CHAPTER XXIV LAWFUL COMBATANT OR PIRATE?
About 5 a.m. I was taken on deck. We were now at Milford Haven, on the south-west coast of England. A strong escort of Marines, which had been sent in all haste from Chatham, came to fetch us. A long, unpleasant journey by special train then followed. Our food during the eighteen hours' journey consisted of two slices of bread with a suggestion of butter. I could not discover where we were going. At various stations the people came to the carriage windows and shouted and spat at us, and the officer in charge of the escort angrily drew the curtains. The soldiers escorting us filled the passages of our two corridor carriages, and when asked where we were going I heard them repeatedly answer, 'To London. They are to be shot in the Tower!' This did not sound very hopeful.
After midnight on a pitch-dark night we arrived in Chatham. We could see nothing. All the lights were masked in consequence of a recent Zeppelin raid. Nothing could be heard but the rattle of rifles and bayonets. Now and then the silence was broken by a muffled word of command. We were then surrounded by a squad of Marines and marched through the dark streets to the barracks. We halted before a large building. My crew had been taken off in another direction, only the first and second mates remaining with me. We were taken up two flights of stairs.
All the proceedings had taken place in uncanny silence. Several cells were opened. The middle one was mine. I had hardly crossed the threshold when the door was again barred, and a heavy key turned in the lock. I was left to myself.
Early next morning I received a visit from an Admiral and his A.D.C. As a well-bred man and as the junior in rank, I saluted in curt military fashion. But this gentleman did not consider it necessary to return my salute, not even with his stick, as is the custom of most English officers. I therefore answered his questions so curtly and evasively that he soon left.
This day and the succeeding ones dragged heavily. I tried to while away the time with physical exercises, but as I could not go on for ever with these I was left most of the day to my reflections. Next night I chanced to overhear a conversation between two of my guards, who were standing directly opposite the peephole in my cell-door. They were speaking of an attack on Lowestoft by the German Fleet. To my joy, I gathered from their conversation that the English had suffered heavily.
Twenty times during the night a sentry came into my cell, in order to make sure that I had not hanged myself, and went out again with a loud rattle of keys. When I entered the cell my first thought was, 'How am I to get out of this?' But I was soon convinced that there was not the slightest possibility of escape. I had not even that most necessary of all tools, a knife. At meals (which were good and abundant) I was given only a spoon.
The most unpleasant feature of this captivity was that I had too much time to think about our ultimate fate. I had no idea what was happening outside, or what was to happen to my men and myself. I had discovered that the room on my right was occupied by the officer of the guard, and that on my left by the sergeant of the guard. Farther on, on each side, were the cells of the first and second mates. It was therefore impossible to communicate with them by tapping on the wall.
Next morning when I got up all my clothes had vanished, uniform, linen, shoes—in fact, everything I had taken off. I was just about to knock and ask the explanation when an English petty-officer appeared and explained to me that my things were still in the tailor's and shoemaker's shops, and that they were being sewn together again. He told me they had taken everything apart during the night and had discovered a large quantity of English, Norwegian, and Danish banknotes in our clothes. It would count against me that I had sewn my money in the lining. They had unfortunately found no secret documents, he added regretfully. This put all possibility of bribing our guards out of the question. It was what you might call very hard luck. As soon as I was dressed I was taken downstairs. The escort was already waiting to take us to the railway station. On the way to the station we were joined by my crew with another escort. I was glad to see that they were in good spirits. They had no idea yet what was on foot.
The Chatham mob behaved so badly to us that the escort were repeatedly forced to interfere. We went by train to London, and were taken from the station in two open motor-lorries. The whole business reminded me of cattle being taken to the slaughterhouse. A halt was made at Scotland Yard, the headquarters of the English Police, where we were to be examined. A big crowd received us with abuse and threatening language.
As was to be expected, our reception at Scotland Yard was icily cold and unfriendly. I was at once taken before the high officials of the Admiralty. Three sides of the big room were occupied by naval officers. General Staff officers, police officials, and detectives. The Commissioner of Police for London was also present. Commander Brandon and his colleague Captain French,[17] who, some time ago, spent several years in a German prison after being convicted of espionage, acted as interpreters and members of this court. As Captain French translated not only badly but also intentionally wrong, I refused his mediation and henceforward spoke in English.
Each of us was examined separately. Of course, we 'fooled them to the top of their bent.' They tried by every possible means to pump us by kindliness and by threats of the meanest description.
My men naturally told them the same fairy-tales as I. Even comic interludes were not lacking. For instance, one of the crew when asked where the German Fleet was, answered, after some reflection, 'Yes, I can tell you exactly. It has been at sea for a long time looking for the English Fleet, but so far has not been able to find it.' The English did not take the remark very kindly, for which we could hardly blame them.
Right at the beginning of the examination I expressly told the President of the Tribunal, a naval captain, that he need not expect a single word from me or my men which would prejudice German interests. As he continued, in spite of this, to ply us with questions, he need not have been surprised if we answered falsely.
Unfortunately, it became quite clear in the course of the examination that the English not only had got wind of the arrival of the Libau, but also possessed exact information on practically every detail. Their information on the preparations for the expedition were particularly accurate.
There were traitors and spies at work! I cudgelled my brains in vain to think where they had got their information. From what the English told me of my sojourn in the different German ports and in Berlin, I concluded that a male or female spy was following every step I took at that time. It was a complete mystery to me. In answer to repeated questions about Sir Roger Casement, I answered each time that I did not know the man at all, whereupon they read out to me out of a big file some passages which were word for word identical with my secret orders! I had, personally, burned my copy of the orders. They must, therefore, possess the only extant copy. Casement's!
Should I continue to deny all knowledge?—I reflected for a moment. Yes, in the interests of my men I must; for I judged by the conduct of the English that they intended to treat my crew and myself in the same illegal manner.
That Casement was a prisoner I already knew, but I did not know where he was imprisoned. The English captain told me—probably as a bluff—that Casement was a prisoner in the next room, and that I should be confronted with him in a few minutes. There was no further object, he said, in my denying knowledge of the business as Casement, in order to save his neck, had betrayed everything! I had to pull myself together in order to conceal the effect on me of this statement. Luckily I kept my head. Bluff against bluff! Only the utmost assurance could help me now. So I answered in a quiet tone that I should be glad to be confronted with him at once, so that the officers could see for themselves that we were strangers.
It was a risky game I was playing. If Casement had really betrayed everything we were lost. If not, my effrontery might perhaps save the situation. The English, taken aback, looked at one another for a moment; and then all turned their eyes on me; they wished to note what effect Casement's name had on me. A long, uncomfortable pause followed, during which I made every effort to preserve an attitude of indifference. At last the examination came to an end. And—nothing more, either then or later, was heard about confronting me with Casement! The manner in which the English conducted the inquiry provoked me several times to declare that they should not forget they were dealing with a German officer and German sailors. I had told them that I had sealed orders which were not to be opened till we had left German waters, so that my crew knew nothing about our objective when they followed me. The English captain was intensely angry with me for having carried out these orders. I ought, he said, as soon as I had read them, to have turned back at once and refused to carry out such a commission! The only way I could answer such a disgraceful suggestion was with a contemptuous shrug and with the remark that such a thing might be possible in England, but not in Germany, where every soldier at once carries out every order of his superior officers without moving an eyelid.
After this interrogation I was taken to an adjoining room, carefully guarded by several detectives. The English had not been able to prove that secret intercourse had taken place between us and the Irish in Tralee. They may therefore have come to the conclusion that they could not, as they had threatened, shoot or hang us without a gross violation of international law. They therefore looked round for some other excuse to vent their anger on me and catch me. They soon found one, and when I was again brought in the English captain explained to me that I must be shot because I had blown up my ship after I had been taken prisoner!
This, of course, was nonsense. When I followed the English cruiser to Queenstown I was by no means a prisoner; I was simply a neutral obeying their command because no other course was open to me.
Nevertheless, the English captain continued to point out that they were not violating international law, but that we ourselves had violated international law by misuse of a neutral flag. We could not, therefore, claim to be treated as lawful combatants, and must expect the treatment always meted out to pirates, hanging or shooting. As before, when on board the Bluebell, I tried the effect of the threat that the German Government would make reprisals. Then the inquiry ended. Before I was led away, however, the captain informed me that he could no longer regard me as an officer, as I had not told him the truth! These English really had a very naïve conception of a German officer's honour and sense of duty.
When I arrived in Chatham I soon found that the English captain had not spoken empty words. The treatment which I now received left much to be desired. Of the much-vaunted chivalrousness of the English towards their captive enemies I saw no trace.
For several days we remained in this solitary confinement without knowing what our fate was to be. None of us will ever forget these days of anxious uncertainty. I was examined several times in my cell also. From the ever-increasing strictness of the guards, their constant whispering, the sidelong looks they gave me when they thought they were observed, I concluded that we were in a very serious position.
On four successive nights Zeppelin attacks were made on London, and Chatham also got its share. The excitement of the English, when it was announced, 'The Zepps are coming,' can hardly be described. My nerves had gradually become so dulled that I hardly took any notice of the attacks.
After long, anxious days, we were released from this nerve-racking confinement. I had already given up all hope. An escort came early one morning for us and took us first to London and then to an officer prisoner-of-war camp. I learned that the rest of the crew had been moved the day before. When, after a long railway journey, we arrived at Castle Donington, near Derby, we at last discovered that we were being taken to Donington Hall Camp. So they had realised that they could prove no charge against us. All the same, I was not convinced of this until I saw German uniforms moving about in the distance inside the camp. Until that moment I had been ready for any new, unpleasant surprise; for this time the escort, contrary to previous custom, had been provided with handcuffs.
The road to the camp took a good half-hour, and then the great gates closed behind us with a loud bang. A large number of English officers and Tommies took us into their keeping as 'very dangerous criminals.' Shortly after my arrival at Donington Hall the court-martial on Roger Casement began, lasting for several months and ending with his condemnation. During this time the voyage of the Aud was the subject of constant inquiries on the part of the Government and the Press.
As I learned, partly through the inquiry proceedings, and afterwards from the commander of the U-boat, Sir Roger Casement had reached Tralee Bay late on the evening of our arrival. The U-boat had seen from a distance in the dark the outline of the Aud at Innistooskert, but mistook it for an English destroyer. Thereupon Casement, despairing of the arrival of the Aud, went ashore in a collapsible boat and was arrested next morning by the English who were waiting for him. His arrest had caused so much excitement among the Irish that no one dared to get into communication with us. But Casement's arrest caused the outbreak of the Irish revolution. As, however, the Irish lacked the most necessary things, rifles and heavy artillery, the revolution, bloody and serious as it was, could only fail. Sir Roger Casement was sentenced to be hanged. On the 3rd of August the sentence was carried out. The brilliant defence which Casement made had been of no avail. He died every inch a man, and with the consciousness that the idea for which he had fought and suffered would sink deeper in the hearts of the Irish and bring them nearer to freedom.