WILD-FOWLING EXTRAORDINARY AND TRAWLING FOR SUBMARINES IN NEUTRAL WATERS
GERMANY'S WESTERN COAST--SHOOTING WILD-FOWL AND BEING SHOT AT--AN
INTREPID SPORTSMAN--COLLAPSED ZEPPELIN--ESCAPING WAR
PRISONERS--CARELESS LANDSTURMERS--A SUPPOSED-TO-BE NORWEGIAN
SKIPPER--NATIVE CURIOSITY--DARE-DEVIL CHRISTIAN--A MYSTERIOUS
SHIP--GOOSE-STALKING OVER A LAND MINE--TOO NEAR DEATH TO BE
PLEASANT--THE NOCTURNAL SUBMARINE RAIDER--NIGHT TRAWLING FOR
STRANGE FISH--ENEMY'S SECRET RECONNOITRING EXPOSED AND THWARTED.
A few years previous to the declaration of war several Englishmen took
rather an unusual interest in the western coast of Germany, particularly
in the islands lying near to Heligoland.
Some of these Englishmen were watched and arrested on the grounds of
espionage. Some were tried and imprisoned for varying terms of years in
German fortresses. Some were never caught, although they were closely
chased, and were very much wanted indeed.
Maybe I was one of them. Maybe the Germans took little, if any, interest
whatever in so insignificant a mortal. But the fact remains that for
many years prior to 1914 I had annually visited the Danish and
Schleswig-Holstein coasts on wild-fowling expeditions and for wild-goose
shooting.
To those who are ignorant of the nature of the western coast of Germany
and would learn concerning it, a perusal of that most interesting little
volume, "The Riddle of the Sands," is recommended. No cliffs are to be
found there, with the exception of some upon the islands of Heligoland
and the hillsides which adorn the northern side of the Elbe on the way
up to Hamburg. A low sandy shore running in places far out into the
North Sea stretches the entire length of coastline from Holland to
Denmark. The changes, additions, and developments along this forbidden
strip of land, which during past years has been so jealously guarded by
the Germans, have always been a source of deep interest to John Bull's
Watchdogs who have the welfare of the British Empire at heart. At no
time has this interest been deeper or more absorbing than since August
4th, 1914.
I knew them well. One of my wild-fowling companions had been a
Frenchman, about my own age, who lived in Copenhagen. He spoke half a
dozen languages, and was a very keen sportsman, and wild geese were his
speciality.
Cruising in the depths of winter along the vast extent of mud-flats,
oozes, shallows, and islands, which guard the west coast of
Schleswig-Holstein, is no child's play. It requires bold and hardy
navigators; men who are not frightened at the horrors of ice-floes, or
of breakers on the bar; who can stand a temperature below zero; who can
live on the coarsest of rations; and who can sleep anyhow and anywhere.
The _Nordfriesische Inseln_ tract, lying south of the island of Fano,
the natural buffer to the Esbjerg fjord, was a favourite hunting-ground,
but it had its drawbacks. Many a fine shot into big flocks of geese and
ducks was, to the sportsman's annoyance, spoilt by the unwelcome
interference of German sentries or soldiers stationed at all kinds of
unexpected and outlandish points among the islands. Sometimes those
interlopers would put out in boats and give chase, but we knew within a
little where they were generally stationed and by taking advantage of
the ground managed to avoid being captured. More than once we had been
hailed and warned and ordered to keep within Danish waters or we would
be shot--which, however, was nothing out of the common. There are many
good fishermen residing at Nordby and Ribe (in Denmark) who have netted
flat fish in these waters for years; also intermittently throughout the
war, in spite of rifle bullets perpetually being fired at them.
Soon after the date particularly referred to above, the Germans mined
the area fairly heavily and no channel was safe. But a local fisherman
located the mines and started marking their positions, much to the
annoyance of the Huns. One man in particular would insist on fishing
wherever the mines were thickest. His argument was that, although the
work was dangerous, the mines kept others away, to the protection of the
fish, therefore the fishing must be the better for it. The Germans
warned him often enough, whilst they shot at him so frequently that he
became heedless of their threats and he appeared to entirely disregard
their rifle fire. One day he was caught and taken before an officer, who
impressed upon him that if he came there any more they would use him as
a practice target for small cannon. Nevertheless he returned, and found
them as good as their word. Luckily he escaped being hit, but after the
experience he sold his boat, nets, and belongings, and emigrated to
America.
I happened to arrive at Ribe just too late. I had travelled far to meet
this man, as I was anxious for a _little more wild-fowling_; and no one
knew the creeks, the channels, and the local geography of that shifting,
dangerous coast more thoroughly than this bold and careless fisherman.
He was, however, by no means the only pebble on the beach. I found
others.
My arrival on the frontier between the two countries coincided with
certain marked events--the collapse of an airship at Sonderho, and the
escape of some Russian and English prisoners of war from the compound
outside Hamburg. The airship became a total wreck, and the prisoners of
war succeeded in reaching Danish territory. Thence they travelled to
Copenhagen, where they were well and humanely looked after.
During the autumn of 1914, and the spring of 1915, the west coast of
Denmark and the extensive mileage of flats running south therefrom was
not the happy hunting-ground it had been in the past. There seemed to be
too many Landsturmer aimlessly wandering around carrying guns loaded
with ball ammunition, which they were nothing loth to use at any target
within sight that might appear above the horizon. Ducks and geese were
scarce and very, very wild. They seemed to object to rifle shots even
more than wild-fowlers. They were kept constantly on the move. It is
true there was a regular "flight" of Zeppelins and aircraft of various
shapes and make along the coast every twilight; yet these only appeared
in fine weather, when it is known to all wild-fowlers that flighting
birds fly too high to encourage heavy bags; whilst it must not be
forgotten that so far as the country of Denmark was concerned, these
foul (this pun is surely permissible) were not then lawfully in season.
Their close time, or period of protection, still remained covered. To
violate it would have created much too serious an offence to be treated
lightly. But to observe the movements and habits of _these unfeathered
birds_ with as much secrecy and security as possible was another matter.
In due course I moved camp to the Kleiner Belt and sought sport and
entertainment among the islands of the Southern Baltic, where, in the
air above and in the waters beneath, there was much activity.
For sometimes a fisherman's hut sheltered a supposed-to-be Norwegian
skipper, whose ship held cargo of a contraband nature which was caught
by the war and thus temporarily detained. He was taking a little
shooting trip by way of diversion from the monotony of waiting an
opportunity to get away. That man was myself. It was a thin story, but
it lasted out with local natives for the necessary time required. In
harbours or bays near by were about a thousand vessels laid up in
consequence of the dangers of navigation; whilst round neighbouring
islands, on the Danish side, fleets of ships of varied nationality could
be seen at anchor in many sheltered nooks, all too frightened to venture
further on the high seas.
The natives of Northern Europe are extraordinarily inquisitive, and
unless one is willing to divulge family secrets it is necessary to draw
vividly upon the imagination when interrogated as to antecedents, home,
and calling. It would have been dangerous in the instance in question
not to have humoured this characteristic peculiarity, or to have
declined to satisfy such searching curiosity. The only thing to do to
ensure some degree of safety was to blow "hot air" in volumes around; to
answer all questions; and, above all, to remember every detail of the
untruths thus unfolded. It is a true adage that "a good liar must
possess a good memory."
This seemingly annoying inconvenience had, however, its redeeming
feature. The almost daily bombardment of leading questions opened up
excellent opportunities for return sallies of a reciprocating nature. It
was an easy step to lead from home and domestic particulars to the
all-absorbing topic of the hour--the mighty overshadowing cloud of
national troubles. I therefore encouraged rather than narrowed any
disposition to talk, whilst I was never backward in attending any
meetings of the natives in the confined and fuggy dwellings in which
they congregated and resided, despite the most objectionable atmosphere.
A free hand with tobacco and a few drops (sweets) to the children added
to one's popularity; and "the captain," as I was familiarly called, soon
ingratiated himself far beyond all doubt or suspicion. This was as it
should be.
Now the Kiel fjord was within an easy sail. Its entrance was an object
of interest; whilst the Kiela Bay was used as a patrolling or exercising
ground for various designs of aircraft and warships. Amongst the crowd
of men out of a job was one, a mate, whose life had been passed sailing
in foreign seas. He was a devil-may-care, happy-go-lucky individual,
ready to join any venture that came along. Of course he drank when he
was ashore; at sea he was a total abstainer--by compulsion. Whiskey was
his weakness, wild-fowling his hobby.
He knew the haunts and habits of both short and long-winged fowl, which,
in his company, I often sought, and it is a wonder we came back alive.
Every channel that was navigable round those northern islands seemed to
hold German or Danish mines. Every storm broke quantities of these mines
from their moorings; and every day floating mines could be seen, washed
up somewhere, or reported. Many vessels were lost by unfortunate
contact with them, and the sea was dotted with the mastheads of the
sunken craft. Christian--that was the venturesome mate's name--thought
little of this. One danger was quite equal to another with him. He
argued that if fate had ordained he should be blown up by a mine,
instead of being drowned, what did it matter? Call-day must come sooner
or later, and after all, perhaps a quick blow-up was preferable to the
prolonged suffocation of drowning. The former at least would not be a
cold or a lingering death, but all over in a second, with no trouble
about funerals and that kind of thing. The latter caused a shudder to
think about.
At first one was inclined to believe Christian was boastful in his talk,
but the following venturesome exploits prove that such was not the case.
Indented into a certain island in the Southern Baltic is a certain bay,
which has always been a favourite haunt of wild geese. They visit it in
thousands during the spring and autumn migrations, whilst a sprinkling
of them seems to be ever present. A low promontory of sand and
sand-dunes circles part of this bay, which is so washed by the sea that
it is difficult to tell where the low-water mark really begins. From one
point of the promontory a long spit of sand and mud projects far out
into the sea. It is a peculiar formation and is much sought by waterfowl
for resting and toilet purposes. During the opening months of 1915 geese
made a habit of congregating here in unusual numbers.
Out at sea, in the fairway, was moored an ugly, evil-looking craft, with
huge uprising bows. She was fitted with wireless, and although she had
been anchored there since the outbreak of war, a head of steam was
always kept up. Her official name and number was G. No. 53. She was
supposed and alleged to be lying outside the Danish seaboard limit.
That, however, to the casual observer looked to be open to grave doubt.
She flew no flag and showed no outward sign of life on board, but she
was known to be a German vessel, well crewed, victualled and provided.
Those on board could command the sand-spit before mentioned with their
binoculars, as well as with other human inventions. Apparently they did
not neglect to make full use of what they had to hand.
On two occasions, within a period of ten days, a couple of ardent
wild-fowlers might have been observed (history seems to point to the
fact that they were observed) at early dawn, crawling along the said
sand-spit, close to the water's edge, on its lee-side. Very slowly
indeed they worked their way along until they were within range of a
small gaggle of geese which habitually rested there. On each occasion a
successful shot had been recorded. Fable tells us that the pitcher can
go too often to the well. These intrepid sportsmen attempted to repeat
their previous successes.
It was in the gloaming of eventide. About a dozen or fifteen black
(brent) geese were preening their feathers at the end of the sand-spit,
apparently well satisfied with their lot and the world in general. Just
under the uneven line of washed-up seaweed and other refuse two dark
forms crawled along. They seemed to be hours covering the space
intervening between themselves and the birds--their evident quarry.
Between decks on the gloomy vessel this minor tragedy in life and death
was probably an object of equal interest. The crew could watch and
observe without themselves being seen. They could gloat over the
spilling of blood, and the death-dealing power of well-placed
explosives, without the outside world ever knowing that they had any
knowledge of such events happening. How keenly they must have
anticipated.
As the sun sank deeper and deeper in the west, and the shades of night
crept up from the east, the two wild-fowl hunters drew nearer and nearer
to their objective. At least they began to think it time to prepare for
a serenade. They were in the act of unlocking their guns when suddenly
the ground immediately in front of them rose, like an active volcano,
into the air and a mighty explosion shook the earth. What a shock! It
raised their caps and, as Christian remarked, so singed the hair on his
head and face that he would not be likely to want the attentions of a
barber for a fortnight. His companion was glad enough to escape whole
in body and limb, whilst he cursed the cowardly Huns under his breath
for their death-dealing intentions. Christian seemed to emulate the
immortal Mark Tapley. He was infernally happy and grateful to somebody
to think they had helped him kill geese, which he would probably never
have bagged without such assistance; and he joyfully rushed forward to
pick up the dead and wounded before they could recover from the
concussion consequent upon the shock of the explosion.
Natives who heard the report put it down to a floating mine which had
been washed up on the beach and exploded when brought into contact with
the shore. Had one of them visited the place where the upheaval occurred
he could have seen at a glance that the depth of water was such that a
mine could not have floated within half a mile.
How disappointed must have been the crew of G. No. 53.
Christian was a born sportsman. He was one of those who would have
willingly exchanged a year's earnings for a red-letter day at sport. If
the sport was such that danger was coupled with it, the greater the
danger, the greater the excitement, and the greater his consequent
enjoyment. For one reason only he was constantly lamenting that his
country had not been brought into the struggle, so that he could have
seized the opportunity to join actively in the fray. At heart, of
course, he did not really desire that his country or his countrymen
should have inflicted upon them all the horrors of war; but when a scrap
was in progress he longed with his whole soul to be in the thick of it.
Now it so happened that certain people had declared that the Germans
were violating the neutrality of Denmark, or at least jeopardising her
position and welfare, by certain nocturnal submarine visitations in
certain waters--not so very far from the Great Belt. German officialdom
replied that these complaints and protests were mythical and without
foundation. Christian thought otherwise.
It was a strange coincidence that at this particular time Christian
should take a violent fancy for trawling. It was perhaps strange that
his particular friend should argue that the best and heaviest fish
always frequented the deepest channels which ran between the islands.
Christian agreed, and supported the contention by quoting his
experiences of fishing in far-off foreign seas.
He was not interrogated as to where, and when, and how, and for how long
he had abandoned the forecastle for the trawl-net; nor did he give much
opening for any such questions. He knew. Others might think they knew,
but he knew he was right; that, according to him, was incontrovertible.
Christian's enthusiasm carried all and everything with it. A small
vessel suitable for trawling purposes was secured and fitted out with
the necessary gear and equipment. A chosen crew was selected. Fish were
very scarce and consequently were very dear; the fortunes of all were to
be made in a miraculously short space of time. The skipper was a
heavy-bearded individual who knew his job, but nothing beyond it. He was
easily persuaded, whilst his crew followed the lead blindly, thinking
only of easily-earned shekels to come. In due course the party put to
sea, with Christian & Co. acting in the capacity of spare hands.
For several nights results were precarious. The mighty draughts of
promised fishes did not come along, and Christian had to use all his
persuasive powers, backed up with innumerable excuses and explanations,
to prove why it was his theories had not produced practical solid
results.
The spirits of the once optimistic crew had sunk to zero, but they were
over-persuaded to venture forth yet again. It was a dark night, but the
moon was due to rise at 11.30. The sails of the little vessel had been
trimmed, and the trawl dropped in a well-known channel, picked off from
the chart by the ever enthusiastic Christian. For a few hours nothing
out of the common occurred. Towards midnight the wind freshened slightly
and the moon, peeping out from occasional obscuring clouds, cast pale,
fitful lights over the cold, dark waters.
Presently the watch on deck became alarmed. An extraordinary phenomenon
appeared to take place. The fishing-boat gradually began to go
backwards--actually into the eye of the wind, although her sails were
properly set and full. The watchman rubbed his eyes and pinched himself
to see whether he was properly awake, or dreaming. He looked at the
trawl warp to see whether it was slackening, as he reasoned that if some
current sufficiently strong to counteract the force of the wind was
flowing there, however unusual or from whatsoever unknown but possible
cause it might have originated, then surely the trawl warp would show
it.
No. The trawl warp was tight. It was strained to its utmost. He looked
at the far-off land and took bearings. He was not mistaken. _The boat
was going backwards._ Her speed was easily perceptible.
He rushed to the hatchway and yelled at the top of his voice to the
sleeping crew to come on deck; to which alarming summons it responded
quickly enough.
Wildly gesticulating and with much waving of arms the thoroughly
frightened and superstitious fisherman explained matters as best he
could. Others sprang to various positions in the boat to investigate for
themselves. The story was indeed too true, and consternation at the
unknown plainly showed itself on the countenances of all--except perhaps
the imperturbable Christian and the other spare hand. Whilst the crew
was debating with its skipper what was best to be done under the
circumstances, another phase of the phenomenon developed. A huge,
unwieldy shape gradually rose from the sea abaft the taffrail. It had a
smooth, polished skin, which shone and glistened in the moonlight like
the back of a whale. But on looking farther along to gauge as accurately
as could be the whole length of this mysterious leviathan of the deep, a
break in the smoothness of its form was apparent, together with an
excrescence which the skipper of the trawler was not long in recognising
as the conning tower of a submarine.
Ye gods above! How frightened they all were. How the skipper swore, and
raved, and shrieked for a hatchet to cut away. How he sawed at the trawl
rope with his belt knife before it arrived, and how he hacked the warp
in two when he did get it. What a commotion there was to pack on sail in
order to get clear before the Germans could get out of their steel shell
and make things unpleasant for them. How everyone flew about and gave
orders to everyone else. Yes! All seemed to lose their heads entirely,
except the two spare hands whose whole attention seemed attracted aft.
They gazed, with looks which might have been mistaken for gleams of
triumph, at that huge, ugly monster, now bumping the stern of the little
fishing-boat. They noted every detail open to visional observation,
while their unusual coolness was not noticed in the general alarm of the
crew, who thought only of their individual escape and safety.
A close, impartial observer might almost have been led to the belief
that the expression on the countenance of Christian betrayed the
realisation of an all-too-long delayed event which had at last
crystallised and fully justified his anticipations.
In due course it was reported that the propellers of a believed-to-be
German submarine, which, it could be said, had got out of her course in
the dark, had fouled the fishing-nets belonging to some unknown boat.
The local press was furious. Officialdom was stirred from its lethargy,
much red tape and sealing-wax were expended, many politely worded notes
passed between two Governments, and the event was soon forgotten by the
Powers-that-be. But the fishermen concerned remembered all too vividly
every detail and the horrible scare they had had, whilst they loudly
lamented their lost gear. However, a Danish gunboat appeared a little
more frequently round that particular part of the coast; mines, and yet
more mines, were laid out; whilst the waters in question, which had so
many times rippled round the boat of mystery, knew the activities of the
conscienceless Hun no more. Meanwhile the Golden Argosy of unlimited
profits from deep-channel trawling by night, as exploited by Messrs.
Christian & Co., proved a ghastly financial failure.