CHAPTER XXII THE SINKING OF THE 'LIBAU'
It was long past midnight. The moon was fairly high and it was a beautifully clear and calm night. Under ordinary circumstances one could not have wished for a better. Thousands and thousands of stars twinkled in the sky, and there was not a wisp of cloud to dim their glittering light. The sea was almost as smooth as glass, except when a gentle breeze momentarily ruffled its surface.
The silence of this peaceful night was broken only by an occasional subdued word of command or a whistle on the escorting vessels, which unceasingly circled round us like sheep dogs round their flock. With their sharp bows they tore deep furrows, which, resolving into numberless wavelets, grew ever broader and strewed the surface with millions of glittering silver specks. From time to time one heard also louder orders from the various engine-rooms and stoke-holds, followed by the slamming of furnace-doors and the rattle of shovels. And then, a few moments later, the thick smoke-clouds that issued from the funnels of the dark-gray monsters showed that the enemy was not asleep.
More and more numerous became the lights of passing ships, which, far to the north of us, were making for their destination safe in the shelter of the coast. And many ships without lights also met us or crossed our course. These were English patrol-ships and destroyers steaming without lights in order to escape the observation of German submarines which had recently been very active round the south coast of Ireland, causing terror and damage to all who had a bad conscience.
On board the Aud there was absolute silence. We were all busy with our own thoughts. And these were probably all the same. If luck would only come to our aid just this once! But it did not come. The weather showed no sign of changing before morning. The longed-for submarine, for all our anxious look-out, could not be seen. Whenever we looked towards the English we could see on each ship a couple of dark figures with glasses to their eyes keeping us steadily under observation. Thus we proceeded, mile after mile. Northwards, a long, dark strip, like a low-lying cloud-bank, was now visible; we were approaching the coast. Consequently, it was time we started to learn something about Queenstown Harbour; for if we were forced to sink the Aud we ought at least to choose the spot where she would do most damage to the enemy. Unfortunately, when search was made for the proper chart, it turned out that we had special charts of African and American harbours—but none of Queenstown. Naturally, it never occurred to us when we were setting out that we should visit that harbour.
'Oh, damn this Quee-ee-eenstown,' growled the second mate, imitating the voice of the English officer, which was still echoing in our ears. The stout little fellow had not lost his sense of humour in spite of all our misfortunes.
So we were forced to study the details of Queenstown Harbour on a general chart of Ireland. Unfortunately, this chart gave very few details. We discovered, however, that the average depth of the outer entrance to the harbour was twenty to twenty-five fathoms. This suited our purpose admirably. There was enough water to prevent the wreck being raised, and there was still the possibility that we might obstruct the channel if the Aud came to rest in the right position.
As dawn approached, the Bluebell altered course, keeping closer to the coast, which, with its low chalk-cliffs, covered with rich green meadow, was now plainly visible. 'We can celebrate Easter Sunday there,' I heard a voice behind me say. It was Battermann, of course, the signalman of the grinning countenance. And sure enough it was the 22nd of April, and next day would be Easter Sunday! In the excitement of the last few days I had lost count of time. At sunrise the destroyers considered their task finished, for after a short exchange of signals with the leading ship they turned and steamed westwards. The warships patrolling these waters were now so numerous that the enemy judged us to be safe. Nevertheless, the Bluebell (evidently fearing some stratagem on our part) thought it advisable to leave the head of the convoy and move to the rear, whence she could keep a better watch on us, nosing round us now on the starboard side, now on the port side, but always at a respectful distance.
During the night I had ordered the crew to put on uniform under their Norwegian costume. Their naval caps they stuffed into their pockets, so that at the given moment they had only to cast off their heavy leather jackets in order to be recognised as German sailors. The first and second mate and myself followed the same procedure. Galley Lighthouse, which stands below the entrance to Queenstown, was now visible. Shortly afterwards the lightship (which at that time lay in mid-channel) came into view. As there was no traffic of any sort in the western half of the channel we surmised—correctly—that a minefield was laid there.
Fifteen minutes more and we should be there. The quays swarmed with war craft of every description. In order to do the job thoroughly I had ordered the condenser to be smashed before the ship was blown up. The engineer had consequently let the pressure fall so low that we were steaming, or rather crawling, not more than two knots, and our escort did not attempt to protest. In view of the proximity of the harbour and of the other warships they probably felt surer of us now. How confident they were, and how unsuspecting, will be seen from the fact that during the last hour they had been busy getting into harbour trim. Guns were polished and covered with tarpaulins, ropes neatly coiled down and decks scrubbed, and many of the crew might be seen in shore-going clothes, brushing one another down. We could hardly believe our eyes when we noticed their light-hearted carelessness and contrasted it with the deep mistrust they had previously shown.
The moment which was to decide our fate was now at hand. In view of the dangerous cargo which we carried above the explosive bombs, I had to reckon with the fact that when I blew up the ship we might all be blown to bits. I therefore passed the word that I required four volunteers to blow up the ship and hoist the German naval flag, but that the others were free to lower a boat just before the explosion was timed to take place. A unanimous, almost angry, 'No!' was the answer—'we will stay with the captain till the end.' It is a great satisfaction to me to express here to my brave crew my thanks for their fidelity.
Moreover, to ascertain what the Bluebell intended with us I now signalled, 'Where are we to anchor?' And shortly afterwards I received the answer, 'Await further orders.' 'All right, then,' said I to myself, 'you will soon see.' And I had the secret satisfaction that up to the very end it was I that called the tune.
When we were about three-quarters of a mile from the lightship a deep scheme occurred to me. On our port side a large English cargo-steamer was tearing along at top speed. She was a ship of about 8000 tons and in ballast, so that she stood high out of the water. We could send her to the bottom along with the Aud.
'Port ... 10 ... 15.' 'Ease her a little.' 'Steady.' 'Keep her at that!'
Slowly and sluggishly the Aud answered her helm. She had barely steerage way.
'All hands to quarters! Ready with the fuses and incendiary bombs! Stand by to run up the ensign!' Every man was at his post ready for the signal.
We were now within 800 yards of the steamer. Then the unexpected happened. Presumably in consequence of a signal from the Bluebell, on the bridge of which a signalman was busily semaphoring, the steamer suddenly put her helm hard a-starboard, passing us and the cruiser in a wide sweep. So our plan of ramming her was frustrated. Our luck appeared to be right out. Two hundred yards more to the lightship!—150!—100! Eagerly we scanned the surface for the last time, but no periscope was visible.
There was nothing else for it then.
'All ready?' 'All ready!' was the answer from the engine-room and deck. The hands who were not employed were standing unobtrusively in the neighbourhood of the ship's boats. These they had lowered to the height of the ship's rail, lying on their stomachs so as to avoid being observed by the enemy. It might still be possible to make use of them. From the engine-room came sounds of violent hammering—the condenser was being smashed, and there was no retreating now.
'Hard a-starboard!' The engine-room telegraph rang three times in succession, 'Stop!'
This was the pre-arranged signal. With a last effort the Aud swung slowly to starboard and lay exactly across the channel. The ship's pendant was already waving from the main-mast, and next moment the German naval ensign was run up, bidding defiance to the English and all their works. Jackets and greatcoats flew overboard. Three cheers for our supreme War Lord! Then there was a muffled explosion. The Aud shivered from stem to stern, beams and splinters flew up in the air, followed by a cloud of dirty-gray smoke, and flames burst forth from the saloon, the charthouse, the ventilators, and the forecastle. That was all we had time to notice. 'All hands to the boats!' We might be able to get away from the ship before the munitions exploded.
The port side boat, under command of the first mate, had already pushed off, as the starboard boat was just being lowered. 'All away?' 'Ay, ay, sir!' was the answer from the boats. The engineer, the second mate, the helmsman, and I were the last to clamber down. We cut the painter with an axe, and it was high time we did, for within a few feet of our boat was the 'conjurer's box,' which still contained a dozen explosive bombs. The stern was already low in the water, and we were just pushing off when a stoker came running from the burning forecastle with some large object under his arm.
'Good heavens, man, what are you doing on board?'
'I've saved the gramophone,' he shouted, as he swung himself down with the agility of a monkey and plumped into the boat like a sack. But the gramophone which he had rescued at such risk fell into the water and was no more seen.
It required our utmost efforts to get clear of the sinking ship. While we were busy doing this there was a second violent explosion amidships. Several more followed, accompanied by clouds of thick, sulphurous smoke. The munitions were probably catching fire. If we did not get clear soon the whole ship might blow up round our heads. The crew gave way with a will. Suddenly a gun roared. The Bluebell had spoken. We could not see where the shell struck, for the forward part of the Aud, which projected out of the water, interrupted our view. All we could see was that the ships at the quay came steaming towards us. At the same moment we heard loud cries coming from our second boat. Surely the Bluebell would not——. We hardly dared to give expression to the terrible thought.
As any resistance would only lead to foolish and useless bloodshed (for we were defenceless and at the mercy of an infinitely superior force), I had, as instructed by my superior officers, expressly ordered that a white flag was to be shown immediately if we succeeded in launching the boats.
This order was carried out. The Bluebell therefore violated international law if she fired at us now. When, a few minutes later, we rowed round the burning ship, we were glad to find that the second boat was undamaged.
The bow of the Aud was lifting higher and higher out of the water. The stern was already submerged, and the surface of the water was strewn with all sorts of wreckage. Strangely enough, there was no further explosion. The huge charge probably tore such a hole in the ship's side that the water rushed in instantly and drowned out the fuses.
About five minutes after the first explosion a dull, rumbling noise came from the Aud. The cargo and bunkers were shifting. The masts tottered, then the blazing bow rose perpendicularly out of the water, and next moment the Aud, as if drawn down by an invisible hand, sank with a loud hissing noise. Our good old Libau was no more.