The Rumour is Mightier than the Sword
Despite the great hopes that followed the British breakthough, in the early weeks of September the front in Belgium showed signs of bogging down once again, as weather and manpower limited the British Army’s ability to keep their troops on the offensive.
New defenses were developing between Antwerp and Brussels, where the German defenders were comparatively well served by their internal railway system, while supplies for the Allied front lines were still being hindered by damage the Germans had done prior to their withdrawal. The German Army was still withdrawing in the south, evacuating parts of France and almost half of Belgium. Nevertheless, they had not been routed, and every step back shortened both the Front and their supply lines.
In the East, recent German advances were even greater than those of the British and French, but had been temporarily halted by a combination of their own success and the urgent need to send reserves to the West. The Russians were in headlong retreat, but the German Army had reached the limits of its own increasingly meagre supply lines.
The Imperial Navy’s support in the capture of Baltic islands and the coastal states themselves had come at a cost. The battleships Thuringen and Baden had been mined, and with other ships still in dock following the abortive operation off Zeebrugge, the Navy had only 15 operational battleships and three battlecruisers. Across the North Sea, the Grand Fleet typically had 30 battleships and 10 battlecruisers operational at any given time.
For some time, the German government had been becoming less united, as the civil leadership began to see that the war was nearing its inevitable end. Even many of the military men had lost the enthusiasm they had at the start of 1917, when they had determined to continue the war by effectively deposing the Chancellor.
In the late summer, quietly and informally, a faction had formed consisting of men who sought a prompt end to the war. It would be wrong to call them traitors or even defeatists, as the group included members of the High Command who continued to direct the fighting, while keeping their close friends and colleagues advised of their progress in finding out what the Allies might accept.
Meanwhile, other members of the leadership were prepared to keep quiet, on the basis that a failed peace attempt would leave them in charge.
On the 9th September, a proposal was made for peace negotiations, via representatives in The Hague. If agreed, a request for a ceasefire was to be followed by peace negotiations with the Western Allies.
However, leaders in both London and Paris had a taste of victory, while the German proposal was far from unconditional. It included a suggestion of a negotiated withdrawal, but it wasn’t entirely clear who was making the offer. Was it an official representative of the German government, or some group within it?
At such a sensitive time there should have been secret talks and back-room agreements, but that was not what happened. Exactly how the news ever made its way out was never discovered, but suspicions fell on either a deliberate German leak, or some indiscretion by the groups of Dutch diplomats who repeatedly crossed into both the Allied and German territory that surround their country.
On the 15th, British soldiers in the lines near Antwerp were abuzz with rumours of a German offer to evacuate Belgium and end the war. Newspapermen in London knew about it too, but the government brought pressure to bear to prevent the story from being published. That didn’t stop word-of mouth, and by the 18th, the word was out on the streets of London, and it was clear that many of the troops in France were well aware of the supposed German offer and the prospect of peace.
German soldiers and sailors knew about it too, and although the rumour didn’t stop the fighting, the malaise that had gripped the German Army since the middle of August only deepened, as each man began to consider just what he was being asked to risk when the war might nearly be over.
The High Command in Berlin became increasingly alarmed at the prospect of losing control of the situation, and plans were put in place for a series of minor operations to ‘put the spirit’ back into the Kaiser’s fighting men. In addition, it was hoped that a few decisive, if minor, victories might help to pressure the Allies into accepting a more Germanic interpretation of what peace should look like.
Ideas for modest offensive action were derailed by the Kaiser himself. Wilhelm II had lost some of his bluster in recent months, but the stabilisation of the lines near Antwerp and the advances in the East had temporarily restored his bravado. He was infuriated to find out that schemes for peace had been started without his knowledge and demanded that the war should continue. He ordered Admiral Scheer to send the Fleet back into the North Sea and launch a new series of raids against the English, while Field-Marshal Hindenburg drew on reserves from the East to throw the Allies back.
Neither man regarded the Kaiser’s demands as realistic, but while the prospect of a negotiated peace with the Allies remained uncertain, they knew it was their duty to continue the war. Scheer therefore prepared fresh plans to bring the enemy to battle through a raid on the Norwegian convoys. A feint would be made to the south, using the hastily patched-up Moltke, Seydlitz and Kronprinz, which were all still at Wilhelmshaven and not in prime fighting condition. Their role was to be spotted to the west of Texel, distracting the British from the High Seas Fleet’s move north.
The rest of the fleet would stay together as it sailed out of the Baltic through the Skaggerak, with Hipper’s three fully operational battlecruisers acting as both close scouts and as a strike force against any convoys that might be encountered. In the event any part of the British Fleet was found, it would be engaged, before seeking a withdrawal either South or East. The action would also cover a mass sailing of U-Boats into the Atlantic, to attempt a shock attack on American troop convoys to France.
Admiral Scheer knew the plan was, at best, of little military value; and at worst, it was hopeless. As he had predicted and feared, the sailors of the fleet proved hostile to what they could all see was a futile and risky operation, particularly given the recent rumours of a peace deal. A few hotheads attempted outright mutiny, but on most ships, calmer heads prevailed. The men would not obey their new orders to attack the British, but they were still proud Germans. To avoid the outright disgrace and dishonour of refusing to fight, the sailors’ committees agreed to resume operations in the Baltic. Scheer was therefore obliged to issue orders that the Fleet remain at Kiel, while preparations were made for a bombardment mission in support of the Army.
With the Fleet now only a partially effective war machine, on the evening of the 17th September, Scheer returned to Berlin to inform the Kaiser that, ‘I cannot command your Majesty’s Navy’.
For once, the pompous, blustering autocrat had nothing to say. The Admiral offered his resignation on the spot, and would later claim in his memoirs that he intended to return to his quarters and take the honourable way out.
However, fate intervened in the shape of Field-Marshal Hindenburg, who choose this moment of crisis to tell the Kaiser that defeat in the West was now practically unavoidable. The front between Antwerp and Brussels had been relatively quiet in recent days, but the British Army was clearly resupplying and would clearly soon resume the offensive. The French Army, once believed to have been almost broken, now appeared to have recovered its fighting spirit, and was clearly being aided by the unexpectedly early arrival of American troops. This trickle of American forces in 1917 would clearly become a flood in 1918, more than replacing any losses the Allies might suffer over the winter.
Meanwhile the German Army and the German nation would only become weaker.
