SOME EXCITEMENTS
We were now four days out, and the most we had seen of the 'Grand Fleet'
of the English was a couple of searchlights.
I had been on the bridge all night, and had turned in for a short rest,
when I was awakened by a loud tramping and shouting on deck.
'Smoke cloud on the port beam!' What could that be? Well, of course, it
might be a trader, but it was just as likely to be a warship, for we
were now approaching the Shetland cordon.
For a quarter of an hour there was nothing to be seen but a great mass
of smoke, which grew sometimes fainter and sometimes stronger. For a
while it looked as if it was produced by several funnels. To make
sure, I sent my first officer up to the fore-top with an excellent
Zeiss glass. A few seconds later he reported a high mast with
spotting-top--the funnels were not yet to be made out. A warship, then.
The plot began to thicken.
I gave the orders, 'Emergency stations. Course NE., Engine-room staff to
reduce smoke.' A course to the east of NE. was, for the present, not
advisable, for it was quite possible that there might be other warships
in that direction, and it was not yet possible to make out which way the
cruiser was heading.
The 'smokeless' stunt we now tried for the first time, and it went much
better than we expected. This was the more creditable, because
tramp-steamers have no special arrangements for smokeless firing, and
the men, who were mostly reservists, had not been trained to it.
The moments that now followed were certainly the most anxious we had yet
experienced. The cruiser seemed to be steaming towards us at full speed,
for the mast, with its high wireless, could now be seen from our bridge
as well as from aloft. 'A second lower mast now visible,' reported the
look-out. As he described the relative position of the masts it became
evident that the Englishman was heading about north-east. Had he really
seen us yet, or not? I gave her four points more to starboard, so that
we were now on an easterly course. Perhaps we might still escape.
The great difference in the height of the masts left no doubt that we
had here to do with one of the very newest and fastest English cruisers.
If she had sighted us, any attempt at flight was useless. But we counted
on the English look-out not being as sharp as ours. It is natural that
on monotonous outpost duty, cruising to and fro day after day in the
same waters and hardly ever seeing anything but the same sea and sky,
sky and sea, one's watchfulness should in the end get blunted. And that
was just what happened.
A joyful shout from aloft suddenly announced that the cruiser was
turning away. As we examined her more closely we could, in fact, see
that the high fore-mast, which had originally been visible to the east
of the lower mast, now showed to the north-west of it. Evidently the
cruiser had turned on to a westerly course, and that meant that she had
not sighted us. A short time later, nothing was to be seen of either
mast, and soon only a pair of light wisps of smoke lay on the misty
horizon. The whole thing had happened so swiftly and surprisingly that
we could hardly believe in our good fortune.
On working out our position, I found that we were some seventy-five
miles east of the Shetlands. A light bank of mist had now completely
hidden the cruiser from us, and as we could see nothing more in any
direction, we might conclude with some assurance that she was the
easternmost cruiser of that outpost line which, a few weeks before, had
almost proved disastrous to the returning Möwe. Only, the chain seemed
now to have been lengthened out a little farther to the east. Barring
the chance, then, that one or two English vessels were stationed well
over towards the Norwegian coast, we might take it that we were already
clear of the Shetland cordon, and had successfully eluded the first of
the blockading forces, whose special task it was to frustrate just such
attempts as ours to break through from the North Sea to the Atlantic.
So far, all well. The next problem was, which of the possible
alternative routes we were to follow from this point onwards. The
shortest routes were, of course, those between the Orkneys and the
mainland, and between the Shetlands and the Faroe Isles. Both, however,
would be very thoroughly watched, and I gave up at once the idea of
following either. The much more circuitous route between the Faroes and
Ireland meant eight and a half days' steaming, at an average speed of
ten knots, before we could reach our destination. Moreover, here lay the
main blockading force, consisting of large and powerful auxiliary
cruisers, patrolling at short intervals its two hundred miles of open
water.
There was yet another alternative, to go right round by the north of
Iceland, but the feasibility of this depended on the ice-conditions, and
on these I had not been able to get my exact information before sailing.
So much depended upon wind and weather that it would have been foolish
to fix my plans unalterably for more than a day ahead, but, on the
whole, the route between Iceland and the Faroes seemed to offer the best
chance of getting through. I decided, therefore, to steam north,
parallel, at a sufficient distance, to the blockading line, and wait for
a favourable opportunity of slipping through.
The barometer was high and steady, indicating the continuance of fine
weather. The main thing now was to get an accurate observation, for
since leaving Paternoster we had no opportunity to get an exact 'fix,'
and it was quite possible that the current might have carried us some
distance out of our course. But towards noon the sky was overcast, and
a mist lay on the horizon, making it impossible to take an accurate
altitude, so there was nothing for it but to stand in towards the coast,
in order to determine our position by soundings or by shore-bearings. We
headed in, therefore, at full speed for Bremanjerland on the Nordfjord.
Almost at the exact point we had calculated on, we got a sounding of the
'hundred-fathom line,' and so determined our longitude. There was now
only the latitude to be fixed, and for that luck came to our aid sooner
than we had hoped.
About half an hour before midday the fog-bank ahead of us suddenly
lifted. A long, low strip of darker gray lay resting on the water. From
minute to minute it grew longer and higher, till it became definitely
recognisable as land, and the bold outlines of the high, precipitous
coastline began to appear. And then--it might have been on the stage, so
rapid was the transformation--suddenly the fog broke, as though we had
been an enemy charging down upon it, the sun shone through the clouds,
and before ten minutes had passed, a panorama of enchanting beauty lay
before us.
Out of the clear, deep-blue water, now almost smooth as a mirror, for
the wind had dropped, there rose majestically the lofty, snow-covered
mountains of Bremanjerland. In the hollows of the mountainsides, and on
the precipitous, jaggedly outlined pinnacles of rock, the snow glistened
in the melting rays of the sun. Here and there, runnels of water
streamed down over the naked, gray walls of rock into the sea, or found
their way down the deep clefts which ran, darkly outlined as though with
black chalk, down the face of the cliffs. To the east, where the
mountains were higher, there was a succession of glaciers. One might
easily have believed oneself transported to the Alps.
Gradually the numerous islands, which lay like outposts in front of the
mainland, became more clearly defined. As there was nothing suspicious
to be seen either on land or water--no boat, no human habitation, not
even a lighthouse--I held on my course until I was close inshore. Then,
with the aid of the charts and sailing directions, which give good
silhouettes of this part of the coast, I was soon able to get my exact
position.
The sudden change in the weather had, of course, played the deuce with
my plans. It would have been madness to attempt to break through the
Shetland blockade in weather so clear as this. I therefore decided to
keep at a safe distance from the patrol line, and wait for a change of
weather. I laid a course for the point--several hundred miles north-east
of the Faroes--at which the Polar Circle intersects the meridian of
Greenwich.