Chapter XIX: The Decline of Morale

In June 1916 the Germans adopted a new policy. They began to send distinguished neutrals, generally Swedes, who entered the country as ardently pro-British, and told us that a recent visit to Berlin had convinced them that the economic situation in Germany was far stronger than in England, and that England was faced with the certainty of defeat unless she agreed with her enemy quickly. In one case the Swede proposed that our Government should select six business men and send them to Holland to meet six Germans and thus convince themselves of the truth of what he said! He was surprised and pained when he heard that his invitation had been refused. I wish I had seen him after the Armistice to remind him of his passionate assurances that the Germans whom he professed to dislike so much were about to triumph.

There were many other indications that the Germans were becoming anxious about their morale. It was common talk among the interned officers in Donnington Hall in September 1917 that they could not expect to win the War, but they still hoped to be able to hold out long enough to secure a ‘draw.’

The peace feelers of the Austrians led to a very curious incident. In March 1916 two distinguished Spanish gentlemen were ushered into my room. One, who bore an ancient title, was the proprietor of a Madrid newspaper; the other, who spoke English fluently and was married to an American, was vouched for as a person of wealth and position. He explained that he had a scheme for obtaining for the Allies the use of all the Austrian ships interned in Spain, and the titled gentleman bowed and smiled as an endorsement, though it was doubtful whether he understood enough English to know what was said. Señor P---- had with him all the impedimenta of a wealthy traveller--wife, children, governess, secretary, servants, and baggage, and he had engaged a suite of rooms. He had interviews with various distinguished people, but there was something rather nebulous about his proposals, and he did not produce any written guarantee of his good faith. It happened that on the staff of a certain daily newspaper there was a gentleman who knew Spanish. Upon him Señor P---- seized, for he could bring him into touch with the newspaper world, and so mobilise public opinion in favour of taking over the Austrian ships. Just before Easter Señor P---- informed me that he intended to go to Holland and there meet certain Austrian shipping magnates with whom he hoped to negotiate the transfer. On Good Friday I was rung up by the newspaper man, who asked my advice. Señor P---- had begged him to accompany him to Holland. Was there any objection? Knowing that he was to be trusted and that he might keep an eye upon the Spaniard’s movements and let me know what it was all about, I helped him with his passport, and the two went off together. Two days later I received a telegram from Rotterdam, begging me to meet the pressman in my office on Easter Sunday as he had something important to communicate. The poor man had been travelling all night, and was in a state of nervous tension. He told me the following story:

On the way down the river Señor P---- had remarked, ‘I ought to tell you without delay that all this about the Austrian ships is a blind. What we are really going to do is to negotiate a peace between Austria and the Allies.’ With that, he pulled out of his pocket a telegram which read as follows:

‘I appoint Señor P---- and Mr. H---- to be my Plenipotentiaries for
making peace.

LORD ROBERT CECIL.’

Mr. H---- pointed out that this was a forgery; that Lord Robert Cecil would not have sent or signed a telegram in this way, nor would he have thought of appointing either Señor P---- or himself as plenipotentiaries. Señor P---- burst out laughing. ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘these little artifices are necessary when great events hang in the balance. I shall show this telegram to the Austrians and they will believe it.’

On arriving at Rotterdam Mr. H---- found that three Austrian gentlemen had actually arrived, and he was taken into a conference in a hotel. Señor P---- did most of the talking, and was particularly eloquent on the financial question. You could not, he said, have peace without paying for it, and peace in this case was worth a million sterling to Austria if it was worth a crown. They haggled for some time over the deal, and Señor P---- left the room for a moment to find a document, whereupon the Austrians asked Mr. H---- what he knew of his Spanish friend. They had made inquiries about him in Berlin, and what they had learnt was not very much in his favour. ‘But,’ they said, ‘whether we care to negotiate with him or not, we do welcome the opportunity of meeting face to face the proprietor of a great London daily newspaper.’

‘I am not the proprietor,’ said Mr. H---- in amazement, ‘I am merely a humble employé.’

They waved this politely aside. Great men often travel incognito. He was, of course, Lord ---- in disguise. He continued to disclaim the compliment, and they said, ‘Well, whoever you are, you are in a position to convey to the proper quarter our views regarding a peace between Austria and the Allies,’ With that, they handed him the following paper:

‘M. Emil Karpeles and Mr. H----, respectively an Austrian and a
British subject, having been brought together at Amsterdam by Mr.
de P----, starting from the idea of their two countries being in a
position to initiate preliminaries for peace, and to become for a
long period trustees for peace in Europe, undertake to submit to
their respective governments the ten clauses named below in order
to obtain from them a declaration of their agreeing to them in
principle. By giving such declarations the two governments accept
these ten clauses as the basis of a preliminary conference to be
held as soon as possible within four weeks from to-day in Holland
or Switzerland. The conference is to be composed of the same number
of delegates from the two parties, and two delegates appointed by
His Majesty the King of Spain. This preliminary conference will also
arrange conditions and regulations for the exchange of goods between
the two countries for the time of an armistice if such be proclaimed.

‘_Clause_ 1. The re-establishment of the Kingdom of Serbia, with
limits as before the Treaty of London, the King to be chosen by Great
Britain and Austria-Hungary, the province of Negotin to come to
Austria-Hungary.

‘2. The re-establishment of the Kingdom of Montenegro. Lovcen and the
coast to go to Austria-Hungary against territorial compensation on
the east frontier.

‘3. Albania. Sovereign to be chosen by Great Britain and
Austria-Hungary.

‘4. Limits as after the first Balkan war, inclusive Macedonia
(exchange Kavalla against Valona with Greece?).

‘5. Greece. See clause 4.

‘6. Italy to abandon influence on east coast of the Adriatic.
A rectification of the Austro-Italian frontier if desired by
Austria-Hungary to be agreed to by Italy. No war contribution.

‘7. Turkey. _Status quo ante._ Signatory powers guarantee integrity
of the Turkish Empire.

‘8. Belgium. Re-establishment against return German colonies to
Germany.

‘9. France. _Status quo ante._

‘10. Russia. Kingdom of Poland to be created as in existence between
1772-1793. The King to be chosen by Great Britain out of three
presented by Austria-Hungary. The Crown lands within the limits of
the future kingdom of Poland to serve as security for the interest
and principal of a loan of 25 thousand million marks in favour of
Austria-Hungary. Great Britain will raise the full amount of the
loan, _i.e._ 25 thousand million marks on behalf of Austria-Hungary,
to whom the money is to be paid, and who will settle all the expenses
incurred in the arrangement for the preliminary conference mentioned
in the first paragraph.

‘AMSTERDAM, _27th April 1916_.

‘In the event of His Majesty the King of Spain declining two
delegates as mentioned in the first paragraph the two governments
will consider any further suggestion for the holding of the
preliminary conference.

‘AMSTERDAM, _27th April_.’

In the course of conversation he gathered that the Austrians were not officials but directors of important shipping concerns who may have had some quiet official sanction for their errand. No money passed between them and Señor P----, but when Mr. H---- pointed out that he had come over on the understanding that he was not to be put to personal expense, they did give him a hundred pounds to cover his journey, which seemed to show that they thought his intervention was worth at least that amount.

It is to be feared that poor Señor P---- did not enjoy his reception on his return to this country. His stay was extremely short, and part of it was passed in a room without any of the amenities that he had been accustomed to in his suite at a first-class hotel. Since the Armistice he has again appeared as a man who can make fortunes. His fluent tongue, his moist eye, and his extremely well-fed appearance were not given him for nothing.

Among the many queer people who graced my room was a certain Jugo-Slav lawyer-journalist who came I do not quite know why, and left I do not quite know whither. He talked unceasingly about nothing in particular. He assured me that he was a frequent visitor to the Foreign Office, and that he was a person to be reckoned with. I consulted a friend who knew him well, and when I remarked that he did not quite seem to know what he wanted and that his discourse was sometimes incoherent, my friend assured me that all Jugo-Slav journalists are like that and that everything reasonable should be done to encourage him. And so when he called again and again I did not attempt to interrupt him: my time was a sacrifice laid on the altar of our international relations.

One day the awful news was received that the Jugo-Slav journalist was under arrest in Northumberland. In defiance of every prescription, human and divine, he had taken the train for Newcastle without complying with any of the police requirements, and had gone straight off to the residence of Lord Grey of Fallodon. Lord Grey was away, and his housekeeper, naturally disturbed, communicated with the police, when it was found that my Jugo-Slav friend had neglected to register his arrival. He was then contemplating a journey to Glasgow, Inverness, and Edinburgh, but he was remitted under escort to London, where again he appeared before me. On this occasion incoherence would be a grave under-statement of the nature of his discourse. I gathered that he had been grossly insulted, and that all Jugo-Slavia would rise as one man when they came to know of it. It was useless to point out that the law was no respecter of persons, and that even the most distinguished foreigner was liable to indignities if he broke it, because my friend had no time for listening. He wanted to talk, and talk he did. Still, he was no exception to the unbroken rule that no one who came into my room should leave it without thanking me, and we patched up some kind of arrangement. I was shocked some few weeks later at learning that the poor man had died of general paralysis of the insane.

Among the detentions made at this period was that of an ex-naval officer, Commander von Rintelen. After leaving the German Navy he had embarked on international trade, chiefly in Mexico, and had become a power in Central America. He had done many things that would have brought him within reach of the law in the United States. For some time he denied his identity, but the interrogation by the naval officers was conducted with remarkable skill, and in the end he confessed. At subsequent interviews he became quite communicative, while of course he gave nothing away that would have injured his Government. He was interned as an officer at Donnington Hall.

The Americans would have been very glad to have him within their jurisdiction, but it was, of course, impossible to transfer a prisoner of war to the custody of a neutral. On the day when America entered the War on the side of the Allies the position changed. There seemed to be nothing to prevent a prisoner of war interned in one of the allied countries from being interned in another, and it was decided to send von Rintelen over to America in British custody. A curious light is thrown upon the German mentality by an incident that took place just before he embarked. He stopped to make a solemn protest as a prisoner of war against his life being placed in jeopardy from German submarines if he were embarked upon a merchant vessel. His escort listened quite gravely to his protest, and asked him to move on.

A good deal of latitude is allowed to prisoners on board steamers, and one day von Rintelen found himself in company with a young South American who spoke German fluently. When he heard that he was going to South America he asked him to call upon the German Minister in Venezuela and say to him the two words ‘_Rintelen Meldet_’ (Rintelen has arrived). That, he explained, would set certain machinery to work. He hinted darkly that there would be reprisals upon Colonel Napier, who was interned as a prisoner of war in Austria, and he declared his intention of getting President Carranza to seize three prominent Americans in Mexico and make reprisals on them. His passion for reprisals knew no bounds. Some months later, while he was awaiting his trial in New York, he told this young man when he came to see him that he need not trouble further about delivering the message because Admiral von Hintze had passed through New York on his way from China, and would see that the necessary steps were taken. I was glad to learn a little later that the British officer in question had been released and sent to England.

One early morning some fishermen who were walking under the cliff between Robin Hood’s Bay and Filey saw two men wandering along the beach. They stopped them and, believing them to be Germans, took them to the nearest constable. Nothing very much could be got out of them except that they were German sailors, and that they had buried some of their belongings in the sand. These were recovered, and among them was a cheap watch which was still going. On the way to London they declared that they had swum ashore from a submarine in Robin Hood’s Bay. It seemed impossible that a watch which had been immersed in sea water for perhaps twenty minutes should still be going, and it was thought that they might have been landed intentionally. They proved to be a very interesting couple. The younger man was barely twenty-one. He had passed his examination for an officer’s commission. The older man was a quarter-master of past forty. He could look for no further promotion. Both had been on night-watch on a German submarine lying in Robin Hood’s Bay. The older man had suddenly shouted, ‘Motor-boat!’ (Submarines were particularly nervous about our fast motor-boats at that time.) At the same moment he clapped down the hatch, which was secured from inside, and the submarine began to submerge. There was no escape for either man except by swimming. It was pretty obvious that the older man had had enough of cruising and intended to desert, for there had been ample time for both men to have passed through the hatch before it was secured.

And now they were marooned in the enemy country with nothing before them but internment as prisoners of war. I did not cover myself with glory during their examination. I asked the older man whether he would mind if I immersed his watch in a tumblerful of water during the interview. He made no objection, and there that watch stayed under three inches of water for a full half-hour. When I took it out it was still going. If it had stopped, as any respectable watch would under such treatment, their story about swimming ashore would have been upset. It remained only to ask him where such a watch was made. He had bought it in Stettin for 5 marks!

During the last month in 1916 the Commissioner of Police was asked to furnish 800 trained police to serve in France, partly to regulate the traffic on the French roads behind the line. They were converted into military police for the purpose. I saw a few of them afterwards on this duty, and very well they did it. There is a story, perhaps mythical, that during the retreat of the Fifth Army in March 1918 a London policeman was seen standing at a corner where two roads converged. Down one was marching a body of British troops, down the other a body of Germans, and he put out one arm mechanically to stop the Germans, and with the other waved to the British to proceed as if, for all the world, he was controlling the traffic at Hyde Park Corner. With their innate obedience to authority, it is said that the Germans marked time. The story did not go on to say what became of the policeman, but there are not a few of my acquaintance whose calmness in moments of excitement would be quite equal to such an occasion.

One drawback to the submarine campaign against shipping was that we could no longer compel neutral ships to come in to Falmouth and Kirkwall for examination, since both these ports were in the danger zone: consequently the examinations were made in Halifax, Jamaica, and Sierra Leone, and no more suspicious travellers came to Scotland Yard.

In February 1917 drafts of civilian prisoners of war from the Isle of Man in exchange for an equal number of British from Ruhleben were shipped to Holland in the _Rjndam_. The representative of the Holland-America Line called at the American Embassy to demand their passage money in advance. On being asked to collect it from the German Government he replied that this was out of the question: they knew the German Government too well.

It has always been a matter for wonder what led the Germans to adopt the suicidal policy of torpedoing hospital ships. The case is not made better by the reason given by themselves, namely, that an Austrian named Adalbert Messany had made a declaration that when he was repatriated in the ‘hospital ship’ _Britannic_ there were 2500 armed troops on board. A concert singer of that name, aged twenty-four, and suffering from tuberculosis, had been deported from Egypt to Mudros in November 1916, and at Mudros he was embarked on the transport _Britannic_ for repatriation. On such evidence as this the Germans sought to justify crimes as stupid as they were dastardly.

The long sojourn of the British Army in Northern France was said to be causing uneasiness to some of the French, who viewed the erection of semi-permanent buildings as an indication that the British might delay demobilisation for years and be in virtual possession of all the Channel ports. One of them is said to have approached a certain eminent English official and to have asked how long he thought it would take the British to evacuate Calais at the end of the War. This Englishman, who is a cynic with a love for equivocal speech, replied, ‘Well, I don’t know. Last time it took them two hundred years.’