The Project Gutenberg eBook, Gun running for Casement in the Easter rebellion, 1916, by Karl Spindler, Translated by W. Montgomery and E. H. McGrath

GUN RUNNING FOR CASEMENT

NEW NOVELS

GUN RUNNING
FOR CASEMENT

IN THE EASTER REBELLION, 1916

by

Reserve-Lieutenant KARL SPINDLER

of the German Navy

Translated by
W. MONTGOMERY, M.A.
(Late Lieutenant R.N.V.R.)
AND E. H. McGRATH, M.A.

LONDON: 48 PALL MALL
W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.
GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND

Copyright, 1921

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I A CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS

The date was the 21st of March, 1916.

It was the usual Wilhelmshaven prize weather, blowing great guns, squalls chasing one another across the sea, grim, blue-gray clouds scudding unceasingly across the sky, while the rain battered on the window-panes and threatened at every fiercer gust to burst them in.

I was just in from a spell of outpost duty, and was looking forward to a very comfortable day indoors, when some one hammered at the knocker.

It was an orderly, bringing an urgent message from my chief. I looked a second time at the address; but there was no mistake about it. My chief wished to see me at 5 p.m. As a rule, these formal invitations from the great boded no good to the recipient. 'All the officers have had them, sir,' said the orderly, who perhaps guessed my thoughts. Thank Heaven, then, there was, at any rate, no need to worry as to what crime I had committed. But I could not help wondering what was in the wind....

The long tramp in the streaming rain was well repaid.

Our flotilla had had orders to supply a volunteer crew—one officer, five warrant and petty officers, and sixteen men—for special service, an expedition about the goal and purpose of which nothing could for the present, for military reasons, be allowed to become known. The utmost despatch had been enjoined.

Every one of the officers, of course, was eager to go. At the end of the interview my chief gave me a searching glance, and said, 'I have proposed you for the command of this expedition. What have you to say to that?' It need hardly be mentioned that I did not say No! It had long been my keenest wish to see some service a little out of the ordinary, and now my chance had come. I thought myself at that moment the luckiest man on earth.

Even yet, however, I could not be told any particulars. But the facts that the expedition was absolutely secret, that all the crew were to be unmarried men, below a certain age, and that those without dependents were to have the preference—all this pointed to an undertaking of a very special nature indeed.

At five o'clock next morning, before taking out my half-flotilla on patrol for the last time, I assembled the men and talked to them. Purposely, though I myself as yet knew nothing definite, I laid the utmost stress upon the dangers of the expedition, that they might not make up their minds too hastily.

Not until I thought they had some idea of what they were in for, did I give the order: 'Volunteers, three paces forward—march!'

It was a pleasure to see with what alacrity the men stepped forward, to mark how the eager wish to take part in something big was to be read in every eye. Those who held back were all married men, and even among them there were some who took it hard to have to stay behind.

Even so, the choice was difficult enough. Each group of six boats was to furnish so many men; and the whole crew of the 'mystery ship' was not, for certain reasons, to exceed twenty-two.

After much sifting, the choice was at length made. Those chosen were brave, trustworthy, and—a not unimportant point—powerfully built; each one of them a match for two ordinary men.

After four days of uneventful outpost duty, we were back once more. Even before returning I had received by signal the joyful news that my appointment to the command of the Libau—that was to be the name of the mystery ship—had been confirmed.

I lost no time, you may be sure, about proceeding in, locking through, making fast in the inner harbour, and reporting on board the leading-ship of the flotilla. The best of the volunteers from the other sections were chosen, and the ship's company finally made up. The C.O. of the flotilla, Commander Forstmann, bade us farewell in a short and pithy speech; and then we set to at our packing, for by midday the next day we were to be in the train, bound for a destination as yet unknown. That was the sum of our knowledge, for everything was, so far, in Navy phrase, 'extremely hush.' Neither our friends nor our comrades were to know anything of what we had in hand, for a careless word might be picked up by a spy, and might jeopardise the success of our undertaking, to say nothing of costing us our lives.

Next day the train took us to our unknown destination—in fact, to Hamburg. At the dockyard, where we were expected, our first surprise awaited us, in the shape of our future abode. Not, as we had imagined, some patrol boat fitted with all the newest devices, but what, to our outpost-boat ideas, looked, as she lay before us in the evening light, a truly imposing vessel. The chorus of exclamations which broke from my gallant fellows showed that they were as agreeably disappointed as I was myself.

She was not, of course, really 'an Atlantic liner,' as one of my men called her, but on account of her lofty upper-works, and of her being completely empty, she stood high out of the water, which considerably increased her apparent size.

The Libau—why she received this name will be explained later—was an almost new English steamer. Under the name Castro she had formerly belonged to the Wilson Line of Hull, and in the early days of the war she had been brought in as a prize by one of our destroyers.

On board, everything was still in the same condition as when the English crew abandoned her—a welter of oddments of various kinds, hastily pulled-out drawers, papers, and so forth. The engines and boilers, which had been overhauled by the dockyard people, and the living accommodation for officers and men, which had likewise been re-conditioned, made by contrast a quite satisfactory impression. On the bridge, on the other hand, and in the chart-house—with us the holy-of-holies of every ship—everything was rather neglected-looking. In an English tramp steamer that did not, of course, surprise us.

After the necessary interviews, we formally took over the ship; and a watch was set, to make sure that no unauthorised person found his way on board.

We were to start next morning on the first stage of our voyage, and from now on there was to be no leave, so we had plenty of time to shake down into our new quarters, and with the small quantity of belongings that we had with us that was soon accomplished—except in the case of two of our number. The exceptions were the cook and steward, excellent fellows both, all-round men, who were as useful on deck as in their own domains. These latter, in the Libau, were from their point of view of a truly magnificent spaciousness, for in the little outpost-boats they had been accustomed to perform the mysteries of their office in the most cramped of two-by-fours. In stormy weather, up to their knees in water, holding their gear with both hands, and themselves by their eyelashes, they had perforce adapted themselves to a painfully acrobatic existence. Now they could spread themselves to their heart's content; and so they rattled and rummaged, and arranged and rearranged their possessions, until far into the night.

As for me, as I lay in my bunk that night I could not help recalling how, a bare two years before, while still fourth-officer of a Lloyd liner, I used often to picture to myself how splendid it would be to be given the command of an ocean-going steamer, while one was still young enough to enjoy it. At that time the goal of my desires seemed infinitely distant. Now I stood on the threshold of their fulfilment.

That night I slept excellently—for the last time for many months.

CHAPTER II THE MYSTERY SHIP

We sailed on the following day for Wilhelmshaven, to complete our fitting out, and once arrived there, preparations were pushed on apace. Two or three specially picked, trustworthy dockyard hands, carried out such technical work as my own men were not able to deal with. Apart from this, no one was allowed to enter or leave the ship; even officers of the highest rank were refused admission.

We were screened on the landside from curious eyes, as we lay alongside the much higher and larger Möwe, which had returned shortly before from her first glorious voyage.

All the material that came on board—and there was a good deal of it—was taken over by my own men on the quay. Thus all was done that possibly could be done to keep everything about the ship secret.

We could not, of course, prevent the 'aura of mystery' with which we surrounded ourselves from arousing the curiosity of neighbouring ships, especially of our former comrades of the Outpost Flotilla, who regarded us with no small wonderment, and probably with no small envy. I had therefore told my people that they were, here and there—of course apparently with the greatest hesitation and under the usual seal of secrecy—to spread the rumour that we were going to Libau. To confirm this rumour the name Libau was painted on our bows. As a matter of fact, I did not yet know myself what our destination really was; but I was already quite certain that in any case it was not Libau.

From now onwards the mystery grew from hour to hour. One of our hatches was battened down, and for the present that hold was not to be entered by any of the ship's company, even including myself. As in Hamburg, so here, it was carefully guarded day and night.

But the most mysterious thing of all was in one of the cabins, where underneath a sofa bunk there was a secret entrance which led, by a series of invisible manholes and concealed ladders, to one of the lower holds. This secret hold reached from side to side of the ship, and there was room in it for about fifty men. One end of it was formed by an iron bulkhead, the other by a wooden dummy bulkhead, which so closely imitated the other, and was so painted, that any one would have taken it for an iron water-tight bulkhead, in which there was no opening. The initiated, however, could, from the inner side, remove a couple of planks, and so make their way out. There was a similar arrangement in a yet lower hold, which, for the present, was filled with a reserve supply of coal, the existence of which was to be concealed during the voyage.

Our mystery ship thus contained no lack of delightful surprises.

CHAPTER III SIR ROGER CASEMENT AND THE IRISH PLANS

While preparations were thus being pushed forward on board, I myself was ordered up to Berlin, where also various preparations were in train.

There I learned at last something more definite regarding the destination of the Libau.

Sir Roger Casement, the well-known leader of the Irish Sinn Feiners, who, as one of the most zealous representatives of the cause of Ireland's liberty, had long been an object of suspicion to the English, was now in Germany.

Casement, who was a fiery patriot, and cherished a deadly hatred for England, believed that the world-war had at length brought the opportunity to deliver his country from the age-long oppression of the English. The favourable military situation of the Central Powers at that time justified the hope that they would be victorious. If, then, the Irish people made up its mind to rise against England, and had sufficient tenacity, and a sufficient supply of arms and ammunition, to maintain the struggle, the existing situation was undoubtedly the most favourable for the realisation of Ireland's hopes, that Ireland had ever had—or ever will have.

Roger Casement, as appears from his earlier writings, had years before foreseen this world-war, and the opportunity for Ireland that it would bring in its train. Long a friend and admirer of Germany, co-operation with Germany seemed to him the only hope of deliverance for his country. He had, therefore, both before and during the war, been carrying on by speech and writing a vigorous propaganda in support of this idea. According to his own statements, he had behind him a great part of the Irish people; this was the so-called 'Sinn Fein Party.'

The driving force behind the whole movement, however, was supplied—doubtless on account of their greater liberty of action—by the partisans of the Irish Republican cause in the United States.

The principal representatives of these Irish-Americans had, some time before, approached the German ambassador in Washington, Count Bernstorff, with the urgent request that he would forward their plea for German military support for the projected rising in Ireland.

The desired support, in the form of a landing of troops, had to be refused by Germany; but, on the other hand, Germany declared herself willing, after carefully examining the situation, to fall in with Count Bernstorff's proposal to the extent of sending a ship with arms and munitions to Ireland. This would, on the one hand, give solid proof of Germany's willingness to help the oppressed Irish. On the other hand, it was hoped that an Irish rising, if energetically carried out, would not only bring to the Irish the realisation of their hopes, but would shorten the war by several months. The assumption was that England would be compelled to withdraw from the front great masses of troops and material, in order to cope with the insurrection.

A simultaneous naval demonstration on the east coast of England was to create a favourable opportunity for the landing of the arms, by diverting attention from the west of Ireland.

The questions which had to be considered were, first, whether the ship would be able to run the blockade and succeed in landing her cargo, and, second, whether the Irish would be sufficiently vigorous and energetic to carry out the rising successfully.

Neither question could be answered with certainty. Accordingly, both the ship's mission and the rising planned in connection therewith, from the first involved a large element of risk. Either undertaking without the active support of the other would be purposeless, because fore-doomed to failure.

In view of the return of the Möwe, which had succeeded in getting home shortly before, and the attempted break-through, still more recently, of the auxiliary cruiser Greif, which the English had unfortunately caught, we had now to reckon on the blockade being still further tightened up. The prospects for my blockade-running enterprise were anything but rosy. The more so as the attempt had to be made at a time when the moon was nearing the full. The Irish had insisted that the rising must take place at Easter, which had for the Catholic Irish so very special a significance, and against Easter in the calendar stood the words 'Full Moon'—the very last thing I could have wished for at the time when I should be approaching land.

Casement, who, of course, was in the closest possible touch with his fellow-countrymen across the water, had, in consultation with them already, taken the most necessary steps in Germany.[1]

The plan had therefore been discussed in all its bearings, and was fully communicated to me at various interviews with Sir Roger Casement. I now knew, therefore, that I had been selected for an enterprise which called for a very high degree both of vigour and of circumspection. It can be understood that I was well pleased.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] It may be expressly pointed out here that Germany was fully justified, according to the provisions of the Law of Nations, in giving the desired support to the Irish.—Author's note.

CHAPTER IV 'MYSTERY' CARGO AND CAMOUFLAGE EQUIPMENT

As Casement had expressed a very strong objection against accompanying us in the Libau, it was finally decided to place a submarine at his disposal. He had with him two companions, Lieutenant Monteith and the Irish sergeant, Bailey. The latter turned out in the sequel to be a thorough-paced scoundrel. The submarine was to put Casement, with his companions, on board the Libau at a rendezvous in Tralee Bay, and I was then to proceed in under his instructions.

As a still further precaution against the aims and destination of the Libau becoming known, it had also been decided that I was on the following day to leave Wilhelmshaven and proceed to the Baltic. The goods-trains with our cargo of arms and munitions, which had been waiting for days on the sidings of various stations in Central Germany, without the railway authorities knowing anything about their destination, were, the following night, ordered by telegram to Lübeck, so that they arrived almost at the same time as we did.

By two o'clock in the afternoon we were on our way down the Jade. Officers in command of guardships and barriers had had orders to let us pass without hindrance or delay.

Off the 'Roter Sand' lighthouse, which so often in thick weather had given us guidance—not seldom at the very last moment—the first metamorphosis took place. The secret hatchway was opened and a couple of large boxes brought up, the contents of which we proceeded to spread out on deck. These consisted of complete outfits of clothing for the crew; Norwegian uniforms, i.e. plain blue suits, caps, sweaters, linen, etc., all genuine down to the smallest detail. Even the black buttons were stamped with the name of a Norwegian firm!

In a few minutes the dressing-up was complete, and the result was not without its comic side, for, while some of us looked very like Scandinavians, others looked like nothing on earth, for of course not all the garments were adapted to the size of the wearers. One of the stokers, a tall Bavarian, asked indignantly why the stokers did not get fine big knives like the seamen. When I explained to him that these were only for work, and that later on all would have proper daggers and pistols, he was visibly reassured. One consequence of this metamorphosis was that henceforward all military smartness of bearing and movement had to be dropped, for in order to be able to play our parts properly we must gradually accustom ourselves to tramp-ship ways. I had supposed that this would come easy to the men, but that was not the case; and I must say that, desirable as it was under present circumstances, I could not help being pleased to see how extraordinarily difficult it was to get rid of the military polish. I was sorry my former chief was not there to observe it. However, they learned in time to drop the heel-clicking, call me Cap'n, instead of 'Herr Leutnant,' talk a low German lingo that might pass, at a pinch, for Norwegian, and let their beards grow.

We signalled good-bye to a group of outpost boats on their way in, and once more entered the Elbe. In the night we passed through the Kiel Canal. Next morning saw us off the Bulk lightship, and a little later we steamed, in glorious spring weather, through the Fehmarn Sound. A few hours later we were in Lübeck.

In calling on the firm of shipping agents which had been entrusted with the loading and outfitting of the Libau, I decided to assume my rôle of merchant captain, but the first attempt was something of a fiasco. Clad in the go-ashore kit proper to my status, I entered the private office of the firm, only to be greeted with a respectful 'Good morning, Commander'—a nasty jolt! I stuck to it, however, and the interview passed through various stages of incredulity, indignation at my avoidance of military service, and irritation at my boorish manners. In the end, however, we understood each other excellently, and I here record with gratitude the valuable aid I received from the firm and their confidential employees in the fitting out of the Libau.

The main difficulty was the stowage of the cargo. Even allowing for the quantities of coal and water which would be used in the course of the voyage, the draft which we were not to exceed at our arrival in Ireland was extremely small; and the cargo, in order to be capable of being, if necessary, quickly got out, with very little in the way of help and appliances, had to be stored in a manner contrary to accepted principles and usages. As a result of that, the Libau was so top-heavy that if we encountered stormy weather, there was a great danger of her capsizing. I had perforce, therefore, to make up my mind to increase the dead-weight, which was already considerable, by another two hundred tons of coal. That had, on the other hand, the advantage that I might quite possibly find an excellent use for this 'ballast' later, and how necessary it was, for the immediate purpose the sequel was to show. Without it we should infallibly have been lost off the Rockalls.

As with all the people that we were obliged to employ, the stevedore's men were all carefully chosen. After coal, provisions, water, and so forth had been put on board, they got to work on the stowage of the cargo. Piece by piece had to be lowered into the hold with the greatest care, lest any of the cases should break, for it was highly important that no one should know what was in them. The cases were, for this reason, marked with the usual black and red shippers' marks. The men must, of course, have smelt a rat, for what could be the object of sending to sea at this time a German cargo-steamer with piece-goods marked with names like Genoa and Naples? In any case, I thought it as well to put it abroad here, too, that the Libau was going to Libau! Of course, this was whispered under the strictest seal of secrecy, for then we could be sure that it would go all round the town. I myself let out once in conversation that I was going to take troops aboard in Libau, which were to carry out a 'coup' in Finland. That sounded quite credible. No later than next morning I was asked confidentially by one of the gentlemen who had to do with the fitting-out, whether it was true that I was going to embark troops at Libau for Finland; it was, he said, being reported in the town. Imagine my astonishment! I could only hope that the rumour would come to the ears of some English spies, and if in addition the Russians were on the look-out for us at Libau, then everything was in the best possible train.

And now there suddenly appeared in the living-rooms of the Libau all sorts of genuine Norwegian equipment, whenever possible stamped with the name of a firm; and even Norwegian books and the latest Christiania papers. It was a pity, but it could not be avoided, that a number of Scandinavian ships were lying in harbour with us. All suspicious objects of any kind were now packed away in the hold with the 'entrance through the sofa bunk,' the 'conjurer's box,' as the men christened it.

This 'conjurer's box' was to be very useful to us later. The whole of the German equipment, which we had to have with us but were obliged during the voyage to keep hidden from prying eyes—uniforms, arms, explosive and incendiary bombs, all German nautical instruments, books, charts, flags (including the numerous flags of foreign nations which we might have to use)—all found their way into this compartment.

We had supplies enough, all told, to keep us easily for six months—with the exception of coal, of course, which was calculated to last forty-five days.

The lavishness of our equipment was in part due to the fact that we had to have two or three sets of almost all articles of everyday use—German, English, and, above all, Norwegian—from the compass down to the smallest sardine-tin. In case the ship should be searched, any small object of German origin, even a trouser-button with the name of a German firm stamped on it, might serve to betray us.

Nothing was lacking. We even carried one of the curiously shaped Norwegian whalers on deck. Arms, tools of every kind, electric pocket-lamps, surgical dressings, a plentiful supply of bunting, colours, brushes, and sail cloth, with which the appearance of the ship could be altered as required, wood and cement for various purposes, bed-linen, curtains, and crockery, in short, everything, just of the kind used on Norwegian ships, was provided.

It need hardly be mentioned that we also possessed one or two German naval ensigns and pendants. All tubs, chests, and tins of preserved meat that bore Norwegian inscriptions, were assigned places in particularly conspicuous positions.

We were especially well-found in the matter of ship's papers. Besides German papers for our own consulates in neutral countries, which might eventually come in useful, we had an excellently assorted stock of Norwegian Ship's logs and Engine-room logs, Articles, Certificates, Manifests, Bills of Lading, etc., on board, which served to authenticate the ship, crew, and cargo, and whose genuineness was beyond suspicion. In addition, there were a number of letters, including one of particular interest from my hypothetical owners in Bergen. In this I was requested, before leaving Christiania, to take on board with all speed a consignment of pit-props for Cardiff, which had arrived at the last moment, and on which my owners, in view of the keen demand in England, expected to make a handsome profit. My owners also urged me strongly, in contravention of the English regulations, not to follow the usual steamer track, but to make a point of keeping clear of it, since it was precisely on this track that the German submarines had lately been making such terrible havoc. This letter might serve—provided I found the right kind of idiot to work it off on—or at least might help, to explain the unusual route which I was to follow.

After the main cargo, consisting of arms and munitions, had been got on board, we proceeded to the stowing of the 'camouflage cargo.' This consisted, in addition to the above-mentioned pit-props, of tin baths, enamelled steel ware in cases, wooden doors, window frames, and similar useful articles. These all bore shippers' marks, indicating their destination as Genoa or Naples. It need hardly be mentioned that only this camouflage cargo appeared on the manifest and bills of lading, for its mission in life was to distract attention from our other and dangerous cargo. For this reason also it was stored above the other cargo, in such a way that it could only be moved with the greatest difficulty, and it was only after penetrating several feet down that one came to the munitions.

While these operations had been going on below, my first mate and his men had been busily engaged in giving the ship the appearance of a common tramp. Everywhere, both on hull and upper-works, shone patches of red-lead, the number of which is generally in inverse proportion to the size of the ship. To be in character, no stress was laid henceforward on cleanliness or order.

The name Libau had been painted out. Now that the rumour about our intended landing in Finland had got round, it could, of course, cause no surprise that we should conceal our name, for fear of Russian spies!

Meanwhile I had spent several days in Berlin, where all sorts of important matters had still to be settled. It was even yet not certain that the expedition would take place at all. In twenty-four hours more, however, it was to be decided. Heavily laden with packages of all kinds, I locked myself in, by way of precaution, in a reserved carriage, and left Berlin accompanied by the best wishes of those interested in the success of our voyage. On the very evening of my return, I received telegraphic orders to proceed to sea. Thank Heavens, the uncertainty was over at last.

Next morning we were ready for sea. The time of sailing I had, for certain reasons, fixed at six p.m. As the very last item in our equipment there was brought on board at midday a large dog, of quite 'unquestionable' breed. Old and decrepit as he was, he was nevertheless a dog; and a dog is a thing that a tramp steamer cannot be without. So I had hastily purchased him at the last moment.

The one thing still lacking to our completeness was some kind of knowledge of the Norwegian tongue! For that we must look to the help of Providence, not to mention—supposing the next few days allowed us time—a pocket vocabulary which I had provided, to be on the safe side. The absence of this linguistic knowledge could not disturb our confidence; at the worst one could make shift to carry it off with 'Platt-Deutsch.'[2] The English are no great heroes in the linguistic field. If it should be our lot to be examined later on by an English ship which did not happen to have a Norwegian interpreter on board—though that, of course, was a possibility on the Norwegian coast—it was possible the bluff might come off.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] The Low-German dialect which is the 'home-tongue' of many of the German seamen. It certainly sounds sufficiently different from ordinary German to pass muster with an untrained ear as a different language.

CHAPTER V THE 'LIBAU' SAILS—AND BECOMES THE 'AUD'

The clock in the neighbouring church-tower was clanging out the last of its six vigorous strokes as the Libau, under the mercantile flag, hauled out from the quay. A pleasant Sunday calm lay over the harbour. That the start took place on a Sunday was regarded by my men, according to an ancient sailors' superstition, as a good omen.

Travemünde was passed shortly before dark, and, as we took farewell of the friendly little town, the engine-room telegraph rang for 'full speed ahead.' The voyage into the unknown had begun.

I now made the crew acquainted, so far as was absolutely necessary, with the purpose of the voyage. For the present I said nothing of our course, or destination, and I avoided naming any names, that the men might know only so much as the situation demanded.

I did this in the men's own interest, so that if they were taken prisoners they could truthfully say that they knew nothing. The next thing was to give each of them a Norwegian name and rating. The pronunciation of their names gave some of them considerable difficulty, but I insisted that henceforth no German names were to be used, that the men might become thoroughly accustomed to their new character.

The enthusiasm with which, for all their astonishment, the crew received my explanations, gave me confidence that I had made no mistake in my choice.

Our next care was to see that all articles in common use, clothing, flags, books, instruments, which all had too brand-new an appearance, were made to look as aged and venerable as befitted their importance. More especially, of course, did that apply to the ship's papers, the various letters and other evidences of the genuineness of our assumed character. A smoky candle to brown the documents, some dust from under a floor-mat rubbed in carefully with the palm of the hand, some oil and grease marks dabbed on with a ball of cotton-waste from the engine-room, these were the uninviting but effective means that we used in the operation. Frequent folding and crumpling of the papers gave the finishing touches.

The books received specially artistic treatment, for, according to the age which they had to live up to, we threw them one or more times upon the floor, dog-eared the corners, and loosened some of the leaves. My men developed a remarkable skill in working up their 'discharges,' and these were, before long, torn, dirty, and mended up with sticking plaster. It went to our hearts to subject to the like treatment our beautiful new kits, but stains of tar and paint, and some roughly put on patches, soon made them unrecognisable.

The cult of the beard had already made encouraging progress. In cases where it was too slow, we supplemented it a little with oil and coal dust.

On the hatches I had dozens of chalk marks, so called tally marks, and numbers painted on, as though the checkers had been very zealous in their office. Empty Norwegian preserved-meat tins and old Christiania newspapers were strewn about in the cabins. In short, we spared no effort to give our ship and ourselves an appearance corresponding to our assumed character; and enjoyed ourselves mightily in the process. Now that the tense expectation and uncertainty of the last few days had relaxed, and that the men knew what was at stake, and how many thousands of people were eagerly and anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Libau, they were almost wild with delight. No one thought about the dangers that lay before us. A single desire animated us all. 'On, on, into the enemy's territory; and then home again, covered with glory.' With such a splendid crew one could cheerfully face the devil himself!

About midnight I came to anchor off Warnemünde. The weather had unfortunately changed for the worse. The rising sea compelled me to alter my original plan of going through the Sound as a Swede and only becoming a Norwegian in the Kattegat. Owing to the difficulties of altering the paint work, that was only possible in good weather. I was obliged, therefore, to assume the Norwegian mask at once. There was no sleep for any one that night. Stages were slung over each side of the ship, and several men swarmed down, and, by the light of their electric pocket-lamps, painted the name, Aud-Norge in letters a yard and a half long on the sides.

The work was unfortunately often interrupted by the passing of steamers and fishing craft, at whose approach we had to put out our electric lamps, and other difficulties were caused by the rising sea, which often dashed over the stages and wet us up to our chests, and—worst of all—washed out at one sweep our laborious efforts with the brush. Undaunted, however, and stimulated by a couple of tots of spirits to keep out the cold, we stuck to our posts; for by morning the work must be done. And done it was. When the first streak of dawn appeared, the Aud, rocking contentedly to the Baltic swell, was ready to the last paint stroke.

CHAPTER VI UNDER FALSE COLOURS

The Norwegian flag was flying gaily at the stern, when, after sunrise, the Aud weighed anchor.

At first we found ourselves distinctly amusing in our new rôle.

Every one went about in the most leisurely fashion possible (for on a tramp no one is ever in a hurry), rolling a little in our gait, pulling vigorously at a short pipe, and spitting with seamanlike skill to the four quarters of the heavens. Our hands, of course, were buried as deep as possible in our pockets.

After passing the Gjedser lightship, we laid a course for Falsterbö. The lifeboats from now on hung outboard, partly for our own safety and partly because it was customary at that time. There was still a great deal to be done that day, for before midnight I expected to be in enemy waters.

Before that, all the preparations had to be completed which were necessary in case of encountering the enemy. In order to be able at a moment's notice to blow up the ship, I had a large quantity of explosives placed in a suitable position, and built up round them a small casing of cement about three feet wide. The greater the resistance, the greater would be the effect of the explosion. The wire by means of which it was to be detonated was carried round various corners and angles to the upper-deck, where it was carefully concealed from prying eyes. To avoid any risk from carelessness, I had the fuses kept in a different place.

For our own weapons, ammunition, and tools, we sought out, on deck and below, the hiding-places which seemed most secure, both from damp and discovery. In case of a prize-crew being put on board, we intended to make an effort to overpower them.

In this connection our cook had a brilliant idea. On the assumption that he would be left free—for even the fiercest Englishman must eat—he hid a quantity of weapons and crowbars under a heap of ashes in a disused furnace, and preened himself not a little on the prospect of being able to set free the rest of us.

In the end there was not a spot in the whole ship, from bridge to bunkers, where there was not some kind of instrument of destruction ready to hand. Naval flags and pendants were concealed in a similar way.

A generous provision of alcoholic beverages was a simpler matter. With an ample supply everywhere at hand—good White Horse whisky and fine old brandy at that—in half-filled bottles invitingly open, we judged that it might be quite possible to deal with a prize crew without unnecessary bloodshed.

The next thing was to work out what may be called an 'emergency-station drill.' Ordinarily, that means the assignment of each member of the crew to his special post on such occasions as the outbreak of fire, 'man overboard,' and the like. For us it was highly important to have in addition our functions allotted for such emergencies as 'enemy ship in sight.' It would then be necessary to conceal as speedily as possible all German sextants, telescopes, charts, log-books, and other requisites of navigation, and substitute for them the corresponding Norwegian material. At the first alarm, therefore, all these suspicious objects had to be bundled into a big bag which hung on the bridge for the purpose. One of the seamen then sprinted across with it to the galley, where the cook stood ready to take it and pass it along to the secret chamber. There, at the ladder, the steward was ready to provide for its ultimate disappearance. All this could be done within two minutes.

Meanwhile the decks and engine-room were 'cleared for action.' Mathiesen, who knew a little Danish and was rather Scandinavian-looking, took the wheel on the bridge, in order, if need be, to exchange rôles with the officer of the watch. A mate's uniform hung for this purpose in the chart-house.

One of the stokers had the pleasing task of sitting, with the greatest attainable abandon, on the fore-hatch, lazily smoking his pipe and teasing the dog till it barked furiously. The rest of the crew, with the exception of the engineers and stokers on duty, had to disappear quickly and quietly from the deck, crawl into their bunks, and pretend to be asleep.

The whole thing was admirably successful. Any one observing from a distance the picture of peaceful innocence presented by our dingy-looking tramp could not possibly have seen anything to arouse suspicion. Special signals—either passed quietly from mouth to mouth or communicated by voice-pipe and engine-room telegraph—were arranged in case, with a prize crew already on board, it might become necessary to sink the ship. The word Tyske, Norwegian for 'German,' meant 'Stand by with the naval ensign, uniforms, and arms!' The further commands, to carry on, and to make the attack, were varied according to circumstances. The Norwegian phrase meaning 'Pedersen is to come to the captain,' signified: 'Stand by to blow up the ship! Fuse ready!' The order, 'Stop!' given three times in succession with the engine-room telegraph, meant, 'Fire the mine!' This drill we practised, if possible, daily.

We had now, with frequent alterations of course, made our way along the Danish coast as far as Falsterbö, where there was an extensive mine and ship barrier. The place was swarming with war vessels of every kind. An outpost-boat gave us our course through the barrier.

CHAPTER VII A DRESS REHEARSAL

'Destroyer coming up astern,' some one on the boat-deck shouted up to the bridge. A moment later we heard the familiar rush of a destroyer's bow-wave, and the ringing of her telegraph as she checked. What the devil do they want?'

'Where are you from, captain,' comes a voice from below us.

A sub-lieutenant is standing, megaphone in hand, on the bridge of the pitching craft, whose funnels are only just on a level with our upper deck. Close as she is to us, all the officers of the watch are scanning us curiously through their glasses, while the men standing about the deck stare at us open-eyed. As it is just as well that we should not be recognised, I give my men a sign to go below, and myself, take my stand at the rail, shaking my head, to convey to the sub-lieutenant that the German language is not one of my accomplishments.

'Of course,' I can hear the little man below grumbling to himself, 'another of these idiots of captains who can speak no civilised language!'

Nevertheless, he had another try, shouting at me through the megaphone in a rasping tone, 'Where are you from? Can't you answer?'

Again I relentlessly shook my head, though it was all I could do not to laugh outright when I recognised the speaker's voice. I had talked to him in the streets of Kiel a couple of days before.

'Nothing doing! 'he growled angrily to himself, and said something to a signalman, who thereupon ran aft, and returned accompanied by a lieutenant, who had obviously been awakened from his siesta.

'Hallo, capt'n,' he shouted to me in fluent English,[3] 'where are you coming from?'

'Danzig,' I answered shortly.

'Where are you bound for?'

'Christiania.'

In the ensuing pause I turned round and pretended to play with the dog, by way of showing that I had no use for any further conversation with the destroyer.

Meanwhile, I could hear the little sub saying crossly, 'I'll be hanged if the fellow's on the square. I'll swear there's something fishy about the business.'

I gave an impatient pull to my gay-coloured scarf, and nonchalantly knocked out my foul little pipe on the rail, so that the ash flew right into the eyes of the two speakers.

'Boor!' was the only further word that I heard, for a second afterwards the destroyer backed astern, came up again on our port side, and steamed along abreast of us for a while, all eyes on our deck, and on the shining paint of the flags and names on our side.

Mathiesen, who now shoved his Norwegian-looking visage into the foreground, must have allayed the suspicions of the wary pair, for a sudden shout of 'All right, captain,' accompanied by a wave of the hand, gave me to understand that I might proceed.

We had passed our first test safely. Some five hundred yards beyond the barrier, a small Danish steamer flying a pilot-flag, came steaming towards us. Here was our first real risk. I knew that no merchant ships were allowed to pass through the Flintrinne and the Sound without taking a pilot, and I had therefore already discussed with my officers what we should do about it. If we took a pilot, it would be impossible to keep up the pretence of being Norwegians for the whole time—amounting to several hours—that he would be with us. On the other hand, if we refused his services, it might be taken as certain that his suspicions would be aroused; unless we had the luck to meet a particularly stupid one.

After long deliberation I resolved, however, to back our luck and take the latter course, and the luck held.

Long before he got near us, I made signs to indicate that I did not want a pilot. Our friend, however, who no doubt meant to get a whacking fee out of us, was very determined about it; and gave us to understand, with a fine flow of language and gesticulation, that he was coming on board whether or no. My chief engineer meanwhile saw to it that he should have all he could do to keep up with us. To prevent his getting in the first word, I took the megaphone and shouted to him in English, the 'universal language' of seafaring men, 'I don't want a pilot, I know the water here!' The only result was that the good man became more clamorous than ever, and indicated the exact point on the side at which he wanted a ladder let down for him.

To get rid of his importunity, Mathiesen had at last to shout to him in Danish, 'We don't need you, we know the channel!' Then I sheered off a bit to port, and our friend, at length recognising the futility of his efforts, steamed away, cursing and shaking his fist. We saw him making at full speed for the Danish lightship at the entrance to the Flintrinne.

'By Jove, I expect that's torn it,' remarked my second, watching him through his glasses. I had to acknowledge that he might be right. The Danes were at that time notoriously anti-German, and the lightship had a wireless installation. If the fellows wanted to set a trap for us, they had only to report promptly to the English, 'Suspicious steamer passed, proceeding out on a northerly course,' and we should be quite certain, within five hours after passing Helsingborg, to make the acquaintance of an English cruiser. To add to our disquietude, it was no long time before we overhauled in the narrow channel a Danish schooner, which had lain close astern of us at the quays of Lübeck, what time we were still a German steamer!

However, we should need luck to get through in any case, and a risk less or more was nothing to be downhearted about....

Copenhagen and Malmö, with their great pools of light, are now far behind us. As we meet the fresh breeze at the entrance to the Kattegat, a barquentine, under full sail, glides past us without a sound.

She carries no lights, and the ghostly outline of her bellying canvas is dimly silhouetted against the moonless sky. In a few seconds she has disappeared in the deep darkness.

But what is that? The lines of a torpedo-boat show up to port; the rays of a pair of searchlights dart through the air and disappear again. Then another flash sweeps upward, the cone growing larger and larger. Now he has us; on the decks of the Aud it is light as day, our eyes are blinded for the moment. A few seconds of this and the cone disappears again as quickly as it came.

The Danish torpedo-boat that guards the entrance of the sound, to protect Danish neutrality, has held us for a moment under the magnifying glass, so to speak, to examine our distinctive markings—and has passed us as a harmless neutral.

FOOTNOTE:

[3] English being much more often understood by Norwegian captains than German. When the author quotes English, it is given exactly as he writes it.

CHAPTER VIII IN ENEMY WATERS

A quarter of an hour after passing the torpedo-boat we had crossed the three-mile limit, and were in enemy territory.[4]

We kept a sharp look-out, for at any moment now we might run across an English cruiser, destroyer, or submarine.

English submarines had, in fact, been sighted a few days before, in company with outpost-boats, between Lasö and the Sound, while between Skagen and Göteborg, in the Skager-Rack, and on the Norwegian coast, especially off Lindesnaes and Jäderen, numerous English war-vessels, including both cruisers and destroyers, had been reported.

About two o'clock we were some five miles east of the island of Anholt, and at this point we had to make a critical decision.

Shortly before, the English had issued a notice which ordered all neutral steamers to follow a course within ten miles distance of the Scandinavian coast, the object being to facilitate the examination of shipping by the English warships. The small neutral nations were powerless to resist. The only 'neutral' which at that time dared to defy the English order was the Norwegian steamer Aud.

I had two good reasons for my decision: first, that to follow the Swedish coast meant a great waste of time, second, that the English would never, I felt sure, imagine that any neutral would have the hardihood to ignore their order. It was therefore natural to suppose that the principal part of their patrol forces would be concentrated in the immediate neighbourhood of the coast. By taking a course through the middle of the Kattegat and Skager-Rack, we should gain twenty-four hours, and probably escape a strict examination, which would also take up a good deal of time.

I therefore held a course for the present midway between the island of Lasö and Göteborg, intending to strike into the Skager-Rack higher up, northward of Paternoster. This course had, however, one great disadvantage. Supposing we were caught while on it, no amount of ingenious lying would help us, for all our papers were valid only from Christiania outwards, since that was our ostensible port of sailing.

Once more we had to trust our luck. The risk was, after all, not greater than in following the other course, with the chance of being vetted, by 'mark of the mouth,' by an English-Norwegian interpreter.

As soon as we were out of sight of land and of other ships, I rang down the order for 'Full speed ahead.' The main thing now was to get as quickly as possible upon a course which would make it credible that we had sailed from Christiania. If we were caught in the meantime, the game was up; if not, we had won the first trick. So—drive ahead!

Towards morning the wind dropped and became very uncertain, while the sky was almost completely overcast. To the west and north-west there was already a slight haze upon the water: the forerunner of a coming fog. If there was any one in the wide world who had reason to hope for a fog at that moment it was myself. We all stood on deck watching anxiously every slightest alteration in the weather. The watch below found they had no need for sleep that day. From minute to minute it grew thicker. Contrary to my previous intention, therefore, I stood in nearer the Swedish coast in order to get our exact 'position' by shore-bearings. It was quite possible that I might have no further chance of doing so for several days, for I had decided, when we reached the North Sea, to continue steaming out of sight of land, since, on the whole of the Norwegian coast up to a point northward of Bergen, numerous English patrolling vessels had been reported.

It must have been about 8 a.m. when the look-out aloft reported a ship ahead. A few minutes later we made her out to be a small cruiser of one of the older types.

I gave the order for emergency stations, and in a moment every man was at his allotted post. It was impossible, at the distance, to read the cruiser's small and rather weather-beaten flag, and we were bound to assume that she was English.

If so, what was to happen? There was nothing whatever in our papers that would serve to account for our presence in this neighbourhood. Suddenly, I had an inspiration. 'Stand by to hoist the quarantine flag,' I ordered, and signalled for 'half speed!' Then I told the men my plan. Every man who was not wanted on deck must wrap up his neck warmly and creep into his bunk. We on the bridge, too, wrapped ourselves in thick cloaks and wound great comforters round our necks. If the supposed Englishman looked as if he meant to approach us, I intended to run up the quarantine flag and signal to him that we were from Danzig, bound for Christiania, and had diphtheria on board. Perhaps I might ask him to give warning of our arrival in Christiania. In these circumstances he would certainly avoid coming on board. For the moment we should be safe; the rest we must leave to luck. As an extra precaution I had a bottle of carbolic poured over the deck, to provide the appropriate sick-bay odour.

The cruiser approached us at high speed. In ten minutes she would close us. It is a tense moment, for everything now hangs on the success of our stratagem. Suddenly she turns sharply on to a north-easterly course, the whole of her flag becomes visible, and reveals to our eager eyes the Swedish colours.

A weight fell from our hearts. In the twinkling of an eye the sick were whole, and the various objects which had disappeared into the 'conjurer's box' were speedily restored to the light of day. The dress-rehearsal had been a complete success.

Shortly after, we sighted, right astern of the steamer, the little island of Paternoster, to which we gave a wide berth to avoid inquiries from the signal station. At the same time, the coastline loomed up through the fog to starboard. I had now, if I wanted it, a good 'fix,' but I decided to take my 'departure' farther north, just before the big alteration of course to westward.

By midday we had made sufficient northing to be able to steer a course from that point right through the middle of the Skager-Rack.

A bearing from a lighthouse on the mainland, in conjunction with a sounding taken at the same time, enabled us to prick our position on the chart with great precision; and then we headed westward at full speed. If the thick weather only held for another six hours, we should be able to say, with a bold front, that we hailed from Christiania.

The 'cherub that sits up aloft' must have meant well by us, for the fog not only held, but thickened.

No need to spur the engine-room staff to special efforts. They knew how much now depended upon speed, and gave the engines every ounce that they would stand. About three o'clock we were abreast of Skagen, and I put her on a south-westerly course.

To avoid collision in the fog, we had nothing to depend on but our eyes and ears, for naturally I dispensed with the use of the siren. On the decks there was absolute silence. Nothing was to be heard but the gurgle of the water at the bow, and the monotonous beat of the pistons, as we drove steadily through the fog at a good twelve knots.

For two hours we ran like that, and then all at once a high, dark bulk loomed out of the fog right ahead, a bark under full sail.

'Hard a-starboard!' The wheel flew round at lightning speed. For a long moment it looked as if the manœuvre would not succeed, for the Aud answered but slowly to her helm. Fortunately, however, the sailing ship had also realised the situation and put her helm hard over, and we cleared each other in the end with fifty yards to spare. The bark was flying a red rag of bunting which must once have represented a Norwegian flag, and we gave our 'countrymen' a cheer as they went by.

Towards evening we had made such good way that we could quite well pose as being outward bound from Christiania; and from now on we had to start keeping a Norwegian log-book, for that, too, might well be subjected to examination. There were two of these logs, one for the navigation and one for the engine-room. We had, therefore, starting from the present position of the ship, to calculate back and find out at what hour the Aud left Christiania, and when and where we dropped pilot what's-his-name, and so forth. This information was entered under the appropriate headings.

Our real course, positions, speeds, coal consumption, etc., would, of course, in the future be quite different from those which the Norwegian log-books had to show, and the 'cooking' of these logs became later quite a difficult task.

It was my first introduction to the mysteries of 'Book-keeping by Double Entry.'

FOOTNOTE:

[4] It is interesting to note the admission from such a source that 'England's frontiers are the shores of the enemy'—or the nearest point thereto that is outside neutral waters.

CHAPTER IX THE FIRST SIGN OF THE ENEMY

Towards nine o'clock there set in, unfortunately, a marked change of weather. A light wind from the west gradually dispersed the fog, so that it soon became quite clear, with good visibility.

The moon had already risen, but considerately remained hidden behind a cloud, so that the silhouette of our ship was not very distinct.

Towards midnight, we reckoned, we should be abreast of Lindesnaes. Here we expected to find the coast most closely watched by the English, since all traffic, whether from north, east, or west, must pass this south-western corner of Norway. In order not to arouse unnecessary suspicion, I ordered the mast-head light and side-lights to be lighted. But before doing so, I had the lenses rubbed over with lampblack, so that the lights could scarcely have been visible a few ship's lengths away.

We could thus, at any rate, say that we had our lamps burning, and throw the blame of their condition upon the lamp-trimmer. In the rest of the ship all lights were carefully screened.

Hour after hour of anxious waiting went by—another half-hour, another quarter, and we shall have Lindesnaes right abeam. Shall we get through unobserved?

We were spared the trouble of answering that question. Suddenly there was a flash to northward, and directly over the horizon there appeared one after another, one, two, three, four searchlights, making criss-cross patterns with their beams. Time after time they grazed us. When one of them suddenly rested a moment on us, we thought we were seen, but no; for a few seconds later it released us again and illuminated the water astern of us. Then another came sweeping round, and yet another. This merry game went on for perhaps five minutes, but that brief span seemed to us like an eternity, for every moment we expected a shot across our bows as a gentle hint to us to stop. But nothing happened.

It was only when the beams began to concentrate on a spot some distance to the east of us, and then climbed up into the heavens that we breathed freely once more.

After that I extinguished my lights again, and steered north-west for the open sea.

From that time forward, a point which I always took into consideration in laying my courses was that I should always be at least a day's steaming distant from the famous Kirkwall Harbour, to which the English sent in all suspicious ships. I counted that if we should be caught and a prize crew put on board of us, within the twenty-four hours we could find ways and means of dealing with our uninvited guests, and recapturing our ship.

The next day passed without any greater excitements than those provided by an encounter with a couple of suspicious-looking Dutch fishing-boats, and a Norwegian steamer. The latter evidently did not fancy the looks of her fellow-countryman, for she took to her heels, belching forth volumes of the blackest smoke that her furnaces could produce, and only resumed her course after giving us a very wide berth. We found it rather an agreeable interlude to figure as hunter instead of quarry.

CHAPTER X SOME EXCITEMENTS

We were now four days out, and the most we had seen of the 'Grand Fleet' of the English was a couple of searchlights.

I had been on the bridge all night, and had turned in for a short rest, when I was awakened by a loud tramping and shouting on deck.

'Smoke cloud on the port beam!' What could that be? Well, of course, it might be a trader, but it was just as likely to be a warship, for we were now approaching the Shetland cordon.

For a quarter of an hour there was nothing to be seen but a great mass of smoke, which grew sometimes fainter and sometimes stronger. For a while it looked as if it was produced by several funnels. To make sure, I sent my first officer up to the fore-top with an excellent Zeiss glass. A few seconds later he reported a high mast with spotting-top—the funnels were not yet to be made out. A warship, then. The plot began to thicken.

I gave the orders, 'Emergency stations. Course NE., Engine-room staff to reduce smoke.' A course to the east of NE. was, for the present, not advisable, for it was quite possible that there might be other warships in that direction, and it was not yet possible to make out which way the cruiser was heading.

The 'smokeless' stunt we now tried for the first time, and it went much better than we expected. This was the more creditable, because tramp-steamers have no special arrangements for smokeless firing, and the men, who were mostly reservists, had not been trained to it.

The moments that now followed were certainly the most anxious we had yet experienced. The cruiser seemed to be steaming towards us at full speed, for the mast, with its high wireless, could now be seen from our bridge as well as from aloft. 'A second lower mast now visible,' reported the look-out. As he described the relative position of the masts it became evident that the Englishman was heading about north-east. Had he really seen us yet, or not? I gave her four points more to starboard, so that we were now on an easterly course. Perhaps we might still escape.

The great difference in the height of the masts left no doubt that we had here to do with one of the very newest and fastest English cruisers. If she had sighted us, any attempt at flight was useless. But we counted on the English look-out not being as sharp as ours. It is natural that on monotonous outpost duty, cruising to and fro day after day in the same waters and hardly ever seeing anything but the same sea and sky, sky and sea, one's watchfulness should in the end get blunted. And that was just what happened.

A joyful shout from aloft suddenly announced that the cruiser was turning away. As we examined her more closely we could, in fact, see that the high fore-mast, which had originally been visible to the east of the lower mast, now showed to the north-west of it. Evidently the cruiser had turned on to a westerly course, and that meant that she had not sighted us. A short time later, nothing was to be seen of either mast, and soon only a pair of light wisps of smoke lay on the misty horizon. The whole thing had happened so swiftly and surprisingly that we could hardly believe in our good fortune.

On working out our position, I found that we were some seventy-five miles east of the Shetlands. A light bank of mist had now completely hidden the cruiser from us, and as we could see nothing more in any direction, we might conclude with some assurance that she was the easternmost cruiser of that outpost line which, a few weeks before, had almost proved disastrous to the returning Möwe. Only, the chain seemed now to have been lengthened out a little farther to the east. Barring the chance, then, that one or two English vessels were stationed well over towards the Norwegian coast, we might take it that we were already clear of the Shetland cordon, and had successfully eluded the first of the blockading forces, whose special task it was to frustrate just such attempts as ours to break through from the North Sea to the Atlantic.

So far, all well. The next problem was, which of the possible alternative routes we were to follow from this point onwards. The shortest routes were, of course, those between the Orkneys and the mainland, and between the Shetlands and the Faroe Isles. Both, however, would be very thoroughly watched, and I gave up at once the idea of following either. The much more circuitous route between the Faroes and Ireland meant eight and a half days' steaming, at an average speed of ten knots, before we could reach our destination. Moreover, here lay the main blockading force, consisting of large and powerful auxiliary cruisers, patrolling at short intervals its two hundred miles of open water.

There was yet another alternative, to go right round by the north of Iceland, but the feasibility of this depended on the ice-conditions, and on these I had not been able to get my exact information before sailing.

So much depended upon wind and weather that it would have been foolish to fix my plans unalterably for more than a day ahead, but, on the whole, the route between Iceland and the Faroes seemed to offer the best chance of getting through. I decided, therefore, to steam north, parallel, at a sufficient distance, to the blockading line, and wait for a favourable opportunity of slipping through.

The barometer was high and steady, indicating the continuance of fine weather. The main thing now was to get an accurate observation, for since leaving Paternoster we had no opportunity to get an exact 'fix,' and it was quite possible that the current might have carried us some distance out of our course. But towards noon the sky was overcast, and a mist lay on the horizon, making it impossible to take an accurate altitude, so there was nothing for it but to stand in towards the coast, in order to determine our position by soundings or by shore-bearings. We headed in, therefore, at full speed for Bremanjerland on the Nordfjord. Almost at the exact point we had calculated on, we got a sounding of the 'hundred-fathom line,' and so determined our longitude. There was now only the latitude to be fixed, and for that luck came to our aid sooner than we had hoped.

About half an hour before midday the fog-bank ahead of us suddenly lifted. A long, low strip of darker gray lay resting on the water. From minute to minute it grew longer and higher, till it became definitely recognisable as land, and the bold outlines of the high, precipitous coastline began to appear. And then—it might have been on the stage, so rapid was the transformation—suddenly the fog broke, as though we had been an enemy charging down upon it, the sun shone through the clouds, and before ten minutes had passed, a panorama of enchanting beauty lay before us.

Out of the clear, deep-blue water, now almost smooth as a mirror, for the wind had dropped, there rose majestically the lofty, snow-covered mountains of Bremanjerland. In the hollows of the mountainsides, and on the precipitous, jaggedly outlined pinnacles of rock, the snow glistened in the melting rays of the sun. Here and there, runnels of water streamed down over the naked, gray walls of rock into the sea, or found their way down the deep clefts which ran, darkly outlined as though with black chalk, down the face of the cliffs. To the east, where the mountains were higher, there was a succession of glaciers. One might easily have believed oneself transported to the Alps.

Gradually the numerous islands, which lay like outposts in front of the mainland, became more clearly defined. As there was nothing suspicious to be seen either on land or water—no boat, no human habitation, not even a lighthouse—I held on my course until I was close inshore. Then, with the aid of the charts and sailing directions, which give good silhouettes of this part of the coast, I was soon able to get my exact position.

The sudden change in the weather had, of course, played the deuce with my plans. It would have been madness to attempt to break through the Shetland blockade in weather so clear as this. I therefore decided to keep at a safe distance from the patrol line, and wait for a change of weather. I laid a course for the point—several hundred miles north-east of the Faroes—at which the Polar Circle intersects the meridian of Greenwich.

CHAPTER XI ON THE EDGE OF THE ARCTIC SEA

Towards four o'clock of the following day we had reached the point aforesaid. And now it was hard to know what to do, for the air was still clear, the sea glassy-calm, with no indications of an early change.

So far, we had seen no ice, though we were now on the edge of the Arctic Ocean. From that we might conclude that the route north-about round Iceland was not yet practicable, for the ice had not yet broken up.

To run the blockade was, in existing circumstances, hopeless; especially as it was nearing full-moon, and in these high latitudes there was, properly speaking, no night at all. I decided simply to stop the engines, and lie to all the next day. This kind of weather could not last for ever, and the date of my rendezvous gave me a couple of days to play with. For the moment there was not much danger, for no enemy craft was likely to penetrate so far north.

If the English were to have to look out for German ships up here, they might as well extend their outpost-line to the North Pole. In fact, if there was any risk at all, it came from our own submarines, not all of which could have received a warning about our voyage.

The stopping of the engines enabled some necessary repairs to be carried out, and all the machinery was carefully overhauled, for there was no knowing to what severe tests it might be put before all was done. The deck-hands occupied themselves in repainting the flags and lettering upon our sides, which, owing to the unfavourable conditions in which these works of art had had their birth, had been reduced by weather and water to a confusion of dots and splashes, which might well account for some of the suspicious looks we had encountered.

The day ended with a concert, which my second-officer opened, only too appropriately, with a song beginning, 'Calm lies the sea.'

So pressing was the problem, what we were to do during the next twenty-four hours, that before turning in that night I held a council with my officers in our little mess-room.

The blockade-line, which now lay before us, and which we must break through, unless we were to go north-about round Iceland, was the strongest of all the blockading cordons. We had reason to believe that it was formed by no less than ten to twelve large auxiliary cruisers. The distance from Iceland to the Faroes is, at the narrowest point, about two-hundred nautical miles. Assuming, therefore, that the average speed of these vessels was not more than fifteen knots, it was scarcely to be expected that we could slip through, except in thick fog, for the intervals between the patrolling cruisers must be very small. Never in my life have I done so much calculating of courses and distances as that night. All available charts and sailing directions were requisitioned, and for hours we bent over the charts with pencil and dividers, calculating, and weighing arguments. In the end we always came back to the point that we must make the attempt to break through; for all other alternatives were too unpromising. The conclusion we finally came to was, to make the attempt next day—provided the weather conditions became appreciably more favourable.

We looked at the barometer. Good heavens! Was it possible? In the last four hours it had fallen nearly a tenth.

At that moment there came a whistle down the voice-pipe beside my bunk.

'Well, what is it?'

'Waterspout to starboard, captain; come up at once,' shouted some one from the bridge. Scarcely had we reached the deck, when the portent swept past us, a great black column of water some five yards in diameter, narrowing in the middle, and spreading wider as it mounted into the clouds above.

The amazing thing was the speed at which, in spite of the dead calm, it swept along the surface of the water. Its force was evidenced by the whirlpool at its base, which left behind it a seething wake of foam.

It was well that it did not happen to take our little vessel in its track, for it would certainly have left us some unpleasing mementoes of its visit.

CHAPTER XII RIGHT THROUGH THE BLOCKADE

By next morning the barometer had fallen another tenth. Dirty-gray storm-clouds were slowly moving up from the west. From time to time faint cat's-paws appeared upon the water, now from the north, now from the west, and again from a south-westerly direction. That was very satisfactory, for it meant beyond all doubt, an early change of weather. The second-officer searched the horizon keenly with his glasses, and then muttered something to himself.

'I'm betting on a north-wester,' said I, 'with rain, and perhaps also fog. Can't you smell anything?'

The mate sniffed suspiciously. 'I don't think I'll take you,' said he. 'I was just going to say myself that I felt as if——'

'We shan't quarrel over that, then! I believe I can smell the fog coming. Wait and see.'

The eight o'clock observation gave us one degree of west longitude. We had therefore, though lying to with engines stopped, been carried westward by the set of the current, to the extent of a whole degree of longitude. The latitude had only altered by a few minutes, southward, as we had found a few hours before.

A dark shadow, which was now observable on the water, to the south, made us reach hastily for our glasses.

Wind. South wind. It was coming now—just what we had been praying for. A few minutes more and it would have reached us. While the water slowly began to crisp under the breeze, the horizon line began to waver; the clear, sharply-defined line which marked the division between sea and sky seemed in places raised and undulating—the first presage of coming fog. Towards ten o'clock the wind jumped round to the south-west, and freshened. Light wisps of vapour began to drift down on our port bow, and sometimes from right ahead. Half an hour later the horizon was so dim that it was impossible to take an altitude.

'What about it?' asked Düsselmann, who was taking the watch, giving me, as he spoke, a keen, sidelong glance, his right hand already on the lever of the engine-room telegraph.

I thought a moment, then: 'Carry on,' I said. 'Half speed! Course, south-west!'

The telegraph rang. In engine-room and stokehold things got lively. Heavily and slowly the screw began to revolve, there was a churning and frothing at the stern, and the Aud got slowly under way. Once more in the charthouse there was a frenzy of calculating and measuring; with the result that we decided to proceed as far as a certain point at reduced speed, so that it would still be open to us, if necessary, to choose the northern route. But if, by the time we reached that point, the misty weather continued, then during the night we would try for the break-through.

By midday we estimated the strength of the wind as 3.[5] From time to time there were light showers of fine rain. Pity that we were still a day's steaming from the danger-line, otherwise we might well have got through that night, for the moon was completely obscured by clouds. The barometer fell slowly but steadily. For the present it was still too high to mean an immediate storm, but if it continued to fall at the same rate we might have more than we bargained for later on. For the present we were well content. We were now nearing the point which must mark for us the parting of the ways, and I decided for the southern route—through the blockade.

The look-outs were now doubled. Even the cook had to 'stand his watch,' and was greatly delighted at being allowed on the bridge, close to the exalted beings who performed the mysteries of navigation.

Now, more than ever, the motto for every one was: 'Keep your eyes skinned!' Ahead of us were the enemy outposts in imposing numbers, and on our starboard bow, on the east coast of Iceland, enemy auxiliary cruisers had also been reported.

Next day was the 16th of April. At 4 a.m. there was entered in the log-book under the heading 'Weather' the following remark: 'Overcast, increasingly misty, occasional heavy showers, wind, south-west 4[6], freshening, corresponding sea.'

We reckoned out the course and the distance. It was still 150 nautical miles to the line on which the enemy cruisers were patrolling. If we aimed straight for the middle of this line, we should, at an average speed of ten knots, arrive at that point at about 8 p.m.

That was good luck for us, for 8 p.m. is, on all ships, the hour for a change of watch, and at such times the men's attention is bound to be a little distracted. Moreover, the day was a Sunday. And on Sunday, in English ships, every one would certainly do himself a little extra well, with the aid of whisky and similar good things. Up here, too, that was especially to be expected. For the men on a remote outpost station like this, who were doubtless not relieved too frequently, in their monotonous but trying duty, that was almost the only pleasure which they had a chance to enjoy. Moreover, in view of the overcast weather, it was pretty certain that by eight o'clock it would be already growing dark. By dawn we could be sixty miles beyond the enemy line, and of course far out of sight.

'Full speed ahead!' Now for it!

The farther west we steamed, the more the wind and sea increased in strength. Spray began to dash over the bows, and soon forced us to seek the protection of our oilskins. The afternoon brought a very pleasant surprise, for the rain quite slowly and imperceptibly transformed itself into a real undeniable fog, which grew thicker and thicker. By 4 p.m. one could scarcely see half a mile. Our chances were improving from minute to minute. Were we really to have such luck? It was scarcely believable.

We steamed south-west at full speed. Any one seeing us would have thought that we must have come out of the Polar Sea. Even in peace time that would have been unusual; how much more so now in time of war.

What would happen, then, if an Englishman suddenly jumped out of the fog upon us? We could scarcely expect him to believe that we were nothing but a harmless collier!

By six o'clock the visibility was down to three or four ship's lengths at most. The whole ship's company was on the look-out. No one thought of sleep; excitement kept us all alert. Gray and heavy lay the fog upon the water. Nothing was to be seen or heard. The uncanny stillness pressed like an incubus upon our excited nerves. Our binoculars were hardly ever away from our eyes. Every other moment we thought we heard or saw something abnormal. Meanwhile, the Aud was thrashing more and more heavily through the rising sea. Big white caps broke against her bow, the spray was thrown up over bridge and funnel. Every moment, as the ship drove onward towards the enemy's line, the tension grew. We scarcely dared to breathe.

'Time, please?'

'Seven-ten, captain,' came the whispered reply.

'Sharp look-out ahead. We're close on the line.'

It was odd to see how every man, as though to see farther, craned his neck forward, as he sought to pierce the thick veil ahead.

The minute-hand marked 7.15. The minutes were passing much too slowly for us.

But what was that? 'Hard a-port!' 'Increase speed to the utmost!' 'Emergency stations!'

The wheel flew over to port with a jerk, the wires of the engine-room telegraph underneath the deck-planks creaked as though they would break. As a startled sea-bird sheers away, so the Aud shoots in a sudden curve to port, while to starboard, not two cables' lengths off, a dark, black-gray mass looms ghostly out of the fog.

Damnation! An auxiliary cruiser! Her silhouette became clearer—two masts, high upper works, a thick funnel.

'Half speed!' 'Course, south-by-west!' There is no possibility of escape by flight. We are discovered, for the English ship, which I estimated roughly as of 10,000 tons, alters course at the same moment, and steams along parallel to us, scarcely 200 yards away. She must be going at reduced speed, for she keeps obstinately just abreast of us. The comedy is about to begin.

At the first alarm, the 'watch below'—who had all been keeping a look-out on deck—hurry away to their bunks, the suspicious objects are hidden; we on the bridge, with beating hearts but outwardly cool and collected, tramp up and down with our hands in our pockets, expectorating freely and smoking like chimneys. There is nothing to indicate that we are in the least perturbed by the appearance of the cruiser. Dully, as if it was all a matter of course, we take an occasional glance ahead through our glasses, tooting every couple of minutes, like the simple merchantman we are, with our hoarse steam siren, in dutiful obedience to the rules laid down for warning-signals during fog. To the unwelcome stranger we scarcely give a glance. The crew of a tramp are apt to be indifferent. Thus, for an appreciable time, we steam quietly along, side by side, neither making any overtures to the other.

I am, of course, burning to know what the Englishman is up to. In order to make unobtrusive investigations—it is evident that all the available binoculars on the cruiser were being turned on us—I send my second-officer into the charthouse. The observations which he makes through the charthouse window he then communicates to me on the bridge through the voice-pipe. 'Several large guns forward—same aft,' is the tenor of his first report.

Gradually, over yonder on the cruiser, things begin to liven up. More and more men appear on deck, and stare hard at us.

'Our reckoning was right to a hair, any way,' opines the second-officer, with a sarcastic grin—small consolation in the present circumstances. We wait and wait for a signal from the Englishman, ordering us to stop, or a round of blank fired for the same purpose; but nothing of the kind happens.

Damn it all, is the fellow going to escort us in to the Faroes? It almost looks like it, for those rocky islands must lie right ahead, though still a day's steaming from here.