THE SINKING OF THE 'LIBAU'
It was long past midnight. The moon was fairly high and it was a
beautifully clear and calm night. Under ordinary circumstances one could
not have wished for a better. Thousands and thousands of stars twinkled
in the sky, and there was not a wisp of cloud to dim their glittering
light. The sea was almost as smooth as glass, except when a gentle
breeze momentarily ruffled its surface.
The silence of this peaceful night was broken only by an occasional
subdued word of command or a whistle on the escorting vessels, which
unceasingly circled round us like sheep dogs round their flock. With
their sharp bows they tore deep furrows, which, resolving into
numberless wavelets, grew ever broader and strewed the surface with
millions of glittering silver specks. From time to time one heard also
louder orders from the various engine-rooms and stoke-holds, followed by
the slamming of furnace-doors and the rattle of shovels. And then, a few
moments later, the thick smoke-clouds that issued from the funnels of
the dark-gray monsters showed that the enemy was not asleep.
More and more numerous became the lights of passing ships, which, far
to the north of us, were making for their destination safe in the
shelter of the coast. And many ships without lights also met us or
crossed our course. These were English patrol-ships and destroyers
steaming without lights in order to escape the observation of German
submarines which had recently been very active round the south coast of
Ireland, causing terror and damage to all who had a bad conscience.
On board the _Aud_ there was absolute silence. We were all busy with our
own thoughts. And these were probably all the same. If luck would only
come to our aid just this once! But it did not come. The weather showed
no sign of changing before morning. The longed-for submarine, for all
our anxious look-out, could not be seen. Whenever we looked towards the
English we could see on each ship a couple of dark figures with glasses
to their eyes keeping us steadily under observation. Thus we proceeded,
mile after mile. Northwards, a long, dark strip, like a low-lying
cloud-bank, was now visible; we were approaching the coast.
Consequently, it was time we started to learn something about Queenstown
Harbour; for if we were forced to sink the _Aud_ we ought at least to
choose the spot where she would do most damage to the enemy.
Unfortunately, when search was made for the proper chart, it turned out
that we had special charts of African and American harbours--but none of
Queenstown. Naturally, it never occurred to us when we were setting out
that we should visit that harbour.
'Oh, damn this Quee-ee-eenstown,' growled the second mate, imitating
the voice of the English officer, which was still echoing in our ears.
The stout little fellow had not lost his sense of humour in spite of all
our misfortunes.
So we were forced to study the details of Queenstown Harbour on a
general chart of Ireland. Unfortunately, this chart gave very few
details. We discovered, however, that the average depth of the outer
entrance to the harbour was twenty to twenty-five fathoms. This suited
our purpose admirably. There was enough water to prevent the wreck being
raised, and there was still the possibility that we might obstruct the
channel if the _Aud_ came to rest in the right position.
As dawn approached, the _Bluebell_ altered course, keeping closer to the
coast, which, with its low chalk-cliffs, covered with rich green meadow,
was now plainly visible. 'We can celebrate Easter Sunday there,' I heard
a voice behind me say. It was Battermann, of course, the signalman of
the grinning countenance. And sure enough it was the 22nd of April, and
next day would be Easter Sunday! In the excitement of the last few days
I had lost count of time. At sunrise the destroyers considered their
task finished, for after a short exchange of signals with the leading
ship they turned and steamed westwards. The warships patrolling these
waters were now so numerous that the enemy judged us to be safe.
Nevertheless, the _Bluebell_ (evidently fearing some stratagem on our
part) thought it advisable to leave the head of the convoy and move to
the rear, whence she could keep a better watch on us, nosing round us
now on the starboard side, now on the port side, but always at a
respectful distance.
During the night I had ordered the crew to put on uniform under their
Norwegian costume. Their naval caps they stuffed into their pockets, so
that at the given moment they had only to cast off their heavy leather
jackets in order to be recognised as German sailors. The first and
second mate and myself followed the same procedure. Galley Lighthouse,
which stands below the entrance to Queenstown, was now visible. Shortly
afterwards the lightship (which at that time lay in mid-channel) came
into view. As there was no traffic of any sort in the western half of
the channel we surmised--correctly--that a minefield was laid there.
Fifteen minutes more and we should be there. The quays swarmed with war
craft of every description. In order to do the job thoroughly I had
ordered the condenser to be smashed before the ship was blown up. The
engineer had consequently let the pressure fall so low that we were
steaming, or rather crawling, not more than two knots, and our escort
did not attempt to protest. In view of the proximity of the harbour and
of the other warships they probably felt surer of us now. How confident
they were, and how unsuspecting, will be seen from the fact that during
the last hour they had been busy getting into harbour trim. Guns were
polished and covered with tarpaulins, ropes neatly coiled down and decks
scrubbed, and many of the crew might be seen in shore-going clothes,
brushing one another down. We could hardly believe our eyes when we
noticed their light-hearted carelessness and contrasted it with the deep
mistrust they had previously shown.
The moment which was to decide our fate was now at hand. In view of the
dangerous cargo which we carried above the explosive bombs, I had to
reckon with the fact that when I blew up the ship we might all be blown
to bits. I therefore passed the word that I required four volunteers to
blow up the ship and hoist the German naval flag, but that the others
were free to lower a boat just before the explosion was timed to take
place. A unanimous, almost angry, 'No!' was the answer--'we will stay
with the captain till the end.' It is a great satisfaction to me to
express here to my brave crew my thanks for their fidelity.
Moreover, to ascertain what the _Bluebell_ intended with us I now
signalled, 'Where are we to anchor?' And shortly afterwards I received
the answer, 'Await further orders.' 'All right, then,' said I to myself,
'you will soon see.' And I had the secret satisfaction that up to the
very end it was I that called the tune.
When we were about three-quarters of a mile from the lightship a deep
scheme occurred to me. On our port side a large English cargo-steamer
was tearing along at top speed. She was a ship of about 8000 tons and in
ballast, so that she stood high out of the water. We could send her to
the bottom along with the _Aud_.
'Port ... 10 ... 15.' 'Ease her a little.' 'Steady.' 'Keep her at that!'
Slowly and sluggishly the _Aud_ answered her helm. She had barely
steerage way.
'All hands to quarters! Ready with the fuses and incendiary bombs! Stand
by to run up the ensign!' Every man was at his post ready for the
signal.
We were now within 800 yards of the steamer. Then the unexpected
happened. Presumably in consequence of a signal from the _Bluebell_, on
the bridge of which a signalman was busily semaphoring, the steamer
suddenly put her helm hard a-starboard, passing us and the cruiser in a
wide sweep. So our plan of ramming her was frustrated. Our luck appeared
to be right out. Two hundred yards more to the lightship!--150!--100!
Eagerly we scanned the surface for the last time, but no periscope was
visible.
There was nothing else for it then.
'All ready?' 'All ready!' was the answer from the engine-room and deck.
The hands who were not employed were standing unobtrusively in the
neighbourhood of the ship's boats. These they had lowered to the height
of the ship's rail, lying on their stomachs so as to avoid being
observed by the enemy. It might still be possible to make use of them.
From the engine-room came sounds of violent hammering--the condenser was
being smashed, and there was no retreating now.
'Hard a-starboard!' The engine-room telegraph rang three times in
succession, 'Stop!'
This was the pre-arranged signal. With a last effort the _Aud_ swung
slowly to starboard and lay exactly across the channel. The ship's
pendant was already waving from the main-mast, and next moment the
German naval ensign was run up, bidding defiance to the English and all
their works. Jackets and greatcoats flew overboard. Three cheers for our
supreme War Lord! Then there was a muffled explosion. The _Aud_ shivered
from stem to stern, beams and splinters flew up in the air, followed by
a cloud of dirty-gray smoke, and flames burst forth from the saloon, the
charthouse, the ventilators, and the forecastle. That was all we had
time to notice. 'All hands to the boats!' We might be able to get away
from the ship before the munitions exploded.
The port side boat, under command of the first mate, had already pushed
off, as the starboard boat was just being lowered. 'All away?' 'Ay, ay,
sir!' was the answer from the boats. The engineer, the second mate, the
helmsman, and I were the last to clamber down. We cut the painter with
an axe, and it was high time we did, for within a few feet of our boat
was the 'conjurer's box,' which still contained a dozen explosive bombs.
The stern was already low in the water, and we were just pushing off
when a stoker came running from the burning forecastle with some large
object under his arm.
'Good heavens, man, what are you doing on board?'
'I've saved the gramophone,' he shouted, as he swung himself down with
the agility of a monkey and plumped into the boat like a sack. But the
gramophone which he had rescued at such risk fell into the water and was
no more seen.
It required our utmost efforts to get clear of the sinking ship. While
we were busy doing this there was a second violent explosion amidships.
Several more followed, accompanied by clouds of thick, sulphurous smoke.
The munitions were probably catching fire. If we did not get clear soon
the whole ship might blow up round our heads. The crew gave way with a
will. Suddenly a gun roared. The _Bluebell_ had spoken. We could not see
where the shell struck, for the forward part of the _Aud_, which
projected out of the water, interrupted our view. All we could see was
that the ships at the quay came steaming towards us. At the same moment
we heard loud cries coming from our second boat. Surely the _Bluebell_
would not----. We hardly dared to give expression to the terrible
thought.
As any resistance would only lead to foolish and useless bloodshed (for
we were defenceless and at the mercy of an infinitely superior force), I
had, as instructed by my superior officers, expressly ordered that a
white flag was to be shown immediately if we succeeded in launching the
boats.
This order was carried out. The _Bluebell_ therefore violated
international law if she fired at us now. When, a few minutes later, we
rowed round the burning ship, we were glad to find that the second boat
was undamaged.
The bow of the _Aud_ was lifting higher and higher out of the water. The
stern was already submerged, and the surface of the water was strewn
with all sorts of wreckage. Strangely enough, there was no further
explosion. The huge charge probably tore such a hole in the ship's side
that the water rushed in instantly and drowned out the fuses.
About five minutes after the first explosion a dull, rumbling noise came
from the _Aud_. The cargo and bunkers were shifting. The masts tottered,
then the blazing bow rose perpendicularly out of the water, and next
moment the _Aud_, as if drawn down by an invisible hand, sank with a
loud hissing noise. Our good old _Libau_ was no more.