"THE ADVENTURE OF THE U-202"—THE KAISER'S ARMADA
Hunting the Seas on a German Submarine
By Baron Spiegel Von Und Zu Peckelsheim, Captain Lieutenant Commander of the U-202
This is a thrilling day by day story of the daring, hunting raid of a German submarine, told by the officer in charge. He tells how the undersea boat is maneuvered; how the English and French attempt to guard the channel against the enemy's deadly U-boats. He reveals the emotions of the officers and crew of the little 202 in the presence of what seemed death the next moment, and tells of their marvellous achievements in the midst of their sinister tasks. This is one of the most astounding personal narratives that the War has yielded. These selections are taken from the German Commander's logbook with the permission of the publishers, The Century Company, copyright 1917, published by arrangement with the New York World.
[3] I—STORY OF THE SUBMARINE CAPTAIN
What peculiar sensations filled me. We were at war—the most insane war ever fought! And now I am a commander on a U-boat!
I said to myself:
"You submarine, you undersea boat, you faithful U-202, which has obediently and faithfully carried me thousands of miles and will still carry me many thousand miles! I am a commander of a submarine which scatters death and destruction in the ranks of the enemy, which carries death and hell fire in its bosom, and which rushes through the water like a thoroughbred. What am I searching for in the cold, dark night? Do I think about honor and success? Why does my eye stare so steadily into the dark? Am I thinking about death and the innumerable mines which are floating away off there in the dark, am I thinking about enemy scouts which are seeking me?
"No! It is nerves and foolish sentiments born of foolish spirits. I am not thinking about that. Leave me alone and don't bother me. I am the master. It is the duty of my nerves to obey. Can you hear the melodious song from below, you weakling nerves? Are you so dull and faint-hearted that it does not echo within you? Do you not know the stimulating power which the thin metal voice below can inspire within you?
"This song brings greetings to you from a distance of twelve hundred miles and through twelve hundred miles it comes to you. Ahead we must look; we must force our eyes to pierce the darkness on all sides."
The spy-glass flew to the eye. There is a flash in the west. A light!
"Hey, there! Hey! There is something over there——"
"That is no ordinary light. What about it?"
II—NIGHT ON THE OCEAN—ON DECK OF A SUBMARINE
Lieutenant Petersen was looking through his night glasses at the light.
"I believe he is signaling," he said excitedly. "The light flashes continually to and fro. I hope it is not a scout ship trying to speak with some one."
Hardly had the lieutenant uttered these words when we all three jumped as if electrified, because certainly in our immediate neighborhood flashed before us several quick lights giving signals, which undoubtedly came from the ship second in line, which was signaling to our first friend.
"Great God! An enemy ship! Not more than three hundred meters ahead!" I exclaimed to myself.
"Hard a starboard! Both engines at highest speed ahead! To the diving stations!"
In a subdued voice, I called my commands down the tower.
The phonograph in the crew-room stopped abruptly. A hasty, eager running was discernible through the entire boat as each one hurried to his post.
The boat immediately obeyed the rudder and was flying to starboard. Between the two hostile ships there was a continuous exchange of signals.
"God be praised it is so dark!" I exclaimed with a deep breath as soon as the first danger had passed.
"And to think that the fellow had to betray his presence by his chattering signals just as we were about to run right into his arms," was the answer. "This time we can truly say that the good God, Himself, had charge of the rudder."
The engineer appeared on the stairway which leads from the "Centrale" up to the conning tower.
"May I go to the engine-room, Herr Captain-Lieutenant?"
It was not permissible for him to leave his diving station, the "Centrale," which is situated in the center of the boat, without special permission.
"Yes, Herr Engineer, go ahead down and fire up hard!" I replied.
The thumping of the heavy oil-motors became stronger, swelled higher and higher, and, at last, became a long drawn out roar, and entirely drowned the sound of the occasional jolts which always were distinctly discernible when going at slower speed. One truly felt how the boat exerted its strength to the utmost and did everything within its power.
We had put ourselves on another course which put the anxiously signaling Britishers obliquely aport of our stern, and rushed with the highest speed for about ten minutes until their lights became smaller and weaker. We then turned point by point into our former course, and thus slipped by in a large half circle around the hostile ships.
"Just as a cat around a bowl of hot oatmeal," said Lieutenant Petersen.
"No, my dear friend," I said laughingly, "it does not entirely coincide. The cat always comes back, but the oatmeal is too hot for us in this case. Or do you think that I intend to circle around those two rascals for hours?"
"Preferably not, Herr Captain-Lieutenant. It could end badly!"
"Both engines in highest speed forward, let the crew leave the diving stations, place the guards!" I ordered.[4]
It was three minutes after six o'clock, and within about half an hour the sun would rise, but the sea and the sky still floated together in the colorless drab of early dawn and permitted one only to imagine, not see, that partition wall, the horizon.
Unceasingly our binoculars pierced the gray dusk of daybreak. Suddenly a shiver went through my body when—only a second immovable and in intense suspense—a dark shadow within range of the spy-glass made me jump. The shadow grew and became larger, like a giant on the horizon—one mast; one, two, three, four funnels—a destroyer.
A quick command—I leap down into the tower. The water rushes into the diving tanks. The conning tower covers slam tight behind me—and the agony which follows tries our patience, while we count seconds with watches in hand until the tanks are filled, and the boat slips below the sea.
Never in my life did a second seem so long to me. The destroyer, which is not more than two thousand meters distant from us, has, of course, seen us, and is speeding for us as fast as her forty thousand horse power can drive her. From the guns mounted on her bow flash one shot after another aimed to destroy us.
Good God! If he only does not hit! Just one little hit, and we are lost! Already the water splashes on the outside of the conning tower up to the glass windows through which I see the dark ghost, streaking straight for us. It is terrifying to hear the shells bursting all around us in the water. It sounds like a triphammer against a steel plate, and closer and closer come the metallic crashes. The rascal is getting our range.
There—the fifth shot—the entire boat trembles—then the deceitful daylight disappears from the conning-tower window. The boat obeys the diving rudder and submerges into the sea.
A reddish-yellow light shines all around us; the indicator of the manometer, which measures our depth, points to eight meters, nine meters, ten meters, twelve meters. Saved!
III—HOW IT FEELS TO PLUNGE BENEATH THE SEAS
What a happy, unexplainable sensation to know that you are hiding deep in the infinite ocean! The heart, which had stopped beating during these long seconds because it had no time to beat, again begins its pounding.
Our boat sinks deeper and deeper. It obeys, as does a faithful horse, the slightest pressure of a rider's knees, which, in this case, are the diving rudders placed in the bow and the stern. The manometer now shows twenty-four meters, twenty-six meters. I had given orders we should go down to thirty meters.
Above us we still hear the roaring and crackling in the water, as if it were in an impotent rage. I turn and smile at the mate who is standing with me in the conning tower—a happy, carefree smile. I point upwards with my thumb.
"Do you hear it? Do you hear it?"
It is an unnecessary question, of course, because he hears it as plainly as I do, and all the others aboard hear it, too. But the question can still be explained because of the tremendous strain on our nerves which has to express itself even in such a simple question.
Dear, true, splendid little boat, how one learns to love you during such trying moments and would like to pet you like a living human being for your understanding and obedience! We, here on board, all depend upon you, just as we all depend upon one another. We are chained together. We will face the dangers together and gain success.
You blond heroes who are standing down there in the bowels of the boat without knowing what is happening up in the light, but still knowing that the crucial moment has arrived—that life or death to every one depends on one man's will and one man's decision; you who, with a calm and strong feeling of duty, stick at your posts with all the strength of your bodies and souls strained to the breaking point and still keep full faith in him who is your leader, chief, and commander; you show the highest degree of bravery and self-control, you who never have a chance to see the enemy but still, with sustained calm, do your duty.
Not a word was uttered, not a sound disturbed that deadly stillness on board. One almost forgot that the men were standing with strained nerves at their posts in order to keep the wonderful mechanism running right. One could hear the soft whirr of the dynamos and, more and more distant, the crackling of the exploding shells. Suddenly even this stopped. The Britisher must have noticed that the fish had slipped out of his hand. Shortly thereafter we heard his propellers churning the water above us. Soon this noise died away as it had come, growing fainter and fainter in a kind of grinding whirr.
"Did you hear how he circled around over us?" I asked through the speaking tube which led down into the "Centrale."
"Certainly. That could clearly be distinguished," was the short answer.
I was pondering over what to do next. At first we had no choice but to dive at the first sight of the destroyer suddenly appearing with the break of day.
IX—RISING FROM THE OCEAN BOTTOM
In our capacity as an undersea boat, we were now in a position to fight on equal terms, and I decided to risk a bout with him as soon as it became light enough for me to see through the periscope. The intervening time I made use of by having passed up to me in the tower the long desired cup of morning coffee, in order to stop the tantalizing agony which the smell of the coffee had caused my empty stomach. Thereupon we slowly climbed upwards from our safe breakfast depth of thirty meters. The higher we came—one can read on the manometer how we are ascending meter by meter—the greater became the excitement and tension. Without breathing we listened.
Slowly the boat rose. The top of the periscope would soon be thrust above the surface. My hands clasped the handle with which the well-oiled, and therefore easily movable, periscope can be turned around as quickly as lightning, in order to take a sweep around the horizon. My eye was pressed to the sight, and soon I perceived that the water was getting clearer and clearer by degrees and more transparent. I could not follow the ascent of the boat without consulting the manometer.
My heart was pounding with the huntsman's fervor, in expectation of what I was to see at my first quick glance around the horizon, because the destroyer, which we sighted only a quarter of an hour before, could be only a scouting ship. It might belong to a detachment of naval scouts to protect a larger ship. In my thoughts I saw the whole eastern horizon full of proud ships under England's flag surrounded by smoke.
I did not see anything, no matter how carefully I scanned the horizon. All I could see was the reddening morning blush spread over half of the eastern sky, the last stars now paling and the rising sun showing its first beams.
"For heaven's sake, nobody is here," I grumbled to myself.
"Oh, he'll surely come back, Captain," said my mate with true optimism. "The prey was too hot for him to tackle and now he has started to fetch a couple more to help him."
"It would certainly be less desirable," put in Lieutenant Gröning, who, full of expectations, was standing halfway up the stairway leading from the tower to the "Centrale" and had overheard our talk. "No, it would be less desirable," he repeated, "because then comes the entire swarm of hostile U-boats with their nets cunningly lined with mines. No good will ever come of that."
"There you are right, Gröning," I agreed. "With that sort of a nuisance, equipped as they are with so many machines for our destruction, it would be very disagreeable to make their acquaintance. If they come, it is best to disappear. It is not worth the risk. We have many more important duties ahead of us. It would be too bad to spoil a good torpedo on such trash."
At the same time, I decided to rise so as to get a better observation through the periscope and once more look around the horizon. I suddenly observed in the north-east a peculiar, dark cloud of smoke. I, therefore, did not give any orders to arise, but told "Centrale" by a few short commands through the speaking tube the new turn of affairs and, with added speed, went to meet the smoke cloud.
V—STORY OF THE SINKING TRANSPORT
Soon the outlines of a ship told us that ahead of us was a large steamer, steaming westward at high speed. The disappointment which we experienced at first was soon reversed when it was clearly shown that the fortunes of war had again sent a ship across our course which belonged to a hostile power.
No flag could be seen—nor was it run up. Otherwise we would have seen it.
"This is a suspicious circumstance," I reasoned with myself.
I called down to the "Centrale" all my observations through the periscope at regular intervals, snapping them out in the same sharp, brief style that the newsboys use in calling out the headlines to the listening public. My words were passed in whispers from mouth to mouth until all hands on board knew what was going on above the surface. Each new announcement from the conning tower caused great excitement among the crew, listening and holding their breath and, I believe, if you could measure the tension on human nerves with a barometer, it would have registered to the end of the tube, when, like hammer beats, these words went down to the "Centrale:"
"The steamer's armed! Take a look, mate."
I stepped away from the sights of the periscope. "Can you see the gun mounted forward of the bridge?"
"Yes, certainly," he replied excitedly. "I can see it, and quite a large piece it is, too."
"Now take a look at her stern—right by the second mast—what do you notice there?"
"Thousand devils! Another cannon—at least a ten-centimeter gun. It's a transport, sure."
"Drop the periscope! Port ten!" I commanded.
"Torpedo tube ready!" reported the torpedo master through the tube from the forward torpedo compartment.
By this time I had the periscope submerged so that we were completely below the surface and out of sight, and it would be impossible to discover us from the steamer, even after the most careful searching of the horizon.
"Advance on the enemy!" was our determination.
Oh, what a glorious sensation is a U-boat attack! What a great understanding and coöperation between a U-boat and its crew—between dead matter and living beings! What a merging into a single being, of the nerves and spirits of an entire crew!
"Just as if the whole boat is as one being," was the thought that passed through my mind when I, with periscope down, went at my antagonist, just like a great crouching cat with her back bowed and her hair on end, ready to spring. The eye is the periscope, the brain the conning tower, the heart the "Centrale," the legs the engines, and the teeth and claws the torpedoes.
Noiselessly we slipped closer and closer in our exciting chase. The main thing was that our periscope should not be observed, or the steamer might change her course at the last moment and escape us. Very cautiously, I stuck just the tip of the periscope above the surface at intervals of a few minutes, took the position of the steamer in a second and, like a flash, pulled it down again. That second was sufficient for me to see what I wanted to see. The steamer was to starboard and was heading at a good speed across our bows. To judge from the foaming waves which were cut off from the bow, I calculated that her speed must be about sixteen knots.
The hunter knows how important it is to have a knowledge of the speed at which his prey is moving. He can calculate the speed a little closer when it is a wounded hare than when it is one which in flight rushes past at high speed.
It was only necessary for me, therefore, to calculate the speed of the ship for which a sailor has an experienced eye. I then plotted the exact angle we needed. I measured this by a scale which had been placed above the sights of the periscope. Now I only had to let the steamer come along until it had reached the zero point on the periscope and fire the torpedo, which then must strike its mark.
You see, it is very plain; I estimate the speed of the boat, aim with the periscope and fire at the right moment.
He who wishes to know about this or anything else in this connection should join the navy, or if he is not able to do so, send us his son or brother or nephew.
VI—SCENE OF TERROR AS THE SHIP GOES DOWN
On the occasion in question everything went as calculated. The steamer could not see our cautious and hardly-shown periscope and continued unconcerned on its course. The diving rudder in the "Centrale" worked well and greatly facilitated my unobserved approach. I could clearly distinguish the various objects on board, and saw the giant steamer at a very short distance—how the captain was walking back and forth on the bridge with a short pipe in his mouth, how the crew was scrubbing the forward deck. I saw with amazement—a shiver went through me—a long line of compartments of wood spread over the entire deck, out of which were sticking black and brown horse heads and necks.
Oh, great Scott! Horses! What a pity! Splendid animals!
"What has that to do with it?" I continually thought. "War is war. And every horse less on the western front is to lessen England's defense." I have to admit, however, that the thought which had to come was disgusting, and I wish to make the story about it short.
Only a few degrees were lacking for the desired angle, and soon the steamer would get into the correct focus. It was passing us at the right distance, a few hundred meters.
"Torpedo ready!" I called down into the "Centrale."
It was the longed-for command. Every one on board held his breath. Now the steamer's bow cut the line in the periscope—now the deck, the bridge, the foremast—the funnel.
"Let go!"
A light trembling shook the boat—the torpedo was on its way. Woe, when it was let loose!
There it was speeding, the murderous projectile, with an insane speed straight at its prey. I could accurately follow its path by the light wake it left in the water.
"Twenty seconds," counted the mate whose duty it was, with watch in hand, to calculate the exact time elapsed after the torpedo was fired until it exploded.
"Twenty-two seconds!"
Now it must happen—the terrible thing!
I saw the ship's people on the bridge had discovered the wake which the torpedo was leaving, a slender stripe. How they pointed with their fingers out across the sea in terror; how the captain, covering his face with his hands, resigned himself to what must come. And next there was a terrific shaking so that all aboard the steamer were tossed about and then, like a volcano, arose, majestic but fearful in its beauty, a two-hundred meter high and fifty-meter wide pillar of water toward the sky.
"A full hit behind the second funnel!" I called down into the "Centrale." Then they cut loose down there for joy. They were carried away by ecstasy which welled out of their hearts, a joyous storm that ran through our entire boat and up to me.
And over there?
Landlubber, steel thy heart!
A terrible drama was being enacted on the hard-hit, sinking ship. It listed and sank towards us.
From the tower I could observe all the decks. From all the hatches human beings forced their way out, fighting despairingly. Russian firemen, officers, sailors, soldiers, hostlers, the kitchen crew, all were running and calling for the boats. Panic stricken, they thronged about one another down the stairways, fighting for the lifeboats, and among all were the rearing, snorting and kicking horses. The boats on the starboard deck could not be put into service, as they could not be swung clear because of the list of the careening steamer. All, therefore, thronged to the boats on the port side, which, in the haste and anguish, were lowered, some half empty; others overcrowded. Those who were left aboard were wringing their hands in despair. They ran from bow to stern and back again from stern to bow in their terror, and then finally threw themselves into the sea in order to attempt to swim to the boats.
Then another explosion resounded, after which a hissing white wave of steam streamed out of all the ports. The hot steam set the horses crazy, and they were beside themselves with terror—I could see a splendid, dapple-gray horse with a long tail make a great leap over the ship's side and land in a lifeboat, already overcrowded—but after that I could not endure the terrible spectacle any longer. Pulling down the periscope, we submerged into the deep.
VII—WRECKAGE AND CORPSES—THE OCEAN GRAVE
When, after some time, I came again to the surface there was nothing more to be seen of the great, proud steamer. Among the wreckage and corpses of the horses three boats were floating and occasionally fished out a man still swimming in the sea. Now I came up on the surface in order to assist the victims of the wrecked ship. When our boat's mighty, whale-like hull suddenly arose out of the water, right in their midst, a panic seized them again and quickly they grasped their oars in order to try to flee. Not until I waved from the tower to them with my handkerchief and cap did they rest on their oars and come over to us. The state in which some of them were was exceedingly pitiful. Several wore only white cotton trousers and had handkerchiefs wrapped around their necks. The fixed provisions which each boat was required to carry were not sufficient when the boat's crew was doubled and trebled.
While I was conferring with our mess officer as to what we could possibly dispense with of our own provisions we noticed to the north and west some clouds of smoke which, to judge from the signs, were coming towards us quickly. Immediately a thought flashed through my head:
"Now they are looking for you. Now comes the whole swarm."
Already the typical masts of the British destroyers and trawlers arose above the horizon. We, therefore, did not have a minute to lose in order to escape these hostile and most dangerous enemies. I made my decision quickly and called to the captain of the sunken steamer that he could let one of the oncoming ships pick them up as I could not spare the time, but had to go "north-east." Then I submerged—right in front of the boats full of survivors.
(Here the captain graphically describes his escape from the British fleet; how near they came to his capture. He relates many interesting tales of the "Days of Terror," "A Lively Chase," matching wits "The British Bull-dog," and the joy of "Homeward Bound."—Editor.)
FOOTNOTES:
[3] All numerals relate to stories told herein—not to chapters in the book.
[4] (The captain here describes a night of perilous adventures and escapes on the sea, until morning brought them face to face with death.)