tube! At last the parting glance, and Schweckerle slammed the tube
shut, and "Reissteufel" was ready to go on his way.
At once this was reported to me in the conning tower, but only a few of
the allotted ten minutes had passed and we had plenty of time. We took a
closer look at the sailing ship before we sent her to the bottom for
good. She was a large modern ship, constructed entirely of steel, and
had the latest equipment over all, even in the rigging. She could carry
a cargo of from three to four thousand tons and, without doubt, had come
from a long distance, because sailing ships of this size do not travel
along the coast. What kind of a cargo did she carry?
The French crew stepped into her boats and left their ship. The last
boat was capsized, when it was launched, and all in it fell into the
sea. Another one of the boats came quickly to the rescue and picked up
the swimming and struggling sailors. When all had been saved, I turned
our prow toward the sailing ship, which was now lying absolutely still,
and fired our first torpedo.
Poor Schweckerle! There it goes, but it heads straight, Schweckerle,
true as an arrow. Bravo, Schweckerle! The French in the lifeboats, who
had approached us where they believed themselves safest, yelled in
terror when the detonation followed and the water spout was thrown high
above the mastheads.
"Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Notre pauvre vaisseau!"
"Poor devils," I thought. "I understand how you feel over your
beautiful, fine ship, but why didn't you stay at home? Why do you go to
sea when you know what threatens? Why do you or your governments force
us to destroy your ships wherever we can find them? Do you think we are
going to wait until our own women and children starve and let you keep
your bread baskets full before we defend ourselves? You have started it.
You are responsible for the consequences. If you would discontinue your
inhuman way of carrying on the war, then we would let your sailing ships
and steamers pass unmolested, when they do not carry contraband. You
have wanted war to the knife. Good, we have accepted your challenge."
The sailing ship sank rapidly by the stern, turning over on her side
until the yard arms touched the water and the red bottom could be seen.
And, at last, when the pressure burst the forward cargo hatch, there was
a shower of corn, and the proud ship, with a dying gurgle, disappeared
into the deep.
The captain came aboard us. He never lost for a minute his personality
as a polite Frenchman with elegant manners. He swung himself into the
conning tower, smiled with the pleasantry of a boulevardier, and, with a
gracious bow, handed his ship's papers to "mon capitaine." In the most
polite and courteous German, I offered him a cigarette, for which he
thanked me with a smile, as if we had been the best of friends for
years. We questioned him. From where was he coming and where bound? He
answered frankly and showed us without requesting it what a valuable
catch we had made. It impressed him greatly how we were traveling about
in our little shell, and there was no doubt he had an inclination to go
along with us on our sea-robbing voyage, if he could have done it.
When I asked him why he had not obeyed our signals to stop, he acted as
innocent as a new-born baby, and assured us that he never saw our
signals. Indeed, he went so far as to say he had not even observed our
U-boat until we fired our gun. When I pointed out to him that he had
hoisted the signal of distress long before that and that this made his
story hardly believable, he dropped the subject with great skill and
gave the conversation a new turn. It was impossible to catch this smooth
Frenchman, and when I had him cornered so that another man would not
have known what to say, he slipped through the conversation like an eel
with his great politeness.
I was struck with surprise to see his men so well dressed, washed, and
shaved. I, a "barbarian," did not want to be behind the Frenchman in
point of manners, so I complimented him on his crew's splendid
appearance. Then he began to lament.
"Oh, my poor boys," he complained. "They have not looked so well
throughout our voyage, but only to-day they have been scrubbing
themselves, because they hoped to be able to get ashore to-night. See
this, mon capitaine," he continued and opened his log--"on January 23rd
we cleared from Saigon and have sailed nearly around the world, and now,
only a few hours before reaching our port, we are met with such a
disaster. What a tragedy! What a tragedy!"
I consoled him the best I could and promised to assist them so that
they could land at the same time they had hoped. Then I, as he was
about to leave the U-boat, offered him another cigarette, shook his hand
amicably, and sent him off the ship.
We had agreed that I would tow his boats toward the coast until some new
spoils hove into sight. Then they would have to do the best they could
for themselves.
Soon after two o'clock, this occurred when the mastheads with the tips
of white sails arose over the horizon.
We cast off from the boats, wished the Frenchman a safe journey, and
turned toward our new prey, while Schweckerle made "Flink" ready.
As we came nearer, we discovered something that made us jump. We had
been certain that the ship which was approaching was a large
three-master, rigged somewhat like the one that we had just sunk, but
what now astonished us and aroused our suspicion was that we distinctly
saw, at times, dark clouds of smoke that seemed to be closely associated
with the sailing ship which floated between and behind her sails.
"Anything that you cannot explain is always suspicious."
In accordance with this well tested rule for U-boats, we cautiously kept
off a little, so as to let the mysterious ship pass us at some distance.
We had heard too much of U-boat sinking to rush at anything blindly.
What would happen if, behind the mask of the big sailing ship, a ready
and fast torpedo boat was sneaking which, quick as lightning, would
swoop down on us? First we must find out with what we had to deal.
We could soon make out what it was. At a distance of about two hundred
meters in front of the sailer, there was a strong tug pulling the
full-rigged ship with a thick hawser, so that it could make better time.
There was nothing suspicious in this in these parts of the sea. It often
happened that sailing ships were towed in over the final fifty miles of
their voyage to reach port before evening, and thus gain an entire day.
The large tugboats went far out to sea and tendered their high-priced
services.
"Ah," we thought, "there is no danger here! But on the contrary, it
looks like a grand chance to sink a ship, and, at the same time, send
its crew ashore safely"--the thought we always had in mind when it did
not interfere with our duty.
I rubbed my hands in satisfaction. We would give the crew of the
sailing ship a chance to get aboard the tugboat and so send them home.
Maybe they might also meet the shipwrecked crew of the French sailing
ship and take them aboard.
At top speed we headed for the tugboat. First we circled round our prey
to be sure that we would not be surprised by a masked gun and especially
examined the tugboat, because he traveled back and forth daily through
the danger zone, and would be more apt to be armed than would the
sailing ship coming from a long voyage.
There was nothing suspicious to be seen--therefore we advanced. We
approached the stern of the tugboat, slowed down, and, within calling
distance, kept pace with him. Gröning, Petersen, Lohmann, and a sailor
were with me in the conning tower. The tugboat flew the British flag. I
shouted with the full power of my lungs:
"Take aboard the crew! Take aboard the crew!"
I waved with my left hand toward the sailing ship, in order to make my
meaning clear. The commander of the "little bulldog," as Petersen called
the tugboat, took his short clay pipe out of his mouth, spat far out
from the bridge where he was standing in a careless attitude, but
otherwise took no notice of us except that he may have thrown a shrewd,
cunning glance our way. I thought he was hard of hearing and drew a
little closer and yelled again:
"Take the crew off!"
The wind had increased during the last few hours and the sea began to
run higher and was washing over our deck. It was impossible for us to
use our guns--the crew would have been swept away without any chance of
being saved--and we were, for that reason, unable to emphasize our
commands in a desirable manner, but we knew what to do when the
commander on the "bulldog" did not display any inclination to comply
with our ten-times repeated order. I had a revolver handed to me from
below and let a bullet whistle close to the head of the stubborn rascal.
The Englishman seemed to understand this language better. He abandoned
his careless slouch, blew the tug's siren, and yelled loud, sharp
commands to the crew. Then he turned for the first time towards me, put
his hand to his cap with a short salute, and next lifted his right hand
vertically in the air, which, according to the international language of
sailors, meant:
"I understand and will obey."
The crew on the "bulldog," which in reality bore the name _Ormea_, had,
however, cast off the hawser and were now standing idly all around the
deck with their hands in their pockets and looked at us curiously. The
captain went to the engine telegraph and signaled "Half speed ahead."
"Ha," we thought, "now he'll turn and lay himself alongside the sailing
ship."
What happened next took only a minute.
When the _Ormea_ had gathered speed, it certainly turned--but not to
port, which would have been the nearest way, but towards us. At the same
time the skipper signaled to his engine room:
"Full speed ahead!"
The sturdily built, speedy tug rushed at us, pushing aside the waves
with her prow.
We had, of course, been keenly observing every move made on the tugboat,
but suspected nothing until that moment when he headed straight for us.
"The man is crazy!" I yelled. "He intends to ram us. Full speed with
both engines. Hard a-starboard!"
But it looked as if we had grasped the situation too late. The tug had
gotten a start on us in speed and came at us, smoking copiously, like a
mad bulldog. The distance between us, which to begin with had been two
hundred meters, decreased with great rapidity. Now the prow was hardly
fifty meters from us. Our hair stood on end.
"Bring up pistols and guns," I called down.
These weapons, which were hanging always loaded, were quickly handed up
to us, and we opened a quick fire on our onrushing enemy. Already I saw
the captain's sly, water-blue eyes scornfully glittering and read the
spiteful joy in his grinning face. He had good reason to feel happy. He
would reach us, he must reach us, because he had greater speed than we
had, and his position was more advantageous. Nearer and nearer came the
moment when would stick his blunt, steel prow into our side, and the
nearer he approached, the harder our hearts beat.
Twenty meters--fifteen meters! Was there no escape--no hope of rescue?
Yes! Gröning, the calm and thoughtful Gröning, became our savior. He was
on one knee by me on the conning tower platform and sent one shot after
another at the oncoming target. Suddenly he caught the idea which saved
us.
"The helmsman!" he yelled. "All men aim at the helmsman!"
In the pilot house with glass windows, stood the mate of the _Ormea_ by
his wheel with a sinister grin searching for the point where the blow
would be most deadly. We saw him distinctly as he stood there.
Action followed immediately on Gröning's saving thought. We stopped the
wild shooting against the dangerous prow, and all of us aimed at the
helmsman and fired. Hardly had the first volley been discharged when we
heard a shriek, and the Englishman threw his arms high and fell forward
over his wheel. As he fell, he gripped the spoke of the wheel and spun
it around. This saved us from our greatest danger. The prow which was
to have crushed us was only about three meters distant when the tug was
thrown hard aport, so that it hit only the air.
To show how close the tug was to us, as it swung, its stern struck our
diving tank and left a scar as a remembrance. As the beast of prey after
missing does not attempt another leap, so the tugboat put on full speed
in an effort to escape. The whistling of our bullets and the loss of his
mate had apparently made a coward out of a little tugboat captain, but
we gave him credit for having been resourceful, after we had recovered
from the excitement of the moment and recalled all the circumstances.
I quietly pressed Gröning's hand and smilingly touched the spot on his
breast, there just below his brave, fearless heart, a spot which, in
accordance with the command of his Majesty, the Kaiser, should be
reserved for the reward due such a hero. To-day that place is decorated
with the black, silver framed Iron Cross.
IX
HOMEWARD BOUND!
Why should I continue relating events which were coupled with less
danger and were less remarkable than those we had already experienced
and which I have already carefully described? The climax of the journey
was reached at the encounter with the _Ormea_, and, after the climax is
reached, one should be brief. For those interested, I can assure them
that we did not let the schooner escape which had tried to save herself
by flight, but hurried quickly after her, and, as soon as the crew had
disembarked, torpedoed her. However, we regretted that the captain of
the tug that tried to ram us escaped through her superior speed.
We were fortunate enough to make another catch on this same day, just as
darkness was setting in, a steamer loaded with meat, inward bound from
Sydney. We continued for several days through this fruitful field of
operation in every direction and had both good and bad luck. Schweckerle
had to bite into a bitter apple several times, as one after another of
his children faithlessly abandoned him. But he had the joy of knowing
that none of them went contrary to his good bringing-up and the care it
had received.
Many successes we put down in our log and sometimes exciting episodes
and narrow escapes, when our enemy's destroyers and patrol ships came
across our path of daily toil, so that we should not be too
presumptuous and careless.
Then at last came the day when we decided to start our homeward journey.
The torpedoes and shells were exhausted. Of oil, fresh water, and
provisions we had such a scanty supply left that it was necessary for us
to return. It was impossible to tell what kind of weather we would have
on our return trip, and, if it did not storm, there might be strong head
winds to hold us back.
I decided to take a new route for our journey home. The Witch-Kettle
with its horrors was still fresh in our minds and we preferred to take a
roundabout way, rather than to run risks which could be easily avoided
after a successfully completed task. In this period of thirteen days our
nerves had been affected and there was little power of resistance left
in them. It would not be advisable to put them to another severe test.
So it came to pass on the fifteenth day after the start of the voyage,
that a great storm hit us and for several days kept us hard at work. We
found ourselves far up in the North Atlantic where the warm spring for a
long time still wears its winter's furs, and the sun never rises high.
The icy, north wind, which blows three-quarters of the year, would in
any event devour all his warmth.
Repentantly, we had again picked up our thick camel's wool garments
which we had laid off in the southern waters. The further we went north,
the heavier the clothes that we donned.
In addition to the cold there came a storm, the like of which I had
never seen during my entire service on the sea, and to describing which
I will devote a few lines, because a storm on a U-boat is altogether
different from a storm at sea in any other vessel.
The barometer had been uncertain for two days. Its hasty rising and
falling in accordance with the changes of the atmosphere made us suspect
we would soon get rough weather. It was the night between April
twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth. We traveled submerged to a considerable
depth, and I was lying in my bunk asleep, partly undressed. At about two
o'clock I was awakened and received the report:
"Lieutenant Petersen asks that the Captain-Lieutenant kindly come to the
'Centrale,' as it is impossible for him to steer the boat any longer
alone."
I threw on my jacket and hurried for the stern. On my way, on account
of the heavy rolling of the boat, I realized what was the trouble. There
must be a terrific storm above accompanied by a sea which only the
Atlantic could stir up.
Lieutenant Petersen confirmed my opinion of the conditions which had
developed during the night and added that he had never had so much
trouble with the diving rudder before in his life. This meant a great
deal, for Petersen was with me when our U-boat had been equipped for
service for the first time, and had already gone through all kinds of
weather. In spite of all the watchfulness that he and the well-trained
crew used, the diving rudder's pressure was not powerful enough to
resist the enormous strength of the waves. The boat was tossed up and
down as if she had no rudder whatever. Only after we had submerged
twice as deep as we had been were we able to steady the boat to any
degree. We could still feel the force of the sea and knew the storm must
be terrific.
When, at daybreak, we arose to the surface there was no chance to open
the hatches. The opal green mountains of waves came rolling and foaming
at us. They smothered the boat with the great masses of water, washed
completely over the deck and even up over the tower. If any one had
dared to open the hatch and go out on the conning tower, he would
certainly have been lost. I was standing at the periscope and observed
the wrath of the elements. It seemed as if we were in a land of
mountains which the U-boat had to climb, only to be suddenly hurled down
again. I could see only so far as the next ridge, which always seemed
to be even higher than the last, and if there had been any chance of
seeing more, it would have been impossible in the flying foam and spray.
The rain whipped the water violently and darkened the sky so that it was
like dusk. The boat worked itself laboriously through the heavy sea. The
joints cracked and trembled when the boat slid down from the peak of a
wave to be buried in the deep trough.
We had to cling to some oil-soaked object in order not to be tossed
about. Through the strain put on the body by the terrible rolling of the
boat, by the damp, vaporous air, and by lack of sleep and food, we
finally became exhausted, but at this time we had no desire to eat. The
storm continued for three days and nights without abating. Then the sky
cleared, the wind dropped, and the sea became calmer. At noon of the
third day the sun broke through the clouds for the first time. Shortly
before this, we had dared open the conning tower hatch and greeted the
rays of the sun, although we had to pay for this pleasure with a cold
bath.
We had been drifting about for three days without knowing our location.
No wonder we greeted our guide with great joy, and quickly produced the
sextant to find out where we were. Our calculations showed that, during
the entire time, we had been circling around in one spot and had not
gotten one mile nearer our port. But what did that matter? The storm was
abating, the sea was calming down, and our splendid, faithful boat had
stood the test once more, and, in spite of all storms, had survived.
We reached the North Sea the next afternoon and could change our course
to the south with happy hearts. Every meter, every mile, every hour
brought us nearer home. No one who has not, himself, experienced this
home-coming can understand the joy that fills a U-boat sailor's heart
when, after a successful voyage, he sees the coast of his fatherland; or
when he turns the leaves of his log and, astonished, reads the scrawled
lines which tell fairy tales of the dangers and joys and asks himself:
"Have you really gone through all that?"
Who can understand the joy of a commander's heart when, sitting by his
narrow writing table, he is carefully working out his report to his
superiors? "Have sunk X steamers--X sailing ships."
All around me were the happy faces of the crew. All were satisfied,
every danger past and forgotten, thanks to the strength of youth and
their stout hearts.
_April 30--Nine-thirty A. M._
The lead was thrown. Now the water became shallow, for we are going into
the bay--the German bay.
"It's twenty-four meters deep," reported Lohmann, who in his feverish
desire to get ashore had been up on the conning tower since four
o'clock, although he should really have been off watch at eight. He
wanted to be the first one to sight land, because he is proud of his
fine eyesight and was as happy as a child when he discovered something
before his commander did.
"The lead shows twenty-four!"
"See if it agrees with the chart," I called to the mate who sat in the
conning tower with the chart on his knee.
"It agrees exactly," the mate called back, after he had compared the
measurement by the lead with the depth that was marked on the chart
where we estimated we were.
"How far is it to land?"
"Eight and a half miles."
In five more minutes, the German islands of the North Sea arose before
our eyes. Now we were unable to restrain ourselves further. We tore off
our caps and waved them exultantly, greeting our home soil with a
roaring hurrah. Our cheer penetrated into the boat, from stern to prow,
and even set Schweckerle's heart on fire, where he was sitting alone
and idle amongst the torpedo cradles.
Shortly thereafter we glided into the mouth of the river with the
pennant bearing our name proudly fluttering from the masthead. This told
all the ships that met us:
"Here comes U-boat 202!"
All knew by our announcement that we were returning from a long voyage
and we were greeted with an enthusiastic and noisy reception. Officers
and men thronged the decks, and in our inmost hearts we appreciated the
great cheer:
"Three cheers for his Majesty's U-202! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
Thus the proud German high seas fleet received our little roughly-used
boat.
At three o'clock on the afternoon of April 30 U-202 dropped her anchor
in the U-boat harbor.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of the U-202, by E. Spiegel