RIGHT THROUGH THE BLOCKADE
By next morning the barometer had fallen another tenth. Dirty-gray
storm-clouds were slowly moving up from the west. From time to time
faint cat's-paws appeared upon the water, now from the north, now from
the west, and again from a south-westerly direction. That was very
satisfactory, for it meant beyond all doubt, an early change of weather.
The second-officer searched the horizon keenly with his glasses, and
then muttered something to himself.
'I'm betting on a north-wester,' said I, 'with rain, and perhaps also
fog. Can't you smell anything?'
The mate sniffed suspiciously. 'I don't think I'll take you,' said he.
'I was just going to say myself that I felt as if----'
'We shan't quarrel over that, then! I believe I can smell the fog
coming. Wait and see.'
The eight o'clock observation gave us one degree of west longitude. We
had therefore, though lying to with engines stopped, been carried
westward by the set of the current, to the extent of a whole degree of
longitude. The latitude had only altered by a few minutes, southward, as
we had found a few hours before.
A dark shadow, which was now observable on the water, to the south,
made us reach hastily for our glasses.
Wind. South wind. It was coming now--just what we had been praying for.
A few minutes more and it would have reached us. While the water slowly
began to crisp under the breeze, the horizon line began to waver; the
clear, sharply-defined line which marked the division between sea and
sky seemed in places raised and undulating--the first presage of coming
fog. Towards ten o'clock the wind jumped round to the south-west, and
freshened. Light wisps of vapour began to drift down on our port bow,
and sometimes from right ahead. Half an hour later the horizon was so
dim that it was impossible to take an altitude.
'What about it?' asked Düsselmann, who was taking the watch, giving me,
as he spoke, a keen, sidelong glance, his right hand already on the
lever of the engine-room telegraph.
I thought a moment, then: 'Carry on,' I said. 'Half speed! Course,
south-west!'
The telegraph rang. In engine-room and stokehold things got lively.
Heavily and slowly the screw began to revolve, there was a churning and
frothing at the stern, and the _Aud_ got slowly under way. Once more in
the charthouse there was a frenzy of calculating and measuring; with the
result that we decided to proceed as far as a certain point at reduced
speed, so that it would still be open to us, if necessary, to choose the
northern route. But if, by the time we reached that point, the misty
weather continued, then during the night we would try for the
break-through.
By midday we estimated the strength of the wind as 3.[5] From time to
time there were light showers of fine rain. Pity that we were still a
day's steaming from the danger-line, otherwise we might well have got
through that night, for the moon was completely obscured by clouds. The
barometer fell slowly but steadily. For the present it was still too
high to mean an immediate storm, but if it continued to fall at the same
rate we might have more than we bargained for later on. For the present
we were well content. We were now nearing the point which must mark for
us the parting of the ways, and I decided for the southern
route--through the blockade.
The look-outs were now doubled. Even the cook had to 'stand his watch,'
and was greatly delighted at being allowed on the bridge, close to the
exalted beings who performed the mysteries of navigation.
Now, more than ever, the motto for every one was: 'Keep your eyes
skinned!' Ahead of us were the enemy outposts in imposing numbers, and
on our starboard bow, on the east coast of Iceland, enemy auxiliary
cruisers had also been reported.
Next day was the 16th of April. At 4 a.m. there was entered in the
log-book under the heading 'Weather' the following remark: 'Overcast,
increasingly misty, occasional heavy showers, wind, south-west 4[6],
freshening, corresponding sea.'
We reckoned out the course and the distance. It was still 150 nautical
miles to the line on which the enemy cruisers were patrolling. If we
aimed straight for the middle of this line, we should, at an average
speed of ten knots, arrive at that point at about 8 p.m.
That was good luck for us, for 8 p.m. is, on all ships, the hour for a
change of watch, and at such times the men's attention is bound to be a
little distracted. Moreover, the day was a Sunday. And on Sunday, in
English ships, every one would certainly do himself a little extra well,
with the aid of whisky and similar good things. Up here, too, that was
especially to be expected. For the men on a remote outpost station like
this, who were doubtless not relieved too frequently, in their
monotonous but trying duty, that was almost the only pleasure which they
had a chance to enjoy. Moreover, in view of the overcast weather, it was
pretty certain that by eight o'clock it would be already growing dark.
By dawn we could be sixty miles beyond the enemy line, and of course far
out of sight.
'Full speed ahead!' Now for it!
The farther west we steamed, the more the wind and sea increased in
strength. Spray began to dash over the bows, and soon forced us to seek
the protection of our oilskins. The afternoon brought a very pleasant
surprise, for the rain quite slowly and imperceptibly transformed itself
into a real undeniable fog, which grew thicker and thicker. By 4 p.m.
one could scarcely see half a mile. Our chances were improving from
minute to minute. Were we really to have such luck? It was scarcely
believable.
We steamed south-west at full speed. Any one seeing us would have
thought that we must have come out of the Polar Sea. Even in peace time
that would have been unusual; how much more so now in time of war.
What would happen, then, if an Englishman suddenly jumped out of the fog
upon us? We could scarcely expect him to believe that we were nothing
but a harmless collier!
By six o'clock the visibility was down to three or four ship's lengths
at most. The whole ship's company was on the look-out. No one thought of
sleep; excitement kept us all alert. Gray and heavy lay the fog upon the
water. Nothing was to be seen or heard. The uncanny stillness pressed
like an incubus upon our excited nerves. Our binoculars were hardly ever
away from our eyes. Every other moment we thought we heard or saw
something abnormal. Meanwhile, the Aud was thrashing more and more
heavily through the rising sea. Big white caps broke against her bow,
the spray was thrown up over bridge and funnel. Every moment, as the
ship drove onward towards the enemy's line, the tension grew. We
scarcely dared to breathe.
'Time, please?'
'Seven-ten, captain,' came the whispered reply.
'Sharp look-out ahead. We're close on the line.'
It was odd to see how every man, as though to see farther, craned his
neck forward, as he sought to pierce the thick veil ahead.
The minute-hand marked 7.15. The minutes were passing much too slowly
for us.
But what was that? 'Hard a-port!' 'Increase speed to the utmost!'
'Emergency stations!'
The wheel flew over to port with a jerk, the wires of the engine-room
telegraph underneath the deck-planks creaked as though they would break.
As a startled sea-bird sheers away, so the _Aud_ shoots in a sudden
curve to port, while to starboard, not two cables' lengths off, a dark,
black-gray mass looms ghostly out of the fog.
Damnation! An auxiliary cruiser! Her silhouette became clearer--two
masts, high upper works, a thick funnel.
'Half speed!' 'Course, south-by-west!' There is no possibility of escape
by flight. We are discovered, for the English ship, which I estimated
roughly as of 10,000 tons, alters course at the same moment, and steams
along parallel to us, scarcely 200 yards away. She must be going at
reduced speed, for she keeps obstinately just abreast of us. The comedy
is about to begin.
At the first alarm, the 'watch below'--who had all been keeping a
look-out on deck--hurry away to their bunks, the suspicious objects are
hidden; we on the bridge, with beating hearts but outwardly cool and
collected, tramp up and down with our hands in our pockets,
expectorating freely and smoking like chimneys. There is nothing to
indicate that we are in the least perturbed by the appearance of the
cruiser. Dully, as if it was all a matter of course, we take an
occasional glance ahead through our glasses, tooting every couple of
minutes, like the simple merchantman we are, with our hoarse steam
siren, in dutiful obedience to the rules laid down for warning-signals
during fog. To the unwelcome stranger we scarcely give a glance. The
crew of a tramp are apt to be indifferent. Thus, for an appreciable
time, we steam quietly along, side by side, neither making any overtures
to the other.
I am, of course, burning to know what the Englishman is up to. In order
to make unobtrusive investigations--it is evident that all the available
binoculars on the cruiser were being turned on us--I send my
second-officer into the charthouse. The observations which he makes
through the charthouse window he then communicates to me on the bridge
through the voice-pipe. 'Several large guns forward--same aft,' is the
tenor of his first report.
Gradually, over yonder on the cruiser, things begin to liven up. More
and more men appear on deck, and stare hard at us.
'Our reckoning was right to a hair, any way,' opines the second-officer,
with a sarcastic grin--small consolation in the present circumstances.
We wait and wait for a signal from the Englishman, ordering us to stop,
or a round of blank fired for the same purpose; but nothing of the kind
happens.
Damn it all, is the fellow going to escort us in to the Faroes? It
almost looks like it, for those rocky islands must lie right ahead,
though still a day's steaming from here.
Time goes on, and we still wait, bracing ourselves for what may come.
When the chronometer shows 7.30 I order 'seven bells' to be loudly and
clearly struck on the ship's bell. We had, for good and sufficient
reasons, hitherto pointedly neglected this universal usage of board-ship
life. The men standing watching us at the cruiser's rail gradually drift
away again. A dirty little collier is, of course, no very interesting
object. Moreover, it is cold and wet on deck, and at eight o'clock the
watch will be changed. Perhaps, also, a tot of steaming grog is being
served out below.
It began to grow dusk. In order to confirm the Britisher in his
conviction of our innocent character, I gave orders to light the
masthead light and side lights. The English and Norwegian signal books
lay ready to our hand on the flag-locker. We had already looked up the
signals that we were likely to want. But it was all for nothing. No
activity was to be observed either in the neighbourhood of the guns or
of the boats. Gradually even the bridge was left to the sole tenancy of
the officers of the watch.
Was the Britisher keeping some big surprise up his sleeve, or did he
really take us for what we pretended to be? That they could read clearly
on our side. The course, however, on which they found us might surely
have given them food for thought. Did they really not find anything
curious in the idea that a ship of our type should be coming straight
from the North Pole?
I must confess that the conduct of this English auxiliary
cruiser--whose name, unfortunately, we could not make out, as it had
been painted over, was one of the greatest puzzles of my life, and has
remained so to this day.
Eight bells. Change of watch. On board the English ship also the new
watch came on deck. She was now so close to us that every movement on
her deck could be seen, although it was now growing perceptibly darker.
Good God! If we had only had a torpedo or a submarine in attendance; a
more favourable opportunity for a hit with a torpedo could hardly be
imagined. Boof! the cruiser buries her nose deep in a sea and takes a
considerable quantity of water over her bows, to come pouring in great
streams out of her forward scuttles.
'I believe the fellow funks the weather,' said one of my men.
Well, that was always a possibility. With the sea then running--the wind
had increased to force 5 or 6[7]--the Britisher may not have fancied
getting out a boat with a prize crew. Moreover, the day was Sunday.
Perhaps his idea was to escort us till we fell in with the cruiser on
the next station southward, and leave the job to her. However, if it
came to taking a prize crew on board, we thought we knew how to deal
with them.
In the end the Britisher began to get on my nerves. I considered whether
it would be advisable to signal to him with the Morse lamp, asking for
our exact position.
Somehow or other I must find out what he wanted with us. By pretending
that, owing to the fog, we had been unable to get our exact position for
a long time, I might perhaps be able to break through his reserve.
Then, suddenly, we saw the Britisher increase his speed, shoot ahead of
us for about three hundred yards, and then, putting her helm hard over,
swing across our bows and take a SSE. course. Oho! thought we, now
something's going to happen.
But the Britisher had no idea of coming to close quarters with us.
Farther and farther he drew away from us in a southerly direction. Soon
he had faded into the fog so completely that all we could see of him was
a formless dark blur. We could hardly trust our eyes. But when shortly
afterwards even the dark blur disappeared and nothing was to be seen but
fog, and yet more fog, a joyful exclamation broke from us all. 'We're
safely through!'
It was now a question of putting our best foot forward and making
ourselves scarce. Once more the engine-room telegraph rang 'Full speed
ahead!' the lights were once more extinguished, and at the best speed we
could make, we steamed north-west.
'My belief is,' said Düsselmann, with a grin, 'the fellow was honestly
sorry for us. I'll bet he said to himself, "Hope the old tub will make
her next port safely anyhow!"'
It was a possible explanation. He had been guilty of an unpardonable
error; but no one had better reason to pardon him than we.
It was eight o'clock when he left us, after keeping us company for
exactly an hour. What we had now to do was to get ourselves as quickly
as possible out of the neighbourhood of the cruiser line. There was a
possibility, too, of pursuit by fast destroyers, for our cruiser might
later become aware of his stupidity. During the next hour, too, we had
to reckon with a possible encounter with an auxiliary cruiser a little
out of her course, for in fog it is no easy matter to keep station, with
wind, sea, and current all playing tricks with one--as I knew only too
well from my outpost service.
It was only three hours later, when nothing had happened in the
meantime, that I ventured to steer a westerly course again.
We were now in the North Atlantic--a long stage nearer our goal.
Towards midnight it was blowing so hard that we had to lash down
everything movable on deck to prevent the seas that came aboard us doing
any damage. On both sides of the deck I had life-lines stretched to hold
on to. The wind had meantime veered round to the west, and later on to
north-west. The fog had disappeared. Showers of rain swept over us at
constantly shorter intervals. The barometer was falling with notable
rapidity. These were sure signs of the approach of a north-wester.
The little _Aud_ thrashed her way more and more heavily through the
confused sea, shaking off indignantly the masses of water which came
swishing over her bows. Her blunt bows and the unusual height of her
upper-works offered too much resistance to the wind. It was no wonder
that our speed fell gradually from ten knots to five, and afterwards to
four. We scarcely seemed to be making any headway at all.
Not to lose way too much, I put her on a more southerly course, but only
so much as would still keep me clear of the blockade line which was
stationed westward of the Hebrides. Even in the thickest fog one was
never quite safe from the English bloodhounds, and it was scarcely to be
hoped that the next we met would be as stupid as the last.
Wind and sea were now from the north-west--nearly on our beam--and we
rolled heavily. By midday the wind was already blowing with force 8.[8]
We could easily have more of this than we wanted. I had confidence in
the ship, which was staunch and seaworthy enough to ride out even a
heavy storm; what worried me was the cargo. As has already been
mentioned, this had not been as well stowed as under normal conditions
the safety of the ship demanded. With seas breaking over us all the time
there was no use thinking of re-stowing it; the holds would have been
filled with water the moment the hatchways were uncovered. If the ship
began to labour yet more heavily there would be nothing for it but to
lie to and wait for calmer weather.
The seas grew bigger and bigger, one squall followed hard on the heels
of another. The glass fell steadily. All the signs pointed to a regular
hurricane.
I had had no astronomical observation for the last two days, and
meanwhile the wind, the run of the seas, and the current (the last very
uncertain in the neighbourhood of Iceland), had doubtless carried us
some way out of course. How much, it was impossible to estimate with any
accuracy.
On the other hand, it was of the first importance that I should make an
accurate land-fall, as I could not risk having to feel my way along the
Irish coast, and to that end it was very desirable to get an exact
position during the next day or two. It was highly probable, however,
that the weather would not permit of an observation. I therefore decided
to lay a course for the Rockalls, from which we were now about a day's
steaming.
These Rockalls are a veritable wonder of nature. Far out in the
Atlantic, more than two hundred nautical miles west of the Scottish
coast, there lies a far-stretching reef, a sandbank with innumerable
little points of rock sticking up through it. The bank has a diameter of
about three nautical miles, and runs roughly east and west. At its
western end there rises out of the water a single rock, neither higher
nor wider than an ordinary two-story house. This rock is the only
visible portion of the reef, all the other ridges are covered, though
many of them are only just below the surface of the water. Where the
bank ends, the floor of the Atlantic goes suddenly down to a depth of
several thousand yards. Even on the big English charts the Rockalls are
only marked with a point about as big as the head of a pin. The
sailing-directions mention that in the course of a year dozens of ships
are wrecked upon these rocks and perish with all hands. It is a
veritable ocean graveyard. The soundings which the charts give on the
banks are few, and, as all the books state, very uncertain, because no
one has taken the trouble to survey this inhospitable island. The thing
to do is to avoid it. I knew, therefore, that I was taking a
considerable risk in making for it, even though I should approach it
from the west, and with the greatest caution.
It would suffice, however, if I sighted it from a distance; that would
give me a sufficiently exact position. So I hardened my heart and laid
my course for the western extremity of the bank.
By now the storm was howling like hell let loose, the squalls slung
volleys of hailstones down on us. The seas raged against our little
ship, which still shouldered them from her gallantly. Darkness at length
descended upon the furious raging of the elements.
'Wind-force 10 to 11,'[9] reads the entry in the log, made by the
officer of the watch at 8 p.m. 'Force 12' is the maximum. The scale
provides for nothing beyond that.
The constant showers of rain and hail added to the blackness of the
night. It was almost impossible to see at all. Suddenly, through a rift
in the clouds, the moon shone out. And just in time.
Ahead, about four points on the starboard bow, a dark shadow was
visible. No need to guess what it was, for already we could see, though
vaguely, a long, lean hull with several promenade decks, two high, thin
funnels, and two masts. Passenger liner or auxiliary cruiser? It was too
dark to tell. All we could see--and we noted it with some
satisfaction--was that, for all her 12,000 tons, she was making just as
heavy weather of it as we were.
In spite of the breaking seas that swept over the after part of the
ship, I reduced speed immediately. It was the only possible chance. As
luck would have it, a sudden hail-shower hid us for the moment. The
steamer carried no lights, and was going slow. Probably, therefore, an
auxiliary cruiser on patrol.
A quarter of an hour of anxious waiting followed. Suddenly the liner
seemed to wake up. Inexplicably, she increased speed and steamed away.
By that time the distance between us had decreased to half a mile. If
every one on board, including the officers of the watch, had not been
asleep, they must have seen us.
The British boasted of the watchfulness of their fleet; I cannot help
thinking that at the time of our break-through it must have been
hibernating.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Light to moderate breeze.
[6] Force 4, _i.e._ moderate breeze.
[7] 'Strong breeze' on the Beaufort scale, which does not recognise the
'half-a-gale' of ordinary parlance.
[8] 'Gale force.'
[9] 'Storm force'; 12 topping the scale with 'Hurricane.'