CHAPTER XVI WE REACH OUR GOAL
It was Thursday, the 20th of April. A fresh, glorious morning. During the night the wind had died away. The air was still, and the broad, even undulations of a north-westerly swell made the only movement on the water.
During the night the false casing round the funnel had been completed.
In order to have everything ready for the landing when we reached Tralee Bay, the camouflage cargo had, of course, to be removed from above the munitions. This proved to be no light task, for the pit-props were rather green and consequently heavy, which delayed the unloading a good deal.
All hands had to turn to and open hatches, and throw the whole of the false cargo overboard. In half an hour's time the upper deck looked like a packing department at one of the big stores. Window-frames, door-frames, tin-ware, zinc buckets, tin baths, and the like were sent up in a steady stream from the hold and piled upon the deck. Boxes and straw went into the furnaces, the rest was heaved overboard. Before long our course was marked by a trail of flotsam and jetsam that stretched to the horizon.
With a vague instinct that it might come in useful, I retained on board a small quantity of the pit props—a precaution which was well repaid on the following day.
While we were at this work an armed motor-ship passed us within six miles, and gave us some anxious moments; but fortunately took no notice of us.
The noon observation made our position 52° N. 11° W.—a bare forty-five miles from Tralee. In about four hours we should have reached our goal.
I had, unfortunately, to give up my plan of proceeding in under the Spanish flag, for it had taken us longer than we calculated to jettison the cargo, and there was not time enough to make the metamorphosis.
What troubled me most was that it would be full-moon that night, and the bright moonlight might easily prove our undoing.
The noon eight-bells had just been struck when the engine-room telegraph rang for 'full speed ahead,' and the Aud pointed her nose for Tralee Bay.
The next two hours were occupied with the final preparations for the landing. There was still a mass of things to get done. Steam-winches and unloading tackle were made ready, the hatches uncovered, and in every hold the top cases were placed in the slings ready for immediate landing. I had a supply of pocket electric-lamps and tools for opening the cases put in small bags, so that they could be passed ashore at once, for, from the moment we got alongside, the unloading must go with a rush, in order to be finished before the English got wind of it.
If all went without a hitch, I hoped to have the ship emptied in seven to eight hours. If—that was the crux. It was, of course, quite possible that it might come to bloody hand-to-hand fighting before all was done.
There could be no doubt that the harbour authorities and perhaps also the military authorities, would come on board, as soon as we got in, to examine the ship and her papers. Their questions as to where we came from, and so forth, must be answered in such a way that they should have no desire to ask any more—that is to say, they must be rendered harmless; in case the Irish had not already provided for that.
It was clear that, even with the greatest caution, something might leak out about our sudden arrival, and suspicious nocturnal operations. Casement himself had told me that even in Tralee there were a good many people of English sympathies.
The town of Tralee lies about three miles from the harbour pier. The harbour proper, which is in a kind of outlying suburb, is called Fenit. Fenit is a small, insignificant harbour, which is connected with Tralee by a railway. This railway might be very awkward for us, for if an alarm was given in Fenit we should have to reckon on the arrival of the military within half an hour. For our main protection against them we should have to trust to the machine-guns which formed a portion of our cargo, packed in cases, ready for use. These must therefore be landed first of all.
The men to serve the machine-guns ought to be standing ready on the quay. I made sure once more that the explosives and incendiary bombs were ready, and the German naval ensign was at hand. To make assurance doubly sure, I had two additional masses of explosive placed in the forward part of the ship, so that, if need be, nothing of my ship should be left.
I then ordered, 'Hands wash and clean into No. 2's,' that is, to clean up, and put on uniform. Only our caps, which for the moment we could not put on, we hid where we could get at them easily. Over our uniform we pulled on our old Norwegian kit. Each man wore a dirk and pistol in his belt under his jacket.
Shortly after one o'clock the first signs of land appeared; long, low-lying, bluish cloud-banks on the horizon, which little by little assumed a definite form—the Irish coast!
There was not a ship in sight. I called up my men and gave them the last explanations. Hitherto they had known nothing definite, though, of course, they had long guessed that they were not bound for Libau. It was good to see their grim but well-pleased smiles when I told them that now it was up to us to make good, and every man must do his best.
I told them that even their uniforms might not save them from being shot if caught. They grinned knowingly, as much as to say, they've got to catch us first!
Splendid fellows! I knew that I could trust them.
I explained my plans to the last detail. Every man had his allotted task. The engineers, for instance, were told that they must be ready to pump out the water-tanks to lighten the ship and enable her to get up the shallow channel leading to Fenit.
As the last touch, the surgical dressings were served out, and the big medicine chest, with all necessary materials, was placed in the mess-room, and then I gave the order, 'Every man to his post.'