Strange Intelligence: Memoirs of Naval Secret Service

by Hector C. Bywater

  With other people I walked among the troops while they were having their dinner from the Goulasch-Kanonen, as they called the field kitchens. To them the whole thing was a picnic.

  I approached quite close to one of the batteries, the entrance to which was guarded with barbed wire. The solitary sentry was at the far end of his beat, chatting to visitors, and it would have been perfectly easy to enter the battery. But I should probably have been seen by other people, and therefore judged the risk to be not worthwhile.

  I noted the position of the battery, made other observations, and then strolled along the sea wall that runs parallel with the railway to its terminus at Victoriahöhe, near the lifeboat station. On the way I passed two more batteries, getting a good view of the second, which contained four howitzers with revolving armoured cupolas.

  There were several sentries about, but they took no notice of the harmless citizen from Emden who was giving his new summer suit – price 50 marks! – an airing in the sea breeze.

  I saw the field guns being railed from the landing stage to the sea front. Two collapsible observation towers for artillery control had been brought from the mainland, and these were erected and manned. In rear of the second coast battery was an armoured fire-control station with a very large range-finder; the base I estimated at 25 feet.

  Here I may interpolate that the calibre of the guns in the batteries was ascertained, not by a direct inspection of the guns, but by observing ammunition being unloaded from railway trucks at Emden for shipment to the island. Howitzer shells of 11 inches and gun projectiles of 9.4 inches were definitely identified.

  I noticed at Borkum that all along the railway there was a high embankment that made the line invisible from the sea, and that this embankment was so skilfully buttressed with sanded concrete that, at a distance, it must have been indistinguishable from the sand dunes, the more so as the parapet was undulated to conform roughly with the contour of the dunes. The battery and observation positions were camouflaged in the same way. As I subsequently found by cruising round the island in an excursion steamer, these positions could not be made out even at a short distance offshore, so perfectly did they merge with the sandhills. I was convinced that no naval bombardment could be relied upon to reduce the defences, seeing that the targets were invisible and could only be hit by chance shots. This, of course, was before the days of aircraft ‘spotting’.

  The return journey to Emden, and thence to Leer, was made without incident.

  A few days later I went to Norddeich and viewed the naval wireless station with its six tall masts. From there I crossed to the island of Norderney, which, according to reports we had received, was then being fortified. I spent two days at the Deutsches Haus, walked practically all over the island, and satisfied myself beyond doubt that there was not a single gun in the place. Nor was there any garrison. The island, in fact, remained unfortified until just before the outbreak of war.

  Wangerooge was my next objective. Beyond the fact that it had recently been provided with strong defences, we had very little information about this island. It was my business to make good this deficiency, but the task had to be approached with great discretion; first, because Wangerooge now ranked as a key position in the scheme of coastal defence, and was therefore closely guarded; and, secondly, because it was difficult of access. Hamburg–Amerika and Norddeutscher Lloyd excursion steamers, from Cuxhaven and Bremerhaven respectively, called there during the bathing season; but on the day of my visit the only means of reaching the island was by a tiny steamship from Harle, an obscure village on the Norden-Sande coast railway.

  This line traverses country with which all readers of The Riddle of the Sands will be familiar, passing through such places as Esens, Jever, and Carolinensiel, where Davies and Carruthers, of the Dulcibella, had divers adventures.

  There was no great traffic along this line, and all the regular passengers were known to the railway officials. Strangers were therefore apt to attract attention, and the presence of an obvious foreigner – especially an Englishman – would certainly have been commented upon, and in all probability reported to the police. Clearly, therefore, it would be safer to go in the guise of a German tripper, and this I did. It was one of the very few occasions on which I adopted a disguise more elaborate than a German ready-made suit of clothes.

  It is a dreary journey to Harle. The train runs through flat, depressing country, dotted here and there with insignificant hamlets and church spires. The prevailing tone is grey – grey landscape, grey skies, and occasional glimpses of the grey North Sea, fringed with sand dunes and grey mud flats.

  From Harle the little steamer makes the trip to Wangerooge under an hour. Including myself, there were only a dozen passengers on board. In order to discourage the sociable overtures of my fellow passengers I spent the time in consuming one of those Gargantuan lunches, put up in numerous paper bags, without which no self-respecting German tripper would in those days have dreamed of starting on his travels.

  On the little landing stage at Wangerooge there were two policemen and several bluejackets, the latter having Matrosenartillerie cap ribbons that showed them to belong to the naval coast artillery corps. The police officers scrutinised us rather closely, but no one was interrogated. Lying alongside the pier were a naval tug and two lighters, marked ‘Königlich Marinewerft (royal dockyard), Wilhelmshaven’.

  A narrow-gauge railway runs from the pier to the village. I had a meal at the Kurhaus Hotel, bathed, and then sat in a beach café over a glass of beer for an hour. It would not have done to start a tour of the island immediately after landing. In due course I began my exploration. There were several parties of pedestrians, and I kept near one of these, as though I were a straggler.

  The battery positions were easily discovered, each zone being shut off by palisades and barbed wire, the entrance guarded by a sentry. The principal battery appeared to be that situated near the old church tower to the west of the village, this part of the shore being protected by groynes from the fierce North Sea breakers. Access to the battery was impossible, but from various indications I judged it to contain four 9.4-inch guns.

  Two similar guns were emplaced in another battery to the east of the village, while still further in that direction workmen were engaged on what was obviously to be a new battery. This was subsequently armed with two 11-inch guns. I memorised the position of each battery and such details of its lay-out as were to be seen. Behind the new battery very deep excavations were in progress, obviously for the magazines.

  Here, as at Borkum, the defences were so arranged and camouflaged as to be practically invisible from the sea, and the prospect of reducing them by naval bombardment appeared to be poor.

  I spent that night on the island, intending to resume my survey on the following day; but in the morning something occurred that upset my plans. In the hall of the Kurhaus Hotel I noticed a man studying the register. There was that in his appearance that suggested the plain-clothes policeman. Afterwards he engaged in conversation with the reception clerk, with whom I had exchanged a few words that morning.

  I felt no particular uneasiness at this moment, and walked down to the beach. Halfway there I turned, and saw the plain-clothes man 100 yards behind me. He might or might not be following me, but I was taking no chances. Instead of continuing my walk along the shore I sat down and smoked a cigar. The detective promptly sat down too, still keeping the same distance from me. An hour passed; I rose, and sauntered in the direction of the church tower, only to find the man on my tracks again. There was no longer room for doubt; I was being shadowed.

  In these circumstances there was but one thing to do – leave the island as quickly as possible, if it were not too late. True, there was no evidence that I had been engaged in espionage, since I had not entered any of the batteries or taken notes or photographs; but I was carrying identity papers that would not bear too minute a scrutiny. If these were found to be irregular, that fact, coupled with my presence in a fortified zo
ne, would be quite sufficient to ensure my being detained, pending further inquiries; and if my movements during the previous fortnight were traced – as probably they would be – the authorities would have convincing, if only circumstantial, evidence of what my activities connoted.

  The position looked critical, and I set my wits to work. If I attempted to leave the island while the detective remained suspicious he would probably detain me, in which event I should certainly be taken to the mainland to face a searching examination by higher police officials. On the other hand, to remain at Wangerooge would be purposeless. The third alternative was to attempt a bluff, which, if it failed, would leave me in no worse case than before. So I retraced my steps to the village, made for the nearest café, and ordered a beer. In a few moments my faithful shadow appeared, took his seat a few tables away, and ordered a similar refreshment. The time had come to try my bluff.

  Glass of beer in hand, I crossed over to the detective’s table, and, with a polite ‘Sie gestatten, mein Herr?’ seated myself opposite.

  He grunted permission, watching me with puzzled eyes. He did not seem over-burdened with intelligence, but I was not going to fall into the error of under-rating my opponent.

  ‘Pray forgive me,’ I began, ‘but I have an idea that you are interested in me. May I ask why?’

  This direct attack disconcerted him. He was momentarily at a loss, and continued to stare hard at me without speaking.

  Then he said gruffly, ‘Your papers, please.’

  I had been hoping for this, and at the same time fearing it. I handed them over in silence.

  He glanced through them, then put one or two questions that showed he had missed the one or two vital details that, to a mind more acute, would have suggested a doubt as to the genuineness of the papers. My relief was great, though the ordeal was not yet over.

  ‘They seem to be in order,’ he remarked, still retaining the papers. ‘But the hotel clerk thought you were a foreigner.’

  ‘That’s not surprising. I have lived abroad for a great many years, and am now on a holiday before settling down again in the fatherland.’

  At this juncture my companion condescended to accept a drink – a good sign. He was gradually thawing, but, as I could see, was not yet entirely satisfied. I discovered that he belonged to the Hamburg police. He frankly admitted that he was at Wangerooge to keep a look-out for spies.

  ‘Have you caught any yet?’ I inquired blandly.

  ‘We keep our eyes open,’ he answered evasively. ‘It doesn’t do for visitors to be too inquisitive in a fortified place like this. We don’t want any Englishman spying round.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘you haven’t answered my first question. Why were you particularly interested in me?’

  ‘I had reason to be when the hotel man said he thought you were a foreigner, although using a German name. Foreigners are not welcome here, and if they choose to come they cannot complain if we see they don’t get into mischief. All this coast is infested with English spies.’

  We talked for half an hour quite amicably, but at the end of that time I was still not sure that his suspicions were allayed. I could do nothing more, and finally left him, saying that I wanted a walk before catching the steamer back to Harle. This sailed at 6.30 p.m., but I knew that the NDL boat from Norderney to Bremen called at Wangerooge about 4.30 p.m., and had privately determined to leave by that – always assuming I was permitted to do so.

  Calling at the hotel to collect my rucksack, I mentioned that I proposed to catch the Harle steamer. Then I set out for the beach again, and, once clear of the village, increased my pace, keeping parallel with the shore.

  Having gone about a mile, I stopped and glanced back. There were several people near, but my friend the detective was not among them.

  The pier was now only a mile away, and the Bremen boat was not due for another hour. So I remained where I was until the last fifteen minutes, still seeing no sign of my ‘shadow’, and then walked briskly towards the pier. Five minutes after I got there the steamer came in, and I went on board with a crowd of passengers. The boat did not cast off at once, and the ten minutes she remained alongside were rather trying. But the detective did not make his appearance, nobody took the slightest notice of me, and eventually we were off.

  At Bremerhaven, which we reached after dark, I had another mild scare, for there were two policemen on the dock when the gangway was lowered. But apparently they were not there for any special purpose, and did not attempt to come on board. We arrived at Bremen towards 11 p.m., and I just caught the last train to Hamburg, feeling safer in that great city, with its large transient population.

  I have no doubt that the Wangerooge detective went to the pier to see me off by the Harle boat, and that when I did not show up all his former suspicions were re-awakened. But whatever steps he may subsequently have taken were ineffectual, for I was not interfered with in any way. Nevertheless, he had interrupted my programme and forced me to withdraw from the coast.

  Three months later I was back again, and this time made a thorough job of it, visiting Wilhelmshaven – the main German naval base, with a dockyard four times as large as that at Kiel; Heligoland, where I obtained a close-up view of the four double 12-inch-gun turrets and the mortar battery on the Oberland, besides inspecting the new harbour works and naval establishments; Cuxhaven, with its naval station at Groden, the sea forts of Neuwerk, Kugelbake, and Grimmerhorn, and the batteries at Neues Fort and Döse – most of which were within plain view; Brunsbuettel, at the North Sea entrance of the Kiel Canal, to see the gigantic new locks then in course of construction, the new 6-inch gun battery, and the near-by fort of Neufeld; Geestemünde, a big submarine mining depôt at the mouth of the Weser; and, finally, the island of Sylt.

  I am revealing no secret when I say that our war plans visualised an attack on Sylt, either as a feint in the hope of enticing out the German fleet, or as a serious assault intended to give us possession of the island for use as a base for military raids into Schleswig-Holstein.

  I spent a week at Sylt, and was able to make a detailed report not only on the defences then existing, but also on those that were projected. Indeed, reports compiled from the data on the German North Sea coastal defences, which I collected that summer and autumn, made up a respectable volume that, if it were published, would even today cause a sensation in Germany and lead to violent heart-searchings on the part of many German officials – assuming them still to survive – under whose very noses this mass of information had been gathered.

  CHAPTER 11

  FAMOUS ‘SPY’ TRIALS

  NEXT TO THE Dreyfus affair, the outstanding cause célèbre connected with espionage in modern times was undoubtedly the Brandon–Trench case of May 1910. Many other incidents of the same kind occurred in Germany during the four years just preceding the war, but none caught the public interest to an equal extent.

  At that time a violent epidemic of spy mania was raging in Germany, and it is probably safe to say that not one in a dozen of the suspects who were arrested had any association with British intelligence work at all. Yet these unfortunate people served England well, if inadvertently, because while the German security department was occupied in tracking these quite unimportant visitors it was overlooking the men who really mattered to us.

  At their trial before the Supreme Court at Leipzig in December 1910, Captain Bernard Trench, RMLI, and Lieutenant Vivian Brandon, RN, admitted freely that they visited Germany with the intention of collecting information on military matters and communicating the results of their investigations to the naval intelligence department at the admiralty.

  That is a point that is often forgotten in connection with the trial, and a legend has grown up that the two officers were innocent victims of spy mania.

  Their own story, as told at the trial, quite disposes of that idea.

  Captain Trench, speaking German quite easily, said that he had been seconded for a period in Copenhagen to study Danish. He had then
been joined by Lieutenant Brandon, and between them they had planned a tour in Germany, visiting Kiel, Cuxhaven, Bremen, Heligoland, Norderney and other islands of the same group, and finishing up at Borkum.

  The arrangement was that they should meet at Brunsbuettel, at the North Sea end of the Kiel Canal. At that place Captain Trench received from his companion a list of questions, which he answered, with regard to certain small quick-firing guns. On his way to Bremen via Bremerhaven he inspected the position of the fortifications at the mouth of the River Weser and then proceeded to the island of Sylt. Subsequently he spent two or three days in Norderney and thence visited Wangerooge.

  ‘What was interesting there?’ asked the presiding judge.

  ‘There is a church tower at the end of the island, which seems curious, as that part of the island is uninhabited,’ Captain Trench answered.

  He and Brandon visited Borkum together, and on the way to inspect the searchlight station they became separated. Captain Trench entered one of the batteries without hindrance. When he came out he met Lieutenant Brandon, whom he told to go in and have a look. This the lieutenant did, and was arrested.

  Captain Trench was not detained at that time. The two officers were allowed by the police to meet. They talked, it appeared, about the battery and how the information they had gained was to be passed on to ‘Reggie’. Furthermore, incriminating papers were seized in Trench’s room at a hotel in Emden, whereupon he, too, was arrested.

  Several mysterious figures were referred to in the course of the evidence, of whom ‘Reggie’ was one.

  Lieutenant Brandon said that this was not his friend’s real name, but Captain Trench admitted that ‘Reggie’ was connected with the intelligence department of the British Admiralty. (It may be mentioned as a curious coincidence that the director of naval intelligence during the war was Admiral Sir Reginald Hall, but his nickname in the navy was not ‘Reggie’, but ‘Blinker’.)