One striking instance of this occurred when the Wilhelmstrasse discovered that Washington was in possession of information in the “Arabic incident” which made the official excuses palpably too thin.  After the German authorities became convinced that their failure to guarantee that unresisting merchantmen would not be sunk until passengers and crew were removed to a place of safety would cause a break with the United States, Tirpitz asserted that the disadvantages to Germany from America as an enemy would be slight in comparison with the advantages from the relentless submarining which in his opinion would defeat Britain.  He therefore advocated that no concessions be made to Washington.  Von Bethmann-Hollweg was of the opposite opinion.  A deadlock resulted, which was broken when the Kaiser summoned both men to separate and secret conferences.  He decided in favour of the Chancellor, whereupon Washington received the famous “Arabic Guarantees.”  It is highly significant that these were never made known to the German people.

Then followed six months of “frightfulness,” broken pledges, notes, crises, semi-crises, and finally the great crisis de luxe in the case of the Sussex.  When, a few days after my return to England from Germany, I used the expression “Sussex Crisis” to a leading Englishman, he expressed surprise at the term “crisis.”  “We did not get the impression in England that the affair was a real crisis,” he said.

My experiences in Germany during the last week in April and the first four days in May, 1916, left no doubt in my mind that I was living through a crisis, the outcome of which would have a tremendous effect upon the subsequent course of the war.  Previous dealings with Washington had convinced the German Government as well as the German people that the American Government would stand for anything.  Thus the extraordinary explanation of the German Foreign Office that the Sussex was not torpedoed by a German submarine, since the only U-boat commander who had fired a torpedo in the channel waters on the fateful day had made a sketch of the vessel which he had attacked, which, according to the sketch, was not the Sussex.

The German people were so supremely satisfied with this explanation that they displayed chagrin which quickly changed to ugliness when the German Press was allowed to print enough of the news from Washington to prepare the public mind for something sharp from across the Atlantic.  I have seen Berlin joyful, serious, and sad during the war; I have seen it on many memorable days; but never have I seen it exactly as on Saturday, April 22nd, the day when the Sussex Ultimatum was made known through the Press.  The news was headlined in the afternoon editions.  The eager crowds snapped them up, stood still in their tracks, and then one and all expressed their amazement to anybody near them, “President Wilson began by shaking his fist at Germany, and ended by shaking his finger,” was the way one of the President’s political opponents summarised his Notes.  That was the opinion in Germany.  And now he had “pulled a gun.”  The Germans could not understand it.  When they encountered any of the few Americans left in their country they either foamed in rage at them, or, in blank amazement, asked them what it was all about.