THE DEPARTURE FROM BALTIMORE
Above the description of our return voyage I should like to put as a
motto what the London _Morning Post_ of 18th July wrote regarding the
attitude of the English Government towards the "Deutschland."
"The 'Deutschland,' in view of her peculiar U-Boat qualities, will be
considered as a war vessel, and be treated as such.
"The warships of the Allies will therefore make every effort to discover
the boat outside American territorial waters, and to sink her without
warning."
Thus ran a cablegram which reached America from London on the 19th July.
Thus we ourselves read it in a copy of the _Morning Post_ which was sent
to us at the end of July. There was at least one advantage, that we knew
exactly what we had to expect.
Never has the English point of view been so displayed in all its
brutality.
We had no torpedo tubes, no guns on board, not the smallest means of
attack. We had not even weapons of defence which are always allowed on
every English merchant ship. The most powerful of the neutral states had
moreover openly recognised the "Deutschland" as a mere trading vessel,
and yet we were to be sunk without warning!
We knew, therefore, what lay before us.
It was already known that eight enemy warships with patrol boats and
nets were waiting in front of Chesapeake Bay in order to attack us
directly we quitted American territorial waters, and to blow us up like
blind fish, with mines.
Foresight was therefore urgently impelled on us, and our only course
was, with true U-Boat craftiness, to slip through somehow.
We remembered, moreover, how we had already once succeeded in getting
the best of the English and French efforts. Our running of the English
blockade in Europe had certainly been by no means a smooth pleasure
trip.
Nothing had caused us greater amusement than the news of the delightful
announcement made by Captain Gaunt of the English consulate in New York
when the first rumour was heard of the voyage of a U-Boat to America.
His reassuring words to the English public were: "It is impossible to
send a U-Boat to America. And even if the Germans did send one we should
soon catch her. A big submarine leaves a track of oil and machine dirt
on the surface of the waters in her wake. Our fast cruisers would be
able to follow these tracks and catch the boat for a dead certainty."
Captain Gaunt is the expert on affairs of navigation at the Consulate,
and ought to know.
All we had to do, therefore, was to see to it that their second "catch"
was as much of a "dead certainty" as the first.
At last the 1st of August arrived. We had taken a hearty leave
everywhere, completed all formalities with the authorities, and were
ready for sea and for our rendezvous with the gentlemen in front of the
bay.
Our departure was delayed, as we were obliged to wait for the high tide,
in order to get from the Patapsco River on which Baltimore is situated,
across the intervening muddy bar out into Chesapeake Bay. The water rose
very slowly during the day, as a north wind was blowing and prevented
the tide in the long inlet from rising up quite as far as Baltimore.
We waited excitedly for the rising of the water, and at last, at five
o'clock in the afternoon, the moment arrived. The ropes were cast off,
the closely packed attendant boats made way, and the "Deutschland"
pushed majestically off from the pier into the fairway. The tug
"Timmins" ran alongside of us like a faithful sheep-dog, snarling at the
many big and small boats full of reporters and cinema people, if they
approached too closely.
There was nothing to fear. The harbour police boat from Baltimore
had been very kindly lent us, and the Customs boat from Maryland had
received instructions to accompany us as far as the boundary line of
their beat permitted.
Hundreds of people stood on the banks of the Patapsco River, waving and
cheering us incessantly as we departed, and in the harbour all the
tugs hooted with the full blast of their sirens and hooters, while the
steamers dipped their flags and tooted. It was an indescribable uproar.
We knew as we travelled on that the thoughts and blessings of countless
hearts throughout mighty America accompanied us, and anxiously awaited
the moment which should bring them the certainty of our lucky escape out
yonder.
As soon as we got into the fairway with the engines going at full speed,
our attendants gradually fell behind. Even "Timmins" had enough to do
to keep up with us. We noticed with pleasure how slowly all the American
boats travelled; the cheers grew weaker and weaker, the number of
boats ever smaller, and at last only the Customs' cutter remained. When
towards seven o'clock she also dropped off, we should have been alone
with "Timmins" but for one uncanny follower who was not so easy to shake
off. She was a smart grey boat with pointed nose and flat short stern,
a regular first-class racing boat which, so rumour said, had an 80
horse-power and could do her 22 knots. She appeared to have been hired
during the last ten days by a man who paid the round sum of 200 dollars
a day--by which it may be gathered how highly he valued this chance of
a bit of sport in running a race with the "Deutschland."... By 10 p.m.
a fairly roughish sea had risen. The lights of the racing boat dropped
more and more behind, and at grey dawn the following morning the sea was
empty--the racer had turned back home.
In her place, however, a whole lot of fishing trawlers appeared ahead
of us in the dim morning light, which made us fear that even here in
neutral waters we might run into a regular trap.
Cheers and hand-waving from the vessels soon showed us our happy
mistake; they were a party of American Press representatives who,
together with a number of admirers and friends of the "Deutschland," had
refused to miss the opportunity afforded by a night voyage of giving
our boat a farewell greeting at a distance of some fifty miles from
Baltimore.
One steamer after the other glided by, and the next morning by six
o'clock we were in sufficiently free water to make our first submerging
test. I wanted to get the boat and crew firmly in hand again after our
prolonged stay on land--purely on account of the "dead certainty" of
that "catch."
We therefore made our first trial, and everything went swimmingly.
The "Timmins" stood by and Captain Hinsch told me later that it was a
marvellous sight as the "Deutschland" dived in perfect silence, only to
reappear again a few minutes later like a flash, her bow foaming, above
the water.
The submersion worked perfectly likewise. After this, in order to see if
everything was in working order, I gave the command for the boat to come
to rest on the bottom at a spot which, according to the map, should have
had a depth of 16½ fathoms.
Once more all is still. The daylight fades; the well-known singing and
seething of the submersion valves sounds in our ears. The gauge in the
conning-tower registers 11 fathoms, 13 fathoms; the power is lessened;
16½ fathoms appears, and I await the gentle impact with which the
boat shall touch on the ground....
Nothing of the kind happens.
Instead of this the hand moves round on its dial to 17½, 18, 19
fathoms. I tap my finger on the glass--quite all right, the hand is just
turning to 20. "What in the name of fortune's the matter?" I think to
myself, and take up the map.
Yes, 16½ fathoms are marked there and we had taken exact bearings
up above.... Nevertheless, we continue to sink. Twenty-two fathoms are
registered on the dial plate.
This is too absurd. I call down to the control-room and receive the
comforting reply that on their big depth gauge also, 22 fathoms have
been registered and passed. Our gauges coincide therefore.
This, however, does not prevent the boat from sinking.
The men in the control-room look at each other....
It is a ridiculous situation, to be sinking in this confounded silence
into the Unknown and not to be able to see anything but the everlasting
backward jerking of that treacherous hand on the white dial....
In the conning-tower it is no different. I glance distractedly backwards
and forwards from the map to the gauge.
Meanwhile the boat sinks deeper and deeper; 24 fathoms have gone by....
The hand is moving towards 27.... I am just thinking that the deeps of
Chesapeake Bay must come to an end somewhere, and that we can hardly be
sinking into groundlessness ... when suddenly, without the least shock,
the boat comes to a halt at a depth of 27½ fathoms.
I scrambled down to the control-room and took counsel with Klees and the
two officers of the watch.
It could only be that we had struck a hole which was not marked on the
map. Well, this was nothing serious, after all. Whether we had to rise
from 16 or 27 fathoms was quite immaterial.
I was just about to give the order to rise to the surface, when my
glance fell on the gyro-compass, which with its slowly jerking black and
white disc hangs usually so serenely in its case, which is lit up from
the inside....
I fell back in surprise....
What on earth had come over it? The disc of the compass had gone quite
mad and was turning round and round with short jerky movements....
The affair began to grow distinctly uncomfortable. Considering that our
gyro-compasses are about the most reliable of any in the whole world,
and as at a depth of 27 fathoms in Chesapeake Bay the earth could hardly
be revolving round us, there was only one conclusion to be drawn, and
that a confoundedly unpleasant one.... We must be turning round and
round in our hole, for what reason the devil only knew!
I immediately gave orders for the pumps to be started, with the result
that they started rattling, but with a more clanking, empty noise, so
to speak, than usual.... They did not help us in the least; we remained
sticking in the mud, exactly as we were before.
This was the last straw, and I must confess our confidence began to
waver somewhat.
In the meantime we had sunk a little deeper according to the depth
gauge, while, on the other hand, the rolling had ceased and we lay
perfectly still.
Once more I gave energetic orders to rise immediately to the surface.
The pumps started rattling and ran empty again. That was no good
therefore.
The situation must be carefully thought out, otherwise we should be
lying in the same place till morning.
After a lot of trouble the engineer, Klees, succeeded in getting the
pumps into working order again.
With a deep humming sound they started pressing the water out of the
tanks--they were working! As if transfixed our eyes sought the hand of
the depth gauge. Hurrah! we were coming free, we were rising, the hand
was pointing to 26 fathoms ... could I trust my eyes ... what the devil
was that again? ... the gauge suddenly pointed to 11 fathoms ... then on
again to 26 fathoms ... and back to 11 once more....
The affair was now growing critical.... We looked at each other,
absolutely at the end of our resources, not knowing what was wrong with
the boat or with ourselves, nor even at what depth we were ... and now
even the depth gauges had gone mad!...
In order to understand what this means, it must be clearly realised that
in a submerged boat nothing can be known or seen, except by means of the
hands of the depth gauge. If that once ceases to fulfil its functions
correctly, then you are absolutely "at sea."
The situation had therefore grown very serious. Nevertheless, an iron
calm reigned in the boat. We had the consolation that in the utmost
emergency we could use our compressed air, which could not fail to bring
us to the surface, even if the pumps failed us.
There was, however, no need to resort to this. Klees, who had been lost
in thought, suddenly gripped hold of one of the valves--a hissing noise
of compressed air, the depth gauge pointed wildly to 66 fathoms then
sprang back to 26 again ... then the coating of slime which had stopped
up the spouts of the gauge was blown away by a little of the compressed
air.
The mouths of the pumps were also cleared by means of the compressed air
of all the mud and slime which had worked in during our wild circular
movements; then the pumps commenced humming in their usual tones, and
the "Deutschland" rose obediently to the surface.
We had been, however, one hour and a half under water.
Captain Hinsch, in the "Timmins," came alongside much relieved. He had
been unable to understand the meaning of our long submersion and had
grown extremely anxious.
We must apparently have got into some kind of pit, where the sand was
being "ground" and where, owing to our circular movements, we dug our
way gradually into the slime and mud. I then posted the "Timmins" at
a distance of two miles away for an observation of a last important
submersion test.
Our aim was, without advancing, to rise so that the periscope appeared
above water, which was by no means an easy matter. It is naturally much
easier to get up to a certain position by utilising the dynamical lift
given by the diving rudders, but in doing this the periscope makes
a little track of foam through the sea, which might under certain
conditions prove treacherous.
We tried, therefore, to lift ourselves from a greater depth by
oscillating up to a certain height and, by alternately emptying and
filling the tanks at that depth, to reach a floating position in which
only our periscope should appear just above the water, and that in a
vertical direction.
The experiment succeeded. We were able to stretch out our periscope
feelers so that the "Timmins"--who knew roughly our vicinity--did not
notice us before our conning-tower appeared above the water.
I now felt certain that we were prepared for all possibilities and could
risk breaking through unobserved. We continued therefore calmly on our
way with "Timmins" and regulated our course so that we reached the exit
between the capes just after darkness had set in.