OUT INTO THE OPEN
We had had more than enough of the North Sea by this time, and were now
quite ready to get out into the open.
We were quite clear as to our route, thank goodness. Less so as to what
might happen to us on the voyage; but we were prepared by now for any
little surprises that might occur. For why travel in a submarine if
there are no difficulties to be overcome? After all, many U-Boats had
passed successfully through the North Sea and reached the open ocean.
Moreover, they had had many dangerous duties to carry out, while we
had only to take care not to be seen, and to slip out as quietly as
possible.
As a matter of fact, it was not only that we had not to be seen. Our
chief care was that we should not be recognised as a U-Boat trader.
The peculiar character of the "Deutschland" as a peaceful unarmed
merchant trader would not have protected us in the least from being sunk
at sight. Of that we were convinced, and how right we were was seen in
the later English and French official declarations.
If we were once recognised as a U-Boat trader, we should have been not
only in danger every minute, but our unhampered arrival at the American
port of our destination would be highly endangered. We should have had
a whole pack of thirsty bloodhounds in our wake. We hoped therefore to
take the whole world by surprise by our arrival in America, and all our
ambitions were strained towards this achievement.
Thus I meditated as we neared the danger zone.
We moved forward therefore with great caution. We saw a great deal in
the process, were seen ourselves extremely seldom; recognised never.
During the day we avoided several steamers by altering our course. At
night we travelled with darkened lights, submerging when necessary.
The weather also favoured us. Once we sighted an English auxiliary
cruiser some distance off; she was travelling in a definite direction
with a zigzag course. For some time we held a parallel course with her,
keeping her carefully under observation. But owing to the high seas,
which must have made her navigation far from pleasant, we remained
unnoticed.
On another occasion a look-out vessel approached us in the evening
twilight; she had seen us and hailed us with the English merchant flag
to signify harmlessness and thus mislead us for an attack.
As we continued calmly on our way she moved off in vexation. The sea
was probably too rough for her to seek further communication with us. We
were easily able to avoid other look-out vessels, travelling at an even
higher rate.
Later on it grew calm--and misty. We submerged and came to rest on the
bottom. We were in no hurry, and why should we not take a little rest?
It was not what might be called exactly shallow in that spot; it was,
in fact, extremely deep. All the more calm and safe a resting-place. For
what else were our excellent deep-sea lead machine, and the wonderfully
stout body of our "Deutschland"?
That night on the bed of the ocean at X---- was a great relaxation for
us all. We were able once more to have a good wash and rest without fear
of being immediately awakened by a "Hullo" from the speaking-tube.
But first of all we dined--a real, proper dinner. The two gramophones
played gaily, and we clinked our glasses together, which were
filled--possibly out of compliment--with French champagne.
Our faithful Stucke--steward, second cook, and servant to us all--waited
on us with earnest solemnity, just as if he were still steward in
the dining-room of the "Kronprinzessin Cäcilie." It was impossible to
imagine that he had been a prisoner in France for nearly a year. It was
as if he had always haunted the "Deutschland" at a depth of ten fathoms
below the sea, where in our comfortable mess-room he was continually
developing fresh arts and contrivances, and had stored away in the
miniature pantry and a couple of drawers an undreamed-of amount of table
linen and plate.
Next morning we go up to the surface again. The pump rattles and growls
and we climb with several hundred gallons over normal weight, and with
the diving rudders in perfect working order, to the surface.
At about eleven fathoms the boat begins to lose her beautiful
steadiness. This is first noticeable on the gauge, afterwards by the
diving rudders which are harder to manipulate and on which the boat
often presses heavily. The higher we rise the more powerful these
movements become, so there must be a pretty rough sea up above.
We rise now carefully up to periscope depth, travel thus for a while and
look around. Except for a wide sweep of foaming waves nothing is to be
seen. The weather suits me exactly, for we can diminish our watchfulness
accordingly.
I now decide to rise entirely to the surface, and fill one of the tanks
with compressed air till the conning-tower is sufficiently free. The oil
engines are started, and the ventilation machine makes ready to take
in a fresh supply of air. Hardly have we opened the hatch of the
conning-tower, however, when a rough, watery greeting flies down into
the control-room. We are not quite ready apparently. Another tank is
blown out and the turbo-fan set in motion till the tanks are soon quite
empty.
But first another little trick of seamanship has to be brought into
play.
In order to rise still higher we have to get her broadside on again, for
in this wild sea the long, heavy body of the boat will not rise easily
out of the water head on.
Moving slowly we turn the "Deutschland" broadside on to the sea. She
rolls horribly, nearly shaking the soul out of your body. Added to this,
the heavy cross-seas are sweeping continuously over the boat. But she
obeys the diving rudders and slowly raises her nose out of the water.
As we rise entirely to the surface the conning-tower and periscope sway
alarmingly in the air.
Now comes another unpleasant moment. It is necessary to bring the boat
at slow speed again on to her proper course.
Sheltering behind the thick windows of the conning-tower, on which the
spray streams down incessantly, with arms and legs wedged firmly against
the sides, I peer around.
From old experience of the sea, I am waiting for three particularly
heavy waves to pass over, which are usually followed by a low irregular
one. Now the third big wave has passed. There is a call to the helmsman
in the control-room; it works. The bow bores her way slowly round, and
we are back on our old course again without meeting any particularly
heavy breakers.
It is still a pretty tough job all the same. The storm, if anything,
increases, and our journey proceeds but slowly against the heavy sea.
Added to this, part of the crew are seasick; and the short, backward
pitches of the boat are horrible. But as we proceed, the long steady
swell of the Atlantic Ocean becomes more marked. The short, pitching
movements gradually cease and change into a majestic swaying.
In the distance we see two English cruisers returning from their nightly
reconnoitre. We lie too low for them to notice us, and they disappear
rapidly in the opposite direction.
Now we are free from the English outpost boats, and steer cheerfully out
into the wide open spaces of the Atlantic.