CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAPTAINRICHMONDHOBSONfelt that at least some of his prayers had been answered. The awful rain had slackened and his instincts told him it was likely to cease altogether in a little while. Visibility had improved dramatically and he could now see the running lights of scores of ships anchored in close formation in the upper bay of New York harbor. Although the wind continued to be strong and the waves choppier than he would have thought optimal, both were well within acceptable limits. The only problem was that it was already midnight and his plans had to be executed in the darkest part of the night. If he did not rush, it would be dawn before he and his men could make their way out and back, and there would be a slaughter.
Of course, he could wait one more day and start earlier in the night, when better weather would make their attempts that much easier. If he did that, however, then many of the dozens of ships would have made their way out the Narrows and into the lower bay anchorage or, worse, started back to Germany.
It was a real Hobson’s choice. He smiled ruefully and silently condemned the English stable owner of the same name who had created the statement.
There was no choice. It would be tonight. “Mr. Holland!”
John Holland had been gazing at the Germans as well, and the summons startled him. A small, bearded man in his sixties, he looked like an innocuous college professor, not an inventor of military devices.
“Yes, Captain Hobson?”
“Can you get your boat ready to depart in one hour? And in position to attack no later than four in the morning?”
Holland thought a moment. “I believe so. I might have to settle for a long shot, but perhaps I can run on the surface a little longer than I first planned. The Germans shouldn’t be too concerned about what might look to them like bobbing debris after such a great storm.”
“Then get started.” Holland nodded and turned away. “And don’t forget which fleet you’re shooting at.” Holland looked back and flashed a quick grin. John Holland’s personal sympathies lay in a desire for Irish independence, which resulted in an almost pathological hatred of things British. He had openly proclaimed a willingness to use America’s only submarine against the Royal Navy.
A part of Hobson’s mind was intrigued by the possibility of using a submarine as a part of his plans, but the poor little boat had so many limitations. First, it had only one torpedo tube; thus, although it carried three torpedoes, it could only fire one at a time and then the tubes had to be torturously reloaded. Second, the vessel was very slow. Holland said it could do seven knots on the surface and four submerged, but Hobson had doubts whether the choppy seas would permit such speeds to be achieved. Worse, the half-dozen or so crewmen lived, if that was the proper word, in a stifling environment and breathed chemical-filled air. The submarine called theHolland, also known as the A-1, used diesel engines for surface travel and acid batteries for underwater propulsion. Hobson was surprised that anyone survived a cruise, however brief. It was no wonder that submarines were referred to as floating coffins. Had he not been ordered to do so by the secretary of the navy, he would have left Holland and his odd craft behind. But the powers that be wanted a little return for their investment.
Under normal circumstances, Hobson would not have permitted a civilian like Holland to participate, but the man was the inventor, designer, and builder of the boat, had been working with the crew, and knew more about his revolutionary craft than any man alive. TheHolland, which he had so humbly named after himself, was the sixth submarine John Holland had built and the first accepted by the navy. John Holland was determined that this one would succeed and that others would follow. It would doubtless make him a rich man, and he would use the money to help free Ireland.
A soft, chugging sound disturbed Hobson, and he turned to see theHolland departing its anchorage. This brought a genuine smile to Hobson. Holland and his crew had indeed been ready. Well, they had better be. They had only a few hours to make it out of the Kill Van Kull channel, which connected Newark Bay with the upper bay. Judging by the way the submarine was having to bull its way through the chop, she would need every minute of it. At four in the morning they had to be ready.
God, what an ugly duckling the submarine was, Hobson thought as he waved at the little man whose derbied head projected incongruously from the conning tower. It was time for Hobson to charge up the real weapons at his disposal.
Passage through the channel and out into the bay was a wretched endeavor. Even though theHolland was able to run on the surface through the channel, the hatches had to be kept closed to prevent the sub from being swamped by the waves. This made the already miserable air worse, and the men began to sicken.
Upon reaching the bay, they submerged and started to fight the currents that were trying to push them out to the ocean. All the men, Holland included, were nauseous and drenched with sweat. Holland checked his watch to estimate the distance they’d traveled, then he ordered them back to the surface, where he gazed through the small windows of the conning tower and tried to fathom where he was. If his calculations were even remotely correct, he had at least two more miles to go before he would be among the German ships and within firing range.
The submarine had one advantage that Holland hadn’t told Hobson about. The Whitehead torpedo was the standard torpedo in use in most navies. It had been invented about thirty years previously. The current version carried a 220-pound warhead at a speed of twenty-eight knots and had a range of half a mile. TheHolland carried two of them. But the one in the single torpedo tube—and this was John Holland’s secret—was an experimental model, developed by two gentlemen named Bliss and Leavitt. It sacrificed warhead for range and could cruise for more than two miles. That is, if it worked.
After a while, John Holland decided he had closed the distance enough and ordered the submarine to submerge. Periodically, the sub raised itself enough for him to get a rough bearing by looking through the small, heavy glass windows of the conning tower. It was frustrating, and it defeated the purpose of being submerged. Holland thought there had to be a way to view the surface from underwater. A periscope would work if only he could figure out a way to retract it so it wouldn’t be destroyed by waves and current.
The tiny sub—it was only fifty-three feet long and displaced seventy-four tons—continued its up-and-down journey until Holland again looked at his watch and saw it was only a few minutes until four. Wherever he actually was would have to do.
“Please surface, Lieutenant.”
The actual crew consisted of one officer and six enlisted men. Technically, John Holland was a supernumerary, but the regular commander had recently been transferred and another young graduate of the naval academy was temporarily assigned as her captain. Although the lieutenant was eager enough and surprisingly experienced for his age—he had actually seen action during the Spanish war—he knew nothing about the sub. There was no other option; Holland had to command the vessel.
The ship bobbed to the surface. Holland opened the hatch and stuck his head and shoulders out to behold an incredible sight. To his left was the Statue of Liberty and, behind it, the squat bulk of Ellis Island. To his right lay Governors Island and the borough of Brooklyn; immediately to his front was the tip of Manhattan. Lovely though these sights were, the most exciting scene was the rows of brightly lighted German ships. All he had to do was pick one.
Holland was like a child turned loose in a toy store. Which should he choose?
“Mr. Holland, what do you see?” asked the ship’s officer.
“An absolute abundance of targets, Lieutenant King. Please come and help me.”
The young officer squeezed through the hatch and stood on the bobbing deck of the sub. “Absolutely amazing, sir. Not at all like Ohio.” Ernest King had been born in Lorain, Ohio, twenty-three years prior and, until a few hours ago, deeply regretted the impulse that made him volunteer for duty in the navy’s first and only submarine, despite the promotion from ensign. Now his dull world promised to be wonderfully exciting. He selected what appeared to be a large cruiser or even a battleship about a mile away. As he understood the orders given to Holland, the submarine was to attack warships. If they were successful, the rest of Hobson’s command could concentrate on the vulnerable transports. “Even if we miss her, we ought to be able to hit one of those big freighters anchored behind her.”
Holland peered at the target ships and agreed. The cruiser was a generous side shot, and the freighters were anchored together in a curious cluster behind her. Although he would certainly prefer a warship, the freighters were large, rode low in the water—which told him they were fully loaded—and, judging by the way they were secured away from the others, quite important.
The sub’s position was adjusted for aiming. King gave the order and the torpedo surged from the tube with a splash that Holland feared would attract the attention of the entire German navy. It was not so. Quiet returned and the only sounds were the grunts and cursing of the men laboring below to load a second torpedo.
Holland squinted at his stopwatch and counted down the seconds. With only a mile to travel, the torpedo should take about two minutes to reach its target, perhaps less. As the count neared the two-minute mark, Holland’s anxiety grew. As it reached two, he began to worry. When the seconds continued past two minutes, he had to accept the fact that he’d missed. He asked how soon the second torpedo would be ready and was told a couple of minutes more. Then he realized that he was out of range for a normal Whitehead torpedo and would have to get much closer to a target.
He was just about to order Lieutenant King below and the sub to get under way when a flash of light by one of the clustered freighters caught his attention.
As he watched spellbound, the flash grew into an explosion that fed itself into a monster, turning night into day as it started to roar to the heavens. Seconds later, the shock wave hit the submarine and hurled John Holland into the rear of the hatch, crushing his skull and snapping his spine into a dozen pieces. Lieutenant King, who had been on the deck, was hurled into the sky and down into the foaming black water. Then theHolland, its plates ruptured everywhere, settled into the muck of the Upper Bay.
In the Kill Van Kull, Capt. Richmond Hobson looked on incredulously. It was a few minutes past four and his little flotilla was barely under way. Ammunition ships, he realized. Holland has blown up ammunition ships. “Brace yourselves,” he hollered and heard it repeated down the line of ships.
By the time the shock wave reached him, its force had dissipated substantially. Even so, it rocked him and he heard cries as several of the crew were flung to the deck. When the roar and the shock had ended, he looked toward Manhattan and beheld a sight he never could have imagined. Ships were on fire everywhere, and some of those not burning had been capsized. Exploding ammunition from a multitude of sources popped off like giant firecrackers and sent shells in all directions. It was glorious! He had no idea how theHolland had managed it, but what a wonderful event!
“Mr. Blaine, signal the boats forward. Nothing has changed. We will attack according to plan.”
Behind him, the eleven other torpedo boat destroyers began to surge forward. They would attack in pairs, each married to a ship with corresponding speed and size. As the engines roared, Hobson allowed himself a moment of pride. These torpedo boats, often called destroyers, were considered obsolete, since they had virtually no oceangoing capability and little range. Already there were designs about for ships that were many times the size of his, which would also be called destroyers. Until the larger ships were built, however, the smaller torpedo boats would continue to be used as they were being used tonight.
As Hobson’s flagship, theAlvin, accelerated to its maximum speed of nearly thirty knots, and its mate, theFarragut, ranged alongside, he thought of how difficult it had been to have all these boats shipped by rail and still retain secrecy.
TheAlvin was one of the largest destroyers, at just over two hundred feet, and it displaced 280 tons. It had a crew of three officers and fifty-three enlisted men but only two precious torpedoes. Hobson thought she was overlarge for this small a payload. The smallest destroyer was theTalbot, which was only ninety-nine feet long, had a crew of fifteen, and chugged along at a mere twenty-one knots, although she too had a pair of torpedoes. The disparity in sizes reflected the confusion in the Navy Department as to exactly what the so-called destroyers were supposed to do. Tonight, their task was quite simple. They were to sink German ships.
With their greater speeds, the destroyers needed only a few moments to come into clear view of the carnage wrought by theHolland . As they roared past a burning cruiser, they chose to ignore the mortally wounded ship. It would likely sink without their assistance. Hobson looked around and saw his well-trained and meticulously instructed crews peel their ships off and begin to make attacking runs. His orders had been quite simple: one torpedo for one ship. If the first missed, or the target didn’t sink, crews could use another, but they were not to intentionally fire two at one ship. He had also instructed them to ignore empty transports unless there were no other targets available. Let Remey’s vultures pick them off.
It was then that Hobson realized his further good fortune. Although the fires had illuminated the harbor and deprived him of the cover of darkness, the Germans were in such shock that they hadn’t even noticed his boats. Or perhaps they thought their own ships were coming to their aid. After all, who would have expected a dozen American destroyers in the midst of the German convoy? He could only hope that they could make their attack and get away before the Germans recognized their mistake.
The rattle of machine-gun fire and pop of 1-pound cannon firing told him that he would not get his wish. He lurched and grabbed a railing as the boat righted itself after launching a torpedo. There was no time to watch for results as theAlvin ’s skipper turned sharply to avoid machine-gun fire and find another ship. TheAlvin ’s gunners added to the din by shooting at anything within range. All around Hobson were the explosions of other torpedoes striking home; it occurred to him that there was a real danger of crossing one of their own torpedoes’ paths in the chaos of the swirling attack.
TheAlvin ’s second torpedo was launched only moments later, and then it was time to depart. Signaling theFarragut to return to base without him, Hobson ordered theAlvin to stand off in the harbor and wait for his boats to race by. When the count stopped at eight, he knew that three of his small craft would not be returning.
Hobson looked about and realized that the harbor was a circle of flaming buildings and ships. All about him the sky was turning red, not from a false dawn but from the multitude of fires burning on Manhattan and in Jersey City and Brooklyn. He gasped when he realized the Statue of Liberty was headless and without her outstretched torch and arm.
Hobson ordered theAlvin ’s captain to circle while he assessed the damage on the land. Most of the German warehouses on the Brooklyn side were giant torches and continued to be racked by explosions. As he watched, the wall of one burning building collapsed on another, creating a huge shower of sparks that fell on running figures. He thought he could hear their screams.
On Manhattan, he could see numbers of people running about in panic, some even jumping into the water to escape the fires that had burst in on their sleep. Where had all the people come from? Hadn’t the island been evacuated by the Germans? Or were these Germans he was seeing? Not likely. He knew that part of town was populated by immigrants, and it appeared that many had remained regardless of the kaiser’s orders. On the New Jersey side, the damage seemed to be substantially less, as a result of the greater distance from the explosions. Already, people were starting to work on the fires, and there seemed to be a little less chaos as well. As he watched, fingers of water began lifting from horse-drawn pumpers and onto burning buildings.
He had intended to hurt the Germans and had accomplished his task. But had he hurt his own country worse? Totally confused and disoriented, he ordered a return to Newark Bay. What had he done?
Roosevelt’s face was red. He was upset and distraught. “Would someone please tell me why it was necessary to destroy several of our largest cities in the course of that action? Is this our definition of victory? My lord, spare us from future victories if that is the case!”
Hay tried to soothe him. “Now Theodore, buildings can be rebuilt and, frankly, I don’t think the damage or loss of life to civilians is as great as the rumormongers say.”
Longstreet agreed. “Sir, I think you’ll find that the damage to Jersey City and Newark was confined to the dock and warehouse areas, and the local population was able to put out the fires in a few hours. As to Brooklyn, well, virtually the only buildings left undamaged from the earlier fires were the ones being used by the Krauts for storage, and that makes them legitimate targets. I don’t think we care how many Germans or collaborators were killed.”
“But what about Manhattan?” Roosevelt wailed, reminding all that it had been his home.
“Regrettable, sir,” said Hay, “but let’s put the blame where it belongs. The Germans made it an armed camp, and it was the Germans who moved out the civilians and the city organization that might have stopped the fires. To be blunt, the bulk of the damage from the exploding ammunition was largely confined to the slums and tenements of the Lower East Side, and those buildings are no great loss, if you ask me. Again, we will rebuild. As to the numbers of American civilians dead on Manhattan, it is tragic, but, hell, we may never know.”
Roosevelt sank back in his chair. “All right. But Governor Voorhees has been on the phone several times in the last two days and wants blood.”
“German blood, I trust,” said Longstreet drily. “Mr. President, some of the people of New Jersey were living in a fool’s paradise. How could they expect to get through a war and not be involved in it with the enemy only a mile away? Why not tell Voorhees to go to hell?”
Roosevelt smiled at last. “I can’t. He’s a Republican.” He rose and began to pace. “All right, you tell me it was a victory, but what did we win?”
John Long cleared his throat. “Well, now that the rains have come back and helped drown most of the fires, and we have been able to reestablish our lookout posts on Manhattan and in Jersey City, we can tell you that an undetermined number of transports were sunk and at least twenty-five badly damaged. We can logically assume their cargoes have been largely destroyed. As to warships"—he paused and allowed a catlike smile—"we believe two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and two gunboats were sunk, and that two heavies and four lights were damaged. By damaged I mean it will be some time, months, before they will be back in service.”
“Good,” said Roosevelt, then he saw the smile on Long’s face widen. “What else do you have for me, John?”
“Three capital ships were in the harbor. They were not sunk but they were badly damaged. They are no longer a factor and will not be available for the kaiser’s use for quite some time. They can probably be repaired, but not in the short run.”
Longstreet whistled. “Thirteen to twelve.”
Secretary Long laughed. “Yes, their advantage is now but one battleship, and we are confident our twelve are at least equivalent to their thirteen.”
Roosevelt leaned forward. “Does that mean Dewey will do battle?”
“It does. The information has been cabled to him, and he is now trying to determine a proper time and place to do battle.”
“Capital!” said Roosevelt, who chuckled at his own bad joke.
“It gets better,” added Longstreet. “The warehouses destroyed in Brooklyn along with the ships in the harbor, particularly those ammo ships that started all the ruckus, made up the greater part of the Germans’ strategic reserve. About half their ammunition, most of their food, and virtually all of their winter uniforms are now gone. Those German boys are gonna get hungry and freeze their tails off pretty soon.” He turned to Long. “You might not have known this, but those warehouses also contained a lot of naval supplies, including their coal reserves, which they’d been piling up on Governors Island. Those piles are now glowing a bright cherry red. They have a real problem on their hands.”
Elihu Root finally spoke. “James, are you suggesting they won’t be able to fight?”
“Oh, hell no. They can fight and fight hard. They just can’t fight for very damn long. One or two major battles and what they have on hand in their units, as well as their tactical reserves, will be used up. Then they will be in real big trouble.”
“What a lovely picture.” Roosevelt laughed. “So what will they do about it? Resupply?”
“Yes,” said Root. “It will have to be quick and massive. That is just about their only option. When that occurs, we feel they will then try to end this war as quickly and as savagely as possible. Sir, we have won a battle, but we may have set some terrible forces in motion, forces we are not yet ready to control.”
Roosevelt pondered. “So be it,” he said solemnly. “Now, what about our casualties?”
Long cleared his throat. “In the initial phase of the attack, we lost three destroyers sunk and most others damaged. There were about 150 men killed and wounded. In the second phase, when the Germans sent some cruisers through the Kill Van Kull and attacked the remainder at anchor, we lost the surviving nine destroyers and another hundred men. That should not have happened, but no one thought the Germans would counterattack. The New Jersey Militia on guard simply ran as the cruisers entered the harbor and started pounding the docks. The destroyers had not yet been rearmed with torpedoes and were sitting ducks. Hobson and the rest of his men ran down the streets and tried to make themselves scarce in the city. It was a rather inglorious end to a glorious beginning. On the plus side, we did find a survivor from that submarine we experimented with, theHolland . One of the departing destroyers found him floating in the harbor. The man is badly hurt but he did confirm that it was the sub’s torpedo that hit an ammunition ship and started the whole shebang.”
Roosevelt snarled. “Well, thank God for that. Now, what was wrong with the militia? Didn’t they fire at all?”
“No, sir. Either they were too terrified or their orders were to not do anything to further upset the Germans.”
“Damn them!” In frustration, Roosevelt turned to the issue of the torpedo boats. “There are a lot of docks and wharves in that area. How did the Germans know where our little ships were?”
“Sir,” said Long, “it could have been spies, but I think they saw where the crowds were.” He grimaced. “Some well-meaning supporters had festooned the area with flags.”
Longstreet chuckled. “Well, at least your idea went off a whole lot better than I had planned. I was just going to put some of those big guns we borrowed from the navy on Staten Island and try to close the Narrows.”
Roosevelt’s jaw dropped. “You could close the Narrows?”
“Probably not entirely,” he admitted, “but we could make entering the upper bay a real adventure for them. I’m thinking we’ll still do it. They may have to land some troops to push us off Staten Island, and then we’ll get a chance to fight them in the open.”
Roosevelt thought it was a good idea. “Now, what about Hobson? A medal or a court-martial followed by a public hanging?”
“A medal,” said Long. The others agreed, with the exception of Longstreet, who said he hadn’t seen a hanging in a number of years.
The kaiser was pale and drawn. “How could this have happened? A submarine? Torpedo boats? And at just the moment when we had so much to lose? How did the Americans find out? There must be traitors in our midst. There is no other answer. We will find them and exterminate them, whoever they are.”
Holstein took a deep breath and turned to Tirpitz. “Were our losses in New York that severe?”
Tirpitz, normally serene in his confidence and powerful in his bearing, looked uncomfortable. “Of the smaller ships, a few cruisers were indeed sunk or damaged, as were a number of transports. Two of our capital ships, theBrandenburg and theOdin, were also damaged. They will have to return to Germany for repairs.”
Holstein nodded. And that cannot possibly happen until the war is over. They might as well have been sunk too. He also had it on good authority that a third capital ship had been damaged as well. Tirpitz must have been hoping it could be repaired before his kaiser determined the true extent of the disaster. “And all this from a submarine and some little torpedo boats?”
Tirpitz was agitated. “The use of a ship that can go underwater is unmanly. As the kaiser says, a stab in the back.”
“Do we have any of those strange little ships?” Schlieffen asked.
“No,” answered Tirpitz.
“And we won’t,” snapped the kaiser. “Those are coward ships. Let the Americans and the French have them. We will never stoop to that kind of warfare. Battleships,” he said, smiling at Tirpitz, “will win this war for us.”
Schlieffen rose. Clearly concerned, his face was flushed with uncharacteristic anger. “Battleships? Have you forgotten, All Highest, that an army moves on its stomach? Our food, clothing, and ammunition reserves are gone and with them much of our ability to wage war.” He wheeled and confronted Tirpitz. “I want to know if those supplies will be replaced and just how soon! If they do not arrive within the next few weeks, we will be forced to take drastic action to end this war before the onset of winter makes resupply via the North Atlantic an even more chancy affair than it is now!”
Tirpitz’s face was pale. He was not used to being scolded. “We have already started the resupply effort,” he countered. “Transports from all sources are being gathered and loaded with equipment and supplies. Soon there will be a massive convoy, an armada of more than a hundred transports with everything your army and my navy will need. Furthermore, the kaiser has given me directions that another corps of reserve soldiers will be shipped over with them. I will provide that convoy with the strongest possible escort, and it will get through.”
Now it was Schlieffen’s turn to be startled. He had not been informed that more of his army was being sent to America. A reserve corps would likely be another twenty-five thousand men. Twenty-five thousand additional stomachs to feed and backs to clothe. He recovered quickly and turned to Tirpitz. “You guarantee their arrival?” His voice was a sneer, and even the kaiser looked uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“You will be using the High Seas Fleet to protect it?”
Tirpitz shook his head vehemently. “No, of course not. We cannot entirely denude Germany of naval protection with the French still so angry at us and the English and Americans off our coasts. No, we will use our existing resources. They will be more than sufficient.” They will have to be, Holstein thought. “The convoy will get through!” Tirpitz slammed his beefy fist on the table. “On my honor!”
Holstein had often wondered about Tirpitz’s honor, and he wondered, therefore, about the worth of the oath. He remained silent, and the meeting was adjourned. While leaving, he managed to walk beside Chancellor von Bulow.
“Von Bulow, you look pale. Do you perhaps have stock in Hamburg-America?”
Bulow barked a laugh. The Hamburg-America Line was the largest shipping company in Germany and one of the largest in the world. When a transport was sunk or captured, it was often one of theirs. “Don’t we all? No, that is not the problem. When von Tirpitz said we were gathering ships from all over, he didn’t say how that was being accomplished. Very simply, the German navy is now commandeering anything that floats and damn the owners, regardless of nationality.”
Even Holstein was astonished. “We are seizing foreign flag vessels?”
“Only from small countries. But there are many of them and they include some of our neighbors, like Holland, Belgium, Norway, and Sweden.”
“Not England, dear God, not England.”
“No, nor any of the lands of the British Empire. Nor are we taking ships on the high seas. But I feel we are courting disaster. Those foreign countries will demand compensation, and will probably not permit other ships to enter our waters until we agree. They may close their ports to our ships as well. Can you imagine the effect on our economy? We will be devastated before long.”
Holstein could indeed imagine. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the war must be won soon if it were to be won at all.
“Von Bulow, have you considered what might happen if we did not win?”
Bulow paled. “It would be a catastrophe, von Holstein, a catastrophe.”
When Ian Gordon returned to his quarters in the pleasant cottage rented for him by His Majesty’s government, he was surprised by the carriage waiting in front of it. His first thought was that it was Mrs. Adams, the woman he’d taken home from the wedding. She was getting to be a bore. He’d had no idea just how much pale fat her clothing obscured. Worse, she was obsessed with him, and he could think of nothing less appealing than someone who continuously craved sex with him and then performed poorly. If it were only his physical needs that required fulfilling, he could accomplish that by himself, as he had as a youth.
He entered his home and his valet informed him of a gentleman waiting for him in the parlor. Did Mrs. Adams have a husband? She had said she was a widow. He entered the parlor and laughed in relief.
“Captain Sigsbee, how are you?”
Sigsbee rose and assured him he was fine. Sigsbee was dressed in a civilian suit and not his naval uniform. It did not surprise Ian, since Sigsbee was the recently appointed director of the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI). “Ian, I see you’ve managed to land comfortably again.”
“Certainly. After all I am an observer and not a participant. Let the common soldiers live in tents and trenches; I prefer a solid roof and greater comforts.” He poured each of them a brandy and offered cigars, which Sigsbee declined.
“How is the Office of Naval Intelligence? Have you finally gotten into the spying game?” Ian asked. It was a sore point. The ONI and its army equivalent were solely charged with gathering factual data from open sources about other countries’ militaries. They did not spy.
“No,” Sigsbee said, “not yet. We’ll leave spying to you British. You’re so much better at it than we naive Americans.”
“Had you been less naive, Charles, you might not have gone to war with Spain. Did you really believe that saboteurs blew up theMaine? ”
Sigsbee hid his grimace behind the snifter. He had been the captain of theMaine when it blew up in Havana harbor and had endorsed the theory of sabotage. He had never been quite comfortable with that conclusion. “I had doubts.”
“Like a lingering fire in a coal bunker being the actual cause? I know. But enough of old times. You obviously have a reason for being here.”
“Indeed. Although we do not spy, sometimes we find things out about our supposed friends that we don’t particularly like.”
Ian put down his glass. Sigsbee’s eyes were cold. “Through informal but reliable sources we have reason to believe that His Majesty’s government is providing Germany with information about our navy, such as its location and disposition. Since you are the senior British officer about, and since you also met recently with your prime minister, I thought you might wish to comment.”
Ian thought for a moment, then he spoke softly. “Someone once said that England is interested only in England, and will go to any lengths to protect England. That, of course, is quite true.”
“You admit it?”
“I admit nothing. It is very much in England’s best interest that Germany not win this war. Notice, I did not say that Germany had to lose, just not win. To assist in this, we have been providing you with both materiel and information. Yet we live in an imperfect world and must confront the fact that a German victory is still very probable. Should that occur, we shall have to continue living with them. Thus all our efforts against them must be indirect so that Germany will not become so irrationally angry as to go to war against us.”
“Surely the navy could stop them.”
“Certainly. But our very real fear is that the Germans will attempt an invasion and that it will, even if unsuccessful, result in a massive bloodletting for very little gain. It is a situation best avoided.”
“What are you saying? Is Britain providing them with information or not?”
“Charles, German military intelligence is not an oxymoron. They are quite clever. Even though we never announced it publicly, they’ve known where the American fleet was gathering since the earliest days of the war. As to the status of particular ships, well really. Just a few weeks ago theTexas had to put in to Halifax because of a boiler problem. Some secret! Germany has a consulate in Halifax; even if it didn’t, are you so sure that all the German immigrants are honest citizens? If you were the kaiser, wouldn’t you plant some spies among them, both in the civilian sector and on your own ships?”
Sigsbee looked uncomfortable. “The matter of immigrants is one of grave concern. There are many Germans in our army and our navy and I am indeed worried about them. Others tell me not to be concerned because so many of them fought so well against Spain or in the Civil War, but those wars were not against their homeland.”
Gordon laughed. “Fighting your so-called homeland is not a unique experience. I seem to recall a recent war in which Americans killed hundreds of thousands of other Americans. Previously, those who called themselves British fought those who no longer wished to be British. I do not think the vast majority of Germans will disappoint you with their patriotic zeal.”
Sigsbee was unconvinced. “I have ordered a complete check of all Germans in our navy and will be demanding proof of their loyalty. I have no idea why Longstreet and Root aren’t concerned about the army.”
“Captain, I seem to recall that many of those immigrants, although they may have been proud of some aspects of their old land, left it because of oppression and tyranny. Germany today is more a prison for some than it is a nation.” He thought of the workers’ revolutions that had enflamed Europe in the middle of the previous century and the brutal manner in which they were put down, even in England. In Germany, pleas for a more democratic form of government were ignored by Bismarck and the kaisers. Wilhelm II was reaping what others had sown. “Please recall, sir, that your army now has several regiments made up of German volunteers.”
Sigsbee nodded thoughtfully. “I also seem to recall they haven’t been permitted to fight yet.” When Ian informed him of their numerous small-unit actions in the no-man’s-land, he expressed surprise. “Well then, I guess those boys are all right. Must be descended from the ones who left because of the kaiser, eh? But that’s another tale, and you’re trying to distract me from my purpose. Let’s get back to what the German command knows. Is England providing them with information, other than what you think is obvious?”
“Of course.”
“But why?”
“Charles, by providing them with information, we are ensuring our status with them in the unhappy event you lose.”
“Perfidious Albion again.”
“If you wish. However, we are providing them only with data that would have been theirs sooner or later anyhow. Such as confirming the presence of your fleet, which they have known for some time. Their diplomats were even chartering pleasure craft for ‘fishing expeditions’ and scouring the Gulf of Saint Lawrence looking for the fleet. As to other matters, much of what they have learned they also would have found out sooner rather than later. For instance, the names of commanding officers are no secret. When Captain Brownson replaced Evans on theAlabama, it was reported in his hometown newspapers. Similarly, the technical data on your ships is also available inJane’s Fighting Ships and other places. No, what we are doing is establishing ourselves as a source with impeccable credentials. The fact that we have, to date at least, given them largely irrelevant data is itself unimportant.”
Sigsbee’s eyes widened. “Ian, are you perfidious people setting them up for a fall?”
Gordon grinned and offered a freshened drink. “Charles, would we do that? Are you staying for dinner?”