Near the Austro-Hungarian Bank next to the Cumurja Bridge stood Muhamed Mehmedbasic.
A few steps away stood Nedjelko Cabrinovic.
Farther toward City Hall were positioned Vaso Cubrilovic and Cvijetko Popovic.
Still farther on, near Lateiner Bridge, stood Gavrilo Princip, whose friend Trifko Grabez paced impatiently along the street nearby.
Their organizer, Danilo Ilic, moved about between the others.
As the automobile bearing the royal couple moved in the direction of City Hall, Mehmedbasic’s hand went to the bomb inside his coat. But as the second car of the processional drew even, a policeman stepped up behind him.
Mehmedbasic froze. To make a move now, and be immediately apprehended by the policeman, would undo the whole plot.
He continued to hesitate.
Within seconds it was too late. The car passed. As it continued along the thoroughfare, so too passed Mehmedbasic’s chance for immortality.
The procession now approached Cabrinovic’s position. This time there was no hesitation. Cabrinovic removed the bomb from his own tightly buttoned coat, struck its percussion cap on a lantern post, and hurled it straight for Franz Ferdinand’s green-feathered helmet.
But the alert driver heard the pop of the cap. Instinctively his head spun and he detected something flying through the air!
He jammed his foot to the floor. The car lurched forward with sudden acceleration.
At the last instant, the archduke also saw the object flying toward them. His hand jerked up to protect his wife. The bomb struck his arm, fell behind them against the folded roof of the car, and bounced into the street.
A deafening explosion followed.
Within seconds pandemonium broke loose. Smoke billowed up from the blast. Screams erupted everywhere.
The two lead cars drove on. But those behind were forced to stop. As the archduke’s car sped away Franz Ferdinand glanced back at the commotion.
“Stop the car!” he cried. “Sophie’s face has a cut. I want to know if anyone else has been hurt.”
The car lurched to a halt. As the archduke tended to his wife and then inquired about other injuries, the driver jumped out to inspect the car. A few flying fragments had struck it, but the damage was not severe.
A number of spectators had been hurt from the blast. No one was dead, but some injuries were serious. Several of those in the following car were bleeding badly.
Cabrinovic, meanwhile, swallowed his cyanide and leapt into the river Miljacka. But by now he had been seen. Several spectators jumped in after him, pulled him out and back onto the quay, then proceeded to beat him severely. The police arrived in time to prevent his being killed on the spot. They took him to the station, sick but still alive.
Back at the scene, once the wounded and injured were attended to, the badly shaken archducal party continued on toward City Hall.
When Gavrilo Princip heard the explosion from his own vantage point, and saw the smoke and confusion, he thought the mission had been completed before it reached him. But then after the delay the procession continued on. Now his position was all wrong. He could not see the archduke anywhere.
At City Hall, Mayor Fehim Effendi Curcic attempted to launch into his welcoming speech. But before he could utter a word, Archduke Franz Ferdinand burst forth with an angry rebuke against his city’s lax security measures. Apologies and assurances followed. Again the mayor began to speak.
“Your Royal and Imperial Highness, and Your Highness,” he said, turning briefly toward Sophie, altering not a word of his planned remarks as a result of what had just transpired, “our hearts are full of happiness over the most gracious visit with which Your Highnesses are pleased to honor our capital city. All the citizens of Sarajevo find that their souls are filled with happiness and they most enthusiastically greet Your Highnesses’ most illustrious visit with the most cordial of welcomes. . . .”
The lengthy speech continued, serving at least the purpose of calming everyone’s nerves. When the mayor was finished, Franz Ferdinand gave his planned reply.
The official delegation turned and entered City Hall. Several telephone calls were placed to the hospital. The rest of the day’s plans were discussed.
Perhaps, someone suggested, they should remain at City Hall until troops could be brought in. There may be more conspirators.
No, insisted Mayor Curcic, the troops were not in proper dress for the occasion. There could not possibly be a second attempt on the same day. Plans would proceed, but along a different route. They must stop first at the hospital, insisted the archduke, to visit the wounded of their party.
When plans were finalized, and when Sophie’s reception with a delegation of Muslim ladies was completed, once again the royal party and dignitaries climbed into their cars.
The drivers of the first two cars, however, had not been informed of the change of plans. According to the route originally mapped out, they mistakenly turned onto Franz Joseph Street.
“Wait . . . stop!” cried General Potiorek. “We’re going to the hospital. Turn around. Back to Appel Quay.”
The driver obeyed the command, stopped, backed up, and began to turn and retrace the way back to the main boulevard.
————
During the goings-on at City Hall, Gavrilo Princip had wandered aimlessly from Lateiner Bridge down to Franz Joseph Street. Here there were not so many people gathered about. He still carried a bomb and a pistol, but assumed he would not see the procession again.
All at once, about half an hour after Cabrinovic’s arrest, suddenly he saw the two lead cars of the archduke’s procession stopping and turning around right in front of him!
Gavrilo Princip’s moment of destiny had come. He did not hesitate.
He ran straight toward the stopped touring car. He pulled out his pistol as he went and fired several times into the open backseat.
The following cars had also stopped. Seeing a man running and hearing the report of gunfire, the cars instantly emptied.
Two or three men rushed Princip. They threw themselves upon him. Screaming and yelling, the assassin now attempted to shoot himself. But they were on him before he could pull the trigger.
Screams and shouts and confusion were everywhere. Someone pulled a sword and struck at Princip’s head. As he scuffled with those beating him and holding him down, somehow Princip managed to get his cyanide out of his pocket and into his mouth. But it proved as ineffective as Cabrinovic’s.
When they were able, the cars sped off in the direction of the governor’s residence across the river. Still no one realized that Franz Ferdinand and Sophie had been hit, he through the neck, she in her abdomen. Sophie’s face was white, and blood gushed from her husband’s mouth.
“What has happened to you!” cried Sophie. Her head fell to the archduke’s knees.
“Sophie, Sophie,” said Franz Ferdinand weakly. “Sterbe nicht . . . bleibe am Leben für unsere Kinder.—Don’t die . . . stay alive for our children.”
They arrived at the governor’s. Doctors were waiting. A dozen people ran out and converged on the car. Hurriedly they carried the archduke and his wife inside.
But Sophie’s wound had split her stomach artery. She was already dead.
Four regimental doctors performed what emergency aid they could on her husband. But Franz Ferdinand was bleeding badly from neck and mouth.
Within fifteen minutes, the archduke had gone to join his wife.
97
Ultimatum
Within days all the conspirators but Muhamed Mehmedbasic had been captured and were in police custody.
Word of the murder spread like wildfire. The entire world was outraged.
Austria had long been hoping for some pretext to invade and annex Serbia as she had Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1908. Austrian officials suspected the complicity of the Serbian government in the plot. The assassination was greeted by rejoicing in Belgrade. Official condolences were offered, but no one was really fooled. The S
erbian press hailed Gavrilo Princip as a national hero.
All Europe anticipated that Austria would now invade Serbia. Many expected war.
Days passed, however, then weeks. Still Austria took no action. Tensions slowly eased.
Perhaps the brief crisis would blow over, as had all others of the previous decade.
But all was not so quiet as it seemed. German Kaiser Wilhelm II and Austro-Hungarian ambassador Count Szögyény-Marich met on July 5. Wilhelm pledged Austria his “full support.” Szögyény-Marich understood his meaning well enough—if Austria took action and Russia declared war, Germany would back her action.
Thus assured by the kaiser’s blank cheque of support, Austria considered its options carefully on how best to exact its revenge against Serbia.
An ultimatum followed on July 23.
————
With heavy heart Timothy Diggorsfeld sat down in his study with the afternoon edition of the July 27 London Times in front of him.
The headline across the front page read: ENGLAND’S APPEALS REJECTED, MOBILIZATIONS LOOM. He went on to scan the article under the frightening words.
The demands of Austria-Hungary’s July 23 ultimatum to Serbia—requiring: suppression of all nationalist propaganda and of all conspiratorial societies against Austria, the removal of all officials in the Serbian government suspected of complicity in the assassination, or of anti-Austrian propaganda, that Austrian representatives be allowed to collaborate with Serbian police investigations to root out such subversive activities against Austria, the cessation of arms trade across the Austrian border, and a formal apology for the assassination by the Serbian government—appeared to have been met by Serbian compliance.
Within five minutes of the 48-hour deadline, Serbian premier Pashich delivered in person to the Austrian minister in Belgrade Serbia’s capitulation on all but minor details.
The Austrian minister, whose instructions were to accept full compliance or nothing, rejected Serbia’s reply. Immediately he left Belgrade for Vienna. Both Serbia and Austria began military mobilizations.
The capitals of Europe were shocked by Austria’s belligerent posture, for Serbia had gone further than anyone thought she would.
The day following these developments, yesterday, British foreign secretary Sir Edward Grey proposed a conference of mediation involving Germany, France, Italy, and Britain. The proposal was rejected by Germany, who pled with Britain and France to keep their ally Russia from aggression. Russia, however, declared a pre-mobilization of her military forces, stating that if Austria crosses the Serbian border, she would defend her brother Serbs and have no choice but to declare war on Austria.
This morning, England made another appeal to Austria, Serbia, and Russia to suspend their military preparations, pleading again for a conference of powers to mediate the crisis. At press time, however, there has been no reply to these requests. Mobilizations apparently continue throughout the region.
It is feared that the crisis, though localized, may produce a ripple effect. For if Austria invades Serbia, Russia has already declared that it will fight in support of its Serbian ally.
If Russia fights, however, Germany will step in to defend her ally Austria.
In that event, Russia’s ally France would no doubt enter the conflict against Germany.
If Austria continues determined to punish Serbia for the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the only hope against what appears a disastrous potential chain of events is for the powers of Europe to lay aside their ultimatums long enough to gather around a table of mediation. Intelligence sources, however, report only increasing rumors of military preparations in all the nations involved. . . .
Diggorsfeld set down the paper with a sigh and closed his eyes.
“Oh, God,” he prayed, “have mercy on us that we have not learned to love one another as you taught us!”
He thought of his friend Charles Rutherford, wondering how a former naval officer would react to such developments. And young George. How would these events affect him?
Again Diggorsfeld fell to praying, this time for the Devonshire family he loved, and for the entire nation.
————
Though all Britain’s newspapers carried detailed accounts of the summer’s events, few in Britain even now recognized the peril. There yet remained a sense of isolation from events so far to the east on the Continent. Average men and women vaguely knew that Luxembourg and Belgium had perpetually been neutral. But they did not recognize the extent to which that neutrality had been guaranteed by Great Britain. Within the country, and within the cabinet itself, there were strong isolationist and pacifist elements. Few even in the government thought the Austrian-Serbian conflict worth going to war over, despite Britain’s guarantees to Belgium and Luxembourg.
Newspaper editorials, leaflets, and pamphlets circulated through the country in favor of one position or another, though the number of those who took the military posturing on the Continent seriously remained a minority.
Winston Churchill, as he had done as long as Charles had known him, continued to declare the danger imminent, and to sound a clear voice of preparation. Even as Timothy Diggorsfeld prayed in his office with the newspaper on his lap, in his office in the Admiralty, the first lord of the British fleet considered a grave course of action which was certain to upset those of his cabinet colleagues still determined not to be drawn into a European quarrel unless Great Britain herself were attacked.
But First Lord of the Admiralty Churchill knew this hope of many in the government for British neutrality was illusory. After Serbia’s acceptance of Austria’s ultimatum, he too had briefly hoped the whole crisis might blow over. Or at least be confined to the east.
But then came the news that Austria was not satisfied with the Serbian acceptance. The temperature of events continued to rise. The plan Churchill now revolved in his mind would insure Britain’s best chance of success on the seas if the worst indeed came.
The navy was fully mobilized for the Royal Naval Review at Portland on the south coast of England on July 26. Though it had been scheduled to disperse following the maneuvers, Churchill had held the fleet together.
But even that might not be enough. To be ready for war, the main battle fleet must be gotten secretly north to its war station at Scapa Flow in the Orkneys, Scotland. Moreover, it must move there quickly and secretly. They must not arouse German suspicion.
It would be an obvious act of readiness for war. But Winston Churchill did not intend to be caught unprepared.
It did not take long for the first lord of the admiralty to make the decision.
He would give the secret order for the entire fleet to steam north by the most direct route, passing the Strait of Dover during the hours of darkness, eighteen miles of warships running at high speed and without lights. He would not even bring the matter before the cabinet. He would only inform the prime minister.
Churchill went to his desk and immediately began to draft the order to the commander-in-chief for the home fleets.
Tomorrow, he wrote, Wednesday, the First Fleet is to leave Portland for Scapa Flow. Destination is to be kept secret except to flag and commanding officers. As you are required at the Admiralty, Vice-Admiral 2nd Battle Squadron is to take command. Course from Portland is to be shaped to southward, then a middle Channel course to the Strait of Dover. The squadrons are to pass through the strait without lights during the night and to pass outside the shoals on their way north. Agamemnon is to remain at Portland, where the Second Fleet will assemble.1*
1. *Adapted from Churchill’s own recollection of events, some of the thoughts in Churchill’s own words, as told in The World Crisis, vol. 1, pp. 208–225. The dispatch to the fleet commander is verbatim as delivered.
98
A Sleeper Awakes
It was not quite so far north here as to remain perpetual dusk during these summer months as in the Orkneys or especially the Shetlands. But it was far enough north that the sun
set late and rose early across the North Sea.
The newcomer had not been here long enough altogether to accustom himself to the sound of quiet. His world had been London for so long that the peaceful rhythmic waves slapping against the rocky shore still kept him awake at night.
But London was behind him. His days in the Commons were over. That was another life. He had cast his fate with the future. There was no turning back now.
He had arisen early, as he did on most days since he had arrived, unable to sleep. It was the morning of July 29.
A grey light of predawn vaguely shone through his window. He looked at his clock.
Three-twenty. He lay back and closed his eyes.
A faint sound protruded into his consciousness. At first it registered no mark. Then gradually he remembered it was not in London. He was miles from anywhere. What could account for the dull, distant sounds of engines . . . of machinery amid the waves striking the shoals?
A few more minutes he lay, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.
No, something was out there.
He rose and peered out the window but saw nothing. But wait, there seemed some vague shape off in the distance. He squinted eastward. It was a clear morning, thankfully, with no fog. But it was still too dark to make it out.
Genuinely curious now, and more than a little concerned, he dressed quickly and went outside. Still gazing toward the horizon, he walked toward the bluff.
There was no mistaking it now—there was something out there, outlined above the black of the sea against the thin light of dawn. Wait, now he saw two ships . . . no, three.
He turned and hurried back into the house. A minute later he returned with binoculars. He sprinted for the lighthouse. From its tower he should be able to see what this was all about.
Five minutes later the onetime loyal parliamentarian was staring dumbfounded at a seemingly unceasing convoy of giant warships, squadron after squadron, hundreds of ships of varying sizes, the British First Fleet, steaming northward along the coast.
Wayward Winds Page 38