The Heligolanders regularly read the Hamburg newspapers, which circulated freely on the island, and were well acquainted with events in Europe. Thus, on 17 June there had been an excited response to a false report that Heligoland was to be ceded to Denmark. When the next day’s papers disclosed that Germany was to be their new colonial master there was much apprehension. Newspaper stories soon appeared about German entrepreneurs with ambitions to turn Heligoland into a sort of Monte Carlo; they were said to be attempting to lodge licences in Berlin for hotels, restaurants, concert halls and casinos on the island. Of the 2,000 Heligolanders there were a few who reckoned the cession could be for the better, but many were concerned that the transfer would mean Heligoland losing its duty-free advantage. The fear that their island paradise would be spoilt under German rule was widespread. Bird-lover Heinrich Gätke, who was also director of the island’s ornithological institute (and also, since 1865, the official government interpreter), expressed concern that German militarisation might overwhelm the Oberland plateau with heavy guns, destroying its peace and quiet and making impossible the work of the island’s worldfamous migratory-bird sanctuary.
All that summer demands at Westminster for the views of the Heligolanders to be ascertained were being side-stepped with excuses about precedence and logistical difficulties. Whitehall could – if it had wished – have been guided by assessments of the islanders’ wishes, provided by Barkly. But these were never requested. Rather, on 1 July 1890 Sir Edward Malet sent a secret telegram to the Governor enquiring what ‘steps were being taken to prevent agitation’.8 Salisbury well knew the islanders were far from indifferent about their impending change of nationality. When he spoke in the Lords debate on 10 July about the ‘confidential’ information he had received on the subject, his source was actually Arthur Barkly, from whom he had received a telegram, via Lord Knutsford, that very afternoon. Barkly had wired:
They are very concerned as to whether it will be annexed to Schleswig-Holstein or treated as a separate territory (which is what they would much prefer), and whether or not the island is to be made a fortress, which they consider would greatly impede it as a bathing and health resort. They are perfectly contented and happy under British rule and desirous of no change.
Typically the Heligolanders were rather slow in making their deeper feelings known. It was not until 21 July – just three days before the crucial Second Reading debate in the Commons – that Barkly received, and immediately forwarded to England, a petition from the islanders addressed to Queen Victoria.9 It declared: ‘In parting from your Majesty, as subjects of the great British Empire, we shall never forget the manifold reasons we have experienced to feel contented and happy under your Majesty’s government.’ Correspondence now available for scrutiny makes it clear that Victoria was very touched by these sentiments, for she ordered Lord Knutsford to forward her reply to the islanders. It stated: ‘[Queen Victoria] gladly recognises the loyalty of the inhabitants which they showed under her Government, and she sincerely desires their sustained prosperity and contentment; to secure which, she is satisfied, that no effort will be wanting on the part of the German Emperor.’ Barkly arranged to have that message publicly displayed on placards throughout the island, mindful that the last line carried a hint that she would be keeping a watchful eye on Wilhelm’s future conduct.
But it was all far from over for Arthur Barkly, whose anxieties were deepening further. Accepting that there was no realistic hope of derailing the transfer of sovereignty, he energetically sought other employment for his staff. Evidently the Colonial Office negotiators had not given the slightest thought to their future. On 2 July they informed him that, with regard to compensation for the British officials losing their appointments, it was now too late to make further demands on the German government.10 Would, he asked Malet to discover, the German government be willing to continue to employ Heinrich Gätke and the native officials? Other than Barkly himself, the one most in need of security was the Chief Magistrate, Colonel Edward Whitehead, who had with him on the island a wife and eight children. In vain Arthur attempted to get him a posting with the government of Gibraltar.
Paradoxically, in that summer of 1890, when Heligoland was on the verge of becoming the focus of international attention, its governor was obliged to spend an inordinate amount of time struggling with the staff at the Colonial Office, as he needed them to persuade the Treasury to reimburse him the £11 in expenses incurred during his recent four-day visit to Berlin.11 Already close to penniless, Barkly was distraught to realise that no one in the Colonial Office had thought to make even a minuscule financial provision for him to get home. As late as 5 August 1890, by telegraph, he had to inform London that if he was to depart from the island by mail-boat on 9 August he could only do so if the ceremony of transfer was done early in the day. Even so his family, and that of Colonel Whitehead, were in the potentially humiliating circumstance of not being able to get home unless a passage allowance was paid for them out of funds from the Heligoland government.12
One consequence of the uncertainty as to whether the House of Commons would approve the Anglo-German Agreement bill (which it did by 209 votes to 61 on 25 July), was that the timetable for the hand-over was not determined until near the time appointed. On 23 July Arthur received a telegram from the British chargé d’affaires in Berlin informing him that the German emperor would visit the island some time after his return from Osborne. On 31 July he received a cable announcing that the Kaiser would be visiting on 10 August when the island would be taken over. It was presumed that his own administration would leave on 9 August, and advised him that ‘The Admiralty have been informed’.13 On 3 August the steam corvette HMS Calypso, fresh from naval duties off Plymouth, reached Sheerness, where her captain, Count Frederick Metaxa, was informed that she had been appointed the headquarters ship for coordinating the British withdrawal.
On the evening of 6 August Calypso anchored in calm water off Heligoland, as did the Admiralty yacht HMS Wildfire, which had accompanied her from Sheerness. At 5.30 the next morning a 61-strong working party of seamen was landed ashore by the ship’s steam pinnace, barge and cutter to bring off stores.14 The events of that day and the next echoed the scene of eighty-three years earlier, when HMS Explosion’s mortars were heaved aloft to the plateau, but now the process was in reverse. One by one the Armstrong saluting guns were slung over the side of the Falm Esplanade near Government House, and lowered on ropes and pulleys down the steep red cliff there, before being taken out to the Calypso. In the course of the heavy and dangerous work the corvette’s cutter was damaged, and a hundredweight boat anchor became irretrievably jammed in an underwater crevasse near the harbour.
Heligoland was virtually the first ever colony to be peacefully transferred in peacetime by Britain. (The Ionian Islands, which were handed over by Britain to Greece in 1864, had been a Protectorate.) This meant there were effectively no procedural or ceremonial precedents on which Arthur could draw when organising the British retreat. ‘Should’, he telegraphed London, ‘the official portrait of Queen Victoria be removed?’15
Required by circumstance to turn himself into an imperial impresario, he often had only his initiative to guide him. He saw to it that the emblems of the British Empire were removed: the busts of Victoria and Albert were taken from the alcoves in the little post office, and royal coats of arms, where possible, were taken down from public buildings and brought aboard the corvette.
In Germany there was great excitement about the Empire’s forthcoming acquisition, which was already being dubbed ‘Germany’s pearl of the North Sea’. Astonishingly most Germans at the time considered the island to be a far better prize than Zanzibar, or even Uganda. The Times correspondent in Hamburg reported on 8 August: ‘The interest taken in the cession of Heligoland is increasing to an enormous extent, the island forms the chief topic of conversation, and the communications sent by reporters of newspapers of standing are read almost with the excitement of despatches from a
battlefield.’ When the Hamburger Correspondent disclosed that Wilhelm II himself would be landing on the island on 10 August, cession enthusiasm went into overdrive. As the Kaiser was visiting his grandmother Queen Victoria earlier in the week, a rumour (unfounded) also began to circulate that the hand-over ceremony might even be attended by a member of the British royal family. Evidently it was going to be an historic weekend, with the cession of the island to Germany on the first day, and the arrival of the emperor on the second to take possession of this ‘Last jewel in the Crown’, as it was widely referred to. The Freia, a magnificent steampowered ferry built several years earlier, was already fully booked expressly for the 6-hour crossing from Hamburg. Numerous extra steamers, from Cuxhaven and Bremenhaven, were hired to carry spectators to the island to witness the transfer and imperial visit. On the island there were fears that there would be standing room only, and that there would not be enough food for the converging hordes of excursionists.
There was no let-up in the activity and animation on the morning of Saturday 9 August. The weather was beautiful and the island thronged to excess with sightseers. The Lower Town was decorated from end to end, with the Heligoland and German flags being most prominently displayed. The first move towards the official evacuation of the island by the British took place that morning when the Trinity House lighthouse-keepers and the families of the six British coastguardmen embarked on board the tender Seamew. At 1pm Arthur Barkly, in full dress uniform, was joined at Government House by Colonel Whitehead and the chief officials of the island, and soon they all proceeded to the landing stage to receive Herr von Bötticher, the German Secretary of State assigned to represent the Kaiser in accepting the transfer of authority. A guard of honour, consisting of a detachment of marines from the Calypso, was drawn up at Government House, while another guard of honour awaited Barkly at the landing stage, where he and his officials were met by Captain Metaxa of the Calypso, Captain Sanderson of HMS Wildfire and various other naval officers.
Fully an hour passed before the German corvette Victoria and artillery training ship Mars hove into view, followed by the despatch vessel Pfeil. A further delay was caused by the low state of the tide which compelled the little flotilla to circumnavigate the island before anchoring off the north harbour. From the outset, navigation of the waters around Heligoland was proving trickier than the German Navy had anticipated. Once the ships were riding, they fired a 21-gun salute in honour of the British flag, a tribute that was acknowledged by a similar salute from the Calypso. Then there followed a salute of 17 guns in honour of the British Governor. Just after 3pm von Bötticher arrived by boat at a jetty richly decorated with flags, palms and garlands of flowers. With him was Privy Councillor Lindon, the new civil and naval governors, and a financial comptroller. As soon as they were safely ashore, a cordial greeting took place between this party and Arthur Barkly, who introduced Colonel Edward Whitehead, Heinrich Gätke, and a small knot of other British officials. The entire group then proceeded to Government House where Fanny received them, accompanied by a large party of wives and daughters of the other officials, as well as many of the leading islanders, whom the Barklys had invited to witness the ceremony. Fanny positioned herself in an upstairs window of Government House to gain the best view of the proceedings.
The guard of honour was stationed in the Englishstyle garden. The officials and naval officers, all in full uniform, accompanied Arthur to a place close to the flagstaff, where he performed the brief but impressive ceremony of handing over the island to German control. The proceedings were simple and uncomplicated, consisting only of the reading of a clause from the Anglo-German Agreement. For the few Britons present it was a very sad and moving occasion, especially when the German flag was hoisted beside the Union Jack. This caused ecstatic cheers from the countless German trippers crowded along the esplanade, who burst into an impromptu chorus of the patriotic song Deutschland über Alles, which von Hoffmann had composed on the island many years earlier. The hoisting of the German flag was also greeted by a salute of 21 guns from both German and English warships in the harbour. Herr von Bötticher then called upon the excited crowd to give three ‘Hochs’ for Queen Victoria, which was done with great enthusiasm. The ceremony passed off without the slightest hitch, and with the utmost cordiality on both sides. The two flags were left to flutter side by side until sundown.16
Meanwhile, some 4,000 miles away in Africa, other pieces on the gigantic colonial chessboard Salisbury had devised with Bismarck’s successors were being fitted into place. At the precise hour that the German flag was hoisted in the garden at Government House in Heligoland on 9 August, it was lowered for the last time in parts of East Africa, most notably in Zanzibar.
Barkly next proceeded down to the Conversation House in the Unterland where he held a farewell reception with forty of Heligoland’s leading citizens, in the presence of the British naval officers, his official entourage and the German officials. Even there, as he had throughout the day, Arthur Barkly received telegrams from the Foreign and Colonial Offices in London, and was obliged to hurry off to deal with the special instructions they contained. When the lunch ended he was present to hear the final speech, made by von Bötticher. In the name of the inhabitants and all succeeding governors, he thanked Barkly ‘For all the good seed he and his predecessors had sown; the fruit of which was now to be reaped.’ For Arthur, it was almost too much. Deeply moved and struggling to keep his composure he responded in a low voice. The strain increased when an island dignitary, the Baths Director, stood up to express a few simple words: ‘Our present rulers will not think ill of us if, in bidding farewell to the Queen of England, who has ruled us so kindly, we do so with heavy hearts.’
Soon it was time for the governor to go. By the late afternoon the Barklys’ children and servants, together with Colonel and Mrs Whitehead and their family, had boarded the Admiralty yacht Wildfire. Shortly before 6pm, having made the final arrangements at Government House, Arthur sadly made his way down through the narrow streets to the landing stage, past the good-natured faces he had come to know so well. He was warmly cheered by the spectators, as everyone pressed forward to shake hands with the last of the English governors. At the pier he boarded the Calypso’s steam pinnace. Fanny was overwhelmed by bouquets of flowers, tied with the Heligoland ribbon; there were so many she could not hold them all and they had to be accommodated in the pinnace. As the boat speedily puffed and hissed towards the warship, everyone shouted and waved their last farewells.17
Instantly Arthur set foot on HMS Calypso the corvette commenced firing a 17-gun salute. Each deafening boom of the cannon thudded like a quivering arrow into his breaking heart. As the tide ebbed further, at just after 7pm the 21ft draught Calypso shifted berth out to deeper water. There was one last duty to perform. At 11pm a party of six British coastguards, under Royal Naval command, made for Government House and lowered the Union Jack for the last time, before returning to the Calypso. They were the last British officials to leave the island.18 At 11.40pm the Barklys stood solemnly on Calypso’s quarter-deck as the warship weighed anchor. Slowly she gathered steam, gracefully moving as she cleared the southern tip of the island. Then, in company with the Seamew and Wildfire, she headed for England. Large drinks in hand, the Barklys watched the twinkling lights of the island until they faded out of sight over the horizon.
Scarcely had Governor Barkly’s party made ready to leave Heligoland that evening than thirteen warships of the German fleet appeared and took possession of the anchorage just vacated by the Calypso. Several admirals and other senior naval officers landed from the various ships, and strolled about the decorated narrow streets. All was again bustle and confusion, for there seemed to be no time even to make the preparations for the Kaiser’s visit the next day. Government House had to be made ready for the reception and a banquet in the large drawing-rooms for sixty people, including Wilhelm II and his entourage and the chief personages of the mainland and insular governments. Few officials or
people on the island slept that night, and most were still working hard at dawn.
At Osborne that week Queen Victoria’s emotions must have been in turmoil. Displeased at being required by Salisbury to hand over a cherished colony, she was cool towards her mistrusted grandson, although she was obliged to treat him with respect as he was a head of state. Would she have been shocked that the Kaiser would so soon take her name in vain? For Wilhelm, the experience of reviewing his grandmother’s impressive fleet at Spithead further fuelled his keenness to get to the North Sea to inspect his latest possession. Hurrying eastwards from the Isle of Wight on the night of 9 August Wilhelm was aboard the imperial yacht Hohenzollern, escorted by a fourteen-strong German torpedo-boat flotilla.
Later that week the satirical magazine Punch irreverently devised an ‘unreported’ incident that had occurred as the German Emperor approached the island:
The new landlord . . . was most anxious to take possession. He was all impatience to appear before his recently acquired subjects, to show them the Military Uniform he has assumed after discarding the garb he loved so well – the grande tenue of an Honorary Admiral of the Fleet in the service of Victoria, Queen, Empress and Grandmother. There was a consultation on board the Hohenzollern, and then a subdued German cheer. The chief Naval Officer approached His Majesty. ‘Sire’, he said falling on one knee, ‘all is now ready.’ ‘But why has there been this delay?’ asked the Kaiser. ‘Sire, we could not find the island. Unhappily we had had mislaid the, er,’ paused the naval officer. ‘Charts and field-glasses?’ speculated His Majesty. ‘No, Sire,’ was the reply. After some hesitation, the chief of the German sailors continued. ‘The fact is, Your Majesty, we had lost our microscope!’
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