One volume of my war-journal completed, and I must confess it is dull
reading.
I could not help smiling as I read my enthusiastic remarks at the
outbreak of war, when we visualized battles by the week. What a
contrast between our expectations and the actual facts.
Months of monotony, and I haven't even seen an Englishman yet.
Our battle cruisers have had a little amusement with the coast raids at
Scarborough and elsewhere, but we battle-fleet fellows have seen
nothing, and done nothing.
So I have decided to volunteer for the U-boat service, and my name went
in last week, though I am told it may be months before I am taken, as
there are about 250 lieutenants already on the waiting list.
But sooner or later I suppose something will come of it.
I shall have no cause to complain of inactivity in that Service, if I
get there.
* * * * *
I am off to-night for a six-days trip, two days of which are to be
spent in the train, to the Verdun sector.
It has been a great piece of luck. The trip had been arranged by the
Military and Naval Inter-communication Department; and two officers
from this squadron were to go.
There were 130 candidates, so we drew lots; as usual I was lucky and
drew one of the two chances.
It should be intensely interesting.
* * * * *
_At_ ----
I arrived here last night after a slow and tiresome journey, which was
somewhat alleviated by an excellent bottle of French wine which I
purchased whilst in the Champagne district.
Long before we reached the vicinity of Verdun it was obvious to the
most casual observer that we were heading for a centre of unusual
activity.
Hospital trains travelling north-east and east were numerous, and twice
our train, which was one of the ordinary military trains, was shunted
on to a siding to allow troop trains to rumble past.
As we approached Verdun the noise of artillery, which I had heard
distantly once or twice during the day, as the casual railway train
approached the front, became more intense and grew from a low murmur
into a steady noise of a kind of growling description, punctuated at
irregular intervals by very deep booms as some especially heavy piece
was discharged, or an ammunition dump went up.
The country here is very different from the mud flats of Flanders, as
it is hilly and well wooded. The Meuse, in the course of centuries, has
cut its way through the rampart of hills which surround Verdun, and we
are attacking the place from three directions. On the north we are
slowly forcing the French back on either river bank--a very costly
proceeding, as each wing must advance an equal amount, or the one that
advances is enfiladed from across the river.
We are also slowly creeping forward from the east and north-east in the
direction of Douaumont.
I am attached to a 105-cm. battery, a young Major von Markel in
command, a most charming fellow. I spent all to-day in the advanced
observing position with a young subaltern called Grabel, also a nice
young fellow. I was in position at 6 a.m., and, as apparently is common
here, mist hides everything from view until the sun attains a certain
strength. Our battery was supporting the attack on the north side of
the river, though the battery itself was on the south side, and firing
over a hill called L'Homme Mort.
Von Markel told me that the fighting here has not been previously
equalled in the war, such is the intensity of the combat and the price
each side is paying.
I could see for myself that this was so, and the whole atmosphere of
the place is pregnant with the supreme importance of this struggle,
which may well be the dying convulsions of decadent France.
His Imperial Majesty himself has arrived on the scene to witness the
final triumph of our arms, and all agree that the end is imminent.
Once we get Verdun, it is the general opinion that this portion of the
French front will break completely, carrying with it the adjacent
sectors, and the French Armies in the Vosges and Argonne will be
committed to a general retreat on converging lines.
But, favourable as this would be to us, it is generally considered here
that the fall of Verdun will break the moral resistance of the French
nation.
The feeling is, that infinitely more is involved than the capture of a
French town, or even the destruction of a French Army; it is a question
of stamina; it is the climax of the world war, the focal point of the
colossal struggle between the Latin and the Teuton, and on the
battlefields of Verdun the gods will decide the destinies of nations.
When I got to the forward observing position, which was situated among
the ruins of a house, a most amazing noise made conversation difficult.
The orchestra was in full blast and something approaching 12,000 pieces
of all sizes were in action on our side alone, this being the greatest
artillery concentration yet effected during the war.
We were situated on one side of a valley which ran up at right angles
to the river, whose actual course was hidden by mist, which also
obscured the bottom of our valley. The front line was down in this
little valley, and as I arrived we lifted our barrage on to the far
hill-side to cover an attack which we were delivering at dawn.
Nothing could be seen of the conflict down below, but after half an
hour we received orders to bring back our barrage again, and Grabel
informed me that the attack had evidently failed. This afternoon I
heard that it was indeed so, and that one division (the 58th), which
had tried to work along the river bank and outflank the hill, had been
caught by a concentration of six batteries of French 75's, which were
situated across the river. The unfortunate 58th, forced back from the
river-side, had heroically fought their way up the side of the hill,
only to encounter our barrage, which, owing to the mist, we thought was
well above and ahead of where they would be.
Under this fresh blow the 58th had retired to their trenches at the
bottom of the small valley. As the day warmed up the mist disappeared,
and, like a theatre curtain, the lifting of this veil revealed the
whole scene in its terrible and yet mechanical splendour.
I say mechanical, for it all seemed unreal to me. I knew I should not
see cavalry charges, guns in the open, and all the old-world panoply of
war, but I was not prepared for this barren and shell-torn circle of
hills, continually being freshly, and, to an uninformed observer,
aimlessly lashed by shell fire.
Not a man in sight, though below us the ground was thickly strewn with
corpses. Overhead a few aeroplanes circled round amidst balls of white
shell bursts.
During the day the slow-circling aeroplanes (which were artillery
observing machines) were galvanized into frightful activity by the
sudden appearance of a fighting machine on one side or the other; this
happened several times; it reminded me of a pike amongst young trout.
After lunch I saw a Spad shot down in flames, it was like Lucifer
falling down from high heavens. The whole scene was enframed by a
sluggish line of observation balloons.
Sometimes groups of these would hastily sink to earth, to rise again
when the menace of the aeroplane had passed. These balloons seemed more
like phlegmatic spectators at some athletic contest than actual
participants in the events.
I wish my pen could convey to paper the varied impressions created
within my mind in the course of the past day; but it cannot. I have the
consolation that, though I think that I have considerable ability as a
writer, yet abler pens than mine have abandoned in despair the task of
describing a modern battle.
I can but reiterate that the dominant impression that remains is of the
mechanical nature of this business of modern war, and yet such an
impression is a false one, for as in the past so to-day, and so in the
future, it is the human element which is, has been, and will be the
foundation of all things.
Once only in the course of the day did I see men in any numbers, and
that was when at 3 p.m. the French were detected massing for a
counter-attack on the south side of the river. It was doomed to be
still-born. As they left their trenches, distant pigmy figures in
horizon blue, apparently plodding slowly across the ground, they were
lashed by an intensive barrage and the little figures were obliterated
in a series of spouting shell bursts.
Five minutes later the barrage ceased, the smoke drifted away and not a
man was to be seen. Grabel told me that it had probably cost them 750
casualties. What an amazing and efficient destruction of living
organism!
* * * * *
Another most interesting day, though of a different nature.
To-day was spent witnessing the arrangements for dealing with the
wounded. I spent the morning at an advanced dressing station on the
south bank of the river. It was in a cellar, beneath the ruins of a
house, about 400 yards from the front line and under heavy shell-fire,
as close at hand was the remains of what had been a wood, which was
being used as a concentration point for reserves.
The cover afforded by this so-called wood was extremely slight, and the
troops were concentrating for the innumerable attacks and
counter-attacks which were taking place under shell fire. This caused
the surgeon in charge of the cellar to describe the wood as our main
supply station!
I entered the cellar at 8 a.m., taking advantage of a partial lull in
the shelling, but a machine-gun bullet viciously flipped into a wooden
beam at the entrance as I ducked to go in. I was not sorry to get
underground. A sloping path brought me into the cellar, on one side of
which sappers were digging away the earth to increase the
accommodation.
The illumination consisted of candles set in bottles and some electric
hand lamps. The centre of the cellar was occupied by two portable
operating tables, rarely untenanted during the three hours I spent in
this hell.
The atmosphere--for there was no ventilation--stank of sweat, blood,
and chloroform.
By a powerful effort I countered my natural tendency to vomit, and
looked around me. The sides of the cellar were lined with figures on
stretchers. Some lay still and silent, others writhed and groaned. At
intervals, one of the attendants would call the doctor's attention to
one of the still forms. A hasty examination ensued, and the stretcher
and its contents were removed. A few minutes later the
stretcher--empty--returned. The surgeon explained to me that there was
no room for corpses in the cellar; business, he genially remarked, was
too brisk at the present crucial stage of the great battle.
The first feelings of revulsion having been mastered, I determined to
make the most of my opportunities, as I have always felt that the naval
officer is at a great disadvantage in war as compared with his
military brother, in that he but rarely has a chance of accustoming
himself to the unpleasant spectacle of torn flesh and bones.
This morning there was no lack of material, and many of the intestinal
wounds were peculiarly revolting, so that at lunch-time, when another
convenient lull in the torrent of shell fire enabled me to leave the
cellar, I felt thoroughly hardened; in fact I had assisted in a humble
degree at one or two operations.
I had lunch at the 11th Army Medical Headquarters Mess, and it was a
sumptuous meal to which I did full justice.
After lunch, whilst waiting to be motored to a field hospital, I
happened to see a battalion of Silesian troops about to go up to the
front line.
It was rather curious feeling that one was looking at men, each in
himself a unit of civilization, and yet many of whom were about to die
in the interests thereof.
Their faces were an interesting study.
Some looked careless and debonair, and seemed to swing past with a
touch of recklessness in their stride, others were grave and serious,
and seemed almost to plod forward to the dictates of an inevitable
fatalism.
The field hospital, where we met some very charming nurses, on one of
whom I think I created a distinct impression, was not particularly
interesting. It was clean, well-organized and radiated the efficiency
inseparable from the German Army.
* * * * *
Back at Wilhelmshaven--curse it!
Yesterday morning, when about to start on a tour of the ammunition
supply arrangements, I received an urgent wire recalling me at once!
There was nothing for it but to obey.
I was lucky enough to get a passage as far as Mons in an albatross
scout which was taking dispatches to that place.
From there I managed to bluff a motor car out of the town commandant--a
most obliging fellow. This took me to Aachen where I got an express.
The reason for my recall was that Witneisser went sick and Arnheim
being away, this has left only two in the operations ciphering
department.
My arrival has made us three. It is pretty strenuous work and, being of
a clerical nature, suits me little. The only consolation is that many
of the messages are most interesting. I was looking through the back
files the other day and amongst other interesting information I came
across the wireless report from the boat that had sunk the _Lusitania_.
It has always been a mystery to me why we sank her, as I do not believe
those things pay.
* * * * *
Arnheim has come back, so I have got out of the ciphering department,
to my great delight.
I have received official information that my application for U-boats
has been received. Meanwhile all there is to do is to sit at
this ---- hole and wait.
_2nd June_, 1916.
I have fought in the greatest sea battle of the ages; it has been a
wonderful and terrible experience.
All the details of the battle will be history, but I feel that I must
place on record my personal experiences.
We have not escaped without marks, and the good old _König_ brought 67
dead and 125 wounded into port as the price of the victory off
Skajerack, but of the English there are thousands who slept their last
sleep in the wrecked hulls of the battle cruisers which will rust for
eternal ages upon the Jutland banks.
Sad as our losses are--and the gallant _Lutzow_ has sunk in sight of
home--I am filled with pride.
We have met that great armada the British Fleet, we have struck them
with a hammer blow and we have returned. I was asleep in my cabin when
the news came that Hipper was coming south with the British battle
cruisers on his beam. In five minutes we were at our action stations.
We made contact with Hipper at 5.30 p.m., [1] and Beatty turned north
with his cruisers and fast battleships and we pursued.
[Footnote 1: This is 4.30 G.M.T.--Etienne]
Two of the great ships had been sunk by our battle cruisers, and we had
hopes of destroying the remainder, when at 6.55 the mist on the
northern horizon was pierced by the formidable line of the British
Battle Fleet.
Jellicoe had arrived!
Three battle cruisers became involved between the lines, and in an
instant one was blown up, and another crawled west in a sinking
condition. Sudden and terrible are events in a modern sea-battle.
Confronted with the concentrated force of Britain's Battle Fleet we
turned to east, and for twenty minutes our High Seas Fleet sustained
the unequal contest.
It was during this period that we were hit seventeen times by heavy
shell, though, in my position in the after torpedo control tower, I
only realized one hit had taken place, which was when a shell plunged
into the after turret and, blowing the roof off, killed every member of
the turret's crew.
From my position, when the smoke and dust had blown away, I looked down
into a mass of twisted machinery, amongst which I seemed to detect the
charred remains of bodies.
At about 7.40 we turned, under cover of our smoke screen, and steered
south-west.
Our position was not satisfactory, as the last information of the enemy
reported them as turning to the southward; consequently they were
between us and Heligoland.
At 11 p.m. we received a signal for divisions of battle fleets to steer
independently for the Horn Reef swept channel.
Ten minutes later we underwent the first of five destroyer attacks.
The British destroyers, searching wide in the night, had located us,
and with desperate gallantry pressed home the attack again and again.
So close did they come that about 1.30 a.m. we rammed one, passing
through her like a knife through a cheese.
It was a wonderful spectacle to see those sinister craft, rushing madly
to their destruction down the bright beam of our powerful searchlights.
It was an avenue of death for them, but to the credit of their Service
it must stand that throughout the long nightmare they did not hesitate.
The surrounding darkness seemed to vomit forth flotilla after flotilla
of these cavalry of the sea.
And they struck us once, a torpedo right forward, which will keep us in
dock for a month, but did no vital injury.
When morning dawned, misty and soft, as is its way in June in the
Bight, we were to the eastward of the British, and so we came
honourably home to Wilhelmshaven, feeling that the young Navy had laid
worthy foundations for its tradition to grow upon.
We are to report at Kiel, and shall be six weeks upon the job.
_Frankfurt_.
Back on seventeen days' leave, and everyone here very anxious to hear
details of the battle of Skajerack.
It is very pleasant to have something to talk to the women about.
Usually the gallant field greys hold the drawing-room floor, with their
startling tales from the Western Front, of how they nearly took Verdun,
and would have if the British hadn't insisted on being slaughtered on
the Somme.
It is quite impossible in many ways to tell that there is a war on as
far as social life in this place is concerned.
There is a shortage of good coffee and that is about all.
* * * * *
Arrived back on board last night.
They have made a fine job of us, and we go through the canal to the
Schillig Roads early next week.
We are to do three weeks' gunnery practices from there, to train the
new drafts.
1916 (_about August_).
At last! Thank Heavens, my application has been granted. Schmitt (the
Secretary) told me this morning that a letter has come from the
Admiralty to say that I am to present myself for medical examination at
the board at Wilhelmshaven to-morrow.
What joy! to strike a blow at last, finished for ever the cursed
monotony of inactivity of this High Seas Fleet life. But the U-boat
war! Ah! that goes well. We shall bring those stubborn, blood-sucking
islanders to their knees by striking at them through their bellies.
When I think of London and no food, and Glasgow and no food, then who
can say what will happen? Revolt! rebellion in England, and our brave
field greys on the west will smash them to atoms in the spring of 1917,
and I, Karl Schenk, will have helped directly in this! Great
thought--but calm! I am not there yet, there is still this confounded
medical board. I almost wish I had not drunk so much last night, not
that it makes any difference, but still one must run no risks, for I
hear that the medical is terribly strict for the U-boat service. Only
the cream is skimmed! Well, to-morrow we shall see.
* * * * *
Passed! and with flying colours; it seemed absurdly easy and only took
ten minutes, but then my physique is magnificent, thanks to the
physical training I have always done. I am now due to get three weeks'
leave, and then to Zeebrugge.