commander in his turret surveys through the periscope now and then a
small sector of the horizon; and in turning round the periscope he
gradually perceives the entire horizon. But this survey demands great
physical exertion, which on a long cruise is most fatiguing. The
periscopes erected through the upper cover of the turret must not be
too easily turned in their sockets, and the latter are very tightly
screwed in, for otherwise they would not be able to resist the water
pressure at a great depth. The effort of simply turning the periscope
is so exhausting that casual observations of the horizon are made by
the officer of the watch; but during naval maneuvers or in time of
war, the commander alone manipulates the periscope. It is essential in
this case that the periscope should not arise needlessly above water
and betray the presence of the U-boat.
The commander must possess the absolute confidence of his crew, for
their lives are in his hands. In this small and carefully selected
company, each man, from the commanding officer down to the sailor boy
and down to the stoker, knows that each one is serving in his own
appointed place, and they perform their duties serenely and
efficiently.
I have always allowed every man on board once, in turn, to have a
look through the periscope; it is their highest ambition, and the
result is excellent, for it reassures them and they feel more
confident as to their own safety after the granting of this small
favor.
As we advance underseas, unless passing through a school of fish, we
seldom see any fish, for the noise of the propellers frightens them
away; but when we lie at rest on the bottom of the ocean, the electric
lights allure them, and they come and stare at us with goggling eyes
close to the windows in the turret.
The life, therefore, in our "cylinder" as we call it, offers a good
deal of variety. The term "cylinder" is exact, for the inner
conformation of a submarine is necessarily rounded, so that relatively
thin partitions can successfully resist the greatest pressure of
water.
III
SUBMERSION AND TORPEDO FIRE
A new passenger, for the first time in a submarine, has often
professed to be unaware that he was fathoms deep under water and has
been quite unconscious that the boat had been diving. Of course his
astonishment indicates that he was not in the compartment where these
maneuvers take place, for it is in the commander's turret that the
whole apparatus is centralized for submersion, for steering to the
right depth, and also for emersion. At this juncture every man must be
at his post, and each one of the thirty members of the crew must feel
individually responsible for the safety of the whole in the difficult
and rapid maneuver of plunging, for the slightest mistake may endanger
the security of the boat.
The central control, situated in the commander's turret, is in reality
the brain of the boat. When the alarm signal is heard to change the
course from surface navigation to subsurface navigation, several
previously designated members of the crew take their post of duty in
the commander's turret. The commander, himself, is on duty during the
whole of the expedition in time of war, and he seldom gets a chance
for rest in his tiny little cabin. Day and night, if there is the
slightest suspicion of the approach of the enemy, he watches on the
exposed bridge on the top of the turret; for a few seconds' delay in
submerging might forfeit the taking of a much coveted prize. So he
learns to do without sleep, or to catch a few brief seconds of repose
by lying down in his wet clothes, and he is at once ready to respond
to the alarm signal of the officer of the watch.
In one bound he is once more surveying the horizon through the
periscope, or mounts to the bridge to determine with his powerful
field glass whether friend or foe is in sight. His observations must
be taken in the space of a few seconds, for the enemy is also
constantly on the lookout, and continual practice enables the sailor
in the crow's nest to detect the slender stem of a periscope, although
the hull of the boat is scarcely visible on the face of the waters.
The commander must come to a prompt decision as soon as he locates
the adversary's exact position. Not only may a retarded submersion
spoil our plan of attack, but we are exposed to being rammed by a
rapidly advancing steamer; our haste must be all the greater if the
conditions of visibility are impaired, as is often the case on the
high seas, for it takes time for the U-boat to submerge completely,
and during this process it is helplessly exposed to the fire of long
distance guns.
Calmly, but with great decision, the commander gives the general
orders to submerge. The internal combustion engines, the oil motors
which, during surface navigation are used to accelerate the speed of
the boat, are immediately disconnected, as they consume too much air
underseas, and electric motors are now quickly attached and set in
motion. They are supplied by a large storage battery, which consumes
no air and forms the motive power during subsurface navigation. Of
course electricity might be employed above water, but it uses up much
current which is far more expensive than oil, and would be wasted too
rapidly if not economized with care.
It would be convenient to employ the same oil motor for underseas
navigation, but such a machine has not yet been constructed, although
various futile attempts of this kind have been made. With only one
system of propulsion we should gain much coveted space and a more
evenly distributed weight; within the same dimensions new weapons of
attack could be inserted, and also effective weapons of defense. The
inventor of such a device would earn a large reward. Let him who wants
it, try for it!
Quickly, with deft hands, the outboard connections, which served as
exhausts for the oil motors, must be closed in such a way as to resist
at once the high water pressure. It is well known that for every ten
meters under water we oppose the pressure of one atmosphere--one
kilogram to the square centimeter--and we must be prepared to dive to
far greater depths.
When all these openings have been carefully closed and fastened, then
begins the maneuver of submersion. The sea water is admitted into big
open tanks. Powerful suction engines, in the central control of the
boat, draw out the air from these tanks so as to increase the rapid
inrush of the water. The chief engineer notifies the captain as soon
as the tanks are sufficiently filled and an even weight is established
so as to steer the boat to the proper depth for attack.
Notwithstanding the noise of the machinery, large, wide-open speaking
tubes facilitate the delivery of orders between the commander's turret
and the Central, and now is the moment the commander gives the order
to submerge.
All this may sound very simple and yet there are a great many things
to consider. In the same manner in which an airplane is carefully
balanced before taking wing into the high regions of the sky, a
submarine must be accurately weighed and measured before it descends
into the watery depths of the ocean. The briny water of the North Sea
weighs far more than the less salty water of the Baltic Sea, whose
western basin is composed of practically fresh water. A boat floats
higher in the heavily salted waters of the North Sea and lies deeper
and plunges farther down in the waters of the Baltic. The same U-boat,
therefore, must take into its tanks a greater quantity of water
ballast in the North Sea, to be properly weighted, than when diving
into fresher waters. Even with small submarines of 400 tons
displacement, there is the enormous difference of 10 tons between
1.025 specific weight in the intake of North Sea water and 1.000
specific weight of fresh water. On the other hand, if too much water
is admitted into the tanks, the submarine may plunge with great
velocity deeper and deeper beyond its appointed depth, and in such a
case it might even happen that the hull of the boat could not
withstand the overpowering pressure and would be crushed beneath the
mass of water. And yet again if too small a quantity of water ballast
is admitted into the tanks, the boat may not sink sufficiently below
the surface, and thus we could not obtain an invisible attack which is
positively necessary for our success.
How much water then must we take in? The answer to this question is a
matter of instinct, education, and experience and we must also depend
on the cleverly devised apparatus made for this purpose.
The submarine like the airplane must be always maintained at the
proper level. The weight of the boat varies continually during a
prolonged voyage. Food is devoured and the diving material of the
machinery is consumed. The water in which the boat swims continually
changes weight and the boat is imperceptibly raised or lowered in a
way very difficult to ascertain. The officer responsible for the
flooding of the submarine must painstakingly keep its weight under
control during the entire navigation. The weight of a meal eaten by
each man of the crew, the remains of the food and the boxes in which
it was contained, which have been thrown overboard, must be calculated
as well as the weight of the water, and the officer employs delicate
apparatus for these measurements.
On the open seas these alterations in weight do not occur very
rapidly; but whenever a boat approaches the mouth of a river, then the
transition from salt to fresh water happens very suddenly and may
provoke the undesirable disturbances to which we have already alluded.
Also warm and cold currents at different depths produce thermotic
conditions, which surprisingly change the weight of the water.
Peculiar as it may appear, a submarine must be lightened to descend to
a very great depth, whereas, in steering to a higher level, more water
must be admitted into the tanks to prevent our emerging to the surface
with too great suddenness. This demands careful attention, skill, and
experience.
The principal condition for the success of a submarine attack is to
steer to the exact depth required. The periscope must not rise too
far above water, for it might easily be observed by the enemy; but if,
by clumsy steering, the top of the periscope descends below the waves,
then it becomes impossible to take aim to fire the torpedo. The
commander therefore must be able to depend on the two men who control
the vertical and horizontal rudders, whom another officer constantly
directs and supervises.
When the boat has reached the prescribed depth a close examination is
made of all the outward-leading pipes, to see if they can properly
resist the water pressure; if any tiny leak has been sprung, every cap
must be tightly screwed down; for it is evident it would be very
undesirable if any leak should occur and increase the heaviness of
the submarine. Absolute silence must prevail so that any dripping or
greater influx in the tanks can be observed.
Quietly and silently the boat advances against the enemy; the only
audible sounds are the purring of the electric motors and the
unavoidable noise made by the manipulation of the vertical and
horizontal rudders. Alert and speechless, every man on board awaits a
sign from the commander, who is watching in the turret; but some time
may elapse--now that the periscope is lowered and nearly on the level
of the waters--before the adversary becomes visible again. The ship
may have changed her course and have taken an opposite direction to
the one she was following at the moment we submerged. In that case she
would be out of reach and all our preparations prove useless.
At various intervals, the commander presses an electric button and
raises and lowers the periscope as quickly as possible, so as to take
his own observation without, if possible, being observed himself; for
he knows that any injury to the periscope--his most priceless
jewel--would, as it were, render the boat blind and rob him of the
much coveted laurel leaves. During these short glimpses the commander
only perceives a little sky and the wide, round plate of the reflected
sea with its dancing waves, while the nervous tension of the expectant
crew increases every minute.
At last is heard a joyous outcry from the commander, "The fellows are
coming!"--and after one quick glance, to locate the enemy exactly,
the periscope is lowered. Now every heart beats with happy
anticipation and every nerve quivers with excitement. The captain
quickly issues his orders for the course to be steered and for the
necessary navigation. The officer in charge of the torpedoes receives
the command to clear the loaded torpedo for firing, while the captain
quietly calculates, first, the relative position of his boat to the
enemy's ship, according to the course she has taken; secondly, at
which point he must aim the torpedo to take surest effect, and--in the
same way as in hunting a hare--he withholds the shot to correspond to
his victim's gait.
Many thoughts fly through his brain. Here, among his companions, the
annihilation of the enemy will cause joyful enthusiasm, while among
them their downfall will cause overwhelming sorrow. But without doubt
they must vanish from the seas, and only a man, who has experienced
these sensations, knows how many secondary matters occur to him at
such a time.
With lowered periscope, he sees nothing that goes on above him on the
sea, and like a blind man the boat feels its way through the green
flood. Every possible event becomes a subject of conjecture. Will the
fellow continue on the same course? Has he seen our periscope in the
second it was exposed, and is he running away from us? Or, on the
contrary, having seen us, will he put on full steam and try to run us
down with a fatal death stroke from his prow?
At such an instant of high nervous tension, I have caught myself
giving superfluous orders to let myself relax, and yet I knew that
every man was at his post, fully conscious that his own safety, the
safety of the whole boat, and the honor of the Fatherland were all at
stake, and dependent on his individual effort. I knew, of course, that
each fine fellow, down in the machinery room or at the torpedo tubes,
had done his very best, and that all his thoughts were centered like
mine in keen expectancy on the firing of our first torpedo--the eel as
we call it, guarded with so much love and care--which would speed
along accompanied by our warmest wishes. We give nicknames to our
torpedoes, mostly feminine names: side by side below lie "the fat
Bertha," "the yellow Mary," and "the shining Emma," and these ladies
expected to be treated, like all ladies, with the tenderest care and
courtesy.
Now comes the announcement from the torpedo officer, "The torpedoes
are cleared for firing." He stands with a firm hand awaiting the
signal from his commander to permit the torpedo to drive ahead against
the hated, but unconscious adversary, and to bore its way with a loud
report deep into the great steel flank.
Once again the periscope springs for an instant to the surface and
then glides back into the protecting body of the turret. The captain
exclaims, "We are at them!" and the news spreads like wildfire through
the crew. He gives a last rapid order to straighten the course of the
boat. The torpedo officer announces, "Torpedo ready"--and the captain,
after one quick glance through the periscope, as it slides back into
its sheath, immediately shouts, "Fire!"
Even without the prescribed announcement from the torpedo officer that
the torpedo had been set off, every one knows that it is speeding
ahead, and for a few seconds we remain in anxious suspense, until a
dull report provokes throughout our boat loud cheers for Kaiser and
for Empire, and by this report we know that "the fat Bertha" has
reached unhindered her destination. Radiant with joy, the commander
breathes a sigh of relief, and he does not check the young sailor at
the wheel, who seeks to grasp his hand and murmur his fervent
congratulations. But congratulations must be postponed until we
ascertain that our success is complete.
And once again the periscope runs up towards the laughing daylight,
while the commander in happy but earnest tones utters the reassuring
words, "The ship is sinking, further torpedoes can be spared." He then
permits the gratified torpedo officer, who stands by his side, a quick
glance through the periscope to verify the result of his own
efficiency. It is chiefly owing to the care of the personnel of the
torpedo squad, that the torpedoes are maintained in such perfect
condition and that their aim is so correct; and to them is due in
great part the success of our attack.
The commander and his officer exchange a knowing look, for they have
seen the enemy's ship heavily listing to one side, where the water is
rushing into the gaping wound, and soon she must capsize. They see her
crew hastily lowering the life boats--their only means of
escape--and this is a sufficient proof of our victory. We can depart
now in all security. Concealing our presence, we plunge and vanish
beneath the waters; having reached a certain distance, we stop to make
sure that our victim lies at the bottom of the ocean. We behold the
waves playing gently and smoothly as before over the cold, watery
grave of the once proud ship and we hasten away from the scene of our
triumph.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._
A TORPEDOED SCHOONER]
There is no need of our going to the help of the enemy's crew
struggling in the sea, for already their own torpedo boats are
hurrying to the succor of their comrades, and for us there is further
work to be done.
Imagine the enthusiasm our dear fallen comrade, Weddingen, and his
crew must have felt as the loud report of their last torpedo announced
the destruction of their third English armed cruiser!
IV
MOBILIZATION AND THE BEGINNING OF THE COMMERCIAL WAR
After long and agitated waiting, we received in the last days of July,
1914, the command to mobilize. Joyful expectation was visible on every
face, and the only fear that prevailed was that those of us who were
awaiting our orders on land might be too late to take part in the
naval battle we were all looking forward to so eagerly.
A few years ago, one of the Lords of the English Admiralty had
predicted that in the first naval battle fought between Germany and
England, the German fleet would be entirely annihilated. We naturally
only smiled in derision at these boastful words. The English
newspapers, besides, had for many years announced that whenever German
officers met together they drank a toast "To the Day." Although of
course this was untrue, yet we were all burning to prove in battle
what our great Navy had learned in long, hard-working years of peace.
A mighty engagement at sea seemed to us imminent during these first
days of war, and we all longed to be in it. I was, however, at the
moment, among those unfortunates who were strapped down to a desk in
the Admiralty, and with envy I beheld my comrades rushing to active
service, for I had always hoped to lead my old beloved U-boat
victoriously against the enemy. We had all placed strong hopes in the
part our submarines would eventually play in a great crisis, but we
never dreamed that they would so successfully take the first rôle
as our most effective weapon in naval warfare.
[Illustration: _Photograph by Brown & Dawson, Stamford, Conn._
_From Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._
GERMAN SUBMARINES U 13, U 5, U 11, U 3, AND U 16 IN KIEL HARBOR]
With a happiness that can hardly be described, I suddenly received the
order to take over the command of a fine, new U-boat which had just
been built at Kiel. Never before was a pen more quickly thrown aside
and a desk closed than when I handed over my duties in the Admiralty
to my successor, and shortly afterwards I took possession of my new,
splendid boat, to which I was going to confide all my luck and all I
was humanly capable of doing.
I addressed my crew in a short speech, and told them we could best
serve our Almighty War Lord in bringing this new weapon of attack,
confided to our care, to the highest state of efficiency, and my
words were greeted with loud cheers.
There was much work to be done in putting the finishing touches to our
submarine, which had only just come off the ways. The auxiliary
machines had to be tested and certain inner arrangements made; but,
thanks to the untiring zeal of the crew and to the eager help we
received from the Imperial Navy Yard, our task was soon accomplished.
After a few short trial trips and firing tests, I was able to declare
our boat ready for sea and for war, and after everything had been
formally surveyed by the inspector we left our home port before the
middle of August.
Departing at a high speed, we bade farewell to the big ships still at
their moorings, and we soon joined our fellow submarines, who had
already in the first fortnight of war, according to an announcement of
the Admiralty Staff, made a dash as far as the English coast; and here
is the proud record of what they further accomplished: At the
beginning of September, 1914, the English cruiser "Pathfinder" was
torpedoed by Lieutenant-Captain Hersing, who later sunk the two ships
of the line, "Triumph" and "Majestic," in the Dardanelles and was
rewarded with our highest order, _Pour le Mérite_.
This initial success proclaimed our submarines to be our greatest
weapon of offense and their importance became of world-wide renown,
for we claim the honor of having fired the first successful torpedo
shot from a submarine. It opened a new era in maritime warfare and was
the answer to many questions, which had puzzled the men of our
profession the whole world over. Above all, we had proved that a
German U-boat, after a long and difficult voyage, could reach the
enemy's coast; and after penetrating their line of defense was able to
send one of their ships to the bottom of the sea with one well-aimed
torpedo shot. The age of the submarine had truly begun.
Other victories followed in prompt succession. Weddingen's wonderful
prowess off the Hoek of Holland, on September 22, 1914, will never be
forgotten. In the space of an hour he sunk the three English armored
cruisers, "Cressy," "Hague," and "Aboukir," and shortly afterwards
dispatched their comrade "Hawke" to keep them company at the bottom of
the North Sea.
Let me add to this list the English cruiser "Hermes" near Dover, the
"Niger" off the Downs of the English coast; the Russian cruiser
"Pallada" in the Baltic; and a great number of other English torpedo
boats, torpedo boat destroyers, as well as auxiliary cruisers and
transports. All this was achieved before the end of 1914.
Unfortunately I am not at liberty, for obvious reasons, to describe my
own part in the beginning of the War, but hope to be able to do so
after we achieve a victorious peace.
Our dear cousins on the other side of the Channel must have been
rather disquieted by the loss of so much shipping at the hands of our
boats or of our mines; and they must have realized that a new method
of warfare had begun, for their fleet no longer paraded in the North
Sea or in any of the waters in the war zone. Their great, valuable
ships were withdrawn, and the patrol of their coast was confided only
to smaller craft and to the mine-layers, in order that their people
might supposedly sleep in peace.
Our adversary was concealed by day, and only ventured forth at night,
confident that darkness would insure his safety. This was then the
hour for us to lie in watch for our prey, and no more glorious clarion
call could have heralded in the New Year than the torpedo shot, which,
on the New Year's Eve of 1915, sent the mighty ship of the line
"Formidable" to the bottom of the Channel. This was our first
triumphant victory, which showed that not even darkness could
circumvent our plans, and which dispelled all further doubts as to
our efficiency. A few days after the sinking of the "Formidable" a
piece of one of the row boats was washed ashore at Zeebrugge, and now
adorns our Sea Museum as the only reminder left of the great ship.
We stood at last on the same footing as our dear old sister, the
torpedo boat, to whom we in reality owed our present development, and
from now on, in proud independence, we were justified in considering
ourselves a separate branch of the Navy.