CHAPTER XVII TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN TRALEE BAY
The coast lay before us in brilliant sunshine. High, bare mountains, seamed with clefts and gullies, with steep, overhanging cliffs, which assuredly have never been trodden by the foot of man. Only at the base of the cliffs, to a height of perhaps 150 yards above the water, we saw a few green patches of grass and low shrubs. What struck us particularly was the jagged, deeply indented ridges of the long ranges of mountains. Gradually the numerous islands and rocks that lay off the shore came into view. It was no very inviting picture. There are, in fact, few coasts more inhospitable and more dangerous from their numerous reefs than the Irish.
We sought persistently with our glasses for any sign of life; any house or lighthouse upon the coast. In vain. There was nothing to be seen but naked rocks. Here and there the coastline was a little withdrawn, so that we thought more than once 'this must be Tralee bay.' But there appeared on either side of it so many other similar openings between the high cliffs that we became confused. That was a decidedly unpleasant surprise.
Relying on my excellent noon observation, which could not be much out, I held on for some way farther. 'Steep shore, deep water,' is a pretty sound rule, so we could safely stand close in. With the chart and the sailing directions open before us, we searched for the entrance. In a quarter of an hour we had found it; having picked up the 'Three Sisters,' a small, three-pointed rock on the south side of the twelve-mile broad estuary of the Shannon. The coast here bends sharply, first to the north-east, then to the east, and then in a wide curve, back to the north-west again. The result is that, in approaching from the sea, one at first sees only a long stretch of coastline, while the bay lies concealed behind it.
I immediately altered course to pass close to the 'Three Sisters,' and from there get my bearings for negotiating the entrance. There is a signal station at Loop Head, on a small island on the north side of the estuary, and I wanted to give it as wide a berth as possible. During the war, this innocent little island might well have developed into a grim monster bristling with guns. Certainly the signal station would be under military control.
Just as we were getting a four-point bearing[12] of the 'Three Sisters,' there appeared over the water on our port bow a small triangular patch of gleaming white, that looked for all the world like a distant sail. Surely it must be the pilot cutter already on the look-out for us? I could have shouted for joy. A few minutes later, however, I made the unwelcome discovery that the supposed sail was assuming improbable dimensions, and it finally revealed itself as the actual island of Loop Head, which I had supposed to be farther north. The sun had played a trick on us, illuminating the western trapeze-shaped end of the island so brightly that it looked in the distance like a large white sail. Disappointment number one.
As soon as I recognised my mistake I altered course to starboard, from which direction there was, for the present, no danger to be apprehended, at least so far as we could see, for only naked rocks frowned down on us. Slowly we worked our way into the bay, anxiously scanning with our glasses every hill, cliff, and gully, but especially the surface of the water ahead. The current, which set strongly southward, tended to force us inshore, and necessitated constant small alterations of course. By 3.30 p.m. we had the 'Three Sisters' two miles on our starboard beam. Loop Head was now clearly visible. Except for the signal station and a few small buildings, nothing else was to be seen upon the island.
But—what was that to starboard? On a broad-topped cliff, some two hundred feet above the water, stood a high signal mast with wireless aerials. To right and left of it peered out half a dozen black muzzles from embrasures hewn in the edge of the rock. The nastiest jar of all was that these guns were bearing right on us, and that a number of English soldiers were getting busy about them, while others were observing us through glasses.
Damnation! I had not been reckoning on quite such a reception as this. I at once sent below all the men whose presence was not required on deck, and the oft-played comedy began once more.
Under the observation of the English field-glasses, which were now being directed on us at short range, it was highly important to appear as unconcerned as possible. Scarcely honouring the English with a glance, we tramped solemnly up and down the bridge, in the usual manner, six paces to starboard, and then, stolidly, six paces to port again—all the while pulling at our pipes and spitting to the wide in the most approved fashion. Meanwhile we steered slightly to the north, in order to get away as soon as possible from the neighbourhood of the coast-defence station.
When a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and the latter had done nothing to make itself objectionable in the way of shot or signal, we concluded that the danger was over for the moment. Only for the moment, of course. To-day it was likely to be a case of 'out of the frying-pan into the fire.'
Meanwhile, ahead of us, a little group of islands was gradually rising out of the water, while on the southern and eastern sides of the bay a number of wretched-looking fishermen's huts came into view—outlying houses of Fenit.
The nearest and largest of the islands was Inishtooskert, our rendezvous with Sir Roger Casement.
The die must soon be cast. With a keener anxiety than we had yet known, we directed our glasses ahead. If everything continued to go as well as it had done hitherto, then, at the latest, within half an hour the pilot-boat must make her appearance, with the recognition marks that had been agreed upon—a green flag at the mast-head and a man with a green jersey in the bows.
On our starboard hand, almost on the sky-line of the hills, a light-coloured building became visible, looking like an ancient castle, with a long flagpole on the tower. Whether the pole was connected with a wireless installation, we could not tell. The castle was screened from the north side of the bay by a high wall of rock, which soon hid it from us again.
We were drawing nearer and nearer to our goal. Now only a mile—now half a mile—and we should be there....
4.15 p.m. We were at the very spot—exactly a mile north-west of Inishtooskert, a long, low-lying island which was entirely uninhabited.
Now for it! With eager expectation we awaited the men who were to meet us here, and on whom it now depended whether our mission should be carried to a successful issue. For the last half hour we had had hanging from our bridge-rail the signal agreed upon with Casement.
Now with the naked eye, and now with our glasses, we scanned the surroundings. Nothing to be seen. Nothing moving in any direction. Not a boat on the water or any sign of life. The whole neighbourhood seemed to be dead. As there was no appreciable current here in the inner part of the bay, I lay to temporarily with the engines stopped.
When another ten minutes had elapsed and still nothing was to be seen, I began to feel a little uneasy.
A quarter of an hour went by, and from moment to moment our anxiety increased. We waited and waited with beating hearts, silently hoping that the next few seconds would see our wishes fulfilled. In vain. The stillness remained absolute.
Slowly the minutes slid away. The half-hour's grace agreed upon was nearly up. I got out my secret orders and read them through once more. There could be no doubt; I was at the right spot, and exactly at the right time. But where were the Irish?
My orders were, 'If, after half an hour's wait, none of the aforesaid vessels or persons are at the rendezvous, and there does not appear to be any possibility of communicating with them, you are to use your own judgment as to whether to proceed in or to turn back.'
The half-hour was up. I considered for a few moments what I should do.
Turn back? No. Under no circumstances would I give up the game, so long as any possibility remained of carrying out a landing. But how to carry it out? To run in in full daylight, without having established communication with Casement or any of his people would be foolish. I might just as well make the English a present of the munitions.
Another point was that the channel beside the pier was only six feet deep at low tide, so that, if I were obliged to blow up the ship to prevent her falling into the hands of the enemy, hardly half of her hull would be under water!
It looked, too, as if something had gone wrong. On the slopes of Kerry Head, the northern buttress of Tralee Bay, and in several other places, clouds of smoke were rising from the hills. Could these be warnings intended for us? But if so, where the deuce were the men who had lit them?
My whole crew had, in the meantime, gathered on deck, and as we were all taking the same risk, I had the whole ship's company up to the bridge to confer on the situation. To my delight none of them thought of turning back so long as there was any hope whatever of carrying out our mission. As we talked things over we came more and more to the conclusion that the English had got wind of our enterprise.
The absence of the Irish might, of course, have various grounds. It was quite possible that the wireless message announcing our coming had arrived in a mutilated condition, or that it had been badly deciphered, and that either for this or for the previous reason it had been obscure if not wholly unintelligible. It was also possible that the code-word which it had been agreed to insert in the German wireless news, just before the evening military communique, as a sign to the Irish[13] that our expedition had started, had been accidentally omitted, and the Irish had consequently thought that something had occurred to prevent our coming.
But it seemed to me on the whole, much more probable that the Irish of the west had not been content to look on idly at the activity of their brethren on the east coast, and had also themselves started disturbances, which had led to the proclamation of martial law on the west coast also. As I have mentioned earlier, this had been suggested to me by a paragraph in the papers before I left Berlin.
If the Irish had really committed this folly, my task would be rendered immensely more difficult, if not impossible, for it might be taken as certain that a number of the Sinn Feiners concerned would be already under arrest, and that the English would at least have got wind of our intended landing. That might account for the sudden appearance of the battery which we had passed shortly before.
But where was Casement all this time? Was he already in Ireland, and perhaps already arrested, or was he still on a submarine which had not yet arrived? Here, too, there were all kinds of possibilities. The submarine might have had an accident and turned back; or bad weather, or engine trouble, might have delayed the voyage. Again, it was not impossible that the submarine with Casement on board had already been here, and after finding how the land lay had gone back some distance to meet us—perhaps to warn us. In the latter case it might be assumed that towards evening the submarine would again return to the rendezvous.
There were certainly possibilities enough to keep one guessing, but I felt pretty sure that the Irish in the west had broken out prematurely, and the English, in consequence, had taken measures to deal with our plan, as well as with the Irish rising.
Assuming, then, as the most probable hypothesis, that the principal leaders including, perhaps, Casement himself, had been arrested, but that those who remained would make an effort to carry out the plan as best they could. It seemed most likely that they would wait for nightfall before attempting to communicate with me.
I had abandoned the idea of leaving the bay again, and returning after dark, as being too suspicious a manœuvre. On the other hand, to continue to lie here indefinitely would also be likely to awaken suspicion. I therefore decided to explore the inner part of the bay.
At half-speed I headed for the shore between Fenit and Kerry Head. While working slowly round the north point of Inishtooskert, some of the smaller islands lying behind it came into view. Some of these seemed to be inhabited, but none of the inhabitants were to be seen. We could now see also the first signs of Fenit, a little pier with a lighthouse. Behind it rose the masts of one or two small sailing vessels, and to one side a congeries of brick buildings—the 'town.' The whole thing had a depressing look. The only imposing feature in the picture was the ring of high, bare hills which surrounded the bay. Nothing whatever to attract our interest—Stay, what was that? Was not there a man standing on the pier? There certainly was! At the base of the flagstaff, from which hung the folds of the English ensign, there tramped to and fro at the usual mechanical sentry-go, an unmistakable Tommy with his rifle over his shoulder. Here, too, then, the military were in occupation. Evidently everything was prepared for our coming.
In striking contrast to his warlike exterior, was the absolute lack of intelligence in the sentry, who seemed to take no notice whatever of us, though we were now lying, as large as life, only a few hundred yards before him.
We looked in vain for further soldiers, or any indication of the proximity of a large military force. Did they want to lure us into a trap?
The pier was now so close to us that with the glasses we could make out every object upon it; so, of course, everything on board could be equally clearly seen, if any one was watching us. I therefore turned gradually away towards the north, to have a look at the flat coast below Kerry Head. Perhaps I might there find an opportunity to get in touch with the Sinn Feiners.
After we had steamed all round the upper part of the bay, however, all hope of this kind had to be abandoned. Though we showed our signals more and more boldly as time went on, no one took the slightest notice of us.
The situation became more and more extraordinary. For two solid hours we had been cruising about in the bay, it was beginning to grow dusk, and there had not been the slightest sign from the land. The fact that no one had taken the slightest notice of our presence, or of our peculiar behaviour, confirmed me more and more in the theory that there was some kind of a concealed trap. Neither I nor any of my men found it possible to believe that the English really took us for a harmless trader, as afterwards proved to be the case. Such carelessness was so utterly contrary to our German ideas of duty and discipline that we supposed this possibility to be entirely excluded.
We were therefore glad when night fell and darkness shielded us from inquisitive glances. Instead of flags we now used a green light, which we showed at short intervals both towards land and sea. Hour after hour passed and nothing happened. Darkness reigned everywhere, even in the town. Only on the pier there burned a small green light—the pier-head light intended to show incoming vessels the entrance to the harbour. From time to time we imagined we saw a signal light in one of the houses to the south-east; but always the glasses showed that we were mistaken.
As midnight drew near, it became noticeably brighter—no wonder, for towards one o'clock the moon would rise. I once more approached the pier, this time within six hundred yards, and at the risk of discovery showed my green light once again. Then, when this last attempt proved fruitless, I steamed slowly back to the rendezvous off Inishtooskert.
Cautiously we felt our way along the cliffs to the anchorage. So still was the night that even on the forecastle the stroke of our propeller-blades could be clearly heard. It must have been an hour and a half after midnight when the anchor rattled down into the depths and we brought up in the shadow of Inishtooskert, in what seemed to us a hiding-place well screened in every direction. If the sentry on the pier was not asleep, he must, no doubt, have heard the rattle of the anchor chain. But nothing happened.
The moon had meanwhile risen, but as we lay close under the west side of the island we could count on being in deep shadow till close on the dawn.
Hour after hour passed, and as morning approached my hope that the Irish would manage to communicate with us during the night gradually faded away. When at last day dawned, I gave up the game for lost. Useless to run boldly alongside Fenit Pier, for who could suppose we should be allowed to unload our munitions unmolested; useless to pretend an accident to the machinery, for at once we should have a swarm of officials on board; impracticable to send men ashore in a boat at some outlying spot to make inquiries, for I could not spare a man, in view of future eventualities.
And yet I hated to turn back. The one thing that gave me some small consolation was to find that all my men were equally unwilling to do so.
Well, but, if we stay, how long will they let us lie here? We had not long to wait for an answer. I was just discussing the question with my second, when suddenly we were startled by a shout from the look-out man: 'Steamer on the starboard bow.'... 'The pilot steamer!'
With all our thoughts concentrated for so long on the coming of the pilot, it was small wonder if, electrified by this shout, we leapt to the conclusion that the small steamer which was now rounding Kerry Head was actually bringing the pilot to us. I myself sprang to the signal halliards prepared to hoist our recognition signal; but as I did so, I kept an eye fixed on the steamer, which was heading straight for us. That was fortunate, for in the next few moments she ran up, not the Irish pilot flag, but the British naval ensign.
I personally did not hesitate a moment, but took to flight, that is to say, in accordance with an arrangement made for such cases, I faded away to my cabin, leaving it to the mate, Düsselmann, to stage the comedy which was now to open. All but a few of the men had also disappeared. Behind the curtain of my window I could watch comfortably the further development of events. A loud-voiced objurgation addressed to some of the men, and the heavy steps passing to and fro over my cabin told me that Düsselmann had already taken up his rôle. I looked at my watch. It was shortly after 5 a.m.
The first thing that struck me about the steamer was that she seemed to be in no hurry, and that the men on deck seemed to be still half asleep; the second, that the life-boats which hung at each side of her deck were dummies in painted metal, between which was concealed a quick-firing gun—a real live outpost-boat, therefore. On both sides of the bow flaunted in large lettering the name Shatter II.[14] Her officers did not appear to be distinguished for smartness and resolution, for they stopped their engines while still at a very discreet distance from us, and gathered in a group with their heads together, frequently pointing in our direction—evidently holding a council of war. That lasted about five minutes, then they got under way again, and circled two or three times round our ship, taking care not to come too near. They seemed somehow to show a lack of confidence in us. After a while they stopped again, and I saw them examining us through their glasses.
Before leaving the bridge I had hurriedly given an order to get the hatches closed down as rapidly as possible. The time had been too short, however, to complete the work. In answer to a question through the voice-pipe, the officer of the watch informed me that only hatchway No. 2, which was right under the bridge, had been hastily covered. That was a serious matter, for almost the whole business was plain to be seen by our English friends if they cared to look. On the port side, forward, there were even a few cases of munitions, with inscriptions such as '1000 English cartridges,' '2000 Russian cartridges,' standing on deck, where they had been brought up ready to be landed promptly.
On board the Shatter weighty consultations seemed to be the order of the day, for it was nearly a quarter of an hour longer before she found courage, after cruising round us yet once more, to come alongside at about twenty yards distance. Then I saw a uniformed figure with megaphone in hand preparing to begin a conversation with my officer of the watch. This was apparently the commanding officer of the proud warship. I inferred this from the fact that he ordered several of his men, armed with rifles and pistols, to take up their posts near him, in order, no doubt, to season the conversation, if need be, with a little peppering of shot. This rather reassured me; especially when I took a second look at the 'commanding officer.' An undersized, stocky figure, with a typical whisky-drinker's face, the colour of which was scarcely distinguishable from the red scarf which he wore round his neck. I had at once the feeling that things were going to be rather amusing. And so, in fact, it turned out.