Part 74

Since the transport fleet did not appear to need reinforcements, it proceeded on its way west-north-west with its attendant warships, the Wilhelmshaven fleet remaining at Heligoland.

What was its destination?

Only a few among the many thousands could have given an answer, and they remained silent. The red cliffs of Heligoland had long since disappeared in the distance. Hours passed, but nothing met the eyes of the eagerly gazing warriors, save the boundless, gently rippling sea and the crystal-clear blue vault of heaven, stretched above it like a huge bell.

“What is our destination?”

It could not be the coast of England, which would have been reached long ago. But where was the landing to take place, if not there? To what distant shore was the German army being taken, the largest whose destinies had ever been entrusted to the treacherous waves of the sea?

When daylight again brought a report from the scouts that the enemy’s ships were nowhere to be seen, the Commander-in-Chief of the army could not help expressing his surprise to the Admiral that the English had apparently entirely neglected scouting in the North Sea, and further, that they did not even see any merchant vessels.

“The explanation of this apparently surprising fact is not very remote, Your Excellency,” replied the Admiral. “We should hardly sight any merchantmen, since maritime trade is now almost entirely at a standstill, owing to the insecurity of the seas. We have not met a flotilla of fishing-boats, since in this part of the North Sea there are no fishing-grounds. We see none of the enemy’s ships, since the English have most likely calculated every other possibility except our attempting to land in Scotland.”

“Your explanation is obvious, Herr Admiral; nevertheless, it seems to me that our enemy must have neglected to take the necessary precautions in keeping a look-out.”

“Your Excellency must not draw an offhand comparison between operations on land and on sea. The conditions in the latter are essentially different. I do not doubt for a moment that there is a sufficient number of English scouts in the North Sea; if we have really escaped their notice, the fortune of war has been favourable to us. I may tell Your Excellency that, even during our manoeuvres in the Baltic, where we know the course as well as the speed and strength of the marked enemy, he has sometimes succeeded in making his way through, unseen by our scouts. Perhaps this will mitigate your judgment of this apparent want of foresight on the part of the English.”

At last, on the evening of the 16th of July, land was reported by the Konig Wilhelm. The end of the journey was in sight, and the news spread rapidly that it was the coast of Scotland rising from the waves.

“We are going to enter the Firth of Forth,” was the general opinion. Even the brave soldiers, who perhaps heard the name for the first time in their lives, repeated the word with as important an air as if all the secrets of the military staff had been all at once revealed to them.

In the red light of the setting sun both shores appeared tinged with violet from the deep-blue sky and the grey-blue sea, the north shore being further off than the south. Favoured by a calm sea, the squadron, extended in close order to a distance of about five knots, made for the entrance of the Firth of Forth.

Full of expectation, the expeditionary army saw the vast, bold undertaking develop before its eyes. For nine hundred years no hostile army had landed on the coast of England. Certainly, in ancient times Britain had had to fight against invading enemies: Julius Caesar had entered as a conqueror, Canute the Great, King of Denmark, had subdued the country. The Angles and Saxons had come over from Germany, to make themselves masters of the land. Harold the Fairhaired, King of Norway, had landed in England. But since the time of William of Normandy, who defeated the Saxons at Hastings and set up the rule of the Normans in England, not even her most powerful enemies, neither Philip of Spain nor the great Napoleon, had succeeded in landing their troops on the sea-girt soil of England.

Would a German army now succeed?

The outlines of the country became clearer and clearer; some even believed they could see the lofty height of Edinburgh Castle on the horizon. But soon the distant view was obscured and darkness slowly came on.

Hitherto not a single hostile ship had been seen. But now, when the greater part of the squadron had already entered the bay, the searchlights discovered two English cruisers whose presence had already been reported by the advance boats of the torpedo division.

In view of our great superiority, these cruisers declined battle, and by hauling down their flag, signified their readiness to surrender. From the sea, nothing remained to hinder the landing of the troops. The transports approached the south shore of the bay, on which Edinburgh and the harbour town of Leith are situated; and, after casting anchor, landed the troops in boats by the electric light. The infantry immediately occupied the positions favourable to meet any attack that might be made. But nothing happened to prevent the landing. The Scottish population remained perfectly calm, so that the disembarkation was completed without disturbance.

The population of Leith and the inhabitants of Edinburgh, who had hurried up full of curiosity, beheld, to their boundless astonishment, a spectacle almost incomprehensible to them, carried out with admirable precision under the bright electric light from the German ships.

The people had taken the keenest interest in the great war of England against the allied Powers--Germany, France, and Russia--but with a feeling that it was a matter which chiefly concerned the Government, the Army, and the Navy. They were painfully aware that things were going worse and worse for them, but were convinced that the Government would soon overthrow the enemy. Everyone knew that the Russians had penetrated into India, but the great mass of the people did not trouble about that. It could only be a passing misfortune, and trade, which was at present ruined, would soon revive and be all the more flourishing. But the idea that an enemy, a continental army, could land on the coast of Great Britain, that German or French soldiers could ever set foot on British soil, had seemed to Scotsmen so remote a contingency that they now appeared completely overcome by the logic of accomplished facts.

About noon on the following day the two army corps were already south of Leith. A brigade had been pushed forward towards the south; the rest of the troops had bivouacked, that the men might recuperate after their two days’ sea journey.

The quartermasters had purchased provisions for ready money in the town, the villages, and the scattered farmhouses. The warships filled their bunkers from the abundant stock of English coal, guardships being detached to ensure the safety of the squadron. The Admiral had ordered that, after coaling, the warships should take up a position at the entrance to the bay, the transports remaining in the harbour. In the possible event of the appearance of a superior English squadron the whole fleet was to leave the Firth of Forth as rapidly as possible and disperse in all directions. Certainly in that case the army would be deprived of the means of returning, but the military authorities were convinced that the appearance of an army of 60,000 German troops on British soil would practically mean the end of the war, especially as an equally strong French corps was to land in the south. The military authorities consequently thought they need not trouble themselves further about the possibility of the troops having to return.

The garrison of Edinburgh had surrendered without resistance, since it would have been far too weak to offer any opposition to the invading army. Accordingly the German officers and soldiers could move about in the town without hindrance. A number of despatches and fresh war bulletins were found which threw some light upon the strategic position, although they were partly obscure, and partly contained obvious falsehoods.

A great naval battle was said to have taken place off Flushing on the 15th of July, ending in the retreat of the German and French fleets with heavy losses. It was further reported that the British fleet had destroyed Flushing and bombarded several of the Antwerp forts. Lastly, according to the newspapers, the English fleet which had been stationed before Copenhagen had entered Kid harbour and captured all the German ships inside, the loss of the English battleships at the Kieler Fohrde being admitted. The German officers were convinced that only the report of the loss of the two battleships deserved credit, since the English would hardly have invented such bad news. Everything else, from the position of things, bore the stamp of improbability on the face of it.

The trumpets blew, the soldiers grasped their arms, the battalions began their march. The batteries clattered along with a dull rumble. In four columns, by four routes, side by side the four divisions started for the south.

XXXIV

THE BATTLE OF FLUSHING

The strategy of red tape, by which the Commander-in-Chief’s hands were tied, was destined, as in so many previous campaigns, to prove on this occasion also a fatal error to the English.

Sir Percy Domvile, the British admiral, had received with silent rage the order of battle communicated to him from London--the same order that had fallen into the hands of the Germans. More than once already he had attempted to show the Lords of the Admiralty what injury might be caused by being tied to strict written orders in situations that could not be foreseen. He now held in his own hands the proof how little the officials, pervaded by the consciousness of their own importance and superior wisdom, were disposed to allow themselves to be taught. But he was too much of a service-man not to acquiesce in the orders of the supreme court with unquestioning obedience. Certainly, if he had been able to gauge in advance the far-reaching consequences of the mistake already committed, he would probably, as a patriot, rather have sacrificed himself than become the instrument for carrying out the fundamentally erroneous tactics of the plan of battle communicated to him. For more was now at stake than the proud British nation had ever risked before in a naval engagement. It was a question of England’s prestige as the greatest naval power in the world, perhaps of the final issue of this campaign which had been so disastrous for Great Britain. All-powerful Albion, the dreaded mistress of the seas, was now fighting for honour and existence. A great battle lost might easily mean a blow from which the British lion, wounded to death, would never be able to recover.