; Hôtel
     Tadia (Mme. Tadia).

     2. Départ d’Eski-Chehir, arrivée à Konia; Hôtel de la Gare
     construit par la Société (Mme. Soulié).

     3. Départ de Konia, arrivée à Bozanti. Il n’y a à Bozanti qu’un
     simple han.

     4. Trajet en voiture de Bozanti à Tarsus, 70 kilom. en 10 à 12
     heures sur bonne chaussée. Les voitures doivent être commandées
     d’avance au Handji de Bozanti ou à Tarsus, si l’on veut poursuivre
     le voyage sans arrêt à Bozanti. Prix des voitures, de Ltqs 2
     à 5 suivant les circonstances. Entre Bozanti et Tarsus il y a
     plusieurs Khans où l’on peut à la rigueur passer la nuit: Sary
     Cheih, Mezarolouk, Yéni-Han. Il se recommande d’emmener son lit
     de camp et de se pourvoir d’approvisionnements et de boissons
     suffisants.

     5. Tarsus, environ ¾ d’heure avant d’y arriver on traverse la
     ligne du M.T.A. à la Halte de Kulek-Bognaz; à Tarsus 3 hôtels:
     Sérai Hotelli, Osmanli, et Stamboul (10 p. par lit), en outre
     restaurant “Bélédie.”

     6. Départ de Tarsus, arrivée à Mamouré. Mamouré n’est qu’une
     station d’étape militaire. Aucun hôtel ni han. Les voyageurs qui
     n’ont pas de tente à leur disposition peuvent passer la nuit
     chez de simples cafedjis, où ils trouvent quelques vivres, mais
     où ils ne peuvent obtenir de lits. Il est donc préférable pour
     les voyageurs non munis de tente et de lit de camp de s’arrêter
     à Osmanié pour y passer la nuit. Hôtels: Ismyr et Ahmed (5 p.
     par lit). Les tenanciers de ces hôtels procurent les voitures
     nécessaires pour le voyage à Radjou. Prix des voitures 2 à 5 Ltqs.
     suivant les circonstances.

     7. Trajet en voiture d’Osmanié à Radjou. Environ 110 kil. en 2
     jours sur route carrossable, qui est une pendant la bonne saison:
     ler jour; par Hassan bey et le col de l’Amanus à Entilli (environ
     50 kil.); à Entilli point d’hôtels, rien que de simples cafedjis.
     Les voyageurs peuvent aussi passer la première nuit à Islahié à
     environ 12 kilom. d’Entilli; à Entilli, siège d’un caza, bureau
     d’étape militaire, plusieurs Hans avec des lits (10 p. per lit.)
     2ème jour: de Entilli resp. Islahié à Radjou (6O resp. 48 kil.); à
     Radjoué ni hôtel ni hans; rien que des cafedjis.

     8. De Radjou à Halep: le même jour (différents hôtels).

     9. De Halep à Rees-el-Ain (le même jour). Siège d’un caza.
     Quelques Hans sans lits; rien que des cafedjis.

     10. De Rees-el-Ain à Bagdad. Trajet qui s’offectue en 10 à 12
     jours.

     Recommandations spéciales: Lit de camp ou matelas indispensable.
     Il se recommande d’emmener aussi une tente. Malles doivent être
     de construction très solide et ne doivent pas excéder le poids
     de 60 kilogrs. par pièce. Au lieu de malles on peut prendre des
     valises ou des sacs de voyage. Le transport usuel se fait par
     voiture “Yaili,” qui est toujours préférable au voyage par cheval.
     Se munir de vêtements chauds pour la nuit et d’approvisionnements
     et de boissons suffisants. Ne pas oublier une petite pharmacie
     de campagne. L’eau qu’on trouve en cours de route est souvent
     nuisible à la santé.


[_Translation._]


     DIRECTIONS

     For the journey from Haidar Pasha to Ras-el-Ain.

     1. Leave Haidar Pasha, arrive in evening at Eskishehr; Hotel
     Tadia, Mme. Tadia.

     2. Leave Eskishehr, arrive Konia; Station Hotel built by the
     company, Mme. Sulieh.

     3. Leave Konia, arrive Bozanti; only a simple inn.

     4. By carriage or car, Bozanti to Tarsus, 44 miles in ten or
     twelve hours on good road. Vehicles should be ordered beforehand
     from Handji of Bozanti or at Tarsus if you wish to avoid delay
     at Bozanti. Fare £T2 to £T5 (£T1 nominally 17s. 6d. to 18s.),
     according to circumstances. Between Bozanti and Tarsus several
     inns to sleep at in emergency; Sary Cheih, Mezarolukl, Yeni-Han.
     Better take a camp bed and enough food and drink.

     5. Tarsus, about three-quarters of an hour before arrival, cross
     the Tarsus-Aleppo line at the Halt Kulek-Boghaz. Three hotels at
     Tarsus: Serai, Osmanli, and Stambul, 10 piastres (1s. 8d.) a bed.
     Also a restaurant Beledieh.

     6. Leave Tarsus, arrive Mamureh. This only a military post. No
     hotel or inn. Travellers without a tent may pass the night in the
     cafés, where they can get food, but no beds. Better if you have no
     tent or bed to stop at Osmanieh. Hotels Ismyr, Ahmed, 5 piastres
     (10d.) a bed. The hotel proprietors can get vehicles for the
     journey to Radju. Fares, £T2 to £T5, according to circumstances.

     7. Journey by car or carriage, Osmanieh to Radju, about 70 miles
     in two days on a drivable road, which is good in the good season.

     1st day: Hassan Bey and Pass of Amanus to Entilli, about 32
     miles. At Entilli no hotels, only simple cafés. You can pass the
     first night at Islahieh, about 7½ miles from Entilli. Entilli
     district headquarters, military post, several inns with beds; 10
     piastres a bed.

     2nd day: Entilli (or Islahieh) to Radju, 38 (or 31½) miles.
     Radju, no hotels or inns, only cafés.

     8. Radju to Aleppo same day. Various hotels.

     9. Aleppo to Ras-el-Ain same day. District headquarters. Several
     inns without beds, only cafés.

     10. Ras-el-Ain to Baghdad. Journey can be done in 10 to 12 days.

     Special advice: Camp bed or mattress indispensable. Advisable
     to take a tent. Trunks ought to be strongly made and weigh not
     over 120 lbs. each. Instead of trunks you may take bags or suit
     cases. The usual way is by the vehicle Yaili, always preferable to
     horseback. Get warm clothes for night and enough food and drink.
     Don’t forget a little medicine chest. It is often risky to drink
     the water found on the way.


There is naturally far less danger of Secret Service officers in a
crowded city than in small towns. In Constantinople I was but one of
thousands of strangers passing to and fro, and that at a time of great
change in the history of the Turkish capital. The arrival, however,
of a stranger in a village sets every local busybody talking and
speculating as to where he has come from and why he has come. And this
brings him into conflict with, or at least under the suspicion of,
some blundering minor official. Quite possibly this person, zealous in
his desire to show his authority and his patriotism, may, by virtue
of his blundering, stumble across something that his superiors have
quite overlooked. Such a thing had happened to me already on a previous
occasion.

I therefore determined to be more than ever careful, and to leave
nothing whatever to chance. I was desirous of getting as far as
possible along the Baghdad Railway, not only to examine the line
itself, but to talk to the passengers _en route_. People of strange
countries become companionable, and I have often found that there is
more to be learned in a railway carriage during a comparatively short
journey, than from a long stay in a city. There is a bond of sympathy
between travellers, just as there is between smokers, that causes them
after a few hours, sometimes even after only a few minutes, to become
communicative. I wanted to get to Aleppo, but I came to the conclusion
that I should probably never return if I penetrated too far on the road
to Baghdad.

The train for Eski-Shehr, which is the junction for the Caucasian
Railway, _via_ Angora, left at four in the afternoon. Turkish soldiers
on their way to the Caucasian front to fight the Russians go by rail
only as far as Angora, the rest of the journey being made on foot.
The roads are terribly bad, but the Turkish soldier philosophically
overcomes all the difficulties he encounters, for he is justly famous
for his stout heart and his capacity to endure hardships of every
description.

In Angora, I believe, the English prisoners are confined. I have no
evidence of this beyond a chance remark I heard whilst waiting for the
train at Eski-Shehr. I know for a fact that French prisoners are in
Angora. Later, at Konia, I saw some 300 French prisoners, deplorably
neglected, I regret to say, with little food, and dying like flies.
The insanitary condition of that camp was beyond description. The
Turks are perhaps not naturally cruel, or, at least, they confine
their atrocities to Armenia. They have their own particular views as
regards prisoners in general. Turkish prisoners in Turkish prisons
are not well treated. After all, a prisoner is not a very important
factor in the Turkish mind, and it should be remembered that the food
shortage extends throughout the whole area of German operations, always
excepting the German soldier himself. Even at the beautiful station of
Haidar Pasha I could not get a mouthful of bread or even a biscuit. The
only refreshment obtainable was unlimited German beer, produced by a
local German brewery.

The journey to Eski-Shehr was pleasant, although the trains were slow
and stopped for a considerable time at each station. There are no
express trains on the Baghdad Railway. There was, however, no paint on
the windows of the carriages, for which I was devoutly thankful, and
the carriages themselves were quite comfortable. As we sped along I
was much struck by the number of German non-commissioned officers that
I saw working and cultivating the land, which between Constantinople
and Konia is for the most part fertile, in co-operation with the
Turkish farmers. It was explained to me that more than 200 of these
non-commissioned officers had been sent to Turkey with the sole purpose
of teaching the Turkish farmers how to cultivate their ground. This,
again, is typical of German methods, but it has another significance.
If Berlin did not believe in the good faith of the Turks, and were not
convinced that Germany will remain the unofficial masters of Turkey,
all this trouble would certainly not be taken to instruct the people of
Asia Minor in the art of agriculture. There is nothing philanthropic
about the Germans.

All along the route until Konia was reached I saw these German
non-commissioned officers, and whenever the train stopped some of them
rushed up to the carriages asking for German newspapers, believing that
all the passengers came from the Fatherland, as, indeed, some of them
had.

My fellow-passengers were typical of the German invasion of the East.
There were among them two merchants from Hamburg, going to bring back
Persian products. They talked particularly about copper. At the hotel
in Konia I had to sleep in the same room with one of them, and I was
desperately afraid lest I might talk in my sleep, and, indeed, when a
Turk came to awaken me in the morning I inadvertently called out, “Come
in.” The good Hamburger was lying flat on his back, sleeping noisily,
and I thanked the good luck that seemed to protect me for sending me as
a companion one who was so hearty a sleeper. That Hamburger impressed
upon me in no uncertain manner the meaning of sea power. The British
are not actually popular in Berlin, as is well known; but the feelings
of Berliners are mild and gentle in comparison with those of the
inhabitants of the desolated port of Hamburg.

I have seen it stated in the English newspapers that supplies are
getting into Germany in spite of the British Fleet, and there are many
evidences of this fact in Germany. On the other hand, however, these
supplies have to meet the consumptive power of some seventy millions
of people. A little, too, is doled out now and then to the Austrians,
as if to keep them quiet, but it is very little, and I suppose that
even the Turkish officials get a small percentage for the same purpose.
The balance goes to the German Army, for that must never be short of
anything. It is obvious that if you must be a German, the wisest thing
is to be a German soldier.

I have seen it stated that von Mackensen will take charge of the
Turkish-German forces at Aleppo, the place from which the expedition to
the Suez Canal will start. At present Djamil Pasha, formerly Turkish
Minister of Marine, is in command. Travellers who had come from Aleppo
told me that the combined German and Turkish forces there numbered
80,000, but I am not in a position to guarantee the accuracy of these
figures. What I do know is that there is everywhere an air of general
activity and preparation. Long trains full of new railway and telegraph
material, rails, small bridges, and numbers of locomotives are to be
encountered everywhere. The plodding, persistent Prussian is prodding
his Turkish slaves into such action as has never before been known
to them. It is incredible that those in high places among the Turks
can conceive it possible that they will ever be able to shake off the
German yoke. There is to be seen _en route_ a great amount of light
railway rolling stock, and I was assured that it was intended for the
construction of the railway that will cross the desert to bring the
Turkish-German armies face to face with the British on the Canal.

Field-Marshal von der Goltz is at Baghdad. He is one of the
oldest German generals with one of the youngest German staffs. At
Constantinople they say that the old man is merely a figure head, but
he is extremely popular with the young men about him.

At Konia, for reasons that I cannot explain, I thought it advisable to
run no further risk, and so I returned to Constantinople. It was very
fortunate for me that I did so, otherwise I might have missed the
Banquet at Nish, and I should not have earned the name of “The Man who
Dined With the Kaiser.”




CHAPTER VII

CONSTANTINOPLE FROM WITHIN

     A City of Maimed and Wounded--I See the Sultan--Enver’s
     Popularity--Talaat Bey the Real Administrator--Gallipoli
     Day--Constantinople “Mafficks”--The Return of the Ten
     Thousand--How the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ Escaped--Their Fateful
     Arrival at Constantinople--German Privileges--Mendacities of the
     Turkish Press--The Egyptian Situation--A German Camel Corps--The
     Turks a Formidable Factor.


To me Constantinople seemed to be a city of maimed and wounded. One
morning I strolled out of my hotel, intending to take a carriage to
Stamboul, one of those strange vehicles drawn by two lean but vigorous
horses that still remain on the streets for hire. From twenty-five to
thirty carriages passed me as I stood vainly endeavouring to persuade
one of the drivers to pull up. They took not the slightest notice of my
gesticulations, but continued precipitately on their way. I was curious
to know the reason for this, and on my return to the hotel I inquired
of the porter. He informed me that the carriages were going to the
Bosphorus to take up the wounded arriving from different battlefields.
“After what you have told me,” I remarked, “I shall be afraid of using
a carriage in Constantinople.” But shaking his head, the porter replied
dispassionately, “Do not be afraid. By order of the Germans, every one
of these carriages must be disinfected after use.” “The East is the
East and the West is the West,” I meditated as I passed into the hotel.
It would be interesting to have the frank opinion of the highly-placed
Turk upon the “thoroughness” of their German allies.

I very soon discovered that every big building in the city had been
turned into a hospital, one of the biggest being the Lyceum. All the
beautiful houses belonging to the wealthy English and French residents,
which overlook the Bosphorus, have been commandeered for the Red
Crescent, the occupants being obliged under Turkish war regulations to
live in hotels.

The Sultan is a mere figure-head, as is well known. One Friday I saw
him walking from his palace to a mosque a little distance away--he
has given up taking the longer journey to the Aya Sofia for fear of
assassination--and his fat, heavy appearance suggested to me that
the Turks knew their business when they removed all power from his
hands. In the old days a Sultan could not make his appearance in the
streets without its being the occasion for a great demonstration.
That was yesterday; now popular enthusiasm was for Enver Pasha when
he accompanied the Commander of the Faithful. The potentate himself
might be persuaded that the acclamations were for his holy person, but
everyone else knew better. I was told that the Sultan leaves everything
to Talaat Bey and to Enver Pasha. To me the Sultan looked like an
unidealised copy of one of Rembrandt’s Rabbis.

Enver may claim to be the power behind the throne, but the real ruler
of Turkey is that shrewd statesman Talaat Bey, who, although a great
Germanophile, is credited with the belief in the ultimate victory of
the Entente Powers. This conviction on the part of Talaat may account
for some of the rumours circulated in the Balkans to the effect that he
would be not unwilling to conclude a separate peace.

I was in Constantinople when the evacuation of Gallipoli was announced.
The town was gay with flags, mobs passed up and down the streets
shouting. Notices in Turkish and German were exhibited everywhere.
Special newspaper bulletins were being rushed hither and thither by
ragged boys. The Turks, who are never over-prodigal of truth, announced
the evacuation as a great victory for their soldiers, which had
resulted in the English being driven into the sea. Although I had no
other news than that supplied by the official proclamation, I was not
in the least disturbed, knowing full well the Turkish character. Had
there been a great victory there would have been prisoners, and the
German knows too well the advantages of clever stage management not to
produce these for the edification of the cheering crowd.

Three days later, when Constantinople had to some extent recovered from
its mafficking, there passed through the streets about 10,000 of the
weariest soldiers it has ever been my lot to see, a long bedraggled
line, most of them stumbling along as if scarcely able to stand for
fatigue. The people did not know where they had come from. Had they
been aware that these poor wretches were some of the stout defenders of
Gallipoli they might have given them a warmer cheer. As it was, I saw
little or no enthusiasm, although here and there people ran out to give
the men cigarettes.

The sight of these utterly worn-out soldiers lingered with me all day.
Some of them were so exhausted that they could proceed no further, and
had to be lifted up and half carried, half dragged along by their more
stalwart comrades. They carried neither rifles nor knapsacks, these
following behind in carts. It was interesting to note to what an
extent the German officering of the Turkish forces has been carried.
For every Turkish officer that passed by in that brown and miserable
procession that smacked so little of victory, there were two German
officers. The Turks may be entitled to all the satisfaction that the
British evacuation of Gallipoli has given them, but I am sure that if
the Anzac heroes, for instance, had been present with me the morning I
stood watching the long war-worn line, they would have been comforted
by the knowledge that however great the hardships and privations they
themselves had suffered, those of the foe had been as bad, if not
worse. It was obvious that some time would elapse before these men were
sufficiently rested to be fit for active service once more, and this in
spite of the fact that the Turkish soldier is famous for his remarkable
recuperative powers.

I have seen it stated in the newspapers (February 13th, 1916), that
large reinforcements of Turkish troops are being sent to Mesopotamia.
This seems to confirm my view that several weeks’ rest would be
necessary before the men who fought so well at Gallipoli would be ready
for active service again. Even these must be picked men, for it is a
long and tedious march from Aleppo to Baghdad over roads that the word
“wretched” utterly fails to describe.

At Stenia, in the Bosphorus, I saw both of those mystery ships, the
_Goeben_ and the _Breslau_, lying at anchor; probably there were never
two ships in all the world about which so much that is inaccurate has
been written. The _Goeben_ was in a bad state, and kept afloat only
by means of the crudest contrivances, shell-holes being filled in
with cement. It is obvious that the authorities, be they Turkish or
German, do not regard her as likely to be of much further assistance to
them, for several of her big guns have been removed for use on land.
The _Breslau_, on the other hand, is in good condition, and as I saw
her riding at anchor she looked very spick and span, having recently
received a new coat of grey paint. She is a finely-built ship, and
looks capable of rendering a very good account of herself.

The stories of how the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_ evaded the Allied fleets
are legion. A Turkish deputy gave me one account which I relate for
what it is worth. According to him it would appear that the two ships
had taken refuge in Messina, and that outside the three-mile limit
there waited 24 Allied ships of war, like hounds ready to pounce upon
their prey. The prospect of escape seemed hopeless, so hopeless in
fact that the commander of the _Breslau_ proposed exceeding his time
allowance in a neutral port so that his ship might be interned. The
commander of the _Goeben_, however, was determined to make an effort
to get away, and being the senior officer his less courageous comrade
had no choice but to acquiesce. They waited until night, and then
steamed away, keeping as near to the coast as possible, and were never
overhauled. It was their arrival in the Dardanelles, the Turkish deputy
assured me, that finally induced Turkey to join the Central Powers,
the Turks believing that with the addition of these two fine ships to
their navy they would be more than a match for the Russian Fleet in the
Black Sea.

One day I made a curious discovery, not without its significance. In
crossing the Galata Bridge a toll of one penny is demanded, which
all the Faithful must pay, and likewise the Infidels. An exception,
however, was made in the case of the Germans, who are exempt, and
for this very interesting reason. When the bridge was damaged by the
torpedo of a British submarine some time ago, the Turks were in a
quandary to know how to repair it, having no engineers of their own
capable of undertaking such work. In their difficulties they turned,
as usual, to their German friends, who readily agreed to undertake
the work, and the damage was accordingly made good. When the bill was
presented from Berlin, however, the Turks wrung their hands, and with
tears in their eyes expostulated that, although they had the best
intentions in the world, they had no money.

The result was that the Germans had to allow the bill to remain owing,
but by way of getting some acknowledgment for their trouble and the
expense that they had incurred, they made it a condition that all
German subjects should be allowed to cross the bridge free of charge.
This I was able to prove by a very simple test, for on presenting
myself to the tollkeepers and speaking German, I was immediately
allowed to pass without any demand of the customary penny. It amused me
to think that the real inhabitants of Constantinople should have to pay
for the privilege that was accorded free to those who had usurped their
authority.

The attitude of the Turks in regard to truth is too well known to
require comment, but the lying qualities with which their press seems
to be inspired are worthy of the word inspiration. To believe anything
seen in a Turkish newspaper postulates a simplicity and credulity
which, charming enough in themselves, are scarcely calculated to help
its possessor in the struggle for existence. For instance, in Has
Keiul, on the Golden Horn, a big powder factory was destroyed by a
tremendous explosion; the Turkish newspapers charmingly described how
three persons had been killed and six wounded, and that only two houses
in addition to the factory had been destroyed. I determined to test
this statement, and I found on visiting what is the Jewish quarter,
that the whole neighbourhood was in ruins. Two thousand people at least
had been killed, and, although my visit was not made until a fortnight
after the explosion, search-parties were still digging dead bodies out
of the ruins. The Turk himself is not entirely devoid of thoroughness.

Just as I was preparing to leave Constantinople rumours of the big
Russian offensive in the Caucasus were coming through. Almost the last
thing I saw were five battalions of Turks, splendidly equipped and with
1916 rifles, leaving for the Caucasus front.

I wish I were able to persuade the British public of the seriousness
of the Egyptian situation. What most surprised me on my return to
this country was the incredulity of the general public with regard
to the German threat against Egypt and India. I am a neutral with
no axe to grind, but I have a great respect and affection for a
country where I have received nothing but kindness, and I view with
alarm this dangerous and apathetic frame of mind. All that I saw in
Constantinople, as in Asia Minor, convinces me that the Turks are
serious in their intended invasions, and as the whole affair will be
under German management it will, after the manner of the Germans, be
done thoroughly. I feel that I shall have achieved something if any
words of mine can dispel the illusion on the subject which seems to
prevail everywhere.

Nothing is to be left to chance, and the Germans have taken the
precaution, as a preparation for the Egyptian Expedition, of training
4,000 German soldiers to ride camels, the instruction being given
at Hagenbeck’s Menagerie at Hamburg. All those who know Egypt will
appreciate the value of a body of 4,000 camelry. Aleppo is to be
the starting point, and a glance at the map of Syria will show its
importance. I shall be greatly surprised if within the next few months
something is not heard of Djemal Pasha, who is in command there. When
I was in Constantinople the name of the redoubtable von Mackensen was
freely mentioned in connection with the leadership of this expedition,
but other work will most likely be found for him.

The Turks are still a very formidable factor in the situation, and have
to be seriously reckoned with. Their losses may be, and undoubtedly
have been, very great, but there are plenty of men still available. As
a matter of fact, all able-bodied men are being called to the colours.
That alone should give Great Britain an indication of the magnitude
of the task that lies before the Allies. Turkey may be one of the
weaker members against the combination of the Entente Powers, but she
is nevertheless very strong, and hourly growing stronger under the
masterful domination of the German military mind.

The language difficulty in Turkey is rather amusing. Germany has done
its best to implant its own tongue upon its unfortunate allies, but
with very poor success. It was a constant source of amusement to me to
hear German officers ordering their dinners in French. Everywhere in
Constantinople French is spoken; even the tramway tickets are printed
in French and Turkish. Waiters, shopkeepers, officers, sometimes even
the man in the street speaks French as well as his own language.
Frequently I would go to the rescue of German soldiers and sailors in
shops who could not make themselves understood.

The German opinion of the Turks is very well shown by the following
little episode. I was in conversation one day with two A.B.’s of the
famous cruiser _Emden_. As a souvenir one of them gave me the ribbon
from his cap with the _Emden_ scroll upon it. He informed me that
it was his original intention to give it to his mother, but he was
now convinced that he would never return to the Fatherland alive,
consequently I received it as a compliment in return for the beer and
cigars I had given him. This sailor was communicative to the extent of
saying, “We have lost nearly all our Colonies, and I am sure that we
shall lose the last one, but we are going to make Turkey our newest and
best colony.” I heard similar remarks from other Germans.




CHAPTER VIII

THE “UNTERSEE” GERMAN

     My Kiel Acquaintance--Submarines by Rail--German Submarines
     at Constantinople--My Voyage of Discovery--The Exploit of
     U51--Captain von Hersing--German Hero-worship--A Daring
     Feat--A Modest German!--Von Hersing in England--The German
     Naval Officer--His Opinion of the British Navy--A Regrettable
     Incident--Dr. Ledera Imprisoned--I Encounter an Austrian Spy--He
     Confides to me his Methods--The Carelessness of British Consuls.


An axiom, and a very valuable one, for a man employed in secret service
work for a newspaper should be to stay always at the best hotel in any
city at which he is making investigations. For one thing, big fish swim
in large lakes; for another, the visitors at large hotels are less
noticed and less likely to be suspected than those at smaller places.

At the Pera Palace Hotel I had many interesting conversations with
German officers, for whom I had to swallow my dislike for reasons of
policy. They complained to me bitterly of the absence of amusement,
for all the theatres and picture palaces were closed, and there was no
distraction whatever for the apostles of “Frightfulness.” I was always
ready with sympathy, and we got on very well together.

The officer of the Polish Legion at Vienna who told me about the
terrible fate of the 28th Regiment, had introduced me to a German
foreman-constructor of submarines, who had come from the famous
Germania Shipyard at Kiel. He was a typical German of the boasting
type, and as the result of a little judicious handling, some beer, and
a great deal of flattery, of which any traveller in Germany has to take
with him an unlimited supply, I soon discovered a great deal as to the
mystery of the German submarines in the Sea of Marmora. Of the small
type there are, I believe, not more than four; very likely the number
has been increased since I left Turkey, as I will explain.

A little more than a year ago the English newspapers were engaged in
discussing the possibility of Germans carrying submarines by rail.
Whilst this was in progress the Germans had already solved the problem,
and had conclusively proved that submarines of the smaller type can
easily be manufactured in one place in sections and carried hundreds
of miles by rail to another, where, with the aid of experts, they can
be fitted together. As my new acquaintance informed me, Germany had
already done this most successfully.

I proved the accuracy of the man’s statement when I was at
Constantinople, as I saw no less than four German U boats, Nos. U4,
U18, and U25. I could not detect the number of the fourth craft. They
were of a uniform size and U18 had painted on the conning-tower a huge
Iron Cross, showing that it had achieved some great distinction--great,
at least, to the German mind.

Hiring a rowing boat, and wearing my fez, I discovered the base of the
submarines on the afternoon of January 15th. It was cleverly hidden
behind two big German liners in the Golden Horn, between the Marine
Arsenal and Has Keiul, the little village that had been entirely
destroyed by the powder explosion. By this time, if my informant were
correct--and I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of his statements,
for, like so many Germans, he told me a good deal more than he
ought--the number of submarines has been increased to six; he himself
had been concerned in putting them together at Trieste. As a matter
of fact, soon after my arrival in England I read in different neutral
as well as English newspapers that two more German submarines of
small size had arrived in Constantinople from an Austrian port in the
Adriatic.

The German submarine officers and crews to be met with in
Constantinople are not at all of the swaggering Prussian type.
They wear the usual German uniform, whereas their fellows of the
_Goeben_ and _Breslau_, which fly the Turkish flag, wear the fez. The
so-called Turkish submarines do not exist save in the imagination of
certain people whose interest it is to write about them. They are
in reality German submarines flying the German naval flag. I have
reason to believe also that there are very few Turkish aeroplanes or
flying-men. An American newspaper suggested that it was possibly a
Turkish submarine that sunk the _Persia_; but as there are no Turkish
submarines, one of them could not possibly have been guilty of this
crime against civilisation.

These smaller submarines must not be confused with U51, which, as the
German newspapers have proudly described, made the great voyage from
Kiel to Constantinople, either through the English Channel or by the
northern passage round Scotland. This took place in the spring of 1915.

The U51 is a huge craft, painted a dark grey, its appearance being very
suggestive of its sinister purpose. It has a big gun mounted on the
forepart. The size of the craft astonished me when I saw it some days
after its arrival at Constantinople, on my first visit, and I think it
must be one of the largest afloat. Unfortunately, I was not allowed on
board: there were limitations to the privileges that my papers were
able to secure for me. Beside this leviathan the U4 and her sisters
would look mere pigmies; but they are vicious little craft, hornets
with sharp and painful stings.

Now that Weddigen has been killed, Captain von Hersing is the popular
hero of the German submarine navy. He is the type of man that possesses
a strong appeal for the English sportsman. He is of the Max Horton
order, and it was he who sank the _Triumph_ and the _Majestic_.

In Germany heroes are made on the slightest possible provocation and
for very indifferent achievements; but Captain von Hersing certainly
deserves his fame. He is modest, a rather rare quality in the
present-day German.

The story of his feat, which he narrated to me during my first visit
to Constantinople, has already been told time after time. As quietly
as any Englishman would have done he described to me that wonderful
voyage; how he picked up petrol in the Bay of Biscay at an exactly
appointed time and place; how he passed by Gibraltar in broad daylight
on the surface of the water; the agonies he suffered during the
imprisonment of his boat for two hours in a British submarine net off
Lemnos; how he eventually escaped with a damaged propeller, and arrived
at Constantinople in the early days of May.

During the whole recital of his achievements the nearest thing to
self-glorification that I was able to detect in his manner was a
momentary flashing of the eye, which no one would deny even to Admiral
Beatty himself. He was disinclined to discuss the war, and I remember
that at the time I thought how correct this attitude was in an officer,
and how different from many of his fellows of the land service, who
will discuss nothing else.

He told me that he had spent a considerable time in England, and that
he liked the English. The promptness with which he denied that it was
his boat that had sunk the _Lusitania_ left me in no doubt as to his
view of that colossal outrage. In fact, I have heard from many sources
that the German Navy regards this discreditable exploit as a blot upon
its name. I talked to him many times at the Pera Club, where there were
comparatively few Germans and plenty of food, the one fact probably
explaining the other.

If all Germans were of the same type as the German naval officers
and men, the word “Hun” would probably never have been applied; it
certainly would not so aptly fit. In their franker moments these naval
officers and men confess that they hate the horrible work they are
obliged to do; but that they have no alternative but to carry out the
orders received from Berlin. There are brutes among them, no doubt, but
such German naval officers as I have met compare very favourably with
their swaggering colleagues of the land service. German sailors are
under no misapprehension as to the might and efficiency of the British
Navy. It is not they who spread the tale of the British Fleet hiding
in ports while German ships proudly sail the North Sea. It is not they
who ask plaintively, “Will the British Fleet never come out?” They are
practical men, and for the most part honest men, and they know that
Germany has it in her own hands to bring out the British Fleet in no
uncertain manner.

The Germans are annoyed because the valuable ships of the British
Navy do not parade up and down in the neighbourhood of Heligoland
and Wilhelmshaven and allow themselves to be torpedoed by German
submarines. The German idea of naval warfare is sometimes childish, but
it belongs to the layman and not to the expert. “Our people started the
war ten years too soon,” was the remark that one German officer made to
me.

It is not difficult to see that there is very little love lost between
the German Army and the German Navy, which is scarcely to be wondered
at. A very casual observer has only to contrast the characters of the
two classes of men, as I saw them at the Pera Palace Hotel; the one
swaggering and strutting about, grumbling at the lack of amusement,
growling if the _Liebesgabe_ (parcel) from Berlin, with its sausage
(_leberwurst_) and the like, cigars, and _pâté de fois gras_, is a day
late; the other quiet, well-mannered, accustomed to great hardship
and danger from childhood, self-respecting and respecting others--the
nearest approach to an English gentleman that the Germans are capable
of producing. Not many naval officers hail from the Hun country of
Prussia.

It is beyond question true that the sinking of the _Lusitania_ is
terribly unpopular in the German Navy, although the German people went
hysterical with joy about it, and still regard it as one of the great
German feats of the war.

The presence of German submarines at Constantinople is not altogether
relished by the Turks. Each of the four submarines I saw had a gun on
the forepart of the vessel; not a powerful weapon, it is true, but
quite sufficient to instil terror into the inhabitants of the city,
should they not behave themselves according to German ideas.

There is still some antagonism shown in Turkey towards the Germans,
but, unfortunately, very little. The German sway is almost supreme,
but for all that they take no risks. They are conscious of an
undercurrent of distrust, and they never allow the Turk too much
ammunition, lest it may be used against themselves. It is notorious
that the shortage of ammunition in Gallipoli was due not entirely to
German inability to convey it there, but rather to the fact that the
master did not trust the servant. A well-munitioned Turkey would be a
danger, and ill-munitioned Turkey is a safeguard.

A little incident which came to my knowledge shows that even now
the Germans have to exercise tact in dealing with the Turks. At the
Hotel Tokatlian, in Pera, there was a daily foregathering of all the
German and Austrian newspaper representatives in the city. One day I
heard them discussing the fate of one of their number, Dr. Ledera, of
the _Berliner Tageblatt_. I gathered that he had offended the Turks
by describing how, owing to the state of the _Goeben_ and their own
shortage of big guns, they had removed two of the largest from that
vessel and taken them down for use against the English at Gallipoli.
This information, which I brought to this country as early as last
June, officially stated in so important a newspaper, intimated to
the Russians and the British that the _Goeben_ was practically out
of action. The Turks were greatly incensed, and promptly arrested
Dr. Ledera. He was sent to an internment-camp in a distant part of
Anatolia, where the conditions were far from luxurious. The German
Ambassador, the late Baron von Wangenheim, had to exert the utmost
possible pressure to secure the release of his indiscreet compatriot.
After six weeks’ imprisonment the erring correspondent was brought
back to Constantinople, escorted over the frontier, and ordered never
to return to Turkey. In spite of this, each day leaves the Turk more
hopelessly under the yoke of his German master.

I have always had my own views about the German spy system in
England. Of one thing I am certain, that it is thorough; but, as I
have previously pointed out, it is not so perfect as so many people
in this country are inclined to believe. The first essential for a
travelling German or Austrian spy is to obtain by fair means or by
foul a passport from a neutral country. Only with this can he hope to
enter England, and return in safety. I encountered one of these spies,
and the conversation I had with him is of considerable interest as
throwing light on German methods. He was an Austrian, and we got into
conversation during my journey from Vienna to the Swiss border. As we
approached the frontier he made obvious efforts to discover my views
and sympathies. I allowed him first to express his own, which were
violently pro-German. Nevertheless, he said, “I have been among those
_Schweinhunden_ twice in the last six months.” (The “Schweinhunden,”
by the way, were the English.) “Fortunately, I did not allow the grass
to grow under my feet during my seven years’ residence there, and I
flatter myself I can speak English as an Englishman. Do you know any
English?” he asked.

“A little,” I replied, in order to draw him out. He then began to
converse with me in that tongue, and he undoubtedly was justified in
his boast that he could speak English perfectly. Furthermore, he looked
a very excellent and presentable specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race, such
as one sees any morning during the London season, before the war, of
course, in Bond Street, Pall Mall or Piccadilly.

In order to obtain a false passport the travelling spy must get first a
false birth certificate. This, of course, involves forgery, but it can
be obtained with no very great difficulty and at a reasonable price by
those who know where to seek it. In the early days of the war there was
a regular trade in passports in several neutral countries, where they
could be purchased for between £10 and £12. Those days are now passed,
for the English Government has awakened to the grave danger arising
from this commerce.

With a birth certificate, in conjunction with a letter from some
commercial firm to the effect that the bearer or person referred to
wishes to proceed to England on certain business, the obtaining of a
passport is not so difficult as it might appear. The documents are
presented at the Passport Office of a neutral country and the necessary
passport obtained. The next step is to get it _visé’d_ by the British
Consul, who is not as often English as he should be. When he is of
English nationality he is frequently too old to be alert and on the
lookout for spies. Once the passport is _visé’d_ the travelling spy of
German or Austrian birth or interests arrives at Folkestone, Tilbury,
Southampton, or some other port where there is no lack of strict
scrutiny. Lately the investigations have been especially severe, but of
what avail is this if the passports and business letters that accompany
it are based upon a forged birth certificate?

Arrived in England, the travelling spy communicates with the resident
spy, cautiously lest the resident spy is being watched. In all
probability they meet at a large hotel, or at a railway station,
nothing is written. If an appointment has to be made it is done over
the telephone or by a message through a third party.

In the early days of the war spies were inclined to be careless, being
so convinced of the obtuseness of the English officials. The result was
that a number of them attended an exclusive little party which gathered
at dawn in the Tower of London. The censorship of letters has doubtless
checked written communication to a very great extent.

To check spying the greatest care should be exercised by the British
consuls abroad; they should never, unless absolutely confident of the
_bona fides_ of the bearer, _visé_ a passport, and, of course, unless
they do so the passport is absolutely worthless. If necessary, the
British Consul should have the assistance of a shrewd international
detective from England with a knowledge of foreign languages, a man who
is accustomed to appraising character and ferreting out information; it
would be difficult for the applicant to smooth away his suspicion, a
thing which is very easy with most consuls.

The statement of my Austrian acquaintance that he had been twice to
England within a period of six months (and I have no reason to doubt
his word) shows that even now there are very obvious imperfections
in the system for keeping spies out of England. In offering my views
it is not with any idea of teaching the authorities their business,
but rather the hint of one who has come into touch with the spies
themselves, and in the hope that my words may be of assistance. It must
be remembered that the authorities at the ports of entry can judge only
on the actual papers produced.




CHAPTER IX

“OUR KAISER IS HERE!”

     Getting Out of Constantinople--I Become Suspicious--I Appeal
     to Halil Bey--A Gloomy Apartment--I Visit the Prefecture of
     Police--I Join a Military Train--Marvellous Engineering--A Subtle
     Device--The Kaiser at Nish--I See the Two Monarchs--A Remarkable
     Stroke of Luck--I am Invited to the Banquet--Fokker Aeroplanes.


Secret service work in German-governed countries demands astuteness,
resource, and constant watchfulness over words and actions alike, and
a good deal of “Damn the consequences.” To be known within the German
war zone as one connected with an English newspaper would naturally be
fatal.

Getting into an enemy country in war time is always difficult; but
getting out of it is frequently precarious. I began to fear that I
was being watched in Constantinople. The German system of watching is
simple and effective. If the suspect be of sufficient importance three
or four detectives are told off to follow his movements continuously,
but one at a time. He is, therefore, not likely to recognise his
watcher as would be the case if one man only were detailed for the duty.

Intuitively I felt that the few very innocent and harmless, but to
me very important, papers I had with me were being subjected to
examination in my room at the hotel. As a precaution I rearranged them,
carefully noting the order in which they lay. When next I returned to
the hotel in the evening my suspicions were confirmed--my papers had
obviously been disturbed. It might, of course, have been mere curiosity
on the part of the Greek servants, but I remembered that these same
servants work hand and glove with the police or military authorities.
Accordingly, I determined to get away with all possible expedition.

At that time it was announced in the very attenuated Constantinople
newspapers that the Kaiser was going to Belgrade. The movements of
the German Emperor on the Continent are as much of a puzzle to his
own people and his allies as they are to the subjects of the Entente
Powers. There were in Constantinople, too, the same rumours as to his
ill-health which had been spread throughout Europe. On the other hand,
there was the definite statement that he was coming East. The desire
to see him face to face, if possible, and also the wish to get out of
Constantinople, set me to work planning how most speedily to effect my
purpose.

I bethought myself of Halil Bey, the Foreign Minister, who had so
kindly secured for me an interview with Enver Pasha. To my surprise the
old man saw me at once. His is a very different reception-room from
that of his colleague, Enver. Gloomy, miserable, without electric light
or even an oil lamp, and lit only by candles, it was far from the sort
of room that one would expect to be occupied by a Minister of Foreign
Affairs. It was, however, another evidence of the good work of the
Roumanians in cutting off the coal supply of Constantinople.

I explained to Halil that it was my great desire to do myself the
honour of seeing, if possible, the All-Highest War Lord, and that I
wished to leave Constantinople for Belgrade. Halil Bey, in common with
every other Turk, was in high spirits over the Gallipoli evacuation,
and after a little judicious flattery as to his enormous powers, I
succeeded in obtaining a letter to the Prefect of Police at Stamboul,
and in order that he should see me instantly Halil gave me his card,
which is reproduced below.

[Illustration: HALIL BEY’S CARD]

I lost no time in securing one of the few public carriages that are to
be had in the city, and made my way behind the thinnest pair of horses
imaginable to the Prefecture of Police. It was rather like entering the
lion’s den, but it had to be done. If the police were really suspicious
of me I should not be very long left in doubt.

I was a little disturbed to hear from the Prefect that the only way
of getting out of Constantinople to Belgrade was by a German military
train. The first Balkan Express which was to link up Constantinople
with Berlin and Vienna, was not due to start for a day or two, and as
I felt disinclined to wait for it, I determined to push on to Belgrade
and join the Balkan Express there. This would give me a short time in
which to examine that town, which, as I have said, I was most anxious
to see. I mentioned to the Prefect that I had been honoured by Enver
Pasha with an interview, and that I felt sure His Excellency would do
anything in his power to facilitate my movements.

“I will see what can be done,” said the Prefect. “Please leave with me
your passport and call again in the morning.”

With considerable trepidation I returned to the Prefecture next
morning, and to my delight found my passport marked in Turkish not only
with permission to leave, but with actual permission to travel by the
military train to Belgrade. The “visieat” (a written permission from
the police to leave), which usually takes a few days to obtain, was
handed to me at the same time, so I was more favoured than any other
traveller. I felt that the stars were indeed fighting for me in their
courses. At 11.30 a.m. I arrived at the Railway Station at Stamboul,
and soon found myself in a queerly assorted company consisting of men
of the German Red Cross Service, German officers, non-commissioned
officers and soldiers.

During my journey I made some curious and interesting discoveries, all
tending to emphasise German thoroughness and cunning. Probably no one
in England realises the wonderful work done by the Germans in repairing
the broken railway bridges in Serbia. It is the rapid and substantial
rebuilding of these bridges, destroyed by the Serbians in their
retreat, that enables the Germans to get to Constantinople in a little
over two days. These reconstructions are most likely the greatest
engineering feats that the world has ever seen. Tunnels that were blown
up have been restored to their original state with marvellous celerity,
and as I travelled across the bridges, and at a high rate of speed,
the evidences of the Serbians’ tragic retreat were to be seen on every
side. Beside the new bridges lay those which the Serbians destroyed.
Beside the line were the remains of dead horses, broken-down carts, and
the hundred and one things that mark the retreat of an army pursued
by its foes. The ever-careful German had removed the hides from the
horses, obviously with the object of making up the leather shortage.

In the course of my journey I received another instance of German
forethought. I was told that in the event of Greece being invaded
by the Bulgars, and the Greeks loathe the Bulgars as the Prussians
loathe the English, the invaders were to be dressed in German uniforms
in order to deceive the Greeks. Immense quantities of these uniforms,
I later discovered, were lying at Nish.[1] Is there anything against
which the extraordinary German mind does not provide? This, however,
does not convince me that the Germans will attack Salonica. From what
I heard, it would appear that they have a very wholesome respect for
General Sarrail, whose acquaintance they had already made at Verdun,
which they had failed to take owing to his able and stout defence of
that stronghold.

The adaptability of the German is nowhere better emphasised than in
Turkey and the Balkans. Instinctively he knows that a German in a
familiar uniform is not likely to be so obnoxious as a German in a
strange uniform; consequently his method is to disguise himself by
adopting the military uniform of the country in which he is detailed
for duty. This is one of the most important traits in his character.
For instance, as I have already said, German flying-men in Turkey are
to be seen in Turkish uniforms, and scores of German officers are to be
found at the Turkish War Office also wearing the familiar uniform of
the Moslem.

The Turks are by no means optimistic about the Salonica Expedition.
Frankly they are afraid of it, and for that reason have heavily
entrenched themselves to the south of Adrianople. Their fear is that
the Allied troops may make an attack on Constantinople from the
north-west or may attempt to cut the railway.

It has been suggested that my fortunate meeting with the Kaiser was
a matter of luck. In a way it was; but it was more particularly due
to my persistent desire to see Belgrade. I had failed to get there
during my outward journey to Constantinople, but I was determined
not to be baulked. I had no thought of staying at Nish, and it was
not until we were approaching the station of that town that a fellow
traveller, a German non-commissioned officer, looked out of the window
and shouted out so loudly and excitedly that all the travellers in the
corridor carriage could hear, “_Unser Kaiser ist hier_” (our Kaiser is
here). I jumped up and looked out of the window and saw the flags and
decorations, and felt that indeed Fate had been kind to me.

The magic name of the Kaiser was too much for me. I could not think
of letting pass such a magnificent opportunity of seeing the Great
War Lord, and I therefore determined to leave the military train at
the Serbian town so recently the capital, but now in the hands of the
Germans. Nish was under snow. The day of my arrival, January 18th,
1916, was brilliantly clear, just such a day as one finds at Montreal
or St. Moritz. I had hoped to get at least a glimpse of the Kaiser,
but I was far more fortunate than that, encountering him on several
occasions during this to me fateful day. I never for one moment
anticipated being present at that curious and historical Royal Banquet
at which were made the vain-glorious Latin and German speeches that
were telegraphed all over the world.

Just as our train steamed into the station the Kaiser was making
his state entry into the Serbian capital, which has now become the
headquarters of the German, not as many people think the Austrian, Army
in the Balkans. It is a vast arsenal, choked with munitions of war,
in particular shells for big guns and also the guns themselves. The
town is crammed with Serbian military prisoners, who are allowed their
liberty, and roam about freely. They seem comparatively contented with
their lot.

My feelings when I ascertained the presence of the Kaiser can only be
appreciated or understood by a journalist. I soon gathered together my
belongings with the aid of a German soldier I called to help me. I then
decided to look around and endeavour to approach as near as possible to
the Kaiser himself. As a matter of fact I was not far away from him.
King Ferdinand had only a few minutes previously received him on his
arrival from the West, and the Royal pair were walking up and down the
platform arm in arm, and without ceremony. I noticed a handkerchief in
the Kaiser’s hand which he was constantly lifting to his mouth, but the
distance was too great for me to hear him coughing.

I had never seen Ferdinand before, and it was fully eight years since
I had seen the German Emperor, and what a change those eight years
had wrought! The Kaiser is not a tall man, as he is represented to
be in photographs, and by the side of the great massive figure of
the hawk-nosed Ferdinand--who has a duck-like waddle--the Great War
Lord seemed almost diminutive. The Kaiser wore a long grey coat, with
greyish fur collar, and a spiked helmet covered with some khaki-like
material. The place where the monarchs promenaded was held by German
guards. The people, among whom were a great many Austrian and a
few Dutch nurses, did not evince a great amount of either interest
or curiosity. This struck me as strange as, if the Kaiser were to
appear in any other town in Europe, he would create a sensation. I
particularly noticed that the Bulgarian Ministers obsequiously removed
their hats at the sight of the Kaiser, and approached him in an
attitude of great deference and with bared heads. Towards their own
monarch they did not seem to show the same deference. Later I learned
that the relations between Ferdinand and his Court are of a very
informal nature.

What most struck me about the Kaiser was his obvious look of fatigue.
It might have been due to the war, to the effect of his two-day
journey, or to ill-health. I cannot say. But he looked a tired and
broken man. His hair was white, although his moustache was still
suspiciously dark, and his face was drawn and lined. There was also
an entire absence of the old activity of gesture, the quick, nervous
wheeling about, and the unstable manner of the man. All of which I
remembered distinctly from my previous encounter with him in 1908.

In spite, however, of his fatigues the Kaiser was obviously intent upon
making himself agreeable. He examined with apparent interest the medals
of the Bulgarian soldiers, chatting with Royal affability, and smiled
right and left. None the less he was a greatly aged man, and, as I have
said, there was the constant use of the handkerchief, a large Turkish
affair of red, embroidered with the white Turkish star and crescent in
the corner.

As I was standing watching the Royal pair, I was approached by two
Bulgarian officials in civil clothes followed by a handful of soldiers.
Their mission was to inquire my reason for coming to Nish. The one who
addressed me spoke German execrably. At first he took me for a Teuton,
but when I explained my nationality he asked eagerly if I were able to
speak French, and seemed much delighted when he found he could continue
his interrogations in that tongue, which he spoke much better than
German. I told him the object of my journey, flattered his patriotic
feelings by complimenting the Bulgarian Army and nation as a whole,
and was invited to accompany him to one of the rooms of the station,
where he introduced me to the Chief of the Bulgarian Press Bureau, M.
Romakoff. I seemed to have made a good impression on the two Bulgarian
officials. They babbled away in their native tongue to M. Romakoff,
but, of course, I could not understand what they were saying, but the
upshot of the conversation was that I was addressed by the Chief of the
Press Bureau, and asked if I would like on behalf of the neutral press
to attend the Royal Banquet, which was to be given that evening. It
would be simple but historic. I trembled with excitement and joy when
I thought of the sensation that my account of the banquet would make
when it reached England. If M. Romakoff could have read my thoughts it
would not have been the banquet alone about which I trembled, but my
own execution; fortunately he was not psychic.

The Director walked with me up and down the platform and showed himself
extremely friendly. I gathered that I should be one of four journalists
in the room, and I hugged myself at the thought of the surprise of
the august company when they realised that in their midst was the
representative of a hated English newspaper.

I spent the intervening time between my arrival at Nish and the hour of
the banquet in walking about the town with two members of the Bulgarian
Press Bureau, who spoke excellent French. I had no idea what impression
they gleaned as to my personality. I must be a clever actor to have
disguised my excitement into even reasonable coherence.

But a few weeks previously Nish had been gaily decorated with the flags
of the Entente Allies, who were expected to come to the help of poor,
suffering Serbia; yet the town seemed already to have settled down to a
comparatively contented existence. Very little damage had been done to
any of the buildings, as far as I could discover. I was assured that
business had not been so brisk during the whole of the history of the
town. German soldiers were spending their money freely, and nearly all
the larger houses of the town had been turned into hospitals, whose
supplies were being gathered from the surrounding country.

As we strolled about I noticed the departure of the Royal train and the
arrival of a munition train, including several trucks laden with Fokker
monoplanes. I do not claim to any special knowledge of aeroplanes,
but these new Fokkers struck me as having a very great wing expanse.
For the purpose of railway transport the wings were fastened back and
the engines carefully covered. A Fokker monoplane is so long that it
occupies practically the whole of two large trucks.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] As I correct the proofs, February 15th, I read on the authority of
the _Morning Post’s_ Athens correspondent, that some time ago three
of the best Bulgarian divisions on the Doiran front were withdrawn to
Sofia, where they were clothed as Germans, afterwards returning to
their stations!




CHAPTER X

THE BANQUET AT NISH

     The Banqueting Hall--A Small Gathering--The Menu--The Kaiser and
     King Ferdinand--Von Falkenhayn--An Impressive Figure--The Kaiser’s
     Health--His Poor Appetite--Constant Coughing--King Ferdinand’s
     Triumph--The Bulgarian Princes--German Journalism--A Bombastic
     Oration--“Hail, Cæsar!”--The Kaiser’s Unspoken Reply--The Hour of
     “The Fox”--The End of an Historic Function--The Post Office Closed.


The Banquet was held in the Town Hall of Nish. The banqueting-room was
profusely decorated with the flags and the colours of the Germanic
Powers, although Austria is not in great evidence at Nish, having
apparently made Belgrade her headquarters. When I entered the room I
was surprised to find that the function was to be a comparatively small
one. There were not more than fifty covers, and several of the places
were empty, the actual attendance being about forty. The band of the
Life Guards, numbering about twenty, was ensconced behind palms, and
played a programme of music which is here reproduced.


[Illustration:

Leib-Garde-Regiment


Musik-Programm

für die Königliche Mittagstafel am 18. Januar 1916

 1. Polonaise                         Bubeck
 2. Ruy Blas--Ouverture               Mendelsohn
 3. “Hussarenwalzer”                  Ziehrer
 4. “Tannhäuser” Fantasie             Wagner
 5. “Die Zauber-Quelle”               Atanassow
 6. “Zigeunerfest”                    Lehar
 7. “Meistersinger” Potpourri         Wagner
 8. “Valse brillante”                 Chopain
 9. “Der fliegende Hollander”         Wagner
10. Balkanmarsch                      Skordew

PROGRAMME OF MUSIC AT THE NISH BANQUET]


There were three tables, forming three sides of a square; or perhaps
it would be more accurate to say, parallelogram. They were simply
decorated with roses and early spring flowers, yellow being the
predominating colour. The Banquet, of which simplicity was the
predominating feature, was served by Bulgarian soldier servants. The
menu card is reproduced here, and I append a translation.


THE KAISER’S MENU.

BALKAN DISHES.

[_Translation._]

NISH, JANUARY 18, 1916.

ROYAL DINNER.

The coat of arms at the top is the Bulgarian Royal Arms of King
Ferdinand. It is embossed in the original in black, red, and gold. One
of the chains round the crest is probably that of the Golden Fleece.


[Illustration: NISCH, DEN 18. JANUAR 1916.

KÖNIGLICHE MITTAGSTAFEL.

Hühner-Kraftbrühe

Forellen vom Ochrida See

Lamms-Pilaw

Rehrücken nach Cumberland

Gansleberpastete

Varnaer Fenchel und Endiven

Bulgarisches Gefrorenes

Käsestangen

Nachtisch

MENU AT THE NISH BANQUET]


The dishes are as follow:

Chicken broth.
Trout from Lake Ochrida (west of Monastir).
Pilaff of lamb.
(Pilaff is a Balkan stew, with rice.)
Venison à la Cumberland.
(The Duke now with the enemy.)
Pâté de foie gras.
Fennel from Varna (Bulgaria) and endive.
(Fennel is a reedy vegetable used in salad
or cooked with butter.)
Bulgarian ice.
Cheese straws.
Dessert.

As might be expected from the German military authorities, their
arrangements for the Press were excellent. Our seats were close to the
Royal party, and we had no difficulty in hearing the speeches.

The Nish banquet was of the usual Royal stiffness. I should probably
have remarked many more things, but for my excitement and nervousness.
The Kaiser sat on King Ferdinand’s right, and on King Ferdinand’s left
sat General von Falkenhayn, the chief of the German General Staff,
whilst M. Radoslavoff, the Bulgarian premier, was placed on the right
of the Kaiser. Interested as I was in the Kaiser, I was hardly less
interested in the personality of von Falkenhayn, who is the brain of
the great German War Machine. Although a man well into the fifties,
he looks as if he had not yet crossed the half-century mark. It
would be difficult to find a man with more refined and good-looking
features. There is nothing markedly German about him, except perhaps
his thoroughness, and I obtained the impression that the Germans have
in him a war director of remarkable ability. He is trim and alert of
movement, has close-cropped grey hair, and seems the personification
of vigour, virility, and vivacity. He appears to be bearing the strain
of war and its tremendous responsibilities in a remarkable manner.
Seldom have I met a man who has struck me as being so well-fitted for
the work before him as von Falkenhayn. Whenever I looked across at him
as he sat chatting quite freely with the Kaiser and Ferdinand, I had
the impression that here was a man with far-reaching vision and great
executive power.

I sat less than fifteen yards away from the Royal pair, and I had every
chance of observing closely each change in expression or smile that
flitted across their countenances. Now as I look back on the scene I
see the Kaiser, not only perpetually coughing, but also looking so
tired that I wonder afresh what great purpose it was that brought
him from a sick-bed in Berlin to a little Serbian town with its dim
petroleum lamps. It must have been something unusually important that
caused him to accept the Little Czar’s invitation to travel for two
days to be a guest at a dinner of forty covers. Whatever the Kaiser’s
sufferings he was obviously endeavouring to be as pleasant as possible.

Everything I remember in connection with the Banquet confirms me in
my impression that the War Lord was deliberately intent, not only on
impressing King Ferdinand, but the members of his entourage as well,
otherwise he could never have tolerated the air of equality which the
Coburger adopted towards him. The Kaiser is by nature intolerant of
patronage or condescension on the part even of his equals, much less
would he view unmoved that of an inferior unless he had some deliberate
purpose in view. He looked a pathetic figure as he sat coughing, as
though his throat were choked with some virulent, irritating substance,
and it must have cost him a great effort to smile repeatedly as
Ferdinand leaned across and whispered something in his ear.

I found myself speculating as to what was passing through the
Kaiser’s brain as he saw the yellow face, with its cunning little
slits of eyes--eyes that reminded me of a typical money-lender--of
his vain-glorious neighbour bent upon him. Try as he will, Ferdinand
of Bulgaria can never disguise the suggestion of craftiness that is
stamped upon his features. Those little eyes of his seem to be the
windows of a very dark soul, and behind that pepper and salt-bearded
face, with the great hawk-like nose, there is a very cunning brain at
work. From the fact that the Kaiser ate and drank practically nothing
at the Banquet I was led to believe the story that he always eats
before attending these State functions. Of course, it might have been
that he was afraid of his throat. Certainly monarch never did less
justice to an admirably-cooked meal. He did not even take wine. On
the other hand, Ferdinand ate of each and all the dishes with great
appetite, sipping his special brand of white wine with evident relish.
Of all the company he seemed best pleased with himself, and when I
noticed him studying the menu, it occurred to me that his vanity was
flattered by seeing at the top his own Royal Cypher; it was his,
Ferdinand of Bulgaria’s Banquet, and the All-Highest had journeyed for
two long days and nights in order to be present.

I was glad that the Bulgar King was in a good humour, because when he
smiles the grossness of his features is less obvious. The contrast
between the Emperor and King was most marked, however, when they stood
up.

By the side of the big, clumsy-looking Ferdinand the Kaiser appeared
almost insignificant, but it was not his size that so engrossed my
attention. All through the meal I could scarcely take my eyes from
the haggard face of the author of the world-war who, on this January
afternoon, looked so little like a war lord, as he sat apparently
coughing away his life into the Turkish woven handkerchief which he
held firmly in his right hand. His hair was terribly white, darkening
a little at the parting where the roots showed. His cheeks were
scored with many lines, and when I conjured up the vision of the
healthy-looking Kaiser I had seen eight years previously in Amsterdam,
I could not help marvelling at the change that those eight years had
wrought in him. The only thing about him that was not changed was his
upright deportment. He stood up firm and erect, just as one had seen
him taking the salute at manœuvres or when reviewing his Prussian
Guard. His pose was that of an Emperor, and contrasted strangely with
the heavy awkwardness of his brother monarch.

Among the other guests present were the two young Bulgarian princes.
The Crown Prince Boris must have been a terrible disappointment to
his father. He is round-shouldered and thin, and might, were he not
a prince, have been aptly described as a lout. I do not think I am
prejudiced in saying that but for his clothes he might as well have
been a menial employed in his own father’s household. His expression
entirely lacked intelligence, and he looked much older than his years.
Perhaps the failings of his father, which he has possibly inherited,
may account for this worn-out appearance. He gave me the impression
of one greatly fatigued. He is far from handsome, with the big Coburg
nose, but fortunately not constructed on so large a scale as that of
his father. Prince Cyril, the younger brother, unlike Prince Boris, is
of a much better appearance, and seems more intelligent, but of neither
has their father any reason to be excessively proud. Both the young
princes sat between German officers, and having once been acknowledged
by the Kaiser, seemed to relapse into the insignificance for which they
were so pre-eminently fitted by nature.

Perhaps one of the most amusing things in connection with the Banquet
at Nish was the report of a German paper that the Kaiser, who was in
joyous and playful mood, picked up Prince Cyril, tossed him up into the
air, and placed him on his Royal knee and kissed him. In the enthusiasm
of the moment the German journalist must have forgotten the Kaiser’s
withered arm, which would have rendered it impossible for him, however
playful his mood, to “toss” an infant of a week old. Furthermore, as
I have explained, Prince Cyril is a young man fully-grown, and of far
too loutish and uninteresting an appearance to invite the kisses even
of the diplomatic Kaiser. However much that august monarch might have
desired to propitiate the Bulgarian King, he would certainly have
stopped short of kissing Prince Cyril. Sometimes German journalists
over-reach themselves.

The speeches, which were political and bombastic in character, were
fully reported everywhere a few days after the Banquet. They were
not, as has been stated in some quarters, delivered in English. King
Ferdinand’s grandiloquent address to the Kaiser was, with the exception
of the Latin phrases, delivered exclusively in German, excellent German
by the way. The Bulgarian monarch spoke easily and without notes. He
seemed to experience no difficulty in finding words. I did not take
down the speeches, I confess that I was far too excited for that,
besides I knew that they would be distributed throughout the civilized
world through the agency of the German Press Bureau. I have referred to
the columns of _The Times_ in order to refresh my memory.

We were engaged with Bismarck cigars and coffee when there was a sudden
hush in the hum of conversation. The hour of the speeches had arrived.
There was a tense excitement as King Ferdinand rose. He did so with
the air of a man who was conscious that he had reached the one great
moment of his life. His voice was clearly heard in all parts of the
room, and his delivery was extremely good. He began by pointing out
that two hundred and fifteen years ago that day Frederick the First was
crowned King, and forty-five years ago the New Germany was founded.
To-day the Kaiser, after the glorious victory which had attended his
arms, could with safety enter the former Roman fortress of Nish. King
Ferdinand tendered his thanks to the Kaiser for his visit to the
ancient town, a visit which cemented the alliance between the two
countries.

“The world,” he contended, “has learnt to appreciate with surprise and
admiration the strength of Germany and her allies, and believes in the
invincibility of the German Army under the guidance and leadership of
its Kaiser.”

The King expressed the hope that 1916 might bring “lasting peace, the
sacred fruits of our victories, a peace which will allow my people to
co-operate in future in the work of Kultur, but, if fate should impose
upon us a continuation of the war, then my people in arms will be ready
to do its duty to the last.”

At this point King Ferdinand apparently found German entirely
inadequate to the proper expression of his feelings, and that nothing
short of a classical tongue would suffice.

“Ave! Imperator, Cæsar et Rex,” he burst forth, “Victor et gloriosus
es. Nissa antiqua omnes Orientis populi te salutant redemptorem,
ferentem oppressis prosperitatem atque salutem. Long live Kaiser
Wilhelm!”

[_Translation._]

“Hail! Emperor, Cæsar and King. Thou art victor and glorious. In
ancient Nish all the peoples of the East salute thee, the redeemer,
bringing to the oppressed prosperity and salvation.”

All this to a man who was bearing the strain of the occasion with
obvious effort. Even whilst listening to the sonorous periods that
proclaimed him Cæsar and a number of other things, he coughed into that
handkerchief with its stars and crescent.

The Kaiser’s official reply, which by the way was never spoken, but was
disseminated by order of the authorities, ran as follows:--

“Your Majesty has especially dwelt to-day on the three important epochs
which coincide with this day. Very often as a young man, at the side of
my grandfather, and later as ruler, I have celebrated this memorable
day, always of the same importance, surrounded by the Knights of the
Order.

“Now for the second time, by God’s decision, I celebrate it in the
field, on old historic ground, a beautiful piece of country conquered
by Bulgarian bravery, received by the King amidst his brave troops and
their illustrious leaders and honoured by your Majesty with a high
order, but above all with the appointment of Colonel of the 12th Balkan
Infantry Regiment. Thus your Majesty has done me an honour than which
I could expect no better.

“To-day you have given me the fulfilment of a long cherished wish,
and your words prove that we, in valuing this hour, are filled with
the same feelings. We have been challenged by our enemies, who envied
Germany and Austria-Hungary their peaceful and flourishing prosperity,
and in most light-hearted manner endangered the development of the
Kultur of the whole of Europe, in order to strike us and our loyal
allies at the root of our strength.

“We have had a hard fight, which will soon spread further.

“When Turkey was threatened by the same enemies, she joined us and in
stubborn fighting secured her world position.

“Your Majesty’s prudence recognised that the hour had come for
Bulgaria, for you, to bring forward your old and good claims and
smooth the way for your brave country to a glorious future. In true
comradeship the glorious triumphal march of your Majesty’s nation in
arms began, which, under the guidance of its illustrious War Lord, has
added one sublime leaf of glory to another in the history of Bulgaria.

“In order to give visible expression to my feelings for such deeds, and
to the feelings of all Germany, I have begged your Majesty to accept
the dignity of Prussian Field-Marshal, and I am, with my Army, happy
that you, by accepting it, also in this sense, have become one of us.

“With God’s gracious help great deeds have been accomplished here and
on all other fronts.

“I experience feelings of the deepest gratitude to the Almighty that
it has to-day been granted me, on this historic spot, once more
consecrated with brave blood, amidst our victorious troops, to press
your Majesty’s hands and listen to your Majesty’s words, in which is
manifest the firm determination to fight for a successful and lasting
peace, and to continue the loyalty and friendship sealed in the storm
of war, in true common labour for the high task imposed upon us by
care for the welfare of our peoples.

“With the firmest confidence I also pursue this aim, and raise my glass
to the welfare of your Majesty and your House, to the victory of the
glorious Bulgarian army and to Bulgaria’s future.”[2]

The dinner was held on the two hundred and fifteenth anniversary of the
coronation of Frederick the First, and the founding by him of the order
of the Black Eagle. It is this fact that the Kaiser refers to in the
first paragraph of his reply.

As a matter of fact, the only other speaker at the Banquet in addition
to King Ferdinand was Von Falkenhayn. He rose to respond briefly to
a few compliments that Ferdinand had bestowed upon him. One thing is
certain, that the Kaiser could not, had he wished, have delivered
his oration on account of the incessant cough which troubled him
throughout the evening.

At the close of the Banquet, which was as excellently served as it
had been well-cooked, the German and Bulgarian National Anthems were
played, and the historic function, which throughout had been of an
extreme simplicity, broke up with an informality that in itself was
distinctive. Here were some of the great actors in the greatest drama
of the world’s history performing, not for the benefit of the worthy
citizens of the equally worthy little Serbian town of Nish, but for
the people of the whole civilised world. My last impression of the two
chief characters was that of Ferdinand, with a cunning gleam in his
little slits of eyes, clasping the Kaiser’s right hand in both of his
own. Was it to cement some important pledge, or was it merely warmth
of feeling on the part of him who had earned the name of “The Fox” I
wonder!

Immediately I left the Town Hall I dashed off in company with the other
journalists to the post office, in the hope of being able to get my
narrative off to London _via_ the neutral country to which I belong;
but I had reckoned without the German press censors, who no doubt
inspired their Bulgarian brethren to close the telegraph office so that
nothing should leave Nish without first having been submitted to the
Bureau. But I felt that my news would wait, and I determined to catch
the Balkan Express to Vienna.

Since my return to England I have received many messages full of the
kindest congratulations upon my account of the Banquet at Nish. I do
not wish to pose as a hero who does not understand the meaning of fear.
Not even the Kaiser himself was more uncomfortable than I. What I ate
I do not know. I suppose I did eat. I was fully conscious that were I
recognised by one of the numerous Secret Service officers about the
Kaiser, or by any other person who had happened to see me during one
of my previous visits, either to Germany or the Near East, there would
have been a short and simple ceremony by the wall of the Town Hall, in
which a firing party and myself would have been the protagonists.

As I left the Banqueting Hall I felt as Alexander must have felt
at the thought of there being no more countries to conquer. I had
achieved, by a wonderful combination of circumstances, what I had
never dreamed of achieving, and now all I desired was to get back to
England to tell the whole story. I began to be in terror of discovery;
such a trick on the part of Fate would be a supreme effort of irony.
Only one thing remained for me to do, and that was to get back with
the utmost possible expedition, but as it turned out I had yet other
experiences. I was to travel to Vienna by the famous Balkan Express,
the “Balkan-Zug,” as it is known to the Germans, which connects Berlin
and Vienna with Constantinople.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] The author’s acknowledgments are due to the editor of _The Times_,
from which the speeches are quoted, and to Reuter’s Agency for
permission to quote the Kaiser’s reply.




CHAPTER XI

THE BALKAN EXPRESS

     Existence of the Balkan-Zug Denied--A Great Strategical
     Factor--The Publicity Train--German Economy--I Join the
     Balkan-Zug at Nish--King Ferdinand a Fellow-Passenger--His
     Condescension--Excellent Food--Ruined Belgrade--Arrival at Buda
     Pesth--A Tremendous Ovation--Russian Prisoners at Work--Arrival at
     Vienna--Another Tremendous Reception--Remarkable Punctuality.


I have seen it stated in _Le Temps_ that the Balkan Express does not
exist, that it is a bluff on the part of the Germans. I really cannot
understand how a responsible editor of an influential paper can make
such an assertion without first ascertaining whether or no he be
writing the truth. Does he realise that he is misleading the people,
which is calculated to do very serious harm to the cause of the Allies?
The importance of the existence of this Balkan Express cannot be
exaggerated, and its usefulness should not be under-estimated.

First of all, the Balkan Express _does_ exist, as I have travelled
by it myself. It is one of the most perfectly-organised railway
services I have ever seen, and I have seen many. This service
enables the Germans to transfer all sorts of _matériel_ to and from
Berlin to Constantinople, and is therefore one of a series of great
factors in the present war. By its aid German troops can be rushed to
Constantinople within 56 hours, and from there transferred to whatever
front most needs them.

It took me five days to travel from Vienna to Constantinople, along a
miserable route, changing trains frequently. On my return journey I
entered my compartment in the train at Nish and never left it until I
reached my destination, Vienna, and that within 40 hours.

The Germans themselves are by no means eager that their foes should
appreciate the great value, to them, of the Balkan Express. If the
Allies can be made to believe that it does not exist they will in
consequence become re-assured as to German plans in the Near East,
and thus unconsciously aid those same plans by not being in a position
to upset them. The Germans have great ambitions as regards, not only
the Near East but the Far East also, and much of their energy is at
present concentrated upon the realisation of those ambitions in Turkey,
the Balkans, and Asia Minor. “To Egypt!” is something more than a mere
political cry.

The Germans have strength, resources, and a grim determination to
materialise those ambitions which shall strike at the power of the
hated English in what they conceive to be its most vulnerable point,
the Suez Canal. Nothing would please them better than, by virtue
of misrepresentation of the true situation in the countries of the
Entente Powers, that they should be enabled to spring a great and
dramatic surprise upon their enemies. That is why I write feelingly
about the statement to which I refer above. The Balkan Express will
in all probability become one of the great factors in the situation
in the Near East. It must be remembered that it is something more
than a train for the conveyance of passengers. It will become in all
probability of great strategical importance. I had seen it suggested in
British as well as foreign newspapers that the Balkan-Constantinople
Railway is not working properly; the following account, I think, will
be something of a revelation to many of the doubters.

The Balkan Express is the show train of the world. Never has there been
a train with such grave responsibilities. It might well be called “the
Publicity Train,” for its object at present is to advertise German
victory and German thoroughness. Later it has sterner work to do. It
is probably the handsomest train in Europe, and beyond doubt has been
designed by the Germans with the object of impressing the thousands
of people of various nationalities who gaze on it in wonder twice a
week on its way from Berlin to Constantinople and twice a week from
Constantinople to Berlin. The admiration of the Turks is tempered with
alarm, for the Turk is no fool, and he sees that the efficiency which
has enabled the Germans to reach Turkey may be the very barrier that
hinders them from ever leaving it.

The Balkan-Zug, as it is called in the Central Empires, is, however,
a source of unqualified delight to Germans, Austrians, Hungarians,
Bulgarians, and the rest of the people who see it on its journey.
Its name is blazoned in three-foot letters on each wagon. Engine and
carriages are decorated with flags and flowers, and every passenger
wears in his buttonhole a German flag on which appear the words
“Balkan-Zug” and the date.

I had originally intended to join the Balkan Express at Constantinople,
but as it would not be starting for two or three days I had booked my
place upon it, securing my ticket at Constantinople, with the intention
of boarding it at Belgrade, but circumstances had decided otherwise.
When purchasing my ticket I had an illustration of the seriousness of
the money question in Constantinople. Eight months previously when I
was there gold was given at the banks in return for cheques, that,
however, had developed into a shortage not only of gold but of silver,
as I have explained, and for my ticket which really cost 870 piastres
(£8), I had to pay the equivalent of £12 about, owing to the decrease
in value of the Turkish £.

[Illustration: MY TICKET FOR THE FIRST BALKAN EXPRESS TO RUN FROM
CONSTANTINOPLE TO BERLIN AND VIENNA]

My ticket for the Balkan Express, the outside of which is reproduced
here, is an illustration of German economy and also of German
fallibility. Surely a nation that is spending millions of money
each day to achieve its object could have afforded the few hundred
marks required for printing a special ticket for the Balkan-Zug. The
tickets are the old sleeping-car tickets in German, with the words
“Balkan-Express” printed across in English. Possibly this is due to a
breakdown on the part of the printer entrusted with the preparation of
the new ticket, but it would certainly have been more in keeping with
German methods had there been prepared not only an elaborate ticket
but a souvenir of the journey. It must be remembered that this was the
first journey of the Balkan Express west, that is, from Constantinople
to Berlin, and consequently it was historic.

After the Banquet I strolled about the town, then going to the railway
station gathered together my possessions and waited. The Balkan-Zug was
late. Night was upon us before it drew into Nish station, an impressive
affair consisting of four sleeping cars, one dining-car, and one
ordinary first and second class car. As it steamed into the station the
German, Bulgarian, and Austrian National Anthems were played, and King
Ferdinand and his two unprepossessing sons entered before the rest of
the passengers. This was an interesting event also for the passengers
from Constantinople, who leaned out of the windows, keenly interested.

The Kaiser had disappeared immediately after the Banquet, just as the
Kaiser always does disappear, suddenly and mysteriously, no one knowing
why or whither. Unceremoniously his Bulgarian Majesty climbed into the
train, and we, the smaller fry, followed after him, I feeling rather
like the camel of whom it is said that his supercilious air is the
outcome of knowing the hundredth great secret of the Universe, whereas
man knows only ninety-nine.

In the course of the evening King Ferdinand, without ceremony, entered
all the compartments in the train and made a few general remarks to
each person separately. He seemed desirous of displaying his Royal
person. He was a king and a factor in the great political situation,
and he seemed equally determined that no one on the Balkan-Zug should
be allowed to remain in ignorance of that very important fact.

In the carriage next to mine there was traveling the Baroness von
Wangenheim, the widow of the late German Ambassador at Constantinople,
and with her were her three little daughters, whom Ferdinand took on
his knees and fondled. It was obvious that he was mightily pleased
with himself. When he waddled into my compartment we rose, clicked
heels, and bowed. He graciously gave us the Royal consent to be seated,
and spoke a few words to a Hungarian, who was one of the party, in
his own tongue. This man afterwards told me that the King spoke the
Hungarian language like a native. It is well known that Ferdinand is
an excellent linguist. The other passengers in my compartment were two
German flying-men in Turkish uniforms, who with ten others that were in
the train had been suddenly recalled from Constantinople to take part,
it was said, in forthcoming air raids on England. These raids, by the
way, duly took place, and according to German official accounts reduced
industrial England to a pile of ruins!

King Ferdinand adopts quite the Kaiser’s method of speech. He accepts
the Almighty as an ally. “Thanks to God,” he said, “Who greatly helped
us we can travel from West to East through conquered territory in a
few days. We are going further. Give my Royal salute to all the people
of your home country.” He then withdrew, and we permitted ourselves to
relax our spines.

On the Balkan Express the food is infinitely better than can be
obtained in Constantinople, Vienna, or Berlin. It may almost be said
of the Germans that they have one eye on God and the other eye on
advertisement in case of accidents. I felt convinced that the food
on the Balkan Express was superior merely for advertising purposes.
Bread-tickets are unknown, and for a mark I had an early breakfast of
coffee, rolls, butter and marmalade without stint.

It was about ten o’clock at night when we reached Belgrade, which, as I
have said, I was particularly anxious to see. On inquiry I found that
the Balkan Express was to remain there for an hour and a half, and,
determined not to be disappointed, I left the station to stroll around
the town, or rather the ruins of the town.

Some idea of the accuracy of modern artillery fire may be gleaned from
the fact that the besieging Austrian gunners were able to aim with
such precision that not one shell had fallen on the railway station.
It must be remembered that they were firing from the other side of the
Danube at its widest part. The Austrian Staff had obviously realised
that their advancing army would have need of the railway as soon as the
Serbians had been forced back, and doubtless the artillery had been
instructed at all costs to spare this important point. The remarkable
thing, however, is that houses within a few yards of the station itself
have been absolutely destroyed, yet there was not so much as a mark
that I was able to see upon any of the station buildings themselves.

The Kaiser had already been in Belgrade, and the German Wireless Agency
took occasion to inform the world at large that “Since the days of
Barbarossa, who on a crusade to the Holy Land held a review of over
100,000 German Knights in Belgrade, no German Emperor has set foot on
Belgrade’s citadel until that day, when the German Emperor arrived in
splendid weather and was greeted by an Austro-Hungarian guard of honour
and military music, shouting, and the roar of cannon.

“The Emperor visited the new railway bridge, and then went amongst the
festively-clad population, who freely moved about, and afterwards
rode to Kalimegdan, the excursion resort. The Emperor afterwards held
a review of the German troops, which crossed the Danube, and addressed
them with a speech thanking them, and felicitating them on their
extraordinary exploits. The Kaiser personally delivered Iron Crosses to
the soldiers.”

To me it seemed only a few days before that Belgrade had fallen into
the hands of the Huns, yet already the river was spanned by a wonderful
new wooden bridge, such as could not be constructed in a few weeks, or
months, for that matter. In all probability this and many other bridges
had been built years back in preparation for the great struggle that
Germany and Austria alone knew was impending. This was no temporary
makeshift, but as good as the fine American trestle-bridges in use on
the best American railways.

The Germans seemed to be prepared for everything; in particular are
they prepared against England, their most hated foe. I wish that I
could get Englishmen to ponder over this, to them, vital fact. Had
there been an invasion of England, a thing which now fortunately seems
impossible, the truth would have been brought home to that country with
tragic suddenness. Germans were not only ready for war, but as the war
progresses they are ceaselessly improving their _matériel_. Everywhere
I went I saw evidences of this.

As I returned to the station, having just seen the terrible fate that
had overtaken the Serbian capital, I could not help wondering why it is
that England seems incapable of appreciating her danger. I refer, of
course, to the population in general, for many of those in high places,
I am convinced, have no illusions as to the political and strategical
situation.

I had been somewhat surprised to find that the Balkan-Zug had not
received its usual enthusiastic reception at Belgrade. Possibly this
may have been because of the late hour of its arrival, but more likely
because the civil population of the town has practically ceased to
exist. Belgrade is now the Austrian main headquarters on that front,
and is essentially a military town.

We drew out of the station shortly before midnight, and arrived at Buda
Pesth between nine and ten o’clock the next morning. In the Hungarian
capital the Publicity Train received a tremendous reception--ovation
would be a better word. At the Nord Bahnhof there was an enormous
crowd, the greatest I have ever seen at a railway station. The
excitable Hungarians tumbled over each other in their anxiety to get
near the Zug. Wine was brought for the engine driver and fireman,
and the passengers, with their little Balkan-Zug flags in their coat
buttonholes, were promptly lionised, and--for once in their lives at
least--experienced the sensation of being popular heroes. The crowd
patted them on the back, insisted on shaking hands with them, cooed
over them, crowed over them, and laughed with hysterical joy. What
pleasure can possibly accrue to a man leaning out of a railway-carriage
window from shaking hands with entire strangers, I cannot possibly
conceive; yet it seemed to give intense satisfaction alike to the
passengers and the populace.

At Buda Pesth the Balkan-Zug was tidied and made presentable. Windows
were cleaned by men having little ladders, and the compartments and
corridors swept. To my great surprise I found that this work was being
done by big, bearded men in Russian uniforms. I spoke to one or two of
them, but they had very few words of German. They explained that they
were Russian prisoners. I was surprised that they had with them no
guards of any description, and appeared to be without supervision. I
commented on the fact to a fellow passenger, the Hungarian I mentioned
before, who told me that the men were left entirely to themselves, and
that they were too content with their lot to wish to make any endeavour
to escape. He said they were kindly treated, and always expressed
their satisfaction at being where they were, and much preferred it to
returning to Russia to fight. I was under no illusion on this score,
however. A Russian private soldier is not such a fool as to imagine
that he stands the least possible chance of escape from an enemy
country when he has at his command only a few words of the language in
use in that country. Probably the Russians found that the best way to
ensure good treatment was to simulate entire content.

Advertising by train is nothing particularly new. I have seen it
done in Canada and the United States of America; but advertising
victory by train is about the most convincing method of spreading the
splendid news that I have ever encountered. Everybody who has seen the
Balkan-Zug will tell everybody else that they have done so, not once,
but many times. These persons in turn will tell others, embroidering
the story somewhat, and so the ball will go on for ever rolling. The
Balkan-Zug is photographed and described in countless journals, and it
appears on myriads of post-cards. I have never seen such enthusiasm
in England except in connection with some famous football player, the
idol of a crowd numbering fifty or sixty thousand persons. It would be
invidious to draw a comparison between German and English methods in
this respect.

At Buda Pesth the Publicity Train divided itself into two parts.
Another beflagged locomotive appeared, like a bridegroom seeking his
bride: in this case it was only half a bride. One half of the train
goes to Berlin and the other half to Vienna. As it was my object to
get to England as speedily as possible, in order to give my account of
the Kaiser’s health and King Ferdinand’s famous Banquet to _The Daily
Mail_, I determined to go to Vienna. I was one of the very few of the
passengers going to the Austrian capital. The officers and the flying
men proceeded to Berlin. Those of us who had come from Constantinople
were looking forward to somewhat improved food, which we hoped to
obtain in Vienna. As yet the newly-opened line to Constantinople has
had time merely to take the Balkan-Zug and the military trains carrying
army supplies, men, and munitions for the Baghdad, the Caucasus, or
the Egyptian ventures, possibly for all. My last glimpse of the Berlin
half of the Balkan-Zug was of the still hysterical mass of people
endeavouring to buy the little flags worn by the passengers. Later, in
Vienna, I was offered 20 kronen (about 16s.) for mine, but I refused
it. Subsequently I was offered a much larger sum.

During the journey to Vienna I talked with a Turkish gentleman and his
wife and daughter. I was greatly amused to hear that, although the
women had left Constantinople veiled and dressed in Eastern costume,
as soon as they crossed the border both put on European clothes and
dropped the veil. They expressed the opinion that now the Germans had
opened up Turkey with the famous railway, the state of semi-starvation
in Constantinople would cease. Personally, I had doubts, which I
tactfully refrained from expressing.

I had seen Germany in war time and been in several of its principal
towns, and I knew that, whatever the German newspapers may tell to
the world, there is no surplus food in any part of the country that
I had visited. The old Turkish gentleman was shrewd and kindly, and
he expressed his regret at the closing of all the French schools in
Constantinople. He volunteered the information that, in order that his
son should not absorb the principles of German militarism, he had sent
him to be educated at a school in French Switzerland.

Vienna gave the train what the newspapers call a rousing reception.
Even the official mind gave way before it, and the Custom House
officers and other functionaries spared us the usual examination and
interrogation. Not even our passports were examined. I came to the
conclusion that there was great virtue in being a traveller by the
first Balkan-Zug running from Constantinople to Vienna. Knowing,
however, the ways of the military authorities in the war zone, and that
later on I should be obliged to prove my arrival in Vienna, I insisted
on having my papers stamped by the military authorities at the railway
station.

At Vienna tickets were collected from the passengers as they left the
station. I had determined to make a great effort to retain mine, of
all my papers the most important next to my passport. As I was about
to pass through the barrier, an official held out his hand for my
ticket. I explained to him that as I had been a passenger on the Balkan
Express I was anxious for sentimental reasons to retain it. I gilded
my remarks with a tip of five kronen, which seemed to satisfy him, as
he very kindly tore off a portion of the ticket and returned to me the
remainder. But for this official venality I should not have been able
to reproduce this valuable evidence in this volume.

My journey from Vienna to Constantinople by way of Bucharest had
occupied five days. The opening of the direct Vienna-Constantinople
line reduces this to two nights and two days--50 hours, to be exact.
Even now the train arrives at the various stations with remarkable
punctuality, always within five minutes of the scheduled time, which in
itself is a triumph for German organisation.




CHAPTER XII

FRENCH THOROUGHNESS

     I Leave Vienna--I am Ordered Back--I Risk Proceeding on My
     Journey--A Friendly Hungarian Officer--Over the Swiss Frontier--My
     Frankness My Undoing--The French Super-Official--I am Detained
     Somewhere in France--My Protests Unavailing--I am Suspected of
     the Plague--Left Behind--_The Daily Mail_ to the Rescue--Profuse
     Apologies--I Proceed to Paris--“You Will Never Convince
     England”--London at Last--Rest.


I had only four hours in Vienna, and in that time there was a great
deal to do, which I had better not detail here lest I get someone into
trouble. The train for Feldkirch, the station on the Austrian-Swiss
frontier from which I had set out a few weeks previously, was just on
the point of starting when I climbed into the carriage, my hand luggage
being bundled in behind me.

I was beginning to breathe more freely now that I was on my way to
a neutral country. At the end of about an hour, when I really felt
justified in congratulating myself upon being practically safe, an
official came through to my compartment of the train, asking to see
the passport of each passenger. He examined mine with that slow and
irritating deliberation peculiar to these officials, and, looking up
suddenly, said:

“This has not been signed by the police.”

“What police?” I inquired.

“The police of Vienna,” he responded.

“Surely that is not necessary,” I remarked. “I only arrived by the
Balkan Express at three o’clock, and had my passport stamped at the
station.” It will be remembered that I had insisted upon this being
done, foreseeing possible difficulties.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that you will have to get out at the next
station and go back.” He was extremely polite, but very firm.

I said that I was just returning from a most important visit, and
showed him the document which I had obtained at the War Office (the
Kriegsministerium Pressbureau) in Vienna, and which had already many
times saved the situation.

“Well, if you can satisfy the frontier authorities,” he replied, “I
have nothing to say.”

I became very uneasy, but I decided to proceed. It would indeed be
an irony if I were to be discovered within hail of safety. I slept
very little that night, and when we arrived at Feldkirch, on the
following afternoon, I braced myself up for a final struggle with the
authorities. I looked about me anxiously to see if the official whom
I had encountered in the train had come on to Feldkirch, and I was
greatly relieved that he was nowhere to be seen.

We were all ushered into a large waiting-room, the same waiting-room
that I had entered a few weeks previously when setting out on my
journey. One by one the other passengers were admitted to the adjoining
room, just as they had been admitted previously, and at the same
table were to be seen five military officers, smoking, and sitting in
judgment. As I entered the room I felt like a prisoner going up the
steps to the dock at the Old Bailey to receive sentence.

However, the good fortune that has attended me throughout my journey
did not desert me at the last moment, for my examining officer was a
very nice young Hungarian, who was so interested in the narrative of
my journey, and what I had seen in Constantinople, that he subjected
my papers to a very cursory examination. The papers themselves were,
thanks to my careful precautions, in perfect order save for the absence
of the ridiculous and unnecessary superscription by the police at
Vienna. This young officer then accompanied me to the train, gave me
his card, and asked me to look him up next time I was in Buda Pesth.
Needless to say I shall not do so, but he was not in the least to blame
for passing me through. The worst he could have done would have been to
send me back to Vienna that my passport might be signed by the police,
and my friend the Hofrat would have seen that no difficulty would be
allowed to arise in that direction.

Once over the frontier at Buchs in Switzerland, I breathed as a
prisoner might be expected to breathe on regaining his freedom. For
seven weeks I had been in constant danger of discovery, and during
that time I had been forced to act and dissimulate, and for ever
watch myself and others lest some chance remark of mine might arouse
suspicion in the minds of those about me. The mental strain had been
tremendous, and this had reacted upon the body, for during those seven
weeks I lost more than a stone in weight.

I do not think that I am a coward, at least not a greater coward than
the average man, but I was greatly delighted to find myself safe once
more. No one who has not been through such an experience as mine can
understand the feeling of elation and delight that comes with the
knowledge that at last he is absolutely a free man.

My journey from Constantinople to Switzerland had probably established
a record, at least since the beginning of the war; but, alas! my
future progress was not to be so rapid. The officials at the French
frontier were far more exacting than those of the enemy country through
which I had passed, and I cheerfully tender this tribute as to their
efficiency, although at the same time I should like them to know that
they caused me considerable inconvenience. At Berne I had to wait
four hours for the train, which no longer goes direct to Paris, the
passengers having to change at Pontarlier. On the previous occasion
when I had travelled by that route the train had travelled direct from
Berne to Paris. The reason for this change I discovered was that it had
been found that spies secreted documents in the carriages before being
personally examined, and when they were “passed” they recovered their
missing papers and continued the journey with the documents upon them.
Accordingly the authorities very wisely so arranged it that passengers
had to change trains at Pontarlier on the Swiss-French frontier. It
will be seen that cleverness and subtlety are not the monopoly of the
Germans.

At one time Pontarlier looked like being the Waterloo of my little
trip. By certain means--which it is not my intention to disclose--I
had placed myself in a position that I could verify every stage of
my journey by documents, which I intended to produce should the
Germans deny the veracity of my statements, or should my truthfulness
be questioned in other quarters. Knowing the Germans as I do, I am
convinced that Dr. Hammann, the head of the German Press Bureau, would
adopt one of two courses. He would either forbid the publication in the
German newspapers of a single word of my story, or he would frankly
challenge its accuracy. Apparently he has chosen the former course, as
not a word about it has appeared in any German paper, or Austrian, for
that matter, most of which I see. The German accounts of the Banquet at
Nish represent the Kaiser as in a merry mood. What a travesty of truth!

As I was now in France, and conscious of my own sympathies with the
Allies, I thought that there would be no harm in disclosing the whole
of my documents. Accordingly when my turn came to be examined by the
_commissaire_, I said straight out that I had come from Constantinople.
Instead of being hailed as a hero, I was given to understand, albeit
politely, that in all probability I had adopted this course of showing
all my papers because I was not merely a spy, but a super-spy, who
had conceived the brilliant idea that the best plan of getting past
the French authorities was to affect an attitude of colossal candour.
In vain I protested and expostulated. In vain I pointed out that it
was essential that I should arrive in London with the utmost possible
expedition. I suggested that if they distrusted me they could send
with me an official, every official they possessed for that matter,
whose expenses I would pay to Paris, where they could easily satisfy
themselves at the Paris office of _The Daily Mail_ that I was what I
represented myself to be. Talk of German thoroughness, German caution,
and German patriotism! The Germans have much to learn from those
excessively courteous but severe French officials, who cannot be won
over by the flattery which goes so far in Germany. If the official I
had encountered thought that I was a super-spy, I am convinced that he
was a super-official. Now that it is all over I have for him nothing
but admiration, but at the time his persistent courtesy made me feel
that I should like to hit him.

Nothing would satisfy him but that I should be stripped, and this
fact he conveyed to me in the most courteous phraseology, at which I
suggested with some acerbity that he would still be courteous even were
he leading me to the guillotine! None the less, stripped I had to be.

My collection of papers, which has proved a source of such interest to
so many distinguished and highly placed people in this country, was
minutely examined, and certain maps and other important documents,
whose interest is rather military than journalistic, were temporarily
taken from me. I was in a panic of anxiety. The minutes were passing,
and the time for the Paris train to start was drawing near. I implored
the authorities to telephone to Paris, and then it was that they
played their trump card. They intimated that seeing I had come through
Austria, and understanding that the Plague was prevalent in Hungary,
they felt obliged to detain me for medical examination next morning. It
was then midnight. Neither my expostulations nor my entreaties produced
the least effect upon the impassively polite Frenchman. I verily
believe that had there been no Plague in Hungary as an excuse for my
detention, that they would have had me examined for foot-and-mouth
disease, glanders, or rinderpest. One of the most anguishing moments
of my life was when I heard the Paris express slowly moving out of the
station. I, of all the passengers, being the only one left behind, and
I of all the passengers the one in the greatest hurry to get to Paris.

Soon philosophy came to my aid, and I argued that how like life it
was. After the many risks that I had run in enemy countries, where I
had never been even detained by the officials, here was I, immediately
on getting to what should have been friendly soil, being examined and
cross-examined and re-examined again and again by officials whose every
word spoke suspicion. I had been equal to every previous examination
to which I had been subjected, and here was I stranded at the very
moment of success in the country of one of the Allies for whom I had so
great an admiration. “_Gott im Himmel!_” I muttered, “spare me from my
friends.”

Within a few minutes of the departure of the train there came a reply
by telephone from Paris guaranteeing my integrity, accompanied by
a request that every possible facility should be given to me. This
produced an official _volte face_. The courtesy remained the same, but
there were full and adequate apologies. The French authorities seemed
genuinely distressed at the inconvenience they had caused me. Indeed,
nothing could be more kindly and courteous than the treatment I
received at Pontarlier. In spite of the delay that these men had caused
me, I respected them for their thoroughness. It is better in war time
to err, if error there must be, on the side of caution.

I doubt if I could have written these friendly words at the time. I
was feeling too irritated to recognise virtue in anyone, least of all
in a French official. There was no train until five o’clock the next
afternoon, and that, I was informed, was an omnibus train, stopping at
every station between Pontarlier and Dijon.

By taking it rather than wait for the later express, I was informed,
I should save two hours on the road to Paris. The Hotel de la Poste,
at Pontarlier, had long since been asleep, but I aroused it, delighted
at the opportunity of myself being able to inconvenience somebody
else, and I spent a wretched night of chagrin and worry. Would there
be further difficulties? Should I ever get to London? Should I for any
possible reason be detained in Paris? It must be remembered that I had
a great story burning in my brain. None but a journalist can understand
that instinct which prompts a man who has obtained “good copy” to dash
for the nearest point where that copy can be turned into print.

Only those who have moved about in war time with documents and maps in
their possession have the least conception of the difficulties that
arise with the authorities, who naturally have every reason to be
suspicious.

It was at three o’clock in the afternoon on January 25th, exactly a
week after the historic Banquet at Nish, that I reached London, and
without a pause proceeded to the offices of _The Daily Mail_, where I
had scarcely sufficient strength to write the account of my meeting
with the Kaiser at Nish. I then made for my hotel, enjoyed a luxurious
bath, and a long, long sleep. I was utterly exhausted.

It must be remembered that I had been travelling continuously for a
week, that is, from the evening of the Banquet at Nish, January 18th,
until three o’clock on the afternoon of the 25th. In Serbia and Austria
all the sleeping-cars had been requisitioned by the authorities, which
added greatly to the fatigues of travel; but I had the satisfaction of
knowing that I had carried out my instructions, and had brought back
what I had been told to bring back--a living story.

I have had the satisfaction of opening the eyes of the British public
to the strange migration of Germans to the Near East. I can tell them
with a conviction, that with me is almost passionate, that unless the
Allies obtain a smashing victory, the German occupation of Asia Minor
will threaten England’s hold on India, England’s hold on Egypt, the
Russian security in the Caucasus, and will open up to Germany a vast
granary that will completely destroy the effect of the British Blockade
and alter the whole history of the world. I am not an alarmist, I am a
journalist who has seen many strange things, things which no other man
of either a neutral or Entente Power has seen, and being a journalist
I understand to some extent the relation of cause and effect. “You will
never convince England of her danger,” someone recently remarked to me.
“But why?” I asked; “what possible object can I have in exaggerating
or lying? I am not a politician, I am not even an Englishman, and
certainly I feel very deeply the danger the Entente cause is running,
owing to the spell of apathy that seems to have fallen upon certain
sections of the public.” My friend’s reply was a smile.

It has been a great pleasure to me, too, to be the instrument of
showing how a highly organised newspaper can act as an effective means
of obtaining information for a nation at war. The police of this
country have long since recognised the value of the Press in detecting
crime, and I think the Government will now have an equal respect for
the journalist as a secret service agent, albeit an honorary one. I
know of at least one newspaper that has a most wonderful organisation
in the enemy countries for securing information, and that organisation
is not excelled by any Government of the Entente Powers.

One word of warning to British officials at present occupying posts
as Consuls and Ministers. They must appreciate the fact that this
war concerns their country’s very existence, and they must not allow
themselves to be lulled to a false security by mendacious statements
that appear in the press. One distinguished English diplomatist in
a neutral country, a man whose name is well known in the diplomatic
world, said to me only a few weeks ago, “And do those silly Germans
really think they are going to win?” and his remark was accompanied by
a superior and incredulous smile.

“Why, of course, they do,” I replied, “and unless England wakes up
perhaps they will.” I felt annoyed with the man.




CHAPTER XIII

THE GERMAN MENACE

     After Thoughts--The Great Factor--National Service--False Ideals
     as to the German Soldier--The Danger of Under-estimating Germany’s
     Resources--Great Britain’s Helpers--Crush the German--“Wait Till
     We Get to England.”


Now that I am back in London quietly meditating on my recent
experiences, I cannot help feeling ill at ease. I see in my mind’s eye
once more, just as if I were sitting at a kinematograph show, those
thousands of young, sturdy-looking Germans on their way to the Near
East. I see the magnificent new bridges and the reconstructed tunnels
in Serbia. I hear the crowds at different stations cheer the Balkan
Express on its way back to Berlin. “Are people in this country,” I ask
myself, “fully aware of the seriousness of the present situation? Does
the Government of this country fully realise that unless the British
Fleet be left to show its might in cutting off what is the food of the
German War-Machine, the war itself cannot be brought to a successful
issue?”

Great changes have taken place since I left London at the beginning of
November. On my return I find that National Service has been adopted by
the Government and accepted by the people. To me this was the best news
I had heard for many months. A step nearer victory, I told myself.

At last the British people have realised that compulsion to defend
the country of their birth is no disgrace, and they have learned that
it in no way threatens their personal liberty. The French and Dutch,
to mention two countries famed for their love of independence and
liberty, never have and never will consider it against their freedom
to be compelled to learn how to defend themselves in the hour of need.
An Englishman does not consider it a disgrace to be compelled to pay
his rates and taxes; why should it be regarded as anything but an
honour, and a very great honour, to be compelled to defend the greatest
freedom that subjects of any country have ever known--to give up his
life for his Motherland?

The adoption of the National Service Scheme has caused me the liveliest
possible satisfaction, but there is still another danger to be met
by, not only the British people, but the British Government itself;
that is, the under-estimation of the power and resources of the German
menace. The misleading statements which for the past year have figured
in many English journals, to the effect that men of fifty and boys of
fifteen are sent to the front on account of the exhaustion of German
man power, have done incalculable harm in convincing thousands of
people that the end of the war is at hand, and that the end will be
victory for the Entente Powers. The Germans have now been fighting for
eighteen months, and they are very far from being beaten.

A man may, to his own entire satisfaction, come to the conclusion that
given the Spring and sufficient munitions that the German resistance
will crumble. The German resistance will never crumble; it will fight
as fine a defensive campaign as it has fought a series of offensive
campaigns. To under-rate an enemy is to undermine your own chances of
victory.

Shortly after my return to England I was talking with a Frenchman who
for some time has lived in this country. He seemed to be convinced that
the Germans had only old men and boys in the trenches in France, and
that they were a mere army of cowards.

“If that be the case,” I replied, “if they really are an army of
cowards who throw down their arms and hold up their hands as soon as
they are attacked, then why does not the glorious French Army hurl them
back across the Rhine?”

To this my friend made no reply. I relate the incident merely to show
how many excellent people hypnotise themselves into the belief that
the Germans are cowards. Any British “Tommy” who has participated in
an attack on the German trenches, or who has helped to hold the lines
against a German onslaught, will confirm me in my opinion that the
Germans are very far indeed from being cowards.

It will aid the Allies nothing to underestimate German cunning and
German efficiency. I firmly believe that in the long run Great Britain
can hold out far better than her foes; but Great Britain is not
fighting alone, she has to consider France, Russia and Italy, and
finish this fight with the utmost possible expedition.

It is incumbent upon this country to put forth its entire manhood,
as well as to husband all its resources for the great struggle that
is looming in the very near distance. In short, all must wake up to
the great German danger. Away with kid gloves! Away with all thought
of the Hague Convention! Fight the reckless, ferocious, wild animal
which has broken loose over Europe, fight it with every weapon at your
disposal! If Great Britain allows this animal to conquer it, there will
be no pity, and the glorious British Empire will be a thing of the
past. Those thousands and thousands of young men of the Empire from
every corner of the globe who have died on the battlefields of France
and Gallipoli shall then not have died in vain, and the most glorious
monument to the memory of those fallen heroes will be the complete
defeat of the brutal Hun.

This is not the hour for seeking personal glory, but it is the moment
for searching for efficiency, be it in the field of battle or on the
Government benches in the House of Commons.

Britons, as well as neutrals, who love this, to me, dear old country
and all that it stands for should give their all to crush Germany. The
blunders that have been made are for the most part almost excusable
blunders. No one can expect that in a short time a country that has
always been anti-militarist can turn into a highly organised military
power. The Germans themselves have taken some forty years to achieve
this. I repeat, Germany is still very far from being beaten. Personally
I firmly believe in the eventual victory of the Allies, but only if
every man according to his ability throws the weight of his influence,
his money, or his life into the scale. Then, and then only, shall we
see the German War Machine break down, one part after another, and once
more peace shall be restored to a Europe torn with strife and soaked
with blood.

France, Russia and Italy are merely Great Britain’s helpers. Great
Britain is the real opponent to German Militarism. She is the great
store-house from which supplies and munitions pour, and without which
her Allies cannot continue the struggle. It is she who is fated to be
the great factor in the crushing of German ambition, and its mad lust
for world-wide domination. Germany is to this century what Napoleon was
to the last, a menace to individual and national independence. It has
been seen what German Kultur did for Belgium and Serbia. “Wait till we
get to England!” is a remark I have heard from German lips, uttered in
a tone so significant, so sinister, that I have involuntarily shuddered.



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