Chapter 4

Our dear cousins on the other side of the Channel must have been rather disquieted by the loss of so much shipping at the hands of our boats or of our mines; and they must have realized that a new method of warfare had begun, for their fleet no longer paraded in the North Sea or in any of the waters in the war zone. Their great, valuable ships were withdrawn, and the patrol of their coast was confided only to smaller craft and to the mine-layers, in order that their people might supposedly sleep in peace.

Our adversary was concealed by day, and only ventured forth at night, confident that darkness would insure his safety. This was then the hour for us to lie in watch for our prey, and no more glorious clarion call could have heralded in the New Year than the torpedo shot, which, on the New Year's Eve of 1915, sent the mighty ship of the line "Formidable" to the bottom of the Channel. This was our first triumphant victory, which showed that not even darkness could circumvent our plans, and which dispelled all further doubts as to our efficiency. A few days after the sinking of the "Formidable" a piece of one of the row boats was washed ashore at Zeebrugge, and now adorns our Sea Museum as the only reminder left of the great ship.

We stood at last on the same footing as our dear old sister, the torpedo boat, to whom we in reality owed our present development, and from now on, in proud independence, we were justified in considering ourselves a separate branch of the Navy.

Now that England felt obliged to withhold the activities of her fleet, she instigated against us the commercial blockade and hunger-war; she obliged neutrals to follow a prescribed route; and, by subjecting their vessels to search, she prevented them from selling us any of their wares. In this manner, she sought to redeem herself from the paralysis we had brought on her fleet, and her unscrupulous treatment of the right of nations and her interpretation of the so-called "freedom of the seas" are only too well known.

We retaliated on February 4, 1915, by prescribing a certain danger zone, which extended around Great Britain and Ireland and along the north coast of France. By this interdict, public opinion was enlightened as to the part our U-boats were going to perform in this new commercial warfare, a part, I must admit, that few people had anticipated before the commencement of hostilities. Of course, new demands were to be made upon us; we should have to make long undersea trips, and remain for some time in the enemy's waters, after which we should have to return unperceived. The English called it German bluff, but their tone soon changed after we had made our first raid in the heart of the Irish Channel, and few of them now ventured abroad except when forced by the most imperative obligations.

At the end of October, 1914, the first English steamer "Glitra" was sunk off the Norwegian coast. It carried a cargo of sewing machines, whisky, and steel from Leith. The captain was wise enough to stop at the first signal of the commander of the U-boat, and he thereby saved the lives of his crew, who escaped with their belongings after the steamer was peacefully sunk. If others later had likewise followed his example, innocent passengers and crew would not have been drowned; and after all, people are fond of their own lives; but these English captains were following the orders of their Government to save their ships through flight. The English authorities even went so far as to inaugurate a sharp-shooting system at sea by offering a reward to any captain who rammed or destroyed a German submarine, although the latter could only obey this command at the risk of their lives; but what cared the rulers in England for the existence of men belonging to the lower classes of the Nation? They offered tempting rewards for these exploits in the shape of gold watches, and bribed the captains of the merchant marine with the promise of being raised to the rank of officers in the Reserve. Therefore, the British newspapers were filled with the account of the destruction of German U-boats, and of the generous rewards given for these fine deeds. It was jolly for us on our return to port to read the record of our own doom, and scarcely would there be a submarine afloat if these records had been true.

I should like to tell a short story in connection with these assertions of English prowess. One of their small steamers had actually contrived in misty weather to ram the turret of one of our submarines while it was in the act of submerging. The English captain was loudly praised in all the newspapers and received the promised rewards for having sunk, as he declared, a German U-boat; he had distinctly felt, he said, the shock of the collision. His statement was certainly accurate, for the submarine was also conscious of the shock, but it was fortunately followed with no evil results, and our commander had the joyful surprise, shortly afterwards, when he emerged, to find the blade of the foe's propeller stuck in the wall of the turret, whose excellent material had preserved it from serious injury. We happily hope that the German Empire will never run so short of bronze that it will be obliged to appropriate, for the melting pot, this fine propeller blade, which is one of the many interesting trophies preserved in our Submarine Museum.

V

OUR OWN PART IN THE COMMERCIAL WAR AND OUR FIRST CAPTURED STEAMER

As we have said above, our war against the merchant marine of the Allied Nations began in February, 1915, throughout the war zone established around the English and French coasts. Day after day, the number increased of steamers and sail boats that we had sunk, and commercial relations between all countries were seriously menaced. The English were forced to believe in our threats and even the shipping trade of the neutrals had greatly diminished. The mighty British fleet no longer dared to patrol the seas, and the merchantmen were told to look out for themselves and were even armed for the purpose.

While the winter lasted, there was not much for us to do, and we awaited fine weather with lively impatience. During this period, our victorious armies had occupied Belgium and Serbia, and conquered the Russian girdle of fortifications. The subsequent participation of Italy produced but little impression on the fortunate current of events, whereas Turkey's entrance at our side in the war, opened a new field of operation for our U-boats in the Mediterranean.

At last, I, myself, was ordered to prepare for a long voyage, which I welcomed most joyfully after several months of comparative inaction. We were to remain in the enemy's waters for several weeks, which, of course, involved the most elaborate preparations. Every portion of the boat was again minutely inspected, every machine repaired and thoroughly tested. Like a well-groomed horse we must be in perfect condition for the coming race. Each man in the crew holds a responsible position and knows that the slightest neglect endangers the welfare of the whole boat. The commander must be certain that everything is completed according to the highest standard. The boat is frequently submerged and performs various exercises underseas, while it is still safe in the friendly waters off our own coast.

We are always abundantly provisioned; for the thirty men must be given the most nourishing food to be fit for their arduous tasks. I have often laughed to see the quantity of provisions placed on deck,--for the dealers, of course, are never allowed to penetrate the inner shrine of the boat,--and yet we have often returned from a long cruise because our food was coming to an end. Every available corner and space is filled with provisions. The cook--a sailor specially trained for the job--must hunt below in every conceivable place for his vegetables and meats. The latter are stored in the coolest quarters, next to the munitions. The sausages are put close to the red grenades, the butter lies beneath one of the sailor's bunks, and the salt and spice have been known to stray into the commander's cabin, below his berth.

When everything is in readiness, the crew is given a short leave on land, to go and take the much coveted hot bath. This is the most important ceremony before and after a cruise, especially when the men return, for when they have remained unwashed for weeks, soaked with machine oil, and saturated with salt spray, their first thought is--a hot bath. At sea, we must be very sparing of our fresh-water supply, and its use for washing must be carefully restricted.

The commander usually spends the eve of his departure in the circle of his comrades, but it is a solemn moment for him as soon as he sails from his native shore. He becomes responsible for every action which is taken, and for many weeks no orders reach him from his superiors. He is unable to ask any one's advice, or to consult with his inferiors, and he stands alone in the solitude of his higher rank. Even the common sailor is conscious of the seriousness of the task ahead and of the adventures which may occur below seas. No loud farewells, no jolly hand, no beckoning girls are there to bid us Godspeed. Quietly and silently do we take our departure. Neither wife nor child, nor our nearest and dearest, know whither we go, if we remain in home waters, or if we go forth to encounter the foe. We can bid no one farewell. It is through the absence of news that they know that we have gone, and no one is aware, except the special high officer in this department of the Admiralty who gives the commander his orders, on what errand we are bound or when we shall return, for the slightest indiscretion might forfeit the success of our mission.

Before dawn, on the day of our departure, the last pieces of equipment and of armament are put on board, and the machinery is once more tested; then, at the appointed hour, the chief engineer informs the commander that everything is ready. A shrill whistle bids the crew cast loose the moorings, and at the sound of the signal bell the boat begins to move. As we glide rapidly out of port, we exchange by mutual signs a few last greetings with our less favored comrades on the decks of the ships we leave behind, who no doubt also long to go forth and meet the enemy.

The land begins to disappear in the distance, and as we gaze at the bobbing buoys that vanish in our wake, we hope that after a successful journey they will again be our guides as we return to our dear German homes. After gliding along smoothly at first, we soon feel the boat tossing among the bigger waves; but we laugh, as they heave and dip around us, for we know everything is shipshape on board, and that they can do us no harm. The wild seas are bearing us onward towards the hated foe, and after all--in the end they lull so peacefully to sleep the sailor in his eternal rest.

In this manner, on a fine March morning, we steered our course to the English coast, to take an active part in the commercial war. Gently the waves splashed around the prow and glided over the lower deck. Our duty was to examine every merchantman we met with the object of destroying those of the enemy. The essential thing was to ascertain the nationality of the ships we stopped. On the following morning, we were given several opportunities to fulfill our task.

It is well known that the English merchantmen were ordered by their Government to fly a neutral flag, so as to avoid being captured by our warships. We all remember how, on one of her earlier trips through the war zone, the gigantic "Lusitania" received a wireless message to conceal the Union Jack and to fly the Stars and Stripes of the United States, but destiny after all overtook her at a later date.

All of us U-boat commanders were told not to trust to the nationality of any flag we saw, and to stop every steamer on our path and to examine her papers thoroughly. Even these might be falsified, and we must therefore judge for ourselves, according to the appearance of the crew and the way in which the ship was built, whether she were in reality a neutral. Of course many neutrals had to suffer from the deceptions practiced by the English, and although their colors were painted on their sides and they were lighted at night by electricity, yet this device could also be copied. Therefore, we were obliged to detain and examine all the ships we encountered, greatly to the inconvenience of the innocent ones.

I will describe the manner in which a warship undertakes the search of a merchantman: Through flag signals the merchantman is bidden to stop immediately; if he does not obey, the warship makes his orders more imperative by firing blank shot as a warning. If then the merchantman tries to escape, the warship is justified in hitting the runaway. On the other hand, if the steamer or sailboat obeys the summons, then the warship puts out a boat with an armed prize crew and an officer to look over the ship's papers. These consist in certificates of nationality, of the sailing port, and port of destination, and they contain a bill of lading as to the nature of the cargo, also the names of the crew and a passenger list if it is a passenger steamer. If the ship is a neutral and her papers are satisfactory, she is allowed to proceed, whereas an enemy's ship is either captured or sunk. If a neutral ship carries contraband of war, this is either confiscated or destroyed, but if it exceeds half the total cargo, then this ship is also condemned.

It is nearly impossible for a submarine to send a prize crew on board a big ship, therefore neutral States have given their captains the order to go in a ship's boat and deliver their papers themselves on board the submarine; but they often annoyed us by a long parley and delay, and it was always with a feeling of disappointment that we were obliged to leave inactive our cannons and torpedoes, the crew sadly exclaiming, "After all, they were only neutrals!"

One sunny afternoon, we were in the act of examining the papers of a Dutch steamer that we had stopped in the neighborhood of the Meuse Lightship, when we perceived on the horizon another steamer coming rapidly towards us, and we judged by its outline that it was of English construction. The steamer we were examining proved to be unobjectionable in every respect, and sailing only between neutral ports, so we dismissed it, and just as it was departing, the English steamer, evidently apprehending our presence, turned about in great haste in hope to escape from us, and steered with full steam ahead towards the English shores, to seek the protection of the ships on the watch patroling the English coast.

The English captain well knew what fate awaited him if he fell into the hands of a wicked German U-boat. Mighty clouds of smoke rose from her funnels, giving evidence of the active endeavors of the stokers in the boiler-room to bring the engines up to their highest speed, and before we had time to give the signal to stop, the steamer was in flight.

Meanwhile we had also put on all steam in pursuit, and drove our engines to their utmost capacity. The English ship was going at a great pace, and we had many knots to cover before we could catch up with her to impose our commands, for she paid no heed to the international flag-signal we had hoisted--"Stop at once or we fire!"--and she was striving her uttermost to reach a zone of safety. Our prow plunged into the surging seas, and showered boat and crew alike with silvery, sparkling foam. The engines were being urged to their greatest power, and the whir of the propeller proved that below, at the motor valves, each man was doing his very best. Anxiously, we measured the distance that still separated us from our prey. Was it diminishing? Or would they get away from us before our guns could take effect? Joyfully we saw the interval lessening between us, and before long our first warning shot, across her bow, raised a high, threatening column of water. But still the Englishman hoped to escape from us, and the thick smoke belching from the funnels showed that the stokers were shoveling more and more coal into the glowing furnace; they well knew what risk they had to run.

Even after two well-aimed shots were discharged from the steel mouths of our cannons, right and left on either side of the fugitive, which must have warned the captain that the next shot would undoubtedly strike the stern, he was still resolved neither to stop nor surrender.

Nothing now remained for us but to use our last means to enforce our will. With a whistling sound, a shell flew from the muzzle of our cannon and a few seconds later fell with a loud crash in a cloud of smoke on the rear deck of the steamer. This produced the desired effect.

Immediately the steamer stopped and informed us by three quick blasts from the steam whistle (the international signal) that the engines would be reversed and the ship stopped. The captain had given up his wild race.

Huge white clouds from the uselessly accumulated steam rose from the funnels, and to our signal, "Abandon the ship at once," the Englishman replied with a heavy heart by hoisting a white and red striped pennon, the preconcerted international sign that our order had been understood and was being obeyed.

This small striped pennon has a deep significance: it means that a captain accepts this most painful necessity knowing that his dear old boat will soon lie at the bottom of the sea; truly a difficult decision for the captain of a proud ship to make. The crew were by this time reconciled to their fate and, as we drew near to parley with the captain, the life boats were launched; the men tossed in their belongings and, jumping in, took their places at the oars. It need hardly be said that we, on the other hand, were pleased with our capture. I have often shaken hands with the gunner who had fired the last deadly shot, for we waste no emotion over our adversary's fate. With every enemy's ship sent to the bottom, one hope of the hated foe is annihilated. We simply pay off our account against their criminal wish to starve all our people, our women, and our children, as they are unable to beat us in open fight with polished steel. Ought we not therefore to rejoice in our justifiable satisfaction?

After the crew had left in two boats the blazing hull of the "Leuwarden" of Harwich, a well-directed shot was aimed at the water line. Mighty jets of water poured into the rear storeroom, and the heavy listing of the ship showed that her last hour had struck. We beckoned to the captain to row up beside us and deliver his papers; he stepped silently on board, and we exchanged salutes. As I saw that the two boat-loads of twenty-five men were lying off within hearing, on either side of us, I took this opportunity to admonish the captain about his foolhardy attempt to escape, and how he thereby had endangered the lives of his crew. The latter, realizing the justice of my remarks, thanked us for having saved them by respectfully lifting their caps. The captain awkwardly excused himself by saying he had simply hoped to get away.

I then notified these people whom we had saved that we would take them in tow to the Meuse Lightship; at this, the fine-looking old captain realized to what useless dangers he had exposed his men, and what cause he had to be grateful to us. With tears in his eyes, he seized my hand and murmured his thanks. I willingly took his outstretched hand.... At that instant a Dutch pilot steamboat, which had been attracted to the spot by the sound of firing, hove in sight, and I committed the Englishmen to its care. We all desired, before departing in opposite directions, to witness the final sinking of the steamer, for apparently the English also wanted to see the last of their fine ship, and we awaited the great moment in silence.

We had not long to wait. The stern of the ship sank deeper and deeper, whereas the bow rose sharply in the air, till at last with a loud gurgle the whole steamer was drawn down, and the waters bubbled and roared over the sunken wreck. There was now one less fine ship of the English merchant marine afloat on the ocean!

We had all seen enough, and each one went his way. Our course was pointed westward towards new endeavors, while the Dutchman steered for the nearest port in order to land the shipwrecked crew. I think it was our English friends who waved a friendly farewell from the deck of the pilot steamboat in grateful recognition for our having saved their lives, although they may not actually have wished us "_aufwiedersehn_."

We read in the Dutch papers a few days later an accurate description of the sinking of the "Leuwarden," and the English captain was fain to acknowledge how well we had treated him; every captain of an English steamer might have been treated in like manner had not the English Government wished it otherwise.

VI

THE CAPTURE OF TWO PRIZE STEAMERS

The next day an opportunity offered itself to us which opened to submarines a new field of activity in the commercial war. It was a gray, misty morning, the sea was becalmed, and over the still waters a heavy vapor hung low like a veil before the rising sun. But little could be seen, and we had to keep a sharper lookout than usual to avoid running unawares into a hostile ship, and we also had to be ready for a sudden submersion. We strained all the more an attentive ear to every sound; for it is well known that in a fog, during a calm, we sailors can perceive the most distant noise that comes over the water. In time of peace fog horns and whistles give warning of any approaching vessel, but in time of war, on the contrary, no vessel wishes to betray its presence. It is essential for us to have two men down below, at listening posts, with their ears glued to the sides of the boat, to catch the throbbing of a propeller, or the rush of waves dashing against the prow of a ship, or any suspicious vibrations, for these noises are easily discernible under sea, water being an excellent sound conductor.

On this March morning we were all keenly intent on the approach of some ship; many times already as we stood on the bridge we had been deceived by some unreal vision or some delusive sound; our overstrained nerves transformed our too lively fancy into seeming reality; and in a thick fog objects are strangely magnified and distorted: a floating board may assume the shape of a boat, or a motor launch be taken for a steamer.

I remember a little story about a man-of-war seeking to enter a harbor in a heavy fog; every one on board was looking in vain for a buoy to indicate the channel when the captain himself called out, "It is for me then to point out the buoy; there it is!" but as they drew near, the buoy floating on the water spread but a pair of wings and flew away in the shape of a gull, and many a gull in a fog may have deceived other experienced seamen.