skinning a horse, which appeared to have dropped dead in the furrow.
Or rather, they had already skinned it and were busy cutting up the
carcass. Watching through my glass from the bridge of the _Viceroy_, I
saw all three of them rush helter-skelter over a hill and out of sight
as the _Hercules_ came abreast of them, only to hurry back and resume
their grisly work when she had disappeared around a bend just ahead.
When they again took to their heels on sighting the _Viceroy_, I asked
the pilot what they were afraid of. The law required, he replied,
that the authorities should be notified of the death of any head of
live stock in order that the meat (in case it was deemed fit for
human consumption) should be distributed through the regular rationing
channels. These people, he thought, were in the act of stealing their
own dead horse, and doubtless their guilty consciences made them fear
they would be reported and delivered up to justice.
Since witnessing this incident I have found myself rather less inclined
to dwell in retrospect on that huge, juicy "beefsteak" I had devoured
with such gusto when it was the _pièce de résistance_ on the menu of our
luncheon at the Nordholz Zeppelin station a couple of days previously.
Through the low country the construction of the canal had evidently been
only a matter of dredging, but the multiplication in size and number of
the "dumps" as the elevation increased showed that there had been places
where digging on an extensive scale had been necessary, especially in
connection with the widening and deepening operations. The fact that
most of the "dumps" appeared to consist of earth of a very loose and
sandy nature, some of them so much so that they had been planted thickly
with young trees to prevent their being shifted by the winds, showed
that the excavation problem had been a comparatively simple one, more of
the nature of that at Suez than Panama, where so much of the way had to
be blasted through solid rock.
The looseness of the earth had made it necessary to cut the banks at as
low an angle as forty-five degrees in places to prevent caving, and at
these points the under-water part of the channel was faced with roughly
cut stone to minimize erosion. As this work was only carried a few feet
above the surface of the water, it required but slight speed on the
part of a large ship to produce a wave high enough to splash over on to
the unprotected earth and bring it down in slides. This had doubtless
happened very often in the course of the frequent shuttling to and fro
of the High Sea Fleet, for the stonework was heavily undermined in many
places, with few signs to indicate that much had been done in the way of
repairs.
Except in the locks (and even there the concrete was cracking badly in
places, particularly at the Kiel end), the canal shows many evidences
of the haste of its construction and the serious deterioration it has
suffered from heavy use and poor maintenance. It will require much money
and labour to put it in proper condition, and neither of these is likely
to be over plentiful in Germany for some years to come.
Our first glimpse of Allied prisoners in their "natural habitat"
occurred at a point about twenty miles inland from Brunsbüttel, where
a new and very lofty railway viaduct was being thrown across the
canal. The extensive groups of huts along the bank in the shadow of
the half-completed final span of steel looked, from the distance, like
ordinary workmen's quarters. As we drew nearer, however, broad belts of
barbed wire surrounding those on the right side suggested that they were
used as a prison camp even before our glasses had revealed the motley
clad group on the bank waving to the _Hercules_. As the _Viceroy_ came
abreast the excited and constantly augmenting crowd, we saw that the
uniforms were mostly French and Russian, though there were three or
four men in the grey of Italy and at least one with the unmistakable
cap of the Serbs. A hulking chap in khaki, whom I was making the object
of an especially close scrutiny on the chance that he might be British
or American, put an end to doubt by slapping his chest resoundingly and
announcing proudly, "_Je suis Belge!_" From the fact that they were all
in good spirits, we took it that they were getting enough to eat and
that prospects for repatriation were favourable.
We had quite given up hope of sighting any British when suddenly, from
behind a barbed-wire barrier fencing off the last groups of huts, rang
out a cry of "'Ow's ol'Blighty?" Sweeping my glass round to the quarter
from whence the query came, I focussed on a phiz which, despite its
mask of lather, I should have recognized as Cockney just as surely in
Korea or Katmandu as on the banks of the Kiel Canal. Waving his brush
jauntily in response to the salvo of delighted howls boomed out by the
bluejackets lining the starboard rail, he turned back to the little
pocket mirror on the side of the hut and resumed his interrupted shave.
"Can you beat that, I ask you?" gasped an American Flying officer who
had just clambered up to the bridge. "Here it is the first time that
'Tommy' has seen his country's flag in anywhere from one to four years;
and yet, even when he must know he could get a lift home for the asking,
all he does is to--go on scraping his face! I say, can you beat it?"
The captain did not reply, but his indulgent grin indicated a
sympathetic understanding of "British repressiveness."
But if this particular "Tommy" had been somewhat casual in his greeting,
there was nothing to complain of on that score in the reception given
us by the next British prisoners we encountered, a few miles further
along. The incident--one of the most dramatic of the visit--occurred
just after the _Hercules_ had passed under the great railway viaduct
which crosses the canal almost midway between Brunsbüttel and Kiel.
Wherever practicable, I might explain, all railways have been carried
across the canal at a height sufficient to allow even the lofty topmasts
of the German warships to pass under by a comfortable margin. Not one
of the several viaducts runs much under two hundred feet above the
canal, and to attain this height at an easy grade long approaches
have been necessary. Some of these--partly steel trestle, partly
embankment--stretched beyond eyescope to left and right; but at the
viaduct in question the ascent was made by means of two great spiral
loops at either end.
A segment of the loop on the left ran close beside the canal in the form
of a steep embankment, and as the _Hercules_ glided under the viaduct
I saw (we had closed up to within a few hundred yards of her at the
time) a long train of passenger cars, drawn by two puffing engines, just
beginning the heavy climb. Suddenly I caught the flash of what I took to
be a red flag being wildly waved from one of the car windows, and I was
just starting to tell the captain that we were about to pass a trainload
of revolutionaries when the gust of a mighty cheer swept along the
waters to us and set the radio aerials ringing above my head.
"You can't tell me that's a 'Bolshie' yell," observed the American
officer decisively. "Nothing but Yanks or Tommies could cough up a roar
like that, believe me."
Then I saw that all the canal-ward sides of the dozen or more coaches
were wriggling with khaki arms and shoulders (for all the world as
though a great two-hundred-yard-long centipede had been pinned up there
and left to squirm), and that what I had taken for the red flag of
anarchy was only the mass effect of a number of fluttering bandannas.
Again and again they cheered the _Hercules_ and the White Ensign, with a
fresh salvo for the _Viceroy_, which they sighted just before the curve
of the loop the train was ascending cut off their view of the canal.
That was all we ever heard or saw of them. We were never even sure
whether they were British or American. We felt certain, however, that
the fact that most of them were still in khaki indicated that their stay
in the "Land of Kultur" had not been a long one, and, moreover, that
they were already on the first leg of their journey home.
Prisoners working on the land--mostly Russian--were more and more in
evidence as we neared the Kiel end of the canal. The majority of them
still wore their army uniforms, but otherwise there was little to
differentiate them--a short distance away at least--from the native
peasant labour. None of them appeared to be under guard, and in many
places they were working side by side with German farm hands of both
sexes. At a number of points I saw Russians lounging indolently in
groups consisting mostly of Germans (several of which included women)
that had gathered along the banks of the canal to watch us pass, and two
or three times I observed unmistakable Russian prisoners (or perhaps
ex-prisoners) walking arm-in-arm and apparently in animated conversation
with German girls. They seem quite to have taken root in the country.
Indeed, the pilot of the _Viceroy_ for the first half of the passage
through the canal--he was a Schleswig man, strongly Danish in appearance
and probably in sympathies--assured me that the Germans had had the
greatest difficulty in getting Russian prisoners to leave the country
at all, and that there had been frequent "desertions" from trains and
boats whenever it had been attempted. This may well have been true,
though--with labour in Germany as much in demand as it was throughout
the war--I doubt very much if a great deal in the way of repatriation of
Russians had ever been attempted.
[Illustration: KIEL DOCKYARD FROM THE HARBOR]
With the towns and villages increasing in size and number as we came
to the fertile rolling country toward the Baltic end of the canal,
evidences multiplied that the population expected our coming and
that, directly or indirectly, they had been instructed to adopt a
"conciliatory" bearing. In the farming region toward the North Sea end
their bearing had been more suggestive of indifference than anything
else; but in the crowds that came down to line the railed "promenades"
along the banks an ingratiating attitude was at once apparent. Some of
these people, of course, were of Danish extraction and probably sincere,
especially a number who waved their hands from well inside their
doorways, as though to avoid being observed by their neighbours; but for
the most part it was the same nauseating exhibition we had already seen
repeated so often at railway stations all over the North Sea littoral.
The only individual we saw in the whole passage who thoroughly convinced
me of his sincerity was a bloated ruffian who hailed us from the stern
of the barge he had edged into a ferry slip to give us room to pass.
"Go back to England, you English swine!" he roared to the accompaniment
of a lewd gesture. We learned later that he gave both the _Hercules_
and _Verdun_ the same peremptory orders. Yes, he was quite sincere,
that old bargee, and for that reason I have always thought more kindly
of him than of all the rest of his grimacing brethren and sistern we
saw along the canal that day. A spectacled student (though it is quite
possible he was trying to put the same sentiment in politer language)
was rather less convincing. "English gentlemen," he cried, drawing his
loose-jointed frame up to its full height and glaring at the bridge of
the _Viceroy_ from under his peaked cap, "why do you come here?" That
may have been intended for a protest, or, again, he may merely have been
"swanking" his linguistic accomplishments.
The bluejackets were splendid. There were places--notably at several
industrial establishments where crowds of rather "on-coming" girls in
trousers exerted their blonde witcheries to the full in endeavours to
"start something"--when the least sign of friendliness from the ship
would have undoubtedly been met with loud acclaim. But not a British
hand did I see lifted in response to the hundreds waved from the banks,
while many a simpering grin died out as the moon-face behind it passed
under the steady stare of the imperturbable _matelots_ lining the rails
of the steadily steaming warships.
The length of the Kiel Canal is just under a hundred kilometres (about
sixty miles), so that--at the speed of ten kilometres an hour to which
we were limited--the passage required about ten hours, exclusive of
the time spent in locking in and out. As it was an hour after dawn
when we began the passage at Brunsbüttel, the short winter day was not
long enough to make it possible to reach the other end in daylight.
By five o'clock darkness had begun to settle over the waters, and the
grey mists, piling ever thicker in the narrow notch between the hills,
deepened through violet to purple before taking on the black opacity
of the curtain of the night. Then the lights came on--parallel rows of
incandescents narrowing to mist-softened wedges of blurred brightness
ahead and astern--and we continued cleaving our easy effortless way
through the ebony water.
The blank squares of lighted villa windows heralded the approach to
Kiel; then factories, black, still, and stagnant, with the tracery of
overhead cranes and the bulk of tall chimneys showing dimly through the
mists; then the locks. As the difference between the canal level and the
almost tideless Baltic is only a matter of inches, locking-out was even
a more expeditious operation than locking in from the Elbe at the other
end. There was just time to note that the "_Kaiser Wilhelm_" mosaic,
there as at Brunsbüttel, had been scrubbed up bright and clean, when the
gates ahead folded inward and the way into the Baltic was open. Half an
hour later, after steaming slowly across a harbour past many moored
warships, we were tying up alongside the _Hercules_, where she had come
to anchor a mile off Kiel dockyard.
* * * * *
The fog lifted during the night, and for an hour or two the following
morning there were even signs that our long-lost friend, the sun, was
struggling to show his face through the sinister shoals of cumulo-nimbus
banked frowningly across the south-eastern heavens. It was evident
dirty weather was brewing, but for the moment Kiel and its harbour were
revealed in all their loveliness. Completely land-locked from the open
Baltic, the beautiful little fiord disclosed a different prospect in
whichever direction one turned his eyes. The famous _Kaiserliche_ Yacht
Club was close at hand over the port quarter of the _Hercules_, with a
villa-bordered strand opening away to the right. The airy filagree of
lofty cranes revealed the location of what had been Europe's greatest
naval dockyard, while masses of red roofs disclosed the heart of Kiel
itself. Heavily wooded hills, still green, rippled along the skyline
on the opposite side of the fiord, with snug little bays running back
into them at frequent intervals as they billowed away toward the Baltic
entrance. Singularly attractive even in winter, it must have been a
veritable yachtsman's paradise in summer. Recalling the marshes and bogs
of the Jade, I marvelled at the restraint of the German naval officer
whom I had heard say that he and his wife "much _preferred_ Kiel to
Wilhelmshaven."
The warships in the harbour proved far less impressive by daylight
than at night. Looming up through the mists in the darkness, they had
suggested the presence of a formidable fleet. Now they appeared as
obsolete hulks, from several of which even the guns had been removed.
There was not a modern capital ship left in Kiel; in fact, the only
warship of any class which could fairly lay claim to that designation
was the _Regensburg_, which had managed to push her broken nose through
the canal and was now lying inshore of us, apparently alongside some
sort of quay or dock. The most interesting naval craft (if such a term
could be applied to it) in sight was a floating submarine dock, anchored
a cable's length on the port beam of the _Hercules_, but even that--as
was proved on inspection--was far from being the latest thing of its
kind.
The British ships were the object of a good deal of interest, especially
during the first few hours of the day while the fog held off. Various
and sundry small craft put off with parties to size us up at close
range, amongst these--significant commentary on the fact that at every
one of the conferences, including the one held that very day, the
Germans had advanced "petrol shortage" as the reason why cars could
not be provided to reach this or that station--being a number of motor
launches. As all of these seemed to be in the hands of white-banded
sailors or dockyard "mateys," the inference might have been drawn that
the petrol used was not under the control of the naval authorities;
but so many of the other "reasons," advanced to discourage, if not to
obstruct, inspections which the Germans, for one reason or another, did
not want to have made turned out to be fictitious, that one was tempted
to believe that "the absolute lack of petrol" was on all fours with them.
Most of these excursion parties kept at a respectful distance, but there
was one launch-load of men and girls from the docks, which persisted in
circling close to the ships, and even in coming up under the stern of
the _Hercules_, and offering to exchange cap ribbons. The two-word reply
of one of the bluejackets to these overtures would hardly do to print,
but its effect was crushing. Nothing but poor steering prevented that
launch from taking the shortest course back to the dockyard landing.
[Illustration: FORESHORE OF KIEL HARBOR WITH THE KAISERLICH YACHT CLUB
AT LEFT OF GROVE OF TREES]
The German Naval Armistice Commission which came off to the
_Hercules_ at Kiel to discuss arrangements for inspection in the Baltic
differed from that at Wilhelmshaven only in a few of the subordinate
members. Rear-Admiral Goette continued to preside, with the tall,
blonde Von Müller, of the first _Emden_, and the shifty, pasty-faced
Hinzmann, of the General Staff at Berlin, as his chief advisers.
Commander Lohmann still presided over the German sub-commission for
shipping, but there was a new officer in charge of "air" arrangements.
This latter individual, who proved to be one of the most "Hunnish" Huns
we encountered anywhere, I shall have something to say of in the next
chapter.
That the German Commission had been "stiffened" under the influence of
new forces in Kiel was evident from the opening of the conference; in
fact, a good part of this opening Baltic sitting was devoted to reducing
them to the same state of "sweet reasonableness" in which they had risen
from the closing sitting at Wilhelmshaven. One of the most astonishing
of their contentions arose in connection with three unsurrendered
U-boats, which had been discovered in the course of warship inspection
at Wilhelmshaven. Asked when these might be expected ready to proceed
to Harwich, Admiral Goette replied that his Government did not
consider themselves under obligation to deliver the boats at all. The
justification advanced for this remarkable stand constituted one of the
most delightful instances of characteristic Hun reasoning that developed
in the course of the visit. This was the gist of it: "We agreed to
deliver all U-boats in condition to proceed to sea in the first fourteen
days of the armistice," contended the Germans; "but--although we don't
deny that they _should_ have been delivered in that period--the fact
that they _were not_ so delivered releases us from our obligation to
deliver them now. As evidence of our good faith, however, we propose
that the vessels in question be disarmed and remain in German ports."
The Germans had so thoroughly convinced themselves that this fantastic
interpretation would be accepted by the Allied Commission that Admiral
Goette did not consider himself able to concede Admiral Browning's
demand (that the three submarines should be surrendered at once) without
referring the matter back to Berlin. Definite settlement, indeed, was
not arrived at until the final conference nearly a week later, and in
that time news had been brought of several score U-boats completed, or
nearing completion, in the yards of the Elbe and the Weser.
There was no phase of the Allied Commission's activities which some
endeavour was not made to obstruct or circumscribe in the course of
this opening session at Kiel. The German sub-commission for shipping
reported that their Government did not feel called upon to grant the
claim of the Allies for the return of vessels seized as prizes; the
inability to arrange for special trains and the lack of petrol would
make it impossible to reach certain air stations by land, while, so far
as the experiment station at Warnemünde was concerned, the armistice did
not give the Allies the right to visit it at all; as for the Great Belt
forts, they were already disarmed, and really not worth the trouble of
inspecting anyway.
And so it went through some hours, the upshot of it being that the
Germans, as at Wilhelmshaven, "vowing they would ne'er consent,
consented." Merchant ship inspection began that afternoon, continuing
throughout the remainder of the stay at Kiel as one steamer after
another came in from this or that Baltic port and dropped anchor. The
following day search of the numerous old warships was started, and the
day after that word came that the way had even been cleared for the
inspection of the great experimental seaplane station at Warnemünde. For
the first time there was promise that the work of the Commission would
be completed within the period of the original armistice.
IX
TO WARNEMÜNDE AND RÜGEN
There had been a half-mile or more of visibility when we got under weigh
at eight o'clock, but in the mouth of Kiel Fiord a solid wall of fog
was encountered, behind the impenetrable pall of which all objects more
than a few yards ahead were completely cut off. The mist-muffled wails
of horns and whistles coughed eerily in the depths of the blank smother
to port and starboard, and once the beating of a bucket or saucepan
heralded the spectre of a "bluff lee-boarded fishing lugger" as the bare
steerage way imparted by its flapping yellow mainsail carried it clear
of the _Viceroy's_ sharp stem.
Three or four more units of that same fatalistic fishing fleet had been
missed by equally narrow margins when, looming high above us as they
sharpened out of the fog, appeared the bulging bows of what looked to be
a large merchantman. At the same instant, too late by many seconds to be
of any use as a warning, the snort of a deep-toned whistle ripped out in
response to the querulous shriek of our own syren.
When two ships, steaming on opposite courses at something like ten
knots, meet in a fog the usual result is a collision, and nothing but
the quick-wittedness of the captain of the _Viceroy_ prevented one on
this occasion. The stranger, in starboarding his helm, bared a long
expanse of rusty paunch for the nose of the destroyer to bury itself
in, as a sword-fish stabs a whale, and that is what must inevitably
have happened--with disastrous consequences to both vessels in all
probability--had the _Viceroy_ also attempted to avoid collision by
turning to port. Realizing this with a sure judgment, the captain fell
back on an alternative which would hardly have been open to him with a
destroyer less powerfully built and engined than the latest "V's." I
have already told how, in the lock at Brunsbüttel, he had stopped his
ship dead, just short of the gates, by going astern with the engines at
the proper moment. Here, in scarcely more time than it takes to tell
it, he not only stopped her dead but had her backing (at constantly
accelerating speed) away from the slowly turning merchantman. The jar
(followed by a prolonged throbbing) was almost as sharp as when the
air-brakes are set on the wheels of a speeding express, and the outraged
wake of her, like the back of a cat whose fur has been rubbed the wrong
way, arched in a tumbling fountain high above her quivering stern. But
back she went, and so gave the burly freighter room to blunder by in.