After her preposterous letter of the 14th, I decided that in a matter
which so closely affected my happiness no stone ought to remain
unturned to ensure a satisfactory solution of the problem, so I
determined to have a personal interview. I arrived at Bruges after tea
and went at once to the flat.
I tackled her immediately on the subject of her letter, and told her
that naturally I understood that a decent interval must elapse before
we married; but, granted this fact, I told her that I failed to see
what prevented our marriage.
A most unpleasant and harrowing scene ensued, the details of which form
such painful recollections that I really cannot write them down here,
though in the passage of months I have acquired the habit of writing in
the pages of this journal with the same freedom as I would talk to that
wife whom I had hoped to possess. She maintained an obstinate silence
when I urged her to give me at least some tangible reason as to why she
would not marry me. She contented herself and maddened me by reflecting
in a kind of monotone: "I love you, Karl! and am yours, but I cannot
marry you."
I could have beaten her till she was senseless, but I had enough sense
to realize that with Zoe, whose resolution, considering she is a woman,
amazes me, force is not the best method. As I continued to press her
(time was important: had I not journeyed far to see her?), those
glorious eyes of hers, which I love and whose power I dread, filled
with tears. I was a brute! I was heartless! I was inconsiderate! I
could not love her! I was cruel! And I know not what other accusation
crushed me down.
Broken-hearted and dispirited, I told her to choose there and then.
She collapsed on to a sofa in a storm of tears, and after a severe
mental struggle I took the only possible course, and leaving the
room--left her for ever. I have resumed my service life determined to
cast her out from my mind.
I will not deceive myself: it will be hard. Love and Logic are deadly
enemies, but Logic must and shall prevail. Though I have seen her for
the last time, I cannot escape the net of fascination which the girl
has thrown over me. Perhaps in the course of time I shall slowly emerge
and free myself from its entanglements. At present I hate her for this
blow she has dealt me, and yet, O Zoe! my darling, how I long to be
with you!
* * * * *
To-day I went through my final test for qualification as U-boat
commander.
At 9 a.m. I proceeded to sea in command of the U.11, one of the
instructional boats here. We proceeded out into Kiel Bay. On board and
watching my every movement was a committee consisting of a commander
and two lieutenant-commanders.
On arrival at the entrance lightship, I was ordered to attack a convoy
of camouflaged ships which were just visible about fifteen kilometres
away off the Spit Bank. I had a very shrewd idea as to the course they
would steer, and on coming up for my final observation I found myself
in an excellent position, 1,000 metres on the bow of the leading ship.
The rest was easy. I gave the leader the two bow torpedoes, and,
turning sixteen points, fired my stern tube at the third ship of the
line. Two hits were obtained, and I returned to harbour well pleased
with myself. There is not the slightest chance of having failed to
qualify.
* * * * *
My confidence in myself was not misplaced; I heard to-day that I am on
the command list, and anticipate in a few days being appointed to a
boat. I wonder which craft I shall get?
* * * * *
I met the A.D.C. to the Chief of the Staff at the school, at the
gardens, and in conversation with him discovered that he had heard that
three boats were being detached from the Flanders flotilla for an
unknown destination. This has given me an idea, for I feel that I can
never return to Bruges, and I was rather dreading being appointed to
one of the boats there. I have dropped a line to Fritz Regels, who is
on old Max's staff, and told him that I do not wish to return to
Bruges, and I further hinted that I understood a detached squadron was
proceeding somewhere, and, as far as I was concerned, the further the
better, if I could get into it.
I have tried the night life at this place at the Mascotte and
Trocadero, [1] in order to forget, but it is a poor consolation.
[Footnote 1: Two well-known cabarets at Kiel.--ETIENNE.]
* * * * *
A letter from Fritz, saying that he has an idea that Korting's boat
would suit me, though he could not of course give me further details in
a letter; however, he informs me positively that I shall not be at
Bruges.
On the strength of this I have wired to Fritz, and asked him to try and
fix up an exchange between me and Korting, provided the latter is
agreeable and the people in Max's office have no objection. I have a
recollection that Korting's boat is one of the U.40--U.60 class, which
would suit me admirably, and, as for destination, I care not where it
is, provided only that it be far from Bruges.
_At sea_.
I have quite neglected my poor old journal for several weeks. But I
have passed through an extraordinarily busy period.
It was approved that I should relieve Korting, whose boat, the U.59, I
discovered to be refitting at Wilhelmshaven. I was very pleased not to
go back to Bruges, though as we steam steadily north at this moment I
cannot escape a sense of deep disappointment that upon my return from
this trip I shall not enjoy as of old the fascination of Zoe. But I
shall have plenty of time to get accustomed to this idea, for this is
no ordinary trip.
We are bound for the North Cape and Murman Coast, where we remain until
well into the cold weather--at any rate, for three months.
Our mission is to work off that fogbound and desolate coast, and attack
the constant stream of traffic between England and Archangel. There are
two other boats besides ourselves on the job, but we shall all be
working far apart.
Our first billet is off the North Cape. In order to save time, we are
to be provisioned once a month in one of the fjords. I don't imagine
the Admiralty will have any difficulty in getting supplies up to us, as
at the moment we are off the Lofotens, and we actually have not had to
dive since we left the Bight!
There seems to be nothing on the sea except ourselves. Where is the
much vaunted and impenetrable web of blockade which the English are
supposed to have spread around us? And yet many raw materials are
getting very short with us. I see that in this boat they have replaced
several copper pipes with steel ones during her refit, and this will
lead to trouble unless we are careful--steel pipes corrode so badly
that I never feel ready to trust them for pressure work.
The truth about the blockade is that it is largely a paper blockade,
yet not ineffective for all that. Unfortunately for us, the damned
English and their hangers-on control the cables of the world, and hence
all the markets, and I don't suppose, to take the case of copper, that
a single pound of it is mined from the Rio Tinto without the British
Board of Trade knowing all about it. The neutral firms simply dare not
risk getting put on to the British Black List; it means ruination for
them. And then all these dollar-grabbing Yankees, enjoying all the
advantages of war without any of its dangers--they make me sick.
This seems a most profitable job. I have only been up seven days, but
I've bagged four steamers, all by gun-fire, and all fat ships, brimful
of stuff for the Russians. My practice has been to make the North Cape
every day or two to fix position, as the currents are the most abnormal
in these parts, and I should say that the "Sailing Directions Pilotage
Handbook" and "Tidal Charts" were compiled by a gentleman at a desk who
had never visited these latitudes.
At the moment I am standing well out to sea, as the immediate vicinity
of the North Cape has become rather unhealthy.
Yesterday afternoon (I had sunk number four in the morning, and the
crew were still pulling for the coast) four British trawlers turned up.
These damned little craft seem to turn up wherever one goes. I longed
to have a bang at them with my gun, but, apart from the uncertainty as
to what they carried in the way of armament, I have strict orders to
avoid all that sort of thing, so I dived and steamed slowly west, came
up at dusk and proceeded to charge up my batteries.
These U.60's are excellent boats, and I am very lucky to get one so
soon. I suppose Korting, being a married man, wants to stay near his
wife. I cannot write that word without painful memories of Zoe and idle
thoughts of what might have been. Well, perhaps it is for the best. I
am not sure that a member of the U-boat service has the right to get
married in war-time, for unless he is of exceptional mentality it must
affect his outlook under certain circumstances, though I think I should
have been an exception here. Then the anxiety to the woman must be
enormous; as every trip comes round a voice must cry within her, this
may be the last. The contrast between the times in harbour and the
trips is so violent, so shattering and clear cut.
With a soldier's wife, she merely knows that he is at the front; with
us, at 8 p.m. one may be kissing one's wife in Bruges, and at 6 a.m.
creeping with nerves on edge through the unknown dangers of the Dover
Barrage--but I have strayed from what I meant to write about--my first
command and her crew.
The quarters in this class are immensely superior to the U.C.-boats.
Here I have a little cabin to myself, with a knee-hole table in it. My
First Lieutenant, the Navigator and the Engineer have bunks in a room
together, and then we have a small officers' mess.
On this job up here, as we are not to return to Germany for supplies,
and, consequently, I should say we may have to live on what we can get
out of steamers, I don't propose to use my torpedoes unless I meet a
warship or an exceptionally large steamer.
The gun's the thing, as Arnauld de la Perrière has proved in the
Mediterranean; but half the fellows won't follow his example, simply
because they don't realize that it's no use employing the gun unless it
is used accurately, and good shooting only comes after long drill.
I have impressed this fact on my gun crew, and particularly the two
gun-layers, and I make Voigtman (my young First Lieutenant) take the
crew through their loading drill twice a day, together with practice of
rapid manning of the gun after a "surface" or rapid abandonment of the
gun should the diving alarms sound in the middle of practice. I have
also impressed on Voigtman that I consider that he is the gun control
officer, and that I expect him to make the efficient working of the gun
his main consideration.
As regards the crew, they are the usual mixed crowd that one gets
nowadays: half of them are old sailors, the others recruits and new
arrivals from the Fleet. My main business at the moment is to get the
youngsters into shape, and for this purpose I have been doing a number
of crash dives. It also gives me an opportunity of getting used to the
boat's peculiarities under water. She seems to have a tendency to
become tail-heavy, but this may be due to bad trimming.
Voigtman has been in U.B.43 for nine months, and seems a capable
officer. Socially, I don't think he can boast of much descent, but he
has no airs, and treats me with pleasing respect, apart from service
considerations.
* * * * *
A very awkward accident took place this morning, which resulted in
severe injury to Johann Wiener, my second coxswain.
A party of men under his direction were engaged in shifting the stern
torpedo from its tube, in order to replace it with a spare torpedo, as
I never allow any of my torpedoes to stay in the tube for more than a
week at a time owing to corrosion. The torpedo which had been in the
tube had been launched back and was on the floor plates.
The spare torpedo, destined for the vacant tube, was hanging overhead,
when without any warning the hook on the lifting band fractured, and
the 1,000 kilogrammes' mass of metal crashed down.
Wonderful to relate, no one was killed, but two men were badly bruised,
and Wiener has been very seriously injured. He was standing astride the
spare torpedo, and his right leg was extremely badly crushed, mostly
below the knee.
Unfortunately it took about ten minutes to release him from his
position of terrible agony. I should have expected him to faint, but he
did not. His face went dead white, and he began to sweat freely, but
otherwise endured his ordeal with praiseworthy fortitude.
[Illustration: "The 1,000 kilogrammes of metal crashed down."]
[Illustration: "Good-bye! Steer west for America!"]
[Illustration: "It is a snug anchorage and here I intend to remain."]
I am now confronted with a perplexing situation. I cannot take him back
to Germany; I cannot even leave my station and proceed south to any of
the Norwegian ports. If I could find a neutral steamer with a doctor on
board, I would tranship him to her; but the chances of this God-send
materializing are a thousand to one in these latitudes. If I sighted a
hospital ship I would close her, but as far as I know at present there
are no hospital ships running up here. The chances of outside
assistance may therefore be reckoned as nil. Wiener's hope of life
depends on me, and I cannot make up my mind to take the step which
sooner or later must be taken--that is to say, amputation.
It is a curious fact, but true, nevertheless, that although, as a
result of the war, men's lives, considered in quantity, seem of little
importance, when it comes to the individual case, a personal contact, a
man's life assumes all its pre-war importance.
I feel acutely my responsibility in this matter. I see from his papers
that he is a married man with a family; this seems to make it worse. I
feel that a whole chain of people depend on me.
* * * * *
Since I wrote the above words this morning, Wiener has taken a decided
turn for the worse.
I have been reading the "Medical Handbook," with reference to the
remarks on amputation, gangrene, etc., and I have also been examining
his leg. The poor devil is in great pain, and there is no doubt that
mortification has set in, as was indeed inevitable. I have decided that
he must have his last chance, and that at 8 p.m. to-night I will
endeavour to amputate.
_Midnight_.