TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN TRALEE BAY
The coast lay before us in brilliant sunshine. High, bare mountains,
seamed with clefts and gullies, with steep, overhanging cliffs, which
assuredly have never been trodden by the foot of man. Only at the base
of the cliffs, to a height of perhaps 150 yards above the water, we saw
a few green patches of grass and low shrubs. What struck us particularly
was the jagged, deeply indented ridges of the long ranges of mountains.
Gradually the numerous islands and rocks that lay off the shore came
into view. It was no very inviting picture. There are, in fact, few
coasts more inhospitable and more dangerous from their numerous reefs
than the Irish.
We sought persistently with our glasses for any sign of life; any house
or lighthouse upon the coast. In vain. There was nothing to be seen but
naked rocks. Here and there the coastline was a little withdrawn, so
that we thought more than once 'this must be Tralee bay.' But there
appeared on either side of it so many other similar openings between the
high cliffs that we became confused. That was a decidedly unpleasant
surprise.
Relying on my excellent noon observation, which could not be much out,
I held on for some way farther. 'Steep shore, deep water,' is a pretty
sound rule, so we could safely stand close in. With the chart and the
sailing directions open before us, we searched for the entrance. In a
quarter of an hour we had found it; having picked up the 'Three
Sisters,' a small, three-pointed rock on the south side of the
twelve-mile broad estuary of the Shannon. The coast here bends sharply,
first to the north-east, then to the east, and then in a wide curve,
back to the north-west again. The result is that, in approaching from
the sea, one at first sees only a long stretch of coastline, while the
bay lies concealed behind it.
I immediately altered course to pass close to the 'Three Sisters,' and
from there get my bearings for negotiating the entrance. There is a
signal station at Loop Head, on a small island on the north side of the
estuary, and I wanted to give it as wide a berth as possible. During the
war, this innocent little island might well have developed into a grim
monster bristling with guns. Certainly the signal station would be under
military control.
Just as we were getting a four-point bearing[12] of the 'Three
Sisters,' there appeared over the water on our port bow a small
triangular patch of gleaming white, that looked for all the world like a
distant sail. Surely it must be the pilot cutter already on the look-out
for us? I could have shouted for joy. A few minutes later, however, I
made the unwelcome discovery that the supposed sail was assuming
improbable dimensions, and it finally revealed itself as the actual
island of Loop Head, which I had supposed to be farther north. The sun
had played a trick on us, illuminating the western trapeze-shaped end of
the island so brightly that it looked in the distance like a large white
sail. Disappointment number one.
As soon as I recognised my mistake I altered course to starboard, from
which direction there was, for the present, no danger to be apprehended,
at least so far as we could see, for only naked rocks frowned down on
us. Slowly we worked our way into the bay, anxiously scanning with our
glasses every hill, cliff, and gully, but especially the surface of the
water ahead. The current, which set strongly southward, tended to force
us inshore, and necessitated constant small alterations of course. By
3.30 p.m. we had the 'Three Sisters' two miles on our starboard beam.
Loop Head was now clearly visible. Except for the signal station and a
few small buildings, nothing else was to be seen upon the island.
But--what was that to starboard? On a broad-topped cliff, some two
hundred feet above the water, stood a high signal mast with wireless
aerials. To right and left of it peered out half a dozen black muzzles
from embrasures hewn in the edge of the rock. The nastiest jar of all
was that these guns were bearing right on us, and that a number of
English soldiers were getting busy about them, while others were
observing us through glasses.
Damnation! I had not been reckoning on quite such a reception as this. I
at once sent below all the men whose presence was not required on deck,
and the oft-played comedy began once more.
Under the observation of the English field-glasses, which were now being
directed on us at short range, it was highly important to appear as
unconcerned as possible. Scarcely honouring the English with a glance,
we tramped solemnly up and down the bridge, in the usual manner, six
paces to starboard, and then, stolidly, six paces to port again--all the
while pulling at our pipes and spitting to the wide in the most approved
fashion. Meanwhile we steered slightly to the north, in order to get
away as soon as possible from the neighbourhood of the coast-defence
station.
When a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and the latter had done nothing
to make itself objectionable in the way of shot or signal, we concluded
that the danger was over for the moment. Only for the moment, of course.
To-day it was likely to be a case of 'out of the frying-pan into the
fire.'
Meanwhile, ahead of us, a little group of islands was gradually rising
out of the water, while on the southern and eastern sides of the bay a
number of wretched-looking fishermen's huts came into view--outlying
houses of Fenit.
The nearest and largest of the islands was Inishtooskert, our
rendezvous with Sir Roger Casement.
The die must soon be cast. With a keener anxiety than we had yet known,
we directed our glasses ahead. If everything continued to go as well as
it had done hitherto, then, at the latest, within half an hour the
pilot-boat must make her appearance, with the recognition marks that had
been agreed upon--a green flag at the mast-head and a man with a green
jersey in the bows.
On our starboard hand, almost on the sky-line of the hills, a
light-coloured building became visible, looking like an ancient castle,
with a long flagpole on the tower. Whether the pole was connected with a
wireless installation, we could not tell. The castle was screened from
the north side of the bay by a high wall of rock, which soon hid it from
us again.
We were drawing nearer and nearer to our goal. Now only a mile--now half
a mile--and we should be there....
4.15 p.m. We were at the very spot--exactly a mile north-west of
Inishtooskert, a long, low-lying island which was entirely uninhabited.
Now for it! With eager expectation we awaited the men who were to meet
us here, and on whom it now depended whether our mission should be
carried to a successful issue. For the last half hour we had had hanging
from our bridge-rail the signal agreed upon with Casement.
Now with the naked eye, and now with our glasses, we scanned the
surroundings. Nothing to be seen. Nothing moving in any direction. Not
a boat on the water or any sign of life. The whole neighbourhood seemed
to be dead. As there was no appreciable current here in the inner part
of the bay, I lay to temporarily with the engines stopped.
When another ten minutes had elapsed and still nothing was to be seen, I
began to feel a little uneasy.
A quarter of an hour went by, and from moment to moment our anxiety
increased. We waited and waited with beating hearts, silently hoping
that the next few seconds would see our wishes fulfilled. In vain. The
stillness remained absolute.
Slowly the minutes slid away. The half-hour's grace agreed upon was
nearly up. I got out my secret orders and read them through once more.
There could be no doubt; I was at the right spot, and exactly at the
right time. But where were the Irish?
My orders were, 'If, after half an hour's wait, none of the aforesaid
vessels or persons are at the rendezvous, and there does not appear to
be any possibility of communicating with them, you are to use your own
judgment as to whether to proceed in or to turn back.'
The half-hour was up. I considered for a few moments what I should do.
Turn back? No. Under no circumstances would I give up the game, so long
as any possibility remained of carrying out a landing. But how to carry
it out? To run in in full daylight, without having established
communication with Casement or any of his people would be foolish. I
might just as well make the English a present of the munitions.
Another point was that the channel beside the pier was only six feet
deep at low tide, so that, if I were obliged to blow up the ship to
prevent her falling into the hands of the enemy, hardly half of her hull
would be under water!
It looked, too, as if something had gone wrong. On the slopes of Kerry
Head, the northern buttress of Tralee Bay, and in several other places,
clouds of smoke were rising from the hills. Could these be warnings
intended for us? But if so, where the deuce were the men who had lit
them?
My whole crew had, in the meantime, gathered on deck, and as we were all
taking the same risk, I had the whole ship's company up to the bridge to
confer on the situation. To my delight none of them thought of turning
back so long as there was any hope whatever of carrying out our mission.
As we talked things over we came more and more to the conclusion that
the English had got wind of our enterprise.
The absence of the Irish might, of course, have various grounds. It was
quite possible that the wireless message announcing our coming had
arrived in a mutilated condition, or that it had been badly deciphered,
and that either for this or for the previous reason it had been obscure
if not wholly unintelligible. It was also possible that the code-word
which it had been agreed to insert in the German wireless news, just
before the evening military communique, as a sign to the Irish[13] that
our expedition had started, had been accidentally omitted, and the Irish
had consequently thought that something had occurred to prevent our
coming.
But it seemed to me on the whole, much more probable that the Irish of
the west had not been content to look on idly at the activity of their
brethren on the east coast, and had also themselves started
disturbances, which had led to the proclamation of martial law on the
west coast also. As I have mentioned earlier, this had been suggested to
me by a paragraph in the papers before I left Berlin.
If the Irish had really committed this folly, my task would be rendered
immensely more difficult, if not impossible, for it might be taken as
certain that a number of the Sinn Feiners concerned would be already
under arrest, and that the English would at least have got wind of our
intended landing. That might account for the sudden appearance of the
battery which we had passed shortly before.
But where was Casement all this time? Was he already in Ireland, and
perhaps already arrested, or was he still on a submarine which had not
yet arrived? Here, too, there were all kinds of possibilities. The
submarine might have had an accident and turned back; or bad weather,
or engine trouble, might have delayed the voyage. Again, it was not
impossible that the submarine with Casement on board had already been
here, and after finding how the land lay had gone back some distance to
meet us--perhaps to warn us. In the latter case it might be assumed that
towards evening the submarine would again return to the rendezvous.
There were certainly possibilities enough to keep one guessing, but I
felt pretty sure that the Irish in the west had broken out prematurely,
and the English, in consequence, had taken measures to deal with our
plan, as well as with the Irish rising.
Assuming, then, as the most probable hypothesis, that the principal
leaders including, perhaps, Casement himself, had been arrested, but
that those who remained would make an effort to carry out the plan as
best they could. It seemed most likely that they would wait for
nightfall before attempting to communicate with me.
I had abandoned the idea of leaving the bay again, and returning after
dark, as being too suspicious a manoeuvre. On the other hand, to
continue to lie here indefinitely would also be likely to awaken
suspicion. I therefore decided to explore the inner part of the bay.
At half-speed I headed for the shore between Fenit and Kerry Head. While
working slowly round the north point of Inishtooskert, some of the
smaller islands lying behind it came into view. Some of these seemed to
be inhabited, but none of the inhabitants were to be seen. We could now
see also the first signs of Fenit, a little pier with a lighthouse.
Behind it rose the masts of one or two small sailing vessels, and to one
side a congeries of brick buildings--the 'town.' The whole thing had a
depressing look. The only imposing feature in the picture was the ring
of high, bare hills which surrounded the bay. Nothing whatever to
attract our interest--Stay, what was that? Was not there a man standing
on the pier? There certainly was! At the base of the flagstaff, from
which hung the folds of the English ensign, there tramped to and fro at
the usual mechanical sentry-go, an unmistakable Tommy with his rifle
over his shoulder. Here, too, then, the military were in occupation.
Evidently everything was prepared for our coming.
In striking contrast to his warlike exterior, was the absolute lack of
intelligence in the sentry, who seemed to take no notice whatever of us,
though we were now lying, as large as life, only a few hundred yards
before him.
We looked in vain for further soldiers, or any indication of the
proximity of a large military force. Did they want to lure us into a
trap?
The pier was now so close to us that with the glasses we could make out
every object upon it; so, of course, everything on board could be
equally clearly seen, if any one was watching us. I therefore turned
gradually away towards the north, to have a look at the flat coast below
Kerry Head. Perhaps I might there find an opportunity to get in touch
with the Sinn Feiners.
After we had steamed all round the upper part of the bay, however, all
hope of this kind had to be abandoned. Though we showed our signals more
and more boldly as time went on, no one took the slightest notice of us.
The situation became more and more extraordinary. For two solid hours we
had been cruising about in the bay, it was beginning to grow dusk, and
there had not been the slightest sign from the land. The fact that no
one had taken the slightest notice of our presence, or of our peculiar
behaviour, confirmed me more and more in the theory that there was some
kind of a concealed trap. Neither I nor any of my men found it possible
to believe that the English really took us for a harmless trader, _as
afterwards proved to be the case_. Such carelessness was so utterly
contrary to our German ideas of duty and discipline that we supposed
this possibility to be entirely excluded.
We were therefore glad when night fell and darkness shielded us from
inquisitive glances. Instead of flags we now used a green light, which
we showed at short intervals both towards land and sea. Hour after hour
passed and nothing happened. Darkness reigned everywhere, even in the
town. Only on the pier there burned a small green light--the pier-head
light intended to show incoming vessels the entrance to the harbour.
From time to time we imagined we saw a signal light in one of the houses
to the south-east; but always the glasses showed that we were mistaken.
As midnight drew near, it became noticeably brighter--no wonder, for
towards one o'clock the moon would rise. I once more approached the
pier, this time within six hundred yards, and at the risk of discovery
showed my green light once again. Then, when this last attempt proved
fruitless, I steamed slowly back to the rendezvous off Inishtooskert.
Cautiously we felt our way along the cliffs to the anchorage. So still
was the night that even on the forecastle the stroke of our
propeller-blades could be clearly heard. It must have been an hour and a
half after midnight when the anchor rattled down into the depths and we
brought up in the shadow of Inishtooskert, in what seemed to us a
hiding-place well screened in every direction. If the sentry on the pier
was not asleep, he must, no doubt, have heard the rattle of the anchor
chain. But nothing happened.
The moon had meanwhile risen, but as we lay close under the west side of
the island we could count on being in deep shadow till close on the
dawn.
Hour after hour passed, and as morning approached my hope that the Irish
would manage to communicate with us during the night gradually faded
away. When at last day dawned, I gave up the game for lost. Useless to
run boldly alongside Fenit Pier, for who could suppose we should be
allowed to unload our munitions unmolested; useless to pretend an
accident to the machinery, for at once we should have a swarm of
officials on board; impracticable to send men ashore in a boat at some
outlying spot to make inquiries, for I could not spare a man, in view of
future eventualities.
And yet I hated to turn back. The one thing that gave me some small
consolation was to find that all my men were equally unwilling to do so.
Well, but, if we stay, how long will they let us lie here? We had not
long to wait for an answer. I was just discussing the question with my
second, when suddenly we were startled by a shout from the look-out man:
'Steamer on the starboard bow.'... 'The pilot steamer!'
With all our thoughts concentrated for so long on the coming of the
pilot, it was small wonder if, electrified by this shout, we leapt to
the conclusion that the small steamer which was now rounding Kerry Head
was actually bringing the pilot to us. I myself sprang to the signal
halliards prepared to hoist our recognition signal; but as I did so, I
kept an eye fixed on the steamer, which was heading straight for us.
That was fortunate, for in the next few moments she ran up, not the
Irish pilot flag, but the British naval ensign.
I personally did not hesitate a moment, but took to flight, that is to
say, in accordance with an arrangement made for such cases, I faded away
to my cabin, leaving it to the mate, Düsselmann, to stage the comedy
which was now to open. All but a few of the men had also disappeared.
Behind the curtain of my window I could watch comfortably the further
development of events. A loud-voiced objurgation addressed to some of
the men, and the heavy steps passing to and fro over my cabin told me
that Düsselmann had already taken up his rôle. I looked at my watch. It
was shortly after 5 a.m.
The first thing that struck me about the steamer was that she seemed to
be in no hurry, and that the men on deck seemed to be still half asleep;
the second, that the life-boats which hung at each side of her deck were
dummies in painted metal, between which was concealed a quick-firing
gun--a real live outpost-boat, therefore. On both sides of the bow
flaunted in large lettering the name _Shatter II_.[14] Her officers did
not appear to be distinguished for smartness and resolution, for they
stopped their engines while still at a very discreet distance from us,
and gathered in a group with their heads together, frequently pointing
in our direction--evidently holding a council of war. That lasted about
five minutes, then they got under way again, and circled two or three
times round our ship, taking care not to come too near. They seemed
somehow to show a lack of confidence in us. After a while they stopped
again, and I saw them examining us through their glasses.
Before leaving the bridge I had hurriedly given an order to get the
hatches closed down as rapidly as possible. The time had been too short,
however, to complete the work. In answer to a question through the
voice-pipe, the officer of the watch informed me that only hatchway No.
2, which was right under the bridge, had been hastily covered. That was
a serious matter, for almost the whole business was plain to be seen by
our English friends if they cared to look. On the port side, forward,
there were even a few cases of munitions, with inscriptions such as
'1000 English cartridges,' '2000 Russian cartridges,' standing on deck,
where they had been brought up ready to be landed promptly.
On board the _Shatter_ weighty consultations seemed to be the order of
the day, for it was nearly a quarter of an hour longer before she found
courage, after cruising round us yet once more, to come alongside at
about twenty yards distance. Then I saw a uniformed figure with
megaphone in hand preparing to begin a conversation with my officer of
the watch. This was apparently the commanding officer of the proud
warship. I inferred this from the fact that he ordered several of his
men, armed with rifles and pistols, to take up their posts near him, in
order, no doubt, to season the conversation, if need be, with a little
peppering of shot. This rather reassured me; especially when I took a
second look at the 'commanding officer.' An undersized, stocky figure,
with a typical whisky-drinker's face, the colour of which was scarcely
distinguishable from the red scarf which he wore round his neck. I had
at once the feeling that things were going to be rather amusing. And so,
in fact, it turned out.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] As this phrase is not self-explanatory--like cross-bearings from
_two_ points ashore--some readers may like to be reminded of the
elementary geometry involved in the method here referred to of
determining a position by the aid of a single known point. Having got
his four-point (45°) bearing, he would proceed on the same course till
he got an eight-point (90°) bearing. In a right-angled triangle, of
which one of the other angles is 45°, the remaining angle is also 45°.
The sides opposite these equal angles are also equal. That is to say,
the distance from the rock (which is what he wants to know) is equal to
the distance run between the times of taking the two bearings (which he
can determine by log-speed and allowances for current, etc.).
[13] A message of Count Bernstorff's, quoted in the _Times_ of 25th May,
1918, mentions that there were numerous private wireless receiving
stations in Ireland. The German news reports, sent out to all the world
by the great Nauen station, would be easy to pick up, and amid a long
succession of news items a cleverly chosen code word--meaning by
pre-arrangement, 'Expedition started,' or the like--would easily escape
notice, except from those who were on the look-out for it.
[14] This name does not appear in the list of auxiliary craft in the
Navy List for April, 1916.