MUTINY
"HANS!" whispered Seaman Kaspar Krauss of U 247. "Do you know what
our swine-headed kapitan has made up his mind to do?"
"How should I?" responded Hans Furst with a grunt. "Something that
has upset your apple-cart."
"He's taking the vessel back to Ostend," announced Krauss. "It's
madness. To say nothing of the danger of mines, it's putting our
heads into a noose. With Wilhelmshaven and Heligoland dead under our
lee, why does he persist in making for Ostend? The boat is hardly
seaworthy; we are short of food, and yet----"
A petty officer, stooping to avoid the overhead gear, thrust his head
and shoulders through the oval aperture in the transverse bulkhead.
"Herr Kapitan wants you, Kaspar Krauss," he exclaimed curtly. The
seaman wiped his hands on a piece of cotton waste, looked into the
burnished reflector of a lamp to assure himself that his cap was on
straight, and hurried along the congested alleyway.
"Wonder what he wants me for?" he thought. He had done nothing as
far as he knew to merit either praise or censure. It was somewhat
unusual for a kapitan to summon a seaman. Orders would be generally
communicated through the medium of a petty officer.
Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld was sitting on a camp-stool on the
after-part of the deck. Behind him stood Unter-leutnant Eitel von
Loringhoven, while at his side were three men rigidly at attention.
The U-boat was running awash, the conning-tower being occupied for
the time being by the chief petty officer.
Kaspar Krauss felt far from comfortable. The sight of the three
motionless wooden-faced seamen--comrades of his--heightened his
discomfiture.
"See here, you swine!" began the amiable von Preugfeld, curtly
acknowledging the man's salute. "You were slow--abominably slow--in
executing orders. What have you to say?"
Krauss moistened his dry lips, trying vainly to recall the incident
to which the ober-leutnant referred.
Von Preugfeld eyed him like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. He was
furiously angry, and wanted to vent his wrath upon some one who could
not retaliate. The cause of his fury had nothing to do with Kaspar
Krauss's delinquency. He had just been referring to the English
Encyclopaedia to discover the meaning of the epithet "old bean," and
to his almost speechless indignation he found that one of his Royal
Air Force prisoners had likened him to "the seed of certain
leguminous plants, universally cultivated for food"--and old at that.
"You were fifteen seconds slow in carrying out my order to blow the
auxiliary ballasttank, you wooden-faced pig!" exclaimed von
Preugfeld. "For the remainder of the voyage you will work double
tricks and keep for'ard look-out on deck whenever we are running on
the surface. Now go!"
Kaspar Krauss, outwardly pale but inwardly fuming, saluted with a
faint suspicion of reluctance, and began to make his way aft until
the guttural voice of his kapitan called him back.
"Is that the way you salute me, _schweinhund_?" demanded von
Preugfeld. "If I find any more signs of slackness on your part, look
out. That's all. Now, again: dismiss!"
Von Preugfeld watched the fellow out of sight and then turned to his
subordinate.
"There's nothing like being firm with these brutes, von Loringhoven,"
he said in a loud voice, as if to impress the fact upon the three
seamen. "Take my advice: come down on them like Thor's hammer the
moment you see them giving signs of discontent. How many men have
been placed in the report this trip?"
"Eleven, Herr Kapitan," replied the unter-leutnant, smacking his
lips with relish. "A third of the ship's company."
"That shows good discipline, Eitel," rejoined von Preugfeld.
"Cast-iron discipline--that's the secret of efficiency."
He made his way to the conning-tower and spent some moments poring
over a chart of the centre portion of the North Sea. There were
mine-fields in profusion. Those laid by the British were shown in
blue, those of German origin were indicated in red. On paper they
looked formidable, but unfortunately for von Preugfeld there were
hundreds of others either drifting or else uncharted. He, too, cursed
the wireless order that was responsible for U 274 making for Ostend.
Having checked the course and given further instructions to the
quartermaster, von Preugfeld strolled aft, took a leisurely survey of
the horizon and, finding nothing in the shape of a vessel, settled
himself once more in his deck-chair.
Meanwhile 'tween decks discontent was seething. The men, disheartened
and hungry, were aghast at the idea of making for the Belgian coast.
Many of them were undergoing punishment for various slight offences.
Krauss, one of the more advanced agitators, was holding forth upon
the purposeless brutality of the kapitan.
Just then von Loringhoven made his way for'ard. Possibly by accident,
one of the group of malcontents lurched against him, for the
submarine was rolling in the sullen swell.
"Pardon, Herr Offizier!" exclaimed the man. It was Furst, slow of
action yet quick to take offence.
The next instant von Loringhoven raised his clenched fist and struck
the man heavily in the face. It was the unter-leutnant's idea of
imparting discipline with an iron hand according to the advice given
by Kapitan von Preugfeld.
Von Loringhoven had struck his men before. He had seen them stand
rigidly at attention, meekly bearing blows as becomes a military or
naval subject of the Kaiser. He expected Furst to do likewise, but to
his unbounded astonishment the German bluejacket planted a staggering
blow right in the centre of the unter-leutnant's chest.
Von Loringhoven reeled and fell heavily against a large air-flask.
There he lay breathless and unable to utter a sound.
For a few moments the men were dumfounded. Oft-times they had formed
mental pictures of striking their officers to the deck. Now the idea
had become a reality.
"You'll be shot for this, Hans Furst," exclaimed one of the men.
"Perhaps," replied Furst. "And all of you with me. I struck the pig,
I admit, but you were standing by and did not stop me. So that's
mutiny."
"Yes; that is so," agreed Krauss. "We've started, so why not carry it
through? I owe the kapitan a debt which I mean to pay. Furst will
help. Who joins?"
There was no lack of offers of assistance. The men knew that whether
guilty or innocent they would have to suffer. They had no definite
plan. It was merely a sudden conflagration on the part of men stifled
by adverse conditions. Carried away by the unexpected turn of events,
their seething discontent flared up into the red flame of mutiny.
"Down with von Preugfeld!" hissed Krauss. "Come with me, brothers!"
Maintaining a certain amount of caution, a dozen of the mutineers
swarmed up the fore-hatch and made their way aft. Von Preugfeld,
seated in the deck-chair and deep in a book, took no heed of their
approach until, with a cat-like spring, Krauss leapt upon him. The
chair collapsed. The kapitan and his assailant fell on the deck in a
confused heap.
Although a bully and a coward by nature, von Preugfeld put up a stiff
fight when cornered. Recovering from his sudden surprise, he fought
and struggled desperately, shouting in vain to von Loringhoven for
assistance. The unter-leutnant was at that moment being held by two
stalwart Frisian seamen.
Over and over rolled von Preugfeld and his attacker. Punching,
kicking, snarling and even biting, the two tackled each other
tenaciously--the blue-blooded Prussian and the plebeian
Frisian--while the rest of the mutineers looked on with evident
relish, until it occurred to them that they might have a hand in the
discomfiture of their hated taskmaster.
It was not until half a dozen had thrown themselves upon the wellnigh
breathless von Preugfeld that the unequal struggle ended. The
ober-leutnant was bound hand and foot and secured to a ring-bolt--an
object for derision and coarse jests from his captors.
Shouting to the quartermaster to telegraph to the engine-room to stop
the motors, Furst, who by common consent was acclaimed the
ringleader, ordered all hands on deck. The mutineers' first council
of war was about to begin.
The outbreak had been spontaneous. A general mutiny of submarine
crews had been thought about, and the idea was taking firm root; but
this ebullition was almost unpremeditated. The men had no definite
plan. They were literally and metaphorically at sea.
"Let's hoist the Red Flag," suggested one. "Our comrades on the other
_unterseebooten_ will join us."
"Unless we meet an English ship of war in the meanwhile," added
another. "I propose we hoist the White Flag and take the boat into an
English port. We'll be well treated."
"Yes," admitted Furst; "but what will happen after the war? Supposing
the English treat us as mutineers and hand us over to Germany when
peace is signed? What then?"
"And I, for another, wish to get back to my wife and children,"
exclaimed a mutineer of timorous fibre. "I vote we alter our course
for Hamburg or Wilhelmshaven."
"And what then?" demanded Krauss scornfully. "There'll be questions
asked. We will be put under arrest straight away and no doubt shot.
That's not good enough."
"It will be all right if we throw these pigs overboard," said Furst,
indicating the two officers, who were now both lying bound on deck.
"We can say that they were swept overboard in heavy weather. We must
all stick to the same tale. It will be of no use for anyone to betray
us. We're all hand in glove in this business."
"Supposing an English ship of war does appear?" queried the timorous
one. "We'll be sunk at sight. You know the way they have."
"We could submerge," declared Krauss loftily.
"And who will take command if we do," persisted the man. "I know of
no one of us able to manage this boat under water. I'd rather take my
chance and hoist the White Flag. Besides, haven't we English
prisoners--officers--on board? They might help us if we treated them
well."
"That is so," admitted Furst. "Meanwhile we'll steer east for
Germany."
"Who is navigator?" asked a mechanic. "Do you know anything of
navigation, Hans Furst?"
Furst was obliged to admit that he knew but little. Taking
observations--a very necessary accomplishment when one has to thread
a way through mine-fields--was beyond him.
"I'll try," he added. "We can but hope for the best. But now we must
first get rid of these."
He pointed to the late kapitan and unter-leutnant of U 247.
"Shoot them," suggested the revengeful Krauss.
"Too easy a death," objected Furst. "We'll toss them overboard."
Some of the men moved aft to carry out the suggestion, but Furst
called on them to stand by.
"Cast off those lashings," he ordered, with a grim laugh. "We'll give
them a chance to swim for it. The nearest land is only about two
hundred miles away. It will give them time to think over things.
Start up those motors again and get way on her."
The men obeyed promptly. The idea of seeing their former officers
struggling for life "in the ditch" appealed to their innate cruelty.
After all, they argued, they were only revenging themselves upon two
tyrants who had shown no mercy to the crews of British merchant
vessels they had sunk.
Von Loringhoven squealed like a stuck pig when he saw one of the
seamen advancing with a drawn knife. With a couple of deft cuts the
unter-leutnant's bonds were severed. Two brawny men seized him by
arms and legs and with a swinging heave tossed him over the side into
the water.
Von Preugfeld, cursing, imploring and struggling, shared the same
fate, his exit watched by all the hands on deck save one, who,
evidently lacking the nerve to witness the tragedy, had stepped
unobserved to the other side of the conning-tower.
Then, increasing her speed to twelve knots, U 247 turned eight
degrees to port and headed for the distant shore of Germany, leaving
von Preugfeld and his subordinate struggling for life in the cold
waters of the North Sea.