Raiders of the deep

RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

BOOKS BY

LOWELL THOMAS

BEYOND KHYBER PASS

COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

EUROPEAN SKYWAYS

RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

THE FIRST WORLD FLIGHT

WITH LAWRENCE IN ARABIA

ETC., ETC.

'■^■Torpedo! FUr!'' A white wakc\ a dull roar^ and another ship
starts on its final voyage.

RAIDERS
OF THE DEEP

BY

LOWELL THOMAS

GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK"
DOUBLEDAY, DORAN y COMPANY, INC

1928

COPYRIGHT, 1928

BT DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC.

ALL RIGHT RF.SERVKI)

PRINTFD IN THE UNITED STATES AT

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS,

GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

CONTENTS

PAGE

I In Quest of an Ultra-Modern Sea Tale i

II Periscope and Torpedo .... lO

III New Horizons for the U-Boats. Wed-

digen Scores Again 29

IV Raiding Russian Ports .... 38

V The Destroyer of Battleships Leaves

His Potato Patch and Tells His Tale 45

VI By Submarine from North Sea to the

Inferno of Gallipoli .... 55

VII The Sinking of the Battleship Triumph 62

VIII Hersing Bags Another British Giant.

An Adventure with a Floating Mine 68

IX The Beginning of the Reign of Fright-
fulness 78

X The Captain and the Crew that Sank the

Lusitania 81

XI Von Schwieger^s Account of How He

Sank the Lusitania 93

XII A Survivor Tells His Tale . . . 10 1

XIII Water Pouring in and Dogged by a

Patrol Boat. Bunking with a Dead
Man 109

XIV Muzzled in the North, They Seek New

Fields for the Chase . . . . 118

XV The U-Boat Ace of Aces .... 125

V

vl CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGB

XVI Submarine Contra Submarine . . 133

XVII Von Arnauld's Tale of Sinking Ships
and the Monkey in the Fat Man's

Whiskers 145

XVIII The Torpedo That Jumped Over a

U-Boat 154

XIX The Mighty Cornwallis Zigzags to

Its Doom 163

XX Voyages of 111 Omen and the Phan-
tom Submarine 169

XXI Trapped by a Q-Ship, Our Jaunty
Baron Sees His Boat Sink Be-
neath His Feet 181

XXII When We Found Our Voices it Was

to Order a Bottle of Port . . 192

XXIII New Terrors of the Under Sea . 205

XXIV The Climax of the U-Boat War . 216
XXV The Flanders Lair .... 224

XXVI Airplane Fights Submarine . . 232

XXVII Running the Dover Patrol . . 240

XXVIII The Korvettenkapitan Spins His

Yarn in American Slang . . 253

XXIX The Petty Officers Ate All the Mar-
malade, and the Sailors Ate All
the Ham, and the Cook Got the
Iron Cross 261

XXX The Ring of Ships Converge Their

Fire and the t/-d^ Goes Down . 272

XXXI Ho, for a Raid on Uncle Sam I .285

CONTENTS vii

CHA PTER PAGE

XXXII A U-Boat Adventure In Delaware

Bay 292

XXXIII The Lights of Broadway. We Cut

the Atlantic Cable .... 304

XXXIV "Human Huns." We Capture a

Baby 314

XXXV Depth Bombs — and the Lighted

Dining Room 326

XXXVI Von Arnauld, the Ace of Aces,

Stages the Last Big Fight . . 334

XXXVII The Tragic End— Home and Mu-

tiny 342

Index .. .. . .. ... . .. .... 353

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Torpedo! Fire!" ...... Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

Periscope and Torpedo ........ 4

Weddigen 5

Officers' Mess Aboard the U-Q ...... 5

The OldU-g . 20

The Men Who Sank the Hogue, the Cressy, and

the Aboukir 20

The Raiding Fleet in its Lair at the Outbreak of

the War 21

Plunging Through Spray and Foam ... 36

Ramming Home a Torpedo . . ,., ,.. ., 37

Mail from Home 37

A List and a Plunge 52

Hersing r.. ... 53

H.M.S. Majestic and H.M.S. Triumph . ., 53

The Man Who Sank the Lusitania . . ., ,. 104

Rudolph Zentner 104

A British Trawler Setting a Snare for Submarines 105

Between Fights 105

A Depth Bomb 116

What the Well-dressed Under-sea Buccaneer

Wears 117

be

X LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FACING PAGE

Hashagen 117

Commander Lothar von Arnauld de la Perlere . 132

A Pennant Flown for Each Ship Sunk on a Single

Cruise 132

The Garrison Church at Wilhelmshaven . . 133

The Submarine Room at the Naval Club . . 133

Von Arnauld Chalks up Another Victim . .. 148

A Victim of the U-boat Ace of Aces . . . 149

Towing Ashore a Boatload of Survivors . . 149

Kurt Hartwig and his victim, H.M.S. Cornwallis 164

Getting out of the Way of the Ram Bow of an

Oncoming Destroyer 165

Raining Depth Bombs on the Unseen Foe . . 165

Adolf Karl Georg Edgar Baron Spiegel von und

zu Peckelsheim 188

Ziegner and Usedom 188

A tragic idyll of the sea 189

Destroyers Sealing the Doom of an Iron Coffin . 196

Another Snaking Torpedo Finds its Mark . . 196

Where the Caprera Had Been Was Now a Vast,

Billowing Cloud of Smoke .... 197

Giant Submarines 197

A Convoy Zigzagging Through the Danger Zone 212

A U-boat Sights More Victims 212

A U-boat Crew Surrendering to a Yankee De-
stroyer 213

The Victim of a Night Attack 213

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi

FACING PAGE

Commander Moraht 276

A Mine Sweeper Ready for a Bit of Vertical Nav-
igation 276

In a Few Seconds the Standard Oil Tanker

Moreni Burst into a Volcano of Flames . 277

Abandon Ship ! 277

A Diagram Showing the Interior of a Modern

U-boat 285

Korner, of the U-i^i 300

The Last of a Yankee Barque 3CX)

The Raiders of the Deep Crossed the Atlantic 301

The End of the Kaiser's Dread Under-sea Fleet 340

The Effect of a Mine on a Submarine . . . 341

RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

CHAPTER I

IN QUEST OF AN ULTRA-MODERN
SEA TALE

High up on Squaw Mountain near the Tornado
Mine in Colorado there was an abandoned tunnel.
Prospectors had found an outcropping of gold and
for a hundred yards or so had followed the vein into
the mountain. Suddenly it had petered out. I stum-
bled on that old tunnel one day and from then on for
years it was my pirate cave. Frequently on Saturday
afternoons I came here and sat alone beside a blazing
fire of pine cones and old dynamite cases. And here
it was that I first read one of the rarest imaginative
tales ever written — Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand
Leagues Under the Sea. And here it was that I met
for the first time the mysterious Captain Nemo. From
then on I was interested in submarines. For that mat-
ter, where is the boy or girl or woman or man who
is not?

Then the greatest and most terrible of all wars
broke upon the placid world, and a race of real Cap-
tain Nemos came into being. Here were tales of Jules
Verne come true, tales more hair-raising than Verne's
wildest imaginings, tales of adventures on voyages of
many hundreds of thousands of leagues under the sea.

In 1917, with portholes covered, saloon and deck
lights out, and all of us forbidden so much as to
light a match, we entered the submarine zone. We
were on a special mission, assigned to accompany the
various Allied armies and bring back a record of events

2 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

on all battle fronts from North Sea to Persian Gulf.
There was a real thrill in that last night out as we
zigzagged across the Bay of Biscay toward the mouth
of the Gironde River. Hunted — dodging a foe we
couldn't see. If we were thrilled, then what of the
sensations and experiences of the raiders of the deep
lying in wait for us?

Months later, when we started east to join AUenby's
army north of Gaza, to elude these new wolves of the
sea we crossed from Taranto to Malta on a slim
British ocean greyhound, a 22-knot courier boat. From
Malta we planned to push right on across the Medi-
terranean to Alexandria. But for more than a week
no ship, save submarine chasers, dared venture beyond
the great steel net at the mouth of the harbour at
Valletta. A ring of U-boats was said to have encircled
the Island.

Were we inconvenienced during those days at
Malta? Not in the least! We thoroughly enjoyed
the enforced delay. By day we visited picturesque
old forts and palaces of the Knights of Malta, with
their corridors hung with armour. Or we made excur-
sions inland to the tangerine plantations, or across to
the spot where St. Paul was shipwrecked. At night
in Admiral Lord Calthorpe's box at the opera we
attended gala performances in company with Ameri-
can Consul Wilbur Kiblinger, a charming gentleman
from Virginia.

But what of the under-sea pirates in the U-boats
off the Malta coast? We often wondered. Surely
theirs must be an adventurous and desperate game !

On the way back from Lawrence's headquarters in
Arabia I spent a short time chasing U-boats with
destroyers and seaplanes near the Mediterranean
entrance to the Suez Canal. And as I sat up there
in the cockpit looking down on the sunny Mediterra-
nean, with a balmy Egyptian breeze whipping past my

IN QUEST OF A SEA TALE 3

ears, I often wondered about the nightmare existence
of the men who fought under the sea.

At the end of the war, Webb Waldron and I
crawled through the Allied lines to witness Central
Europe in the convulsions of revolution. We met
U-boat sailors everywhere. It was then that I first
started gathering material for what I knew would one
day be looked back upon as the most unreal, the most
incredible, and at the same time the most harrowing
and thrilling tale of the World War.

Since then, on trips to Europe over a period of ten
years, I continued my search for the men who came
within an ace of bringing the combined forces of
twenty nations to their knees with their new form of
warfare — warfare under the sea !

What stories they were! The gathering of them
was like passing through a gallery of thrills and
fantastic dangers.

After writing of the deeds of Lawrence, the pic-
turesque hero of the Allies, I sought adventure in high
Asia. Then came the chronicling of man's first cir-
cumnavigation of the world by air. Meanwhile, I was
seeking for some romantic figure, some counterpart to
Lawrence of Arabia. Later, on a flying tour of
Europe, I found him in Count Felix von Luckner, the
cheery corsair who raided the seas in a three-master
windjammer.

Von Luckner*s sailing ship as a raider in the war
was certainly a novelty. But there were other raiders
the poles away from to'ga'ns'l and marlinspike — the
submarines. There you had the two ultimate extremes
of war on the oceans. The submarine with its snaking
torpedo was less anomalous, to be sure, than the three-
master and its full spread of canvas. None the less
beguiling, though. Less romance, perhaps, but more
thrill and terror. The campaign of the U-boats
held the world spellbound. One of the latest marvels

4 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of modern technology, striking tl sweeping, fearful
blow that threatened to decide the issue of the conflict
of the nations — that surely was a thing to clutch the
imagination with an iron grasp. And then there were
the weird perils of the men who navigated beneath
the surface of the sea, who struck their blows from the
recesses of the ocean's bosom. The ever-threatening
fate of the submerged coffin stands eerie and supremely
terrifying. Ah, what stories waited to be told! Not
merely stories of mad adventure, but history, impor-
tant and of intense interest to all men. Surely no
chapter of the history of our time needed telling quite
so much as this.

And so after a sailor's yarn of scudding the waves
with a fair breeze at your back and all sails set, why
then a tale of the tight iron shells that ranged the
underwater — spectral, fearsome, and deadly.

Of course, there are the two sides to the story: On
the one hand, the adventures of the crews in the
Kaiser's U-boats; on the other, the no less beguiling
tales from the Allied side of the men who fought
them. The U-boats logically come first, the stories
of the German submarine commanders — then another
tale. Fighting the Submarines,

In setting down this account of the submarine war,
straight from the lips of the U-boat commanders, I
have disregarded all controversial ground, or at any
rate have aftempted to. The right and wrong of
under-sea war is not discussed here. The tales I have
to pass on are tales of sheer adventure. Stranger
than fiction? Aye I And tales, I believe, such as no
other chronicler will have a chance to set down in our
time. At any rate, we all hope the world has learned
its lesson, and may there be peace among men for
generations to come !

What manner of men were these chaps who in war
time won the hatred and bitter execration of half the

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO

The track of the ^^ asparagus'' {above); the launch-
ing of the torpedo; and its tell-tale white wake.

Weddtgen^ the first great victor of
the war under the sea.

■Br' 'i^^H

"rlv '^

#^ 1

I'^iSSOQ^'^^fl^H

Officers' mess aboard the U-9. Weddigen at the right. SpiesSy
who tells the talcy at the left.

IN QUEST OF A SEA TALE S

world? Pirates, they were called, and hanging was
the destiny considered just for them. At the same
time, it was perfectly clear that they were true stal-
warts of the race of adventurers. There was a magic
of light and wide airy space in the upper sky where
the aviators ranged, but there was a more terrible
beguilement in the close embrace of the underwater
where men groped with that eerie eye, the periscope.

And then there was the horrible inevitability in the
doom of the foundering submarine. The airman shot
down in flames was a picture of fright, but the snug
iron coffin of the voyager under the sea was a ghostly
picture quite as powerful upon the imagination as the
flaming coffin of the sky.

What manner of men were they, and what were
they doing now? The trade and the course of life
that the hero of war follows when peace has returned
is always a curious problem. The more so with the
submarine commanders of Germany, because Germany
is allowed no sea power worth mentioning and the con-
tinuance of a naval career is cut off for most of them.
After the weird life of war under sea they were thrown
abruptly into the placid ways of civilian life in peace
time.

I found them in no wise fire-snorting pirates, nor
even characters salty with the sea. Quief, pleasant
chaps they turned out to be, most of th-em rather
young — the flower of the German Navy. They had
volunteered for U-boat service because it involved the
most hazard. As they are to-day, for the most part
they would pass anywhere as nicely mannered fellows,
matter-of-fact, and rather mild. That, of course, is
what one might have expected. The most daring of
warriors is likely to be quite a plain citizen in peace
time, at least in this day and age. Many of the former
submarine commanders are in business connected with
shipping. They go to their offices every day, look

6 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

over invoices, and dictate letters. Others are in engi-
neering, and still others are successful business execu-
tives. The war Is past and gone. The perilous life
in the U-boats is far behind. They think of It but
little. They are busy carving out careers for them-
selves, and the old days come to mind only when
former comrades get together for reminiscences or
when at social gatherings stories and experiences are
related. Herr U-boat Commandant, whom a few
years ago the world looked upon as some kind of sea
dragon. Is, In this year of 1928, a steady-going citizen
such as you could scarcely distinguish from a young
and enterprising American business man.

And what ethical slant did they have on their deeds
and exploits which the millions of us regarded as the
black nadir of Immorahty and inhuman wrong? I
found some Interesting things here, particularly in the
case of the man who sank the Lusitanta. These will
be told in their proper places. Meanwhile, one point
is to be kept in mind, a general principle that stood
as the ethical background of the submarine commander,
his way of looking at things. It is very simple. As a
descendant of Adam he was the same as the rest of us.
As a man of war, well, he was a naval officer, and a
naval officer's business is to obey orders. That was
his training, his tradition, his life. All you have to
do is to consider the age-long idea of military disci-
pline as you will find it In the United States Navy, or
any other navy, then it all becomes clear. The sub-
marine commander obeyed orders, and that is the high-
est virtue known to the code of armies and navies.
Sometimes he undoubtedly went beyond his orders.
A few men in all times and all climes have done that.

But how about all of those atrocities which were so
liberally attributed to the U-boats? Here, as with
the subject of atrocities In general, It is difficult to find
any sound evidence, anything more than rumour. The

IN QUEST OF A SEA TALE 7

two particular crimes attributed to the U-boats were
the sinking of hospital ships and the firing on lifeboats.
In the first instance the Germans cite the fact that
ships often struck mines and were thought to be tor-
pedoed. There are two authenticated instances in
which hospital ships appear to have been sunk delib-
erately. In the second instance I ran across cases
where lifeboats were said to have been fired on. The
Germans reply to this by pointing out at least one
instance when a seemingly innocent lifeboat tried to
sink a submarine with a sudden throwing of bombs,
and when it was scarcely more than human for the
U-boat to open fire. In that way a great tale of
machine-gunning lifeboats might begin. In general I
found almost nothing conclusive about atrocities,
although many instances of humanity on the part of
the U-boats came to me from British sources.

If you want a verdict on these things just ask the
men who were in action against each other in the war
of the sea. On the whole they speak in high admira-
tion of each other. Seafaring men are built that way.

The tale begins with a vivid picture : a cruiser with
guns like the spokes of a wheel and funnels belching
smoke — and over there hidden below the waves a slid-
ing, black, cigar-shaped hull, a fearsome fish for any
ocean.

In the conning tower of the U-boat is an officer
destined for a career that will make him one of Ger-
many's greatest war heroes. His periscope — the
''asparagus," as the Germans nicknamed the eye of
a submarine — has been on the alert. He has spied
the cruiser a long way off, heading toward him. He
lies in wait. The sea is rough. In the tossing water
he can scarcely keep his boat at the proper level. But
the mountainous waves are more of an aid than a
hindrance. Spray and foam hide the jumping peri-

8 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

scope. On a glassy sea that six-foot asparagus would
be visible from afar to a lookout in a crow's nest. The
cruiser holds its course, swift, warlike, a brave picture
of the dominant power of iron and steam. The sub-
merged raider steals to a point close to the path of the
oncoming vessel. The tossing sea conceals the peri-
scope. An ideal setting for an ambush — the first of
the war.

A deadly, short-range shot. So rough is the sea
that even the path of the torpedo is obscured. The
cruiser hasn't a chance to side-step. A dull roar. At
the water line, just under the forward funnel, it strikes.
The entire fore part of the ship Is blown to bits. Fire
breaks out and flames shoot skyward. The cruiser
heaves. Its stern rises until it stands straight in the
air. For a moment it hesitates. Then, bow first, it
dives.

Three minutes have elapsed since the torpedo sped
to its mark. The noise of the explosion has carried
for miles. Torpedo boats rush to the scene. Both
cruiser and U-boat have vanished.

This was the first ship ever sunk by the attack of a
submarine. It was the 3,200-ton British cruiser
H. M. S. Pathfinder, The identity^ of the ship the
U-boat had sunk was not known in Germany until
days later, when word drifted In through Holland.
Out of a crew of 360 less than half were saved. Only
one lifeboat got away before the Pathfinder went
down. The other dazed survivors were found cling-
ing to the wreckage. The commander to make this
first underwater kill was Lieutenant Commander Otto
Hersing. His raider was the C/-27.

But it was an under-sea boat of far older vintage
that was destined to launch the torpedoes that were
to give the world Its really spectacular introduction to
this new phenomenon of warfare.

Again and again as I talked with those Captain

IN QUEST OF A SEA TALE 9

Nemos I heard it: "When Weddlgen in the U-Q won
the first big victory" ; or ''When Weddigen in the JJ-Q
sank the Aboukir, the HoguCy and the CressyJ^

At the very beginning of the World War the news
came that a German submarine had torpedoed and
sunk three great British armoured cruisers. That
newest of new inventions, the submarine, a mysterious
and doubtful quantity in the calculus of warfare, had
come to the front with a telling stroke. The place
to begin, indeed.

Weddigen lies at the bottom of the North Sea, and
the U'9 has long since been consigned to the junk heap.
But very much in the land of the living is a youngish,
rather dreamy-looking chap. Lieutenant Johann Spiess,
Weddigen's watch officer and second in command, who
tells in his own words the tale of the raids of the
historic U-9:

CHAPTER II

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO

The twenty-second of September, 1914. How well
I remember it I For me it is one of those days a man
looks back upon with endless reminiscence, a dividing
point for a lifetime. And it has more than a mere
personal significance. It stands a marker in the stream
of history, a milestone on the long road of terrestrial
events. On that day a new piece of action flared big
and bold on the earthly scene. The sliding cataclysmic
submarine intruded with crashing torpedo shots into
the game of nations. We, the raiders of the deep,
struck our first telling blow. Already a British war-
ship had been sunk by our comrades of the U-Zl, but
now we scored a success that made history. The world
thrilled and marvelled, and it was not long before all
mankind trembled with the thought of the hand of
death that reached out under the sea. On that twenty-
second of September, 1914, we sank the great cruisers,
the Hogue, the Ahoukir, and the Cressy,

Two years before, in October, 1912, I was assigned
to the submarine service — to my disgust. At the time
I was serving as second torpedo officer aboard S. M. S.
Pommern. But my one ambition was to get assigned
to a torpedo boat, the goal of every young torpedo
expert.

The small, swift craft, with their darting attacks,
seemed to offer us the best opportunity for hurling our
huge, ship-smashing missiles. The submarines? Bah I
True, they, too, were for launching torpedoes. But

10

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 11

in those days we looked at under-sea craft, along with
aircraft and other technical innovations, with a skep-
tical eye. Would they ever amount to anything in real
warfare? Probably not. Nor was life aboard the
U-boats anything to look forward to. Even now the
submarine is no pleasure barge. In 1912, between
close quarters, foul air, and crazy rolling and pitching,
a rowboat was palatial compared to the inside of one
of those diving dories. There were frequent accidents,
too, especially in foreign navies. And death in a
plunging submarine was as evil a fate as the imagina-
tion could conjure. Death by slow suffocation. Never-
theless, although I did not like it, a submarine officer
I became.

The boat to which I was transferred was the f/-9,
of the old kerosene-burning type. (The Diesel engine
had not yet been developed.) At that time the U'9
was quite an up-to-date craft. But technical progress
was such that this boat speedily became obsolete.

Nowadays we can look back with an indulgent
smile upon that prehistoric era. Any kind of extended
U-boat voyage was undreamed of. Only in rare cases
did men sleep on board, which was not only uncomfort-
able but considered dangerously unhealthful. Going
ashore at nightfall was the invariable routine. Diving
was done as little as possible, and we seldom ventured
to go down more than a few yards, and then we looked
anxiously about to see if the seams were tight and no
water was leaking in. There was grave doubt whether
subsurface craft could weather a lively storm. They
had never been tried out in a real gale. An attack
under water in any kind of rough weather was consid-
ered impossible. The prescribed plan under such con-
ditions was to approach and torpedo an enemy craft
with the conning tower above water. The supposition
was that, with the waves breaking over the conning
tower, it could not be seen. Our kerosene motors

12 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

smoked like the very deuce, and, as we used electric
power only for running under water, we sailed on the
surface with a column of kerosene smoke towering
over us. We were almost as visible as a smoke-
belching steamer. There were fourteen boats of that
antiquated kerosene-burning type, the series US to
U-18. All save two were lost and lie to-day on the
bottom of the sea.

Our commander was Lieutenant Otto Weddigen,
already known as an exceedingly capable submarine
man. He was a slender, blondish young officer of
quiet, courteous manner. He was the very reverse
of the martinet. Never blindly set on his own opinion,
he allowed the officers under him the privileges of
initiative and freedom of ideas. You did not feel like
a subordinate when you served under Weddigen, but
rather like a younger comrade.

I had never voyaged on a submarine before. The
first dive and the first cruise had for me all of that
peculiar thrill and nervous sensation that it always
has for the beginner. You stand in the conning tower
looking through the small ports, which are covered
with thick glass. Then you see the water creep swish-
ing over the upper deck. The air clinging to the
surface of the boat flows up to the surface in a stream
of silver bubbles. Now the water washes up past the
glass through which you are peering. With a clear
sea and bright sun you can see underwater as far as
the bow of the boat. It is a strange and fascinating
spectacle.

On your first trip anxious thoughts flash through
your mind as the water closes over the boat. Have
all the valves and hatches been closed properly? Will
the steel body resist the pressure? Is not water pour-
ing in somewhere? My first voyage on the U-9 was
merely from Kiel to Wilhelmshaven, and yet it was
enough to give one a bit of nerves. I was standing

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 13

over the conning tower hatch. A loud bang and a
sudden blast of air. I thought it was a misfire in one
of the cylinders of our petroleum motors. Then two
men came clambering madly up the conning tower
ladder, a machinist and a petty officer. They were
gasping. Their hair was singed and their flesh
scorched. An oil tank explosion had occurred and
the engine room was on fire. A fire aboard a subma-
rine is no fun. I can certify to that. But after a bit
of warm work we put out the blaze.

The U'9 was lying at Wilhelmshaven two months
later, under a process of having some new technical
devices installed, when there was a great sensation in
our submarine fleet. Six boats went out on an endur-
ance test In the North Sea. They remained out for
SIX days, most of the time anchored to buoys in Heli-
goland Bight. That in the bleak month of December.
It was considered an incredible achievement. We
could not get over the wonder of it. How we con-
gratulated the heroes aboard those craft when they
got back!

During naval manoeuvres in the North Sea, May,
1913, the U'9 put out of action — theoretically — three
battleships. Our commander, Lieutenant Weddigen,
with a quiet smile of victory, won this mythical but
glorious victory with his favourite stroke, the four
torpedo salvo— executed by discharging the two for-
ward and two rear torpedoes at short Intervals.

We were lengthening our cruises constantly, and
doing more and more diving. We went down deeper
and deeper, too, although we seldom ventured beyond
fifty feet. In December of 1913, the U-9, In the course
of a North Sea cruise, stayed out at sea In a violent
storm, and weathered It famously. We ran awash
and submerged and even carried out manoeuvres in the
teeth of the gale. Decidedly the submarine as an

14 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

instrument of war was picking up and beginning to give
hint of good possibilities.

Kiel Week of 1914 came. During June, the Kaiser
led the festivities that marked the opening of the Kiel
Canal. A powerful British fleet, England^s finest
superdreadnaughts and cruisers, attended. There were
great naval parades. Our submarines took not the
least interesting part. Our British guests could not
gaze too long at the low-lying little craft. There was
music and dancing and feasting. The days were bright
and gladsome and the nights brilliantly alight and full
of merriment.

But the festivities at Kiel were rudely interrupted.
On June 28th, came the news of the murder of the
Austrian Archduke and his consort. Warships drew
off for their home ports. Thoughts of strained inter-
national relations were in every mind. On July 16th,
our flotilla commander came aboard the U-Q to witness
a new and difficult operation that we had learned — the
reloading of torpedoes at sea, both above water and
under. In an underwater attack at periscope depth
we fired the two torpedoes of our forward tubes,
reloaded, and discharged a double salvo again. All
four missiles found their mark, the old hulk S. M. S.
Hamburg, Weddigen accepted congratulations with
a slightly jaunty set of the head. That manoeuvre of
under-sea firing, reloading, and firing again was some-
thing to be proud of.

"The practice and manoeuvres of the U-boats now
increased to a feverish intensity. The dark shadow
of war was drawing ever closer, ready to engulf us,
and we could not tell how soon those mimic battle
operations of diving and torpedoing might become the
real thing. Then came the end of July and declara-
tions of war against Russia and France. England had
not declared against us. Nevertheless, a surprise
attack by the British fleet was feared.

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 15

At three hours past midnight, August 1st, the
German submarine fleet slid out of harbour at Heligo-
land to do patrol duty in the North Sea. Silently and
secretly, in the darkest hour of the night, as befitted
the nature of our weapon, we sailed into the World
War. At sundown on August 2d, while we steered
from patrol back to our base, Weddigen and I stood
beside the conning tower. A scarlet sun was setting
amid fiery clouds. A big gray liner with four stacks
foamed past us, headed north, a liner sallying forth
on duty as an auxihary cruiser. For a long minute
the splendid ship was silhouetted against the crimson
sunset. Weddigen was lost in contemplation of the
sight. He seemed very young and dreamily boyish.
A shadow of dark thoughts was in his face.

*'Spiess," he said in a low voice, "you see how red
the light is. The whole world seems bathed in blood.
Mark my words, England has declared war on us."

It was a presentiment inspired by the ominous sight
of the auxiliary cruiser hurrying past the ruddy splen-
dour of the setting sun. And, indeed, before the U-9
drew up alongside the dock, I deciphered the radio
message: "Be prepared for military offensive measures
by England, starting to-day. Signed: Flotilla Com-
mander." England had taken the jump.

Were we prepared? By land our German military
arm stood alert and ready. On the sea, although out-
numbered by Britain*s might, our battleships, cruisers,
and destroyers were swift and strong. But what of
our submarine fleet? It was as good as any in the
world — but not very good.

Ah, what if, in 1914, the technical science of under-
water craft had reached the height of three years
later? Ah, what if at the beginning of the war we
had had the kind of submarine fleet we had at the end?
The course of history would have been changed. As
it was, we entered the world struggle with a handful

16 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of U-boats that In the light of a couple of years later
were primitive and pitiful — antediluvian.

Twelve strong, the German submarine fleet was
sent out to seek the might of the British Navy. We
were ordered to hunt over the North Sea for hostile
warships and attack them with torpedoes. We left
harbour on August 6th, and for a week made a round
of the North Sea. For the U-9 the cruise was unevent-
ful. The North Sea was deserted and we caught sight
of no enemy smokestack. So far as we could see the
British fleet was in harbour. Nor did the other boats
that returned sight any mark for their missiles. Two
of them did not return. We received British reports
that one, the C7-75, had been rammed by the small
British cruiser Birmingham, We gathered that she
had been sunk while attempting an attack on a squad-
ron. The other of the missing boats, the 11-13, dis-
appeared without sound or sight. She may have struck
a mine or encountered some accident while diving. At
any rate there was no more word of her — the common
fate of the submarine.

Our first submarine advance resulted In no damage
to the enemy, and we lost two boats out of twelve.
Not encouraging. All we could do was to grit our
teeth and await a better chance. "Remember the Bir-
mingham'* was the word. Exact vengeance for the
U-15. Soon afterward the U-21 sank the H. M. S.
Pathfinder, That was a good beginning.

The German march through Belgium was on, and
it was thought that England might try to land troops
on the Belgian coast. The U-9 was ordered to take a
position along the route that transports might follow
and wait an opportunity to attack war vessels or troop
ships. That was our duty for long, tedious days to
Come. In France we were losing the Battle of the
Marne, and the fighting was settling down to the long
siege oiF trench warfare.

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 17

On September 20th, the boat shoved her nose out
into open sea. Our gyroscopic compass went awry,
and we found ourselves In. sight of the coast of
Holland, fifty miles off our course. We turned, and
steered during the day with the coast as our guide and
at night by the North Star. The next day the weather
was stormy and the sea rough, and at dusk the gale
was so stiff and the waves so high that we sought
refuge beneath the storm-beaten surface. That night
we slept quietly fifty feet below the sweep of the lash-
ing combers.

When we rose to the surface In the morning, the
dawning of the memorable twenty-second of Septem-
ber, we were agreeably surprised. The light streamed
up from the eastern horizon and spread over a cloud-
less sky. The storm had vanished. Not a cloud was to
be seen, the wind was a whisper, and the sea was calm,
save for a long swell. Visibility was excellent. The
horizon was a clear, sharp line, where sea met sky.
A fine day to sink a ship. We threw our motors In,
to recharge our batteries and replace the energy we
had used up while submerged all that night. The
recharging of the batteries was soon interrupted.

I had the watch, and stood scanning the horizon
with my glass. Near me Weddlgen and the chief engi-
neer paced the short turn around the deck, getting
fresh air and exercise. The blazing ball of the sun
stood above the horizon and flooded the sea with Its
beams, as If bent on revealing and Illuminating every
speck on the ocean. Damn that petroleum smoke!
A submarine Is supposed to be a secretive kind of
craft, but we went selling like the children of Israel,
attended by a pillar of smoke. A few Dutch fishing
boats lay shadowed against the sunrise, as if In some
vividly coloured print.

"Ship ahoy!" Through my long glass I was able
to pick out the tiny tip of a mast showing over the

18 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

horizon. A cloud of smoke appeared beside it. All
doubt vanished. It was not the tip of some wind-
jamming sailing ship. I felt like shouting at this, the
first sight of an enemy warship. I immediately ordered
the kerosene motors to be disconnected, so that that
infernal pillar of smoke could not signal afar — *'sub-
marine bearing down on you with torpedo ready."
Weddigen had gone down to breakfast. I called him,
and for a long minute he stood, slender, motionless,
intent, with his glass fixed on the speck and smudge
on the horizon.

"Make ready for diving." His command snapped
out with a crisp, nervous intensity. We leaped below.
The hatches banged shut. The sea closed over the
U-9. Our batteries had not been fully recharged, but
never mind. We held the boat at periscope depth and
steered in the direction of the mast tip and smoke
cloud. The U-9 moved up and down with the heavy
swell of the sea. I took my position in the conning
tower behind Weddigen, running the periscope out and
bringing it down from time to time, so that, appearing
for only a short space at a stretch above the surface
of the sea, it might not too easily be detected. Wed-
digen made the observations. I waited, burning with
eagerness for some sign from him that the distant ship
had appeared above the horizon. For a long time he
said nothing, but merely stood and, when I ran the
periscope out, peered intently, his small sharp features
drawn and tense. With my nerves tightened as they
were, I jumped when he said In a quiet, matter-of-fact
voice :

"There are three light cruisers with four stacks."

"Torpedoes!" I cried in response, and asked per-
mission to get the torpedoes ready for firing.

A nod of his head, and I leaped forward to the
torpedo room. Three light cruisers? Small ships?
Aye! But together they would make a good total.

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 19

I ordered reserve torpedoes made ready for the ma-
noeuvre of submerged firing, reloading, and firing
again, which we had only a few weeks before accom-
plished successfully for the first time in practice. When
I returned to the conning tower, Weddigen was
transformed.

"Spiess," and he slapped me violently on the shoul-
der, "they are three light cruisers of the Birmingham
class!"

We stood looking at each other.

"Revenge for the U-ISI" I shouted.

And now it was hard work. We were drawing
close to the enemy, and I had to keep the periscope
going up and down. We could show it only a few
seconds above surface at a time, else its white feath-
ered wake would have betrayed it. Weddigen steered
to attack the middle cruiser of the three, aiming for a
short, sure shot from about hwt hundred yards.

"Make the tubes ready," his order came with a
sharp abruptness.

"AH tubes clear," was my report. "Which will fire
first?"

"First tube, bow shot," was the short, quick reply.

I unscrewed the cover of the first tube firing button
and held the thumb of my right hand directly over it,
ready for the order to press it down and make the
electrical contact. With my left hand I continued to
operate the lever of the elevating device, by which
the periscope was raised and lowered.

Weddigen gave an order to the central station:

"Immediately after the shot dive to fifteen metres —
and do not break surface. We are close to the target."
Those old-time boats had a trick of bounding to the
surface after a torpedo was discharged. If we were
to pop out of the water within such easy range of the
guns of the cruisers, it would be "Good-bye U-9J^

20 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Then, at 7:20 o'clock came the barked command:
"Out periscope. Stand by first tube."

We counted the seconds while he peered into the
glass, making sure of the aim.

"First tube — fire I In periscope !''

At that instant I pressed the firing key with my
right-hand thumb, called simultaneously through the
speaking tube to the forward torpedo room: "First
tube fired," and with my left hand ran in the periscope.

Now followed those always tense moments after
the discharge of a torpedo. I glanced fearfully at
the depth indicator to see whether we should break
water. No, we were diving. I had the periscope lever
clutched with both hands, to make sure that it stayed
down. You can see that I was only a blooming begin-
ner at actual warfare. The seconds dragged, and
nothing happened, A miss? It always takes an
incredibly long time before the sound of a torpedo
explosion comes back to you, the time for the torpedo
to get to its mark and for the sound to travel back.
At our range of 500 yards, thirty-one seconds was the
period required. But there are times when thirty-one
seconds seem like half an hour.

A dull thud followed instantly by a shrill-toned
crash. A cheer broke out from the sailors below. We
in the conning tower joined in impulsively. We could
see nothing, of course, for we had dived to fifteen
meters and were below periscope depth. After our
first exultation we looked about anxiously. It was
common opinion at the time that the shock of a tor-
pedo explosion, particularly at short range, might
seriously damage the boat that had discharged the
missile. We half expected to have sprung leaks or
that our steering gear had been put out of commission.
A short inspection, however, revealed that we had
suffered no damage.

"Bring the boat to periscope depth," Weddigen

The old U-9, fnost historic oj submarines. In one day her crew
bagged three British cruisers.

The men who sank the Hogue, the Cressy, and the Aboukir.
Weddigen^ middle^ Spiess on his right.

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PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 21

commanded, suppressing his eagerness to catch a
glimpse of what was happening on the surface.

I leaned on the periscope lever. Weddigen peered
quickly, and then with a triumphant expression turned
the glass over to me. It was my first ghmpse of a
sinking ship, a sight soon to become familiar. The
stricken cruiser lay stern-deep In water. Her bow was
high and the ram bow stuck above the surface of the
sea. Her four stacks were blowing off white steam.
Lifeboats crowded with men were being lowered. It
was indeed revenge for the U-IS and our lost com-
rades. England's light cruiser Birmingham had struck
hard and sure at her submersible enemy, but we had
struck just as hard and just as sure at this shattered
warship of the Birmingham class.

The other two cruisers, companions of the sinking
ship, were standing by to take survivors aboard. What
a fatal mistake I British warships never did anything
like that again during the length of the war. Weddi-
gen made ready for another attack. I hurried to the
forward torpedo room.

I imagined I was passing through a madhouse.
Men were running furiously back and forth, a big
group of them. First they rushed forward and then
astern. The chief engineer at the depth rudder was
helping to keep the boat on an even keel by a process
of ballast shifting. The running men were the moving
ballast, hurrying hither and thither to points where
the weight was needed.

"All forward'' and "all astern" the commands
would ring out, and they would go racing like a crowd
of runners beginning a marathon. You can bet the
crew was worn out by the time the encounter with the
cruisers was over.

"Reload first tube." I gave the command to the
men in the torpedo room. And now we started out
at our recently learned trick of reloading a tube while

22 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

submerged. The operation went off as smoothly aa
when we practiced it under the eye of our flotilla com-
mander at Kiel.

"First tube has been reloaded." Back in the con-
ning tower I gave my report.

"We have a good target,'* Weddigen observed with
a slightly pitying expression, and motioned me to look
through the periscope.

The cruiser was lowering her cutter, while signals
were being sent from the bridge. At the gaff the
battle flag of Britain was waving in the breeze. The
guns were trained out like spokes of a fan, and I could
see the gun crews in white uniforms at their stations.

More revenge for the U-15 — but no. I stepped
back from the periscope and turned to Weddigen.

"Captain," I said positively, "these ships are not of
the Birmingham class. They are not light cruisers.
They are armoured cruisers. This ship has double
casements, which I can distinctly recognize."

Vision through a periscope was never any too clear,
and it was particularly difficult to distinguish in the
matter of distance and size. I was sure that the ships
we had attacked were bigger than we had thought.
We were not avenging the U-15 by sinking Birming-
hams. Better — our victims were of the more formida-
ble class of armoured cruisers.

Weddigen studied the picture in the periscope but
thought I was wrong. However, he decided to launch
two torpedoes. If the ships were really armoured
cruisers one explosion might not be enough to insure
sinking. At exactly thirty-five minutes after the first
hit I pressed the firing key for both bow torpedoes.
The range was only 300 yards.

"Periscope inT' And again we dived to fifteen
metres.

Simultaneously Weddigen gave the order to back
with one propeller.

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 23

"Why?" I asked.

"Otherwise we may ram him,'' was the reply.

Indeed, it was possible that a current might drift
us against what would probably be a sinking enemy.

Two explosions came with a hollow ring. It was
lucky that we did back away. With one propeller run-
ning in reverse we were just able to clear the sinking
warship. Our periscope almost scraped its side.

The voice of the chief quartermaster came through
the speaking tube:

"Captain, how much longer is this going to last?"

With that came the chief engineer's report.

"The batteries are almost discharged."

Because of the sight of the enemy having inter-
rupted the work of charging our batteries, we had
made the attack with the batteries only partly stored
with current, and now we were running short of elec-
tric power. If we did not turn promptly and make
away, we might find ourselves compelled to come to
the surface to recharge the batteries — and that in
these dangerous waters, which were sure to swarm
presently with enemy craft. A destroyer station was
in the Thames, and called by distress signals from the
cruisers, those deadly hornets would soon come
charging.

There was iron in Weddlgen beneath quiet, mild
seeming. Harsh lines were In his face, the expression
of a relentless will.

"We will continue the attack," he said serenely.

We had two torpedoes In the stern tubes and a
single spare one for one of the forward tubes. This
I loaded.

Back to periscope depth, and the glass revealed a
terrible picture. Two great ships lay sinking by the
stern. One, the first that we had hit, sagged a great
deal lower than the other. The third cruiser was
standing by. The water was littered with wreckage,

24 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

crowded lifeboats, capsized lifeboats, and drowning
men. The third cruiser was taking survivors aboard
as fast as she could. And now we were going to sink
her, too.

Why did she stay there, after her two companions
had been hit? It is true that British warships had
not yet received the standing order to clear away as
fast as they could from the vicinity of a torpedoed
ship, but that craft had seen her two sisters go and
must surmise that It would be her turn next. She was
a brave ship, indeed.

Weddigen and I did not say anything to each other
as we watched. Our feelings of horror and pity we
tried to suppress. We sought to dispel our inward
trouble by cursing the British, which we all did In
those days.

One hour after the first shot of the encounter our
two stern torpedoes left the tubes. This time we were
so bold that we did not dive below periscope depth
after the shot, but watched. The range was a thou-
sand yards. The ship saw the trail of our torpedoes
and tried to elude them at the last moment by steaming
suddenly ahead. We waited for the sound of the
explosion so long that we thought we had missed.
Then a dull crash came. We waited for the second,
but it never came. The second torpedo had missed.

The periscope showed the cruiser still standing
there with no apparent change. She had not been hit
badly enough to cause her to list.

"We'll make sure," said Weddigen, again expres-
sion in his ordinarily mild face.

Our last torpedo left the tube. It struck the mark
accurately. A cloud of smoke shot up from the side
of the doomed vessel and an immense white fountain.
And now the periscope revealed a fearful picture. The
giant with the four stacks turned slowly over to port.

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 25

Men climbed like ants over her side and then, as she
turned turtle completely, they ran about on her broad,
flat keel until in a few minutes she disappeared beneath
the waves.

Weddigen and I watched alternately, fascinated
with a sense of tragic horror. Again we unburdened
our overcharged feelings by cursing the English. But
even that did not suflice. For long minutes we were
lost as if in some kind of trance. He called those of
the crew he could, and allowed them to look into the
periscope. On the horizon were Dutch fishing vessels
making away from the accursed spot with a full spread
of sail.

"I believe they are armoured cruisers," Weddigen
said to me, "although they seem very small."

They did seem small, and as we discussed it, we
decided they must be armoured cruisers of the small,
swift Kent class (9,900 tons).

Our electrical power was almost exhausted, and
we could remain submerged not much longer. I had
the watch, and steered north to get clear of the wreck-
age, and then blew out the tanks and came to the sur-
face. The gray North Sea had closed over the last
of the three cruisers. Lifeboats were still picking up
men swimming and men clinging to wreckage. The
weather was radiantly beautiful, and even the swell
of the ocean had subsided. There was no sign of
destroyers yet, but it could not be much longer before
they would come rushing. In order to conceal our
course from the survivors, we steered to the north.
In sight of the Dutch coast, we turned inshore. We
ran along in shelter of land.

It was not until noon that we caught sight of the
pursuing destroyers. One appeared, but was not able
to detect us against the shadow of the coast. It pre-
sented an extraordinary appearance. We could see

26 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

only bow and bridge. These craft steam at such high
speed that the after part is covered by the stern wave
and only the fore part is visible. Thank heaven they
are so fast — they disappear over the horizon all the
sooner.

At 6 :30 P. M. the chief quartermaster relieved me
of my watch. I pointed out a storm cloud. Visibility
was poor in that direction, and it was the direction
from which our friends the destroyers might be
expected to come. I was in my bunk trying to sleep
when the cry of "Quick dive !" rang through the boat.
At that time we had no alarm gongs. The men were
so nervous after the events of the day and the order
was so suddenly given that the diving manoeuvre was
clumsily and slowly obeyed. The helmsman, who was
the last down through the conning tower, sang out :

"Destroyer close aboard."

The pestilent craft had indeed come out of the
storm cloud, and was so near us that we were nearly
done for. Weddigen had the regulating tanks filled
so full that the boat plunged down and struck bottom
sharply with its stern. We all nearly died of fright,
but no damage was done. Luckily, this was in the
day before depth bombs had been invented. We arose
to periscope depth and found the destroyer cruising
back and forth. Too bad we had not another torpedo.
However, our batteries were now giving about their
last kick and we could run submerged no longer. We
sank to the bottom to lie there and wait. We heard
our enemy's propeller for a long time. Well, we were
all exhausted, and might as well spend a quiet night.
With the U'9 lying peaceably on the ocean floor, we
turned in.

In the early dawn of the following day the 17-9
once more stuck her periscope above the surface of
the North Sea. Nothing was in sight save a clear,

PERISCOPE AND TORPEDO 27

lovely morning. We blew out our tanks and in a few
minutes were on the surface recharging our batteries.
We put up our radio masts and got into communica-
tion with S. M. S. Arkona, the German cruiser guard-
ing the entrance to the Ems. Our wireless set was not
strong enough to reach the main stations. We reported
that we had sunk three small armoured cruisers, prob-
ably of the Kent class.

A few hours later, as we approached the Ems, a
German steamer passed close beside us. Her crew
gathered on deck and raised wild cheers. They called
out eagerly news of which we had no suspicion.
Through Holland the word had come to Germany
that we had sunk the big armoured cruisers, Aboukir,
Hogue, and Cressy of a total displacement of 36,000
tons. The minimizing effect of the single-lens peri-
scope had caused us greatly to underestimate the size
of our prey. It was a far cry from small vessels of
the Birmingham class to the giant ships we had sunk.

In port we received an enormous ovation. The
Kaiser awarded Lieutenant Weddigen the Iron Cross
of first and second class and the Iron Cross of second
class to every member of the crew. Later Weddigen
was the first German naval officer in the World War
to be cited for the rarely awarded Pour le Merite,
the famous order founded by Frederick the Great,
and Germany's greatest war decoration. In the four
years of the war less than thirty U-boat officers were
awarded this decoration.

A little later detailed British accounts of our vic-
tory filtered into Germany. We hit the Ahoukir first,
then the Hogue, and then the Cressy, After the tor-
pedoing of the Hogue, the Cressy spied our periscope
and opened fire and tried to ram us. A gunner
reported that he had hit the periscope, that our conning
tower had then appeared, and that he had hit it. An

28 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

officer standing near the gunner believed the shell had
hit a piece of floating wreckage. He, of course, was
right. The crew on deck, though, were certain that
the submarine had been sunk and raised a cheer. Then
our torpedo hit them. The British believed that two
submarines had engaged in the attack on the three
cruisers.

CHAPTER III

NEW HORIZONS FOR THE U-BOATS.
WEDDIGEN SCORES AGAIN.

Lieutenant Spiess continued his story:

Off on a long cruise. It was the autumn of 1914,
those months of blood when the British and Germans
were fighting the first of their savage series of battles
in Flanders. Our orders read: "Search the area
between Orkney and Shetland Islands and Norway
for enemy men-of-war." It was in those northern
waters that the British blockade line was drawn
tight — a likely place to hunt for game. A flotilla of
U-boats went out. They were to operate singly. And
so in the middle of October the 17-9 steered north.
After a run of several days, with half a dozen alarms,
attempted attacks, quick dives, and escapes under-
water, we found ourselves with boat submerged and
breakfast on the table in northern latitudes — and
cursing the British. As a result of the amount of
underwater running we had had to do, the boat needed
ventilation badly. The air was foul. It was enough
to give you a headache that you would never get over.
I was having my cup of coffee — and coffee was still
good and not yet Ersatz in Germany — when the chief
quartermaster on watch at the periscope sang out :

"Three British cruisers ahoy!"

We ran to the conning tower, and Weddigen stared
into the periscope.

"They must want a torpedo," he commented with

29

30 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the habitual whimsical smile of his mouth turning
slightly wry.

I gazed at the little picture of the upper ocean.
The distant three cruisers were some wide space apart,
but were converging, were steering for a point and
that point apparently in the vicinity where we lay.
No wonder our commander thought they must want
a torpedo.

We imagined they were bent on joining forces and
steaming together, but it presently became apparent
that they intended to exchange signals, drop a cutter
in the water, and deliver mail or orders, and then go
their respective ways. We steered at full speed for
the point toward which they were heading, our peri-
scope showing for only a few moments at a time.

The cruisers, big armoured fellows, came zigzag-
ging. We picked one, which afterward turned out to
be H. M. S. Hawke, and manoeuvred for a shot. It
was tricky work. She nearly ran us down. We had
to dive deeper and let her pass over us, else we should
have been rammed. Now we were in position for a
stern shot at an angle, but she turned. It was a fatal
turning, for it gave us an opportunity to swing around
for a clear bow shot at 400 metres.

"Second bow tube — fire I" Weddigen snapped
out the order, and soon there sounded the telltale
detonation.

We dived beyond periscope depth, ran underwater
for a short distance, and then came up for a look
through our tall, mast-like eye. The Hawke had
already disappeared. She sank In eight minutes. Only
one boat was in the water. It was the mall dory that
had been lowered before the torpedo explosion. At
the rudder the boat officer hoisted a distress signal
on the boat's staff. That little dory with half a dozen
men aboard was all that was left of the proud warship.

NEW HORIZONS 31

Seldom has a ship sunk so quickly and carried so many
men to the bottom of an icy sea.

The two other cruisers were vanishing on the hori-
zon. At the moment the torpedo explosion crashed
out they turned tail and ran as fast as they could. It
may have been inhuman for our adversaries thus to
abandon the survivors of the Hawke, scores of men
struggling in the icy water, but by this time the British
had learned not to repeat the mistake of Septem-
ber 22d.

Not many major naval units were sunk by subma-
rine attack during the World War, but of the few our
old and already obsolete U-9 accounted for four of
them. No wonder they began to call her the Lucky

After the sinking of the Hawke we continued our
cruise, and presently ran into one of those moments
that stamp your memory with a seal of flame. Suc-
cesses and triumphs leave their vivid impressions, but
nothing bites so deeply into your very fibre as when
disaster and frightful death is upon you and it seems
as if you cannot escape.

"Destroyer ahoy!" and we submerged and steered
an underwater course, seeking to steal up on our prey.
The swift little warship zigzagged along. She
seemed to be one of the H class and apparently a
flotilla leader, as a beautiful diagonal cross was dis-
played on the pennant flying from her main peak. We
could not get in a shot at her. And now another
destroyer, also apparently of the H class, appeared.
No success with her either. We seemed to have slid
into a nest of those hornets. It was a deucedly uncom-
fortable neighbourhood. We steered to the east so
that we might come to the surface and get a better
look around. It was about noon. The sea was a dead
calm and the day was a bright one.

"Destroyer ahoy!" Again the call sent us below

32 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the glassy surface of the sea. There were four oil-
burning craft also of the H type. They came steering
directly for us.

"They're giving us the shot of our lives," cried
Weddigen, and his sharp, eager features were alight
with the exultation of a hunter who sees the game
spreading out in perfect array for his gun.

The four destroyers were steaming abreast, one
about a thousand yards from the next. The Z7-9 was
in position to get in between the two on the left wing.
Weddigen's orders came quickly and with a deadly
precision. He manoeuvred the boat so that, as the
two destroyers passed one on each side of us, our bow
would point toward one and our stern toward the
other. Bow torpedo for one and stern torpedo for
the other — a splendid double shot. Weddigen often
had a placid, stolid look. Not so at this moment.
His eyes were shining.

A periscope and the white wake behind it Is a thing
for a blind man to see on the smooth, crystalline sea.
We dared show our long, flagpole eye for only the
briefest seconds. We were in position for the double
killing. I ran the periscope out for the captain to
make his shot.

"Damn it!" he growled. "One of those fellows is
out of position. We can lire only the bow tube."

A few quick orders to the helm and engines and
then the command:

"First bow tube — fire!"

I pressed the button. Weddigen turned the peri-
scope for a glance at the destroyer that had not kept
Its place in line. He looked, and jerked around with
fright written in his face. His voice rang out with a
loud volume and an accent of despair.

"Trim down the boat — quick — quick! Periscope
in! All men forward! He is ramming us!"

There was mad activity down below. At that fear-

NEW HORIZONS 33

ful cry the helmsman leaned on the depth rudder and
the men rushed forward frantically to force the bow
of the boat down.

Weddlgen and I stood side by side like paralyzed
creatures and gaped with distended eyes at the depth
indicator. Would we never dive? The indicator
crept up a little, but so slowly, along the mark of the
metres, nine metres, ten metres. Could we possibly
escape? Thirteen metres ... at that instant a
tremendous roar struck our ears, like some overwhelm-
ing thunder. The boat rocked as if she would turn
over. Through the unscreened port in the rear of the
conning tower I could see a black shadow that loomed
and disappeared. The destroyer had charged straight
over the top of our conning tower. We had gone
clear by an inch. A second more and we would have
got the murderous impact of the ram bow. The roar
of the enemy propellers had been so deafening that
when I turned to the captain, wiping the sweat off my
forehead, I attempted a feeble joke.

"He must have dropped his anchor on our deck."

As for the other destroyer, our torpedo had missed.
Perhaps it had been seen and the boat had manoeuvred
to avoid it, or perhaps it had not been set for a suffi-
ciently shallow run to hit the light draft vessel. When
we had discharged it the usual big air bubble that
accompanies a launched torpedo had broken on the
glassy surface. It had been seen by the destroyer that
was out of position. Perhaps it had already seen our
periscope. Anyway, the craft turned with hard rudder
and full speed to ram us.

"Everything in order below decks,'' came the wel-
come report. In the conning tower we could scarcely
believe it.

We submerged to twenty metres and stole away.
The destroyers scoured the sea for a long time. We
could hear the grinding roar of their propellers.

34 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

When we returned to our base we learned that
one of our companions, the U-l?, was close by when
we sank the Hawke, She had sighted the three cruisers
at about the same time that we had. We had beaten
her to the attack. Imagine the surprise of the officer
at the periscope of the U-l? when he saw the Hawke
suddenly torpedoed in front of his eyes. The U-17
then turned its attention to the other two cruisers and
manoeuvred for a shot as they fled. They steamed too
fast, though, for a torpedo to find its mark.

A little later, on the same cruise, the U-l? won a
small victory that attracted no attention over the great
world but that was of epoch-making importance so far
as the World War was concerned. She sighted the
British merchant steamer Glitra, carrying a cargo of
sewing machines and whiskey. Steering alongside on
the surface, she ordered the crew to their boats. A
boarding crew from the U-boat sank the Glitra by
opening her sea cocks.

This was the first time in history that a submarine
had sunk a merchant ship.

It was entirely unexpected. Attacks on commer-
cial steamers had not been foreseen. The possibilities
of that kind of warfare had not been anticipated. The
U-boats were not equipped with guns, prize lists, con-
traband rules, or any of the paraphernalia necessary
for a campaign against oceanic trade.

In fact. Lieutenant Feldkirchner, the commander
of the U'17y had exceeded his instructions, and put
into port a badly worried man. How could he tell
but that he might get a court-martial for his unau-
thorized sinking of the Glitra? The commander-in-
chief, however, O.K.'d the procedure.

The matter went further. The U-boat fleet in
general was authorized to make mercantile captures.
A little later, our under-sea craft were provided with
machine guns, grenades, and formal instructions for

NEW HORIZONS 35

prize crews, pertaining to contraband and such.
Lloyd's Register, which contains a complete list of
the ships of the world, could not be obtained In Ger-
many In sufficient quantities at that time, and for the
while we had to dispense with these.

So, that sinking of the Glitra, more than the tor-
pedoing of a big British cruiser, was the major result
of that October cruise of our U-boat flotilla. Briefly,
the idea of the submarine blockade was born — and a
fateful Idea It was.

Shortly after our return, Weddigen, who had
wrenched his leg, relinquished command of the U-9,
Later he was given the U-29, one of the newest and
best-equipped under-sea raiders to slip down the ways.
At Heligoland he took leave of his U-9 pals and of
the old lucky boat in which he had sunk the Hogue,
the Cressyy and the Aboukir, Little did we realize
that we should never see him again. After a brief
career of brilliant successes In the restricted war on
merchant shipping, on March 26, 1915, he tackled a
whole squadron of British battleships, singlehanded.
But one of Jellicoe's giants rammed him just as that
destroyer had tried to ram the U-9 on our historic
October cruise. The U-29 was not so lucky, and thus
perished the first great victor of the submarine war.
Out there somewhere on the floor of the North Sea,
where he had sent so many of his victims, lies the first
of our great raiders of the deep, with his battered
submarine for a coffin. Not a man was saved.

This was all that Commander Spless had to tell
about his former commander, and It was to the British
that I went for the story of Weddigen's last fight and
of his voyage to the last haven of many a German
Captain Nemo. A gallant English naval officer related
the tale :

"The Grand Fleet had been divided into two parts

36 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

for a sham battle. The sea was calm, with a slight
swell, and our squadron of eight battleships was mak-
ing sixteen knots on a straight westward course
through the North Sea toward Fair Island Strait to
the north of the Orkneys. From the foretop of H.
M. S. Vanguardy where extra submarine lookouts had
been posted, came the report that a conning tower had
been sighted on the horizon twelve miles away.

"Several of us were standing with me on the bridge
of H. M. S. Colossus at the time and one of my com-
panions was a marine officer who fitted to perfection
the type of Englishman you so often see caricatured
on the New York stage. The slUy-ass type, you know.
*Bah Jove,' he drawled, *do you observe that deucedly
curious streak on the water? The track of a bally de-
stroyer, eh what? One might almost mistake It for
the track of a blooming torpedo, don't you know?
Damn it all, old bean, it is a torpedo! What?'

"And It was. The track was clearly visible off the
port side. We saw It curve to the right. The gyro-
scope apparatus on It had failed and the torpedo was
not running true. It passed under the stern of the
H. M. S. Superb, the fourth In our line. However, I
think it could have been avoided even had it run
straight, because of the distinct white wake it was
leaving.

"Every ship altered course toward the supposed
position of the submarine. Warning signals were
flashed to the other squadron, coming up from the
east. One of the ships in that group was H. M. S.
Dreadnought, Her officer of the watch saw the ship
in front of him suddenly alter her course to port and
hoisted the signal, 'Submarine In sight.' Almost at
the same instant the Dreadnought lookout sighted two
or three feet of periscope sticking out of the water
twenty degrees off the port bow and proceeding at
high speed.

-<3

;5

"55

Ramming home a torpedo. Rather informal handling
of a temperamental baby.

s ;• . ••..Vv,.-.;-

J-!''i:'--Ja,^:f

ri.'-i^«»=A

"^JUik:

.<4^-'-

Mail from home. The torpedo room of a U-boat from
whence the missiles of death were launched.

NEW HORIZONS 37

"It Is quite probable that Weddlgen miscalculated
his attack, due to having to keep his periscope out of
sight so much of the time in the calm sea. Imme-
diately the officer of the watch of the Dreadnought
altered course for the periscope. *Full speed ahead/
he shouted into the engine-room speaking tube. A
few minutes later came the shock of a terriffic col-
lision. The Dreadnought had been making nineteen
knots, and the U-boat must have been sliced squarely
in two. She fell away to starboard and her bow
popped out of the water, spun around, then seemed to
stand vertical for a few seconds as the Dreadnought
sped past. On it, in plain sight, were the numbers
11-29. Then it shot beneath the waves. Our de-
stroyers steamed about the spot looking for survivors.
There were none — nothing to be seen except a few
pieces of debris floating about. The man who had
destroyed the Hogue, the Aboukir, and the Cressy
had joined his victims on the floor of the North Sea.'*

CHAPTER IV

RAIDING RUSSIAN PORTS

Commander Spless, who had told us the dramatic
and well-nigh incredible tale of how a little cigar-
shaped craft, the U-9, had won the first great naval
victory of the World War, went on with the story of
his adventures:

On February 4th, six weeks before Von Weddigen
took the long dive to the bottom of the North Sea,
the Emperor arrived at Wilhelmshaven. He inspected
the naval forces and we all were presented to him.
At the conclusion of the ceremony we were informed
that the All Highest had signed a proclamation "de-
claring the waters around Great Britain and Ireland
a war zone." That meant the opening of the so-called
"unrestricted submarine commerce warfare," which
was to be waged against all enemy merchant ships
encountered in the waters that had been declared a
war zone. The U-boat was proving itself to be a far
more effective weapon than any of us had dreamed.
With its success came the idea of a submarine block-
ade. Meanwhile the war in France had settled down
to the stalemate of the trenches, and it looked as if
we were in for a much longer struggle than we had
expected.

I took command of the U-9, and off we went on
our first cruise, the purpose of which was to play
havoc with Allied merchant shipping. One of our
tasks was to drive the great British fishing fleet away

38

RAIDING RUSSIAN PORTS 39

from Its regular haunt. We captured and sank scores
of smacks off Dogger Bank. This was far less glori-
ous than gunning for armoured men-of-war, and less
exciting. But it supphed many unexpected thrills, at
that. I remember one breath-taking moment. We
had sighted a fishing steamer, the Merry Islington,
A shot across her bow, and her crew nearly jumped
out of their so'westers in clambering into their boats
and pulling for shore. Why, they were on the beach
even before we had time to draw alongside their de-
serted craft. Our chief engineer and his detail were
about to shin up her side, pile below, and open her
sea valves, when our quartermaster sang out:

"Destroyer ahoy!"

Ach ! What a start that gave us !

A heavy fog hung over the sea, and the destroyer
had stolen up on us through the mist. She was head-
ing straight toward us. On she came, charging at
full speed. Our old U-boat was not one of the quick
kind, and there was no time to dive.

''Starboard engine full speed astern — port engine
half speed ahead!" I barked. Mere instinct caused
me to do it.

A moment later, and we had slid around behind
the hull of the fishing boat. There was a chance in
a thousand we had not already been observed. If we
could only keep out of view of the onrushing de-
stroyer! The swift enemy swept churning along. As
she passed quite near us our boat was completely
concealed behind the fishing smack. What luck! She
hadn't seen us at all. On she sped and quickly disap-
peared in the fog. Then we proceeded to sink our
prize.

It was now July, and of the fourteen older boats
that we had at the beginning of the war, the class of
which the t/-9.was one, seven had been lost. The 17-9,
which had been put into commission before some of

40 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the boats with the earlier numbers, was now the oldest
under-sea craft In the Imperial Navy. We overhauled
her and then came orders for us to head for the Baltic
on a cruise. Russia was very much In the war news
then. The Muscovites had hit Austria hard, and we
were In the position of having to do something to help
our Allies. Besides, most of our U-boat activities had
been discontinued In the North Sea.

On that voyage adventures against the Russians
came thick and fast. Ach ! Til say they did ! If you
want the wth degree in thrills, try running right into
an enemy harbour in a submarine.

The penetration of an enemy harbour Is one of
the rarest and most daring exploits asked of a sub-
marine captain. But August 25, 1915, found our
faithful old U-9 dodging mines and stealing stealthily
into the Russian fortified harbour of Uto. This Rus-
sian naval stronghold had been bombarded by a squad-
ron of our armoured cruisers only a short while back.
Our big man-of-war, the Von der Tann, had exchanged
shots with the Russian cruiser Makaroff as she lay in
the shelter of the fortifications. And now, we of the
U-9 were on our way right into Uto Harbour in the
hope of slipping near enough the Makaroff to treat
her to a torpedo. We got through the mines and
cautiously ran up our cyclopean eye. Lo and behold,
the Makaroff was gone!

We scouted around the harbour, submerged of
course, and were taking a periscope look at what was
to be seen when suddenly, as I studied the picture of
bay and shore, I spied a Russian submarine. It was
hardly distinguishable against the rocky background,
but there It was, lying on the water in a small inlet.
Alongside was a small steam launch, such as we had
often seen on Russian warships visiting Kiel. The
situation seemed clear. The Russian submarine offi-
cers were leaving their boat to spend the night on

RAIDING RUSSIAN PORTS 41

shore or aboard the submarine tender that lay a little
distance away. The submarine would stay where she
was for the night — ^unless she took an unexpected
dive ! Ha !

^'Here's a fish like ourselves for our day's bag/' I
said to my watch officer, who stood behind me in the
conning tower.

All we had to do now was to enter the channel on
the side across from our Russian cousin, then turn in
a quarter circle, and, with a torpedo tube pointing at
him, let her rip. I steered for the entrance of the
channel and ordered the bow torpedoes made ready
for the shallow run.

The steam launch left the Russian submarine and
started out for the tender.

"Ach! Just as I thought," I mumbled to myself.
"We'll send that turtle kicking in a jiffy."

We were entering the channel, sliding along near
one rocky bank. I took a leisurely look around with
the periscope to make sure that there would be no
interference, no destroyers steaming suddenly into the
harbour or similar unpleasantness. No sign of any
danger. The water was aglow with the setting sun
and the encircling shore dusky with the shadows of
evening.

When I turned the ^'eye" to the enemy again, whew !
My hair nearly pushed my cap through the steel hull.
That submarine was coming toward us I My scheme
had gone wrong. What a fool I'd been! Here they
were, headed right for us, or at any rate bound for
the open sea. Our one chance for a shot now was a
lightning quick turn and a pot shot at her on the
wing — or on the fin. Our old [7-9 always turned like
a fat old lady. Doing a ballet turn was not in her line.

"Hard aport," I called through the speaking tube.
"Port engine full speed astern. Starboard engine full
ahead. Leave periscope out."

42 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

We came around with our most powerful turning
movement, while I watched the Russian as he slowly
approached us. Then came a shock, a lurch, and a
horrible grinding noise. In swinging around, we had
hit the rocky projections on the side of the narrow
channel.

I stopped both engines, not knowing what was
going to happen. I could hear shots popping. The
Russian was firing at our periscope.

''In periscope," I called mechanically and, I fear,
rather hopelessly.

The chief engineer on his own Initiative trimmed
the boat down to eight meters in an effort to clear the
rocks. It seemed impossible to me that the collision
of our stern with the ledge had not damaged our pro-
pellers and depth rudders and put us out of commis-
sion. The voice of the helmsman in the conning tower
sang out:

''She obeys the rudder!"

That one cheering announcement seemed to jerk
me out of my fit of hopelessness. I ran the periscope
out and cautiously started the port engine. She
steered. Hurrah! We were getting clear of the
rocks.

Now came the worst. I had to look through the
periscope to see that we were steering away from the
craggy bank. The Russian, who was watching, saw
the stick, of course. It gave him his mark. I saw a
track of bubbles coming at us and my blood ran cold.
It seemed to lengthen out ever so slowly. I had never
thought a torpedo could dillydally along like that.
But, of course. It was only my fear that made It seem
so slow. I swung the boat as best I could to avoid it.
Thank heaven, she missed! But would It bang Into
the rocks behind us? For a moment I did not realize
that the Russian was lying up channel from us. But,
even so, the torpedo might hit a projecting rock near

RAIDING RUSSIAN PORTS 43

us. I waited with a panicky feeling for the explosion.
None came. The torpedo had slid on out Into the bay.

Our periscope was down now. The whole thing
must have seemed eerie and mysterious to the Russian
— too mysterious, perhaps, for we saw no more of
him. As for ourselves, we were glad enough to get
out of the harbour before night fell. Next day, In the
half hght before darkness came, to make up for that
scare, we bagged a fine head of game, a large Russian
naval auxlhary steamer. Then we started for home.

The U-9 was on her last cruise. We steered for
the mouth of the Gulf of Finland, and lay off the port
of Reval. It was very late In the season — December,
that December of 1915 when Henry Ford was sending
the Peace Ship over '*to get the boys out of the
trenches by Christmas.'' We lay submerged. There
was a light frost and the weather was brilliantly clear.
Through the periscope I saw a heavy fog bank drift
toward us and engulf us. We came to the surface to
recharge batteries. As I jumped out on deck I slipped
and slid and sat down ignomlnlously and slid some
more. I was just able to keep myself from going over-
board. With the fog bank had come intense cold.
The thermometer showed 20° below zero. As the
boat had emerged, the sea water clinging to her had
instantly frozen, and she was a sheet of ice.

When we were ready to trim down we found we
couldn't lower the radio masts. The supporting wires
were coated with Ice and would not rove through the
blocks. We knocked away the Ice with hammers. The
conning tower hatch wouldn't even close. Finally we
melted the Ice with a blow torch. When we did con-
trive to get below surface I stared at the Instrument
board In amazement. We went down by the stern
and stuck fast at seven metres. Then I understood.
The instruments were all frozen. When we ran the
periscope out it froze. A thick layer of Ice covered

44 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the objective lens. Our one eye was put out and wc
could not see while below surface. In short, when
the temperature gets down to twenty below a subma-
rine is a submarine no longer — we had to run on the
surface. Luckily for us, winter already had sent the
Russians to the snug reHef of their ports.

On our return trip we saw a remarkable sight.
Near the Island of Odensholm lay the wreck of the
German cruiser Magdeburg^ which had been sunk.
The U-boat, sliding along, passed close to the foun-
dered warship. Masts, spars, and smokestacks stuck
out of the water. The waves dashed over them at
times and they were covered with cataracts of ice,
forests of icicles, thick layers of glistening ice, and
tens of thousands of glittering streamers that hung
from the spars like some weird kind of lace. The
light played fancifully and gleamed in the crystalline
shapes. The ill-fated Magdeburg had been trans-
formed into a fantastic sea palace of the ice king.

That April the Lucky JJ'9 closed her venturesome
career. Mechanical progress had passed her utterly.
Despite her great record and her victories over John
BulFs proud cruisers, she was pitifully obsolete, a left-
over from a primitive time. What a difference one
lone year can make! She was taken out of active
warfare and turned over to the submarine training
service. From then on she played a passive role as a
school ship for cadets.

CHAPTER V

THE DESTROYER OF BATTLESHIPS

LEAVES HIS POTATO PATCH

AND TELLS HIS TALE.

^T read the orders. Then I sat and thought. They
were of a kind to make a man swell with elation and,
at the same time, think soberly of a heavy task ahead.
The U'Zl had been selected to do the biggest sub-
marine job that the mind of man had been able to
invent up to then. The voyage was one worthy of
the wily Odysseus — ^yes, even of that grim Jules Verne
hero of fiction, Captain Nemo. Destination: Con-
stantinople I Then upon arrival to play a hand in one
of the most tremendous and spectacular games of war
ever enacted on the human stage — the fight for the
Dardanelles."

The speaker of these words was one of the German
Kaiser's most spectacular under-sea raiders during the
first years of the war. But the setting was anything
but warlike. In fact. It was as peaceful as that hill
outside Bethlehem where the shepherds were watching
their flocks the night the Prince of Peace was born.

The tiny village of Rastede lies on the flat North
German plain, thirty miles from the North Sea. The
cottages are quaint and old-fashioned, surrounded by
gardens and fruit trees. The church spire, covered
with ivy, dates back to the Fourteenth Century.
Near by is the great estate of the Grand Duke of
Oldenberg — ^a splendid castle — and around It some
seven thousand acres laid out as an English park and

45

46 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

stocked with deer, game birds, and other quarry for
the hunter. The gamekeepers wear green jaegers'
uniforms that vaguely remind one of Robin Hood and
his merry men. They dropped in very frequently, it
seemed — for beer at the little inn where I was the
only foreign guest, and, in their hunting green, pro-
vided the final touch of Old World atmosphere.

Hard by the Grand Duke's estate, across from the
castle, is another and smaller park and mansion. The
Grand Duke's daughter lives there, a lady whose con-
temporary romance has made much noise in this busy
world. She was the wife of Prince Eitel Friedrich, son
of the Kaiser. After the war the family traditions
of the Hohenzollerns seemed to break with their
political fortunes. There were unseemly divorces and
unseemly marriages. The Grand Duke's daughter
divorced the Kaiser's son and married an army officer
who was in no wise of royal rank. She took him to
live on the smaller estate across from the vast Grand
Ducal Park.

Within sight of both princely establishments is a
comfortable house on a small plot of land. There you
will find, living the life of a country squire, Germany's
most acclaimed under-sea raider. Otto Hersing.
Indeed, the question might be asked: Who was the
epoch-maker in under-sea warfare — Weddigen or
Hersing?

It was Hersing who was the first to sink a ship by
submarine attack when he torpedoed the small English
cruiser Pathfinder in early September of 1914. But
the event did not startle the world because the Path-
finder wasn't an Important enough victim. Then, two
weeks later, Weddigen won his victory. Three big
cruisers fell victim to the wizardry of his attack, and
in such a fearful, spectacular fashion that the whole
world gaped with the realization that a new dimension
had been added to warfare at sea. Hersing, however.

THE DESTROYER TELLS HIS TALE 47

went from one spectacular attack to another. He was
a trail-blazer of the seas in those first days of sub-
marine warfare. He was the first to embark on
extended U-boat voyages, and now followed a series
of little-dreamed-of long cruises into distant waters.

Hersing was the first submarine commander to ply
the Irish sea and to harry British commerce there.
No sooner was that over than he embarked upon a
memorable Odyssey from the North Sea to Contanti-
nople. This was a prodigious feat of submarine navi-
gation, and it climaxed in a feat of grim warfare no
less prodigious. Off the shore of that flaming furnace
of war, Gallipoli, Hersing torpedoed and sank two
giant British battleships, H. M. S. Triumph and H. M.
S. Majestic, one of the greatest naval victories of mod-
ern times. For this, every member of his crew was
given the Iron Cross, while he himself became the first
under-sea raider to really wear the Pour le Merite.
The same decoration was given to Weddigen, but was
conferred after his death dive.

Weddigen was lost early in the war, lost In the
depths of the sea. But Hersing remained, a bodily
form to acclaim, and he flashed from one exploit to
another until the end of the war. Nor did he retire
from naval service until 1924. And even after the
fighting was done he struck a blow that gained honour
for him among his people. He was ordered to turn
his boat, the 17-21 , over to the British. He did. But
the U'21 never reached England ! It was in tow of a
British ship when in some unexplainable way (Hersing
tells this with a sardonic smile) it sprang a leak and
sank.

Among former submarine men he is talked of as
the habitual doer of the extraordinary. Every man
In the under-sea service toyed with death daily. Every
commander made decisions by the hour that took him
skating along the brink of doom. But Hersing seems

48 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

to have specialized in doing the impossible. To his
seemingly reckless daring, they say, he owed his life.
Many a time, if he had not taken the audacious course,
he would have been caught in the toils from which
escape appeared impossible.

In those days, when Germany staked its all on the
under-water campaign, the miUions in the beleaguered
country gaped breathless over the doings of the
U-boats. Inevitably, the most spectacular of the sub-
marine commanders became a national idol. Hersing
was feted and lionized. Hundreds of articles were
written about him. No illustrated magazine or pic-
torial was complete without a picture of him. Postal
cards with his photograph on them were sold over
every stationery counter, and posters were put up with
his likeness and one word — Hersing. Poems were
written about him, and songs. The gallant Admiral
von Scheer and other high naval officials vied with
each other in praising him. Every possible decoration
was conferred on him. Cities from the Rhine to the
Russian frontier hastened to make him an honorary
citizen and showered him with elaborate documents
all dressed up in parchment and tooled leather.

Nor were his enemies any less neghgent about com-
plimenting him. The British put a price on his head;
and even after the war, the French authorities in the
occupied German provinces along the Rhine were so
eager to snare him that they offered 20,000 marks to
anyone who would lure him into territory they con-
trolled. In 1924 a woman in Wilhelmshaven, where
Hersing was stationed, thought she might as well reap
this little reward. She asked him to give a talk about
his war experiences before a society in Hamburg, and
told him an automobile would be sent to take him there.
Hersing agreed to the seemingly innocent proposal,
when, at the last moment, he was tipped off that the
plan was to get him into the automobile, hold him,

THE DESTROYER TELLS HIS TALE 49

and carry him speeding over into territory under
French jurisdiction.

British naval historians, who have been writing since
the war, have given high praise to the under-sea
prowess of Hersing. That distinguished English offi-
cer and author. Lieutenant Commander E. Keble
Chatterton, R. N. V. R., who has written many books
on naval warfare, says : "A very large portion of this
successful, enterprising spirit which was actuating the
German U-boat service was owing to Hersing. His
cruises were certainly extraordinarily daring, and
showed considerable endurance. In other words, they
afforded invaluable data from which to deduce the
theory that much more could be expected of sub-
marines, provided they were multiplied in numbers
and built of improved designs.''

The German naval authorities during the war used
the greatest precautions to keep the real number of
Hersing's boat a secret. They made a practice of giv-
ing out confusing reports about the commanders and
the numbers of the U-boats. Often a boat took a
higher number than its real one, this to make the enemy
think that Germany had more under-sea craft than
was actually the case. Hersing's boat throughout the
war was the U-Zl. It was always referred to as the
U-5L Thus, in their hunt for Hersing, the British
were on the lookout for the wrong boat. I had read
a good deal about him in English books on war-time
subjects, and had known his boat as the U-51. When I
got to Germany and heard of the U-21 I was confused.
It was not till I was told of the substitution of num-
bers and the reasons for it that the puzzle was solved.

The British told me that when Hersing arrived in
Constantinople with the number U-Zl on his boat the
morale of the Turks went up about fifty per cent.
But when Hersing went out on his first raid he returned
with the number U-51 on the boat. "Fine!" exulted

50 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the Turks, "fine! Another U-boat sent to us by our
good friend the Kaiser. Allah is indeed on our side."
Whereupon their morale went up a few more notches.

I found the celebrated under-sea raider to be a tall,
dark, slender man, with all the dignified and hospitable
courtesy of a German rural proprietor. The pictures
I had seen of him — ^war-time pictures — showed a lean,
striking-looking young chap with a keen, hawk-like
face — a devil of a fellow to all seeming. He looked
much older nearly ten years after the Armistice. The
best description I can give is that he is strikingly like
Fred Stone. He told his callers that he was troubled
by rheumatism, a malady that submarine men com-
monly contracted from the continual dampness of the
boats. When we asked him what he was doing, he
replied :

*'I grow fine potatoes."

And that resigned philosophy seems to set the mood
of the retired monarch of the deep. While most of
the submarine commanders have turned to active busi-
ness and have passed from that fantastic war-time life
of periscope and torpedo, and the constant presence of
frightful death, and have gone on into other absorb-
ing activities, Hersing has buried himself in the quie-
tude of country and of growing crops — and remembers
the more poignantly because of this. He was the
only one I met who gave any aching expression of
grief and bitterness over Germany's present lot. The
others seemed to take it as a matter of course, the
natural attitude of active men who accept hard facts
without useless repining.

The day we passed in Rastede was a rare one.
Commander Hersing and his gracious wife plied us
with cordial hospitality, with food and excellent beer,
and with the stories of warfare under the sea for
which I had come. In the evening they took us back
to the inn where we were stopping, and we sat and

THE DESTROYER TELLS HIS TALE 51

talked U-boat shop till late. The green-uniformed
gamekeepers from the Grand Ducal game preserves
sat around with steins of beer, and hearty village peo-
ple drifted in and out. In another room a meeting of
some local war veterans' association was being held.
When it broke up the members surrounded the U-boat
commander with friendly greetings. I could sense the
affection and respect with which they regarded him.
When they were introduced to the stranger who was
writing about the adventures of the warriors who
voyaged under the sea in ships they became more
cordial still, and stayed and talked and sang old songs.
Altogether, it was simple and festive and jolly — but
the pictures of conning towers and of sinking ships
were in the background: the tale of men inside a
cigar-like shell a hundred feet below the sea and depth
bombs bursting around. After it was told an old
German melody was sung by lusty voices.

Hersing's story was like a piece of music in which
an impressive introduction leads with swift, staccato
stroke to the big theme. He told briefly of a succes-
sion of earlier events, and then the great adventure :

In the U-21 he won the first victory of the under-
sea warfare, the sinking of the British cruiser Path-
finder, and then promptly added another "first" to
his record. Another boat, the 17-17, captured and
sank the merchant ship Glitra, This was the first
mercantile craft to be accounted for by a submarine.
With the idea thus suggested, the German Admiralty
authorized the U-boats generally to take merchant
ship prizes — and the "restricted" warfare against
Allied shipping was on. Hersing steered forth in the
V-2L

A thick November mist, a rough sea, and a U-boat
running awash off the French coast. A steamer
appeared through the fog — the French ship Malachite.

52 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

A shot across her bow and she hove to. Herslng
steered the U-21 alongside. The sea was running so
high and there was so much probability of warships
appearing suddenly that he did not venture to send a
boarding crew on to the deck of the captured vessel.
The U'21 must remain ready to dive at any moment.

"Bring me your papers," Hersing shouted to the
French captain.

The Frenchman lowered a boat. A few hearty
strokes with the oars, and the papers were handed to
the German. They showed the Malachite to be carry-
ing contrabrand from Liverpool to Havre. A lawful
prize of war.

^'Abandon ship!" Hersing issued the sharp com-
mand to the crestfallen skipper.

Now lifeboats are pulling lustily for the near-by
shore, and the U-ZTs stern gun is cracking. Under the
impact of a couple of shells the Malachite hsts and
sinks. It stands on record as the first ship sunk under
the orders that launched the U-boat campaign against
merchantmen. Three days later, in these same French
waters, the British steamship Primo, carrying coal
from England to Rouen, joined the Malachite in Davy
Joneses locker. When he sank the Primo Hersing
made the second score of the "restricted" campaign.

Then, in January, came the first of the U-ZVs
record-breaking cruises. The submarine war, although
just begun, had already set nautical nerves tingling
with fright. The U-boats were sinking merchant ships
with a monotonous regularity. Something of that
fear that later swept the oceans like a chilly wind now
made eyes scan the waves for that ill-omened, moving
stick, the periscope — but only in the near-by waters of
the war-swept North Sea. To the west, between Eng-
land and Ireland, all was yet serene. Ships sailed the
Irish Sea to and from Liverpool as trustfully as if war
had never been heard of. A U-boat in the Irish Sea I

i

111.

^

Her sing, the destroyer of battleships.

'

h

,^,^,^"J^

fe^.

Two of his uictiDis at the Dardcmelles: H. M. S. Majestic,
k/ty and H. M. S. Triumph.

THE DESTROYER TELLS HIS TALE S3

Who had ever heard of a submarine voyaging so far
from its base? But now the U-21 was on its way to
the Irish Sea.

The route might have been through the EngHsh
Channel or around the north of Scotland. The Chan-
nel was full of mines and nets, but around the north
of Scotland was too long a jaunt to think of in those
days. The U-21 stole under water through the peril-
ous Channel. War craft swarmed. Transports, with
their fleets of ranging, protecting destroyers, ferried
over England's hundreds of thousands to the battle-
fields of France. Small chance had a U-boat of launch-
ing a torpedo with those cordons of hornets looking
for its periscope. The U-21 lay as low as possible,
dodged the nets, with their telltale buoys, and trod
its way among the mine fields. It was simpler than
Hersing had expected. The narrow waterway was
full of mines, but in their first mine-laying the English
had made a small miscalculation. They had set the
deadly iron bulbs too near the surface. It was low
tide as the U-21 stole through and the mines lay on
the surface in plain sight.

Up through Saint George's Channel and into the
Irish Sea toward Liverpool. Not far from the great
seaport Hersing ventured a rare piece of impudence.
Near the docks at Barrow was a flying field with a
fine row of hangars. Airplanes lay on the fields and
circled the sky above. The U-21 stole close to shore
and opened fire with Its small gun on docks and
hangars.

The astonishment on shore must have been tre-
mendous. It was quickly succeeded by pertinent
activity. Coast defense batteries opened fire on the
insolent U-boat. A fountain or two leaped out of the
water around the U-2L That was no kind of a fight
for a submarine. Under-sea craft are not designed

54 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

to exchange bombardment with forts. Where the
Arabs would have folded their tents, Hersing closed
his hatches, and stole away under water.

Six miles outside of the harbour of Liverpool the
captain of the 6,000-ton steamer Ben Cruachan gaped
with wide eyes. A shot across his bows — a submarine
had popped out of the water. A few minutes later
Hersing was scanning ship's papers. Pleasant reading
it was. The Ben Cruachan was loaded with coal bound
for the British Grand Fleet at Scapa Flow. A neat
trick for a tiny craft 250 feet long, and with a crew
of thirty-eight, to rob Admiral Jellicoe's mighty squad-
ron of a shipload of coal. A few bombs placed on
board, and Admiral Jellicoe's coal settled to the bot-
tom of the Irish Sea. Three hours later, the steamer
Linda Blanche took the downward tack and, later in
the afternoon the Kilcuan.

Things began to grow hot. The word of a U-boat
sinking ships off Liverpool was certainly startling
enough. Destroyers and patrol craft of all descrip-
tions swarmed to the scene and went scurrying far and
wide in search of a periscope. The water became too
hot to hold any reasonably prudent submarine. Home-
ward bound, said Hersing — and the U-Zl nosed her
way back through the Channel and to Wilhemshaven,

And now comes the memorable voyage to Con-
stantinople and the sinking of the two great battleships
off Gallipoli. Commander Hersing told of it in a
rapid, eventful narrative as we sat there in the inn at
Rastede, while the gamekeepers of the Grand Duke
of Oldenburg, in the green Robin Hood uniforms,
lounged at tables in an adjoining room and laughed
and sang:

CHAPTER VI

BY SUBMARINE FROM NORTH SEA TO
THE INFERNO OF GALLIPOLI

We German naval men naturally took the greatest
interest In the Dardanelles affair. The Allies had
just begun their famous attack on Turkey. England
and France were attempting to force a passage
through to the Golden Horn. They had gathered
ships and a powerful fleet and had set out to rush the
ancient straits of Hellespont, that narrow lane of
water that runs between cliffs from the broad expanse
of the Mediterranean to the pre-war capital of the
Turks. Ships against forts — an old familiar theme in
the art of naval warfare.

The prodigious guns of the Allied squadron had
opened fire with a rain of 16-Inch shells upon the
Turkish fortifications along the straits. The bom-
bardment had begun with a violence that was the talk
of the world, and now was progressing and thunder-
ing with an Increasing Intensity. The Turks had asked
the Kaiser for U-boats to aid in repelling the attack.
Our naval authorities had decided to accede to what
was a most difficult request to fulfill. They had ordered
me to do the deed. A trip from Wilhemshaven to
Constantinople was an unprecedented task for a sub-
marine. But the attempt must be made. A lone boat
must try it first. The U-Zl was selected. We of the
U-21 felt like • shouting the extraordinary news to
everybody.

It was all very well to feel like shouting, but secrecy

55

56 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

was the word of the day. The preparations for a
pioneering voyage like that were necessarily extensive.
Of course, they had to be kept secret. The prime
idea was to take the enemy ships before the Darda-
nelles by surprise. They would never dream of a
German submarine popping up in the Mediterranean.
And there were certain private arrangements to be
made. On the long jaunt to Constantinople there was
no friendly harbour where we could put in for pro-
visions and for fuel, until we reached the Austrian port
of Cattaro on the Adriatic Sea. And that was four
thousand miles away. No U-boat then extant could
be expected to carry enough food and oil for so long
a cruise. We should have to reprovision and refuel
somewhere between Wilhemshaven and Cattaro. The
Admiralty arranged for one of our Hamburg-Ameri-
can steamers, the Marzala, to meet us off the coast of
Spain and transfer to the U-21 a store of provisions
and fuel. Naturally, that plan needed the greatest
secrecy.

By the time the U-21 was fitted out, the main naval
attack on the Dardanelles had run its course. The
land forts had beaten off the attacking fleet with a
heavy loss of ships. It was clear that it was impos-
sible to fight ships against forts and force the Dar-
danelles. The Allies gave up the attempt. But this
ffierely meant that the struggle at the Dardanelles
flared up with an enlarged and bloodier violence. The
idea now was to force the straits by a land attack, to
throw troops ashore and advance along the sides of
the long slip of water. We had word of a great con-
centration of troops for the task, and on the very
day the Z7-27 stood out to sea for Constantinople, the
Australian and New Zealand regiments landed on the
dread, fiery beaches of Gallipoh, and the fearful trag-
edy of Gallipoli was under way. Very well, ships
would have to take a large part in the land attack on

BY SUBMARINE TO GALLIPOLI 57

the Straits. They would be swarming around. A
U-boat might be able to play a neat part in the flam-
ing drama. We wondered what the future held for
us, and if we should ever get to Constantinople.

On April 25, 1915, we nosed out of the harbour of
Wilhelmshaven and set a course north. The English
Channel by now, with its entanglements of nets and
mines, was exceedingly dangerous for U-boat naviga-
tion, and we were not to take any more chances than
we had to until we reached the scene of action. So we
took the long route around Scotland, the northern tip
of the Orkney Islands. We went along minding our
own business. Any ships that hove in sight might be
good game for some other U-boat, but they meant
nothing to us.

North of the Orkneys the fog lay heavy on the
sea. We kept along above water, when rather sud-
denly the mist cleared.

* Donnerwetterr^ my watch officer exclaimed in a
ludicrous tone of surprise. I was standing on deck
beside him. We were among patrol boats. There
were a number of them, scattered on all sides of us.

**Heave to," the nearest one signalled before we
were able to make ready for a dive.

At the first glance through the still-lingering mist,
our patrol-boat friend thought we might be a British
sub. With that comfortable assurance, we took our
time about diving, and finally did not have to dive at
all. A fog bank drifted over the sea. The mist closed
around us again, and we slid full speed ahead. The
patrol boats groped around blindly for us and in vain.
Thus, covered by the fog, we had an easy passage
through the net of the British blockade.

A week after leaving Wilhelmshaven we were off
the northwesternmost coast of Spain and nearing Cape
Finlsterre. A' warm sun and a quiet sea, and my
watch officer and I stood on deck scanning the horizon

58 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

as eagerly as If we were looking for a British super-
dreadnaught to torpedo. We saw a smudge of smoke
on the line where the sky met the sea. It grew more
distinct. The outline of a ship became clear. Yes,
that was It — the Marzala, our supply ship. Presently
we were close enough to the friendly craft for an
exchange of signals. The Marzala headed toward the
coast. The JJ-Zl imitated her obediently. We fol-
lowed her Into the Rio Corcubion, where at night we
lay alongside and took aboard large supplies of food
and more than twelve tons of fuel oil and two tons of
lubricating oil. A brief fraternization in that secret
nocturnal meeting, hearty handshakes all around, and
forth we sailed again, rejoicing in a well-stocked larder
and heavily laden oil tanks.

Confidence soon darkened Into gloom. The oil
we had got from the Marzala refused to burn in our
Diesel engines. We worked and experimented and
struggled with It, but no use. We tried mixing It with
our own oil, but It was a case of a bad egg spoiling a
good one. The mixture was as bad as the Marzala^ s
oil, Itself. So, here we were almost two thousand miles
from home and more than that distance from Cattaro.
We had started out with fifty-six tons of fuel oil, and
had twenty-five tons left.

I was called upon to make a decision that, although
I did not suspect it, had perhaps some influence on the
course of the World War. Should I turn back toward
Wilhelmshaven or go on to Cattaro? Neither alterna-
tive was pleasant. We had used up thirty-one tons of
oil getting this far and had twenty-five tons left for
that long trip back home around the north of Scot-
land. It was likely to be not enough. It was less
likely to be enough for the longer trip to Cattaro. I
had no notion of the important part the U-21 was
presently to play In events around the Dardanelles, or
I should have had less hesitation. However, I have

BY SUBMARINE TO GALLIPOLI S)

always liked the bolder course. And then we were
more likely to have to use up oil bucking bad weather
on the northern route than on the southern.

*'We go to Cattaro," I said to my crew. "If we are
lucky we shall be able to make It."

They raised a cheer. Our success now depended
on the amount of diving we had to do. The business
of submerging uses up oil at a great rate. If we did
not encounter hostile vessels, which would compel us
to sneak under water, I thought that by keeping on at
our lowest speed we could just about make it. On the
other hand, if we were bothered over much, our oil
would run out and we should have to seek refuge
In some neutral harbour and be interned. That left
us in the peculiar position where enemy craft by attack-
ing us could put us out of commission even if we suc-
ceeded In eluding their attacks.

Of all the lazy voyages I have ever seen, that one
was the laziest. We merely crept along on the surface,
and kept as far as we could from the shipping lanes.
Whenever we saw a smoke cloud, we gave it the
widest berth possible. The run from Cape Finlsterre
to Gibraltar took four days. Days of sunshine and
placid sea they were. We idled away the hours, sleep-
ing or playing cards on deck, and did not have to
submerge once.

At Gibraltar nobody thought of U-boats except
in dreams. There were no patrol boats scouting
around. We were so careful about wasting our fuel
on needless diving that we brazenly put our nose into
the Straits, running above water. It was May 6th.
We hugged the African coast, keeping as far away
from the British ships and guns across the narrow
strip of water as possible. We got through peaceably,
but in the afternoon two little British torpedo boats
hove in sight. Would they spy us? They were headed
in our general direction. Yes, they had sighted us.

60 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Too bad, but there was no doubt about it. They
turned with a sudden starboard helm and made straight
for us at top speed.

*'Clear for diving/' I gave the reluctant order.

We easily got away from them, but that was no
complete relief. I was hoarding my oil with the mean
avarice of a miser hoarding his money. And then the
news of a U-boat in the Mediterranean was out. That
would alarm the ships clustered around Gallipoli and,
what was more immediate, send British destroyers out
searching for us. That would mean more diving and
more oil used up.

We stole along on our way more slyly than ever,
keeping to the most out-of-the-way route. "Ship
ahoy!" and a big British steamer was coming our way.
Undoubtedly she was armed. There was nothing else
to do. We took a dive. I gazed anxiously at the fuel
gauges. The oil was getting low. And then — destroy-
ers hoi Two French boats saw and charged us.
Another dive. I'll tell you it was getting nerve-racking.

The U'2j! entered the Adriatic a week after leav-
ing Gibraltar and eighteen days after leaving Wil-
helmshaven, and on May 13th was taken in tow by an
Austrian destroyer. We had 1.8 tons of oil in our
tanks. I may forget other numbers, my birthday, my
age; but that figure is indelibly fixed in my mind.

At Cattaro, we got detailed news of the state of
things around the Dardanelles. The British and the
Turks on the peninsula of Gallipoli were locked in
one of the most savage of death struggles. The
Anzac regiments were attacking the Turkish trenches
day after day with a relentless fury and courage, and
the Turks were resisting with that dogged endurance
for which the Ottoman soldier has long been renowned.
The British attack was supported fully by ships. His
Majesty's Navy was lending the heavy weight of its
fire to the attacks of the battalions on land. The great

BY SUBMARINE TO GALLIPOLI 61

warships of England were standing off the coast and
pouring the devastation of their 16-inch guns into
the trenches of the Turks, a bombardment with tons
of high explosive, to which the Turks had no possible
chance to reply. In my mind's eye I could see a U-boat
steahng up on those flame-belching giants that stood
near the shore. It wasn't often that a submarine com-
mander was lucky enough to find British battleships
outside of the shelter of protected ports, at least not
stationed in a given place as if ready-placed targets.

The U-21 lay for a week in Cattaro, making re-
pairs and taking aboard supplies, and then stood out
to sea. We shpped down the coast and around the
Grecian archipelago and across the iEgean to the
blood-drenched peninsula of GaUIpolI. The British
had sown these waters with mines, and, to keep away
from these fields of ugly underwater turnips, we had
to creep along in the shadow of the coast. We edged
along on the surface all the night of May 24th, head-
ing southward toward the tip of the fateful tongue of
land — that battle-scarred, desolate tip where the battle
was raging its fiercest. Under cover of darkness we
got through the line of patrol boats unobserved.

CHAPTER VII

THE SINKING OF THE BATTLESHIP
TRIUMPH

Day broke. Ahead of us was the shore, with Its
beaches and diffs and hills a bare, burnt yellow. There
was no sound of guns. The day's battle down the
coast had not yet begun. The sea was a dead calm —
anything but Ideal for our kind of work. A periscope
had better not show Itself too plainly In these embat-
tled waters. We plunged and nosed our way on to
the hive of war farther down.

Ships appeared in the eyepiece. No chance for
leisurely inspection. Periscope up for a hasty glance
into the lens, a pious hope that the asparagus would
not be spied during Its few seconds above the glassy
surface, and then periscope down. We sighted British
battleships off Cape Hellas. I could distinguish three
big fellows. A glance into my fleet book, and I could
tell from photographs and descriptions there that they
were giants of the Majestic class. They were firing
salvos with their heavy guns, battering the Turkish
positions among the hills with tons of high explosive
projectiles.

A hospital ship stood near by. Around were dozens
of patrol boats, torpedo boats, and destroyers that
wove and circled, nervously on the lookout for intrud-
ers. Had reports of our presence in the Mediter-
ranean inspired all this elaborate lookout? Whether
yes or no, It was clear that the British were using all
possible precautions to shield their battleships from

62

SINKING OF THE TRIUMPH 63

submarine attack, while the fire-spitting monsters
hurled their shells upon the shore-lining trenches of the
Turks.

*'Rare game for a U-boat," I cried exultantly to
my watch officer, and steered the U-Zl cautiously
toward the three fire-belching leviathans.

"Periscope in I" I shouted quickly. A destroyer was
headed toward us. I don't know whether it had seen
the periscope or not: but I did not want a submarine
warning to go out until I had had a chance to strike a
blow.

We ran blindly under water for a while without
daring to show our periscope. I did not like the idea
of showing any asparagus again in that neighbourhood
for the present. Our course lay north from the tip of
the peninsula, toward Gaba-Tepe. There the peri-
scope showed another battleship in front of the north-
ern beaches. My reference showed the vessel to be of
the Triumph class. Again the inevitable swarm of
patrol boats and destroyers circling around to protect
it from submarine attack, like pigmies guarding a giant.

"In periscope !" And we dived to seventy feet and
headed toward the monster, passing far below the
lines of patrol craft. Their propellers, as they ran
above us, sounded a steady hum. For four and a half
hours after I caught sight of the ship, which was in
fact H. M. S. Triumph itself, I manoeuvred the U-21
for a torpedo shot, moving here and there and show-
ing the asparagus on the smooth surface of the sea for
only the briefest moments.

In the conning tower my watch officer and I stood
with bated breath. We were groping toward a deadly
position — deadly for the magnificent giant of war on
the surface above.

"Out^ periscope !" H. M. S. Triumph stood in
thundering majesty, broadside to us, and only three

64 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

hundred yards away. Never had an under-sea craft
such a target.

"Torpedo — fire!" My heart gave a great leap as
I called the command.

And now one of those fearfully still, eventless mo-
ments. Suspense and eagerness held me in an iron
grip. Heedless of all else, I left the periscope out.
There I And I saw the telltale streak of white foam
darting through the water. It headed swiftly away
from the point where we lay, and headed straight —
yes, straight and true. It streaked its way swiftly to
the bow of our mammoth adversary. A huge cloud
of smoke leaped out of the sea. In the conning tower
we heard first a dry, metallic concussion and then a ter-
rible, reverberating explosion.

It was a fascinating and appalling sight to see, and
I yearned with every fibre to keep on watching the fear-
ful picture; but I had already seen just about enough
to cost us our lives. The moment that dread white
wake of the torpedo was seen on the surface of the
water, the destroyers were after me. They came rush-
ing from every direction.

"In periscope P' And down we went. I could hear
nothing but the sound of propellers above me, on the
right and on the left. Why hadn't I dived the moment
after the torpedo left? The two seconds I had lost
were like years now. With that swarm converging
right over our heads, it surely seemed as if we were
doomed. Then a flash crossed my brain.

"Full speed ahead," I called, and ahead we went
right along the course the torpedo had taken, straight
toward the huge craft we had hit.

It was foolhardy, Fll admit, but I had to risk it.
Diving as deeply as we dared, we shot right under the
sinking battleship. It might have come roaring down
on our heads — the torpedo had hit so fair that I
rather expected it would. And then the U-boat and

SINKING OF THE TRIUMPH 65

Its huge prey would have gone down together In an
embrace of death. That crazy manoeuvre saved us.
I could hear the propellers of destroyers whirring
above us, but they were hurrying to the place where we
had been. Our manoeuvre of ducking under the sink-
ing battleship was so unexpected that no hint of it ever
occurred to the enemy. We were left in tranquil safety.
Keeping as deep as possible and showing no tip of
periscope, we stole blindly but securely away. When
I ventured to take a look through the asparagus, we
were far from the place where the Triumph had met
her disaster.

Commander Hersing heard the rest of the story
after he had put into port many days later. The
battleship he had torpedoed was indeed the Triumph
herself, with a burden of 12,000 tons and an armament
of thirty-two guns. It had come to the Dardanelles
from Chinese waters, where it had taken part in the
attack on Tsingtau. For days now it had been lying
offshore, shelling the Turkish trenches, galling and
racking them with heavy gun fire to which they had
no possible means of replying. All around the Triumph
heavy torpedo nets had been let down. These, it was
believed, would afford her sure protection from
U-boats. But the British felt doubly secure because
they little dreamed there were any under-sea raiders
in those parts.

The men in the trenches, Anzacs and Ottomans, lay
facing each other that morning, with the usual bloody
routine of sniping and trying to keep out of the way
of shells and hand grenades, when they heard an explo-
sion offshore. They saw the Triumph leap like a
stricken giant. Then she was hidden from sight by
the giant geyser of water, smoke, and debris thrown
into the air by the explosion. A few minutes after the
geyser subsided, she turned turtle, with her great keel

66 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

sticking into the air. In thirty minutes she disap-
peared. Meanwhile, scores of patrol boats and de-
stroyers were scurrying about, taking survivors from
the doomed ship and hunting for the U-boat that had
stolen in and struck so unexpectedly.

On prosaic desk duty in the British Admiralty in
London is the commander of one of the destroyers
that caused Hersing to take his reckless dive under
the sinking battleship. "That German torpedo," he
said, "went through the torpedo net like a clown jump-
ing through a paper hoop. Then came the explosion,
and when It had cleared away the Triumph was listing
ten degrees. Every patrol boat and destroyer any-
where about was either looking for the U-boat or
hurrying up to take off our survivors. The Triumph
herself opened fire after she had been hit, aiming at
the place where the periscope had been seen for a
moment. In the confusion, she hit another British ship.

"I saw what was happening. The Triumph was
starting to keel over. Men were scrambling over her
sides like flies and leaping into the water. I remember
seeing one Chinese stoker clinging for grim life to one
of the torpedo booms. Then came the terrific lurch
as the battleship capsized. That terrified Celestial
was for once shaken out of his racial stolidity. The
overturning ship sent him hurtling fifty yards through
the air into the water. FItzmaurlce, the captain of the
Triumph^ was another man who was hurled through
the air as though he had been shot from a gun. One
of the destroyers picked him up a few minutes later —
according to rumour, with his monocle still firmly
fixed in his eye I

"I can remember the comic episodes now. That
doesn't mean IVe forgotten the other side. That
sinking battleship was a terrible sight. The water was
filled with struggling men, and boats trying desperately
to pick them up. In the midst of them was the over-

SINKING OF THE TRIUMPH 67

turned battleship, still floating bottom up. It looked
for all the world like a giant whale. Nothing struck
me so much as the ignominy of it. What an end for
a man of war I It remained like that for a half hour.
Again there was a sudden lurch. The stern shot up
into the air, and then the big fellow, very slowly, sank
under the water."

The Triumph had taken her place at the bottom of
the blue JEgezn with the thousands of other craft that
lie on the bottom of that historic sea — ships from the
day when the Achaean Armada sailed forth against
Troy.

In Hamburg I talked with Admiral Wilhelm Tag-
ert, who had been Chief of Staff of the German forces
with Turkey.

"The sinking of the Triumph/* he told me, "was so
tremendous a sight that for the moment warfare was
forgotten on shore. The soldiers in both lines of
trenches on the Galllpoli hills stood up In plain sight
of each other, forgetting everything In their intense
excitement. They watched, fascinated, until the Tri'
umph had taken her last plunge, then jumped back into
the trenches and began shooting at each other again."

CHAPTER VIII

HERSING BAGS ANOTHER BRITISH

GIANT. AN ADVENTURE WITH

A FLOATING MINE.

Hersing continued his story:

The northeastern corner of the ancient JEgezn was
a warm place the afternoon that followed that event-
ful morning. With the alarm spread far and wide,
every possible Allied craft was pressed into the hunt.
Hundreds of craft were searching for us. Every time
we peeped through the periscope we could see boats
chasing here and there. With that kind of hunt going
on, we did not dare show the tip of our conning tower
above water. We ran submerged until our batteries
ran out. We had been under water since dawn and
did not emerge until night — twenty-eight hours under
the surface. Inside our iron shell the air grew so foul
that we could scarcely breathe. It was an almost im-
possible effort to move about. We grew drowsy and
heavy. When we came up into a clear, fresh night, we
drank the pure, cool air as men who are half dead
from thirst drink sweet water. We recharged our
batteries and lay on the surface for the rest of the
night.

On the following morning the U-21 started out on
a wide circle. I thought I might find the Russian
cruiser Askold, which we had sighted on our way across
the iEgean to Gallipoli. I covered the route we had
taken on the previous day, hoping that the Russian

68

HERSING BAGS GIANT 69

might be cruising somewhere in the neighbourhood.
No use, not a glimpse of the Askold or any other
warship. When night came I steered south again.
Under the cover of darkness the U-21 stole back to
the scene where the Triumph had gone down.

Day broke with a rough sea running. Yes, there
was the shore and there the trench-lined hills; but no
ship was in sight. We cruised around. Sundry craft
appeared, but no battleships. It was clear that there
would be no more sea giants cruising slowly back and
forth all day, hurling their tons of high explosive on
the Turkish trenches — no more such easy marks for
a submarine. Well, the Turks would be relieved that
much. I steered south toward Cape Hellas at the tip
of the peninsula.

"Something doing down this way," I observed to
my watch officer. The periscope showed large activity
on the beach and the near-by waters. Soon it became
clear that troops were being landed. Several large
transports lay near the beach, and they were not alone.
Five hundred yards from the shore a huge battleship
of the Majestic class, a third again as large as the
Triumph, lay at anchor. She was covering the landing.
It is singular that, as in the case of the Triumph, this
vessel gave her name to her class. She was the Ma-
jestic herself.

The submarine scare of the past few days had,
indeed, had its effect. The Majestic was surrounded
by an almost impenetrable patrol of boats of all kinds.
Not only was there the difficulty of getting near her,
but also the possibihty of one of the small boats cutting
across the path of a torpedo and getting It herself.
The manoeuvring I had to do for a shot was as
intricate as a fine combination. Fortunately, we did
not have to work with the disadvantage of a smooth
sea. A brisk wind was up and the iEgean ran with
choppy waves that helped to hide the asparagus.

70 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

My watch officer behind me ran out the periscope.

"Six hundred yards," I said to him, "but I think It
is the best we can do.'*

I had a good bead on the battleship, but those
pestilent little boats kept cutting across the track the
torpedo would take. They were so annoying that even
if one had appropriated a torpedo for itself and blown
up properly it would have relieved my irritation. It
took a lot of patience, but finally the road was clear.
A little craft was bearing down, but it would have to
travel fast if it were anxious to make the acquaintance
of a torpedo.

"Torpedo — fire!" I gave the often-repeated com-
mand. "Periscope in I"

We dived at once and ran under water. I was
sure the asparagus had not been seen, and that the
path of the torpedo was not clear enough in the turbu-
lent sea to give away clearly the position from which
we had fired the shot. I waited for the report of the
exploding torpedo, ready to shoot the periscope up
for a quick look.

A distant ringing crash — ^we had hit our target I

"Periscope out!" A quick glance and I saw the
Majestic listing heavily.

No time for any more rubbernecking. The destroy-
ers were coming. Their shells cut the water above
us as we plunged down to sixty feet. We had a good
start and easily ducked away, shding along under
water until we were a comfortable distance away from
the dangerous scene. After an hour, I sneaked back
for a look. Like the Triumph, the Majestic had
turned completely over, with her keel sticking above
the surface of the sea. Half a mile away was a flotilla
of destroyers and patrol boats. They were syste-
matically searching the water and working along In my
direction. That was too uncomfortable even to watch.

HERSING BAGS GIANT 71

The U-21 went away from those parts as fast as she
could.

I was later told how the Turkish regiments on
shore, who were directing a fierce fire on the landing
Anzacs, suddenly saw a great column of water, smoke,
and debris shoot up beside the big ship. In four
minutes the Majestic had capsized. She had been tor-
pedoed in only nine fathoms of water, and even when
she sank a few minutes later, her keel remained above
the surface. She didn't completely drop out of sight
for years.

Hundreds of men had been caught in her torpedo
nets, through which our missile had torn its way. They
were carried down with the foundering vessel. Most
of the Majestic's crew, though, were saved by a
French torpedo boat that had turned swiftly to the
rescue when the ship was hit.

For two days the 17-21 cruised around looking for
more battleships. None were to be seen, though. The
British had withdrawn their large ships into the har-
bour that they had established at the Island of Mud-
ros. Our one small craft had driven away England's
battleships during a critical period of the fighting at
the Dardanelles. The Anzacs, who were conducting
the bloody futile attacks on the shore, were deprived
of the aid of the monsters that had stood offshore and
shattered the Turkish trenches with the fire of their
16-inch guns.

Who knows but that our 250-foot craft may have
had an Important bearing on the issue of the Darda-
nelles campaign, and that the decision I had to make
when we got our store of unburnable oil off the coast
of Spain may have affected the course of the World
War? At any rate, the great British ships of the line
and their 16-Inch guns were seen no more belching their
flame and high explosive at Gallipoli — especially when
it presently became known that another U-boat had

72 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

come from Germany to aid the Turks. The enemy
turned to the use of smaller ships to support his land
forces. Boats of light burden, such as monitors, stood
offshore and threw their shells. From the conning
tower of the U-Zl we saw many of these, but they did
not lie deep enough in the water to make good marks
for torpedoes.

The Turks had established stations for the U-boats
at several points on the coast. We put into one of
these for a day, and then returned to the war-torn
beaches of Gallipoli, vainly hoping that the battle-
ships might have returned. We ran along and
through the periscope studied those fateful ten miles
of beach, where one of the world's most savage
battles was then being waged. On June 1st, the U-21
turned its nose into the Dardanelles, for the winning
of which all that agony was being endured and all
that blood spilled.

At the entrance of the Straits we got into a ter-
rific whirlpool. The boat pitched and whirled — and
was sucked down. On we went, down and down, and
no power the boat had was able to force it up. We
were In the clutch of some relentless force, some
dread power of nature, and I thought surely we were
lost — that we should be dragged down to a depth
where the pressure of the water would crush the shell
of our boat. Inch by inch, struggle as we might, we
were hauled down, until we were below a hundred
feet. Then we were able to hold our own, and pres-
ently the grasp that held us was released. We slid
ahead, and when we came up we were In front of
Turkish mines and nets. An opening had been left
in them. The U-Zl slipped through, kept on through
the Sea of Marmora, and on June 5th, forty days
after we left Wilhelmshaven, we caught sight of the
minarets and domes of Constantinople — with only

HERSING BAGS GIANT 73

a half ton of oil left In our tanks. A slim margin,
indeed.

We were received with Intense enthusiasm. Enver
Pasha, one of the ruling Turkish Triumvirate, assured
us that we had arrived just In the nick of time. News
came that the Enghsh had put a price of £100,000 on
my head. Then followed a month in Constantinople,
overseeing the usual repair work on my boat by day,
and Idhng In the cafes of bizarre Stamboul by night.

We stood out to sea again on July 4th. With the
Sea of Marmora and the Dardanelles safely passed
once more, the periscope revealed a possible victim.
We were off Gallipoll, and the ship in sight was the
5,600-ton French transport Carthage, She had just
landed a load of munitions and was ready to take on
her return cargo.

First a bit of careful manoeuvring. Then :

"Torpedo — fire !" A square hit. Through the
periscope I could see a column of water spouting as
high as the masts, then dropping in a cascade on the
decks. The stern dipped out of sight and the bow
rose vertically out of the water. Clouds of black
smoke belched from the funnels. The Carthage was
500 feet long. The water was shallow and almost
at once her stern touched bottom, although her bow
still stood high out of the water. Then another
heavy explosion and the blowing off of steam. She
sank a few moments later — another ship as spoil for
the iEgean, to join the company of Athenian galleys
and Levantine corsairs.

A stop at one of the Turkish submarine stations,
and the U-21 headed back. I was perpetually drawn
to that strip of shore where the war of trenches was
blazing and off which the Triumph and Majestic had
gone down. X could not get over an instinctive ex-
pectation of seeing another British battleship.

No battleships, only a couple of puny little fishing

74 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

steamers. I studied them through the periscope with
contempt. One of them turned and steamed full
speed toward us. He had seen the asparagus.

"Dive to twenty metres I Speed there! He is ram-
ming us!"

To twenty metres we went. And then the fun be-
gan. Not that there was any danger of our being ram-
med. It was a case of something worse than that —
a mine. There was a frightful detonation behind us,
and our lights went out. The sudden darkness seemed
like the pall of death. Something, I don't know what,
had set off a mine near us, and it had nearly blown
the boat out of the water. I waited with a sinking
heart, expecting the sounds that would tell that the
boat wa's filling with water. Everything was deathly
still.

"Report on all compartments,'* I shouted.

The examination of the compartments was made
with the aid of flashlights. She was still tight, but
her diving apparatus had gone awry. It seemed for
a while as If the diving mechanism were so badly
out of gear that we might sink. We worked and
sweated with it — and were not able to get It to work
right. All we could do was to hold the boat at peri-
scope depth and limp our way back Into the Darda-
nelles as fast as possible — hoping against hope that
no patrol boat would come along and pick us up.
Old Father Neptune was good to us. We got back
to Constantinople safely, but It was almost a case of
our having once too often revisited the place where
those two battleships had sunk.

The U-21 remained In the Mediterranean for
nearly two years. There was no further work ati
Gallipoli, and we carried on war against Allied mer-
chant shipping. It was exciting enough, but even
exciting work, when done over and over again,

HERSING BAGS GIANT 75

becomes routine. One adventure, though, was
exceptional.

It was in the spring of 1916, off Sicily, not far
from Messina, that I sighted a small steamer flying
the British ensign. A shot across her bow, but she
didn't seem to understand our language. She kept
straight on her course. I repeated my request with
another shot. This time she replied with a language
of her own — a shell from a little gun mounted on her
bow. It fell so short that it meant nothing more
than an Irritating expression of defiance.

"She wants a fight," I remarked to my watch officer,
**and we'll oblige her."

We were standing on the deck beside the conning
tower. I ordered full speed — and to the gun crew
working our bow gun: "Give it to her as fast as you
can."

We drew up, prepared to fight it out at close range.
That puny little gun at her bow was something to
inspire contempt.

She turned on us. The bulkheads on her deck
dropped and revealed the muzzles of two big guns.
If she put up her war ensign, I did not see it; but
it was clear that she was a decoy ship — one of Eng-
land's famous Q-boats. It was my first experience
with that kind of nasty customer.

Those two big guns crashed out with rapid fire.
Fifteen centimeter shells exploded in the water all
around us. One of them hit and exploded in the
water just in front of me. A burning pain in my
arm — In my leg — in my face. I scarcely noticed them
in the excitement; but three pieces of shell had hit
me and I was streaming with blood.

My first Idea was a quick dive. But If we did that
she would know where to look for us, and do her
searching with depth bombs. We had another way
of hiding — a smoke screen. Behind it we could run

76 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

with our good surface speed, and submerge when
we had got a safe distance away. The shells were
cracking on all sides when I gave the order for the
smoke screen. I stood half Winded, half fainting,
with the blood streaming down my face. The smoke
puffed up in a dense cloud. The shells did not drop
so near now. We ran for dear life, and then in a
few minutes submerged.

In March, 1917, I made the cruise back to Ger-
many, where every boat was needed for the climactic
campaign against England's commerce.

Hersing cared little about sinking merchant ships.
Tramps, windjammers, or even big freighters made
little appeal to the imagination of this bold marauder
of the depths. Another U-boat commander told me
that Hersing frequently would pass up a half dozen
humble merchantmen if he even suspected that a man-
of-war was anywhere within his hunting range.

Another of his important victories took place on
February 8, 1916. On that date Hersing encountered
the French armoured cruiser, Amiral Charner, just off
the Syrian coast, and sent her to join the two British
men-of-war that he had bagged at the Dardanelles.

Pick up almost any British history dealing with
the naval side of the World War, and you will find
it filled with tributes to the wizard Hersing. Here,
for example, is a typical one that I ran across while
going through the archives of the Imperial War
Museum Library at South Kensington. The refer-
ence mainly concerns the sinking of the Triumph and
Majestic. It is copied word for word from the Brit-
ish Official Naval History, edited by the great Eng-
lish naval historian, Corbett:

For the brilliant way in which the enemy submarine had
been handled, both services (the British Army and Navy)

HERSING BAGS GIANT 77

had nothing but admiration. It was, indeed, no more than
was to be expected from the man in command. For later on
he was known to be none other than Lieutenant Commander
Hersing, the determined officer who in April, in spite of every
difficulty, had brought the U-21 into the Mediterranean by
way of Gibraltar, and thus demonstrated the possibility — till
then not credited — of navigating a submarine to the Adriatic
without a halfway base of supply. Reaching Cattaro on May
13th with only one-half ton of oil in his tanks, he had remained
a week and then continued his voyage to the Dardanelles. The
grave moral effects of his remarkable feat could not be dis-
guised. Hundreds of thousands of Turkish troops, depressed
by loss and failure, and demoralized by the heavy shell fire
from the sea, had seen the stampede of the ships they most
dreaded; thousands of our own men had seen the loss of the
ships as well, and they knew there was nothing now but the
cruisers and destroyers to support them in their daily struggle
in the trenches.

So, is it any wonder that Commander Otto Her-
sing became a national hero In his own country? A
hundred years from now, when the Muse of History-
takes up her pen to chronicle the events of our time,
there Is httle doubt but what the name of a squire
of Rastede, who now grows potatoes, will stand out
as one of the most remarkable naval figures of our
era. Why, the total tonnage of the great Spanish
Armada was less than the tonnage of the mighty men-
of-war and armed merchantmen that fell victim to
the torpedoes and guns of this one audacious U-boat
raider. But there were others. Many others, in fact,
who bagged more game than Hersing.

CHAPTER IX

THE BEGINNING OF THE REIGN OF
FRIGHTFULNESS

Although the U-boats struck spectacular and star-
tling blows against British sea power during the first
months of the war, it was soon evident that thrusts
from under the sea were not destined to cripple or
even seriously damage the King's Navy. Twice as
many warships were sunk by submarine attacks dur-
ing the first year of the war as during the other three
years combined. In fact, after the early field day for
the sub-surface boats, during which Weddigen and
Hersing won their fame, it was indeed a rare event
when a U-boat made a successful attack on a major
naval unit, a cruiser or battleship.

Against warships, stationary or steaming along in
an ordinary, old-fashioned way, the U-boats were
deadly. But the Allied naval authorities learned
quickly. They found an easy and sure way to parry
the submarine blow against their combat fleets. They
simply kept their capital ships in harbours, the Brit-
ish usually in the snug, safe inlets of Scotland, where
they were protected by screens of mine fields and nets
and by patrols of destroyers. The U-boats had small
chance of penetrating these harbours, and the only
AUied craft that were ordinarily to be seen at sea
were light cruisers, whose speed and swift zigzagging
foiled U-boat attack, and destroyers, the natural and
most formidable enemies of submarines. Many a
U-boat skipper did not catch sight of a single major

78

REIGN OF FRIGHTFULNESS 79

enemy warship throughout the war. When the larger
ships did go out on cruises they kept a zigzag course
and were heavily protected by destroyers — two meas-
ures for baffling submarine attack that seemed to best
the cleverest of the U-boat commanders.

The U-boats, checked in their successes against war-
ships, turned the more energetically to the campaign
against merchant shipping. The "restricted" cam-
paign was the first stage, and while It was in progress
the U-boats acted In pretty much the fashion that
surface raiding craft had always done. Their orders
were to make such prizes as were allowed by Interna-
tional law. Vessels were to be warned, and passen-
gers and crews were to have an opportunity to get
away In lifeboats. Indeed, this was an ancient, un-
written law of the seas. That meant the familiar
shot across the bow, an order to the merchantman
skipper to abandon ship, and the sinking of the cap-
tured vessel — or, sometimes, a prize crew was put
aboard and the craft was taken to port as a spoil of
war. It was not so spectacular as torpedoing battle-
ships, but It was risky business just the same.

The "restricted" campaigns against merchant ship-
ping inevitably developed and expanded — passed out
of the limits of International law. The system
whereby a U-boat on the surface stopped a ship and
sank It after passengers and crews had taken to the
boats was countered on the part of the Allied powers
by arming merchantmen, especially the large ones,
with guns of a calibre that overmatched the arma-
ment of the submarines. In February, 1915, while
the Allies on the Western Front were preparing for
their first great "Spring Drive," the first "unre-
stricted" campaign was declared. The German Gov-
ernment announced that It would treat the waters
surrounding the British Isles as a war zone. In which
any ship might be sunk without warning. This meant

80 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the torpedoing of merchant ships. With the announce-
ment the sinkings without warning began, and a few
months later the world was horrified by the tragedy
of the Lusitania,

Still, under the "unrestricted" campaign, the U-boat
commanders all affirm that they gave ships warning
whenever they could. They were, their own people
insist, ordinary men carrying out orders, and did so
as humanely as was normal for ordinary men who
were living the abnormal lives of under-sea raiders.
Also, it was economic wisdom to torpedo ships only
when they could be sunk in no other way. A U-boat
could carry only a limited supply of torpedoes, and
these big missiles were mighty expensive. So there
was this economic incentive for stopping vessels and
sinking them by gunfire, in which case there was an
opportunity to give warning and permit passengers
and crews to take to the boats. For the most part,
throughout the war, the submarines gave warning in
the usual way — a shot across the bow and the com-
mand: "Abandon ship.'*

But there were the terrible exceptions, where big
ships were torpedoed, sometimes with fearful loss of
life. The Lusitania was the most startling example,
and there were others.

CHAPTER X

THE CAPTAIN AND THE CREW THAT
SANK THE LUSITANIA

The gayest of all the raiders of the deep was the
boat that sank the Liisitania — one of those jolly-
crafts, loud with laughter and rolHcking fellowship,
with more of the spirit of an old three-master, full
of hearty shipmates, than of an ultra-modern shell
crammed with mechanism of intricate and deadly pre-
cision and designed to grope beneath the surface of
the sea. Often, in listening to the stories of the sub-
marines, I caught the note of cold, eerie adventure
that took me back to Captain Nemo and the Nautilus,
but there was no such note in the account of the 17-20,
Some of the yarns about her reminded me a bit of my
jovial friend Count Luckner, the Sea Devil, and his
raiding sailing ship, the Seeadler, and some of his
joyous adventures — take, for example, his prodigious
capture of the steamer loaded with 20,000 cases of
champagne. And yet it was -this mirthful boat, the
U-20, that sank the Lusitania, that wrought the deed
that set the world aflame with the fiercest anger and
horror of our time.

Her commander, Walther Schwieger, the officer
who gave the order that loosed the fateful torpedo,
was lost in the war. I sought out men who had served
under him aboard the 17-20 and came upon Lieu-
tenant Rudolph Zentner in the ancient city of Liibeck.
Most of the submarine commanders look young, but
he looked even younger — a slender, pleasantly smil-

si

82 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

ing chap with fiery red hair. His mother was born
in New York, and he spoke excellent English. Since
the end of the war he has been in the wine importing
business. I sat and talked with him in his office, and
the place had a fragrance that reminded one of the
old-time establishments on the corner before the days
of prohibition. Zentner told me that he was an offi-
cer on a battleship when the war broke out, but that
he, together with twenty-four other junior officers of
his acquaintance, decided between themselves that they
would probably see more action in the submarine serv-
ice. They did. Out of the twenty-five, four survived
the war.

Zentner ran one hand through his fiery hair, tucked
a monocle under one bushy brow, and leaned back in
his swivel chair.

"You want to know what kind of boat the U-20
was? Well, I'll tell you some of the things that hap-
pened aboard — not the big things but the small ones.'*

"Righto," I responded, giving him a light for his
cigarette while I lighted my pipe.

"It was my first cruise. The U-20 stood out to sea
on the day before Christmas, the first Christmas of
the war. Instead of rigging up a tree with candles in
a comfortable house sitting down to mid-night supper
with many a toast, it was a case of standing on watch
on deck or in the conning tower, of keeping an eye on
more dials and gauges than one might ordinarily see
in a lifetime, and of living and sleeping in the most
cramped quarters imaginable, while the U-20 stole its
way along. That is not the best way to spend Christ-
mas Eve, but war is all that your General — Ja, Sher-
man, Ja^ Ja — said it was. Our task was to patrol
the North Sea off the mouth of the Ems and to shoot
a torpedo at any enemy warship that came within
range.

"Christmas day broke with a bright sky, frosty air,

THE LUSITANIA 83

and a calm sea. Apparently the enemy was at home
spending Christmas as a Christian should, because
never a sign of British craft did we see. We had the
ocean to ourselves. Nevertheless, duty is duty, and
we kept a vigilant patrol all day. Night was some-
thing else again. No use watching in the dark, and
the only thing to worry about was the possibility of
being run down by some pagan craft that happened to
be prowling around. No use of risking that. We
might as well celebrate Christmas serenely and with
nothing on our minds.

*' 'Close the hatches for diving,' Commander
Schwieger commanded.

"The U-20 took a comfortable dive and settled on
the bottom.

" *And now,' cried Commander Schwieger, *we can
celebrate Christmas.'

"The boat found a snug resting place on the muddy
floor of the North Sea, and we were comfortably
settled for the night sixty feet below the surface of
the water.

"The tiny messroom was decorated in style. A
green wreath hung at one end as a Christmas tree.
We didn't have any lighted candles on it. They would
have been too risky in the oil-reeking interior of a
submarine. The tables were loaded with food. It all
came out of cans, but we didn't mind that. That one
night officers and men had their mess together. It
was rather close quarters. We had a crew of four
officers and thirty-two men. We were all in our leather
submarine suits. It was no dress affair. No stiff
bosoms, no tail coats. No 'fish and soup' as you call
them.

"In short, there were many drawbacks, but good
spirits were not one of them. In the tight, over-
crowded little mess room we ate and talked. The
dinner was washed down with tea mixed with rum, and

84 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

I lost count of the number of toasts that were drunk.
No dinner is quite complete without an after-dinner
speech. Commander Schwieger arose and dehvered
one, and a jolly oration it was. After dinner came a
concert. Yes, we had an orchestra. It consisted of
three pieces, a violin, a mandolin, and the inevitable
nautical accordion. The Berlin Philharmonic does
better, but our concert was good.

*'Even if it hadn't sounded well, it would have been
worth watching. Those sailors played with soul,
especially the artist who handled the accordion. A
rare fellow he was. He was not much taller than a
ship's bulwarks and as broad in the beam as a ferry
boat. He had tiny, twinkling blue eyes, and such
whiskers you have never seen. His red beard spread
all over his chest. When you looked at him you could
understand the origin of those bearded gnomes you
find in old German legends. He was a fisherman from
East Prussia and could neither read nor write — the
only German sailor I have ever seen who had to sign
his name with three crosses. He was always laughing,
but I rarely heard him speak a word.

*'You would not take this worthy for a likely knight
on the rose-strewn fields of Venus; and yet he seemed
to be constantly engaged in complications of senti-
mental romance. Before we set out on the cruise he
had asked for leave to go home to get married on
Christmas. It was refused as he was needed on the
cruise. When we got back there was a letter to the
Commander himself from the lady in question. She
reproached him mournfully for not having allowed
the fisherman to go home for the ceremony. The
little one, she added by way of postcript, had already
arrived, and it was now too late. Several months
later Commander Schwieger got another letter from
a lady about our fisherman. She urgently requested

THE LUSITANIA 85

that he be given leave to come and marry her. And
this was a different lady!

*'But, whatever this fellow's morals may have been,
his talents were excellent — for the accordion played
on Christmas night. If you had no soul for music,
you could look at him and laugh. His little eyes were
half closed with ecstasy and his bearded mouth was
curved with a grin that was like the crescent of the
moon, as he pumped the 'squealer' in and out. Per-
haps there was the spirit of a Mozart behind the gro-
tesque semblance."

^'Feasting like that wasn't the rule, was it?" I
asked laughing.

"It might have been," Zentner replied with a shak-
ing of his head and a lugubrious grimace, *'if it hadn't
been for the food.

*'We captured dozens of merchant ships, ordered
their crews off, and sank the vessels. With another
kind of raiding craft we could have plundered most
of our prizes of fresh provisions, but a U-boat can-
not always venture to send a boarding crew on a prize
and snatch a bit of fresh meat and vegetables. We
had to content ourselves with canned stuff, dried stuff,
and hard tack, and on long cruises the fare sometimes
became intolerable.

*'I remember one occasion when we became posi-
tively desperate for a decent bite to eat. We man-
aged to capture a ^nt hogshead of butter. For a
couple of days we piled butter on our hard tack and
thought it delicious. Everybody said that the butter
would do well for cooking, only we didn't have any-
thing decent to cook with it. The sailors positively
sang a chorus: 'If only we had something to fry in
the buttei".'

"Off the French coast the periscope showed a fleet
of fishing boats busy at the nets. It was dangerous
for a U-boat to show Its conning tower in those

86 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

waters — ^but we were desperate men. The fishermen
saw a submarine pop suddenly into their midst. From
the stories that were told of the U-boats, they ex-
pected to be massacred at once. They laughed and
cheered and got very busy when they discovered that
all the U-boat wanted was some fresh fish. We cram-
med our boat with fish, fine big fellows — bonitos— -
with a pinkish meat. By way of a joke we gave the
fisherman an order on the French Government as
payment.

"And now there was fresh fish, fried in butter,
grilled in butter, sauteed in butter, all that we could
eat. We took a comfortable station, submerged, so
that we might not be disturbed, and you can bet that
jaws worked until they were tired. Afterward, the
orchestra played loudly and merrily, the fisherman
with the fancy whiskers doing his mightiest."

This tale of the butter and fish reminded me of an
incident related by Commander Spiess, the same who
was Weddigen's watch officer aboard the U-Q when
the Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy were sunk. He was
in command of the U'19 on a long hard cruise in
northern waters. All on board were "fed up" with
canned stuff and hard tack. They steered for one
of the Orkney Islands, inhabited only by goats. A
party went ashore with rifles. The hunt for wild
goats was a thing to delight a sportsman's heart.
They accumulated a good buck and returned to the
boat. That day there was a magnificent feast of roast
goat aboard a U-boat in the sub-Arctic.

Zentner was staring at the celling.

"Of course," he remarked, "there were times when
joy was not exactly unconfined — . . . when it looked
as If our goose was cooked."

"For Instance," I prompted him.

"It was early in the war," he went on, "when we
were rather green. Commander Schwieger sent for

THE LUSITANIA 87

the engineering officer to come up to the conning
tower, and I took the latter's place in the central sta-
tion. We were running submerged. Through the
speaking tube came a shout from the commander :

"Two buoys sighted. Keep exact depth," he or-
dered.

"Later on I should have known exactly what they
meant, but then they seemed a bit peculiar but nothing
more.

"Suddenly there was a peculiar racket. It sounded
as if huge chains were banging against the boat and
were being dragged over it. The men at the diving
rudders shouted to me that the apparatus was out
of control. A glance at the gauges showed me that
our speed had slowed down and that we were sinking.
The boat turned this way and that, lurching and stag-
gering drunkenly. She continued to sink and presently
hit bottom with a bump. We were in a hundred feet
of water.

"I leaped up the ladder and looked out through the
window of the conning tower. All I could see was
a maze of meshes and chains and links. Now we knew
the meaning of those buoys. They were supporting
a net. We had run into the net and now were en-
tangled in it. Later on such a net would have been
hung with bombs, like tomatoes on a vine. Thank
heaven, they had hung none on the net we rammed!
But meanwhile we were caught. It was a new situa-
tion and seemingly a hopeless one. We were sure we
were caught fast and could never get out of those
deadly meshes. You can bet there was no laughing
and singing on board now. Each man thought of his
home in Germany and how he would never see it
again. I did not see our bewhiskered fisherman, but
I am sure the smile under his red beard was straight-
ened out.

" ^Reverse engines,' Kapitanleutnant Schwieger

88 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

commanded. The only thing we could think of was to
try to back out.

"There was a great straining and cracking and
clanking, and then we heard a familiar whirr — the
propellers of destroyers. They no doubt had been
lurking in the distance in such a way that they could
observe a disturbance of the net — telling of a big fish.
Now they were coming to see If they could make mat-
ters worse for us. Luckily, they did not have depth
bombs in those days, or we should have been done
for. The gauges were the whole world to us now.
I had never gazed at anything so eagerly before. Yes,
we were backing. With a ripping and rending we
were tearing our way out of the net.

"We were clear, and away we went. All that re-
mained to worry us was the sound of propellers. It
followed us. The destroyers were keeping right
above us. We dodged to right and to left, and
still that accursed sound. You can easily tell a
destroyer from another ship by the sound of the pro-
peller, which in a destroyer has a much higher note —
a shrill, angry buzz. Our periscope was down,
but still something was giving us away on the sur-
face, for those destroyers kept after us, no matter
how we went. They were waiting for us to emerge, to
shoot at us or ram us. We couldn't guess what the
trouble was, but merely kept on going, trying In vain to
lose those persistent hounds that were on our trail.

"This kept up hour after hour. We ran blindly
under water, keeping as deep as we could. We didn't
know much about where we were going. Any attempt
to rise to periscope depth and take a look through the
asparagus, and we should probably have been rammed.
Night came on and we plucked up courage. Perhaps
darkness was hiding that something on the surface,
whatever it was, that was marking our trail.

"About the time that complete darkness settled on

THE LU SIT AN I A 89

the sea above, we set a wild, weird course, going as
fast as we could. Sure enough, the sound of the pro-
pellers grew faint, and we lost it altogether. After
continuing for a safe distance, we came to the surface.
It did not take long to solve the mystery. One of the
cables of the net out of which we had torn away had
remained fouled, held fast by our upper works. We
had been dragging it along behind us. The other end
was attached to one of the buoys which had been
floating on the surface. We had been carrying with
us a floating marker, which the destroyers had finally
lost in the darkness.'*

Through the window as we talked we could see the
snow falling in the streets of old Liibeck. People
hurried along, wrapping themselves more snugly
against the cold wind. Underneath the window two
wandering minstrels played German folk-songs on their
wailing violins.

*'We shall have two feet of snow,'* said the man
with red hair. Then, drumming on the desk with a
pencil, he returned to his story. His long, strong face
warped with a smile of droll memory. His brown
eyes narrowed as he hunted around in memory for
incidents and details.

^'I had a strange bedfellow aboard the V-ZO!^ he
said. "We were short of room, and when the boat
was fully loaded there was one torpedo more than
there was place for. I accommodated it in my bunk.
I slept beside it. I had it lashed in place at the out-
side of the narrow bunk, and it kept me from rolling
out of bed when the boat did some of its fancy rolling.
At first I was kept awake a bit by the thought of
having so much TNT in bed with me. Then I got used
to it, and it really made quite a comfortable *Dutch
wife.'

"Then, after a while, I acquired another bedfellow.

"Two hundred miles or so off the coast of Ireland

90 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

we met a sailing ship one day. It was Portuguese, I
think — the Maria de Molenos, Its crew were all
negroes. We told them to abandon ship, and they
obeyed with a will. A bit of sea was running, but
not enough to make a lather, and the lifeboats were
sure to be picked up. A bit of gunnery practice, and
the Maria de Molenos settled down for her bit of
vertical navigation. As the gentle swell of the sea
closed over her sinking deck all the usual debris that
follows the foundering of a ship remained floating on
the water. We even spied a cow swimming about.
No, it wasn't a cow that was destined to become my
bedfellow, although we regretted that we hadn't a
stable aboard to accommodate her.

"I was standing on the submarine's deck. Near by
was the musical fisherman with the incredible spread
of beard. He was a pervasive cuss. One always
seemed to notice him around.

'' *Ach Himviei, der kleine Hundf [Heavens, the
little dog!]' He was usually silent, but now he spoke
in a loud, pathetic, and even blubbering voice, and
pointed out into the water.

"A small wooden box was bobbing up and down
in the rough sea. A little head was thrust above it.
A black dachshund was in the water, supporting itself
on the box with its front paws. The iron soul of the
crew melted. We steered over to the box and pulled
the dog on deck. Then and there it was adopted into
our affectionate family. We christened it after the
lost ship — Maria de Molenos.

"We already had one dog, and Maria made two.
Later it was six. A canine romance had developed,
and Maria had a litter of four fine puppies. Our
radiantly bewhiskered fisherman made himself the
skipper of the canine part of the U-ZO's population
and spent most of his time thereafter taking care of
the dogs. When we got back to port we decided that

THE LUSITANIA 91

six dogs were too many for one submarine. We gave
three of the pups to other boats and kept the fourth.
That left us with three dogs, which was about right.
We were hard put to find decent quarters for them,
so they slept in the bunks. I took the puppy Into my
bed. So every night I slept with a torpedo and a
puppy."

"A merry boat, Indeed," I agreed with him.

Zentner had a thoughtful expression as he replied:

"She was a jolly boat, the 11-20, and a kindly boat —
and she sank the LusitaniaJ'

1 was interested in Commander Walther Schwieger,
who had struck the fateful blow, and who had won the
execration of millions of men around the globe. I
asked Zentner about him.

*'If you want a good and pleasant boat," he replied,
"you must have a good and pleasant skipper.
Kapitanleutnant Schwieger was one of the few U-boat
officers who was in the submarine service when the war
began. He was one of the ablest officers we had and
a recognized expert on submarine matters — one of the
few commanders who were consulted by Grand Ad-
miral von Tirpitz and on whose advice Von Tirpitz
relied. The records credit him with having sunk
190,000 tons of AUied shipping.

"He was about thirty-two years old when the war
started, and was unmarried. Of an old Berlin family,
he was well educated and had in the highest degree
the gifts of poise and urbane courtesy. He was tall,
broad-shouldered, and of a distinguished bearing, with
well-cut features, blue eyes, and blond hair — a particu-
larly fine-looking fellow. He was the soul of kindness
toward the officers and men under him. His tempera-
ment was joyous and his talk full of gaiety and pointed
wit. He had the gifts to command both respect and
liking and was' a general favourite in the German
Navy."

92 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

What Zentner told me about Commander Schwieger
only bore out what I had heard elsewhere about the
man. Everyone who had known him spoke of him
with regard, affection, and perhaps a trifle of pity. I
gathered that the case of the man who sank the
Lusitanta represents one of the curious, poignant
tragedies of the war.

CHAPTER XI

VON SCHWIEGER'S ACCOUNT OF HOW HE
SANK THE LUSITANIA

Thirteen years have rolled by since that tragic day
in May, 1915, when 1,152 non-combatants, nearly half
of them women and children, many of them neutral
Americans, went down on the big Cunarder. No single
deed in our time ever came so near to transforming a
civilized state into an outlaw among the nations.

I had often wondered just what the truth was about
the sinking of the Lusitania. The accounts had been
rather conflicting. At the time of the disaster, and
even years later, when the United States Federal
Court conducted its final Inquiry, we had only one
side of the story, fragments pieced together from the
accounts of dazed survivors. The tale they had to
relate was of the usual war-time Atlantic crossing
interrupted by a sudden explosion; of the listing of
the ship; of vain attempts to get away In lifeboats;
of the rapid sinking of the liner; of nightmare hours
in the water; and then of bodies piled In the morgues
at Queenstown. Only 764 of the 1,916 who had
sailed on the Lusitania lived to tell that tale; 1,152
innocent travellers had been sent to their death by the
hand of man — and that man a German.

From the day when the tragedy of the Lusitania
cast its shadow over the world, and in the opinion of
most of us made Germany the common enemy of man-
kind, many have wondered what the German version
of the affair could be. No tale of the U-boat war

93

94 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

could be complete without it. So, from time to time
during these thirteen years, I had picked up bits of
information concerning the sinking of the Lusitania,
Pieced together, they provide us with a fairly com-
plete story. Not that it is hkely to change our opin-
ions regarding the savageness of the deed; but there
is a certain amount of satisfaction in clearing up points
that have long been so great a mystery.

Zentner was not on board the JJ-ZO when she sank
the Lusitania, During that cruise he remained behind
on leave, taking a course in wireless telegraphy. But
he was able to tell me about the disastrous event, and
I gathered accounts of it from other men to whom
Commander Schwieger had told the story. The sum
of it all makes a swift, calamitous tale.

The U-20 stood out to sea on April 30, 1915. Her
orders were to patrol the waters to the southwest of
Ireland and to enforce the submarine blockade that
Germany had declared against England. She was to
torpedo any boat she encountered In the zone of the
blockade. Apparently it is untrue — in spite of what
has often been said, and what most of us thought —
that she was sent out with special orders to sink the
Lusitania. On May 5th the U-boat sank an English
sailing ship, and on the next morning sank an English
steamer. At noon of the same day she sighted a pas-
senger steamer of the White Star Line, but the ship
was too far away to be torpedoed. Later In the after-
noon she torpedoed and sank an English steamer. For
two days more the U-20 continued Its patrolling cruise
off the southwest coast of Ireland. The fog was so
dense as to make operations almost useless. No ships
were sunk. The oil supply was running low, and only
two torpedoes were left. On the morning of the 7th
the fog was as dense as ever. The U-20 turned its
nose homeward for Wilhelmshaven and kept its course

VON SCHWIEGERS ACCOUNT 95

until two twenty in the afternoon. The fog by now
had lifted a bit.

The following Is translated from Commander
Schwieger's official log kept aboard the U'20» It was
given to me by Commander , a former com-
panion-in-arms of Schwieger:

2.20 p. M. Directly in front of us I sighted four funnels
and masts of steamer at right angles to our course, coming
from south-southwest and going toward Galley Head. It is
recognized as a passenger steamer.

2.25 Have advanced eleven meters toward steamer, in hope
it will change its course along the Irish coast.

2.35 Steamer turns, takes direction to Queenstown, and
thereby makes it possible for us to approach it for shot. We
proceed at high speed in order to reach correct position.

3.10. Torpedo shot at distance of 700 metres, going 3
meters below the surface. Hits steering centre behind bridge.
Unusually great detonation with large cloud of smoke and
debris shot above the funnels. In addition to torpedo, a second
explosion must have taken place. (Boiler, coal, or powder?)
Bridge and part of the ship where the torpedo hit are torn
apart, and fire follows.

The ship stops and very quickly leans over to starboard, at
the same time sinking at the bow. It looks as though it would
capsize in a short time. There is great confusion on board.
Boats are cleared and many of them lowered into the water.
Many boats, fully loaded, drop down into the water bow- or
stern-first and capsize. The boats on the port side cannot be
made clear because of the slanting position. At the front of
the ship the name Lusitania in gold letters can be seen. The
chimneys are painted black. The stern flag is not hoisted.
The ship was going about twenty miles an hour.

The log, as far as It pertains to the event, closes with
an entry that states that the steamer seemed badly hit
and sure to sink — which seems to refer to a possible
supposition that two torpedoes might be needed to sink
so large a ship — and then goes on: *'I could not have
sent a second torpedo into the crowd of those

96 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

passengers who were trying to save themselves."

From Commander Max Valentiner, one of Ger-
many's most widely acclaimed U-boat commanders, I
have the story as Commander Schwieger told it to his
brother officers. I shall give it in a transcript of
Valentiner's own way of telling it:

"One day, shortly after the U-20 returned from the
cruise during which it sank the Lusitania, I met Cap-
tain Schwieger, who was a very good friend of mine.
We fell to talking, and he gave me a full account of
the sinking, which was the talk of the day.

" 'We had started back for Wilhelmshaven,' he said,
'and were drawing near the Channel. There was a
heavy sea and a thick fog, with small chance of sinking
anytihing. At the same time, a destroyer steaming
through the fog might stumble over us before we knew
anything about it. So I submerged to twenty metres,
below periscope depth. About an hour and a half
later I heard the sound of powerful screws — not the
propellers of a destroyer. I went up to ten meters and
took a look through the periscope. I saw a big
armoured cruiser. It had passed right over us and was
now disappearing at full speed.'

"Schwieger went on to say how exasperated he was
to miss this fine chance. After the early days of the
war you rarely had a chance to loose a torpedo at any
warship as big as a cruiser, and many a U-boat never
caught sight of one during the entire war. The Brit-
ish kept their big naval vessels securely tucked away
in port most of the time and did not send them roam-
ing around to act as good targets for U-boats.

" 'After I was through swearing,* Schwieger said,
*I noticed that the fog was lifting. Presently I could
see blue sky. I brought the boat to the surface, and
we continued our course above water. A few minutes
after we emerged I sighted on the horizon a forest of
masts and stacks. At first I thought they must belong

VON SCHWIEGER'S ACCOUNT 97

to several ships. Then I saw it was a great steamer
coming over the horizon. It was coming our way. I
dived at once, hoping to get a shot at it.

" When the steamer was two miles away It changed
its course. I had no hope now, even if we hurried at
our best speed, of getting near enough to attack her.
I called my pilot, an old-time captain of the merchant
marine, to take a look at her through the periscope.
At that instant, while he was coming in answer to my
call, I saw the steamer change her course again. She
was coming directly at us. She could not have steered
a more perfect course if she had deliberately tried to
give us a dead shot. A short fast run, and we waited.

" 'I had already shot away my best torpedoes and
had left only two bronze ones — not so good. The
steamer was four hundred yards away when I gave an
order to fire. The torpedo hit, and there was rather a
small detonation and instantly afterward a much
heavier one. The pilot was beside me. I told him to
have a look at close range. He put his eye to the
periscope and after a brief scrutiny yelled:

" ' "My God, it's the Lusitaniar

" *I took my position at the periscope again. The
ship was sinking with unbelievable rapidity. There
was a terrible panic on her deck. Overcrowded life-
boats, fairly torn from their positions, dropped into
the water. Desperate people ran helplessly up and
down the decks. Men and women jumped Into the
water and tried to swim to empty, overturned lifeboats.
It was the most terrible sight I have ever seen. It
was impossible for me to give any help. I could have
saved only a handful. And then the cruiser that had
passed us was not very far away and must have picked
up the distress signals. She would shortly appear, I
thought. The scene was too horrible to watch, and I
gave orders to dive to twenty metres, and away.* "

98 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

That was the account Schwieger gave shortly after
the event. He told it as a man who had a vivid impres-
sion, with full and clear details.

To Commander Valentiner's account I can add the
statement that it agrees substantially with other stories
of the sinking of the Lusitanta — stories heard from
Commander Schwieger and his officers. There is little
discrepancy in the various narrations.

Several suppositions seem to be disproved. One is
that it was Max Valentiner who destroyed the great
liner. He was often charged with the sinking by the
British. Another is that the U-boat commander mis-
took the Lusitania for an auxiliary cruiser. Apparently
Schwieger did not realize the identity of the ship when
he loosed the torpedo, but discovered it immediately
after. Still another assumption is that he fired two
torpedoes. He fired only one. A fourth belief is that
the U-20 was sent out with particular orders to sinl^
the Lusitania, The boat apparently went out on a
routine mission of enforcing the submarine blockade
that Germany had announced.

Nothing is cleared up about the supposition that
the Lusitania sank as quickly as she did largely because
of the detonation of war explosives she carried aboard.
The supposition is well nigh universally held in Ger-
many, where people point to an alleged statement of
Dudley Field Malone, then Collector of the Port of
New York, that the Lusitania had aboard 4,200 cases
of Springfield cartridges, 11 tons of gunpowder, and
5,500 barrels of ammunition. But even so, any such
explosion does not seem, in the minds of German naval
men, to explain sufficiently the rapidity with which
the ship sank. It is a theory among some of them
that the high speed at which the Lusitania was travel-
ing broke down the vessels water-tight compartments
after she was hit. The pressure of the water, they
think, would have been sufficient to have broken down

VON SCHJVIEGERS ACCOUNT 99

one partition after another, until the whole was
flooded.

But regarding the question as to whether or not the
Lusitania was an armed auxiliary cruiser carrying war
explosives, that was thoroughly investigated by the
United States Federal authorities. As a result, in
August, 1918, Judge Juhus M. Mayer handed down
his decision. In which he said: *'The proof Is absolute
that she was not and never had been armed, nor did
she carry any explosives."

Upon his return to Wllhelmshaven, Commander
Schwieger was congratulated on all sides for his sink-
ing of the giant liner. He supposed, and his com-
rades agreed with him, that while there had been some
loss of life it had not been large, that the ship re-
mained afloat long enough for rescue ships, which dfd
not have to come from any great distance, to save most
of the passengers and crew. Schwieger had seen that
the vessel was sinking fast, but did not dream that she
would plunge the way she did.

Only after reading foreign newspapers did he under-
stand the immensity and horror of the disaster he had
wrought. He was appalled to discover the anger of
outraged humanity that his act had aroused and hor-
rified at the thought that he was held up all over the
world as an object of odium and loathing. Then he
got a reprimand from the Kaiser, a condemnation for
having sunk the liner. The other submarine oflicers
resented it bitterly.

*'Schwieger had merely carried out orders. He had
been ordered to sink any ship he could In the blockaded
waters. He had seen a big steamer and torpedoed it.
Any other U-boat officer would have done the same,
would have been compelled to do the same." So they
all said. Hence, they believed that if there was any
blame, it should be attached to the authorities who
gave the orders under which Schwieger acted.

100 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

But more careful scrutiny of the question shows
clearly that the U-boat commanders are wrong in their
conclusion. The customs and usages of civilized na-
tions had long since established a universally recog-
nized unwritten law. That law decreed that in time
of war belligerents had a right to capture enemy mer-
chantmen. It went farther, and conceded to them the
right to sink their prizes — but only after challenging
each ship and then allowing all on hoard to get away
in lifeboats. Apparently, the Germans had been adher-
ing to this unwritten law of the sea up to the time of
the Lusitania tragedy. Hence, what possible justifica-
tion could there be for such a deed?

Some months later the German Government again
went on record by officially recognizing the existence
of this ancient law of civilized nations. In one of its
notes to the United States appeared these words :

In accordance with the general principles of visit and search
and destruction of merchant vessels recognized by international
law, such vessels, both within and without the area declared
as naval war zone, shall not be sunk without warning and
without saving human lives, unless these ships attempt to escape
or offer resistance.

From his own log It is clear that Schwieger neither
gave warning nor took the trouble to find out what
ship it was that was passing. He found it out, or
rather, his subordinate found It out for him, when it
was too late, after he had fired his torpedo. He simply
sank the great liner, watched her start to keel over,
then gave the order to dive, and headed for Germany.

CHAPTER XII

A SURVIVOR TELLS HIS TALE

Although we are all familiar with some of the his-
tory of the Lusitania, in order to round out this
narrative I decided to interview one of the survivors.

Noon

N. R.

-Way
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eanships
pier 19,
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and N, Y.
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tPRATION.

Pari*.

,. .June 6
Maraelllea
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#

NOTICE!

TRAVELLERS intending to
embark on the Atlantic voyage
are reminded that a state of
war exists between Germany
and her allies and Great Britain
and her allies: Chat the zone of
war includes the waten adja-
cent to the British Isles; that,
in accordance with rormal no-
tice given by the Imperial Ger-
man Government, vessels fly-
ing the flag of Great Britain, or
cf any of her allies, are liable to
destruction in those waters and
that travellers sailing in the war
zone on ships of Great Britain
or her allies do so at their own
risk.

IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBA3SY

WABHIN'OrON. D. C. APRXt. 22. 1915.

Stc

Thia Model
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Havlll. wfui
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OPEN

I wanted to hear the tale from the lips of someone
who had lived through that most terrible of all the sea
tragedies of our time. Last wmter, at a Whitehall
Club luncheon in New York City, I was introduced

101

102 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

to C. W. Bowring, a tall, fine-looking, white-haired,
broad-shouldered shipping man. Afterward I learned
that he was one of the Lusitania survivors. So I called
on him, thinking that he might be just the man to give
me a coherent account. Nor was I wrong In my sur-
mise.

From a drawer he took a yellow strip of newspaper
backed on cardboard to preserve It. It was the fa-
mous Von Bernstorff advertisement that had appeared
in all the New York morning newspapers on May 1,
1915, the day the Lusitania was announced to sail. It
had been inserted near the Cunard Line advertise-
ment.

"When I was rescued, of course I was wringing
wet," said Mr. Bowring. **But I put my hands in my
pockets to see what might still be there. This water-
soaked ad from the New York Times was all that I
found. It is my one souvenir from the Lusitania,^*
Then he told me the tale.

"Along about noon on May 7th, as we were skirt-
ing the Irish coast, I went up on the hurricane deck
to get a bit of exercise, and the purser and I were
tossing a medicine ball. Standing alongside me, play-
ing ball with some one else, was Elbert Hubbard.
That was the last I saw of him.

"We went down to* lunch rather late and were sit-
ting at the table when the explosion came. Shattered
glass from the porthole windows splattered all around
us. I got up and hurried on deck. The purser rushed
off to his office. That was the last that I saw of him.

"When I got on deck the passengers were milling
around, running In all directions, but there was no
panic, no screaming. The ship had already started
to list to starboard and the crew were trying to lower
the boats. One boat got halfway down. But one tnA
gave way and dumped all her crowd of passengers

A SURVIVOR TELLS HIS TALE 103

Into the sea. A second boat got down part way, then
something happened to the ropes. Down it fell, right
on top of the first crowd — smashing them, of course.
Seeing the way things were going, and that not many
had on life preservers, I decided to go after mine. As
I went down the companionway I passed Alfred G.
Vanderbilt. He was sitting calmly on a sofa — ^just
sitting, thinking, not a bit excited. That was the last
I ever saw of him.

"I carried seven life belts back on deck and passed
them around. Near by stood a gentleman and his
daughter who also had been at the purser's table. She
had none, so I fastened a belt about her. It saved her
lifec Then I tried to get over to the port side of the
ship. But by then the list was so great that I couldn't
make It and slid back. The liner was going over fast.
I saw how hopeless It was to attempt to get away In
a boat. So I waited until the deck rail was within
eight feet or so of the water. Then I jumped.

*'I had always been keen about sports and was a fair
swimmer. But never before had I tried swimming
with my clothes on. I struck out, but kept glancing
back, keeping one eye on the ship. In another mo-
ment or two she would be flat on her side, and I saw
that unless I made more speed I would be crushed by
one of the huge stacks. A few moments after that It
looked as If I might get hit by the main mast. So I
slowed up a bit and it fell right in front of me. Clam-
bering over it, I headed for an empty lifeboat. Before
I reached it I saw the nose of the Lusitania disappear.
Her stern rose high In the air. She seemed to poise
there for a moment and then, with a lunge, she van-
ished. Instead of causing a vortex and sucking us
down, as I had always heard would happen, the sea
seemed to hump up like a big hill. Then, as it flat-
tened out, I wa§ carried farther away.

"One of the ship's officers clambered Into the life-

104 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

boat with me. She was half full of water, and we
tried to bale her out with our hands. Then we spent
the next few hours diving in and out of the water,
rescuing as many as we could. Most of the people we
got hold of were already dead, but we got some twenty
safely into the boat. Later, we were picked up by a
trawler.

"From her deck we beheld a strange sight that Is
still a mystery to me. It was of a young woman sit-
ting in a wicker chair, serenely riding the waves.
There she sat as though It was always done that way.
When we pulled over to her she was stone cold —
unconscious. We brought her to, finally. But she
seemed to have no recollection of what had happened.
Chair and all, she simply had been lifted off one of the
decks by the rushing water when the ship went down.
To-day she is one of the best-known women in the
British Empire — Lady Rhondda, who since the war
has gained international fame managing her father's
vast coal-mining interests."

Although many of the survivors testified that the
Lusitania had been hit by two torpedoes, Mr. Bowring
agrees with the U-boat commander that there was only
one. In less than twenty minutes after the torpedo
shattered her hull the Lusitania had vanished beneath
the surface of the ocean along with 1,152 of her pas-
sengers and crew. And there she lies to this day, off
Old Head of Kinsale, on the southern coast of Ireland,
in 250 feet of water.

A few weeks later the U-ZO tried to torpedo the
15,000-ton Orduna, but the liner eluded the missiles
and got away. The next big victim was the Hesperian,
of 10,000 tons, which was sunk on its way from Liver-
pool to Quebec and Montreal. The following spring
the U-ZO sank the liner Cymric, The passengers got
away in the lifeboats. Three torpedoes were exploded

%

^ o

Id

S

g

A British trawler setting a snare j or submarines —
a net festooned with mines.

Between fights. But what would happen if they
had to dive in a hurry ?

A SURVIVOR TELLS HIS TALE 105

against the hull, and then It took five hours before the
ship went down.

Another tragic shadow touches briefly the path of
the *'jolly" boat — the 11-20 — a contact with some of
the dark, melodramatic intrigues of our time. In
1916 Sir Roger Casement went to Ireland by the
U-boat route to lead a revolt against England there.
He was soon caught and hanged. As a quick sequel,
the Easter Rebellion In Dublin broke out. It was sup-
pressed with bloody fighting and executions by the
firing squad. Out of it came the long, desperate strug-
gle of Sinn Fein and the founding of the Irish Free
State. The U-ZO accompanied the boat that took
Casement and landed him on the west shore of Ire-
land. Commander Zentner tells of talking with the
ill-starred passenger. One memory lingers with a
moody Insistence.

The stately, bearded Irishman told the young
U-boat officer: "I know I will be hanged.'* And there
was In the exclamation a tone of sombre foreboding
and foretelling that looked evil destiny in the face and
did not shirk it.

The snow was falling white and windswept In
Liibeck. A flame-topped head rested back against two
folded hands. Zentner told me of the last cruise
of U-20.

"We cast off from dock on Friday, October 13,
1916. Friday, the 13th — it promised bad luck.
Nothing much happened until, off the coast of Norway
on our return trip, we encountered our fellow craft,
the U'SO, She was In distress. Both her Diesel
engines had broken down and she was making only
three knots an hour. We offered to stay along with
her and stand by If anything happened. Salhng on
Friday the 13th was bad luck enough — we should have

106 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

known better than to have anything to do with the
U-30. She was a Jonah. Almost two years before,
when our submarine fleet had set out on one of its first
trips, the U-SO sank in Emden Harbour in 120 feet of
water, with all except three of her crew. We passed
that way a couple of days later. The tapping of the
men In the sunken hull was just ceasing. It was three
months before the boat and its dead were brought to
the surface. After that the U-30 had been overhauled
and refitted. It seemed a staunch enough craft, but
was always getting into trouble. It was a Jonah boat,
surely. And now it was struggling with broken engines
to get back to harbour.

*'The boats were running on the surface near the
Danish coast next day when both went aground in a
bad fog. Our compass was off and we had steered
too far to the east. Between the wind, the tide, and
the waves, we were lodged tight on a sand bar. When
we found we could not back off we began to hghten
ballast. That worked with the U-30. Throwing
overboard about thirty tons of weight, in a couple of
hours they had her free and in deep water again. But
our boat stuck fast. Although we struggled all night
to get her off. It was hopeless, and when morning came
we were still sitting there. In fact, the last I heard
of her, ten years later, she was still sitting there.

"We were In Danish territorial waters, of course,
and knew that If discovered by the Danes we should
be Interned. So the commander lost no time In sending
an SOS to the nearest German base. A rescue squad-
ron set out at once — not just one or two boats, but a
whole fleet of torpedo boats and even our big men-
of-war. You see, we were afraid the British might
have picked up our SOS and despatched some fast
cruisers of their own to spoil the party. If they could
have broadcast to the world that they had destroyed

A SURVIVOR TELLS HIS TALE 107

the U-boat that sank the Lusitania it would have had
almost the same moral effect as a real naval victory.
German headquarters knew this — hence the big rescue
force.

*'Some of the smaller boats a<- once began to tug
and haul and try to pull us off, while the big fellows
stood watch. But it was no use. The tow ropes and
chains broke three times. We waited for high tide
at eleven o'clock. Still no use. The U-20 refused to
budge.

" 'We'll blow her up,' Commander Schwieger
announced.

"So we took off our ship's papers and personal
belongings and planted a few bombs. The rescue
boats took us aboard, and we pushed off. There were
several loud explosions, and what had been a fine sub-
marine was turned into scrap iron. I suppose the
U-20 still lies there rusting on a shoal off the coast
of Denmark.

"With the U-30 in tow, the rescue ships started
back toward their base. Suddenly there were two
more terrific explosions. We had been right about
the British picking up our message. Two of our battle
cruisers had been torpedoed by an enemy submarine.
The Grosser Kurfiirst was hit in her engine room and
the Kronprinz was torpedoed squarely under the
bridge. Crack torpedo shots, both of them, but not
quite fatal. It took more than one torpedo to sink
those big dreadnaughts. Both somehow managed to
stagger back to port.

"Commander Schwieger then assumed command of
the U-88, a new, big boat of the latest design, and
took most of his old crew with him. I made two
cruises with him and then missed a cruise, just as I had
done when the* Lusitania was sunk. The boat never
came back. It was lost with all on board during Sep-

108 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

tember, 1917, probably in the North Channel between
Scotland and Ireland. I have never heard what fate
befell my comrades. One rumour is that they hit a
mine. Another is that they were sunk by a British
Q-ship. Schwieger and his men had gone to join the
victims of the Lusitania on the floor of the sea."

CHAPTER XIII

WATER POURING IN AND DOGGED BY A

PATROL BOAT. BUNKING WITH

A DEAD MAN.

Back in October, 1914, just after Weddigen had
accomplished the destruction of those three British
cruisers, and before Germany had dreamed of an
offensive warfare on commercial shipping, a slender
boyish young submarine commander, with an old pre-
war type of U-boat, had made a somewhat startling
fifteen-day cruise of 1,700 miles. His voyage had
been across the North Sea and through British coastal
waters and was a record achievement for that time.
Naturally, it did much to open the eyes of the German
Naval Staff to hitherto unsuspected possibilities. If
a fighting crew could make such a long cruise without
returning to base for fuel and supplies, there was no
reason why this under-sea warfare might not be made
to play an important part In naval engagements all
around the British Isles and along the French and
Belgian coasts.

That young chap was Kapitanleutnant Claus Han-
sen, soon to become a veteran raider of the deep. For
with the inauguration of the first unrestricted campaign
in the following spring, Hansen shot up to further
prominence as one of the first submarine aces. Given
command of the large new U-41, he operated during
those early months of 1915 in the North Sea, the
Channel, and the Atlantic. The sinkings increased.
The tonnage he and his colleagues sent plunging to the

109

no RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

bottom of the sea grew larger each month. So, more
and more submarines were being rushed off the ways,
and officers in the regular navy who craved real action
were volunteering by the score for the new service.

Hansen is dead, and it was his second officer who
told me about his adventures. I met him one day in
the smoking room of the luxurious Atlantic Hotel in
Hamburg — a short, thick-set man with iron-gray hair
who had all the appearance of a veritable human
dynamo of efficient energy. He was the former Kor-
vettenkapitan Gustav Siess, now engaged in the devel-
opment of a new type of Diesel engine. He had been
one of that very group of young officers who had vol-
unteered for U-boat service in the spring of 1915, and
then subsequently had done far more than his share
in the war under sea. Before that fateful November
of 1918 he had subtracted almost 200,000 tons from
the shipping lists of his country's enemies. Perhaps
his most spectacular exploit was the torpedoing of four
ships in one convoy. It was for that record beat that
he had been awarded the coveted Pour le Merite.

But first it was of Claus Hansen that we talked, and
of those early war days when Hansen ran his brilliant
and brief course as a wholesale commerce destroyer.
Hansen flashed across the under sea like some demon
of the deep. But his career ended abruptly when a
tramp steamer he stopped proved to be the newly dis-
guised British Q-ship Baralong. So Hansen was
caught in the trap of the Baralong and he and his men
in the U-41 dropped to the ocean floor, there to remain
until the crack-o'-doom.

Now, young Siess had been with Hansen on one of
the latter's wildest adventures before his run of luck
had taken that last fatal turn. After finishing his
course as a cub at the sub school, an officer had always
to go on a cruise with an experienced commander.
Hansen was the man to expound and illustrate the

BUNKING WITH A DEAD MAN 111

ways of the game and give the lads their post-graduate
course. Also, he was one of Siess's best friends. They
had been pals for years.

In a precise, matter-of-fact way, Commander Siess
told me his story. It was an example of the kind of
thing that had a way of happening in the early days
of the submarine war against merchant shipping.

The U-41 ran on the surface all night. A dim, gray
dawn broke on placid northern waters. In the misty
light the shadowy form of a steamer appeared, a small
one. She was small, true enough, but what they did
not know aboard the U-41 was that she was the fishing
steamer Pearly which not long before had been con-
verted into a patrol boat, armed to hunt submarines.
In the half light no sign of her guns or other suspicious
mark could be seen. A shot across her bows. The
U-boat mistook the sub-chaser for a common, harmless
vessel.

The warning shot banged, and bang in return.
Nothing to scare anybody. A U-boat need not dive
precipitately out of a gun fight with a puny craft like
that. No doubt she had some kind of foolish popgun
aboard. The U'41 drew ahead to shorten the range
and have it out with shell fire. Both sides held their
fire for a bit. The steamer became clearer in the
morning light. Rather warhke she seemed with her
guns and bulwarks. Hansen turned to the serious-
faced Siess.

"Seems to be tougher meat than we expected.'*

"Too tough, you think?" asked Siess.

"Well, let's try her out with a few more shots,"
replied Hansen.

"Steering gear has jammed," the report came from
below.

And the U'41 was heading straight for the enemy
ship. The men below struggled with the rudder. It
would not budge. The submarine kept drifting on,

112 RAIDERS OF^ THE DEEP

■nmanageable. With the rudder out of gear, It could
not dive.

The Pearly not six hundred yards away now, opened
a blast of fire. Shells popped in the water all around.
One struck the hull and exploded just at the water
line. It looked like a gone submarine for a moment —
but no. A savage burst as a projectile hit the conning
tower. Lieutenant Schmidt, the watch officer, who
was on deck and standing beside Siess, dropped to the
steel plating, horribly wounded. Another shell struck
the hull close to the water hne. The U-boat's guns
were replying shot for shot. Two shells burst on the
Pearl's deck.

"Steering gear's in control again,'* the word came
from below.

At that moment the Pearl turned to ram.

*'A11 hands below for diving!" Hansen yelled.

The wounded watch officer was lowered through the
hatch as quickly as possible; the other men tumbled
in, last of all the slender, alert commander. The U'41
plunged just as the Pearl came rushing over her.

Water poured into the submarine the moment it
submerged. The shell that had struck the conning
tower had ripped a hole in the steel plates, and
through this water spouted as from the nozzle of a
fire hose. Pumps banging and pounding — could they
keep the boat from foundering right there? No — the
water was slowly rising Inch by inch, and there above
on the surface lay the Pearl waiting with guns and
ramming prow. Eloquently and with little figure of
speech — they were between the devil and the deep blue
sea. The TJ-41 had sought the safety of seventy-five
or eighty feet. The deeper, the greater the pressure
of the water, the faster it would geyser through the
hole in the conning tower. Up and a little closer to
the perilous surface. The water swishing at the bot-
tom of the hold continued to rise, but at a slower rate.

BUNKING WITH A DEAD MAN 113

Up somewhat more, Inch by inch. At fifty feet the
furiously labouring pumps held the water level. Fifty
feet, It was clear, was maximum depth for the boat,
beyond which she dared not go. Safety for the
moment.

The wounded watch officer was lying in a pool of
blood. They carried him to his bunk. He had fearful
slashes In his back and legs where the shell fragments
had cut him. Hansen and the firm-vlsaged Siess went
to his side. They looked at each other and shook
their heads.

The boat ran along slowly under water to get away
from the vicinity of the Pearl, She nosed upward.
Water still rushed through the hole in the conning
tower, but the pumps were now more than its match.
The hold was pumped dry. At periscope depth the
asparagus poked its nose above the surface. If they
could run above water they would have a chance to
plug up the hole in the conning tower — more or less.
Siess anxiously studied the commander's face. Its
boyish lines were erased now. Hansen's jaw was set,
his brown eyes narrowed. He was peering Into the
telescope-like eye, the nerve centre, the line of com-
munication with daylight.

*'She's still there," he exclaimed, and down came the
periscope.

It seemed a queer turn of chance. The Pearl had
happened to take the same course as the U-boat. The
U'41 went to its "floor" of fifty feet, changed course^
and for half an hour scurried along under water as
fast as it could, making certain to get away from its
above-water enemy. The water spurted into the con-
ning tower with a monotonous splashing, and the
pumps clanked and rumbled.

"Out perlsc6pe." And again Siess screwed up his
frowning brow as he watched the profile at the eye-

114 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

piece. Hansen's mouth twisted incredulously and he
spoke in a tone of wonder.

**She's only a hundred feet away.''

Then his tone rose with abrupt alarm.

"Dive — quick — quick — she's ramming us!"

Long, tense moments, while with unbehevable slow-
ness the depth gauge showed that the boat had begun
to sink. It is strange how slow things can seem when
life and death hang balanced. Then a terrible, shat-
tering crash. To the nerve-straining men in the con-
ning tower the illusion flashed that a shell had hit the
boat. The frightening impression of the shells that
had burst around them was still vivid in their con-
sciousness. But no shell could have struck the sub-
merged 17-41, The Pearl had surely rammed it. The
U-boat rocked from side to side.

**We're done for," muttered Siess, and waited for
the sound of water flooding the hull.

The only sound of water was that of the fountain
spouting in through the hole in the conning tower.
Had the ram prow of the Pearl swept along a split
second earher it would have smashed the conning
tower. It had merely grazed It, though — and torn
away the periscope.

It was clear that In some way or other the patrol
boat was trailing the submarine. At the depth of fifty
feet at which she kept, she surely could not be seen.
Something on the surface was marking the path of
the big fish below. U-boats occasionally found them-
selves in that predicament — followed around by a craft
on the surface — and surely the Imagination can devise
nothing better for stringing out a prolonged accumu-
lation of terror. In later days of the war the suspense
was likely to be ended quickly with a depth bomb. The
enemy on the surface would not merely track Its prey,
waiting for It to rise, but would search it out with

BUNKING WITH A DEAD MAN 115

those charges of high explosive set to detonate at
various depths.

As it was, the plight of the U-41 was sufficiently
disastrous. With water pouring through the hole in
her conning tower, she could only grope along blindly
at her shallow fifty feet. At nightfall she might expect
the Pearl to lose the trail in the darkness. Siess looked
at his watch. It was six o'clock. The days were long.
Night would not drop her merciful curtain till eight
o'clock, fourteen hours later. The UAl could not
remain under water that long. Her batteries were
already partly exhausted, and, with the amount of
power that had to be used to keep the pumps going,
they could not possibly last till nightfall.

The boat ran along at snail's pace to save power,
just fast enough to keep under control. With her
periscope torn away she was sightless. She had a
small emergency periscope, but to use that she would
have had to come so near to the surface as would have
been fatal with an enemy near by. It was evident that
the Pearl was still on the trail. The noise of her
propellers could be heard. Previously the hunted men
had not noticed the whirring sound — the noise of their
own pumps made it indistinct and, not expecting It,
they had not listened for it. The telltale hum from
above accompanied them like nemesis. Sometimes it
was right above, sometimes to the right or left, but
always quite near. The Pearl could have dropped her
anchor, payed out fifty feet of chain, and hooked the
U-boat like a big fish.

The morning passed and noon. It became apparent
that the game could not go on much longer. The air
was unbearably foul. The wounded watch officer
gasped for breath as he tossed in agony in his bunk.
The batteries were growing weaker and weaker. Soon
they would not have enough power to keep down the
water that poured in through the hole in the conning

116 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

tower. Then the 17-41 would have to come to the
surface and face the Pearl. The sound of propellers
above kept following like a pursuing demon.

After ten hours, at somewhat past two o'clock in
the afternoon, the whirring noise seemed to grow
faint. The men in the U-boat thought their ears must
be failing them. No, the sound grew louder and then
dimmer again. And now it could be heard no longer.
A sense of mystery more poignant than dread.

"Can it be that she has lost us?" Hansen exclaimed
to Siess, scarcely daring to hope. Siess passed his
hand over his short-cropped head and scowled in pessi-
mistic doubt.

Not for two hours more of torment did they dare
to come up for a look through the emergency peri-
scope, and then the Pearl had vanished. The sea wa»
deserted. The U-boat emerged — air, pure, seablown
air.

The secret of the mysterious pursuit became clear.
The shell that had hit the U'41 at the water line as if
it must sink her had, indeed, perforated the steel hulL
But the oil tanks were situated just there, and the
result was merely an oozing leak of oil. This, floating
on the surface, was the trail the Pearl had followed.
She had lost it in the broad dayhght of afternoon
because the sea had grown rough and in the churning
of wind and white-capped waves the spoor of oil had
become obhterated. Then her own engines had begun
to give trouble. When they were working again three
hours later, the trail was completely lost.

Below in the U'41 the wounded watch officer lay in
his bunk. Consciousness had never left him or even
grown dim. He had talked constantly with men
beside him, In spite of his agony, asking how things
were going and discussing the progress of their nerve-
racking adventure. And now that safety had come,
no man aboard rejoiced more than he. He remained

The dread enemy of the U-boat raider. A depth bomb creates
a geyser higher than any in the Yellowstone.

^

^^^^^m^^^^ ^-'^

m^

bp

r^ ** %■ ^

BUNKING WITH A DEAD MAN 117

brightly alert until six o'clock, when he fell into a
stupor. At seven he died.

The U-41y patched up as well as might be, headed
south for Heligoland. Sless described that return trip
of several days as a nightmare. Quarters were
cramped aboard the small boat. The only available
room was in the little officers' cabin, and there the
body of the watch officer remained. The sturdy-
shouldered, strong-faced man to whom I talked In
Hamburg was obviously no shuddering soul given to
neurotic sensibilities or overblown Imaginings, but he
told me that at night when he tried to sleep his eyes
wandered constantly to the dead man, and even when
he turned them away he could see Schmidt's face float-
ing before him.

Even in the presence of death the duties of war
could not be forgotten. Off the coast of Scotland the
U-41 sank a Norwegian steamer that had just been
'transferred to British ownership. The perilous cruise
of the U-41 stands illuminating when regarded as an
officer's introduction to the warfare under the sea.
It is no wonder that nerves broke down.

CHAPTER XIV

MUZZLED IN THE NORTH, THEY SEEK
NEW FIELDS FOR THE CHASE

With the sinking of the Lusitania in May, 1915,
the Arabic in August of that year, and the Hesperian
not long afterward, the outcry against the unrestricted
warfare grew loud. The German Government, under
pressure of protests by the United States and fearing
that the Western repubhc might declare war, called
it off in northern waters. This was in the winter of
1915-16, that time when the British evacuation of
GaUipoh was the main topic of the day. The U-boat
commanders were ordered to sink no more merchant
ships without warning. Attacks were to be made only
when warning could be given and the crews could seek
safety in the Hfeboats.

With that the U-boat warfare practically ceased in
the waters around the British Isles. Enemy ships
either kept out of the way or were so strongly armed
as to be immune from surface attack. Commander
Steinbrinck, one of the veterans of the submarine
operations off the coast of Flanders, declared that he
had let forty ships In the Channel go by which, under
the unrestricted warfare, he could have sunk.

The quiet time in the North Sea, though, saw one
spectacular U-boat stroke — a rather comic episode.
The hero was RItter Karl Siegfried von Georg, a quiet,
capable young Bavarian who was knighted during the
war for his U-boat successes. At present he is engaged

118

MUZZLED IN THE NORTH 119

in importing turpentine and rosin into Hamburg from
our own Southern states.

"I always regarded the business of sinking mer-
chant ships," he says, "as disagreeable, but duty was
duty and I went about it as efficiently as I could. That
night of ship-sinking on the North Sea, though, had
elements of humour that made it exceptional. I had
picked up a Norwegian vessel and taken her crew
aboard my U-boat, when in the dead of night I
found myself in the middle of a fleet of ships.

"They were fishing trawlers busy at the task of
snaring the denizens of the brine. Now, a trawler is
not an important craft, you would say, but really they
were an important adjunct to British sea power. The
King^s Navy relied extensively on Britain's huge fleet
of fishing boats. They did all sorts of invaluable
drudgery. When they were not fishing they laid mines
and swept mines and laid nets to catch the U-boats.
They acted as anti-submarine craft, often heavily
armed with guns and depth bombs. Sometimes they
took the part of Q-shlps, trusting to their innocent
looks to decoy the unwary submarine commander.
And so, a trawler destroyed was an appreciable deduc-
tion from Great Britain's defense against the U-boats.

"There we were in the middle of the fishing fleet
and quite unsuspected. What good did it do? I
couldn't sink a one unless they chose to let me. My
orders were to make provisions for the safety of crews,
and the moment I gave warning my prospective vic-
tim could go scurrying away in the darkness. I re-
solved to try an experiment. I called the captain of
the Norwegian ship I had sunk. He rolled up on his
sea legs. Would he do me a service? Yes, he would.
I bade him take the small boat with a couple of his
men, go over to the nearest trawler and inform the
captain of our presence.

" *Tell him,' I said, *that he is to abandon ship at

120 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

once and report with his crew to me, as I am going
to sink his ship.'

"It was all bluff. If the trawler skipper refused to
obey, there was nothing I could do. The bewhiskered
Norwegian went his way in the boat. For a time noth-
ing happened. I began to think that my emissary had
used his head and was making off with the boat to
which I had sent him. No, apparently neither the
Norwegian nor the English head were working that
night. Soon came the sound of many oars splashing.
My Norwegian returned and with him the skipper and
crew of the trawler. They drew up alongside the
U-boat. The mere word ^submarine' had brought
cold chills of apprehension and evoked perfect obedi-
ence. The skipper of the trawler had not even
attempted to warn the other fishing boats.

"Splendid I Why not carry on the bluff? I now
sent the captain of the trawler out and with him one
of my officers and four of my men to look after his
behaviour. They made the round of the trawlers —
there were twenty-two of them — and warned the skip-
per of each to abandon ship and bring his crew over
to the U-boat.

"And now for several hours the splashing of oars
resounded on all sides in the darkness. Scores of
crowded lifeboats gathered around the black form of
the submarine. We gathered the crews aboard one
of the trawlers and then set about the work of
destruction.

"Dawn was breaking and in the dim light the U-boat
slaughtered the fishing smacks. What a massacre of
ships that was I We steered back and forth, firing at
full speed with our bow gun. One after another, the
ships, hit at the water line, listed and plunged, until
all had vanished from the surface of the sea save the
one on which the survivors were crowded.

"A little Belgian steamer appeared. We-gave chase

MUZZLED IN THE NORTH 121

and stopped her. The men aboard the remaining
trawler were crowded and cramped. The steamer,
afforded better accommodations. We made the cap-
tain take them aboard. The steamer with its swollen
passenger list disappeared, while we took a couple of
close-range shots at the lone fishing boat that was left,
and sent it to join its companions.

"The bluff had worked to perfection, and without
endangering a single life we had polished off a neat
batch of potential mine layers and sweepers and anti-
submarine craft."

I heard from commanders many other tales of how
strategy was necessary in the restricted campaign
that summer of 1916 if a raider were to bring home
any scalplocks. Besides Ritter von Georg, there are
many more former submarine commanders in Ham-
burg, among them a big, jovial, breezy fellow. Lieu-
tenant Commander Ernst Hashagen is now an impor-
tant figure in the exporting business, but during the
war he was one of the most redoubtable of under-sea
fighters. Toward the end he gained fame for his
dare-devil and unusually successful attacks on convoys.
With many a rueful chuckle he told me of the Ameri^
can destroyers that time after time came within an eye-
lash of getting him. But at the beginning of his career
as a U-boat commander there were certain difficulties,
he told me.

"Our orders were definite. We were not to sink a
merchant ship unless we could save the crew. Well,
that didn't leave us much room for action. Often I
could tell at a glance that a ship hadn't near enough
lifeboats for its crew. Or again we were too far from
land and the sea was too rough for them to make it
in a lifeboat. Nor could we take them on board. I
had a little UB-sub then, and she was already crowded
to the decks. So we simply had to let many possible
victims go their way.

122 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

"There was the little Fritzoe, for instance. We
met her in the North Sea and sent a shot ripping over
her bow. She hove to and I signalled the captain to
bring over his papers. He came, but I needed only
one look at his battered lifeboats to know that his crew
could never make it to the nearest land. The ques-
tion was, what to do with the ship now that I had her?
The expression on the captain's face told me he was
wondering the same thing. I had an idea.

" 'Look here,* I turned to him, 'You may take your
choice of having your ship sunk here or of taking her
to Cuxhaven on your own as a war prize. Which
shall it be?'

"You never saw such a look of relief on the face of
a man. Without hesitation he agreed to take the Frit-
zoe to Germany.

" 'But how do I know you will do as you say?' I
asked him. 'I can't follow you all the time. 1 must
watch out for British patrol boats. There is nothing
to prevent you from trying to give me the slip. Then
I would have to shoot a torpedo at you. No, perhaps
I had better sink you right here.'

*'The captain turned a bit pale, but stood his ground.

" 'I am a man of my word,' he said with fine dig-
nity. 'When I say I will go to Cuxhaven, then I will
go to Cuxhaven.'

"We parted at that, and I lost sight of the steamer.
I really never expected to see it again. But still, ac-
cording to my orders, I couldn't have sunk her any-
way.

"Four days later when I reached Cuxhaven, there
was the Fritzoe waiting for us. As far as I know,
that was the only instance during the whole World
War of a captured ship and crew arriving at any enemy
port with only the captain's word of honour as an
assurance that they would go there. That Britisher

MUZZLED IN THE NORTH 123

knew how to play cricket. All honour to him. His
word was his bond."

With the abandonment of the first unrestricted
U-boat campaign and the quiet time in the waters
around the British Isles, the centre of the U-boat war
was transferred temporarily to the Mediterranean.
By playing havoc with Allied shipping out there, the
results would be the same, and without further arous-
ing the ire of America.

In addition to that dashing fellow Hersing, who
torpedoed the battleships Triumph and Majestic, five
more of the ablest U-boat officers were sent around
into the Mediterranean between August and October
of 1915. These were: Commander Gansser, in the
U-33; Commander Riicker, in the U-34; Commander
Kophamel, in the U-35 ; Commander Max Valentiner,
in the U-38 ; and Commander Forstmann, in the U-39.
All of these boats made history in the Mediterranean,
and all of their commanders became submarine aces.

It is rather interesting to note that, of the twenty
leading submarine skippers, more than half of them
reaped their greatest harvest of victims in the Medi-
terranean. Indeed, the ace of aces among the raiders
of the deep bagged practically all of his game out
there. This man was Lothar von Arnauld, of whom
we shall hear a great deal. He was sent overland
from Berlin to Cattaro and there took command of
the U-35, which had been brought around through the
Straits of Gibraltar by Kophamel.

There is another curious fact concerning the under-
sea war in the Mediterranean. Of the two hundred
odd U-boats lost by Germany during the Great War,
only seventeen were operating in the Mediterranean.
Whether that was because the commanders out there
were exceptionally cunning and skillful, or the anti-
submarine devices of the Allies less effectual, is a ques-

124 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

tion. Presumably it was the latter. The perils facing
the under-sea raiders out "east of Gib" were certainly
less serious than those faced by the submarines in the
North Sea, particularly those that had to run the
famous "Dover Barrier** in going to and from their
Flanders base at Bruges and Zeebrugge.

At any rate, the Mediterranean now became the
U-boat raider's Paradise. And where the warships
of Greece and Persia, the triremes of Phcenecia, and
the galleys of Carthage and Rome once fought for
supremacy, the Kaiser's wolves of the deep ran amuck
and preyed on the commerce of the modern world.
And this brings us to one of the prime figures of our
story — the ace of aces of the German submarine
commanders.

CHAPTER XV

THE U-BOAT ACE OF ACES

Wilhelmshaven lies sleepy, half deserted. Its his-
tory gives you its mood. It is a new town, very new
for Europe, founded less than a hundred years ago
during the reign of the first Kaiser WUhelm. Its site
was originally a swamp on the edge of the Jade Basin,
and most of its space is reclaimed land. The town
boomed with the German Navy. Jade Basin formed
a natural station for the Kaiser's Fleet. From the
year 1900, when Wilhelm II saw Germany's future
on the sea, Wilhelmshaven flourished and grew bigger,
like any mining town of the old West. Tens of thou-
sands of officers and sailors were stationed there, with
battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and U-boats lying in
the harbour, sailing and arriving. The World War
raised Wilhelmshaven to its pinnacle. The harbour
was a scene of high pressure industry and warlike
swarming. Merchants, hotel keepers, and the other
burghers drove a lively trade and laid away profits.
New buildings arose and everything bustled.

The port was one of the chief U-boat stations. The
others in Germany were Emden, Kiel, and Heligoland.
I heard much from the U-boat commanders of the gay
casino, the brilliant restaurants, the music, dances,
theatricals, and other social festivities. Every leave
for the submarine sailor might be his last one. He
had just come back from a long cruise among deadly
perils. Who could tell whether on the next one he
would not leave his bones at the bottom of the sea,

125

126 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

securely encased in the Iron coffin. Let him be gay
while he could. It kept him from thinking.

To-day, with German sea power a vanished dream,
Wilhelmshaven is in the doldrums. It is still a naval
station, but the German Fleet is but a handful of boats.
The great barracks that during the war were filled
to overflowing are nearly empty. Only a few ships lie
in the harbour. The U-boats are no more. There
are empty houses and empty stores. The shops, res-
taurants, and hotels that are still open struggle for
business. In that town of Wilhelmshaven you get a
vivid, symbolical picture of the downfall of Germany's
glory at sea.

The German Navy of to-day consists bodily of a few
inoffensive ships, but as an idea it amounts to some-
thing more. After the war the Germans decided that,
while they were compelled to surrender their fleet to
the enemy, they would preserve the naval tradition
which they had built up as one of the world's great sea
powers, until some happier day when dreadnaughts
and U-boats may again stand as representations of
the power of the Reich. To this end they have kept
a skeleton of the old officer's corps and the old organi-
zation and preserved the old etiquette and ceremony.
Thus, when I called at the house of the first admiral
staff officer of the Naval Station at Wilhelmshaven I
was confronted by a figure that recalled Imperial Ger-
many in its full power and splendour. I found my
host in full uniform, resplendent with gold braid,
medals, and decorations. A sword clanked at his side
and the Pour le Merite was at his throat. An inspir-
ing nautical figure he made.

The purpose of my visit was simple. Commander
Lothar von Arnauld de la Periere ranks as the German
U-boat ace of the war. The submarine commanders
were rated according to the amount of tonnage they
had sunk, just as the aviation aces were according to

THE U-BOAT ACE OF ACES 127

the number of planes they had brought down. Von
Arnauld headed the tonnage list.

The submarine activity in the Mediterranean
reached Its climax In a prodigious under-sea feat, a
cruise that called attention to the possibilities of the
Mediterranean as a happy hunting ground for the
submarine. Arnauld de la Perlere was the German
with the ultra-French name who made this spectacular
and epochal raid. It was the high spot In his amazing
career as the U-boat ace of aces. From then on he
topped the list both In number of ships and In gross
tonnage sunk. His total bag for this one voyage in
the U-35 was fifty-four vessels — 91,000 tons of Allied
shipping!

War plays strange tricks with names and races.
America's foremost raider of the skies answered to
the good old German name of RIckenbacker. On the
other hand, Germany's U-boat ace of aces was called
Arnauld de la Perlere.

His great grandfather was a French officer of the
Eighteenth Century, who, having a disagreement with
his superior, the Duke of Bourbon, offered his sword
to Frederick the Great after a fashion quite common
among soldiers of fortune of those days. In the
service of the Alter Fritz he rose to the rank of a
general and founded a family which has traditionally
stood high In the German Army and later In the Navy.
The U-boat ace found a service career a natural and
Inevitable thing. During the years before the war he
was torpedo officer on the Emden^ which later was to
create wartime sensations. Then he was aide-de-camp
to Grand Admiral von TIrpItz. When war broke out
he was on the Admiralty Staff. He wanted to see
action and chose the zeppellns. No zeppelin command
was available. He went to the other extreme, the
submarine service. He did not take command of a
boat until the beginning of January, 1916, almost a

128 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

year and a half after the war began. Yet in ten
months he was leading the field in number and tonnage
of ships sunk. Once out in front, he was never headed.
His record stands at more than two hundred ships and
half a million tons. He was given the Pour le Merite,
Germany's highest war decoration, in the autumn of
his first year in the U-boat service. Then, as he con-
tinued to run his record up, there was no further
honour to give him. He was asked what he wanted,
and replied — an autographed photograph of the
Kaiser. He got it, and later, upon his earning further
honours, the Kaiser sent him a letter of commendation
in his own handwriting. Imperial Germany could do
no more !

I found him a tall, slender man in his early forties,
with brown hair and the keenest possible brown eyes:
a good-looking chap whose jaw and chin were exceed-
ingly firm and were rather in contrast to a fine, gay
smile. You caught at first impression a sense of capac-
ity and strong nimble mind, together with a laughing
wit and penetrating humour, a mixture of ancestral
qualities, you surmised, of German energy and preci-
sion and French wit and savoir faire. He is usually
spoken of as Korvettankapitan von Arnauld, with the
*'de la Periere" left off. He was all obliging courtesy
toward the American who wanted to hear stories of
the U-boats. Tea was served, and we were joined by
Commander von Arnauld's charming wife, who was
educated in England, and the two daughters of the
family, proper little girls whose ages were ten and
twelve.

The house was a museum of mementoes of the
U-boat warfare. The Commander showed me the
tattered flag of his first boat, the U'35, and its number
plate. His dairy was bound with the gray leather of
his submarine uniform. On a wall hung the broken
end of a large periscope of the giant submarine cruiser

THE U-BOAT ACE OF ACES 129

he commanded late in the war. The asparagus had
been snapped off like a match stick when a torpedoed
ship sank on top of the boat. Much of the furniture
of the house was taken from the submarine cruiser.
The desk Von Arnauld had in his cabin still serves
him, but is now in his study. Doors and mouldings
and panels in the house were made of wood ripped
out of the submarine cruiser before she was turned
over to the Allies after Germany's defeat. The wood
was fine, satiny maple. Those giant submarines were
luxuriously equipped, quite different from the tiny,
stuffy little craft of the earlier type. The chandelier
in one room was made of the round steering wheel
of a captured ship. Hanging on a wall was a bunch
of pretty glass bulbs, about the size of large grape-
fruits— buoys that held up a net laid in the Adriatic
Sea to trap submarines.

My obliging host displayed typical German thor-
oughness in seeing that the American who wanted to
tell the story of the U-boats got plenty to tell. He
showed me his diary and photographs, and related his
adventures. He arranged for me to meet other com-
manders. Nor did he neglect to have me see the
sights. The chaplain of the post, a genial, bald-
headed gentleman who, I found, was a fan for Jack
London and Upton Sinclair, took me to the garrison
church, a red brick building with the steeple rising
above a grove of trees. It was built during the
Franco-Prussian War and now is filled with relics of
the once proud Imperial Navy. I saw the war flags
of the great dreadnaughts and battle cruisers, and the
Imperial flags, which were flown whenever the Kaiser,
the Kaiserin, or a member of the royal family came
aboard ship. The great chandeHer that hung from
the ceiling was the giant steering wheel from the
Kaiser's private yacht, the Hohenzollern. The walls
were covered with the figureheads and coats of arms

130 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of the various German warships, some of them origi-
nals and some copies, and all emblazoned in gold and
red. There was the nameplate of the submarine
cruiser, Deutschland, which visited the United States
first as a peaceable merchantman and then as a raiding
warship; life buoys from some of the lost U-boats;
the coat of arms of the big battleship Pommern and
that of the giant battle cruiser Lutzow, both of which
went down at the battle of Jutland: similar remem-
brances of the cruisers Gneisenau, Scharnhorst, and
Niirnherg, which were sunk off the Falkland Islands,
of the famous raider Emden, and of the cruiser Hela,
the first German warship sunk by a British subma-
rine— for the British, too, could play at the submarine
game, although they had not as much chance as the
Germans. In a thick volume on the altar were the
names of all the German navy men lost during the
war, from admiral to cabin boy.

From the chapel we went to the naval cemetery. In
the shadow of the great dyke that holds back the
North Sea is a stretch of reclaimed land, a bit of earth
snatched from the sea, which is covered with hedges
and gardens and low trees and hundreds of little head-
stones and war memorial statues and crosses. There
He the German dead from the battle of Jutland, vic-
tims of the British shells that burst like popcorn that
day. Of submarine men only a few lie among the
flowers and trees. Most of those who died in the
warfare under the sea found their last rest in the iron
coffins.

Commander von Arnauld himself took me to the
Naval Officers' Club, where there was much clicking
of heels and saluting. The inner sanctum there was
the submarine room, the only place of Its kind in Ger-
many. It was covered with photographs of submarine
commanders — the dead. The number of pictures was
a hundred and fifty-one — approximately that many of

THE U-BOAT ACE OF ACES 131

Germany's Captain Nemos went down during the war
in their boats. There was Weddigen, the first great
U-boat hero; Schwieger, who sank the Lusitania;
Count von Schweinitz and Commander Pohle, who
were lost during the first cruise of the U-boats right
after the declarations of war; Claus Hansen, who was
one of the first to make a mark for sinking merchant
shipping; Kurt Beitzen, a fresh-faced youth who laid
the mines that sent Lord Kitchener to the bottom;
Rudolph Schneider, who sank the British warship
Formidable; Hoppe, Giintzel, and Rosenow, each of
whom took his last dive when he matched his wits
against Gordon Campbell, the sensational British
Q-ship commander; eighty-five commanders who went
down in the U-boat operations off the coast of Flan-
ders; and others who sank in the Iron coffin all the
way from the tropical Azores to the tip of the Orkneys
and the Murman coast far up in the Arctic Ocean. In
cabinets were models of the various types of craft that
were used early in the war, the giant submarine
cruisers, the UB-boats that were used in the peculiar
warfare off the coast of Flanders, and the UC mine-
laying boats.

No better setting could be devised for the telling of
U-boat stories. Commander von Arnauld gathered a
couple of other former submarine commanders who
were now in service at the naval station to add their
under-sea yarns to his. After a characteristic German
dinner in a private room — the piece de resistance was
roast hare — the company adjourned to the submarine
room. There we sat, the three officers in glittering
full naval uniform and myself. I listened to wild tales
of periscope and torpedo.

"My friend Von Heimburg," remarked Von Arnauld,
Indicating one of the other officers, "specialized in bag-
ging fish like ourselves — the U-boats of the enemy."

132 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

"A case of submarine eat submarine," I commented,
using Americanese.

I had heard of Korvettenkapitan Heino von Heim-
burg. He was in a professional way the antithesis
and complement of Von Arnauld. The latter special-
ized in merchant shipping; "I just didn't happen to
get any large war vessels," he told me. Von Heim-
burg, though, ran up only a brief list of commercial
craft sunk. In Hamburg, Admiral Wilhelm Tagert
had mentioned him to me. "He nearly always got
transports or warships," the Admiral said; "there was
no limit to his courage and audacity." The curious
part was Von Heimburg's knack or luck at sinking
enemy submarines. For one under-sea craft to sink
another was a rare feat, but Von Heimburg contrived
to put three or four on his record.

He was a husky big fellow who looked more like
an Irishman than a German, black-headed, rather bald
on top, with brown eyes and a determined chin. He
was quiet and rather diffident, his reticent manner con-
trasting with the flashing personality that distinguished
Von Arnauld. I was later told that he had many
relatives in the United States. A sister of his father
is the wife of Walter Damrosch, for so many years
conductor of the New York Symphony Orchestra.

"Submarine eat submarine," I repeated the phrase;
"that must be a nerve-racking kind of fight."

The garrison church at Wilhehnshaven, decorated with
memorials to lost Gerinan raiders and men of war.

The raiders of the deep who never came home. The submarine
room at the Naval Club.

CHAPTER XVI

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE

"I will tell you about the first one," Von Helmburg
began, passing one hand meditatively over his long
chin. *'I joined up for U-boat service right after the
war began, and in 1915 went down to Austria by train
to take command of a boat operating in the Adriatic.
It was a small vessel which had been knocked down
and shipped to the Adriatic as freight. It was not
of the U-boat type but the kind of UB craft that we
used in the shore waters off Belgium — sewing machines
we called them, they were so tiny. These boats were
designed for a short cruising radius and to operate at
no great distance from their base. They carried small
crews. That of my boat numbered only fourteen.

"That sewing machine, the UB-15, was lucky. On
my first trip out from Pola in June of 1915, I crossed
over to the waters in front of Venice. I wonder what
the shades of the doges must have thought. We were
cruising along under the surface, poking the periscope
up now and then to see what was happening, when the
picture in the lense showed me an Italian submarine
proceeding along above water only a few hundred
yards away. It was to the rear of us, and we had no
stern torpedoes. It was a simple matter, though, to
swing around for a bow shot. Showing the periscope
for only brief seconds, I manoeuvred the boat. The
enemy craft sailed right along where I wanted it.

" Torpedo — fire!* I called.

*Tn an instant I was knocked sprawling as the boat

133

134 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

made a wild leap. It took me bewildered moments
to figure what had happened. I had never fired a
torpedo from that sewing machine before, and had not
anticipated what would happen. The boat was so
small that when relieved of the weight of the torpedo
at the bow she popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

" 'To the bow,' I yelled, 'to the bow!' And every
man who could leave his station scrambled to the bow,
the combined weight bringing it down level.

"Meanwhile we had heard the sound of the bursting
torpedo.

" 'Out periscope !' I gave the order, and peered into
the lense. Nothing was to be seen save a cloud of
smoke.

"The UB-15 emerged and we went toward the
smoke. Swimming about in the water were half a
dozen men. We fished them out. They were Italians.
The boat we had sunk was the Italian submarine
Medusa, The rest of the crew had perished. We
took the rescued survivors back to Pola as prisoners
of war."

"When those little boats," observed Commander
von Arnauld, "started to turn somersaults, it was
no fun."

"There was another time," continued Heimburg,
"that that sewing machine was almost sucked out of
the water. At daybreak we lay on the surface fifteen
miles out of Venice. The sea balmy and perfectly
calm.

" 'Ship ahoy.' A vessel hove in sight coming out
of the harbour.

"She surely would have seen us had we not been
lying full in the light of the rising sun. The UB-IS
plunged, and presently the periscope showed not one
ship but three, two light cruisers and a big one from
which flew an admiral's flag. That big one was our
game. We got a perfect shot at it and did not miss.

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE 135

Just as the torpedo exploded I saw a destroyer darting
at us. A quick dive, and the sound of propellers
rushed over us. We were deep enough for safety,
but the suction as the speeding torpedo boat dashed
along jerked our sewing machine almost to the surface.
If another destroyer had been following we should
surely have been rammed.

"We discovered later that the warship we had sunk
was the Amalfi, Italy's finest armoured cruiser, which
was returning to Venice with Its accompanying ships
after having made an attack on the Austrian coast
defenses near Trieste. Out of a crew of six hundred,
four hundred, including the admiral, were saved.

"Another of our victims about that time was a
11,000-ton British transport, the Royal Edward, with
fourteen hundred British troops aboard. This oc-
curred in the iEgean. When we first sighted her all
we could make out were two funnels on the horizon.
Then when we crept up on her we saw long promenade
decks and high masts and knew that she was indeed a
great prize. We let go at her from a distance of 1,600
meters. I watched the path of the torpedo through
the asparagus and saw it hit the stern of the transport.
A moment later soldiers in khaki were running about
on the decks like ants.

"Since there were no destroyers near enough to
threaten us, I allowed all of my men to have a look
at the spectacle. Last of all came the torpedo mate,
the man who had released the missile. He gave a yell.

"'What Is it?' I shouted.

"He turned the asparagus back to me. It was
indeed a fearful sight. The giant steamer was now
standing almost on end, her bow high in the air. A
second later she shot under the waves. All that was
left in sight were eight boatloads of men, waving
white shirts, trousers, and handkerchiefs, apparently
afraid we might destroy them. Shortly after a Red

136 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Cross ship and two French destroyers came to their
rescue, but I have since learned that less than six hun-
dred were saved. So with one lone torpedo we not
only had destroyed a ship of great value, but we had
also wiped out a complete enemy battalion."

After my meeting with Heimburg and his pals at
Wilhelmshaven I heard more of the details concerning
the sinking of the Amalfi while discussing the under-
sea war with some of my friends in the Italian Navy.
It seems that when the Amalfi went down the chief
engineer was sucked into the still revolving propellers,
and one of his arms was cut off almost at the shoulder.
Swimming in the water not far from him was the
Amalfi' s surgeon. He saw the bleeding man flounder-
ing not far away and swam to him with powerful
strokes. There, treading water all the while, he took
off his own belt, applied it as a tourniquet to the engi-
neer, and then helped his terribly wounded companion
to stay up until help came and they were pulled into
a boat.

Heimburg played an important role in the U-boat
operations around Constantinople, and here again the
theme was submarine eat submarine. One of his nar-
rowest escapes was when his boat got enmeshed In
the great steel nets that the British had stretched
across the entrance to the Dardanelles. Back and
forth he drove her, wrenching and tearing against the
steel strands in which the U-boat had become entan-
gled. Now and then a terrific explosion would rock
them. Bombs attached to the net, placed there for
the purpose of demolishing captured steel fish, were
going off. Finally, after hours of wild effort, the
U-boat was able to rise to the surface with the huge
net draped around it. Carrying some of the metal
net and dragging the rest of It through the water, the
lucky craft just managed to make its base, the little
harbour on Gallipoli Peninsula that had recently been

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE 137

named Hersingstand in honour of the conqueror of
the Triumph and Majestic,

*'A little while after that," added Heimburg, "we
set out again for Constantinople. This time we man-
aged to slip through the Dardanelles, and we came
to anchor just this side of the Sea of Marmora, at a
place called Chanak where the Turks had their head-
quarters. No sooner had we anchored than we had a
visit from the Prince of Reuss who came aboard to
tell me that a fish had been caught in a Turkish net
across the strait — an Englishman no doubt. He had
been there since six o'clock that morning and it was
afternoon then. Explosives had not been dropped on
him simply because the weather was too rough. But
a Turkish gunboat had been left on watch.

"The weather was clearing, so off we went to inves-
tigate. Everything was quiet. The gunboat had
nothing to report. Had Herr Englander gotten away?
We sounded for him. I was in a small boat with
Herzig, my cook, who was a very capable fellow and
a natural-born fisherman to boot.

" *I have him,' yelled Herzig. His plumbline had
struck a sudden shallow.

"A mine attached to a line was let down with the
fuse lighted. An explosion, and a column of water
shot up. A dark spot appeared on the surface that
looked like oil. We were about to let down another
mine when a dark form broke the surface. It was the
British E-boat. Gunboats around opened instant fire.
A shell went through the conning tower, another
pierced the tanks. The boat was sinking. Men came
scrambling out of the hatch. The shooting ceased.

"That cook Herzig was a crazy fellow. He jumped
aboard the slowly sinking submarine and helped drive
the Englishmen out. *Rau5 mit, raus mil* he roared,
and even prodded men on as they scrambled up.

"The water was closing over the conning tower

138 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

when another figure leaped out of the conning tower
and into the water and swam over to a boat. It was
the captain, the last man to abandon ship."

"What boat was it?" I asked.

"The E-7, under Commander Cochrane."

I thought I had recognized the incident. I had
heard of Commander A. D. Cochrane, now a member
of Parliament, from my friend, Major Francis Yeats-
Brown, associate editor of The Spectator, The two
men are close friends, and "Y. B." had often spoken
to me about Cochrane.

"A little later," Heimburg went on, "the French
submarine Turquoise got tangled up in the Dardanelles
nets. She came to the surface and the crew were taken
prisoners. In the excitement they forgot to destroy
their confidential papers. From these we gleaned
several important bits of information. One was a
note about a rendezvous. The French submarine was
to meet a British submarine at a point in the Sea of
Marmora. The Turquoise could not keep the date,
but we could. I piloted my submarine to the meeting
place.

"Sure enough, as we drew near we spied a conning
tower. It took a careful bit of stalking, but finally
we got a perfect shot. A tremendous explosion, a
cloud of smoke on the water. When the smoke
disappeared no submarine was to be seen, only men
swimming around in the water. We picked up nine
Britishers, including the captain, a young Lieutenant
Warren. The craft we had sunk was the E-ZO.

"I had quite a pleasant chat with the English
skipper.

" *I say, that was a neat shot!' he exclaimed.

"I thanked him for the compliment and asked how
he got into the Sea of Marmora to begin with, which
of course meant a trip through the Turkish series of
Dardanelles' nets. You see, the Allies had set nets

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE 139

down near the mouth of the Straits, near the iEgean,
while the Turks had their nets a bit farther east, near
the narrowest point in the Dardanelles, just off
Chanak.

" *We did get caught in a net,' he responded. *But
full speed, and we ripped right on through. I say,
though, old fellow, how did you get through our nets
in order to get in here to "Constant" in the first
place?'

*' *Same way,' I responded.

"I was busy about other matters when this young
English comm.ander was fished out of the water and
pulled on board my boat. So some of my men were
the first to hold a conversation with him. I understood
afterward that when our torpedo struck the E-20 this
jaunty English naval officer was just brushing his teeth.
The explosion knocked him senseless and he was only
half conscious when we got him up on our deck. When
my men revived him they asked him if there was any-
thing that he wanted. Stunned and half dazed, he
repeated the last idea that had been in his mind before
the crash wrecked his boat.

" *Yes, a toothbrush,' he replied. So the toothbrush
was brought and he went on and brushed his teeth !

"I'm telling you this last anecdote simply because
it's a tip-top yarn whether It's true or not.

"Besides the E-20, which we had torpedoed, other
German U-boats accounted for at least three other
British submarines. Commander Steinbrinck of the
Flanders Flotilla got the E-ZZ on April 25, 1916, in
the North Sea. Then the C-34 was sent down near
the Shetland Islands in July of 1917; and finally the
D'6 off the north coast of Ireland, late in June of
1918."

Then I told Heimburg how the British also sank
some of their own latest and finest submarines in an
appalling accident a few miles out from the Firth of

140 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Forth. A former officer in the Royal Naval Volun-
teer Reserve, a Mr. Earle who now lives in Toronto,
had related the tale to me a short while before. He
happened to be in command of a mine sweeper patrol-
ing near by at the time. Three British submarines,
of the latest model, were manoeuvring together when
two of them collided and went down. A destroyer
rushing to the rescue accidentally rammed the third
and sent it to join its comrades.

Heimburg himself had another harrowing adven-
ture with an enemy submarine. Several months after
his victory over the E-ZO he was on his way back across
the Black Sea from Trebizond, bound for the Bos-
phorus. In order to make speed he was travelling on
the surface. Himself the destroyer of under-sea men-
of-war, Heimburg knew just how much to fear from
an enemy of his own kind. So he not only kept a
double lookout, but he himself remained on the conning
tower all morning. When luncheon time came he
ordered his meal brought to the bridge. By four in
the afternoon he presumed he had passed through the
danger zone and went down to his tiny cabin. He lay
there dozing and listening to the one unbroken gramo-
phone record left aboard the UB-15. It was a popular
Vienna music hall song about a young Gretchen named
Paulina who simply couldn't stop dancing.

Suddenly came the shrill sound of the alarm. Sleep
and Paulina were dashed from his mind as he rushed
up to the conning tower. There he met the entire
crew tumbling down the ladder from the deck.

"What's up?" he shouted to the lookout.

"Enemy submarine. Only 500 metres away."

The order to dive had already been given, but in
the meantime the other submarine had had a perfect
target. As the water closed over the conning tower
Heimburg had his eye riveted to the asparagus. As
he surmised, there it came, a. torpedo speeding straight

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE 141

toward them. It was too late to evade it. He could
only watch.

"That was surely our lucky day/' added Helmburg.
"The thing slid past us within a foot or two of our
stern. ^Torpedo missed us by two centimeters,' I
called out. The crew breathed again. Then we kept
on diving deeper and deeper until we were in safe
water, and after that we zigzagged our way back to
the Golden Horn.

"Ah, yes, it was indeed exciting business, fighting
under-sea boat against under-sea boat," he concluded.

"ni bet," I exclaimed.

For me there was something eerie and unearthly in
that submarine-eat-submarine kind of adventure.

The three officers fell to discussing the fact that
little rehance was to be placed on reports either in
AlHed or German newspapers of sinkings or captures.
Reports were apt to be unreliable in the first place,
and then the governments used various means to hood-
wink the fellows on the other side. The British, for
instance, had a deliberate policy of not publishing
authentic news of U-boats they had sunk. It was
thought that the mere blank vanishing of boats, craft
that went out and simply did not come back, would
increase terror with mystery and have the greatest
effect in breaking down the nerves of the German sub-
marine men; and, indeed, no phase of the U-boat
warfare was so appalling as those silent vanishings.
Often, too, the British thought they had sunk U-boats
when they had not. For a long while oil floating on
the surface of the water was thought an infallible sign
that a submarine had gone down. Presently, though,
the U-boats, upon diving away from an attack by
gunfire or depth bombs, occasionally resorted to the
trick of loosing a little oil, which, upon coming to the
surface, would create the belief that the boat had

142 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

been sunk. Sometimes that caused an attack to be
discontinued.

*'Yes," laughed Von Arnauld, ''and Kapitan Saal-
wachter here can tell you how he worked that trick
once quite involuntarily."

The officer referred to was a short, stocky Silesian,
broad-faced, blond, and smiling, the captain of the
battleship Schlesien, one of the few men-of-war that
Germany was permitted to keep.

"There were depth bombs that day," he said, squint-
ing his eyes and grimacing to show that he meant it;
''they were popping all around."

He took a long meditative puff at his cigarette and
then went on.

"We were in the U-94, off Aberdeen on the east
coast of Scotland. All night we took it easy on the
bottom, sleeping comfortably while the boat lay on
the ocean floor. In the morning we came up to look
around. The first look through the periscope — Gott
im Himmel — a destroyer only a few hundred yards
away! She saw the asparagus instantly, and came
racing. We plunged as fast as we could. We were
at twenty yards depth when the first depth charge
exploded — not very near us. We kept on going down.
Bang — bang — all around. She was searching for us
plenty, spreading her sugar plums all over the water.
And some of them popped mighty near us. It is not
a cheery thing listening to them bang around. At
fifty meters' depth we blew the tanks quickly to keep
from going too deep. A bomb hit us. At any rate,
it burst near enough to hammer us properly. We
were nearly deafened by the terrible report, and the
boat shook in that ghastly fashion when you feel
everything is breaking. We said to ourselves it was
"good-bye," and expected to drop like a lead shot to
the bottom. No, we were travelling the other way.
The depth gauge went rapidly from fifty to zero. We

SUBMARINE CONTRA SUBMARINE 143

were popping to the surface. That depth bomb had
hit us all right. It had cracked open our hull right
where our oil supply was stored, next to the engine
room. The oil ran out of one of the tanks into the
water, air from the Inside taking Its place. That
lightened the boat considerably and made it rise.

"The U-94 popped right out of the water. We
expected the destroyer to finish us off without any
more delay. But there she was, rushing away as fast
as she could. We had blown our tanks just after she
had dropped her last bomb. The blowing of tanks
sends to the surface a great bubble of air. So may a
shattered, sinking submarine. Then the contents of
our broken oil tank came up. That settled It. The
destroyer hurried away, certain she had destroyed us.
She reported her supposed victory, and her commander
got the V. C. And we were left in peace to limp
home."

A broad, hearty Slleslan laugh followed the tale
and celebrated the narrow escape.

"And another narrow escape," Saalwachter ex-
claimed, suddenly becoming grave. "It was one of
those things you can't explain."

"We were on cruise and got a wireless that the
British fleet was out at sea. The position was given,
and we thought we might as well see what we could
do. We ran on the surface as fast as we could go.
When we got to the vicinity described, we spied a
Zeppelin in the sky.

" 'Have you sighted enemy ships?' we wirelessed.

"No answer from the zeppelln. Probably she hadn't
picked up our message. Just then British cruisers
appeared on the horizon. We submerged, and crept
up on the warships. It looked like a fine stroke. We
were just in position to torpedo a big cruiser. I was
about to give the order to loose the right-bow torpedo
when I saw a fountain of water geyser near the ship

144 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

at which I was aiming — an explosion. The zeppelln
was throwing bombs at our prospective prey. In a
manoeuvre to avoid the bombs the cruiser abruptly
changed course. That spoiled my chance for a shot.

*'We didn't get another opportunity for a torpedo
shot, which caused some quiet swearing aboard. More
bad luck, or what seemed bad luck. We cruised
around fruitlessly for something to sink. Not a single
target hove in sight. Then one of the under-officers
happened to examine the right-bow torpedo tube. A
piece of timber was wedged tightly in it. If I had
given the order to fire at the cruiser, or at any other
mark with that particular tube, the missile would have
exploded In the tube. Saved by a miracle was the
word — or perhaps by a zeppelln which spoiled a per-
fectly good shot. How that piece of wood ever got
into the torpedo tube was not disclosed by any amount
of inquiry nor the most ingenious guesses we could
think of."

We talked there till long past midnight, amid those
hundred and fifty-one pictures of those raiders of the
deep who went down In their boats of steel.

The ace of the U-boat commanders told his story
with a quiet thoughtfulness which he varied occasion-
ally, when a point of drama and excitement came, with
an abrupt, strikingly expressive gesture. Then his
face would light up and his eyes shine, and his voice
would rise with a tone of soaring Intensity. It was a
tale full of lively colour, with a mingling of drollery
and breath-taking suspense.

CHAPTER XVII

VON ARNAULD'S TALE OF SINKING SHIPS

AND THE MONKEY IN THE FAT

MAN'S W^HISKERS

I began to run up my list of ships sunk, curiously
enough, in what might have been called the dull season,
the doldrums. It was that summer which in France
began with the Battle of Verdun. The "unrestricted"
campaign had been called off, largely because of the
protests of the United States. Merchant ships were
not to be torpedoed any more, and few ships were
sunk in the waters around the British Isles. I was
sent down to the Mediterranean, and there found the
gunning very good. Those waters were not so well
policed against U-boats as the seas around Britain.

Still, there were perils enough. One had to be
especially careful of the Q-ships. They were carrying
on in high style during those summer days of 1916.
In fact, I owe my baptism of fire to one of them. It
was on my first cruise, and we had said wie gehts to
a particularly innocent-looking Dutch freighter with
a shot across the bow. The crew got into the boats
and started to row away. We slowly approached the
seemingly deserted vessel. It looked all right. Still,
I was particularly on the lookout for Q-ships. So, to
be entirely on the safe side of things, I submerged,
drew up close, and looked her over through the peri-
scope. All O. K., I thought. I called Lauenberg, my
watch officer, to have his opinion verify mine. "Harm-
less," he said, looking into the periscope. The boats

145

146 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

with the ship's crew were lying eight hundred yards
astern of the ship. I steered over to them, and
emerged within fifty yards of them, feeling safe in
their proximity. If there were any hidden guns aboard
the ship, the gun crew would scarcely take so much
chance of hitting their own people.

*'Come alongside," I called to the men in the boats.
I wanted to look them over and make finally sure.

A distant clattering and rumbling from the steamer
as gun concealments were run down, and the crack of
a shot. A shell went whining overhead. Then men
in the boats pulled away for dear life. Those Enghsh-
men had their nerve — no doubt of It. But there was
no time to stop and generously admire the enemy's
courage. Shells were popping around. We were
scrambling through the hatches.

^^Dlvel" I shouted.

The tanks hissed and we began to sink. Then a
frantic yell from one of the sailors.

^'Lieutenant Lauenberg Is not down."

Lauenberg, ordinarily one of the spryest hands
aboard, was still on deck. Now it was nervous work.
We remained there in the brisk shell fire, while a hatch
was pushed open, and Lauenberg streaked in.

*'Dive to twenty metres with all speed," I com-
manded. We did dive with such speed that we went
to sixty meters before we could check our descent.

Yes, those Q-shlps were no joke, especially as we
had to warn all ships before sinking them — that is we
had to approach on the surface and take a chance with
a craft that might be an armory of concealed guns.
The restriction about torpedoing, though, made little
difference to me, because I very rarely torpedoed a
ship even when It was authorized. I much preferred
the method of giving warning and doing my sinking
with gunfire or by placing explosives aboard. In that
way I saved torpedoes and, besides, I could accost the

VON ARNAULD'S TALE 147

lifeboats, look over the ship's papers, and get its name
and tonnage. Before a commander had a ship offi-
cially placed on his record he had to give its name as
proof of sinking. Many officers sank more tonnage
than appeared on their records because of their inabil-
ity to produce names and verification. The fact that
I nearly always gave warning may explain why my
record ran so high; that and the fact that my cruises
were not gauged by the length of time my torpedoes
lasted. I stayed out as long as I had shells and food
left.

One day I stopped a steamer. The tables on deck
were set for luncheon. Too bad I couldn't give the
guests time to sit down to their repast. Lifeboats
rowed away, and I was about to pop my latest capture
with a few shells at the water line. Through my
binoculars I saw a tiny figure scampering around the
well-set tables. It was a monkey, which was capering
in the liveliest way and sampling the dishes to its
heart's content. No doubt Jocko had never before
enjoyed such an opportunity.

*'Go aboard," I called to Lauenberg, "and rescue
the monkey."

Lauenberg stepped lively. He was always ready
for anything unusual. Away our dinghy went with
strong strokes of the oars. I continued to watch.
That monkey was amusing.

Lauenberg clambered on deck and went over to the
monkey. It was docile enough and made friends with
him. He petted it for a moment, then picked It up
and started down the ladder with it. That monk
didn't seem to like ladders or small boats or something.
I saw a kind of struggle. The Httle beast squirmed
loose and jumped back on deck, and Lauenberg shook
one hand with pain. The monkey had bitten him. I
was delighted. Lauenberg was a smart fellow, but
that monk was smarter. Back on deck went Lauen-

148 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

berg. It was fine to watch him chase that monkey,
coax it, and then make a grab for it. Finally he had
the Httle beast again, grasping it so that it could not
bite, and carried it struggling down the ladder. It
was now that Lauenberg demonstrated what a bright
fellow he was. He took the fight out of that monkey.
He nursed his bitten finger and sucked it, and with
the other hand held the monkey firmly by the neck.
Down he ducked it into the blue Mediterranean again
and again until the Httle beast was thoroughly cowed.
You never saw such a tame, submissive animal as that
monkey when it finally came aboard the U-boat.

The monkey became the pet and pampered favour-
ite aboard. Somebody gave her — she was a lady
monkey — the name of Fipps. What I saw of her
while she scampered around on the deserted luncheon
tables of the abandoned ship gave the clue to her char-
acter. She was an inveterate thief, with edibles as her
favourite plunder. She had a persistent hankering
after eggs, and used to stalk the larder with inexhausti-
ble patience and the deepest cunning. The cook was
always on the defensive. He had to guard the eggs
unceasingly. Unfortunately, he was a big fat fellow,
slow-witted and slow-footed, no match at all for Fipps.
He would be at work in the galley making pancakes,
and the moment his back was turned Fipps would
dart in and snatch an egg. If he caught her, she got
a beating. But he rarely was able to lay hands on
her. She knew that once she had her paws on an
egg and got a start she was safe. The cook would
chase her, bellowing curses, but she would leave him
far behind and scurry to the topmost foot of the
wireless mast, where she would suck the egg in peace.

We picked up an Italian steamer loaded with
bananas. As the vessel went down hundreds of
bananas floated off on the surface. The dinghy went
out and collected a boatload. We spread the bananas

pi'

C ihUi^r^'.^

Von Arnauld crosses a British merchantman, the Brisbane

River, out of Lloyds' s Register and then chalks up another

victim in his own game book.

"^^ ^<.V'.^^

r-«

V ^^; '%. ',^- .

m

\

A victim of the U-boat ace of aces photographed
by an Allied airman.

Towing ashore a boatload of survivors.

VON ARNAULD'S TALE 149

out to ripen a bit in the hot Mediterranean sun and
prayed that no pestilent destroyer might force us to
submerge and lose our precious fruit. We were for-
tunate and managed to gorge ourselves with bananas.
Nothing Hke Fipps, though. The yellow fruit seemed
to remind her of her tropical home. She leaped, chat-
tered, and shreiked with dehght, and ate more bananas
than I thought her small body would contain.

Fipps was mischievous, too. She used to nibble and
ruin my pencils and drink the ink in my inkwells. Once
she spilled a bottle of ink over the logbook of the
German Imperial Navy. A favourite trick of hers was
to play leap-frog over the men asleep in their ham-
mocks. We had a radio operator named Schmidt,
who had a majestic round face and ferocious whiskers.
When he slept it was like the sound of an airplane
motor. His whiskers and his snoring fascinated Fipps.
She would watch him for hours while he lay asleep
in his hammock, and would jump over him and on
him, and sometimes she got tangled in his whiskers.
One day there was a frightful commotion below. Fipps
had become enmeshed in Schmidt's beard in such a
complicated fashion that she nearly destroyed it. That
was too much. Schmidt was a patient fellow, but
when he had extracted Fipps from his whiskers, he
gave her a tremendous beating. From then on the
two were bitter, relentless enemies.

With the other men Fipps was on the most cordial
terms. She would nose her way into a pocket of the
officer on watch and sleep away there for hours at a
time. You could never tell whose bunk she would
pick for her night's rest, and many a time I woke up
with the monkey snuggled up beside me. We were
often afraid that we would lose her when we were
running awash and she was with the men on deck and
when we might have to dive. Several times I sent men
out to fetch her in. Once, though, there was no time.

150 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

A destroyer was coming at us and haste was necessary.
Fipps was outside.

"There goes Fipps," I said to myself regretfully,
and gave the order to dive. But just as the hatch was
being closed, Fipps dashed in.

We kept her for nearly a year. Then winter came
on and she caught a cold. I had heard that monkeys
were likely to get tuberculosis and in winter a U-boat
is damp, chill quarters. I sent her up to Berlin with
a sailor who was going home on leave, and he put
her in the zoo there. Several years later, after the
war was over, I went to visit Fipps. She was in her
cage there, with a plate saying she had been presented
to the zoo by the officers and men of our boat. Alas,
she had forgotten me, and she gazed blankly at me
as if I were any stranger.

"She's a grandmother now," the keeper told me.

Many of the U-boats had pets. Dogs, of course,
were common. The strangest case of animals aboard
a submarine was that of Commander Kukat's boat,
which had two camels. Kukat was one of the com-
manders who took U-boats to the North African
coast to help in a native revolution that was being
stirred up against the Italians in Tripoli. He carried
a consignment of gold to one of the principal revolting
Arab sheiks. The sheik, in grateful return, presented
him with two young camels. Kukat put the camels in
the mine room, and took them across the Mediter-
ranean back to Pola, where he placed them in the local
zoological park.

It often turns out that some of the most important
events are the least exciting. My record cruise, for
instance, was quite tame and humdrum. It lasted for
a few days over three weeks, from July 26 to August
20, 1916, and covered a wide sweep of the Mediter-
ranean. We sank fifty-four ships, a record for one
cruise. On returning to harbour, I used to fly little

VON ARNAULD'S TALE 151

flags as scalplocks, one for each ship we had sunk.
When the U-35 put into port at Pola with fifty-four
pennants flying, the harbour went wild. Yet we had
encountered no spectacular adventures. It was ordi-
nary routine. We stopped ships. The crews took to
the boats. We examined the ship's papers, gave sail-
ing instructions to the nearest land, and then sank the
captured prizes.

The toughest nut to crack was the British sub-
marine chaser the Primola, and I shall never cease
admiring her skipper. She was a small craft, scarcely
worth a torpedo, but the situation was such that if we
did not get her she might possibly get us. The tor-
pedo hit her in the bow, and her foremast went clat-
tering down. We gaped with wide eyes at what that
boat proceeded to do. Her engines reversed and she
started to back at full speed, coming at us and trying
to ram us with her stern. All credit to her skipper
for what was a brilliant manoeuvre. The Primola
steamed backward with such speed that it kept the
pressure of the water from her shattered fore part,
else she would have sunk at once, and at the same
time we had to step lively or she would have crashed
into us.

I loosed another torpedo. The Primola, still with
reversed speed, swung around so as to avoid the mis-
sile. The torpedo missed, and the damaged boat con-
tinued trying to ram us.

*'ril get you yet," I muttered, exasperated.

Another torpedo; that craft with a shattered bow
was as slippery as an eel. The torpedo missed. That
sort of thing could not go on forever. The fourth
torpedo hit, and the Primola sank. Four torpedoes
for that tiny wasp — I didn't want to come up with any
more Primolas.

Two important entries on my list were the French
transports, the Provence and the Gallia, The sinking

152 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of the Gallia was a frightful affair. She was bound
with three thousand troops and a large quantity of
artillery for the Allied army at Saloniki. Eighteen
hundred and fifty-two men and officers were lost. The
picture of that foundering vessel sticks in my mind
with an undiminished horror.

It seemed so impossible, in the first place, that we
should hit her. I had only one torpedo left in a stern
tube. With her deck crowded with soldiers, she was
zigzagging and making good speed, eighteen knots
perhaps. Manoeuvre as I would, I could not get a
good shot, her zigzagging was so baffling. Then sud-
denly she turned in such a fashion that I could get an
exceedingly difficult and almost impossible shot. It
was at a distance of 900 yards and at an almost hope-
less angle. It seemed our only chance. The torpedo
went its way. We dived to the depths, to avoid being
rammed. Nobody believed we would score a hit.
Then — ping — the high little sound as the torpedo hit,
and immediately afterward the boom of the explosion.
Up to periscope depth we went, and I looked through
the eyepiece at an appalling sight.

A column of water had shot Into the air from the
explosion. I witnessed the sight of a great ship mov-
ing so fast that it left the column of water behind It.
There was a wild panic on the stricken vessel's crowded
deck. Lifeboats were being lowered by men too much
in a panic to let them down slowly and safely. Hun-
dreds of soldiers were jumping into the water and
swimming around. The sea became a terrible litter of
overturned lifeboats, overcrowded and swamped life-
boats, and strugghng men.

My own men were crowding about me in the con-
ning tower. I let them take a look in the periscope,
one after another. Some gazed impassively, others
grew pale, some grunted, others cried out in horror.
*'Ach Gottf" a deep guttural cry burst from the throat

VON ARNAULD'S TALE 153

of the fat cook. The barbaric beard of Schmidt, the
radio operator, shook with excitement. A ghastly-
scene on the surface above — and a strange scene in
the conning tower — with Fipps the monkey leaping
about from instrument to instrument, infected with
the general agitation.

Shadowed against the setting sun, the big Gallia
plunged stern first. Her bow shot high in the air. She
poised like that for an instant and then went down
like a rocket. Rescue boats were coming up, and we
had to scurry away. With that difficult angular tor-
pedo shot, itself a feat of marksmanship, I had caused
one of France's greatest naval disasters. After what I
had seen, I did not feel elated.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE TORPEDO THAT JUMPED OVER
A U-BOAT

It was in November of 1917 that the incredible
adventure occurred, the one that sounds like a fish
story, a whopper. We had been out on a long cruise
in the Mediterranean and were on our way back to
port. The Italians had a heavy patrol of destroyers
across the Straits of Otranto, the mouth of the Adri-
atic. That was our last danger to surmount, and then
a fairly safe run to Cattaro. We slipped through the
destroyer net at night without anything exciting hap-
pening, and everybody felt fine. After a long, trying
submarine cruise, harbour and land are pleasant to
think about. We were all eager for shore, and I
decided to run the rest of the way to Cattaro above
water. With our slow speed, submerged it would take
two or three days. With surface speed, we could make
Cattaro by nightfall. I had been up all night and was
dead tired. I went below for a few hours of sleep,
leaving on the bridge my watch officer and with him
Prince Siglsmund, the son of Prince Henry of Prussia
and nephew of the Kaiser. He was a capable young
chap, inteUIgent and full of fine spirit, who had set out
to learn something about the submarine business. I
had taken him on cruise with orders to see that he got
all the experience possible. He got it all right that
very day we swung along up the Adriatic toward
Cattaro.

Below I saw the crew going about their duties,

154

THE TORPEDO THAT JUMPED 155

unkempt and unshaven, dirty. What pigs we were
In those submarines 1 There was never room to carry
enough water. The bathing allowance was a few cup-
fuls doled out every Sunday morning. We cleaned up
once a week, and then we did not get halfway clean.
It hurt my eyes to look at my men, they were so like
tramps, we were on our way home, and they might as
well tidy up a bit, if only very superficially.

"Clean up, men, we'll be in port to-night,*' and I
ordered the last of our water supply to be divided
among them.

The amazing thing happened half an hour later,
while I was dozing off. Prince Siglsmund and Lauen-
berg were on the bridge when they saw at a distance
of forty yards to the starboard a few inches of peri-
scope sticking above the surface of the water. A
streak on the water — a torpedo. It was coming
straight at the boat. The distance was so short that
there was no time to manoeuvre to avoid the missile.
Nothing could be done, absolutely nothing. The two
men stared aghast, petrified, gazing at certain destruc-
tion, which was right upon them. The torpedo was
perfectly aimed. It was headed straight amidships.

Then the torpedo leaped out of the water. When
a dozen yards away it rose from the water like a flying
fish. To hit a submarine with a torpedo you have to
set the missile for a shallow run. This one had been
set for too shallow a run and had done what a tor-
pedo in that circumstance Is likely to do— popped out
of the water. It described a graceful arc and landed
on our deck. It slid, with a loud clattering on the steel
plates, kept on Its way, plunged Into the water on the
other side, and continued Its journey. It had struck the
deck just forward of the conning tower, between the
conning tower and the forward gun. The space there
Is only four feet. A little either to the right or the left,
and It would have struck its detonating nose against

156 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the tower or the gun, and we would have all disap-
peared from this troubled world right then and there.

The loud banging as the torpedo had struck the
deck and rattled across awakened me in my bunk below.
I thought one of our masts had fallen down, and
scrambled up to the bridge. When I got there I did
not ask any immediate questions about the cause of
the racket. Prince Sigismund and Lauenberg were as
white as a pair of ghosts. Their eyes, wide with con-
sternation, were held spellbound, staring at a point
over the side of the bridge. I followed their gaze.
There, right beside our boat, was a periscope. I had
scarcely spied the periscope when I saw a streak ap-
proaching us on the few yards of intervening water — a
torpedo.

*'Helm hard aport." I gave the order out of Instinc-
tive habit. It meant nothing. No earthly power
could have swerved the boat in such a way as to get it
to one side or the other of the path of the torpedo.
The missile was coming directly toward us. Dreadful,
agonizing moments. Nothing happened. The tor-
pedo passed under us, but not more than a few Inches,
I am sure. The enemy, seeing his first torpedo jump
over our boat, decided not to set the second one for
too high a run. He aimed It too low.

Five seconds later and another torpedo tracked its
way through the water, but by now my order 'hard
aport' was being obeyed and the U-35 was swinging
around. The torpedo ploughed through the water
right beside us. I think I could have touched It with
my hand. On its heels a fourth one came, but by now
we were zigzagging away.

Prince Sigismund and Lauenberg still stood like a
couple of statues, their appalled bewilderment wearing
off slowly. When they told me about the torpedo that
jumped onto our deck and snaked across — well, it was
a good thing I knew them both to be quite sane ancJ

THE TORPEDO THAT JUMPED 157

truthful men. And there was visible evidence of the
truth of it. On the deck was a low rail. It was bent
where the torpedo had grazed It.

The crew was In an uproar below. The men did
not know what was going on, but something was hap-
pening. When they were told about the torpedo play-
ing leap-frog on our deck, they would not beheve it.
They thought the story was the product of imagina-
tions overwrought by the strain of the encounter with
the other submarine. It took the sight of the bent
rail to convince them.

My petty officer of navigation was an old sub-
marine man. He was capable, phlegmatic, and had
what seemed to be nerves of steel. He knew U-boats
from A to Z. He had experienced everything that
could possibly happen In the life of a submarine man.
Nothing could disturb his stolidity. But this was too
much, the last straw.

*'When I begin to see torpedoes bouncing up on
our deck, then I am through,'* he said. "The next time
I will see a British submarine, periscope, depth rud-
ders, and all come vaulting over us. I'm through !"

And he was through. He refused to go on cruise
again, and got himself transferred to shore duty.

In harbour our comrades thought we were spoof-
ing them, but there was still the evidence of the bent
rail. I never heard whether the submarine that
attacked us was Italian, French, or British. I think
it must have been British. I don't believe either the
Italians or the French had boats that could have dis-
charged four torpedoes In such quick succession.

Slipping through Gibraltar was always a ticklish
piece of business. The British had the straits pro-
tected with nets, mines, and patrols of destroyers. I
always preferred to go through on the surface at
night, rather than take a chance with nets and sub-
merged bombs. The searchlights played across the

158 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

entire width of the neck of water, but It was possible to
sneak through by hugging the African coast. One trip,
though, brought us to the point where we were ready
to say *'hello" to Davy Jones. We had been on a
three weeks' cruise in the Atlantic. Incidentally, I had
on board five skippers from British ships we had sunk,
taking them back to Cattaro as prisoners of war. The
sun was sinking behind the jutting rock of Gibraltar
as we approached the strait. We nosed our way in
the dusk that settled along the African coast. The
searchlights of Gibraltar were already sweeping over
the water like great pointing fingers of light. Out on
deck the men of the crew with the sharpest eyes were
peering in the gathering darkness. Those British skip-
pers were seeing war from the other side of the fence.

^'Destroyer — port side!" one of the men in front
of me exclaimed.

I saw a destroyer bearing down on us at a speed of
twenty-five knots. I judged she was trying to ram us.
Seemingly she had not seen us, not venturing to show
a searchlight with a U-boat around, but was guided
merely by the sound of our motors, iFor she missed us
by a hundred yards. As the vessel shot across our
bows, one of those wandering, glistening beams from
the rock across the strait caught her and illuminated
her with a glowing distinctness. She was so near that
I could hear the commands of the officers on her deck.
We were hidden In Impenetrable shadow, and she
caught no glimpse of us.

The best policy for us was to press on at our top-
surface speed, so we stayed above water. A second
destroyer lying at anchor picked us out in the darkness.
She could not take up the hunt, but signalled our posi-
tion both to the first destroyer and to the searchlights.
And now ensued a weird hunt. The first destroyer
charged around on the black water In the hope of ram-
ming us. Now she was on one side and then on the

THE TORPEDO THAT JUMPED 159

other. The searchlights sought us, too. The long
spokes of light moved like great frantic arms. The
streaks of light on the water swept in wide arcs. The
U-35 kept on her way through the infernal net of
charging destroyers and darting beams. The destroy-
ers* blind lunges missed us, and the searchhghts did
not pick us out.

It was on this voyage that we had a movie man
along. Poor devil! His face still haunts me. Pea
green it was most of the time. You see, he had never
before gone to sea on a submarine, and he was a suf-
ferer from mal de mer in Its most virulent form.
Usually he stuck to his camera crank as a real film
hero should. Shells and bullets and oncoming tor-
pedoes could not drive him from it. But sea sickness
did. There were times when he longed for a shell
to come along with his name written on it, to end it all.
Then, when Neptune waved his wand and stilled the
rolling deep, that cinema man was a hero once more.
If we got into a rough-and-tumble gun-fight with an
armed ship he would take his own sweet time and
would coolly refocus his magic box and switch lenses
as though it were a hocus-pocus battle on location
instead of grim reality.

Probably you have had a look at his films. The
final finished product had an adventurous history. A
copy was sent up to German headquarters on the West-
ern Front in April of 1917, so the Kaiser and his gen-
erals and even large numbers of the combat troops
might see what we were doing at sea. But the British
somehow captured that copy. They in turn had a
duplicate negative made of It and then, I understand,
had positives shown In cinema theatres all over the
world.

One of the first scenes In that authentic U-boat
film shows oiir encounter with the 3,000-ton British
steamer Parkgate, bound from Gibraltar to Malta.

160 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

We sighted her just off Sardinia and sent a shot across
her bows. After a hot chase we overhauled her and
sent up a signal flag to inform them :

**Send over a boat with captain aboard."

When their lifeboat rowed alongside, fifteen or
twenty sailors helped the skipper to his feet. His hat
blew off and one of his lads tossed it after him. When
he got on deck I noticed that he was slightly wounded
and rather more than slightly under the influence of
liquor.

*'YouVe had something to drink," I remarked as I
glanced over his ship's papers and informed him that
he would have to remain and cruise with us as our
guest.

"Yes, I have," he responded, "and so would you if
you were chased by a U-boat and had shells whistling
about your ears, and had nothing under your feet but
a ship like mine."

With that he staggered down the stairs. It all
shows in that film. Then we sunk a great string of
ships, among them the India, carrying coal from Eng-
land to Morocco for the French men-of-war; the
Italian Stromholi loaded with copper and iron; the
Patagonier, an Englishman on her way over from
Cuba with a precious cargo of sugar, and many others.
But we only kept five of the skippers as prisoners. All
of these were typical British captains, rather taciturn,
now very unkempt, of course, and secretly, no doubt,
tremendously interested in the workings and manoeu-
vres of our under-sea raider. When we got them to
Cattaro and turned them over to the authorities, one
of the captains voluntarily did a very decent thing
in writing me a letter of appreciation.

Since the evening I spent with Von Arnauld de la
Perlere and his U-boat colleagues in Wilhelmshaven I
have talked with a number of British naval officers

THE TORPEDO THAT JUMPED 161

regarding him. All were high In their praise, not only
of his remarkable courage, daring, and abihty, but
also of his sportsmanship. And praise from his

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adversaries In this case Is praise Indeed because Com-
mander Lothar von Arnauld wrought terrific havoc
to British shipping and played a greater part than
any other one U-boat raider in disrupting the vital

162 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

arteries of commerce that very nearly meant the
difference between life and death to the British Em-
pire. He is mentioned in countless British books, offi-
cial and otherwise. And in not one of them did I find
him accused of that brutality in submarine warfare
which was laid at the door of some of the other Ger-
man under-sea commanders. One reason why his
enemies had so many gracious things to say about him
was that he rarely, if ever, took advantage of the
invisibihty of his craft by sending torpedoes from a
submerged position. He usually came right up to the
surface and fought it out.

I might also add an extra little bit of praise of my
own to that given Von Arnauld by his adversaries. I
was impressed by his modesty. If in recalhng an inci-
dent he happened to be puzzled about something, or
if he got into a tight place through some fault of his
own, he never hesitated to say so. Some U-boat com-
manders almost lead one to believe that no situation
was ever too much for them. But not Von Arnauld.

CHAPTER XIX

THE MIGHTY CORNWALLIS ZIGZAGS TO
ITS DOOM

During the campaign of the raiders of the deep In
the Mediterranean there were a couple of incidents
that help to explain the odium cast on the U-boat
commanders. The feehng was based, first of all, on
the practise of torpedoing without warning under the
orders of unrestricted warfare. Cases of that sort,
with the Lusitania as the most startling instance,
aroused world-wide protest and brought upon the
U-boat commanders the epithets of pirates, murder-
ers, and wolves of the sea.

But, as always happens In every war, there were
cases where atrocities seemed to have been done, when
the case was not as It appeared. Ships struck mines
and went down, when It seemed as If they had been
torpedoed. The sinking of S. S. Britannic was a case
In point and was one of the instances which got the
Germans an ugly reputation for sinking hospital ships.
I have information of that sinking from Commander
Gustav Siess. After his first trip out with Hansen on
the U-41 y he became the skipper of the first big mine-
laying submarine, the U-73, This was an experimental
craft and hard to handle, with engines too small for
her tonnage. Nevertheless, she made the voyage from
Kiel to the Mediterranean and did some effective
mine-laying there.

"On our way to the Austrian port of Cattaro,"
Commander Siess relates, "we lingered for a while in

163

164 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

front of the main British Mediterranean war port at
Malta. We laid thirty-six mines about fifty metres
apart directly in front of the harbour where British
warships would be the most likely to strike them. We
did the job at night and were not molested.

**The next morning, as we later learned, the big
British battleship Russell ran afoul of one of our
souvenirs and sank. I understand that she had Ad-
miral Fremantle aboard. He was saved. A patrol
boat and a mine layer were the next victims and then
a transport with six hundred men aboard.

^'Another of the mines laid by the U-73 off the coast
of Greece sank one of England's greatest ships, the
48,000-ton liner Britannic, the largest vessel of any
kind that went down during the war. Unfortunately,
she was a hospital ship, plainly marked and all that —
but mines do not choose. It was a part of the fortunes
of war that we, the submarine commanders, sometimes
had infamy thrust upon us for the work done by
mines."

One U-boat commander was listed for a murder
trial because of an incident in which he declares that
he conducted himself with scrupulous regard for the
laws of humanity. He was Commander Kurt Hart-
wig, who afterward bagged the battleship Cornwallis
and who had had a career of truly wild romance. He
was an officer aboard the cruiser Dresden, which was
the only German ship to escape from the battle of the
Falklands, in which the overpowering guns of Brit-
ish battle cruisers sent Admiral von Speeds squadron to
the bottom. The Dresden made its way around Cape
Horn into the Pacific, only to be sunk by the British
in Chilean waters off the island of San Juan Fernandez.
The crew escaped to the Island. Of them Hartwig was
one who contrived to make an adventurous trip back
to wartime Germany, where, not content with perils
already encountered, he went into the U-boat service.

Kurt Hartwig and his victim y H. M. S. Cornwallis, the famous
British battleship that fired the first shell at the Dardanelles.

Getting out of the way of the ram bow oj an
oncoming destroyer.

Raining depth bombs on the unseen Joe.

THE MIGHTY CORN JV ALUS 165

That was just after Von Arnauld had made his record
cruise on which he sank 91,000 tons of AUied shipping.
The German staff immediately dispatched four more
U-boats to the Mediterranean, and Kapitanleutnant
Hartwig was in command of one of them.

"I sank the Italian ship, Porto di Rodi, in the Ionian
Sea," he told me. "The crew took to their boats.
Shore was distant and the sea was rough. I doubted
whether they could get to land safely. Anyway, it
would have been a long hard row in the ugly sea. I
took the hfeboats in tow and off we went. The coast
finally loomed in sight and everything seemed satisfac-
tory. The lifeboats had only a short pull before them.
The Italians were grateful and we parted with a
friendly leave-taking. The U-boat headed out to sea
and the last we saw of the crew of the Porto di Rodi
was distant lifeboats pulling lustily for shore.

**A bare few minutes later a vicious storm hit us.
It gave us a thorough lashing, but what stuck in my
mind was the question of those lifeboats. It was too
late to go back to their aid. I doubted if they could
weather that violent squall, but there was nothing to
do but hope they would get safely to land. I learned
it was a vain hope when, sometime later, I saw my
name on the ^murderers* list' in connection with the
sinking of the Porto di Rodi. The boats had been
lost. Nothing was known of my provisions for the
safety of the crew. It was thought that I had sunk
the ship with all on board."

Another prime incident of this period of warfare
in the Mediterranean, and one very much within the
law, came in January of 1917, when Kurt Hartwig
got the big British battleship Cornwallis.

Off the cliffs of Malta. A brilliant morning. The
sea stretches away with that deep, glowing blue which
makes the Mediterranean splendid. A German U-boat

166 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

idles along awash. The lookout on deck shouts a
warning:

*'Smoke on the horizon.'*

There is a dull misty smudge on the skyline. The
sea closes rippling over steel deck and conning tower.
The distant shadowy blot on the clear blue of sky
magnifies and deepens. Funnels come into view and
a formidable bulk. It*s a big battleship. Its guns
point in a menacing series, and it flies the war ensign
of Great Britain. The huge ship zigzags from side
to side, and around it circles a swift destroyer, search-
ing the expanse of water for the sign of a periscope.

There is a periscope yonder, but it is far distant
now, and it has disappeared before battleship and
destroyer have come near enough to see. Below the
surface in the conning tower the big blond Hartwig
slaps his broad chest with elation. The same Com-
mander Kurt Hartwig who had been put on the
''murderer's list" by the Allies after the sinking of the
Porto di Rodi.

"She's coming as if she were catapulted right at us,"
he cries. "She'll run us down if we're not careful.
We don't have to move ten feet for a shot."

The battleship, indeed, seems bent on its doom. Its
zigzagging course is carrying it hard upon the subma-
rine. Hartwig shows his periscope for fleeting instants.
She is the great British battleship Cornwallis, the
giant which fired the first shell in the bombardment
of the Dardanelles. It is too easy. He has no diffi-
culty in getting into a position where the leviathan
will thunder along across his stern not two hundred
and fifty feet away. A dead shot for any skillful
marksman with torpedoes.

Two stern torpedoes leave the tubes. A bubbling
on the surface and the white track of the missiles is
seen. Two heavy explosions in rapid succession. The
battleship is hit in the engine rooms. The U-boat is

THE MIGHTY CORN JV ALUS 161

plunging to a hundred feet. Hartwig expects the
destroyer to come rushing. It does. A crash to one
side, and the submarine shakes ominously. A ringing
explosion overhead. Another somewhat farther away.
The music of the depth charges is not pleasant. ^ The
U-boat is scooting away under water as fast as it can
and loses the sound of exploding bombs.

Thirty minutes drag on, slowly, blindly under the
sea. Then a periscope pops up on the surface. The
battleship is lying deep in the water, but not listing.
The destroyer is taking survivors aboard. The peri-
scope is spied. Instantly the destroyer is around and
charging. She hopes to ram the submerged enemy.
She strikes nothing. The U-boat has dived and is
clear. As the destroyer passes over the place where
the periscope was seen she drops a sprinkling of depth
charges off her stern. Again the men in the iron shell
a hundred feet below the surface of the sea listen to
the menacing rhythm of the bombs. They are lucky —
explosions on all sides but none near enough to damage.

**We'll have to hit her again," Hartwig turns to
his watch officer. *'She won't sink, and they'll take
her in tow.''

They would, doubtless. Malta is only twenty miles
away and the stricken battleship seems in good enough
condition to be towed that far.

"If that destroyer would only let us alone," mur-
murs the watch officer.

But of course the destroyer won't. That would be
too much magnanimity.

The battleship is stationary now, a still target, and
a long shot is possible. The periscope shows momen-
tarily in the distance and is not seen. Once or twice
more it is thrust above the blue water. And now
bubbles and a torpedo track from a distance of almost
three quarters of a mile. It is seen long before it is
near the helpless giant. There is nothing to do. The

168 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

ship cannot move an inch, much less swing around to
avoid the missile. The only thing that can possibly be
done is for the destroyer to chase out there where the
torpedo track was first seen. It goes, charging like
an angry bull.

The sea mammoth, Impotent, unmoving, waiting for
the deadly blow. The torpedo strikes the engine room
again with a sickening explosion. The stricken mon-
ster shakes as with a dying convulsion and lists to one
side. A mile away and a hundred feet below the placid
surface of the Mediterranean men listen to popping
detonations. The sounds are weak. The depth bombs
are exploding far away. The U-boat is able to get
a safe start before the destroyer arrives to drop its
affectionate message.

Half an hour later the periscope peeps cautiously.
The battleship Is lying over on one side. Its crew is
aboard the destroyer and in lifeboats lying alongside.
In a submerged conning tower a brief colloquy is
spoken.

"Shall we get the destroyer?" asks the watch officer.

*'No," replies Hartwig, "a battleship Is enough for
one day.'*

*'Ja, ja/* the watch officer assents gladly.

It would be too inhuman, even for the submarine
warfare, to torpedo the destroyer crammed with sur-
vivors of the battleship— although that swift, buzzing
craft had been a pestilential hornet.

The radio operator reports a radio message he has
picked up:

"H. M. S. Cornwallis sunk by submarine.'*

CHAPTER XX

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN AND THE
PHANTOM SUBMARINE

In England navy men said to us, "See Spiegel; he*s
a fine chap." They knew him both as an adversary
and a prisoner. And so in Berlin we looked up Adolf
Karl Georg Edgar, Baron Spiegel von und zu Peckel-
sheim, who is very much of the creme de la creme of
the German titled nobility.

In an apartment at Charlottenburg (everybody in
Berlin seems to live in an apartment) we sat and
talked and had dinner: Baron von Spiegel, who looks
like a young very well-turned-out Englishman, his
pretty Baroness, and her nephew, the son of Admiral
Tagert, who during the war was German Chief of
Staff at Constantinople. It was a lavishly furnished
place, with a fortune In pictures and furnishings, the
dinner was fit for any epicure, and the talk — well.
Baron von SpIegePs career has been sufficiently varied.
A social figure in German aristocratic life, he sought
adventure In far lands and took part in a native revo-
lution In New Guinea. As a naval officer In the hal-
cyon days before the war, he saw life and gaiety In
many a strange port. Then he became a raider of the
deep and a prisoner of the British, and finally engaged
in the ups and downs of commerce. After the war
he started to build a fortune in the shipping business.
The German financial collapse hit him hard. He
turned to the automobile trade to recoup, and now is
making good as the German representative of the

169

170 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

American Graham-Paige car. The Barents narration
was woven around a familiar theme, Friday the 13th:

I am a sailor, and a sailor is supposed to be super-
stitious. I went to sea, not romantically before the
mast, but as a cadet officer in the good old days when
the life of an officer in the German Navy was a kind
of idyll, with a gay social career, fine cruises all over
the world, and nothing to worry about. Nevertheless,
although I did not learn the tradition of the forecastle
among the Jack Tars themselves, I saw enough of the
sea and gathered enough of its moody lore to know
that Friday the 13th is unlucky. Perhaps you are a
landlubber and don't believe it. Go to sea and you'll
find out.

The year was 1915, the month January, the date
the 13th, and the day of the week Friday. The naval
authorities should have known better, but then admi-
rals have a way of not paying much attention to the
ideas and preferences of seamen. Three U-boats
put out from Wilhelmshaven for a cruise of the North
Sea, the U-22 under Commander Hoppe, the 11-31
under Commander Wachendorff, and my boat, the
U'32, I will tell you the story of these three craft
that stood out to sea that morning of Friday the 13th.

Of my boat there is little to relate. We had
merely a straight, consistent run of ordinary bad luck.
Our mission was to lie off the mouth of the Thames
and see if we could not strike some small blow at
Britain's naval might. From the day we left to the
day we returned the most terrible storms raged. Our
gauge for measuring the force of the wind was num-
bered from one to twelve. We registered eleven time
after time. The waves broke incessantly over our
conning tower, and as for the deck, it was the scene of
one continual deluge, where every man had to be
lashed down. Between that and the unbelievable

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN 171

pitching of the boat we had an epidemic of broken
arms, legs, and shoulders. We were at sea for nine
days and did not sight one single solitary ship. We
put back into port on the 22d, and neither of the two
other boats had returned. We worried more and
more as day after day went by and no sign of them.

Five days later the news flashed that the 17-22 was
coming in. On our boat we all crowded on deck and
cheered and waved as the missing craft steered toward
the mooring place. Men and officers stood on the
deck of the oncoming craft, but no sign of response
did they give our hearty greeting. They were like
graven images. Their faces were white and drawn.
They looked like a phantom crew back from the realm
of death. Hoppe, the commander, had unforgettable
lines of horror in his face.

The U-22 docked. Hoppe, moving like an au-
tomaton, stepped onto the pier and made his way to
the flotilla chief. He saluted with a stiff jerky move-
ment.

*'I have to report," he addressed his superior officer
in a breaking voice, "I have to report that I have tor-
pedoed the U-7. There is one survivor, a member of
the crew."

The commander of the 17-7 was George Koenig,
Hoppe's best friend. The two men had been insepa-
rable for years. When you saw Koenig you always
looked for Hoppe. They ate together, drank to-
gether, and what belonged to one belonged also to the
other.

It was the custom to inform U-boat commanders
by wireless of the presence of other U-boats in their
vicinity. Something had slipped up. Hoppe had
caught no message that Koenig was operating in his
own zone. Submarine ahoy! It was running awash in
the distance. All under-sea craft look alike, friend or
enemy, when seen from afar. To make sure, Hoppe

172 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

sent up signal lights, but it was late afternoon and
Hoppe was looking straight into the sun. He could
not see the answering signals that Koenig sent. An-
other signal and another response, and again it was
invisible to Hoppe. He thought the craft was an
Englishman, submerged, and made a perfect torpedo
attack. A violent explosion, and an iron hulk dropped
to the bottom.

Hoppe hastened to the scene of the sinking. One
man was swimming in the boiling sea. The men of the
U-22 hauled him aboard, and instantly Hoppe saw on
his cap the inslgnium Deutsche Unterseehoots Flottille
of the U-7, the boat commanded by his lifelong friend,
Koenig.

Two years later Hoppe was killed when his U-boat
was destroyed by the Q-ship commanded by the fa-
mous Gordon Campbell.

The third boat, the 17-31, never came back. Weeks
and months went by and nothing was heard of her.
She had simply vanished, and we supposed she had
struck a mine. Six months later she created sensations
as *'the phantom submarine."

You know the old case of the ship manned by dead
men. During the war the instance was known of an
airplane rushing around in the sky with a dead man
at the stick. And now for the dead men's submarine.

A U-boat above water nosed its way slowly along.
Nothing seemed amiss. It looked trim and menacing,
as if ready to dive and launch a torpedo at any mo-
ment. It was drifting before the wind, though, and
finally ran ashore on the eastern coast of England.
Astonished fisherman sent out an alarm. Naval men
came hurrying. The U-boat lay rocking, aground on
a sand bar. They boarded the craft, took her in tow
to harbour and dock, and discovered an eerie riddle.

The U-boat, which was the same JJ-Sl that had
left port that Friday the 13th six months before,

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN 173

was In perfect order. She might be on active cruise,
save for one thing. Officers and men were in their
bunks and hammocks, as if asleep — they were dead.
In the log the last entry was dated six months before.
The boat, the daily account showed, had steered out
of Wilhelmshaven on one of the early U-boat cruises
of war. It had encountered no untoward happening.
Its voyage had been ordinary and uneventful. The
record made humdrum reading, until it suddenly broke
off that day six months before, and after that a mys-
terious blank.

It was a nine day's wonder. This dead man's boat
had seemingly been cruising around for six months
over the heavily patroled waters of the North Sea.
It sounded like a case of spooks. Naval men could
find only one explanation for the unearthly phenome-
non, and this explanation is no doubt the true one.

The U-boat had gone to the bottom for the night,
as was often done. Officers and men had turned in
to sleep, while the craft lay securely on the floor of
the sea. In that case, one man would very likely have
been left on guard, but he may have been tempted to
take a comfortable nap, too: a nap from which he
never awoke. Poison gases, such as submarines, par-
ticularly of the older types, were likely to generate,
had crept into the places where the men lay and had
suffocated them as they slept. Then the boat lay on
the bottom. The compressed air leaked little by little.
As month after month went by it gradually blew the
tanks, until, finally, the boat was buoyant enough to
rise to the surface. Its resting place on the bottom
had been near the coast, and in a few hours it had
drifted to shore.

That was the prize ghostly episode In the tale of
the raiders of the deep.

You would have thought that would have been
enough of Friday the 13th. I made a solemn vow

174 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

never again to sail on that ill-omened day. Neverthe-
less, in spite of vows, sense, and wisdom, my last cruise
began on Friday the 13th. I might have known it
would be the last. At any rate, it brought my voyages
under the sea to an abrupt close and in a most unex-
pected and startling way. It was in April of 1917, an
eventful month which saw the outbreak of the Easter
rebellion in Ireland and the surrender of General
Townshend at Kut-el-Amara in Mesopotamia.

Before this cruise I went to a hospital, where I
was sent to rest up and be treated for a case of weak
heart. Submarine men were likely to break down with
nerve strain of some kind or other and were constantly
being sent away to recuperate. The ordeal of life
aboard the U-boats, with the constant stress of peril
and terror, was too much for human flesh to bear for
long stretches. Some men went mad. Others, after
periods of rest and medication, came around and were,
or perhaps were not, fit for under-sea service again.
All felt the grinding pressure. I recall receiving a
present just before going out on a cruise. It was from
a manufacturer of nerve tonic and consisted of a case
of his medicine. An appropriate gift it was. My case
of weak heart was enough to confine me to a sani-
tarium for several weeks. It was in 1916. I had been
in the U-boat service since before the war and had
faced the music, all kinds of music, and most unpleas-
ant music.

The weak heart had not been helped by one par-
ticular incident. We were dodging destroyers and
sneaking along under water. And then something hit
me. A terrible blow on the head, and I lost conscious-
ness. I came to in a few seconds and quickly realized
what had happened. We had made the acquaintance
of a mine. The explosion had knocked me down and
crashed my head on the floor. I was sure we were
sinking. A submarine doesn't hit a mine and go se-

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN 175

renely on Its way. But no, the boat was sound and
water-tight. Word came from the helmsman that he
could not steer. I soon realized that we were In a net.
We had not hit the mine directly. We were attached
to the net and the mine had exploded near us.

We tore our way out of the net, and then came the
worst of it. We found ourselves In a predicament of
a sort that had occurred before In the case of other
U-boats. We were swathed In the net and were drag-
ging it along with us. The big, snake-like cork float
that had supported it trailed along behind us on the
surface of the water. Naturally, the destroyers up
there did not miss the Interesting sight of the float
running along on the surface of the water. They fol-
lowed us around, and we knew It from the sound of
their propellers. It was only at nightfall that we
could get rid of those disagreeable bloodhounds that
were sticking to our trail up there.

I came out of the sanitarium feeling quite chipper
and ready for another under-water assignment and
was straightway given command of the U-93, a big
modern boat. I took most of my old crew with me.
We knew each other thoroughly, had been in many a
tight corner together, and there was a fine brotherly
feeling among us. We put the U-93 through several
weeks of practice drills, and then cruising orders came.
We were to stand out from Emden on Friday, April
13, 1917.

The crew were ready for mutiny when they heard
It, and I had to use my best persuasions to quiet them
down.

"Boys," I made them a speech, "you are all wrong
about this. This Is all superstition and foolishness.
Only a Dummkopf would pay any attention to It. But
even if Friday is unlucky and the 13th Is unlucky, why
then one piece of bad luck counteracts the other, just
like two weights In a balance."

176 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

They didn't think much of what I said, and neither
did I. That Friday the 13th business was bad, and I
knew it. I went to our flotilla chief and asked him
to phone Wilhelmshaven and beg permission for us to
put off our saiHng until the 14th. He telephoned.
Permission refused. I could scarcely keep the crew
from an open outbreak.

We put out from Emden on the 13th, and arrived
at Heligoland that evening. We passed the night
there, and in the morning I made another address to
the men.

"We can consider," I said, "that we are sailing on
the 14th. Are we not starting out now? And is this
not the 14th?"

They grumbled and muttered and still were not
convinced. Neither was I.

We steered through the North Sea, past the Shet-
land Islands and into the Atlantic. The weather was
abominable. Day after day it stormed with shrieking
wind and raging sea. On top of that, we had to run
submerged most of the time. We had to dodge an
unusually large number of patrol vessels, destroyers,
and trawlers.

"Yes, yes," I heard the crew growling, "Friday the
13th."

In the Atlantic the weather changed to warm,
gentle winds and brilliant sunshine. We cruised back
and forth across the shipping lanes, but caught sight
of nothing to attack. Five days passed and we spied
not a single craft of any description.

"Friday the 13th," grumbled the crew.

On the fifth day we at last met a vessel — a German
U-boat. It was the 11-43^ under Commander Juerst,
a good friend and quite a paladin among the under-sea
skippers. Quite recently he had struck a notable blow
against the enemy. The U-43 raided the waters in
front of the Russian Arctic port of Archangel, through

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN 111

which sorely needed supplies were pouring into hard-
pressed Russia. Juerst wreaked havoc among the
ships loaded with supplies and munitions, sank vessel
after vessel, and ran his tonnage list way up. Another
exploit of his was the sinking of the Bistritza with an
eleven-million-dollar cargo of munitions intended for
the Rumanians.

The two U-boats held a comradely reunion there
on the ocean. Juerst was on his way back to Germany
after having had a fine hunting trip.

"Go three hundred miles to the southwest," he told
me; "the ships are following a new track. You will
find plenty there."

My men listened skeptically, growling their old
complaint — "Friday the 13th." I laid a southwesterly
course, according to Juerst's directions. Friday the
13th, indeed! The U-93 promptly found itself in the
position of a hunter swamped by partridges or quail.

We got a dozen ships in rapid succession the fol-
lowing week. Some were armed and we torpedoed
them, but in nearly every case the crews were able to
take safely to their lifeboats. I took aboard five cap-
tains and a dozen gunners, British naval men who,
according to the rules, were prisoners of war. They
were our guests aboard the U'93 and we got along
well enough with them, although, of course, they
didn't quite enjoy the perils of the new life they were
leading.

Of one ship there were no survivors. She was an
armed American vessel. The United States had re-
cently come into the war. I sent a torpedo at her
from five hundred yards. In a couple of seconds a
frightful detonation rang out and the 11-93 received a
heavy blow. We were hurled to the floor and every
electric light bulb on the boat was shattered. I
thought we had been rammed, and scrambled to the
periscope. The 7,000-ton steamer had disappeared.

178 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

A vast cloud of smoke billowed on the sea. The air
was full of falling debris. The ship's smokestack was
falling to the water, whirling like a pinwheel. The
ship must have been crammed with munitions.

A fine big steamer hove in sight. It was not
armed. We stopped it. The crew took to their boats
and we steered over to look at their papers. The ship
was bound from Egypt with a cargo of eggs. A cheer
went up from the deck of the U-93. You can't imagine
how tired a man can get of hard tack, pea soup, bacon,
and canned stuff. Our foraging party that day worked
like the heroes they were. We took ten thousand eggs
aboard our craft. Every available bit of space was
crammed with eggs. A few thousand went bad in the
course of time, and rotten eggs aboard a U-boat are
no eau de cologne. But for a while we had our fill. I
saw one burly mechanic frying twelve eggs for break-
fast one morning.

"Now what about your talk of Friday the 13th?"
I called.

We had one torpedo left, and were nearly ready
to turn homeward. It was sundown of a clear, balmy
spring day. A big steamer came along, the British
ship Horsa. With our last torpedo we scored a clean
hit at the bow. She sank very quickly. Her stern
rose into the air and she went down like an airplane in
a nose dive.

It seemed as If her crew could hardly have had
time to take to their lifeboats. Dusk was lowering on
the ocean and we could not see much. We came above
water and steered over to the place where the vessel
had disappeared. Shouts sounded In the darkness, and
we could see a black bulge on the water. A lifeboat
was floating upside down, and around it men were
crowded and clinging desperately to it. We came
alongside and dragged them aboard. Some had arms
and legs broken by the force with which they had been

VOYAGES OF ILL OMEN 179

knocked down when the torpedo hit. The first officer
was badly hurt.

We were men hardened by war. Incessant danger
and the sight of death had dulled our sensibility to
horror. And yet my men were naturally kind-hearted.
The sight of those poor fellows battered and broken
on our deck touched them sharply. They held a veri-
table competition of doing things for them. They put
splints on legs and arms and administered drugs from
our medicine chest. Some gave up their bunks to our
injured prisoners.

Strange sounds came from the overturned life-
boat, weak calling and knocking. Two men had been
caught beneath it and were holding themselves afloat
inside. They were too weak to dive and swim out,
and were held there as if In a prison — a rather terrible
prison, too. My men got out grappling hooks and
tried to turn the lifeboat over. They worked for an
hour, but could not make It. We had no facilities for
that kind of work aboard. Finally one fellow tied a
rope around his waist, dived, and, swimming below
water, made his way under the boat. There he took
hold of the two men and dragged them out.

The next morning we sighted a Swedish sailing
ship. I started toward it. Our forward gun was
making ready to drop a shot across her bow when I
saw shells falling around her. Somebody had got
there before us. Sure enough, on the other side of the
ship was a U-boat. It was the U-21 under Com-
mander Hersing. The crew of the sailing ship were
tumbling Into their boats. The prize was Herslng's.
While he sank it, I stopped the lifeboats and made
them take aboard the survivors of the Horsa — there
were seventeen of them. The 17-21 and the U-93
drew alongside of each other to pass the time of day,
and then each picked up its respective course.

After all is said and done, Friday the 13th means

180 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

something. Every man of the crew was sure that we
were destined to encounter some mishap or other be-
fore we got back to port, and would have been disap-
pointed, I am sure, if everything had gone well. I,
myself, could not escape a nervous tingle of apprehen-
sion.

We sank the Greek steamer Phaleron, bound from
the United States to England, and then started for
home. But without my knowing it Dame Fortune had
decreed that years were to roll by before I saw home
and my wife again.

CHAPTER XXI

TRAPPED BY A Q-SHIP, OUR JAUNTY

BARON SEES HIS BOAT SINK

BENEATH HIS FEET

At sunset I was sitting at supper in our little offi-
cers' messroom. From near by came loud, gay talk
in English. Our prisoners, the five captains, were
having their evening meal. We were running awash.

**SailIng ship ahoy!" the call came.

I hurried to the conning tower and, telescope at
eye, scrutinized a little three-mast schooner to our
starboard.

A warning shell at a distance of four thousand
yards, and the schooner lowered her topsails. The
crew took to the lifeboats. Everything looked all
right, but I was suspicious. I had heard of sailing
ships with British submarines in tow — neat trap. Then
when a U-boat drew to fire a few shells at the water
line, It was saluted with a torpedo.

*'Keep on firing," I called to our gun crew, and
then sent the order through the speaking tube : "Half
speed ahead."

I wanted to Investigate, and we might as well be
certain that the ship was abandoned before we drew
too near. The sun was sinking below the horizon and
dusk was gathering.

We drew up slowly, our shells popping on the de-
serted deck. "Good shooting," I remarked to my two
companions. Lieutenants Ziegner and Usedom. The
schooner's deck was a mass of wreckage. The 17-93

181

182 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

circled around the craft while we all scanned it
through our powerful binoculars. No, it had no sub-
marine in tow, and was surely deserted. Nobody
would stay aboard and take that amount of shelling.
We were only eighty yards away, lying parallel with
it, when I gave the order.

*'HIt her at the water line and sink her."

As our first shell hit just at the water line, there
was a loud whistle aboard the schooner. The white
war ensign of Great Britain ran up the mast. A mov-
able gun platform slid into view. A roar and a rat-
thng, and 7.5 cm. guns opened at us, and machine
guns, too. We offered a fair, broadside target. One
shell put our fore gun out of commission and wounded
several of the gun crew. Another crashed Into our
hull.

"Both engines full speed I" I yelled; "helm hard
aport!"

The U-93 leaped forward and swung around
quickly, so that it was stern on to the enemy. More
shells hit us while she turned the quarter circle.

'Was zum Teufeir (What the devil!) I felt
the vibration of our engines stop. Yes, the engines
were cut off. I had given no such command. The
only explanation was that the shell fire had damaged
them. We were now only five hundred yards away
from the muzzles of those large, fire-spurting guns,
and were drifting slowly around. Engines stopped
and one gun disabled — that was uncomfortable. Shells
were striking the boat and exploding with savage
pow — pows.

"Man the after gun!" I shouted.

We had one piece of ordnance left, could still put
up a fight. Three men responded to the command.
I leaped aft with them, and we four worked the gun.
A shell burst in our faces. The petty officer of the
gun crew fell back with his head blown off. Then I

TRAPPED BY A Q-SHIP 183

felt a cold sensation about my legs. We were up to
our knees in water.

A moment later we were swimming in the Atlan-
tic. The U'93 had sunk beneath us. I could see her
black shadow vanish in the depths of the ocean. A
dreadful pang of anguish shot through me at the
thought of my fine new boat and my crew going down
to their last port on the cold, silent bottom of the sea,
and a touch of ironic pity for those five captains who,
skippers of prosaic freighters, had never signed any
papers with articles about making a last voyage in an
iron coffin. "Friday the 13th!" That damned idea
flashed into my mind. No time for thinking; I myself
was drowning. My heavy leather jacket encumbered
me so that I could scarcely move my arms. I tried
to work it off, but could not. My thick, warm clothes
beneath it were absorbing water and becoming like a
suit of leaden armour. My fur-lined boots with thick
wooden soles were sodden. They pulled me down as
if they were iron weights attached to my feet.

I was sinking when I heard shouts and saw a black
shadow in the dusk. I yelled in return and struggled
with renewed courage.

"Hello — ^keep going — we'll be there in a minute,"
the calls came cheerily. I replied with shouts between
gulps of water.

The last thing I remember is seeing a small boat
only five yards away. When I recovered my senses I
was on the deck of the schooner. They told me I was
going down when the boat reached me. The British
officer who happened to be at the wheel had to jump
into the ocean after me. The boat had also picked up
the other two men who were at the gun with me when
the U-93 sank.

The little schooner, which hadn't seemed worth
bothering about— I wish we hadn't — ^was the Prize^
the British Q-27. Those Britishers played that Q-ship

184 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

game with skill and nerve. The Prize was little more
than a tin shell filled with wood. She was stuffed with
lumber, the idea being to keep her afloat as long as
possible as little more than a camouflaged gun plat-
form. Any other species of craft would have sunk a
couple of times from the damage our shells did. We
had shot her pretty nearly to pieces. The deck was
knocked into kindling wood, and below every wall was
smashed. You could see through partition after par-
tition into ten rooms. I marvelled at the bravery of
these Britishers who in their hiding place could take a
shelhng like that and then run their gun platform out
and start to fight. Some of them had been wounded
during the encounter.

An officer took me to his cabin and himself pulled
off my sodden clothes and heavy boots. He rubbed
me dry with a towel and then gave me some of his
own clothes to put on. I was still shaking with cold.
He thought It was fright and pointed to a motto on
the wall which read: *'We are all brothers in Chris-
tianity." Those Britishers Hved up to the motto in the
way they took care of their prisoners. While I was
being made comfortable in the cabin the sailors were
taking care of my two men.

A little while later I was in the officers' mess,
where they gave me cocoa and cigarettes. Suddenly
a petty officer reported:

*'We are sinking, sir."

*'Eh," I said to myself, "evidently I have been
saved only to be lost again! Blast this Friday the
13th!"

The Prize was in a sinking condition. Our shells
had bored some pretty holes at the water line. Men
were working frantically, trying to plug them. Others
laboured at the furiously rattling pumps. The boat
promised to sink at any minute.

"Fire!" the shout rang out.

TRAPPED BY A Q-SHIP 185

'Triday the 13th," I groaned.

Our shell fire had destroyed one of the Prize's
auxiliary motors, and when they started the other one
it took fire for some reason or other. I saw an officer
go streaking by with a fire extinguisher. He put out
the blaze. That was my first glimpse of Lieutenant
W. E. Sanders, the skipper of the Prize.

A bit later he came into the officers* mess, a tall,
slender chap in his twenties with a good-looking Eng-
lish face, fine brown eyes, and blond hair which
sprawled all over his head.

*'Where is the U-boat captain?" he demanded.

I stood up, and he came to me with a good,
friendly smile and grasped my hand.

"My dear fellow," he said, *'I am sorry for you.
Please feel that you are my guest. But," he exclaimed
ruefully, *'I'm sorry I can't give you better quarters,
especially as we are about ready to sink."

He was a New Zealander, a soldier, a sailor, and
a gentleman. I felt it was not so bad to have been
defeated by such a fine chap and his nervy crew.

They tried to cheer me, for I looked pretty glum.
It was of no use. I couldn't forget my crew, my
friends going down out there, drowned like rats in a
trap, with some perhaps left to die of slow suffocation.
I could imagine how some might even now be alive in
the strong torpedo compartments, lying in the dark-
ness, hopeless, waiting for the air to thicken and finally
smother them. No, they were not rapping on the iron
hull. They knew no help could ever reach them.
Aboard the U-93 we had been like a gang of brothers.
Most of my men had been with me from the beginning
of the war. In summer the whole crowd had often
visited my country place. There was not room in the
house for them all, and some of the men slept in the
haystacks. At times I took them on pleasure jaunts,
and always we laughed and joked together. And then

186 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the prisoners — the British sailors of the gun crews-
well, they had enlisted for warfare; but the unfortu-
nate five merchant captains — those skippers certainly
had been caught In the tolls of evil destiny. That
night I could not sleep. I was haunted by the vision of
my boat going down, of that vanishing dark shadow I
had seen while I lay struggling In the water.

The Prize was In a bad way. The pumps strug-
gled their hardest against the water that poured in.
All possible weight was shifted from the side where
the shell holes were, so that the gaping rents might be
kept above water. Luckily the ocean was perfectly
calm. If any kind of sea began to run at all she would
sink in a few minutes. Nor could the boat get under
way. The wireless had been shot away and she could
not call for help. There was no wind for the sails
and the motor would not start. The English machinist
had no experience with Diesel engines and was help-
less. Sanders came to me in desperation.

"Captain," he asked, "do your men know anything
about Diesels?"

"Why, one of them is an expert," I responded.

Among the two that had been saved along with me
was Deppe, who knew Diesel engines as a parson
knows his Bible. I ordered him to the motor. A few
minutes later I heard the engine start. Deppe came
back strutting.

"They know nothing about motors," he observed
loftily.

The Prize was under way now, with the motor
whirring. If she had had to lie there motionless much
longer she would probably have encountered weather
that would have sent her down. We had been able to
lend our captors a lively hand at a time when it
counted, a small return for the handsome way we had
been treated.

The sea remained calm, and for three days and a

TRAPPED BY A Q^SHIP 187

half we headed toward the English coast at a rate of
two and a half miles an hour. Then a British cruiser
hove in sight and took the Prize in tow to Kinsale
Harbour in the south of Ireland. In port I imme-
diately had a bath and washed my clothes. I found
three handkerchiefs in my pockets and was happy.
With such trifles can a tragedy of the sea be forgotten
for a while.

A steamer took the Prize in tow next day and we
started across the Bristol Channel to Milford Haven.
I sat on the deck of the shell-blasted hulk watching
the dim coast of Ireland through a glass.

''Hey, what's this?" I said to myself.

In the distance I saw the conning tower of a sub-
marine. I could recognize the craft as one of those
built at the Germania yards at Kiel.

The officer of the deck was near me, scanning the
sea with his glass.

"Sailboat over there," he said to me offhand.

From afar the conning tower of a submarine often
looks like the sail of a ship.

"Yes, sailboat," I responded in a musing voice.

The U-boat was coming our way. I wondered
what its commander, some comrade of mine, thought
of the steamer towing this stack of lumber which they
called the Prize.

"Submarine ahoy!" the alarm went around.

All hands scurried about, preparing for a fight.

"And now," said I to myself, "I will learn what it
is like on this side of the fence."

The U-boat submerged. Of course, my brother in
arms down there was not going to walk right up to
anything so strange and possibly suspicious as this
steamer towing a battered hulk. Generally speaking,
it looked as if somebody might get torpedoed. No,
it wasn't amusing on this side of the fence.

It seemed as If the bad luck of that ill-omened

188 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

departure was still on our trail and determined to have
a finishing go at us. Our steamer with the Prize m
tow could do nothing to elude a torpedo shot. I ex-
pected an explosion at any moment.

A cloud of smoke, and a flotilla of destroyers came
rushing along. That eased the situation a lot. The
U-boat would attempt no attack with that school of
fishes around. The surmise was correct. We saw no
further sign of the submarine. I afterward learned
that it was commanded by my friend, Commander
Ernst Hashagen/ and when I saw him again I cussed
him out roundly for having given me such a fright.

We arrived at Milford Haven in the morning.

Lieutenant Sanders shook hands with me and
wished me godspeed, at the same time asking the offi-
cers who were taking me away to treat me well. That
was the last I ever saw of the gallant young officer.
He was given the Victoria Cross for his brave fight
against the U-93, Later he carried on In the Prize,
which had been repaired for further Q-ship duty. One
day the Prize encountered a U-boat, but this time it
was an unlucky day for Sanders and his men. The
Prize was sunk, and her captain and crew went down
with her.

The officers in whose charge I was took me to
breakfast, a real British breakfast and not the conti-
nental rolls and coffee. We had kippers and eggs and
marmalade. They were spick-and-span in their smart
uniforms. I felt like a tramp. My uniform was
stained with grease and salt water, the gold braid was
green, and one trouser leg was a dreadful sight to look
at. A deflected machine-gun bullet had ripped it and
I had sewed it up with white thread — what sewing!

One of them began to question me. I made it
clear that I was disinclined to talk about my boat, but
told him of the five captains who were aboard the
U'93 when she disappeared and gave him the names

AdolJ Karl Georg Edgar Baron
Spiegel von und zu Peckelsheim.

Ziegner {right) and Usedom, who escaped
in their riddled U-boat,

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TRAPPED BY A Q-SHIP 189

of their boats, so that their relatives might be in-
formed of their loss. The officer understood my
reticence and said:

"I have only one more question. Do you know
who sank the Horsa?^

What the deuce was the matter now, I wondered.
Certainly we of the 17-93 had behaved ourselves well
and magnanimously in the case of the Horsa.

*'I sank the Horsa/' I replied.

I was scarcely prepared for the effect this state-
ment made. My questioner jumped to his feet and
grasped my hand.

"I have wanted to meet the man," he exclaimed,
* 'who rescued and took care of a crew as you and your
men did."

The survivors of the Horsa, upon getting to shore,
had talked to the high heavens of the way we of the
U-PS had used them, especially of our fishing the men
from under the boat.

"Strange how destiny works," I mused. I had been
In the U-boat warfare for two years and a half — and
a cruel iron warfare it was. I had sunk many ships
and drowned many men, and never once had I or my
command found an opportunity to do anything excep-
tional in the way of a good, human deed — save in the
case of the Horsa, And now that one good deed,
which had taken place just before I was captured, had
come back to me with a swift blessing. I had already
been treated well by my captors, and from now on, I
knew, would be treated better.

Donnington Hall, I was told, was the best prison
camp in England, and if there were any better they
must have been de luxe places indeed. It was one of
the most beautiful country seats in England, a great
gray castle in a perfect setting on green lawns and oak
trees. Sheep were grazing on the meadows and birds
singing In the trees. The only things to mar the gen*

190 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

eral aspect of sylvan delight was a barbed wire fence,
high and formidable around the prison enclosure, and
a line of armed guards. There I met a number of
U-boat officers, a zeppelln commander, and various
military officers. They were a jolly company in a
lovely place. The only trouble was that it was a
prison.

[In a wartime issue of a British newspaper I ran
across an account of a dispute in the House of Com-
mons over the excessive expenditures incurred in fit-
ting up Donnington Hall for a German officers' prison
camp. Donnington Hall has long been the most
famous country seat in Leicestershire, its history going
back to the Tudor period. It was once the seat of the
Hastings family. The remodelling of the house for
the German officers, and the putting in of bathrooms
and billiard tables, brought forth much ironic com-
ment In the House of Commons. "Great idea," one
Britisher remarked; *'make it so comfortable they
won't ever want to go back to Germany!"]

The Commandant was a hook-nosed Britisher with
a big, fearful mustache. Lieutenant Piquot he was, a
formidable name that I shall never forget. He had
fierce ways and a gruff, fierce voice. When he talked
at you, you thought he was going to eat you. I was
afraid of him at first, but presently I found that
Piquot always growled. Growling was his natural
language. He growled the most when he was the
most pleasantly disposed toward me.

"The Admiralty," he said with his gruffest voice
and most forbidding expression, "has sent instructions
that we are to see that you are comfortable."

"You will make me comfortable if you will smile —
just once," I felt like saying, but prudence persuaded
me to confine my remarks to a mere "thank you."

We prisoners were not allowed by the regulations
to write more than two letters home each week, but I

TRAPPED BY A Q-SHIP 191

was given permission to send any number. I wrote
first to my wife and then to the famlHes of each mem-
ber of my crew. It was a mournful task. I did my
best to cheer the ones bereft by telling them that their
loved ones had died heroically In the performance of
their duty and for their Fatherland. I did not have
to invent one particle when I spoke of the affection I
had for each man.

Three weeks after my entrance Into the prison
camp I heard an astonishing report. The 11-93 had
got back to Germany. It was impossible! Why, I
had seen that boat ripped and smashed by shell fire.
And then she had gone down beneath my very feet.
So I scarcely dared believe the report until I talked to
the tigerish PIquot.

"It's true," quoth he In his most tigerish. "It has
come from the captains you had as prisoners."

Later on I was to learn the story of what had
happened, and that story, I think you will agree with
me when you hear it, is indeed one of the epic tales
of the World War.

CHAPTER XXII

WHEN WE FOUND OUR VOICES IT WAS TO
ORDER A BOTTLE OF PORT

Not only did I hear the story of that return trip to
Germany from Baron von Spiegel, but better still I
got a detailed account of it from the man who had
been largely responsible for it — the young watch offi-
cer who assumed command and navigated the battered
U'93 over a two thousand mile course back to the
naval base at Wilhelmshaven.

Lieutenant Wilhelm Ziegner had joined up for
U-boat service at the beginning of 1917, and the trip
on the 11-93, begun on that fateful Friday the 13th,
had been his first cruise. The submarine had not gone
to the bottom as Baron von Spiegel believed. It had
dropped only a few feet below the surface, enough for
the sea to sweep him away, and then had bobbed up
again some distance off. Although he had had only a
few weeks of actual fighting experience. Lieutenant
Ziegner, hardly more than a boy, had stepped Into the
place of his vanished commander and accomplished
what both German and English naval men speak of as
an epic submarine cruise.

After it had been repaired young Ziegner went on
several more cruises on the big U-93, Its new captain,
after it was put back into service, was Commander
Helmuth Gerlach. But in 1918 Ziegner had a siege
of tonsilitis that kept him home from one cruise. His
luck was still with him, for the U-93 never returned
from that voyage. She was rammed by a British de-

192

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 193

stroyer In the Channel and went down with all hands.
After that, Lieutenant Ziegner was given a com-
mand of his own — a little UC-submarine. When the
Armistice came he was one of the four German sub-
marine commanders who put into a Swedish port and
chose to be interned rather than go back to Germany
and turn their boats over to the revolutionists. He
remained in active service for another year. Then
the throat infection, which had kept him ashore and
saved his life two years before, brought about a fatal
attack of diphtheria. He died in the naval hospital
at Wilhelmshaven in December, 1919. The following
account of his return journey in Baron von Spiegel's
U-boat was taken from his diary and his letters to his
mother :

I was standing on the conning tower when that
sailing ship cut loose with her broadside. A murder-
ous fire, a shell bursting seemingly in front of my face,
and the next thing I knew I was picking myself up
from where I had been knocked senseless. We were
half awash ; the boat was out of command and leaping
about crazily. Faintly^ visible through the dusk was
the sailing ship, still spitting fire.

I sprang up, forgetting my bursting head and the
million stars I was counting.

*'Hard to starboard!" I yelled to the man at the
helm.

At the same moment Lieutenant Usedom rushed
up from below, shouting, "Where is the Komman-
dantf

"He must be below with you," I answered. I was
giving all my attention to keeping the boat on a zigzag
course to dodge the enemy shells still coming over us.
With a 14-degree list to starboard, the 11-93 lay half
under water. . I expected every moment to see her sink
under my feet.

194 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

A couple of wounded men were lying on deck, in
the water. Usedom hurried to them, but the captain
was not there. Crash! A shell buried itself under
the conning tower. Another crash! A deafening
detonation. Another shell exploded in the hatch lead-
ing to the captain's quarters. I had just given the
order to dive, but the second explosion settled that.
With those gaping holes, the U-93 was no longer able
to submerge. We could do nothing except stay on the
surface and make a last effort to hobble out of range
of the British fire. The thickening darkness was our
ally there. In a few minutes we were hidden by the
dusk and the clouds of shell smoke.

In the meantime, Usedom frantically searched the
boat from bow to stern for the Captain. He was not
to be found. Two other men were missing, the helms-
man Knappe, and the machinist's mate Deppe. The
explosion of the shell that had knocked me uncon-
scious and half swamped the boat must have swept
all three of them into the sea.

Our beloved Captain! Every man on board wor-
shipped him. Somehow we just couldn't realize that
he was lost. We were too helpless even to go back
and look for him. For the moment every last ounce
of energy had to be concentrated on keeping our crip-
pled and leaking boat above water.

I could only surmise what havoc had been done in
our engine rooms. Luckily it was not so bad as I
imagined. The chief engineer and all hands below
had been working furiously. He was able now to
send up the report:

"All clear in the under-water compartments."

Gott sei Dank for that! For we had more than
enough to worry us above deck. The U-93 was a
sorry sight, with her upper works shot to pieces and
the deck pierced by eight gaping shell holes. The
British could well be satisfied with the work their guns

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 195

had done, even if they had failed to send us to the
bottom as they undoubtedly supposed.

We took toll of the damage. One shell had
mowed off both our periscopes. Another had torn
open two of our starboard compressed-air compart-
ments. For a distance of thirty feet the deck was
nothing but a mass of ripped and shredded metal.
Five diving tanks were blown open and three oil
bunkers were leaking like sieves, leaving behind us a
broad shimmering trail of oil. One depth gauge,
three compressed air gauges, and a half-dozen other
instruments in the central station were utterly useless.

All bad enough, but it was that shell hole in the
hatchway that added the last straw. The hatch not
only could not be closed for diving; It simply didn't
exist any more. Our one really worthwhile weapon
of defence — our ability to submerge — had been taken
from us. If we tried to dive with that hole unrepaired
— and we couldn't repair it — we would simply go
straight to the bottom like a rock.

The U-93 was no longer a submersible. Our one
and only chance of escape now lay in our ability to
sprint for it on the surface. A night's run at full
speed would put plenty of distance between us and
that shell-spitting sailing ship. Beyond that? Well,
I could see little hope. Even if our luck held and
guided us away from British destroyers and patrol
boats, there was that tell-tale streak of oil behind us.
Any craft could pick up our trail from it. The jinx
of Friday the 13th had brought us to this pass. Now
nothing but a change of luck could ever get us back to
Germany.

We set our course due north, away from the ship-
ping lanes. At last we could give some attention to
our men. Six of the crew were wounded, worst of all,
the boatswain's mate, a stout fellow named Bay. He
had lain torn and bleeding on the steps of the conning

196 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

tower, his groans and pleadings for help unanswered.
Every man still able had joined in our first frantic
efforts to get our machinery In order and keep the boat
from foundering. Now the most we could do for him
was to administer a merciful shot of morphine. He
couldn't last long with those frightful wounds.

Two of our petty officers had their legs all but
blown off. Usedom and the chief engineer got them
and the other wounded into their bunks. They ban-
daged them as best they could. But they were in
frightful agony, poor devils, and begged for opiates.
Usedom told me about it afterward. "There I stood,"
he said, "with a bottle of morphine in one hand and a
hypodermic needle in the other, without any Idea as
to how much I dared give them. I prayed that I was
guessing right."

All that night I stayed on the conning tower, while
Usedom worked with the wounded men and the chief
engineer coddled his damaged machinery. The April
night was starry and clear, the sea calm and silvery
In the moonlight. It was a night for poetry, for ro-
mance. Instead, the tragedies of the hours just passed
lay heavy on my mind. What had become of our
gallant Captain? How could I, as senior officer now,
keep the crew and the boat from further danger?
And what would the next day bring?

The first thing it brought was the cook with a cup
of hot coffee. My spirits rose fifty per cent. Then
came Usedom with the sad news that Bay had died
during the night. On our torn and battered deck we
held the last rites for the dead. A short service, a
prayer, and a body wrapped in the Imperial German
war flag was lowered into the blue water that sparkled
so gayly. The rest of the crew, excepting the wounded
and the few who could not leave their stations, stood
with bared heads. One remained below, whence
came the steady throb of our Diesel engines carrying

Destroyers sealing the doom of an iron coffin with a depth bomb.

4nother snaking torpedo finds its mark.

A U-boat shell hit her squarely amidships. Where the Caprera
had been was now a vast^ billowing cloud of smoke.

During the final years of the war the Germans started
building these giant submarines.

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 197

us away from the North Atlantic shipping lanes.
Above us on the conning tower stood the lookout on
watch for that first sight of mast or smoke that might
be the forerunner of disaster.

Then a short talk to the crew. With the loss of
the Captain, I told them that I, as senior officer, would
take command and try to get the boat back to Ger-
many. A cheer went up. Every man stood ready to
help to the last gasp. A fine lot were these boys who
had been with our Captain so long.

More troubles were piling up. Part of the fresh
water supply had been ruined by sea water getting
into the tanks. Forty thirsty men and a water short-
age! Herr Gott! That meant no bathing, no shaves,
no cooked potatoes, short rations on coffee, and the
smallest possible daily dole to every man.

The next report concerned our fuel oil. We had
lost half of It already. While Usedom took over the
navigation of the boat, the chief engineer and I sat
over the charts reckoning and re-reckoning how far
our remaining supply would carry us if we used the
least amount possible. The short route home through
the Channel was seldom used these days by U-boats in
good working condition. Even the regular route
around Scotland was out of the question for us. I
talked it over with the bandaged and splinted pilot as
he lay In his bunk. To avoid the patrol boats that
swarmed about the British Isles, we set our course
almost to Iceland and the Arctic Circle. By that cir-
cuitous route we had a journey of more than two
thousand miles between us and Germany. Once off the
Skagerrak, we could hope for German torpedo boats
to come and tow us in. At any rate, we had to appor-
tion our oil so that It would take us to the nearest
German port. To run the slightest chance of doing
that meant creeping along at our lowest speed. Two
thousand miles at a snail's pace!

198 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Before we went any farther I provided for one
more contingency. "Have bombs placed so we can
blow up the boat at a moment's notice," I told the
engineer.

We couldn't submerge and we couldn't fight, and
our chances of reaching Germany were mighty slim.
It would be easy enough for an enemy ship to disable
the U-93 completely. We would be helpless to pre-
vent it. But capture was another thing. With our
own hands we would send her to the bottom first.

After that, day after day of slow, creeping prog-
ress, a double lookout always on watch, right up to
the edge of the Arctic Ocean. Then a wide swing
across toward the Norwegian coast. And in all this
time only one sea-going craft sighted. Perhaps it had
the same reason we had for choosing this out-of-the-
way course. It was a German U-boat, just visible in
the distance. We tried to reach it by radio. No reply.
As we waited, the other submarine disappeared from
view over the horizon. Our fears about our radio
were confirmed. It was not working.

The weather was growing worse and the wind ris-
ing. It was a following wind, fortunately, but the
waves breaking over our after deck, already lying
lower than the bow, were keeping it constantly under
water. To raise the 11-93 higher out of the sea, we
threw overboard everything we could possibly do
without. We were stripped to the bare^ essentials.
Even so, the holes in our outer hull were continually
becoming waterlogged and dragging us down. We
had to blow our starboard tanks regularly. In good
weather once every three hours had been often
enough. Now they were re-filling every thirty min-
utes!

At least, all this kept us busy. I could only pity
those poor fellows lying helpless below in their bunks.
All we could do for them was administer a shot in the

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 199

arm now and then to relieve their sufferings. The
rest of the crew, when they had time, played the
phonograph or read to them from our meager library.
It wouldn't have been so bad for them if they could
have had a cigarette. That was impossible. The
interior of the boat was nearly always filled with gases
from the batteries. A Hghted match or a smouldering
cigarette down there, and pouf — an explosion would
have finished what the British hadn't.

"Hard luck," Usedom and I thought as we smoked
our own cigarettes on the conning tower. With only
two or three hours' sleep snatched out of the twenty-
four, we smoked incessantly. Cigarettes and the
blackest coffee our cook could brew — those kept us
going. I marvelled at the morale of the crew. Every
man was thirsty and dirty and nerve-racked and over-
worked, but not a one grumbled or shirked.

Five more days passed. The weather grew stead-
ily worse. Rain and snow squalls alternated with
fog. Through the mist there hove in sight a fleet of
patrol boats, armed fishing steamers. We turned east
to dodge them. The manoeuvre didn't work. Back
to our former course. Again we failed to lose them.
Another change of direction, this time to the west.
The steamers gradually disappeared astern. Their
lookouts must have been asleep not to have seen us.
But those same British shell holes were what had
saved us. The flooded compartments kept us lying so
deep that the high waves almost completely hid us.
At times our depth gauge registered as much as
twenty-five feet, and water came pouring into the boat.
The pumps never stopped.

Even the bridge was awash now. Combers were
hurling themselves over Usedom and the petty officer
of the watch as they stood lashed to the railing to
keep from being swept away. At every roll we feared
the boat would founder. The leaking diving tanks

200 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

were filling up almost faster than we could blow them
out. There was no rest for anybody now.

''Mein Gott, It Is frightful up there I" muttered
Usedom as he came down the ladder, blowing like a
whale, water streaming from his rubber suit.

Soon we had rigged up a reserve periscope. We
needed it now almost as much as though we had been
completely submerged. Down below In the central
station I took a look into it. I felt my legs go weak
under me at what I saw. A couple of miles away was
a three-funnelled British destroyer.

"Hard to starboard I" I shouted the command to
the helmsman. Could we dodge that Britisher? I
watched him through the periscope. He proceeded
on his course, cutting the waves at thirty knots, with-
out seeing us.

With a long breath of relief I swung the periscope
around to scan the horizon. Lieber Gott in Himmelf
We had escaped from one destroyer only to run Into
a half dozen of them, to say nothing of a fleet of
armed fishing steamers. I knew how a wounded hare
felt surrounded by hounds. I could even see the kettle
looming.

We had one opening — to double back on the
course from which we had come. I saw all our oil
calculations ruined, but It was our only chance. We
swung around away from that hornet's nest.

"Full speed on both engines!"

We leaped forward as though we had been kicked
from the rear. Even so, the prospects looked black.
One of the destroyers had sighted us. It was changing
course In our direction, and it could make twice the
speed we could.

"Clear for blowing her up," I shouted to the engi-
neer.

Then help came from an unexpected quarter —
from the weather we had been cursing so roundly.

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 201

Another of those sudden North Sea squalls swept
down upon us. We were enveloped in snow, hail,
and fog. At the same time, the head wind we had
been bucking was now helping us along. We ran on
for an hour, blindly and desperately, not able to see
more than a few rods in any direction. Then the
squall passed as suddenly as it had come. Clear
weather again, and not a ship in sight.

It was a sensation such as you have when you see
an enemy torpedo coming at you and it misses by a
yard. Usedom and I could only shove our caps back
on our heads, heave a long breath, and look at each
other, speechless. When we found our voices it was
to order a bottle of port. We drank to another streak
of such luck.

Again on our old course, we moved south all night
toward the Bay of Heligoland. The next morning we
encountered our first floating mines and sighted a
steamer and two sailing ships a long way off. But we
missed the mines and the ships missed us.

That night we tried to reach a German station
again with our SOS, but there was no answer. Still,
we did manage to pick up other radio signals now and
then. Our wireless evidently could receive messages
but could not send any. We knew that long before
this the U-93 had been given up as lost, and nobody
would be looking for us.

The next evening found us hugging the Danish
coast.

^'WeVe inside the three-mile limit," Usedom
remarked.

To the deuce with the three-mile limit! It was
forbidden territory to German U-boats, but this was
no time to bother about such rulings. It was the only
place where we could be certain to dodge the mine
fields. The. friendly lighthouses of Bovsbjerg and
Lyngwig gave us our bearings. It was bright moon-

202 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

light besides, and we crept along so close to land we
could hear the tinkling bells of the wethers among the
flocks of sheep on shore. A pair of north-bound Dan-
ish fishing steamers came toward us. Merged against
the shadow of the coast, we glided by them unnoticed
only fifteen feet away. Usedom and I grinned at each
other like two schoolboys.

"Lucky? Yes?'* he murmured.

*'Lucky. Yes," I returned. "But suppose we take
a few soundings. If we get too cocky we may find
ourselves sitting on a sand bank."

Two more fishing steamers were sighted the next
day. What now? Suppose they were armed. I took
a look through my binoculars.

"They're German!" I yelled. "Run up the signals."

The little steamers puffed over to us. Every one
of our crew and theirs swarmed up on deck. You can
imagine the astonishment, the questions, the excite-
ment. Our rescue was at hand. One of the steamers
would take us into the next harbour.

On the conning tower, Usedom and I basked In
the sunshine and talked of those nine astounding days
through which our luck had brought us. If that luck
had but held for our Captain as well. We could only
fear the worst as to his fate. I remembered all too
well that hell of shell fire in which he had vanished.

We came to anchor at List, alongside the hospital
ship, and the wounded men were taken off. Usedom
had reason to be proud of the results of his medical
experiments. Not a man had fever; not a wound was
Infected. "I wasn't too far off on the morphine,
either," he breathed in relief.

That was the end of Zlegner's story. There was
little more to tell. On shore he wired his report to
U-boat headquarters and had a square meal and a
night's sleep in a comfortable bed. At five o'clock

IT WAS TO ORDER PORT 203

next morning the voyage was resumed, this time In
tow. The oil tanks of the 17-93 were empty. The
calculations of Ziegner and his engineer could hardly
have been closer.

In Wilhelmshaven almost the whole fleet came out
to meet the returning U-boat. Admiral Scheer him-
self went on board to present to Ziegner decorations
conferred on him by telegraph. He was the hero of
the day, and later was personally commended by the
Kaiser.

To the authorities, Ziegner reported that Com-
mander von Spiegel and the other two men were surely
lost, but to the Baron^s young wife, who went to
Wilhelmshaven at once, he and every man In the crew
vowed stoutly that her husband had surely been picked
up by the British. She Immediately had Inquiries made
through diplomatic channels — the Baron's letter had
not yet reached her. Then the news came that Von
Spiegel was a prisoner In England. Ziegner and his
men gasped to find that their merciful lie was the
truth.

One day young Adolf Karl George Edgar, Baron
Spiegel von und zu Peckelshelm was called up before
PIquot, who was more of a bear than ever that day.

"You must have good friends back In Germany,"
he boomed savagely, and then went on to say that at
the Instance of Prince Henry and the Crown Princess
of Germany, the King of Spain and the Queen of
Denmark had asked for Information.

"Life at Donnlngton Hall was pleasant," according
to the Baron. "The food was good and the discipline
not too severe, and one learned to grow fond of the
ferocious PIquot. Of course, I took part In an attempt
to escape. No prison career would be complete with-
out that. Our little party of would-be escapers did
not get away, but had a good joke anyway. Day after
day we dug a tunnel. The Commandant got word of

204 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

it, but did not know who the guilty parties were. He
stationed a soldier inside of the tunnel to wait and see
who turned up for a bit of digging. We, on our part,
discovered his little plan. At the entrance of the tun-
nel was a door. We nailed it up, sealed it up prop-
erly— with the soldier inside. He set up a great
uproar when he found himself thus burled alive. They
had to do quite a bit of carpentering before they got
that door open and let him out.'*

So the Baron and his pals were obliged to continue
the enjoyment of the luxuries of Donnington Hall
until after the Armistice. In fact, it was not until
June, 1919, that he got home to his wife and his
Fatherland.

CHAPTER XXIII

NEW TERRORS OF THE UNDER SEA

The raiders of the deep might tell their story by
setting down a catalogue of the devices of warfare
used against them. The perils they had to encounter
changed and developed in heart-breaking succession.
At first they had to reckon with nothing more than
the conventional weapons used against surface craft —
gunfire, ramming, mine fields, and torpedoes of enemy
submarines, standard and easily understood dangers
from which an alert U-boat could readily dive. Those
were the halcyon days for the raiders of the deep.

I talked with Fregattenkapitan Waldemar Kop-
hamel, one of the most distinguished of U-boat
commanders. At the time of the outbreak of the
war Commander Kophamel had served longer with
the U-boats than any other officer In the German
Navy. He was a lieutenant aboard the first German
submarine, the U-l, when that craft made its maiden
voyage. Later he became the skipper of the U-Z.
In 1917 he made the longest U-boat cruise on record,
from Germany down the west coast of Africa and
back. In 1918 he commanded one of the boats that
raided the coast of the United States. For a year
he was commander of the U-boat flotilla at Cattaro.
With sixty ships and a total of 190,000 tons sunk, he
stands with the first ten on the tonnage list. Among
the experiences he related was one that he told In a
tone of reminiscent wonder. It was truly a tale of
the halcyon days.

205

206 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

"We made our way through the Channel,'^ he said.
"It was an easy trip, without bother or much danger.
There were no nets in that early time, no submerged
bombs laid for U-boats. We lay for hours at the
entrance of the port of Havre. We were on the sur-
face and there were scores of enemy craft in sight.
They were in the shelter of the harbour and we could
not get at them. They saw us plainly but merely kept
out of our way. They knew they could do us no
harm. Before they could approach within range of
gunfire or near enough to ram us, we should be away
under the water. I stayed there at my leisure, en-
joying the scene, peaceably observing the enemy war-
craft and peaceably observed by them. With later
times of the war in mind, I can look back upon that
sunny afternoon as if it were some fantastic, pre-
historic period, an almost forgotten Golden Age."

Another of Commander Kophamel's experiences of
those early days is an instance of the weird, unearthly
mood of the submarine warfare.

"We were entering the Channel," he relates, "when
we encountered the 11-6 on her way back to harbour.
Her skipper was Commander Lepsius, who was after-
ward lost. The two boats drew alongside. Lepsius
had a word of warning for me.

" *You are heading for a mine field, a new one
which the British have just laid. We passed straight
through it, but luckily we reached it at low tide. They
have placed the mines badly, too high in the water,
and at low tide their pineapples lie floating on the
surface. Look out for them, and wait till low tide
before going on.'

"I took his advice, and timed our course so that
we reached the minefield at the last ebbing of the tide.
A brilliant sun was setting and a brisk wind was up.
A heavy sea was running, choppy and angry — the
usual rough, turbulent Channel. The mines, black

NEW TERRORS OF THE UNDER SEA 207

and ugly, lay on the surface on all sides. Between the
sun, which glared full in my face, and the white
capped waves, which rather concealed the mines, I had
to look sharp as we ran along awash.

"The boat had scarcely entered the field when I
heard a tremendous pop, and out in the distance a
geyser of water spouted. Then another explosion
and still another, on this side and that, some afar and
some near. In the turbulent sea the mines were de-
tonating. The dashing of the waves against them
was setting them off. We were sailing through a
field of bursting, roaring mines. As we steered on,
the explosions became more numerous, a perfect con-
certo. There was a ceaseless tattoo of crashes on
all sides and a panorama of fountains and spray.

" ^Donnerwetter/ I thought, *this is something new
and hard on the nerves.' We had to pass so near
some of the mines that if one should go off only a few
feet away from the boat it might be nasty.

" *Trim the boat down to a hundred feet,' I
ordered.

"We submerged and ran along underneath the field
of exploding mines. They boomed on this side and
that and straight overhead.

"After an hour the detonations grew faint and
disappeared behind us. I brought the boat to the
surface.

"'Helm hard aport!' I yelled.

"Right ahead, about three feet from our bow, lay
a big fat mine ready for us to hit. We passed It with
about a foot to spare. On all sides were thousands
of mines lying on the heaving water. This was an-
other field which had been laid in slightly different
fashion, and the big bombs were not exploding.

"We had seen enough mines for that day. I took
the boat down to a hundred feet again. We ran under

208 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the surface for several hours until we were In less
dangerous waters."

The war began with the submarine a primitive and
comparatively feeble Instrument, and on the other
hand, just to keep things even, the weapons for fight-
ing the submarine were equally primitive and feeble.

A submarine's trick of generating poison gases pro-
vided the dramatic crisis In a thrilling tale told me
by Commander Ernst Hashagen, that day when I
talked with him In Hamburg. The burly, jovial Has-
hagen related how, in the spring of 1916 before he
had his own command, he had been on a cruise as a
second officer aboard the TJ-22.

"We were off Belfast, Ireland, when out of a dense
fog appeared a British cruiser. There was no chance
for a torpedo shot. In fact, we were the hunted in-
stead of the hunters. She spied us, opened fire, and
rushed at us to ram us. I lost no time in giving orders
to trim the boat down to fifty feet.

"We dived quickly and got under water all right,
but something went wrong with the depth rudder.
The boat seemed to have gone crazy. She tilted up
and down like a rocking horse, sinking now by the
head and then by the stern — but always sinking.
Down we went to a hundred feet — a hundred and
fifty — two hundred. If we went much deeper and the
terrific pressure increased we should be crushed. The
only way to rise was to blow the tanks, but that would
have popped us out of the water right under the nose
of the cruiser up there. Everything else lost its Im-
portance In the presence of one particular sound —
coughing. I caught the acrid smell of chlorine gas,
and everybody was coughing sputtering, choking. My
throat and lungs burned with an intolerable torment.
Ever Inhale a whIff of chlorine? Don't try it. Often
when I remember those frightful moments while we
were half strangled with that infernal gas there In the

NEW TERRORS OF. THE UNDER SEA 209

depths I think of the gas waves over the trenches in
France — war has become too horrible.

*'The fearful pressure was forcing sea water
through our seams and it was getting into the sul-
phuric acid of the batteries. Sea water plus sulphuric
acid — any high school student of chemistry will tell
you the answer is chlorine. If we stayed submerged
we should quickly be strangled by that infernal vapour.
I don't think there is anything that will strike such
fear in a submarine man as the thought of being
trapped in the iron hull while choking gas seeps from
the batteries bit by bit. No death could be more ago-
nizing. It is the old devihsh peril of the craft that
navigates the under sea, a common cause of ghastly
disaster in the early days of submarines.

" 'Blow the tanks/ the Captain gasped.

"No hesitation. No thought of the cruiser up there.
Anything for a breath of pure unpoisoned air. Bet-
ter to be shot to pieces and drown in a quiet way than
this death by choking torment.

"The U'22 shot to the surface. Yes, there was
the cruiser looming in the mist. Never mind-—
hatches open — sweet, cool air blows in. We fill our
lungs until they almost burst.

"The cruiser is still there. It stays there. It had
not seen us. The fog is dense and Winding, and we
lie so close to the water that we are invisible. The
U-22 slinks away through the mist."

One of the first of the special anti-submarine devices
was the net. Since the under-surface boat does not
submerge deeply, never more than a couple of hun-
dred feet, great steel nets extending below the surface
will stop it and perhaps catch it. A narrow neck of
water may be effectively closed to submarine craft by
nets. Important war harbours were thus protected,
and that exceedingly vital strip of sea, the English
Channel, across which lay Britain's line of military

210 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

communication with France. At first the nets were
plain, then later were garnished with bombs which
exploded when the net happened to be struck near
them. The nets were effective against the U-boats,
and in time closed the English Channel against them.
More than one German submersible was trapped and
lost in the meshes of steel or sunk by the exploding
bombs. U-boats of later and improved types car-
ried at the bow great scissors for cutting their way
out of the nets.

The Q-shlps were the most brilliant and dramatic
weapon used against the raiders of the deep. These
craft, inoffensive-looking old tubs with concealed for-
midable guns, took the Germans by surprise, and many
a U-boat commander drew carelessly up to some old
tramp to sink it by gunfire, only to find himself staring
in the face of a battery of heavy metal. The Q-shlps
accounted for a number of submarines and had their
greatest success during the early years of the war.
After a while, though, the U-boat commanders grew
so wary of the particular kind of trap that the Q-
shlps had few successes. Eventually they were prac-
tically thrown into the discard.

One of the Q-ships, the Baralon^, became the cen-
tre of an ugly controversy. The Germans complained
that some of the decoy vessels, upon sinking subma-
rines, killed survivors struggling in the water. The
Baralong was cited as a specific case and was made the
object of international complaint. Similarly, there
Is dispute about the treatment of U-boat men taken
prisoners. It appears from the stories I was able to
gather that some were treated rigorously and others
very well Indeed.

It was In early 1917 that what was perhaps the most
logical weapon against the submarine began to play
its part. I can best repeat an account that Com-
mander Spless gives.

NEW TERRORS OF THE UNDER SEA 211

*'0n May 6, 1917, I sat In at a conference, and a
most interesting, although not jubilant, confabulation
It was. The officers of the U-boat flotilla gathered
to take counsel with the commander of the 17-49,
which had just stood In. He related to us an experi-
ence he had had on his recent cruise. It was no
mere idle, amusing yarn-spinning In a fo'c^s'le. The
report was of a new danger we would have to sur-
mount, a new and potent piece Introduced onto the
chessboard of war under the sea. The U'49 had
been bombed with depth charges. No such thing had
been encountered before and the news made quite a
sensation. And the more we thought of it, the less
we liked It.

"The depth charge was a bomb loaded with two
hundred pounds or so of high explosive. It could
be set to explode at any desired depth under water
when dropped overboard. At any place where a
submarine was suspected an enemy ship dumped over
its stern quantities of these infernal charges set to
go off at verious c^pths. A U-boat under water was
peppered with af shower of them. If one exploded
close enough i^^ould sink the craft, or would at least
make It leakf by springing the seams, and thus dis-
able It. li/was an evil invention and one destined
to becom^art of our daily experience.

"Days^ater I was out at sea and manoeuvring for
an attack. A convoy of cargo ships was steaming
along escorted by a patrol of destroyers. One de-
stroyer was too near for comfort, but I finally got
clear of It and launched a torpedo at It. Missed.
Then a tremendous bang. No, it wasn't the torpedo.
The boat rocked violently, and the lights went out but
flashed on again.

" 'Depth bomb!' I exclaimed to my watch officer*

"It was my first experience, and It frightened me
thoroughly. I was sure we must be sinking. I did

212 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

not breathe easily till positive reports came from all
quarters that the boat was sound: ^Everything in
order below.'

"Another one popped, but it was some distance
away. You may be sure we were getting away from
there as fast as possible. The destroyer had seen the
track of the torpedo and had come charging to give
us a taste of the new medicine the enemy had com-
pounded for us. And I never did like the taste of
that medicine."

Other U-boat skippers join Commander Spiess
heartily in his small appetite for the depth charges.
The watery mantle of the ocean was an impentrable
armour against gunfire, but the cocoanuts dropped into
the sea were an extension of the aerial projectile to
the world of the sub-surface. They chased the U-
boat into the U-boat's own element. Submarine mis-
siles for submarine boats.

The depth charge was aimed by sundry indicators
that indicated the presence of a submarine, — the sight
of a periscope, bubbles sent up by the firing of a tor-
pedo, the torpedo's track, the streak of oil on the sur-
face left by leaking oil tanks, and so on. Then the
listening device called the hydrophone was brought
out, with which the presence of a submarine could be
detected at considerable distances.

With the creation of new anti-submarine weapons
went a multiplication of craft that acted against the
submerslbles. Great fleets of destroyers and all man-
ner of patrol craft, from yachts to trawlers, scoured
the sea. When the United States entered the war,
the American sub chaser was added to the list. Air-
planes and dirigibles scouted for U-boats to report
them and drop bombs on them.

Merchant ships sailed armed like young cruisers,
with formidable guns and trained naval gun crews,
and whenever a U-boat made a surface attack upon

A convoy zigzagging through the danger zone.

A U-boat sights more victims and prepares
to dive for the attack.

A U-boat crew surrendering to a Yankee destroyer.

The victim of a night attack abandoned by her convoy.

NEW TERRORS OF THE UNDER SEA 213

freighter or liner it was likely to have a battle on its
hands. Commander Kophamel tells of a melodra-
matic gun battle with an armed steamer which occurred
during the record distance cruise for submarines, his
voyage with the big U-151 from Germany down the
west coast of Africa and back, which covered a dis-
tance of twelve thousand miles. This occurred in
the autumn of 1917.

A month and a half out, the U-lSl sighted a
steamer off the coast of Africa. The swift submer-
sible cruiser cut its way through the water at its best
surface speed. A shot across the steamer's bow, and
a shot in return. The vessel attacked changed its
course and ran as fast as it could, firing with its stern
gun. It was fast, but the submarine cruiser was fast,
too. And now ensued a long, running fight. The
U-boat's shells dropped around the fleeing ship in a
continuous succession. Still there was no sign of sur-
render. Game lads aboard that ship — how game will
presently develop. The range was long, but at last
the raider of the deep scored a clean hit. The shell
burst on deck near the stern, right in the middle of
the large store of ammunition for the steamer's gun.
A fire started, and as the blaze arose the ammuni-
tion supply began to explode. Shells popped, one
after another hke giant firecrackers, and hurtled out
over the water.

The crew had no more fight left in them. They
jumped pell mell into their boats as fast as they could.
No one who knew the real facts of the matter could
blame them. They rowed with crazy desperation in
their oars. Meanwhile, the U-boat was drawing up.

"All that remained," Commander Kophamel re-
lates," was to slide up to the craft and at a good point-
blank range shoot a couple of shells into her at the
water line. ' However, the fire was still burning
aboard, a neat little blaze at the stern, and the fire-

214 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

works made It seem like an old-fashioned American
Fourth of July. The shells were zipping here and
there over the sea, and it would be just our luck, if
we ventured too close, to get nicked by one.

" *We won't take any chances,' I said to myself,
*We'll stay out here and pop her at good safe range.'
That was one of the luckiest decisions I ever made.

''The U'151 took a comfortable position just out-
side what seemed to be the maximum carrying dis-
tance of the crazily exploding shells, and began a
leisurely, enjoyable bit of gunnery. The men at the
gun took a good quiet aim and then the shooting be-
gan— I mean the fun began. A shell hit the steamer
squarely amidships.

''I thought the end of the world had come. Our
eardrums were almost burst. Where the steamer had
been was now a vast billowing cloud of smoke. The
sky darkened and the air became thick and gray. A
hailstorm struck us, a hailstorm of debris. The ship
had been blown to atoms. In a few seconds our
deck was so covered with bits of pulverized wreckage
that there was no space where you could put your
hand without touching any. We were neither hurt
nor endangered by the descending rain. The pieces
were all minute, so violent the explosion had been.

"The lifeboats were in the distance. We over-
hauled them. The men told us that the ship had been
the Caprera, an Italian vessel bound from the United
States for Italy with a thousand tons of dynamite.
They explained to us with the vivid expressiveness of
Italians that it was enough for them to have con-
ducted a gun fight with that kind of cargo below the
decks, and when the ship had caught fire and their
ammunition supply began to explode — well, that was
too much. They were right.

"It was that explosion of the store of ammunition
that had saved us. If it hadn't been for the danger

NEW TERRORS OF THE UNDER SEA 215

of those popping shells, the U-151 would have sailed
right up and pumped a shell into that mountain of
dynamite at close range — and that would have been
our final effort at gunnery/'

This brings us to the final and most effective system
of defense against the U-boats, the convoy system. It
stands as the characteristic feature of the climax of
the U-boat warfare, the second unrestricted campaign,
Germany's greatest effort.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CLIMAX OF THE U-BOAT WAR

The first unrestricted U-boat campaign had been
discontinued largely because of the protests of the
United States, but now In the beginning of 1917 Ger-
many decided to fly In the face of the opinion of the
world and loose the U-boats again without restriction.
She planned to win the war by the full weight of
submarine attack.

In February of 1917, the first month of Germany's
second unrestricted U-boat campaign, a half million
tons of shipping were destroyed. Then the figures
leaped another hundred thousand during March. And
in April, when the United States entered the war, that
appalling total had shot up to a million tons, Eng-
land, in desperation, seized every available submarine
weapon, and was fighting with her back to the wall.
Still she was unable to stop the inexorable rising tide.
The fate of the British Empire hung in the balance.

Just how desperate the situation was, the public, of
course, didn't know. The British people little
dreamed that in April, 1917, they had only enough
food in their country to last through a single month
or at most six weeks. Then famine ! If the U-boats
had continued their terrific rate of destruction, Brit-
ish shipping would have been swept from the seas.
Germany knew this and feverishly went on building
more U-boats.

216

THE CLIMAX OF THE U-BOAT WAR 217

Our own Admiral Sims in his Victory at Sea gives
us a graphic picture of that dark hour: —

Could Germany have kept fifty submarines constantly at
work on the great shipping routes in the winter and spring of
1917, nothing could have prevented her from winning the war,

Such was the desperate situation when British and
American naval men got together and evolved the
idea of putting all shipping in convoy, and of rushing
American destroyers across at once. So, from then
on, instead of solitary vessels, excellent targets for
U-boats, all ships entering dangerous waters went in
great convoys — well protected by destroyers. They
also proceeded on a bewildering, zigzag course, and
this made a ship a difficult mark for a torpedo. The
accompanying destroyers and armed auxiliary cruisers
surrounding them were ever on the alert, ready to
ram a U-boat, or drop depth bombs, or open with gun-
fire.

Now for a change, instead of meeting say one ship
every day during a ten-day cruise, an under-sea
raider frequently would sight a group of ten or twenty
or even thirty or forty ships. They would be pro-
ceeding together in close formation, under strong de-
stroyer protection. Another result of this system
was that sometimes a week or two would pass in which
Herr U-boat Skipper would sight not a single ship
of any kind — not even a windjammer. Then all of
a sudden a forest of masts and funnels would appear
over the horizon — the liners and freighters all zig-
zagging, and the destroyers circling and buzzing
around their brood. Naturally, with the odds so
great against him, Herr U-boat Kommandant had
to strike ruthlessly and without warning, or slink off
without striking at all.

Commander Hersing of Dardanelles fame was one

218 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of the raiders of the deep who knew only too well the
risky game of attacking convoys. After his return
from the Mediterranean in 1917 he was operating
again in the North Sea and the Atlantic. Here he had
eight exciting encounters with convoys. And on each
occasion he scattered the convoy and bagged at least
one ship.

''Perhaps my closest shave in an encounter with a
convoy," he had told me "was in August, 1917, fifty
miles off the southwest tip of Ireland. It was one of
those rare sparkling days with hardly a ripple on the
sea. Suddenly smudges of smoke appeared far off
in the sky to the west. Then through my binoculars
I made out one funnel and one mast, and then a great
lot of them doing a sort of zigzag sea cotillion. *Ah,
ha, here's where we get some excitement,' I muttered
to myself as I pressed the button to sound the electric
alarm bells. Then the ocean opened and swallowed
us while the convoy bore down upon us. We lay just
under the surface, but with that glassy sea I hardly
dared show our ^asparagus.' For periods of twenty
seconds, but never longer, I would run it up for light-
ning glimpses. Apparently there were some fifteen
steamers, and they were formed in three parallel lines,
all zigzagging. Around them was a cordon of de-
stroyers, eight hundred yards or so farther out. Six
ran in front of the convoy, six behind, and six on either
side. Twenty-four destroyers shepherding fifteen
ships. You'd have thought that ample protection
indeed. When we stole our last hurried look before
going Into action that nearest oncoming phalanx of
destroyers was so close that they could easily have
rammed us before we could have plunged to a safer
depth — if they had spotted us.

"'Full speed ahead!' Submerged, we sped right
toward the convoy and passed between two of the zig-
zagging destroyers. Then up with our periscope for

THE CLIMAX OF THE U-BOAT WAR 219

a fraction of a minute. Yes, we were in the midst of
it and two of the steamers were directly within
range — broadside targets.

" 'First and second torpedoes — fire I Periscope
down. Dive to forty metres T

'*As the U-21 pointed her nose toward the depths,
I counted the seconds. Ten — twenty — thirty —
forty — almost a minute now — perhaps the torpedoes
had gone wild. Then two explosions. Both of them
had hit.

"The destroyers were after us. The ways of the
torpedoes gave them our trail. Every square yard
of water was being literally peppered with depth
bombs. They were exploding on every side of us,
over our heads, and even below. The destroyers were
timing them for three different depths — ten metres,
25 metres, and 50 metres. Himmelherrgott! they
were letting us have them at the rate of one every
ten seconds.

"A terrific detonation right beside us. The boat
shivered from the impact, and the lights went out.
'Good-bye U-Zi; I thought.

" 'Report from all compartments,' I shouted into
the speaking tube as I switched on my pocket flash.
The reports came back. 'All tight below.' Gott sei
Dank!

"The lights flashed on again. But the rain of
depth charges still continued. We were zigzagging
now, more crazlly than the steamers above us. But
turn where we would, we could not get away. The
sound of propellers followed us wherever we went,
and the bombs continued their infernal explosions.
The U'Zl shivered with each detonation — and so did
we. No doubt the destroyers were tracing us by a
track of leaking oil from our tanks, or with their
hydrophones-, or both.

"Exactly ^wt hours went by before the hum of that

220 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

plague of propellers above us died away. For five
hours we had been pestered by those blasted depth
bombs. How we managed to dodge them all is a
mystery.

"After that I profited by our experience and tried a
different way of getting the best of the destroyers.
Instead of trying to put as much space as possible
between the U-21 and a convoy, thus giving the
destroyers a chance to chase me on the open sea, I
dived right under the steamers and stayed there while
the destroyers peppered the surrounding waters. Had
they known where we were, what could they have
done? Nothing! A depth bomb thrown there would
have done as much, and perhaps vastly more, damage
to their own ships than to us. Of course, there was
always the chance that the torpedoed ship might sink
on top of us, just as later happened to Von Arnauld.
But I preferred that risk."

It was some two months later that Commander
Ernst Hashagen, in his 17-62, overhauled an Ameri-
can steamer lagging nearly one hundred miles behind
her convoy.

"I sent a shot across her bow, but Instead of stop-
ping she opened up with her own gun. All morning
long we had a running fight with the Luckenhach, She
did no serious damage to us. But a full dozen of our
shells found her. One had even set fire to her cargo
of cotton. Still those stubborn Yankees refused to sur-
render. Our gun outranged theirs, but still they kept
on firing at us and flashing out SOS signals.

"Three or four hours later we saw a smudge in the
distance. Was zum Teufel ist da los?^ said I to my-
self. Yes, it was what I thought. The American
destroyer Nicholson popped over the horizon hurry-
ing to the aid of the Luckenhach, Those Yankee
destroyers!" The husky Hashagen smiled ruefully
over the memory of them. "Naturally, we command-

THE CLIMAX OF THE U-BOAT WAR 221

ers had no love for them. This one opened fire on us
at once, and her second shell got us in the bow. That
was our cue to get away from that place.

"We dived. Quick as a wink that destroyer was
after us, sowing the sea with depth charges. We
stayed down for about an hour. Then we came up a
bit and took a cautious glance through our cyclop's
optic to see what had happened to the lucky Lucken-
bach. And what a sight for a U-boat met my eyes!
By chance, in groping bhndly under the sea, we had
stumbled right into the rest of that convoy. Twenty
steamers accompanied by ten destroyers had just ar-
rived over the horizon. And leading the second col-
umn was a 13,000-ton British auxiliary cruiser.

"I had only one torpedo left. With such a big ship,
a vital spot must be hit or one torpedo is not enough.
Waiting until the cruiser was almost broadside to us,
1 aimed for the engine room. Then I ran the peri-
scope up for an instant. Yes, we had made our bull's
eye. But there was no time for a second look. The
destroyers saw us, wheeled, and charged. We sub-
merged and pushed off amid the roar of depth bombs.
A little later we picked up the wireless message:

** 'Orama sinking.'

"There was only one way to steer clear of those de-
stroyers. That was to waylay a ship before a convoy
was made up or after it had scattered. I met the
Cunarder Ausonia that way — six hundred miles out
from Ireland, steering a lone course westward after the
dismissal of its convoy. I was that far out myself only
because I was on my way to the Azores. A quick dive,
a torpedo hit square in the engine room, and the Ausonia
took her last plunge, while her crew disappeared over
the horizon in their life boats."

Six months passed. The U-boats were fighting
a losing game now. The convoy system had most of

222 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

them baffled. Four hundred miles west of Brest a
10,000-ton French cruiser, bearing the name of the
famous old naval family of Dupetit-Thouars, steamed
west to pick up a convoy from America and escort it
through the danger zone. An oily sea and a flaming
sunset. A hidden U-boat raised its periscope. Look-
ing through that periscope was the same officer who
had the year before won his spurs as one of the few
to wage successful war against the convoys.

No depth bomb or "ash can," as the American
*'gobs" called them, had dropped into the ocean with
the doughty Hashagen's name written on it. So he
still stalked big game at sea. Through the asparagus
he saw the black silhouette of the approaching cruiser
outlined against the sky. Below in the U-62 he waited
until the torpedo range had shortened.

"First and second torpedoes — firel"

They left their tubes and raced neck and neck toward
the Frenchman. Both were square hits. The cruiser
listed, and her five hundred men took to the lifeboats.
SOS calls crackled through the gathering dusk. But
there were no sub chasers in the vicinity and the only
ships close enough to help were forbidden to go. The
fate of the Hogue, the Cressy, and the Aboukir had
not been forgotten. In twenty minutes it was too late.
The Dupetit-Thoiiars had taken her final plunge.

Yes, many ships were still being sunk. But with
the inauguration and development of the convoy sys-
tem the Allied defense tightened. The U-boats no
longer had things their own way so much of the time.
Even the American destroyer Nicholson got quick
revenge for the affront it had received from the U-dZ,

One day she steamed out of Queenstown as the flag-
ship of a westbound convoy. Next in line came another
member of her squadron, the U. S. S. Fanning. The
feathery wake of a periscope appeared in the distance.
Both the Nicholson and Fanning wheeled and charged.

THE CLIMAX OF THE U-BOAT WAR 223

Of course, Fritz had vanished from sight before they
reached the spot, but they threw their "ash cans" full
of TNT in all directions.

Herr U-boat was too slow and hadn^t gotten out
of range. Two of those Yankee ash cans found their
fish and exploded near enough to disable the prowler's
machinery. When she started to sink, the German
commander knew his one and only chance lay in com-
ing to the top. That might give some of his men a
chance to come through alive. So he ordered the tanks
blown, and up she popped right alongside the two
destroyers. After opening their seacocks the Germans
scrambled through the hatches and into the water.
The U'58 went down like a rock, but the Americans
fished up Kapitanleutnant Gustav Amberger and his
thirty-five men and took them back to Queenstown.

No doubt many naval experts thought of the convoy
system as a possible means of getting the best of Fritz
at sea, but the lion's share of the credit for bringing
about its adoption goes to none other than Rear Ad-
miral Sims, Commander of the American Naval Forces
operating in European waters during the war. That
alone should insure Admiral Sims of a high place in
naval history, for the part he played in the inaugura-
tion and development of the convoy system undoubt-
edly ranks as one of the most valuable of all the con-
tributions that Uncle Sam made toward Allied victory.

If you doubt this, just ask Herr U-boat Com-
mander who was lucky enough to survive those last
thrilling months of the war and hear his remarks when
you mention convoys. ^^Zum Teufel nochmair' he'll
say. Indeed, if there are no ladies in the offing he will
grow even more sulphurous than that and will express
his sentiments in language that fairly smokes.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FLANDERS LAIR

It was a sombre winter day, and my wife and I were
winging our way from London to Amsterdam. It
happened to be the first flight of our 25,000-mile aerial
jaunt over the skyways of Europe. The atmosphere
was unusually bumpy and fog was driving us lower
and lower. We sped across the Channel less than two
hundred feet above the white caps and then swung
north at Calais. The frontier between France and
Belgium vanished astern and a few minutes later we
were looking down on the ancient town of Bruges,
near where the English Channel widens into the North
Sea. An interesting city, Bruges; a famous commer-
cial mart in the days of the Hanseatic League. I
remembered reading of days of revelry which that
merrie monarch, Charles II of England, passed there
during the time of his exile. But Bruges had been
through far more exciting times q.uite recently. For
this ancient port of the Belgae played a particularly
sensational role in the greatest of all wars. Bruges
was the Flanders lair for the German under-sea
corsairs.

On the land below us were canals, interlaced like a
fine network. Two of those canals, the two leading to
the sea, were the lanes along which the raiders of the
deep crept on their way in and out of Bruges. The
mouth of one is at Ostend and the other a few miles
farther up the coast at Zeebrugge. These three towns
and the two lengths of canal connecting them consti-

224

THE FLANDERS LAIR 225

tuted the famous Flanders lair of the U-boats during
the World War. An invaluable base it was too, be-
cause it was many miles nearer England and the vital
Channel ports than the main submarine bases on the
German North Sea coast. Then, too, from Bruges
the enemy submarines could dart out much more
quickly and raid the Atlantic shipping lanes. Bruges,
apparently, was a perfectly adapted haven for the
raiders of the under sea. After an expedition a U-boat
could creep along under the surface of the waters of
the English Channel and North Sea, slip into the
mouths of those canals, and then continue on up to
Bruges, with its ideal inland harbour. There they
found fairly safe shelter, out of range of the ever
menacing guns of the British Fleet. The entrance at
Zeebrugge was the one they generally used, and to
great renown did that little Belgian watering place rise
during the course of the campaign under the sea.

From Bruges we swung west a bit and flew right
above the famous Zeebrugge Mole, a semi-circular
concrete wall, the purpose of which was to shelter the
mouth of the canal from the assaults of storm-beaten
waves. Banking a bit, we tilted way over and got a
perfect view of the mouth of the canal. Half sub-
merged down there was the shadowy hulk of a sunken
ship. A mute witness of war, a monument to a daring
band of men. That hulk is what remains of the
famous block vessel which the British, during their
raid on Zeebrugge, ran into the canal and sank across
its mouth in the hope of cutting the line by which the
submarines passed back and forth from Bruges to
the sea.

This aerial voyage of ours merely brought idle
thoughts to me and my fellow wanderer of the skies.
But now, with the tale of the raiders of the deep to be
told, the Flanders base of the German submarine ser-
vice is of big and immediate importance. It ranked

226 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

second, next to the lair along the north coast of Ger-
many. Sixty-seven U-boats, all operating at one time
from the bases on the North German coast was the
record for that region. Cattaro in the Adriatic was
for a time the home of thirty-four. Between these two
came Flanders with a maximum of thirty-seven raiders
operating out of Bruges simultaneously. The events
off Flanders really constituted a separate phase of the
campaign of the U-boats, just as did the happenings
in the Adriatic-Mediterranean field, and the tale is one
of special interest because here there were singular
perils and more than the ordinary submarine-warfare
dangers to be faced.

Since the U-boats operating from the Flanders base
slipped in and out on short forays, an especial kind of
under-sea craft was evolved. This craft was dubbed
the UB-boat. These UB's were small and stumpy
and had a far shorter radius of action than the U-boat.
In fact, some were so tiny that they were called sew-
ing machines. Their crews numbered only about
twenty, and even then were frightfully crowded in the
narrow space. Still another special type of submersible
operated off Flanders. These were the UC type of
boats. They were the mine layers that stealthily made
their way to the main waterways around Britain in
order to deposit their floating bombs.

Bruges, naturally, was not only the rendezvous, but
it also was the playground for the Flanders' U-boat
men when off duty between raids. The under-sea flo-
tilla chiefs had their headquarters in one of the oldest
buildings in the ancient Belgian city. The Jesuits had
built the place and it looked it; it was a curious, charm-
ing old stone building with mullioned windows that
overlooked a narrow, crooked, cobble-stoned street.
Here the U-boat master minds hatched their plots.
But when meal time came they adjourned to another
place, a sumptuous private mansion, a place of spacious

THE FLANDERS LAIR 227

rooms, lofty ceilings, carved woodwork, and crystal
chandeliers. For living quarters they scattered about
in private houses deserted by their owners.

There was an old rathskeller, a cellar which you
entered by arched doorways two feet thick. This was
the nightly congregating place for the daring men who
voyaged under the sea in ships. Some submarine com-
mander with a leaning toward art and caricature dec-
orated the walls in fantastic and highly imaginative
fashion. On one side was a British ship with John
Bull himself as a figurehead being towed into Zee-
brugge by a group of submarines. Another cartoon
pictured a card game. The players were mines and
the stake was a German submarine. Rather grim and
sharp-pointed humour. Another familiar haunt was
a little Belgian restaurant where the oysters were par-
ticularly good. It was kept by a Belgian woman whose
pretty daughter helped to serve the Captain Nemos
when there was a crowd.

On the outskirts of Bruges was a fine old chateau
which the submarine officers used as a country club, and
on fine days a crowd would drive out. Automobiles
were not available ; they were reserved for urgent offi-
cial use. But there were plenty of two-horse carriages
to be hired and they were quite imposing equipages.
A sailor, temporarily metamorphosed into a Jehu,
would take his place on the box, crack his whip, and
off they would whirl to the country club in high state.

^'Sunday evening was always dedicated to the muse
of music,** Commander Giinther Suadicani of the Flan-
ders Flotilla told me. "I had a tiny house belonging to
a Belgian officer at the front and there we gathered,
violinists, cellists, and pianists. Fritz von Tvardovski,
then in command of a boat and now of the German
Foreign Office; Bieber, who was lost on a mine in the
North Sea toward the end of the war; Wendrioner,
Von Mangoldt, Walther, and others. Trained musi-

228 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

clans were we, and we treated Beethoven and Schu-
mann with reverence and perhaps with some skill."

There were gay times in Bruges during those days.
Men who went sliding to terror and death in the sub-
marines tried to forget. They needed to, for the mor-
tahty in the Flanders Flotilla was particularly high.
In addition to the usual destroyers, Q-ships, depth
bombs, mines, nets, etc. that they were accustomed
to contend with, these men in their little submersi-
bles were hunted by swarms of seaplanes. In fact,
Allied birdmen swooped out of the clouds, destroyed
six of them in all, and crippled many more. The days
ashore were the only compensation for the hardship
and peril at sea, and it was only natural for men to
make the most of it. There was plenty of roistering,
and the British tell tales of scandalous high jinx at
Bruges.

The German base at Flanders was a particularly
irksome threat to the Allies, a thorn in the side. It
was entirely too near the British coast to be comfort-
able. The Allied measures of defense were elaborate.
They had to be, for the Flanders U-boat lair was right
at the very door of the Channel. The U-boats were
much too small to attempt the long trip around the
British Isles via the Shetlands, which was the usual
and by far the safest route to the Atlantic for the big-
ger submarines. So the Flanders Flotilla had to use
the route through the Channel in order to raid the
waters off the British south and west coasts, and that
route was strewn with dangers. The British had spe-
cial submarine barriers across the Channel. These
were for the benefit of all under-sea raiders, but in
particular they were directed against the smaller
UB-boats that sneaked in and out of those canals at
Ostend and Zeebrugge.

Across that narrow channel between England and
France three lines of defense were laid. These formed

THE FLANDERS LAIR 229

the famous "Dover Barrier/' so called. The first
line consisted of nets festooned with mines. The nets
were laid below the surface of the water so as to be
hidden from the unwary U-boat commander, and be-
hind the nets patrol boats kept watch for any U-boat
attempting to creep through on the surface. Sub-
marines sometimes dived under the nets, a hazardous
proceeding. Sometimes they were lucky and made it.
The barrier was laid deep, and a submarine could only
dive to a certain depth. The usual way of passing the
barrier was to slide right over the nets at night and
play hide-and-seek with the patrol boats.

Beyond the nets came the second barrier, consisting
of mines anchored in tiers at various depths, so that
U-boats on the prowl down there anywhere would be
likely to bump into one and in doing so get *'bumped
off." Here again patrol boats kept watch for sub-
marines making the passage on the surface, and at
night the strait from shore to shore was illuminated
by burning magnesium cast out upon the water. The
U-boat stealing along on the surface found itself con-
fronted by this belt of dazzling flame. But the burning
magnesium gave a fickle blaze, and the lighting was
not a hundred per cent, efficient, and there were times
when a part of the barrier was In darkness. The
U-boat would lurk outside of the illuminated belt and
wait for one of those periods of darkness and then
try to run through, full speed ahead. It was a gamb-
ler's chance, a bout hand to hand with death. If the
dark spot brightened up before the boat made it
through, then there was merely another entry on the
list of lost submarines and another two or three mil-
lion dollar scalp dangling from John Bull's belt.

If the raider passed safely through all of that gaunt-
let of grief it then came upon barrier number three.
This consisted of a pair of giant searchlights, one on
either shore of the narrowest part of the strait. They

230 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

were so powerful that their beams met in mid-channel
and illuminated the entire strait. Swarms of patrol
boats hovered in readiness on the edge of these beams.
At this point also were placed "drifters" with nets,
fishing boats that went about their business, not of
catching fish but of netting submarines.

In addition to the Channel barrier the British laid
a line of defense directly in front of the Flanders base.
It was a line of mine-studded nets and patrol boats
placed eighteen miles out from Zeebrugge and extend-
ing for thirty-five miles along the coast from the shal-
low water outside of Dunkirk to the shallows of the
Scheldt. There was not enough water at the ends for
a U-boat to dodge round the barrier. Nor was it pos-
sible to dive under the nets. The water along the line
was not deep enough. So it had to be a case of slip-
ping through on the surface at night and trying to give
the patrol boats the slip. It would take a fertile mind
indeed to conjure up a more hazardous undertaking
than this. But men did it and most of them seemed
to thrive on the excitement of it. Not nearly so many
U-boat officers and men went insane as was rumoured*
But the perils they survived made nearly all of them
prematurely old.

The British began their net barrier system early in
the war. They were constantly enlarging and improv-
ing it right up to November, 1918. So the history of
the Flanders Flotilla is a tale of contending with im-
perfect defenses tliat gradually became more and more
perfect. Its great losses, an appalling number, took
place along the barriers. One day in February of
1918 eighteen German under-sea raiders left Zeebrugge
to run the Dover Barrier. Out of the eighteen only
two returned.

By the end of the war the Allies, mainly the British,
had practically closed the Channel to U-boat passage
and so hampered the work of the Flanders Flotilla

THE FLANDERS LAIR 231

that it was of little service. The barriers of mines,
nets, and patrol boats likewise explain how England
was able to throw her miUions of troops into France
by means of efficiently convoyed transports with
scarcely any loss by submarine attack.

There are few phases of warfare and human peril
in general that present such a clear and vivid case of
a gamble with death as the operations of the sub-
marines based on Bruges and Zeebrugge. It was sel-
dom a case of fighting and of having a chance to fight
your way out. Instead, it was a bhnd game of luck
with mines, nets, gunfire, and depth bombs as ever
incalculable and mysterious factors. Either you drew
the wrong card or you didn't, and if you did, why that
was the end, swift and certain and without much
chance of complicated play that would give you a
chance to work your way out.

CHAPTER XXVI

AIRPLANE FIGHTS SUBMARINE

The Germans placed their submarine base Inland
at Bruges to be safe from bombardment from the sea.
But there still remained the dangers of bombardment
from the air. The town was in easy striking distance
for planes coming from the British coast, and the
Britishers did not neglect the opportunity. Night and
day they rained aerial bombs on Bruges.

"We grew so accustomed to air raids/' one of the
Flanders U-boat commanders told me, "that we took
them as a matter of course. No meal was complete
without one to punctuate the courses with the whistle
of falling bombs and the roar of them when they went
off. Rarely did a bright sunny day or a clear night
during those final years of the war go by without a
British bombing party heading for Bruges. The enemy
planes came In flocks, sometimes as many as thirty and
forty at a time. There would be a droning hum of
many motors off In the distance, and that was the
overture, the curtain raiser, letting us know that the
show was about to begin. We had an airplane base a
short distance away, but our machines always seemed
to be far outnumbered, and then when the British sky
raiders came at night our planes would have been of
no use even If they had numbered a thousand. In the
darkness all we could do was to sweep the sky with
searchlights and pepper away hopelessly with our anti-
aircraft guns. We had more than two hundred of
these. But the enemy planes flew high and were almost

232

AIRPLANE FIGHTS SUBMARINE 233

out of reach. We did bring down two or three from
the ground, but for the most part our archies were
more of a danger to us on the ground than to the
hostile planes above. When those two hundred defense
guns opened up and began scattering shells around the
sky and the shell fragments came hailing down it
surely was time to look out below.

"Not one of those British air raids could have been
labelled an important military success. Vital points
were seldom hit, although, of course, there was an
enormous amount of miscellaneous damage done here
and there. All over Bruges buildings were wrecked
and holes torn In the streets. Once a bomb hit an open
place where a few minutes before the whole staff of
submarine officers at Bruges had been collected. Luck-
ily they were gone when the charge of high explosive
struck the spot. Had it registered a direct hit, our
Flanders Flotilla would have been crippled indeed.

"Our destroyers and torpedo boats lying uprotected
in the harbour were frequently hit, though none was
ever sunk or wrecked beyond repair. I remember once
that I returned from a cruise with my U-boat and
looked forward to going to Berlin on leave. Yes,
there was a girl waiting there. When I got into port
I was told that the commander of one of our destroyers
at Bruges was ill and that, instead of keeping the date
in Berlin, I would have to take over the command of
his destroyer while my U-boat was laid up for repairs.
Naturally, I felt pretty glum, but that night there was
an air raid and the destroyer was hit by a bomb. What
there was left of it of course had to go to the dry dock.
And I went to Berlin !

"Our U-boats were safe from sky attack. Small
craft, it was possible to build shelters for them. We
had regular, U-boat stables, quite roomy structures
where as many as twenty-five craft could be run in
side by side. The shelters were covered with a roof

234 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of cement, iron, and gravel more than six feet thick.
Bombs which, exploding in soil, would dig a crater
nine feet deep would scarcely make a dent in
these well-constructed roofs. The main submarine
stables were at Bruges, but we also had a few near
the mole at Zeebrugge."

But if the submarines in port were sheltered from
peril from the sky, it was far otherwise when they were
at sea. There is a savour of strangeness and paradox
in the conflict of airplane and submarine, and this new
type of conflict found its especial field in the waters
where the raiders of the Flanders Flotilla were aprowl.

The Flanders under-sea wolves operated in an area
within easy striking range of the Allied eagles whose
aeries were along the English coast. So whenever a
sub set out from Zeebrugge it had constantly to keep
a weather eye on the clouds or on that dazzling sun
from whence attack so often came. Particularly par-
tial to the trick of coming out of the sun were those
huntsmen of the skies. Completely hidden by the
blinding glare, they often would swoop down on the
enemy unawares, sometimes on a red-nosed Boche
plane, or on a zeppelin, or on a submarine. If the
under-sea raider had an anti-aircraft gun it might, per-
haps, force the plane to keep at a respectful height.
Usually, however, the Allied pilot paid no attention
to guns or anything else. Down he would pounce, drop
his bombs, and then be off in less time than it takes to
tell it. The German's safest course was to dive. But
even then he had to go down, down mighty deep in the
depths to elude the eagle-eyed war bird above. To
an aerial scout a U-boat anywhere near the surface,
in calm weather, was just as visible in the water as on
top of it. In many places off the Flanders coast the
water was quite shallow, so shallow that submarines
often "found it well nigh Impossible to sink to a secure
depth.

AIRPLANE FIGHTS SUBMARINE 235

It was during 1917 that half a dozen boats out of
Zeebrugge were sunk by aerial attack. One of these
was a curious case. German Army Headquarters had
been Inquiring about several military officers who were
missing. It was found that these men had gone out
for a submarine cruise with a certain convivial Com-
mander Glimpf on his boat, the UB-20. Then it was
also disclosed that Ghmpf had taken his raider to sea
without orders, just to show these skeptical land-
lubbers what submarine cruising was hke. Half of his
crew happened to be in hospital with influenza at the
time. Hence the UB-20 was sadly undermanned when
she set forth on this under-sea joy ride. The UB-20
never returned. Several weeks later Commander
Glimpf's body was washed ashore. The boat must
have gone down with the commander on deck at the
time. The British tell of ladies being on board that
submarine — a wild joy ride indeed. However that
may be, the UB-20 was near shore when a British air
plane swooped down. The water was too shallow for
the submarine to dive, and, furthermore, its manoeuv-
res were handicapped by Its being manned by only half
of its crew. The aerial bombs did their crashing
work and the UB-20 went down with all on board.

The ace of the Flanders men and commander of
the flotilla was Otto Stelnbrinck, who ranks among
the first half dozen of Germany's submarine command-
ers in point of enemy tonnage sunk. He accounted for
two hundred thousand tons of AUIed shipping. He is
now in business in Berlin and doing well. You may
see him almost any day having luncheon at the Kalser-
hof in Berlin, and you will wonder that this dark, quiet,
slender man is the formidable Stelnbrinck whom the
British tried so hard to get.

The British dreaded him and admired him. The
reason for the admiration is not hard to understand.
I will tell you a story about Stelnbrinck to illustrate

236 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the point. It was related to me, not by a German,
but by a British submarine commander who figures in
the Incident.

"It happened in 1916," he said, "in the North Sea
near the English coast at Yarmouth. Steinbrlnck had
a small boat and was submerged to twenty-five feet
when he saw through his periscope four British sub-
marines running on the surface. They were heading
north toward him at a rate of about twelve knots.
They were strung out about a mile apart. I happened
to be the commander of one of those British E-boats.
Steinbrlnck attacked the leader of the oncoming craft,
which was commanded by a friend of mine. The Brit-
ish officer saw the German's periscope, put his helm
hard over, eluded the torpedo, and rammed. Stein-
brlnck lowered his periscope in time, but got his bow
net cutter — the big saw-edged blade a submarine uses
to cut its way out of nets — caught and bent down. He
dived under the E-boat and took a periscope peep from
the other side. The E-boat turned back at full speed
for another ram when Steinbrlnck flicked out both bow
torpedoes for a fluke shot. One torpedo hit. It blew
up the E-boat, which sank at once, leaving two men
swimming. Steinbrlnck saw the three other enemy
submarines which were coming up swiftly. He then
saw them submerge at once, almost as though at a
single command. Their periscopes cut through the
water toward the scene of the explosion. They were
approaching at short range and Steinbrlnck knew they
would let their torpedoes go the moment they got
their sights on him. I remember that down in my
conning tower I was waiting eagerly with all four
torpedoes ready to go as I came along, twenty-five
feet down and nine knots speed.

"Steinbrlnck came to the surface. I saw him after
the war and compared notes with him. He told me
he was damned nervous as he brought his boat out of

AIRPLANE FIGHTS SUBMARINE 237

the water. He expected to be blown up at any moment.
He kept his stern to our line of fire so as to present
the smallest possible mark for us to shoot at. He
steered his boat gingerly over. We wondered what he
was up to, until we saw. A couple of his sailors
hopped out on deck and leaned down to the water.
They were picking up the two Englishmen who had
been left swimming when their boat had sunk. Then,
having rescued the two men, the gallant Steinbrinck
dived as fast as he could and got away from there.
Well, / wouldn't have done It. I take reasonable risks,
but — well I'd like to tell a girl I had done it."

No wonder English navy men have a considerable
regard for Otto Steinbrinck. He was not of the dash-
ing, dare-devil type, but a conscientious, hard-working
officer, serious and responsible. Submarine command-
ers were likely to be of that sort. Mere recklessness
was a sure ticket to the other world in the war under
the sea. There were flashing, daring temperaments,
but along with fiery spirit went cool, heady calculation
and the prosy quahties of Industry and application.

One of the Flanders stories was of that frightful ex-
perience which the world to-day holds to be one of the
most terrifying of misfortunes — trapped In a sunken
submarine. It was a common enough thing in this war
under the sea which was the lot of the raiders of the
deep. In nearly every one of the scores of U-boats
sent to the bottom were men who found themselves
entombed alive In the Iron coffin and doomed to slow
death by suffocation, unless they chose to end It more
speedily. In the case of Lieutenant Wenninger and his
men aboard the UBSS the miraculous happened — an
escape from the sunken coffin.

The night of April 22, 1918, was a memorable one.
During the hours of darkness the British made their
incredibly daring raid on Zeebrugge. While this
prodigious adventure was under way back at the sub-

238 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

marine base the UB-SS was treading Its way through
the barriers across the Channel, a lone boat lost in the
darkness and surrounded by all the perils which the
might and cunning of Britain had been able to throw
across the narrow strip of sea.

A patrol boat looms in the darkness. The sub dives
and runs under water. A sudden ear-splitting crash,
and the boat shakes and staggers in a ghastly way.
The lights flash out. The craft has hit a mine and
is mortally injured. She reels and lists and sinks. She
plunges without help or hindrance. A bump, and she
has struck the bottom. Inside in utter darkness the
men are paralyzed with horror. They are all alive.
Compartments have been shattered, and the main body
of the boat is leaking. They have sunk in a hundred
feet of water. They work the mechanisms frantically.
The boat lies still and dead, an inert mass of sub-
merged steel. Any hope they may have had of refloat-
ing her vanishes. Water is seeping in through the
leaking hull.

Only one hope, the conning tower hatch. They
struggle with it, but it will not open. The boat Is fill-
ing. The air inside is becoming compressed. If they
can only get the hatch open! The compressed air
will shoot them out hke missiles, just as the torpedoes
are launched. Like living torpedoes they will be
hurled to the surface of the water. Mad efforts, and
the hatch slowly opens.

And so that night on the dark surface a huge air
bubble broke from the tossing waters of the English
Channel, and with It came the forms of men. Twenty
men of the sunken submarine, the UB-55, escaped from
their iron coffin and fooled old Davy Jones. They
now found themselves swimming. The British patrol
boat, the one that had caused them to submerge just
before they bumped Into the mine, was now out of
sight. It was hours before dawn and not until dawn

AIRPLANE FIGHTS SUBMARINE 239

could they hope that one of the many English boats
patrolling the Channel would sight them and pick them
up. They swam and floated hour after hour. Some
weakened and went down, as if faithful sailors bent
on rejoining their ship. The others, six in number,
including the commander, kept themselves up until
daybreak, when an English boat hove in sight and took
them aboard, prisoners.

Lieutenant Wenninger remained In a British prison
camp until the end of the war. Upon his return to
Germany he continued in the naval service, and now
is executive officer aboard the German cruiser Berlin.

CHAPTER XXVII

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL

In rare cases a U-boat might hit a mine or be other-
wise smashed up by explosives and contrive to get back
to port. Lieutenant Wassner of the Flanders base —
his brother officers called him Uncle Fritz — brought
his boat in so badly damaged that it seemed a miracle
that it could remain afloat. That boat, though, was
saturated with bad luck. It was put in the dry dock
for repairs, and while there was hit by an air bomb,
and that finished its career. Uncle Fritz went back
to Germany to get another boat, but before he could
reach Bruges the German collapse had begun. The
line was forced back In Belgium and the Flanders base
at Bruges and Zeebrugge was given up.

Commander Count Schmettow of the mine-laying
JJC-Z6 was rammed by a steamer. The hull at the
point where it was struck was little more than a
twisted mass of steel with a gaping hole. Still Count
Schmettow brought the craft back to port. But mir-
acles don't happen twice. Later on he was rammed
by a British destroyer near the mouth of the Thames.
Again he might have brought his boat home safely,
but the British took no chance of that. He had dived,
and they destroyed him with depth bombs.

A melancholy case was that of Paul Hundlus. He
was awarded the Pour le Merite, the highest German
decoration and the one so rarely bestowed. He was
away on cruise when the award was made and never
returned to receive the decoration. His boat was

240

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 241

attacked by airplanes and fishing smacks and went
down shattered by bombs. It was in September of
1918 and his boat was the last one lost in the Strait
of Dover before the Armistice.

Then there was Commander von Zerboni di Sposetti
of the UC'21. He was of an ancient Itahan family
transplanted to Germany generations before. His
father and four brothers were all German officers.
His submarine was caught in the nets and mines of
the barriers and was lost with all aboard. By an
ironical chance one of his brothers was the victim of
a British submarine attack. He went down when the
cruiser Prinz Adalbert was torpedoed by a British
submarine in the Baltic.

The blithesome spirit of the Flanders base was
Losz, who made fun of the barriers. *'Go through
on the surface,'* he always said. *'The patrol boats
are Wind. They can't see a thing. I go through
under their very noses." And he did go through again
and again, flirting with death. The barriers had their
revenge, though. In the UB-57 Losz hit one of the
mines that formed a part of the barrier off Zeebrugge,
and that was the end of him and his raider.

No phase of the war under the sea was more curious
than that of the fishing boats that dragged for U-boats
with steel nets. A fishing boat could make an ugly
trap. Often these craft had long nets extended astern.
A U-boat might spy such a vessel and decide to sink
it by gunfire. Prudently, the stalking boat might take
a good look at its prey first from under the water. It
would circle around at close range inspecting through
its periscope. And then it might get caught in the
hidden net extending under the water from the seem-
ingly innocent fisherman.

Commander Fritz von Tvardovski had a rare ad-
venture with the fishing boats that went netting for
submarines. He told me of this when we met in Kiel

242 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

shortly after the Armistice. It was off the east coast
of England. Von Tvardovski attacked and sank a
small ship between two little harbours. The moment
the alarm was given he found himself surrounded by
an angry swarm of patrol boats, armed motor launches,
and trawlers. He submerged, but before he could get
a safe distance from the coast and its shallows they
had surrounded him. Most of the attackers could do
ten or twelve knots and the submerged speed of his
tiny sub was two. It was like the case of a fox in a
thicket surrounded by beaters.

He could hear the propellers of the boats closing in
nearer and nearer, narrowing the circle. And he was
not fast enough to get out of the circle. They were
dragging for him with their nets. He got Into deep
water and dived as deep as he dared. A few feet
farther down the boat would have been crushed by
the pressure of the water. It was not deep enough.
There was a ratthng and a scraping overhead. The
U-boat was brought up with a jerk that hurled the
commander to the connlng-tower floor. One of the
chains attached to the nets had caught the cigar-shaped
body and held it fast.

Ever go fishing and catch a submarine? Just imagine
the thrill of it! Well, those British fishermen had a
U-boat on the end of their line. All they had to do
was to haul it in, or drop a depth bomb on it. Tvar-
dovski knew he was lost unless he could break loose.
The boat was quivering and pitching back and forth
very much like a hooked fish.

"Full speed ahead!" was the command — every ounce
of engine power.

There was a shattering and a cracking and then a
loud report. The U-boat lurched forward. It had
torn away, just as a big fish with a lunging dart breaks
a fisherman's line.

The fish had broken loose, but was blind. In the

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 243

struggle with the entangling chain the U-boat's peri-
scope had been snapped off. The craft could only
grope in the depths, or rise to the surface and take
what was coming to it there. Away it went, sightless
under water, and continued groping its way for an
hour. Anything to get as far away as possible from
that swarm of enemies. Eventually, though, it had to
come up, and when it did the thrill was something
tremendous.

^'Stand by for the surface!" Tvardovski gave the
order, and the boat rose. He hadn't the slightest idea
where he might be.

As the conning tower broke the water the com-
mander threw open the conning tower hatch swiftly
for a look around. A British submarine was likewise
emerging only a few yards away. Its commander was
just coming out of his conning tower. The two skip-
pers took one look at each other, and neither ever for-
got the expression on the other's face. Simultaneously
they both leaped back. Those two boats broke records
for speed of diving that day.

Tvardovski's voyage back to Zeebrugge was quite a
feat of navigation, running blind below water by dead
reckoning, with an occasional rise to the surface for a
look around, until he reached waters where it was safe
to run awash.

The Flanders Flotilla could scarcely have avoided
its share of experiences with Q-ships, and here it had
something real to brag about. One of the tiny boats
out of Zeebrugge, the UC-71, had a tremendous fight
with the famous Q-ship Dunraven under the command
of Britain's Q-ship ace, Gordon Campbell. The sub-
marine succeeded not only in getting out of a well-
laid trap, but sank its adversary. The victor was the
fair-haired boy of the Flanders base, young Reinhold
Salzwedel. He was an upstanding chap, blond and
blue-eyed, with a fine wide brow, a firm chin, a humor-

244 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

ous mouth, and a proud carriage of head — a gallant,
laughing, frank-eyed boy, as far as possible from the
popular conception of the barbarous Huh. He was
the favourite of the base, and when he was lost . . .
But before I tell about when and how he was lost let
me add that he won the coveted Pour le Merite,
destroyed more than a hundred and fifty thousand tons
of shipping, and won his thriUing victory over the
daring Gordon Campbell (now Admiral Gordon
Campbell, V. C.) on the Dunraven,

In the Bay of Biscay a lazy old British merchant
steamer pounded innocently along. At least it looked
that way. In reality it was the Dunraven, armed to
the teeth and disguised with all possible cunning as
an ordinary humdrum craft. On the after deck it dis-
played a small gun, which kept up the appearances all
the more, as most Allied ships were going armed at
that time. At eleven in the forenoon the JJC-Jl
sighted this seeming tramp. Salzwedel was wary about
Q-ships, and went about cautiously. He inspected the
ship carefully, and when he had decided it was alto-
gether inoffensive, he opened fire from about 5,000
yards off the starboard quarter. He wasn't taking
any chases of rashly closing in. The Dunraven, keep-
ing up its bluff, pretended to try to run away, and
opened fire with its little gun. Meanwhile, the con-
cealed crew was waiting at concealed guns, ready to
throw off the disguise and open a murderous fire the
moment the submarine ventured to approach so close
that it couldn't be missed.

After a bit of long-range fire, Salzwedel came up at
full speed and opened fire at medium range. The Dun-
raven's next bluff was to pretend that its engines had
been hit. It stopped and let off a cloud of steam, as
if the boilers had exploded. Salzwedel saw the signs
of an explosion and lost whatever uneasiness he may
have had. On the Dunraven a panic party was staged.

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 245

Boats put off with an apparently fear-stricken crew.
One of the forward lifeboats was allowed to drop and
capsize, as If accidentally, that being usually one of
the things that happened when a ship was abandoned
in the face of a submarine attack. Meanwhile, shells
were striking the steamer. The hidden crew kept its
place stoically. It all looked so real that Salzwedel
drew close to administer the final stroke.

Everything was primed for blowing the U-boat out
of the water when misfortune befell the Dunraven, A
shell penetrated the ship's poop and exploded a depth
bomb. The ship staggered under the heavy detona-
tion. Two more shells followed into the poop and
the ship caught fire. The ship's store of depth
charges were placed aft, and soon they went off. In
the tremendous explosion the after 4-inch gun and the
boat's entire crew were blown into the air. The gun
described an arc and landed on the forward deck, and
one man dropped into the water. When Salzwedel
saw the gun and several men go skyrocketing from
the supposedly abandoned ship he had no trouble in
guessing the real state of things. He immediately
submerged. With its secret disclosed, the Dunraven
threw down its disguises, ran up its war flag, and
opened fire. The men aboard thought they hit the
conning tower as it disappeared beneath the waves.

Gordon Campbell aboard the Dunraven now found
himself in a ticklish position. His ship was blazing.
His main magazine might explode any time. The
submarine was below the water. A torpedo would
come next. He had a wireless message that a warship
was coming to his aid. He radioed in return, bidding
the rescuing vessel to keep away. He and his men
had chilled steel for nerves, and they still hoped to
snare their prey. His deck was getting red hot under
the boxes of highly explosive cordite piled there. The
British sailors actually held those boxes in their hands,

246 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

a foot or so above the hot deck, to keep them from
going off and blowing the ship and each and every one
of them to kingdom come.

The expected torpedo was not long delayed. It
struck amidships and nearly broke the Dunraven in
two. The vessel kept afloat. It had been filled with
lumber, so that it would not sink easily. Campbell now
launched a life raft with a part of his crew. But he
still kept a force of picked men aboard and stuck to
his wreck. He was sure that Salzwedel would believe
the ship finally abandoned. Indeed, it seemed impos-
sible for anybody to remain aboard. The after deck
was burning fiercely. The fire had got into the store of
shells now and these were going off in all directions.
Besides, the Dunraven was now so far gone that its
guns could not be used.

The UC-71, as expected, broke water and began to
shell the derelict vessel at close range to sink it. Camp-
bell awaited his opportunity. He had one resource
left. He had torpedoes. He lay in ambush hoping
for a shot. No luck. After shelling the Dunraven
for a while, Salzwedel submerged again. Campbell,
with his ship almost uninhabitable now, took a last
chance. Salzwedel's periscope came within torpedoing
range. The Dunraven loosed its torpedoes one after
another — and missed. Salzwedel quite obviously saw
the last of the two, for the U-boat changed course
sharply. It would have been all over with the Dun-
raven right then if Salzwedel had had another tor-
pedo, but the one he had fired was his last. So he
simply lurked in the distance, waiting to see what
would happen.

Campbell realized that the game was up. So he
wirelessed for the patrol vessels that were waiting over
the horizon. These came rushing and took aboard
the crew of the Dunraven, They put out towlines and
began hauling the Q-ship to port. But the Dunraven

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 247

was too far gone. Before she reached port, she cap-
sized and sank.

That fight is described among naval men as the most
thrilling of all the encounters between submarines and
Q-ships during the war, and it was one of the few
times that a submarine succeeded in putting the quietus
on one of those formidable decoy ships. Gordon
Campbell in particular had been spectacularly success-
ful in the fight against U-boats and had sent three of
them to the bottom before he met the UC-71. The
exploit gained Salzwedel much credit, and deservedly
so. It went far toward establishing him as one of the
foremost of the Flanders commanders.

In December of 1917 Salzwedel went out in the
UB-81, never more to return. In attempting a night
passage his submarine struck one of the mines of one
of the Channel barriers, which exploded under his
stern. The stern was shattered, but the forward
part of the boat remained intact. The craft was on
its way to the bottom, when Salzwedel blew all tanks.
The descent was checked, and the boat was rising.
The UB-81 staggered to the surface. The tip of her
bow stuck out of the water. The wrecked stern held
the rest of the body down. The boat lay like that
and could not straighten out. They opened the bow
torpedo tubes. Two men, an officer and a petty officer,
crawled out. A British patrol boat, having heard the
sound of the explosion, was waiting near by, and, see-
ing a form emerge, a vague form in the darkness,
turned at full speed to ram. The two Germans cling-
ing to the protruding bow waved their arms and
shouted. The patrol boat did not stop. It crashed
into the derelict hull and hurled it under the surface.
The water rushed in through the open torpedo tube
and drowned every one inside. The two men who had
gotten out were the only survivors.

The Flanders base had many an exciting hour,

248 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

between air raids and such, but the pinnacle of wild,
mad commotion came at midnight on the eve of Saint
George's Day, Monday, April 22, 1918, the date of
the famous British raid on Zeebrugge. The elements
of the strategy were simple. The submarine base at
Bruges depended on those two canals previously
referred to, the main one opening to the sea at Zee-
brugge and the secondary one not far off at Ostend.
If the mouths of these two canals were blocked, why
then the German naval craft at Bruges would be
bottled up and the Flanders base be put out of com-
mission. How could they be blocked? Why, by sink-
ing ships across them. The idea was the same as in
the case of Hobson's famous exploit during the
Spanish-American War. So, the British naval authori-
ties decided on a couple of daring raids during which
block ships would be run into the mouths of the canals
at Ostend and Zeebrugge and sunk there.

The problem at Ostend was the simpler. There
nothing was to be encountered except a simple coast
lined with guns. At Zeebrugge, though, there was the
great mole extending in a semi-circle in front of the
canal. The mole was heavily armed with guns and was
defended by a garrison. The plan was to attack the
mole, both to put its defenders out of commission and
to give the impression that this attack was the real
thing. It was a kind of feint to mask the real work,
which was the running in of the block ships. At the
shore end of the mole was a viaduct through which
the tidal water ran. It was planned to cut off the
mole from land communication by blowing up the via-
duct. For this purpose a submarine loaded with high
explosive was to be run under the viaduct and touched
off. While all this was going on the block ships were
to be run Into the canal and sunk.

It was a daring venture daringly executed. At mid-

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 249

night the British flotilla stole its way to Zeebrugge.
When off shore it began a bombardment. This really
aided the surprise. The Germans thought it was
merely a case of shelling from the sea and took to
their shelters. H. M. S. Vindictive bore the brunt of
the action. She ran in, braving the fire of the Ger-
man big guns, drew alongside the mole and landed
troops. The German defenders were so thoroughly
taken by surprise that they at first scarcely resisted the
landing. A tremendous explosion. The submarine
loaded with explosive had been steered under the via-
duct and blown up. The mole was isolated. The
Britisher advanced along the narrow arm sticking out
into the water, and savage fighting took place. Under
cover of this diversion the block ships were run into
the canal and sunk. Then the attackers on the mole
retreated. The Vindictive took them aboard and was
off. The raid was a spectacular success, although many
lives were lost.

Simultaneously, the similar raid on the canal at
Ostend was taking place. It went awry. The block
ships failed to find the canal in the darkness and were
sunk off shore where they blocked nothing at all. The
British displayed the true spirit of the bulldog. A
short while later they took advantage of the fact that
a repetition of the raids would not be expected and
did the same over again. The Vindictive, which had
covered herself with glory, was used this time as a
block ship and sunk across the canal at Ostend.

I talked with a U-boat officer who had played his
part during that incredible hour past midnight. He
gave me a few vivid touches.

"During the day I got back to Zeebrugge from a
cruise with rriy boat. We were all very tired and
decided to rest for a few hours at Zeebrugge before
continuing along the canal to Bruges. We lay in a

250 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

shelter behind the mole, ready to start up the canal
at midnight. We had just taken our boat out of its
stall and were ready to enter the canal when the raid
began and hell broke loose.

'*Out there was the Vindictive coming straight in.
The big guns were roaring at her, but they had not
spotted her soon enough. Before there was a chance
to do much she was too close to hit and alongside the
mole. The guns of my submarine, however, were in
a position to bear on her, and we opened fire. We hit
her repeatedly and must have killed many men on her
decks.

"I have never seen such horrible hand-to-hand fight-
ing as took place on the Zeebrugge Mole. The sailors
from the Vindictive swarmed down, and many of the
defenders, taken by surprise, were unarmed. I saw an
Englishman bayonet a German through the body, and
then the dying man sank his teeth in the throat of his
adversary.

"Everything went wrong that night. As the block
ships came In the junior officer of the land battery at
one side of the entrance thought they were German
torpedo boats and did not fire on them. Even so, it
would have made no difference. He did not see them
in time. At the speed they were going, even if he
had hit them they would not have stopped before they
reached the channel.

"It was a brilliant adventure on the part of the
British. It cost them many men, but no doubt helped
to buck up the morale of their forces and of the Allies
in general. Otherwise it did not have much effect.
It did not block the Flanders base. The sunken ships
did not cover the entrance thoroughly, and on the day
following the raid the U-boats were able to pass in and
out at high tide by following a course like a letter S
past the port side of one of the block ships and the

RUNNING THE DOVER PATROL 251

starboard of the other. At the same time we imme-
diately began to dredge a passage at one side of the
canal, and in three days it was deep enough for a tor-
pedo boat to pass through at high tide.

*'Nor was the Ostend Canal effectively blocked. In
the first attempt the block ships went astray. That
was caused by a curious accident. They planned to
guide themselves by a certain buoy, but on the day
before the raid we for some reason or other, just some
reason of ordinary navigation, moved the buoy ten
miles to the east, and the raiding vessels were com-
pletely baffled. The Vindictive was later sunk right in
the middle of the Ostend Channel, but we were able
to pull it to one side with giant grappling hooks, and
our vessels were able to pass through freely.

"The results of the raid were not important so far
as the movements of the Flanders boats were con-
cerned. But the affair certainly provided an uproarious
midnight for a lot of us."

The end of the Flanders base came at the end of
September of 1918. The German armies were in
retreat. Belgium had to be evacuated. The base was
abandoned. The Germans blew up everything military
that they could not take away, wharves, shelters, and
fortifications, and four submarines that were unfit to
make the voyage back to Germany. Twenty left by
sea and put out for the German coast, and arrived
safely.

The war was at its close when Lieutenant Emsmann,
one of the former Flanders commanders, decided to
have another try at the enemy. He steered from
Wilhelmshaven to Scapa Flow, where the British
Grand Fleet was stationed. He wanted to strike one
last big blow from under the sea and get an important
British warship. On the 28th of October he managed
to get through the outer defenses of Scapa Flow. He

252 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

was scarcely inside before he hit a mine and was blown
up. After the Armistice a diver went down and
opened the conning tower of the foundered boat. Just
inside was the body of Emsmann, his confidential log
book still clutched in his hands. It was apparent that
the U-boat skipper had died trying to destroy it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE KORVETTENKAPITAN SPINS HIS
YARN IN AMERICAN SLANG

Afternoon tea at the Kalserhof is one of the bright
moments of the daily social whirl in post-war Berlin.
The hotel is one of the finest, a gUttering spacious
place. True, I could remember it in a guise some-
what less festive. That was during the revolution in
Berlin just after the end of the war, when savage
fighting was going on between the soldiery of the
republican government and the bolshevist Spartacans.
One night we were unceremoniously ousted from our
rooms and the Kaiserhof was turned into a bristling
fortress, crammed with fighting men and ornamented
at every post of vantage with the ugly muzzles of ma-
chine guns. From then on the sumptuous Kaiserhof
was a central strategic point in the campaign that
resulted in the crushing of the red uprising. But the
hotel was all very different ten years later. Red Rosa
Luxemburg and the fiery Karl Liebknecht are gone to
the Valhalla of the nihilists. The Kaiserhof once more
is quiet and sleek and very well mannered. At tea
you are likely to see half the notables of Berlin, par-
ticularly on the diplomatic side. It is a regular habit
with the officials of the W^ilhelmstrasse foreign office
to adjourn to tea at the Kaiserhof. I remember, the
day I sat there in the lounge, glancing over occasionally
at Stresemann, the Foreign Minister, with his round
head as slick as a billiard ball. My companion for tea
that day was in no wise a figure of diplomacy, although

253

254 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

of a diplomatic family. He was decidedly a person-
age of war, in fact one of the most formidable of the
raiders of the deep, and he was telling me tales of his
adventures under the sea.

Korvettenkapitan Robert Wllhelm Moraht was
born in 1884 on the island of Alsen, now a part of
Denmark. He spent his boyhood in Hamburg and
then entered the Imperial Navy in 1901. His career
with the U-boats was comparatively brief. He entered
the submarine service in 1916 and was captured by the
British in 1918, but those two years were packed with
adventure and hair-raising experience and a spectacular
panorama of exploding torpedoes and sinking ships.
Commander Moraht destroyed forty-four merchant
ships of a total burden of almost one hundred and
fifty thousand tons. He accounted for two men-of-
war, one the largest fighting ship ever sunk by sub-
marine torpedo attack. He was awarded the highest
decorations the Kaiser could give, Including the Pour
le Merite. After the Armistice he retired from the
German Navy, and, planning to enter industrial life,
went about It In a characteristic German way. He
undertook university studies in the science of economy,
took a degree of Doctor of Economics, magna cum
laudCy and has many written treatises. He is now an
expert connected with various German industrial or-
ganizations. I found him an alert, cheery, good-
looking chap of about forty, who told his story in a
vivid manner spiced with drollery, not with boisterous
laughter but with a peculiarly humorous whimsical
smile. He talks English very well. In fact like a cul-
tured Englishman, save for the point of American
slang. This particular Captain Nemo and learned
Doctor of Economics is particularly interested In talk-
ing "United States," and to add to his mastery of
scholarly English he makes a serious effort to master
its latest jazz forms. He really has a finer command

THE KORVETTENKAPITAN 255

of our language than the average American. But our
picturesque slang is his present hobby, and it fits him
to a "T.'* When I talked with him he constantly
swung into American slang. Sometimes he got it
wrong, but more often right — which gave his narration
a colour of its own.

And so at tea in the Kaiserhof (yes, there was tea,
not cocktails) the days when the terror of the sub-
marine stalked the sea were corijured back in a dra-
matic pageant :

My first cruise and my last, each one was — the cat's
pajamas you Americans say, don't you? Ach, Gott,
on that first cruise we were nearly sunk, and on the
last cruise there was no nearly about it; the 17-64,
limping, lurching, riddled with shell fire, received her
death stroke at last and went plunging to the bottom
of the sea, to the doom of that last port to which
she had sent many other craft. That was the end,
one tough luck, as you Americans say, but before it
came we had gone through every kind of experience
that you could find in the course of warfare under
the sea, happenings terrifying and happenings comic,
too, I'll tell the world.

The first cruise had a tremendous mood, epic, great
stuff. It was the day before the battle of Jutland.
Before I returned, the two greatest fleets of all history
had met in a gigantic, fiery collision, a mighty conflict
of massed steel and high explosive. Huge ships had
gone down with thundering explosions. I had recently
joined up in the submarines, and had just finished my
studies and training to fit me for the post of a U-boat
commander. The 17-64 had just been put into service.
She was the latest thing in submarines. Her length
from nose to. tail was a bit more than 200 feet. Her
gross weight when plying as a surface vessel was 800
tons, but when she took to her proper element be-

256 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

neath the waves her tonnage shot up to 920. To
submerge we simply opened our valves and let the
sea flow into the tanks. And when the U-64 meta-
morphosed into a fish she drank 120 tons of water
in one long gulp. Her speed on top of the sea was
fourteen knots and beneath the waves she did six.
To put on her magic cloak of invisibility and dive
out of sight took exactly sixty seconds. But there are
times when sixty seconds are just fifty-nine too many —
as you will observe a little later in my yarn. We
were equipped with two Diesel engines for running
on the surface and with electric motors for running
under the sea. So powerful were her batteries that
we could carry on for twenty-four hours in the depths
without coming up to recharge.

When submarine men or officers bid farewell to
this dizzy earthly sphere they should either go direct
to Hell or Heaven without changing elevators in
Purgatory. The bowels of any U-boat are Purgatory
enough. If you never have been in one I'll give you
a brief description of what it's like: At each end of
the U-64 there is a trap door leading from the deck
to the interior. You can also get down through an-
other in the conning tower, amidship. Atop the
conning tower is a cramped space surrounded by a
rail called the bridge. The inside of the conning
tower itself is barely big enough to accommodate four
men — if they stand up and avoid waving their elbows.
From the conning tower a ladder leads down into
the Kommando-centrale, which is the centre of all
operations during attack, either submerged or on the
surface. There are enough speaking tubes, electric
buttons, and other gadgets here to drive the average
mortal loony — nicht wahr? — in a week. Here the
commander sits with one eye riveted to the nether end
of the asparagus, ready to give orders to his assistant
who operates the electric lift that slides it up and

THE KORVETTENKAPITaN 257

down. Around him are the warrant officer for navi-
gation busy with the charts, the helmsman with his
eye on the compasses, and the torpedo officer ready
to relay word to the men in the torpedo rooms. A
narrow corridor runs right through the steel fish from
nose to tail. In the bow is a torpedo room, but so
cramped is the space on board that the men and un-
der officers live here together with their slim bunks
one on top of another, and with tables and benches
that fold up when not in use. As you work toward
the bow the next tiny compartment is the warrant offi-
cers' messroom and the kitchen with its electric stoves.
The next space, hardly worthy to be described as a
space at all, is the officers' mess. Then comes a little
room for the commander of the U-boat and a mini-
ature wireless room. Just back of that is the
Kommando'Centrale with its wheels, pumps, venti-
lators, diving and steering machines, etc., etc. Astern
of this are the Diesel and electric engines and the
stern torpedo room with more sardine-like bunks for
the crew. And along the whole length of the sub-
marine, filling the space between an inner and an
outer hull, are the diving tanks.

Mixed with my natural pride at having such a
spick-and-span new U-boat were a few misgivings.
As you would surmise, life on an under-sea raider in
war time demands men as stern and inflexible as the
submarine itself. Yet the most of these chaps who
were going out with me to do battle were mere red-
cheeked boys.

Our training days over, we put to sea on our great
adventure one balmy spring evening, with our guns,
periscope, and wireless masts festooned with birch
bows and huge clusters of lilacs in honour of our
"coming-out .party.'' It may seem a bit incongruous
to hear of a grim U-boat starting on a raid garlanded
with lilacs. But that's the way it happened. How-

258 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

ever, our adventures soon brought thoughts of other
things than lilacs.

We were greenhorns anxious to strut our stuff,
and it happened that our first assignment was to go
out on cruise on the day before the battle of Jutland.
While we were out we received orders to scout for
British naval vessels that might still be on the prowl
after the fight and see if we could pot them with a
torpedo or two. So the U-64 stood out of port and
steered for that stretch of sea off the Danish coast
where the day after hell was to break loose.

Greenhorns always feel solemn and nervous on
their first cruise, and here we were acting in an
epilogue to the greatest naval battle in history. Now,
if we could just sink three or four British battle-
ships! But beginners always are afflicted with such
pipe dreams, I guess. The prow of our iron shell
cut the fateful waters off Jutland. It was a clear day
on the restless North Sea. A sense of tragedy
weighed upon us. There below us, many fathoms
under the gray surface of the sea, lay the hulks of
great ships newly sunk, giant coffins for the bodies
of brave men that had gone down in the fight. Even
the stoniest heart could not refrain from a prayer
for the heroes who had died the day before. And
we felt in a great mood to be avengers of our fallen
comrades.

Avengers we were not. The sea was deserted.
We sailed far and wide, but nary a British warship
did we see. Yes, we were greenhorns. Tender as
they come. We exhausted ourselves, as beginners are
likely to do on a first cruise, and the solemnity of the
occasion made us work all the harder. By nightfall,
after our day of industrious scouting about, we were
nearly cock-eyed with fatigue — all in. Ja, V\\ say we
were. We sank to the bottom of the sea for the
night and got in a session of heavy sleeping.

THE KORVETTENKAPITAN 259

"Nothing accomplished," I said to myself discon-
solately as I fell off to sleep; *'no excitement or any-
thing." But before that cruise was ended I was des-
tined to get the thrill of my life. I didn't know any-
body could experience such a pang of fear and despair.
My first submarine thrill — well, it was an appropriate
way to begin a career as a U-boat commander. Yes,
thrill is the word that gives the keynote of hfe in
the war under the sea.

We were on our way back to our base at Emden
the next day, gliding along on the surface near the
coast. At noon I went above to take my turn at watch
on deck. The mate, whom I was reheving, told me
that he had noticed a "stick" thrust out of the water
on our starboard. Greenhorns? Ach du lieber, yes.
With a little experience no one but a lunatic would
mistake a periscope for a stick. I might have made
the mistake myself, only I was well enough acquainted
with those waters to know that there were no sticks,
such as might be used to mark a channel, to be ex-
pected in those parts. Sure enough, it was a peri-
scope. And hot dog — is that what you say? — there
came the torpedo ! The enemy submersible had cut
loose at us at short range, and here came a torpedo
straight for the bull's eye. Oh, Mamma!

"Hard aport, both engines full speed astern!" I
yelled.

The U-64, obeying her controls, swung quickly
around.

"Jimminy Christmas, but that was close!" I said
when I could breathe again.

I was just getting the burden off my mind when
suddenly the whole world went into a daze. A deaf-
ening explosion crashed out. I nearly passed right
out from sheer funk. It seemed like the end of every-
thing, so far as we were concerned.

Then, to my vast relief, nothing further happened.

260 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

The boat just rocked and swayed and bucked a bit.
I was tickled pink to find a solid deck still under my
feet. A cloud of smoke drifted over us. What
happened was this. The water was quite shallow in
spots. The torpedo had indeed missed us. It had
run on past us and hit a shoal and exploded not a
hundred feet farther on.

It was a badly shaken crew aboard that U-boat
as the craft got away from there, zigzagging as fast
as it could. Hot stuff? Jaf I'll say. ^ You bet it
left us with something to think about — just as much
so as if we had bagged a British super-dreadnaught
that day after the battle of Jutland.

Soon afterward I took the 17-64 around through
the straits, past old ''Gib" and into the balmy Medi-
terranean. But the voyage out there was anything but
balmy. By Jimminy, what a storm we bumped into!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PETTY OFFICERS ATE ALL THE MAR-
MALADE, AND THE SAILORS ATE ALL
THE HAM, AND THE COOK GOT
THE IRON CROSS

We slid out of Wilhelmshaven on November 26,
1916, and turned the iron snout north toward the
Shetlands and the Orkneys. We were going by that
route because the big idea was to get to the Mediter-
ranean without running any extra risk of being bumped
off on the way. But weM all have preferred destroyers
and depth bombs to the gales we passed through.

Two days out from Wilhelmshaven we sighted the
dreary hills of the bleak Shetlands. Then a south-
easter hit us, and this was only the first of ^ve storms
we had to run through. All day this gale lashed us
while we wallowed amid the towering waves. Great
combers broke over us. Up on the bridge the three
men on watch had to lash themselves to the rail with
their life belts to keep from being swept away. They
were dressed in one-piece rubber garments, a combina-
tion of coat, pants, and shoes all in one, which made
them look like divers. Over their heads were tight
rubber helmets that fit down around the shoulders,
leaving only the eyes, nose, and mouth free.

If you have never been on a submarine you can not
imagine the strain of keeping watch in such weather.
Each wave slapped against the U-boat like a solid
body. It seemed as though they would bash in the
conning tower. Our dinghy was splintered and even

261

262 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

one of the heavy guns was knocked loose so that its
muzzle wobbled crazily from side to side.

Below in the stale air of the closed hull I clutched
my desk and studied the charts. The sun was hidden
so I could only guess at our position. My desk heaved
with the bucking lurches of the U-boat until I was
dizzy from the motion. Then the men would clamber
down from above shaking the salt water from their
swollen eyes and wriggling out of their dripping suits.
My man Haupt brought in my supper of scrambled
eggs. I often forgot meal hours, but he never did.
As I sat there amid the roar of the storm I remem-
bered that it was the anniversary of my wedding day.
Just a year before I had been attending my own wed-
ding dinner right here at this same Hotel Kaiserhof.

After darkness the storm increased its intensity
and at midnight the watch officer came down with the
news that he could no longer hang to the bridge
because he was certain to be torn loose by the waves.
So all that night we had to run blind. I took a gam-
bler's chance, and guessing at our course, I attempted
to steer forty miles off the Shetlands. But before
morning the wind veered, and when Lieutenant Quesse
mounted the conning tower bridge at daybreak there
were the Shetlands, hardly five miles away instead of
forty.

After reaching the Atlantic we ran through two
more storms and then fought our way through the
worst weather of all off the Bay of Biscay, where we
were forced to dive and remain submerged for forty
hours to save ourselves.

Then, during the months that followed in the
Mediterranean, until our iron dolphin met its tragic
end, we campaigned in that beautiful sea. Save for
the duties of war, it was idyllic cruising, beautiful days,
blue water, and lovely coasts. It might have been the
most perfect pleasure cruise; in fact, it would have

THE COOK GOT THE IRON CROSS 263

been except for the food, and of course the under-
surface voyaging. But food, ah that is always the
great problem in a submarine. On a long voyage that
interminable diet of canned stuff, with peas and bacon
as the piece de resistance, becomes unbearable. Since
then I've never been able to look a pea in the face.
As for the bacon, on that point I'll be a Mohammedan
to the end of my days.

In a way the food situation was tougher on the
cook than on anybody else. Our chef was a tall, lanky,
stupid-faced son-of-a-sea-cook from the banks of the
Weser. As a sea cook mebbe he could have gotten
by if he'd had decent materials to work with. As it
was, he had no chance to dish anything up to the sailors
but very poor grub. Nor did the lads like it. Nor
did they hold back their spleen. And poor Miedtank,
as he was named, had sensitive feelings.

*'That Miedtank," they would say loudly, so he
would be sure to hear, * 'what kind of a cook is he ? He
can't even boil water. Is he not a marvellous chef,
the stupid donkey?"

And Miedtank would come to me.

*'They do nothing but grouse and ridicule," he
would say. "They have no appreciation nor thanks.
I won't cook for them any longer. I will ask to be
transferred."

Donnerwetter, holy smoke! A U-boat commander
has to have many talents. I had to be a diplomat and
even skilful enough to pacify an insulted cook, or we
might get a worse one than he.

"Oh no, Miedtank," I would say, "we couldn't pos-
sibly get along without you. Where could we ever get
another cook like you? You must not pay any atten-
tion to the men. They merely joke. They are great
humorists."

And then I would clinch the argument. I had mar-
ried just before joining the U-boat service, and to

264 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

that dumb sea cook Miedtank, my wife had seemed the
greatest lady in the world. Whenever she passed him
on the street he would come to rigid attention.

"Oh, no, Miedtank," I would say, "you ought to see
what I wrote to my wife this morning. I told her that
those pancakes you cooked for me were absolutely
delicious, O. K. And I told her also that there never
was such bacon and peas as you make!"

The dull face of Miedtank would light up with
glow. To be praised to the great lady was the height
of glory so far as he was concerned. And he would
rest pacified for a while.

Sometimes I would encourage him to proud visions.

"You do your best, Miedtank," I would say, "and
cook the best dishes you can, and you will see. You
won't have to cook always. I will give you a chance
to fight, and you will become a great hero. You will
get the Iron Cross."

That would straighten him up and he would walk
away proudly, and while he worked with can opener
and electric stove he would dream about glory and
the Iron Cross.

One day we had a long surface fight with an armed
merchantman. I needed every man that could be
spared so I set Miedtank to carrying shells on deck.
He worked like a Trojan, and thought sure he was a
hero. Well, he was. Not that he did anything more
gallant or thrilling than working his arms sore, but
it was the commander of a boat who recommended
men for the Iron Cross. I used Miedtank's labours
as a pretext, cited him, a.nd he got the Iron Cross.
By golly, you should have seen him swell and strut.
After that he was content with his labours at cookery
and scornfully paid no more attention to the jibes of
the men.

We used to plunder captured ships of whatever
foodstuffs we could carry away. Our pantry would

THE COOK GOT THE IRON CROSS 265

be filled with the booty, and the sailors would take
individually whatever edibles they could get their
hands on. It was impossible to control the hungry
seamen in the presence of well-filled ships larders. It
used to be no uncommon sight to see sailors of the
submarine service going home on leave loaded down
with parcels of sugar, bacon, ham, and so on, which
represented stuff taken from prizes — very welcome
presents for their famihes, which then were bearing
the rigours of Germany^s wartime shortage.

One of our first prizes in the Mediterranean was
the Norwegian steamer Tripel, and she had a pantry
that would knock your eye out. Her skipper had a
face like a wire-haired terrier and jumped about like
an angry cricket. We were on the last leg of the long
voyage around from the North Sea, and in the Atlantic
the weather had been frightful, day after day. We
had had nothing decent to eat since we left Germany.
The sailors went wild over the goodies aboard the
captured vessel, and loaded themselves down with
plunder. It consisted largely of marmalade and ham.

Then the trouble began. One of the sailors came
to me and respectfully begged to report that the petty
officers had eaten all the marmalade and had given the
sailors scarcely a smell of it, saying that such food
was too good for common sailors. I called the chief
of the petty officers, and asked him how come. He
was a big fat fellow, and you should have seen his
injured innocence. It may have been, he respectfully
begged to say, that in the division of the marmalade
a larger share had been accidentally allotted to the
petty officers, but it was the sailors who were the
rogues. They had eaten up all the ham, in fact had
crammed themselves with it until they were sick,
merely to see. that the petty officers got none. So,
there you were.

The marmalade-ham controversy nearly resulted

266 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

in a free-for-all, a civil war inside the submarine,
which wouldn't have done at all. I had to be a diplo-
mat again, and I rendered a decision worthy of Solo-
mon, if I do say so myself. I made a speech to the
crew and told them that, to avoid any such misunder-
standings in the future, the orders were that no food-
stuffs taken from captured ships thereafter should be
kept by the sailors individually, but should be depos-
ited in the boat's pantry. At the end of a cruise if
anything remained uneaten it should be divided equita-
bly among the men.

One of our most pleasant days in the Mediter-
ranean came not far north of Malta. Another subma-
rine was sighted afar. We sent up a signal, thinking
it was a comrade of ours. It was. The two craft
drew up alongside, and out of the other boat emerged
a tall blond chap clad only in a bathing suit and two
golden bangles around one arm, a curious turn of
vanity in a U-boat. He was Prince Henry XXXVII of
Reuss, who, like Prince Sigismund, the nephew of the
Kaiser, had taken to the most dangerous and arduous
service, the submarine arm.

"What news?" he asked.

*'I have a bottle of extra-fine Brioni on board," I
replied, "come over and let's crack it."

He came over. The wine was as good as I had
reported, and for a couple of hours the two U-boats
lay on the sparkling Mediterranean almost within gun-
shot of British-controlled Malta, and wine was sipped
and gossip of the under-sea service exchanged.

There were times when life was not half bad. The
men could go out on deck and drink in the fresh air.
We had a dry sleeping place, warm food, time to rest,
and even an occasional bath, although we had to be
sparing with fresh water. Half the crew were off duty
at a time, and then they would gather together and
sing while one of them played his accordion. There

THE COOK GOT THE IRON CROSS 267

is little privacy on a submarine, and all of us were
thrown together continually. My little cabin was part
of the corridor where all must pass, with only a green
curtain drawn across. There I would stand in the
morning with my face full of lather answering the
Bitte, vorheigehen zu durfen? (May I be allowed to
pass?) asked by a man standing rigidly at attention.
But soon I eliminated that part of naval etiquette as
unnecessary. Then there would be a cloth spread on
my desk, while Haupt brought me coffee, hard bread,
marmalade, and a pancake baked on the electric stove.
The marmalade was a luxury. I remember to this day
a heaven-sent ship that I sunk on which we found
enough marmalade to last for six months. No, I shall
never forget that ship.

Dinner and supper I ate with the other officers in
their little messroom next door, and after that, with
the strains of the accordion reaching me from the
sailors' quarters, I went back to my desk to read.
Sometimes I was hungry for novels and sometimes
for books more serious. As 11-64 plowed her way
back and forth I myself would be transported back to
the days of the Hanseatic sea merchants, and to old
Liibeck at the height of its power. Of course, I had
a copy of Faust with me. Occasionally I would dip
into one of Strlndberg's plays. Then there were some
folk stories in low German written by an old Hamburg
sailor, which never failed to dehght me.

Out here In the Mediterranean we were attempting
to cut one of the life veins of England. Those steam-
ers were bringing her wheat from Austraha, cotton
from Egypt, tea, hemp, oils, and spices from India,
Burma, Malaya, and the Islands of the seas, and taking
back coal, food, and munitions for the British outposts.
What a place for an enemy submarine to work I When-
ever there were no ships in sight we revelled in the
scenery.

268 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Another red-letter day came when I received a
quite cryptic wireless message. I had left my newly
married wife back In Germany, and presently to our
base at the Austrian port of Cattaro came the news
that the stork was expected at home. The U-64 set
out on a long cruise, but before leaving I confided in
the chief of the flotilla. He agreed to let me know
the news by wireless, although the radio was not to be
used for any such personal matters. We arranged a
code to make the message sound official. Book No. 14
was to mean a boy, Book No. IS a girl, and, to provide
for all possibilities. Book No. 16 twins. We were
out in the middle of the Ionian Sea, and I was asleep
in my bunk, when at 4 A. M. the chief of our wireless
operations aroused me. There was a message for me,
he said, and the message read: Book No. 14. But to
make it doubly clear he added the word ^'periscope.'*

^^Donnerwetter, hooray!" I yelled at the astonished
wireless officer, 'T have a son." And right there, just
before dawn on the ancient sea of Ionia, I got up and
we drank a bottle of champagne to my newly acquired
state of fatherhood.

The next day I ordered an especially good dinner
on board to celebrate the event. MIedtank, with his
German regard for family matters and his reverence
for the great lady my wife, did himself proud. In
spite of the unfortunate limitations of his galley, he
really turned out a presentable meal, and there was
fine celebrating aboard the U-64.

When we were In port at Cattaro the crew was
assigned to sleep in an old barracks on shore. It
swarmed with rats. The pests ran races on the floor
and did acrobatics on the sleeping sailors In their beds.
The last straw came when one of the rats chewed a
piece out of a finger of one of the sailors. After that
I had the crew sleep on board the boat. A rat fol-
lowed the men aboard and they could hear the animal

THE COOK GOT THE IRON CROSS 269

chewing away and running around In the nooks and
corners of the iron hull. The sailor with the bitten
finger set out for revenge. He got himself a hammer
and laid for that rat. The whole boat was engrossed
with the vendetta of the wrathful seaman. Finally
he got in a lick. He hit that rat harder than any rat
has been hit since the day when rats were created.
The crew cheered and rejoiced as if it had been a great
naval victory.

Behind the Bay of Cattaro rises the mountain of
Lovzen, on the other side of which was Montenegro,
that small Balkan kingdom about which many curious
tales were told. There was one that amused us
plenty — a big laugh. I don't know whether it was
true or not. But the Austrian and German ofHcers
told it with great enjoyment.

It concerned a high order bestowed by the reigning
Prince of Montenegro. This decoration was a gor-
geous-looking medal liberally set with theoretical
diamonds, which really were paste. Once the monarch
bestowed the second class of the order on a Venetian
banker. He was very proud of it and sported it on
all occasions. He was a trifle disturbed to note that
the diamonds were false, and, to make his decoration
all the more Impressive, had it reset with real stones.
The Prince heard of this. Sometime later he hap-
pened to meet the banker at a state function, and the
banker was wearing the bejewelled order.

*'Ah, my dear sir," the monarch said to him be-
nignly, "I recollect that I presented you with the
second class of the order. You are really a distin-
guished man, and I should like to honour you with
the first class. Permit me . . ."

Whereupon he took the second class decoration
with the real diamonds from the banker's bosom and
replaced it with an order of the first class with its
paste brilliants. Some stunt, eh?

270 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Perhaps eggs mean nothing In your young life,
but we yearned for them and for a while in Cattaro
it seemed impossible to get eggs. In the heat of
summer, carrying meat with us was out of the question.
That made eggs all the more desirable. Once we had
no eggs for a whole month, and vegetables and maca-
roni were our most substantial dishes. Now a crew
of fighting men need better food than that, and I sent
one requisition after another to the flotilla chief, ask-
ing for eggs. "The Austrians have eggs," I would
say, "so that proves that there are still hens."

But for some reason the eggs came not. Always
word came back that there were none. So I decided
to take matters into my own hands. When we re-
turned to port I sent a foraging party Into the country
behind the Bay of Cattaro, with instructions on no
account to return without eggs. Instead of the time-
honoured beads and mirrors they took along a supply
of sugar and macaroni, of which we had a surplus, to
barter for eggs.

Once out of the city they found plenty of hens,
and plenty of eggs, on the farms of the Croat peasants.
But neither of the men knew a word of Croat, and
they made their bargains only when Fischer, a clever
fellow, would sit down on an Imaginary nest and give
his best imitation of a hen cackling and flapping her
wings. After that we always had eggs.

Perhaps I have given some idea of the good feeling
aboard our boat. There was really too much good
feeling. It had to be guarded against. The proper
distance between officers and men had to be maintained
just for discipline's sake, all the more necessary aboard
a submarine, In the narrow quarters of which officers
and men were kept so close together. Both officers
and men dressed alike, the only distinguishing marks
being the shape of our caps. Our uniforms were of
leather — coats, trousers and boots — to protect us from

THE COOK GOT THE IRON CROSS 271

the cold and withstand the water and the infernal oil
and grease. I, in particular, had to exert myself to
keep the aloof poise of a naval officer and not get too
friendly, because inwardly I regarded each man as a
pal. After all, it could not have been otherwise. We
were facing death together, and a horrible death at
that. Whenever I called the men together to speak
to them I used to take an especial precaution to keep
my dignity and not grow too familiar. But it was not
easy. Before I uttered a word aloud I would preface
my address with a few choice nautical oaths, which
might take the place of "men" or "boys" or "my brave
lads.'* That would give me a sense of proper station
and I could go ahead with my remarks without any
fear of getting too friendly, for the moment, with the
men who were really the finest and best of friends.

I suppose I hke to dwell overmuch on the droll
and personal side of our adventures. I will have to
come only too soon to sterner matters, and the way
things ended makes me think all the more of the pleas-
ant things that went before.

CHAPTER XXX

THE RING OF SHIPS CONVERGE THEIR
FIRE AND THE U-6i GOES DOWN

We made eight cruises out of Cattaro Into the
Mediterranean, each lasting three or four weeks.
After the unrestricted U-boat warfare was declared
in February of 1917 we had orders to sink everything
possible. The U-64 raided far and wide and wrought
its share of the general destruction at sea.

On the 19th of March we were off the southwest
coast of the Island of Sardinia. I was In my cabin
reading a magazine article about the economic sit-
uation In Mexico when at midday the call came:
^'Steamer ahoy.'* I hurried above. The oncoming
ship was vague In the mist, but I could distinguish an
unusually high wireless equipment — a warship. We
took a dive, and presently I saw through the periscope
that the vessel had changed its course. I had a side
view of It, with its five funnels and great gun turrets.
It was a huge French man-of-war. It was zigzagging.
A destroyer was patrolling as an escort, also zigzag-
ging. It was all as easy as pie, what you call a cinch,
nicht wahrf The gray giant. In the course of its zig-
zagging progress, put Itself straight across our bow
in good torpedo range.

"Torpedo tubes ready." My orders followed each
other in quick succession. ''First bow torpedo, fire —
second bow torpedo, fire !"

Bang, bang! Two heavy explosions, one right
after the other, and both our torpedoes hit. With our

272

THE U-64 GOES DOWN 273

periscope drawn In we stole blindly under water for
a few minutes, then up with the asparagus for a look,
the once-over, no? The warship had two great holes
In its side just at the water line. These were death
wounds, I knew, and as I peered through the eyepiece
I could see that the vessel was listing.

^^Donnerwetter, holy smoke !" I exclaimed, as I
almost sat down on the floor. My boat was kicking
and bucking like one of those "rocky roads" at your
Coney Island. The U-64 had an unfortunate trick
which she indulged In every so often of getting unruly
and rearing and plunging like a badly behaved horse.
That is what had happened now. She popped up and
broke water, so that her superstructure showed above
the surface.

"Hot dog!" I ordered, "shake a leg there — that's
right Isn't It?" Fast work was needed, for that de-
stroyer convoying the battleship was certain to be after
us like a streak.

It was, and we got our boat In control just in time.
As we hurried down to the depths, bang, bang! —
depth bombs. Four explosions rang out uncomfortably
near us before we had scurried away.

After we had slid along for a couple of miles I
put the asparagus up again. The great warship was
listing heavily now. The destroyer was busy rescuing
survivors. We watched without molestation and
looked through our year book of fleets to Identify the
stricken vessel. We found It belonged to the Danton
class of giant vessels of 18,400 tons displacement and
forty guns and a crew of eleven hundred men. We
steered nearer to be ready with another If it were
necessary to sink the giant. But she was going down
fast now. Her stern shot high Into the air and she
plunged and went down bow first.

The destroyer picked up men struggling In the
water and there were rafts floating about covered

274 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

with survivors. Presently the destroyer started off
with her burden and the rafts went drifting toward
the horizon. They were sighted by fishing boats, as
we learned later, and the shipwrecked men rescued.
After the destroyer had disappeared we came to the
surface and picked up a floating box which was full
of letters. We learned from them that the foundered
ship was the Danton herself on her way from Toulon
to Corfu, where a large part of the French Fleet was
helping to blockade the Strait of Otranto. Later
reports indicated that of the Danton!s crew 806 were
saved and 296 lost, including the captain.

Back in my cabin I picked up my magazine, but
the economic situation in Mexico was hazy now.
Words and phrases swam before my eyes. We had
bagged the prize head of game, had sunk the biggest
ship torpedoed by a submarine during the war, and
even now the word was flashing by wireless around
the world.

We sank eight ships on that cruise, and one of
them gave me a surprise. Ordinarily people don't
smile happily and laugh joyously when they are sub-
marined. The Norwegian collier Gratangen was
bound with 3,500 tons of coal from Newcastle to
Genoa when she happened to run afoul of the U-64.
A shot across her bows and the usual command of
^'Abandon ship," and the crew took to the boats. I was
astonished at the expression of pleasure on the faces
of the sailors. They chuckled to each other and
grinned jovially. You would have thought that a
U-boat attack tickled them to death. I asked the
captain what It was all about, whether his men thought
the war under the sea was a picnic.

"Well," he replied, "because of the dangers of the
service they were promised a bonus of ^yt hundred
kronen each if the ship was sunk by a submarine.
That's why they're happy."

THE U-64 GOES DOWN 275

You couldn't blame them. The ship was sunk and
they were safe and on their way to the kronen. It
was O. K., a hundred per cent.

Another of the ships we destroyed provided the
greatest spectacle I have ever seen. We attacked the
Standard Oil Company tanker, the Moreni, and in
spite of the fact that she was loaded with 4,500 tons
of benzine she gave us a fight. What did they mean
with that kind of inflammable cargo below them?
That American skipper had what you call guts. The
fight didn't amount to much. We scored a hit near
the Moreni's smokestack, and the flames shot into the
air. In a few minutes the ship was a perfect volcano.
The crew leaped to the boats. Several men were
wounded. The boats pulled over to us and asked for
bandages and medical supplies. We gave them all
they needed and complimented the captain for his
nerve. There were handshakes all around. A big
Spanish steamer was approaching, and the lifeboats
pulled for it to enlist the services of the ship's doctor
aboard.

The Moreni had been abandoned so hastily that
her engines had not been shut off. They were going
full blast and the ship, a perfect inferno of smoke and
flame, went careening around madly. We followed
along behind, pumping shells at her. The benzine
streamed out and spread over the sea, and there it
burned. We were as if on a flaming sea and had to
be mighty careful. It was a prodigious spectacle,
especially when night came on. The blazing ocean
was an eerie sight. The Moreni finally sank, but the
benzine on the surface burned for several days. Ships
were warned by radio from Malta to keep away from
the locality.

On another occasion we overtook a Dane and
overhauled him with a shell across his bow. The
skipper lost no time in coming over to us in his jolly

276 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

boat. His ship was the Freja, carrying three thousand
tons of coal from Cardiff to Marseilles. He was a
cheery soul and avowed that he was friendly toward
Germany and had a nephew in our army. When I
handed him a receipt for his ship's papers he recog-
nized my name as one that he had seen in war bulletins
published in Denmark. It was hard to tell such a fine
fellow that I had to sink his ship. I pointed out to
him that the Spanish coast was only eight miles away
and as the sea was like a mill pond he would have no
trouble making it in his small boat. He politely
agreed, gave me a hearty handshake, and pushed off
while we polished off his ship.

In these days a large part of the Austrian Fleet
was stationed at Cattaro and there were a number
of other German and Austrian submarines helping us
tie up Allied shipping In the Mediterranean. As I
have mentioned, unrestricted U-boat warfare had been
declared in February and In the waters about England,
France, and Italy; it was now up to us to sink every
ship, even without warning. The only zone in the
Mediterranean remaining open to neutral navigation
was in the western part between the Balearic Isles and
the Spanish coast.

The Allies met this move by directing all ships to
follow a certain course under the protection of armed
patrol ships. This was playing right into our hands
because we no longer had to hunt for game. We knew
just where our victims were sure to pass. Later the
Allies tumbled to this and sent each ship on a different
course, with orders to zigzag all the time. Then we
never knew where to look for them and ships were
as scarce as the proverbial needle in the strawstack.
We had to keep a sharp lookout from the top of our
little mast. We never were too hopeful about the
matter, because then Fate, whom we knew was a con-
trary wench, would be sure to box our ears by leading

Commander Moraht, whose
raider sank beneath his feet.

A mine sweeper ready for a bit of vertical navigation.

In a few seconds the Standard Oil tanker Moreni
burst into a volcano oj flames.

Abandon sliipl T/ic captain of a ivvidjammer
brings over his papers.

THE U-64 GOES DOWN 277

us off on a fruitless cruise. Instead, we adopted tac-
tics that have proven more or less successful with
women ever since the fall of Eve.

*'I am sure we shall not meet a ship to-day," I
would remark to Quesse in the morning. "I, too,"
Quesse would reply. Then we would wait, more on
the alert than ever, knowing that If Dame Fate were
acting consistently with all feminine tradition she
would send us an extra heavy bag of ships.

Sometimes we would cruise for days when It
seemed that the whole Mediterranean was empty.
Nary a mast would have In sight, nor a funnel, nor a
sail, nor even a smudge of smoke on the horizon. She
was as deserted as a phantom sea. Indeed, there
were days when the only craft we sighted were our
own German under-sea raiders. The whole world was
our oyster. Is that right? Then, suddenly hell would
break loose.

Our most stubborn fight with a merchant ship came
after just such a lull. She was the French steamer
Amtral de Kersaint with a cargo of oats, wine, and
general merchandise bound for Marseilles from Oran
on the North African coast. We sighted her Imme-
diately after we had sunk the Italian ship Ausonia,
which went down so quickly that there was no time to
launch a boat. We picked up fifteen men out of the
water. We were plying the survivors with hot coffee
when the Frenchman was reported. A shell across
the bows of the Amiral de Kersaint ^ and we got a shell
in return. The battle was on. After a few exchanges
our gun went out of commission. The Frenchman ran.
We kept after him, just out of range, while we worked
with our gun. Finally it was in order again. We
drew up and the fight was renewed. We scored fifteen
direct hits. We shot away the tricolor from the mast.
Those stout fellows tied another to their railing and
continued to fire. Their ship was in flames and about

278 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

to sink when they abandoned her, last of all the
captain.

By way of contrast, there was a British steamer
we attacked. She was armed, but made no pretense
of fighting. The helmsman told me that the gun crew
was so panic-stricken that the captain could not force
them to their stations even at the point of his pistol.

Now, as every landlubber knows, every seaman is
superstitious. My men were bitten by that bug also.
I recall when we were ordered to put out from Cattaro
on a Friday. There were mutterlngs. I sympathized
with my lads, but the Cattaro staff officers only
laughed. So I told the crew that If the U-64 was in
shape to leave Cattaro, out we must go. But she was
not in shape when Friday came. The rudder had sud-
denly developed some mysterious malady. It wouldn't
turn. The men worked at it with exemplary diligence.
They were earnest and voluble In their explanations of
all the possible causes. Afternoon came, and still that
rudder stuck. I had a premonition that it was going
to continue to stick. And I had to report my InablHty
to put out to sea to our flotilla chief.

Bright and early Saturday morning the men were
at work on that stubborn rudder again. In less than
thirty minutes the ruddy-faced chief engineer Ammelt
reported that the rudder was O. K. again and every-
thing In ship-shape. The miracle had happened just
as I knew It would. My crew, innocent-faced as
cherubs, were awaiting orders to get under way.
Depth bombs, destroyers, mines, nets, and Q-ships
they accepted as necessary evils to be regarded merely
as incidents of the day. But to start off on a cruise
on a Friday was too much even for the most iron-
nerved of the lot. And if you think they were dumb
just ask some of the other U-boat people who reck-
lessly went to sea on a Friday. They have some tales
to tell that will make your hair curl.

THE U'64 GOES DOWN 279

1918 came, and with the arrival of spring came
Hindenburg and Ludendorf's great drive in France.
That drive nearly won the war for us. It would have
done so had it not been for the Americans. The war
under the sea was tightening. We had inflicted vast
destruction on the Allies. For a while it seemed as if
we would sweep the seas of commerce. The convoy
system, the best system of defense against the U-boats,
came into practice, and that made the going harder
for U-boats. Nearly every attack now meant the
taking of large chances. You had to deal with fleets
of merchant ships efficiently protected by convoying
destroyers, those little devils which are the natural
and most formidable enemies of submarines. The
U-boats didn't have any what you call joy rides.
Toward the end of January we sank the British troop
transport Minnetonka, which was proceeding empty
to Malta. Of 13,500 tons burden, she was the largest
merchantman on my list. During the following week
we bagged five other vessels, one of them a small
converted Itahan cruiser.

Heavy weather was running off the coast of Sicily,
and the U-64 was ploughing along through a welter
of white-capped waves. It was late in the afternoon
of the following June. "Steamer ahoy!" and we
sighted a big convoy. "Dive for an attack!" was my
command. The high sea made it a hard job. The
waves broke over our periscope and obscured our
vision. But never mind. How is it? — the first hun-
dred years are the hardest?

It was hard to manoeuvre, looking through that
foggy periscope, but finally I had a big ship sighted
for a shot. Torpedo loose, and the missile left the
tube. Missed, and the steamer turned and charged,
ready to ram us or give us a dose of depth bombs.
The U'64 turned her nose down, and along we went,
passing under the oncoming vessel. Back to periscope

280 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

depth again, and we were quite close to the steamer
next In line to the former one. That ducking-under
certainly had its advantages.

"Torpedo — fire!" If we miss this one we are dubs.
Vision through the periscope is poor, but the range is
very short. A great explosion. The torpedo hits the
vessel amidships, and that's another big one added to
our record.

I thought we were on the outside of the convoy
and turned the boat to proceed parallel with it. Thus
stalking our flock of game, we could swerve in and
get another shot. Suddenly, directly ahead, another
steamer loomed. We were not on the outside of the
convoy, but in the middle of it. Damn that hazy
periscope I

"Dive to forty metres," I ordered quickly.

The U-64 nosed down, but before we were halfway
to a safe depth a tremendous explosion deafened us,
and blank, utter darkness as the lights flashed out.
We had been hit properly, no doubt of that. The
waves dashing in the periscope had prevented me from
seeing the destroyer right near us and it had jumped
right on us with Its accursed depth charges.

"Report on all compartments," I called with my
heart in my throat. I had my flashlight on the Instru-
ment board. We were holding position all right.

In an instant the word came that there was water
In our stern compartment, where the bomb had caught
us, but that otherwise the hull seemed tight. We put
on the emergency light and managed to stop the leak-
age in our stern.

"The depth steering gear is out of order," the
alarming word came abruptly. The explosion had
badly damaged all of our steering gear and the boat
was out of control. And we were rising.

I shall never forget my agony of fear as I stood
there staring at the depth Indicator. The finger was

THE U-64 GOES DOWN 281

moving. We were rising to the surface, rising inexor-
ably, and a swarm of enemy ships was waiting above.
There was nothing to do. We popped out of the
water.

There were ships on all sides, big steamers and
swift destroyers, though none very near us. The mo-
ment we broke water they began to shoot. We lay
there on the surface in a rain of shells. I gave the
order to try to dive. The boat obeyed and we went
to sixty feet, and there the depth steering apparatus
balked again.

^'Engines full speed ahead!" I shouted the order
desperately.

The boat lurched. We were rising again. The
hand of the depth indicator moved swiftly. We were
shooting to the surface. The U-64 seemed to leap
out of the water. I threw open the conning-tower
hatch for a good look around. A destroyer was bear-
ing down on us at full speed to ram us. I gave a
frantic order to dive. No use. She would not dive.
There was a rending crash. The ram hit the conning
tower. The boat lurched violently and began to sink.

We sank stern first. I thought our hull had been
shattered, but no — it was still water tight. But our
diving mechanism was absolutely gone now and we
could not steer to check our descent. We were on our
way to the bottom. Before long the pressure would
crush us. There was but one thing to do — blow the
tanks. That would shoot us to the surface again.
Only one hope. With our diving mechanism of no
use, we were a submarine no longer. We were a sur-
face craft. We would have to take our chances above
water. We might be able to fight our way through
the convoy. Darkness was coming on, and if we held
out for a little while it would cover us.

The conning tower emerged on the surface of the

282 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

sea and a cigar-shaped body followed it. A terrible
concentric fire broke out from the circle of ships.

"Are we all right? Can we stay afloat?" I called
to the chief engineer.

*'Yes," he responded.

"Man the guns!'' I yelled, and leaped out on deck.
The gun crew followed me, and the lone tiny craft
started to fight its way out through the circle of armed
merchantmen and destroyers.

We steered ahead, our two guns firing as fast as
they could. We shot at the ships near us. All the
ships in the convoy concentrated their fire on us. Shells
burst on all sides in the sea around us. Shells hit us.
One exploded forward. Another passed through the
conning tower beside me. Our men at the guns were
struck. The pandemonium was dreadful. We were
as if in a hell on earth. And all around were the
looming shapes of huge gray ships with streaks of fire
from their guns. More shells hit us.

"She's going down.'' The wild despairing cry came
from the man beside me, and even as he spoke the
U'64 sank beneath us like a stone.

I began to swim mechanically, but only for a mo-
ment. I was jerked under water and carried down.
The wireless equipment of the sinking boat had caught
me. I struggled desperately under water, and freed
myself of the snare. Back on the surface again I
swam, was dragged under by the waves, and swam
again. My leather uniform and heavy boots made it
almost impossible for me to keep afloat. I don't
remember how long I was out there in the water or
much of what happened. One of the men, a petty
oflicer who had been at the guns and had got away
swimming, told me afterward that he saw me floating
under water and that he swam to me and held me up
until he, himself was exhausted. Fischer, another of
the gunners, swam to the nearest British ship and

THE U'64 GOES DOWN 283

climbed aboard on a tow rope. He told the men
aboard that the captain of the submarine was out in
the water, and the British put out a lifeboat. I remem-
ber faintly being fished out of the water, having my
clothes stripped off, and being put in the ship's hospital.

It is hard to tell of my boat going down like that,
with my crew consigned to the fate of the submerged
iron coffin. I don't know how many were carried
down inside of the boat. Perhaps a dozen were on
deck when she sank. Some of these drowned and
others were killed by shell fire. In all thirty-eight
were lost, the crew and several men who had gone on
cruise with us.

The British kept me in solitary confinement for
five weeks while they questioned me about military
secrets, first at Malta, then at Gibraltar, and then in
London. Nothing doing. Finally they told me that
if I did not answer the questions they put to me I
would be turned over to the French, who would shoot
me for sinking the Danton. I knew that was a bluff
and told them to go on and shoot. After that I was
placed in the Colsterdale Prison Camp near Ripon in
England. I waited there as comfortably as a prisoner
can until the war was over. After all the peace-making
formalities were completed I was released in October,
1919, and sent back to Germany. It was still later
that I learned what craft had been responsible for
the loss of the 11-64, The British destroyers Lychnis
and Partridge II were the boats that brought us to
grief. The Lychnis dropped the depth charge on us
and then rammed us, and the Partridqe fired the shell
that had sent us down. Hard luck, boy, hard luck I"

•3

I

284

CHAPTER XXXI

HO, FOR A RAID ON UNCLE SAM!

In the early days of June, 1918, the American
public got what was undoubtedly its most vivid and
immediate war thrill. The Germans were crashing
through in France, and our men were getting into it.
The great question was whether the Allies would be
able to hold out. Then all over the country and par-
ticularly along the Atlantic coast, every newspaper
carried scare headlines in eight-column streamers :

GERMAN U-BOAT RAID ON AMERICAN COAST.

Ships were being sunk right outside of the principal
harbours of the eastern seaboard. The war was being
brought home to Uncle Sam, carried to his front
door step. The raiders of the deep had indeed struck
a blow clear across the Atlantic. They inflicted plenty
of damage and raised a vast sensation.

Here was one of the prime exploits of the war under
the sea — a phase of it, at any rate, of by far the great-
est interest to us Americans. I was keen to find out
more about those trans-Atlantic raids of the giant
U-boats that had performed the seemingly impossible
feat of preying upon American shipping right under
Uncle Sam's nose. And from the German Admiralty
records I learned that seven of their largest subma-
rines had been ordered to cross the ocean to lay mines
and raid shipping from Cape Cod to Key West. These
seven were;

285

286 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

The U-151 under Commander von Nostitz und
Janckendorf, which left Germany April 14, 1918,
returned late in July, and was off the American coast
from May 15th to July 1st;

The U-156 under Commander Richard Feldt, which
left Germany about June 15th, operated along our
coast from July 5 to September 1, 1918, but struck a
mine in the North Sea barrage on her way home and
sank with all on board;

The U-140 under Commander Kophamel, which
left Germany on June 22, 1918, raided American
waters from July 14 to September 1, 1918, and then
returned to Germany in October;

The U-117 under Commander Droescher, which
left Germany in July, 1918, and returned in company
with the U-140;

The U'155 (the former merchant submarine
Deutschland) under Commander Eckelmann, which
left Germany in August, 1918, was off the American
coast from September 7 to October 20, 1918, and
arrived back in Germany a few days after the
Armistice;

The U-152 under Commander Franz, which left
Germany In August, 1918, remained in American
waters from September 29 to October 20, 1918, and
arrived back in Germany after the Armistice;

The U-139 under Von Arnauld, which started for
America in September but was recalled owing to the
impending armistice negotiations.

In Berlin I learned that of all these seven the U-lSl
had perhaps the most interesting trans-Atlantic cruise.
She was the first and had made the greatest sensation
in the U. S. A. But her commander. Von Nostitz und
Janckendorf, could not be found. So it was to his
boarding officer. Dr. Fredrick Korner, that I went
for the story of that astounding voyage. I found him
down in Silesia surrounded by his family and his flow-

HO, FOR A RAID ON UNCLE SAM! ^87

ers. Korner, by the way, is the man of whom one of
his American prisoners, Captain W. H. Davis, master
of the Jacob M, Haskell, made the remark that "he
spoke good English and was so polite that it almost
got on our nerves."

He got out his diaries and filled in with bits of vivid
description — an epic, a comedy of the raiders of the
deep in American waters :

Our U-boat was a sister submarine to the Deutsch"
land, which on two voyages had visited America with
a peace-time cargo. When you people declared war
on us these freight-carrying under-sea cruisers were
converted into mine-laying U-boats and equipped for
fighting purposes. Originally she had been known as
the Oldenburg, and during the previous autumn she
had made the longest cruise ever undertaken by a
submarine when Commander Kophamel took her to
the west coast of Africa.

Korvettenkapitan von Nostitz und Jackendorf
received orders to pick a crew of dare-devils and equip
and provision our giant under-sea boat for a five
months* voyage. Nor were we told where we were
headed for. Apparently, however, it was to be some-
thing on the Jules Verne order. Fine! We were
ready for anything in those days. Our great land
attack was driving the enemy back in France, and we
did not believe the Americans could ever get ready
soon enough to turn the tide against us. That was
where we guessed wrong. But at that time we all felt
certain of victory.

At last the Admiralty order came. It exceeded
all of our imaginings. The United States having
entered the war against us, we were to raid the Ameri-
can coast. The Deutschland had already made the
voyage, but then, as a merchantman, she had found
the waters of the United States a haven of refuge.

288 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

The Bremen, another sister ship, had been lost on a
similar voyage. But our adventure was sure to be a
much stiffer feat than they had tackled, for ours was
to be a single continuous cruise, with all the risks of
war thrown into the bargain. We set out on Thurs-
day, April 18, 1918, and steered a course north across
the Baltic.

It was late afternoon, and night came on quickly.
We passed Copenhagen, a distant blaze of lights. At
Helsingborg, on the Swedish coast, through our night
glasses we could even distinguish the dissipated faces
of several late prowlers who lingered under a street
lamp near the docks. One of the last houses on the
upper side of the harbour was lighted brightly. We
passed so near that I could distinctly see the inside of
the dining room. A merry celebration was in progress.
A gaily dressed crowd sat around a supper table. A
rose-coloured lamp shed over them a genial glow.
They laughed and clinked their glasses. It was a sight
to cause an aching throb in us out there in the dark.
The inside of that cozy, luxurious dining room, with
Its jolly company feasting around the table, was our
last glimpse of land.

Under cover of friendly fog we somehow man-
aged to slide through the blockade without sighting
a single enemy war craft. Only sea gulls, ducks, and
porpoises knew that we were In these waters. After
reaching the Atlantic we shaved our heads for coolness
and let our beards grow so we wouldn't have to waste
any time shaving.

On the second of May the shout arose, "Steamer
ahoy!" She proved to be a big armed ship, and our
Admiralty orders were not to attack any ship until
we had reached the American coast, so that our trans-
Atlantic submarine raid might remain a secret until
we were in our main field of operations. However,
that steamer was too great a temptation, and there

HO, FOR A RAID ON UNCLE SAM! 289

are times when orders should not be carried out too
strictly. Even If our position were broadcasted now,
it could do very little harm. We were not far enough
across the Atlantic to give our plan away.

We attacked. Our torpedo missed. Then we
tried our guns. She got away. Then we caught her
wireless warning:

^'The Port Said, We have encountered an enemy
submarine." She concluded her message by giving the
latitude and longitude.

We were not a bit proud. Violating official Instruc-
tions is sometimes glorious when you score a brilliant
success, but not when all you achieve is failure.

When we reached the vicinity of the Azores we
were in a semi-tropical latitude. On our low-lying
deck we were close to the endless debris of the sea.
Driftwood, seaweed, and nettles of all forms and col-
ours floated past. Huge shoals of porpoises went by.
Flying fish went darting over our bow. Spearfish
rushed at our iron sides, struck vainly against the
metal, and then went diving away. Fish nettles that
looked like gray bladders and glistened with all the
colours of the rainbow sailed proudly along before the
wind. We passed a mass of floating wreckage that
told of some recent spoil of the sea. At night we
gathered around the conning tower for music. There
were old songs to the accompaniment of guitars and
mandolins. The sky was full of stars and a tropical
moon beamed down. The sea was alight, too. It was
aglow with millions of tiny phosphorescent organisms.
It seemed as though we were travelling through an
ocean of glistening molten metal. The waves were
silvery, and a silver mist sparkled over our bow.

We could follow the paths of the darting sailfish,
like lines in the silver. When they snapped out of
the water it made an illuminated fountain. Days

290 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

passed and no ship came !n sight. We were keeping
well away from the shipping lanes. We were now
past mid-ocean, and if our presence were reported it
would be surmised that we were on our way to Ameri-
can waters.

One afternoon clouds of smoke appeared behind
us. A 4,000-ton steamer came speeding straight
toward us. She had guns fore and aft. Those cannon
were a challenge. So, Admiralty orders notwithstand-
ing, we let a torpedo go. Everything was still. We
had missed again. The steamer went her way zig-
zagging. She had seen the torpedo. In a little while
we caught her wireless reporting us to the English
station at Bermuda. She was the Huntress of the
British Indian Company. With our presence thus
announced, we could no longer hope for our approach
to the American coast to remain unheralded. You can
bet that we kicked ourselves for our stupidity.

Later on we caught a radio news dispatch from
the American coast. To our great joy, it ended with
the usual: "No submarine. No war warning." It
appeared that no word from the Bermudas about our
attack on the Huntress had been relayed to the Ameri-
can authorities. We were astonished at this. Appar-
ently there was a lack of cooperation somewhere and
luck was with us. Day after day we caught that same
reassuring close of the wireless news: *^No submarine.
No war warning." We had been luckier than we
deserved. We sighted another cloud of smoke behind
us and also a sail. We gave them both a wide berth.
No more attacking until the American coast was
reached. We turned north toward Cape Hatteras.
The traffic grew livelier all the time, and we kept
dodging to right or left or under the water to make
sure of avoiding ships.

On the morning of May 21st, a month and three

HO, FOR A RAID ON UNCLE SAM! 291

days since our departure from Kiel, the water turned
a dirty gray blue. We sounded, and found a depth
of thirty-five metres. We had reached the coast, even
though we were not in sight of land. Here was the
Western Hemisphere where our serious work was to
begin.

CHAPTER XXXII

A U-BOAT ADVENTURE IN DELAWARE

BAY

We had, stowed away where we could easily get
at them, more than a hundred big floating mines. One
of our tasks was to sprinkle these judiciously in the
main trails of the munition ships that ran between the
United States and Europe. The first batch was
destined for Chesapeake Bay for the benefit of the
port of Baltimore, America's largest war harbour.
A second consignment was Intended for the mouth of
Delaware Bay to catch ships outward bound from
Philadelphia and other Inland ports. We headed up
the coast.

That afternoon we caught sight of a trim, five-
masted American schooner, too far away to catch.
She was such a beauty that we were rather glad to see
her slip away. Every sailor loves an old-time clipper
and I never did relish the idea of sending one to the
bottom. The schooner was scarcely out of sight when
a man-of-war appeared on the horizon, an armoured
cruiser of the Charleston class.

"Oh, for a shot at that fellow!" I mused.

The warship steamed peacefully on, little dreaming
how near she was to destruction. We were submerged
and ready, but unfortunately could not get quite near
enough for a torpedo shot.

A four-master schooner came scudding before the
wind on our larboard. Simultaneously, a heavily
armed tank steamer appeared on our starboard. We

292

IN DELAWARE BAY 293

were too near the coast to risk a surface battle, so
we stole away. Things were so lively at the surface
that we might have stumbled into all sorts of embar-
rassing complications. So we submerged and went to
the bottom to lie on the ocean floor for a few hours.
We came up at seven p. M. and found it raining.
Lightning flamed and thunder roared. The east and
south were gray and threatening and black rainclouds
were overhead, but a beautiful sunset was aglow in
the west. The sky cleared slowly, and after a while
a bright moon shone forth. We reached Capes Henry
and Charles at ten o'clock.

Shortly after midnight the alarm went off. We
dived to escape a white light that was coming swiftly
toward us. A pilot ship with its searchlight. Had it
seen us? Apparently not, for afterward we picked up
the usual message from the coast wireless stations:
*'No submarine. No war warning." We continued our
way north. At daybreak we settled down again on
the bottom. We were approaching Baltimore harbour
now, so we followed the usual tactics of a U-boat
cruising in crowded waters. By day we lay on the
ocean floor. By night we came up and continued our
voyage. During the day we occasionally rose to peri-
scope height to have a look around.

"What's that?" Commander von Nostitz shouted
to me. The periscope disclosed a picture to make one
jump. Less than a mile away an American cruiser
of the Saint Louis class, steaming swiftly and followed
by two destroyers. For a moment we thought surely
our position had in some mysterious way become
known and the warships were coming to blow us out
of the bay with depth bombs. But no — the cruiser
was followed by a steam tug towing a target. It all
seemed pathetically innocent. The warships were on
their way back to harbour from gunnery trials off
Newport News.' They had gone out quietly for target

294 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

practice with a U-boat lurking In near-by waters ! Von
Nostitz stroked his beard and chuckled merrily. It
was certainly too bad that we had not been there to
witness the shooting. We could have wirelessed the
Washington Navy Department a report on how many
bull's-eyes each ship had made, and perhaps we might
even have scored a bull's-eye or two ourselves! The
cruiser and two destroyers were out of torpedo range
when they passed us.

It would have been madness to have attempted to
lay mines right at the entrance to busy Baltimore
Harbour in the daytime. We waited till nightfall.
Even then we would have taken a chance of being
rammed in the dark if it had not been for the unsus-
pecting cooperation given us by the Americans them-
selves. Far from the scenes of the war, they blissfully
kept their ships' lights burning during the night, just
as In days of peace. At six-thirty In the evening we
came to the surface and steered toward Cape Henry.
Soon we made out the lights of Cape Henry and Cape
Charles and then the Cape Charles fire ship. A num-
ber of steamers passed off in the distance, and we could
see the coast In the twilight.

''Mines ready on the top deck!" Von Nostitz
commanded.

The moon behind us lighted everything as we
glided along toward the fire ship. We could easily
have been seen from shore. Had the Americans no
coast guard patrol? Or did they think us one of their
own submarines? Any watcher with a strong pair
of night glasses might have observed an Interesting
sight on our deck as our men brought up the mines
and made them ready for launching. They went about
the job as if it were a practice drill near Kiel Instead
of at the entrance to the largest American war port.

"Hey, what's that?" I heard one of the men grunt.

I turned quickly. It seemed as if Cape Henry

IN DELAWARE BAY 295

were flashing its light off and on. Then I saw the
silhouette of an armoured cruiser. In passing the
light, its funnels had cut off the beam at regular inter-
vals. It veered suddenly and bore down upon us.
Had it seen us, or was its change of course in our
direction merely a coincidence?

One mine was ready for launching. ^'Overboard
with it, and lash the others fast!" the Captain com-
manded. *'Quick with it!"

"The men worked frantically. They, too, saw the
danger, and before the cruiser was halfway to us we
had dived to safety.

The cruiser's change of course had been mere coin-
cidence, after all, else the wireless would have been
hot with warnings of our presence. In half an hour
we came up for a look. Everything was quiet. By
nine-thirty we had our mines laid. What a relief!
We felt like shouting with joy. Half of the most
troublesome part of our work was done. Mine-laying
was easily the most irksome part of a U-boat*s war-
time routine.

We hstened that night with the keenest interest to
the radio news from Arlington, Virginia. First came
the weather reports, then warning against wrecks and
icebergs, then stock-exchange quotations, sport news,
boxing, baseball, and finally — music to our ears — "No
submarine. No war warning." Our mine-laying had
been entirely unobserved.

Now for Delaware Bay where we were scheduled
to drop the rest of our horned monsters. Cruising out
to sea again in order to get away from the coastwise
shipping lanes, we found ourselves alone on the ocean
when dawn came. It was not until nine o'clock that
we sighted a sail. Submerging, we watched through
our periscope. The ship proved to be a three-mast
schooner, heading straight in our direction like some

296 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

lovely fish innocently cruising toward the enemy's
maw. It was as if she were bent on being captured.

"And what about this one?" asked Von Nostitz.

"Let's take her!" I replied.

She was less than half a mile away now, so we
came to the surface. One of our guns barked, and a
warning shot went over the schooner's bow and sent
up a fountain of water on the other side. Men were
running on her deck, but she held to her course.
Another shot and she heaved to and down came her
topsail. We lowered our boat and four men went
with me. She was the three-mast schooner, the Hattie
Dunn, bound for Charleston from New York.

By now another ship had appeared, a four-mast
schooner. Von Nostitz, on the deck of the U-151,
shouted across the water to us as we were ordering
the crew of the Hattie Dunn to their boats :

"Sink her with TNT, take her crew with you, and
follow us in the boats."

The second schooner turned and tried to escape.
The elements were with the U-151 though, for the
wind was against the fleeing ship. We watched the
race from the deck of the Hattie Dunn and saw our
comrades gaining. Then we all took to the open
boats and pulled away. At a range of eight thousand
meters Von Nostitz fired a shot at the schooner that
was trying to escape. A moment later came a deep
boom, and with it down went the Hattie Dunn. It
was a long chase before the Captain got the other ship,
but after four hours she tacked and came around. She
was the Hauppage, bound In ballast for Portland,
Maine, a new vessel just out of the slip. After catch-
ing up with them in our small boat and delivering the
crew of the Hattie Dunn to the 11-151 , I went aboard
this second ship with a couple of men to pick up any
odd stuff that we might need. We took the hydro-
graphical charts^ a few books, and, best of all, a quan-

IN DELAWARE BAY 297

tity of fresh provisions. Ah, those green vegetables
looked good. For weeks now we had been living on
canned grub. While we were engaged in searching
her, still another vessel, a large steamer, appeared on
the horizon.

*'Clear the guns!" Von Nostitz called as he clam-
bered down the ladder from his perch in the conning
tower.

The steamer, however, remained in the far dis-
tance near the horizon and did not discover our
presence.

We blew up the Hatippage with TNT. Masts and
spars and deck rails sailed high In the air. What a
sight I Wonderful in a way, but one to make a sailor's
heart grow heavy. In this time of ocean liners a fine,
trimly rigged schooner is one of the last reminders
of the picturesque old days.

Between the crews of our two prizes, we had
seventeen prisoners. Of course, we could have towed
them in their lifeboats to some point near shore and
then left them to row in, but that would have given
our presence away before our mine-laying was done.
So long as we kept them on the U-151 they could
spread no news. Fortunately, we had enough room
for them. They could at least remain as our guests
until we unloaded the rest of our mines at the mouth
of Delaware Bay.

^'Sallahoy!';

A schooner in the distance was bearing down upon
us with all sails set. We got her, an easy capture.
She was the three-mast schooner Edna, bound from
Philadelphia to Santiago with 6,000 cases of oil and
4,000 cases of gasolene. The sailors aboard the Edna
were negroes, who didn't know whether to tremble or
to grin; they did both alternately. One gathered a
few pictures, another a phonograph, a third a pile of
bedclothes, and scrambled aboard the U-lSl in a panic.

298 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

While we were busy with the Edna a large steamer
passed along the far horizon and stopped. A mass
of wreckage had attracted her. It was the remains
of the Hattie Dunn, parts of which were still afloat.
After a few minutes of Inspection the steamer con-
tinued on her way. She did not see us, and, I suppose,
thought the wreck merely another victim of sea and
storm.

We blew up the Edna, and from her Inherited six
more men. This swelled our passenger list to twenty-
three. The crew of the Hattie Dunn consisted entirely
of elderly men. The youngest was a man of forty.
The oldest, the cook, was seventy-two. He was a
jovial fellow, a German by birth. During the first
two years of the war he had sailed on ships of various
nationalities in British waters. He had been torpe-
doed twice and once taken prisoner for a short time.
So he decided the war zone was too strenuous for a
fellow of his age and signed on an American ship to
get out of reach of torpedoes and submarines ! Now,
here In peaceful American waters, he had encountered
still another submarine. The crew of the Hauppage
were all young men, Danes and Norwegians. The
Edna, in addition to her coloured crew, carried one
Portuguese.

The captain of the Edna had just been sent below.
He seated himself In the messroom and gloomily con-
templated his fate in being a prisoner aboard a ma-
rauding submarine. The master of the Hattie Dunn
came In through the narrow doorway. I happened
to be near by. The two men shouted when they caught
sight of each other, and shook hands with the utmost
enthusiasm. They hadn't seen each other for thirty
years. They were old friends and had been brought
up together in the town of Saint George, Maine. They
still lived In that community and were neighbours.
Their wives were girlhood friends and saw each other

IN DELAWARE BAY 299

every day. The two men had gone to sea. They had
returned home only at long intervals, and their stays
with their families were short. For thirty years their
home-comings had never coincided. And now they
were having their first reunion — in the bowels of a
German submarine!

The captains of our three prizes were genuine old
sea lions. They assured us that there hadn't even
been a rumour afloat of our presence in American
waters. So remote had the possibility of a submarine
attacking them seemed that they had each of them
taken the first sound of our shots for naval gunnery
practice off the coast. They were thoroughly familiar
with the shore along which we were running and
gave us excellent advice about our navigation. You
see, their own fate depended on the success of our
navigation.

We had no trouble at all with our prisoners. I don't
suppose they particularly enjoyed the submarine
cruise in which they found themselves compelled to
take part. Quarters were close and uncomfortable
and danger always at hand. It would, truly enough,
have been trying for the nerves of anyone save a hard-
ened submarine veteran. But they took things as
cheerfully as possible. At first they were thoroughly
uneasy. When, to begin with, we failed to shell their
lifeboats, which, they erroneously had gathered from
their propaganda-filled newspapers, was the usual cus-
tom of the U-boats, they formed a vague apprehension
that we had something worse in store for them, pos-
sibly a cannibal stew. But when they found that we
were doing as much to make them comfortable as our
limited resources would allow, our officers sharing
their bunks with their officers, our sailors with their
sailors, they were thankful and they grew friendly.
Some of them, took their trip with us as an exciting
adventure, and it certainly was all of that ! After all,

300 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

it was a pleasure for us to have them aboard. You
see, we of the U-151 had grown somewhat tired of
looking at each other in such cramped quarters. So
any new face was a welcome relief. We hoped, for
our prisoners' sakes as well as our own, that we would
encounter no accident while they were aboard.

We ran toward Cape May and avoided any ship
that came in sight, swerving to right or left or sub-
merging. The boat was crowded. Almost standing
room only. So we could accommodate no more pris-
oners. That day and the next passed without incident.
At 9:50 P. M. we sighted the hghts of Cape May, and
dived to avoid traffic running into Delaware Bay.
For quite a while now we ran along submerged. The
periscope showed that we were two or three miles
distant from the Overfall Light Ship. Out of sight
we glided slowly into the mouth of the channel.

I happened to be looking through the periscope at
the time. Suddenly there was a heavy lurch that took
me right off my feet. The boat bumped two or three
times against the bottom and then leaped to the sur-
face as though grasped by a giant hand. There was
a general pandemonium. The prisoners, faced with
some unseen peril in this mysterious world of a craft
that sailed below the surface of the sea, fell into a
panic.

"She won't stay down, and I can't control her!"
the engineer sang out through the speaking tube.

We had struck bottom. And the shock of it had
disabled our steering and diving apparatus.

The channel ran with freakish and powerful cross
currents and eddies, and these had caught us and were
hauling us about. We were as if dragged hither and
thither by some unearthly strength. I felt a strange
motion. We were going round and round. The cur-
rents were spinning us like a top. Up and up we went,
and when we reached the surface we. were still helpless

>l

Uk

During the final year oj the war the raiders oj l/ie deep crossed
the Atlantic and sank ships right under Uncle Sam's nose.

IN DELAWARE BAY 301

and revolving like a crazy thing In waters where a ship
might run us down at any moment.

Lights ahead and a looming form In the darkness.
A large steamer came toward us. It passed us a few
hundred feet away. Two other steamers passed
close by.

"They would be as badly frightened as we," Von
Nostitz said to me, "if they only knew how near they
are to a U-boat." That was the only consolation he
could think of.

The currents pulled us so near the light ship that
we could hear Its bell. It sounded like the tolling of
a death knell. Down below the men worked fever-
ishly, fighting to get the steering and diving mechanism
back In order. Above we took occasion to throw over-
board the mines stowed on deck. Luckily, we were in
the very channel where they were to be placed.

"Close the hatches!" Donnerwetter! It was good
to hear again that command to dive. The boat was
In control.

We scurried down and lay on the bottom. The
depths seemed a snug, comfortable place now, after
our anxious time of drifting helplessly in the traffic
lane on the surface. We utilized the Interval to get
the remainder of our mines ready for launching.

Up we came at 3 A. M. A heavy fog lay on the
sea. We had no Idea of our position. The currents
had carried us heaven knows where during the time
we were disabled. We went along, groping blindly
through the fog. Then we came In earshot of that
same lugubrious light-ship bell that tolled in dismal
monotony. It was as welcome as salvation now. We
ran submerged to keep out of the way of traffic. With
the earpieces of our under-water microphone on my
head, I listened to the bell and we manoeuvred the boat
until the tolling sound was of the same loudness in
each ear. That meant that we were steering straight

302 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

toward it, or in other words, through the narrow
mouth of the channel. A good place to lay the rest
of our mines. We had no mind to do any more launch-
ing from deck in those waters, so we laid our mines
from under water. This is one of the most difficult
tasks of submarine manoeuvre. Everything went
smoothly, though, and soon we were rid of the most
burdensome part of our cargo. No doubt the fishes
in the channel of Delaware Bay that night heard the
sound of a cheer from the inside of an iron hulk thirty
feet below the surface of the sea. It was the cheer
that went up when we released our last mine.

With that great load off our shoulders, we came
to the surface to take a look around. The fog was
so thick that you could hardly have seen a light a dozen
or so feet away. Our conning tower had scarcely
emerged when we heard the hoarse toot of a fog horn
right on top of us. It was the siren of a big steamer
sounding its raucous cry at regular intervals. Our
men gasped. Again the prisoners thought their last
hour had come. We ducked as fast as we could and
were lucky enough to escape with nothing more than
a good stiff fright.

We were afraid to continue our course under water
because we had no idea of the lay of the land around
us. At last we decided that the fog on the surface
would be a shelter. At all events we would not be seen
from any distance. So we emerged, and from there
on out to the open sea we made an amusing journey.
Through the impenetrable mist the sounds of horns
came from all directions. Steamers and tugs far and
near were singing away with their sirens. We kept as
nearly as we could in the middle of the tootings, which
meant the middle of the channel. We answered with
our own siren, confidently, impudently. Our musical
note was high-pitched and shrill, quite different from
the deep, bellowing voices around us. It answered its

IN DELAWARE BAY 303

purpose, however. The passing vessels seemed to re-
spect it thoroughly. Several times a bellow came near
to us, so near that we were afraid we might be seen.
A shriek or two of our siren and the bellow moved
off to avoid a collision. The fog continued without a
break, but the siren calls grew less frequent. That
meant we were getting out of the channel and ap-
proaching open sea.

At 10 A.M. we dived again. Submerging to the
bottom of the sea, we lay there and enjoyed a nap.
Our distraught prisoners hadn't slept a wink during
the exciting night. Now they too had a comfortable
sleep. We were at the bottom of the sea, to be sure,
but all was tranquil, all was peace. Our troubles, for
the present at any rate, had been left behind on the
surface of Delaware Bay.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY. WE CUT
THE ATLANTIC CABLE.

And now for a fishing trip. We had on board a
newly devised Implement for cutting cables. Its oper-
ation was something like a glorified angling tackle.
And with it we were supposed to attack the trans-
Atlantic cables outside of New York Harbour.

So **Weigh anchor and raise sail!" (metaphorically
speaking in the case of a submarine). Ho! for the
waters of the metropolis, where New Yorkers, on
holiday, cast lines for blue fish and weak. We, too,
must try our luck at deep-sea fishing! We steered for
Fire Island, the lighthouse off the South Long Island
shore. Our prisoners? They must come too, for we
must continue to entertain them and keep our existence
secret until this cable-fishing expedition is over.

After sunset a terrific storm set in. In the north-
east, the north, and the southwest the horizons were
seas of fire. Flash after flash of lightning, from blood
red to orange yellow, crackled across the sky, and
with each flash the sea was as bright as at high noon.
Rain flooded down. Several of us stayed on deck,
drenched through and through. The spectacle of the
clashing elements both fascinated us and filled us with
awe.

On May 28, 1918, we arrived off New York, and
now began our angling. We moved back and forth on
the surface with a long line played out. Our cable-

304-

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY 305

cutting mechanism dragged on the bottom. We
waited patiently for a bite, that feel of the line which
would indicate that we had caught hold of the cable.
Then our mechanism at the bottom was set going to
cut it. Every time a ship hove in sight we would close
our hatches and submerge. This happened many times
and grew somewhat exasperating.

That night we had our first sight of the bright
lights of Broadway, the great glow that hangs over
New York City after dark. The glow and splendour
of the western metropolis filled us with a restless long-
ing. A wild idea came of stealing into the harbour
and up the Hudson, of landing at some obscure place
and taking a night off along the Great White Way.
But then, we were hardly so romantic as all that,
except in fancy. Fire Island Beach, which we could
often see in the course of our trolling for the cables,
was also a temptation, with Its pretty houses, long
beach, and white surf. A stroll on the sand and dip in
the breakers, wouldn't that have been fine? Ah yes,
but there would be no welcome there for us.

For three days we continued our fishing. At last
we let our optimism convince us that there was not a
single cable left uncut. The weather was growing
ugly, and we were only too glad to pull up our big
scissors and be away. How many cables had we really
cut? Two, as it afterward turned out, one to Europe
and one to South America.

From the vicinity of Fire Island we headed in the
direction of the Nantucket Light Ship. There we
hoped we might be able to pick up a few ships and
then visit Boston and the Gulf of Maine. Our captive
captains warned us against going farther north at that
time of year. They said that fogs and bad weather
were all we could expect along the New England
coast. We thought we would see for ourselves.

Tht three grizzlies and I were discussing these

306 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

problems of weather one afternoon and having an
after-luncheon liqueur — straight whiskey they pre-
ferred— when the alarm bell sounded. I hurried into
the control room. The boat by this time was on her
nose at a sharp angle.

"An American destroyer," the helmsman called.

My glance fell on the depth gauge.

''What's up?" I shouted to Commander von
Nostitz.

The gauge showed that we were still on the sur-
face. And with the boat standing on her nose like
that! Water was trickhng down through the man-
hole. One wild surmise — we had been rammed by the
destroyer.

I shouted wild inquiries. We had been rammed
and were sinking — the frantic word went around.
Officers and men came running to the control room.
Then my glance fell on the second depth gauge. It
registered forty-five metres. We were under water
and well out of danger. The first gauge still indicated
that we were on the surface. It had gone out of
order. That was all. The water trickling down the
manhole merely meant that we had dived so fast that
a bit of the sea had poured in before the hatchway
had closed tightly.

I returned to the mess hall. The three captains
were as pale as death, and for a moment none could
utter a syllable. Finally one spoke up. He said that
he had sailed the sea all these years but that this sub-
marine life was too much of a strain for him. His
heart was pounding like a trip hammer, and he didn't
know but what it was going to burst.

"Come and look at these fellows," one of my col-
leagues called.

The scene in the room where the other prisoners,
the captive crews were, was as comical as a minstrel
show. You would have thought it had been staged.

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY 307

They had caught the word that we had been rammed.
They saw the boat sinking and themselves drowned
like rats in a trap. When I got there the gramophone
was playing a loud jazz tune. A coloured sailor was
jumping about with the wildest gyrations I have ever
seen. It seemed as if, in the presence of frightful
death, he had reverted to the war dance of his Zulu
ancestors. He was oblivious of the others and danced
himself to exhaustion. Three other negroes were on
their knees, now with backs straight, and then touching
vheir foreheads to the floor. One, who seemed to be
a self-appointed deacon, muttered every time he drew
himself erect: **0 Lo*d, come down heah into dis-heah
water and save yoah chillun from de Debil." Where-
upon the others would moan "Amen.'* The white men
among the prisoners cowered silent and submissive*
The Portuguese crossed himself. The others mut-
tered prayers. I suppose they thought they were fac-
ing their end like men.

"The danger is over," we called.

The assurance made no impression. They thought
we were merely giving them vain encouragement. It
took many repetitions before we succeeded in convinc-
ing the frantic group that all was well.

It turned out that the captains were quite right in
their weather prophecies. As we ran north the fog
grew denser all the time, and the wireless reported
worse weather farther north. No use, for the present
at any rate, to think more about a raid on Nantucket,
Boston, and the coast of Maine. So we nosed her
south again, and after some hours of travel ran into
sunshine. We headed for Delaware Bay once more,
hoping to find excellent weather and plenty of ships to
prey upon.

June 2d certainly was our lucky day. We were
kept jumping. A bright sun shone and the sea was
calm. It was early morning. A sail appeared. We

308 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

submerged and made for it. Conning tower popped
out of water. A shot banged. A shell went whizzing
over a saucy bowsprit. The ship was not slow in
heaving to. She was the schooner Isabel B, Wiley
outward bound from Philadelphia.

The Isabel B. Wiley had turned toward the wind
and was waiting for us, and we were making for her
when, at 6:50, a steamer appeared. We left the
schooner cold and went after bigger game, running
awash. The Wiley could have easily bidden us a glad
farewell, raised canvas, and made off, but she stood
patiently still and watched our encounter with the
steamer. She was afraid of our guns, although we
were soon out of range and couldn't have touched her.

The steamer kept a poor watch and we were close
to her before she saw us. A warning shot, and she
drew off steam and raised the American flag. She
was S. S. Winneconne of New York. Our prize crew
went aboard. Soon our new prize was steering over
to the obedient Isabel B. Wiley,

The quartermaster of the Winneconne was a Ger-
man, born in Baden. Our watch officer was from
Baden. Two fellow countrymen had a private little
celebration of their own and toasted their native
province with enthusiasm. The quartermaster told us
that the wireless of S. S. Huntress informing the Ber-
muda station of our futile attack on her had been
relayed to the American coast and that our presence
in the waters of the United States had been known for
some time. Several ships in the past few days had
spied us. It was hard to believe that he was telling
the truth. The official wireless had given no hint of
our existence. Still, the Americans had had no expe-
rience with submarine warfare before this and had no
system of precautions such as the British had per-
fected.

We had the lifeboats of both our prizes draw

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY 309

alongside the submarine. The time had come for a
friendly farewell, for a parting with the guests of our
under-sea hotel. They were pleasant company, but
they also were possessed of excellent appetites. In the
three weeks they had spent with us they had eaten a
large hole In our food supply. Anyway, It was a
favour to them to get them out of their dangerous
situation, and they all agreed that they had had quite
enough of life on a U-boat. The twenty-six men
passed out in single file, each with a cordial good-bye
to us. The three captains came last. The old lions
seemed a bit loath to leave. Certainly they had ac-
quired no taste for the delights of submarining, but
they at least seemed to have grown fond of the com-
pany of the under-sea privateers among whom they
had been thrown so strangely. Their thanks for the
treatment we had accorded them were hearty and they
expressed the hope that we would get safely home.

Because of my knowledge of English, which hap-
pened to surpass that of our commander, I brought
to their notice one point which I thought of certain
importance.

*'You know the American newspaper reporters," I
said. "YouVe got a big story, and they'll be after you
in swarms. All we ask you is to tell them everything
you know about us. Tell them how we captured you
and how you lived on board."

^'Skipper," one of them replied, "we give you our
word as old and honourable men of the sea that we
will give out a full and accurate report of how well
you have treated us and of how thankful we are
for it."

"And," I responded jokingly, but also in earnest,
"send me, care of the Naval Office in Berlin, a few
clippings of your interviews, so that I can read them
when we get back home — if we ever get back."

They promised that also.

310 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

It would be amusing to read accounts in the Amer-
ican newspapers of our doings along the coast. But
I also hoped that the stories of how we had captured
our prisoners and then treated them would help some
small bit in counteracting the opinion generally held in
Allied countries of our U-boat warfare. It would be
that much gained in fighting against the anti-German
propaganda.

We shook hands again, and the captains got into
their lifeboat, vowing they would that night drink each
a stein of beer to our health. The boats were well
equipped with motors and would have no trouble mak-
ing shore under their own power. They circled around
us three times and each time gave us a cheer. With
caps waving and parting farewells shouted, they
turned their noses toward the coast and started off at
a good clip.

We gave our attention to our two prizes. The
Wiley went down under full sail, bow first. With her
trim form and beautiful white canvas, she was like
some living thing making a graceful dive. It was a
lovely but sad sight, and in striking contrast to the
dirty steamer wobbling about in the waves as it slowly
sank.

Our next prize was the schooner Jacob M, Haskell,
bound out of Boston with a cargo of coal. We had no
trouble taking her. The crew, as usual, were fright-
ened half out of their wits at the sight of a dreaded
U-boat, but when they found they were going straight
ashore they became quite happy. They had first-rate
motor lifeboats, and they too circled around us cheer-
ing. We were getting more hurrahs in the course of
our raid than we had bargained for. When the people
on our prizes found that we were not going to sink
their vessels with all on board, or even shell their life-
boats, they evidently thought we must be part devil
and part angel. The Haskell was an even handsomer

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY 311

schooner than the Wiley. Why did we have to sink
these fine old windjammers? Why didn't more
steamers come along?

We had just finished our luncheon when number
four for June 2d hove in sight. It seemed as if every
American schooner along the Atlantic coast had de-
cided to pay us a visit that day. This new ship was
a puzzling sight. We examined her carefully, but
couldn't see a single soul on board. Was this a trap,
or just a sort of Flying Dutchman? We approached
so closely that we could see every detail of the deck.
The schooner certainly wasn't armed. It was just a
ship sailing along without a guiding hand. Everybody
below having a comfortable luncheon was the only
way we could figure it out. We steered carefully
alongside and my prize crew and I climbed aboard.
Still nobody in sight.

"Hey there ! All hands on deck," I roared.

The captain came out of his cabin yawning. The
old fellow had been taking a pleasant after-luncheon
siesta.

"How the hell did you get here?" he growled.

Then he caught sight of the submarine alongside
and his face became a study. His crew gathered
around, their eyes as big as saucers. They gazed
alternately at us there on deck and the gray monster
that had stolen up on them.

"Captain, your ship will be blown up in ten
minutes."

That woke them up in a jiflfy. It didn't take them
more than five minutes to gather their belongings and
lower their boats. The ship was the Edward H, Cole
with a cargo out of Boston. It was not long before a
charge of TNT roared in her hold and she listed and
plunged. Her lifeboats were already well on their
way to shore.

At 4:30 we spied a steamer. The ship saw us

312 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

coming and tried to p^et away. A warning shot across
her bows was not heeded, nor was a second shot past
her stern. She kept on at full speed. Well, we might
try to show them that we were in earnest. A careful
aim, and the third shot took away part of the bridge
on the starboard side. The vessel stopped and raised
the American flag. The crew abandoned ship while
our boat was on its way over. The steamer was the
Texely bound for New York with a cargo of sugar
from Porto Rico. It may have been rather cruel to
help along the sugar shortage in the United States,
but a charge of TNT, and the Texel and her cargo
went down to sweeten Davy Jones' coffee.

The wireless brought what was destined to be the
first of an interesting series of messages. The life-
boats of the first two ships we had sunk that day had
been sighted by a steamer which had picked up the
crews of the two ships as well as all of our former
guests. They were on their way to Delaware Bay.
All ships were Immediately warned of our presence.
Now the hunt for us would begin. We depended on
the wireless to give us many a hint of its progress.
Our two operators were clever fellows. I bade them
be on vigilant duty every hour of the day and night
\nd snatch every word out of the air that they could.

At 5 :25 a steamer appeared. It tried to run. A
few well-placed shots close to Its side, and it came
to a stop.

**It's a troop ship!" I exclaimed.

By now there was a huge crowd at the railing. The
ship was the Carolina^ bound from the West Indies
for New York. The passengers and crew were climb-
ing down into the boats when the steamer got a mes-
sage which we also caught:

"Make for the nearest port. Great danger of
German submarines.'*

THE LIGHTS OF BROADWAY 313

But for them that warning came just a few minutes
too late.

The hfeboats were crowded, and a great wailing
of women's voices rose. There was praying and plead-
ing. The negroes thought we were going to use them
for target practice. That sheUing of lifeboats idea
was an obstinate canard. It may have been done, but
certainly not to my knowledge. We did our best to
reassure them, and started them on their way toward
shore, which was not far distant. The captain got his
boats into a sort of formation, and soon we lost the
sound of their chugging motors as they disappeared
over the waves. It was growing dark rapidly, and not
wanting to send a party aboard the Carolina to plant
our usual explosives, we sank her with gunfire.

As night fell we eased out to sea to rest up quietly
after a strenuous day. We had sunk three steamers
and three sailing vessels, of a total tonnage of 14,518.
Not bad!

CHAPTER XXXIV

"HUMAN HUNS;* WE CAPTURE A BABY.

The wireless provided us with some very pleasant
reading in the way of dispatches that came constantly
through our radio room. Early on June 3d the warn-
ing was broadcast that our submarine had been seen
off Cape Hatteras. We were not near Cape Hatteras,
but were, in fact, lying in ambush a safe distance out
from the entrance of Chesapeake Bay. Another dis-
patch reported a submarine near Block Island, which
was still farther from our actual location. At noon
we were said to be twenty-five miles southeast of
Barnegat. For a moment we were tempted to believe
that other U-boats had been sent across to American
waters, but we knew that could not be. The various
reports were merely the wild rumours that go around
after any exciting event. The many alarms would
certainly cause ships to think that many U-boats were
along the coast. That would increase the panic in
shipping circles, and destroyers would go hunting for
phantom submarines. Let them hunt wherever they
pleased, so long as they did not come near us.

At 3 p. M. we caught several SOS calls in rapid
succession from a ship in Delaware Bay. Instantly we
thought of the mines we had planted there. Appar-
ently they were working properly. The sinking
steamer was a 6,000-tonner, but we couldn't catch her
name. She sank quickly. Her crew got away in their
boats and were picked up by passing ships. We could
read the whole story in the brief wireless calls. Per-

314

''HUMAN HUNS" CAPTURE A BABY 315

haps the most interesting Item of the whole account
was the statement that the foundered steamer had
been torpedoed by a submarine. Another ghostly
U-boat at large!

The wireless indicated that there was great excite-
ment along the coast. All ships were ordered to hurry
to the nearest port, and none was to proceed except
under convoy. A submarine was supposed to be lurk-
ing in front of every American harbour. Ocean traffic
was disorganized to a surprising extent. Ships either
stayed in port waiting for convoy, or hugged the coast.
Freight rates and insurance premiums went up. This
was all damage to our adversaries, indirect, but quite
as important as the tonnage we were sinking. It was,
with its general hampering of over-sea transportation,
one of the main objects of our raid. The American
Navy began an extensive hunt for the various sup-
posed U-boats, which quite effectively dissipated the
hunt for us. According to press reports, hundreds
of airplanes and hydroplanes were ordered to patrol
the coast.

A morning and an afternoon passed without a
vessel coming in sight. The submarine warnings had
cleared the sea pretty effectively. In the evening,
though, we picked up a four-mast schooner. She was
the Saviuel G. Mengel of Pensacola, running to New
York with a cargo of copra from the Gold Coast.
She had no wireless, and the captain was greatly
astonished at the sight of a German submarine in
American waters.

On the following day we had a ticklish encounter.
American destroyers were out. We picked up the
Yankee schooner, Edward R, Baird, loaded with a
cargo of lumber, much of which was piled on deck.
We packed the sulky captain and his crew off in their
boats and planted TNT. Meanwhile, a tanker ap-
peared. So we left the listing hulk of the Baird and

316 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

made after the newcomer. She was thoroughly
camouflaged and appeared to be British. She seemed
to have had experience In submarine-frequented
waters, too, for when she spied us she started off at
full speed, zigzagging. We opened fire at long range.
She returned the fire and managed to slip away.

The thunder of the guns attracted a very unwel-
come visitor, a destroyer. We immediately dived, and
kept watch through the periscope to see what the
fellow would do. The destroyer zigzagged over to
the hulk of the Baird, which, with its cargo of buoyant
lumber, was still afloat, its back broken by our charge
of TNT. Then she zigzagged her way around the
sinking schooner, inspecting it. A three-masted
schooner appeared. The warship hurried off, still zig-
zagging, to warn her. We came to the surface. An-
other destroyer appeared. It was so near dark now
that we did not bother to submerge. We ran south
unobserved. That sort of thing would have been im-
possible in British waters, but the Americans had not
yet learned the arts of U-boat hunting.

We had scarcely got out of sight of the destroyers
when the dark form of a steamer appeared. We
stopped her. The captain came over with his papers.
She was S. S. Eidsvold of Chrlstiania, another sugar
ship bound from Porto Rico to New York.

"Captain," her skipper said to Commander von
Nostltz, "I have my wife aboard, and she Is very much
excited. Can you give me time to quiet her and pack
our belongings?"

Of course, we granted him his wish. We waited
while they took all the time they wanted.

We ran south all night, and at daybreak sighted
a sail. An old craft lumbered up. There was a shout,
a kind of long howl, as the lookout, a negro, saw a
submarine pop suddenly out of the water and fire a
shot across the ship's bows. A score of black men and

''HUMAN HUNS" CAPTURE A BABY 317

several whites swarmed the deck, tumbled into boats,
and rowed frantically toward us.

"You will be sunk in ten minutes,'* I said to them.

"Well, ain't that the dickens," twanged an old
white man, the captain. "What'U we do now?"

He seemed so genuinely downcast that I asked
where the craft was from, and what she was doing.

"We're from Mississippi," he replied sorrowfully,
"and we're whalin' — leastwise we intended to. We
was on our way up around Greenland to do a bit of
harpoonin', but now it looks like we ain't goin' to.
It sure is tough."

He continued that the ship was owned by several
poverty-stricken families in a town on the Mississippi
coast. It was all they had In the world. They lived
scantily on the proceeds of the whaling. The old
skipper plucked up courage as he told his tale.

"You don't have to sink us, Cap'n, do you?" he
protested in his slow voice. "If you do it certainly'U
be tough on us.'*

I looked at the ancient tub. She meant little indeed
in the affairs of the World War.

"All right. Skipper," I said, "get your men back
aboard. You can go on."

"Well, Cap'n, that sure Is good of you.'* His drawl-
ing voice remained perfectly even, but you could tell
that the words came from the heart.

His crew cheered with joy. A couple of the ne-
groes tried their feet at dancing as well as the narrow
quarters in the lifeboat would allow. They put back
to their ship with willing oars.

The ancient whaler picked up Its course and went
limping along to the north. We on the deck of the
U'151 had to smile to each other. We wondered how
a German whaling boat would have fared similarly in
the hands of its enemies.

S. S. Har'pathian, 4,855 tons, was bound in ballast

318 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

from Plymouth to Baltimore. She was heavily armed,
and therefore subject to torpedo attack without warn-
ing. We submerged when we sighted her and ran
under water to a point along her course where we
could get a good shot. Our torpedo went on its way.
A thud came with a dull metaUic jar. We ascended
quickly for a look through the periscope.

The big steamer was sagging, stern down. The
crew were already in boats and rowing away from the
sinking vessel. We emerged and made for the boats.
The men were all Japanese, save the fat captain, the
helmsman, the machinist, and two gunners, who were
English.

"Anybody hurt?" I hailed them.

"One man cut a little," the ponderous captain, quite
a jovial Britisher, responded.

We hauled the injured man, a Japanese, onto our
deck, where our surgeon looked him over. He had a
couple of cuts, scarcely more than scratches. A bit of
iodine and adhesive plaster, and he climbed back into
his own boat. We obliged the men in the boats with
a tank of water, a few tins of bully beef to keep the
edges off their appetites, and a heap of tobacco. They
headed to the west quite cheerfully. Meanwhile, the
torpedoed Harpathian had vanished.

I am sure that Americans who had to sweeten their
coffee during the war with molasses, candy, or saccha-
rine, or not sweeten it at all, will bestow a hearty curse
on us, particularly the ladies who found that the
grocers would sell them a pound of sugar, at an
exorbitant price, only when they bought several dol-
lars* worth of something else in addition. We could
sym.pathize with people who had a sugar shortage.
We had a devilish one in Germany I Still, war is war,
so they say.

Two steamers appeared at sunset. One puffed its
cloud of smoke afar and was steaming so fast that it

''HUMAN HUNS'' CAPTURE A BABY 319

soon disappeared. The other headed straight toward
us and was promptly bagged. She was the Norwegian
steamer Finland of Bergen, bound from Guantanamo
to New York with a cargo of sugar. Our third
sugar ship! The captain said he had read warnings
against submarines in the Cuban newspapers, but had
dismissed them as merely another of those Anglo-
Saxon war rumours. His incredulity made him look
somewhat sheepish now.

The sea was high when another steamer hove into
sight, the Norwegian ship Vindeggen loaded with
6,000 bales of cotton and 2,000 tons of copper for the
Allies. We caught her after a chase and a bit of
gunfire.

The captain came over with his papers. The Vin^
deggen had been launched two years before in Japan
and since that time had been working its way around
to New York as a tramp. The wife of the helmsman
was aboard with her little daughter, two years old.

"It will be hard for them in the lifeboats," said the
captain, "the sea is so rough."

Of course it would. The men, all veteran sailors,
would find the trip ashore no great hardship, but with
a woman and small child it was different. However,
we had no intention of sending the people of the Vin^
deggen ashore just now. The steamer's cargo was too
valuable ; the copper, to be precise.

Copper was very scarce in beleaguered Germany.
Our supplies of the metal, so necessary for making
shells, had been large at the beginning, but the tremen-
dous demand for projectiles on our various fronts had
depleted it sadly. In our roomy submarine we could
pack a good supply of the Vindeggen' s precious ingots.

We were too near land and the path of coastwise
ships, to say nothing of destroyers, for comfortable
transporting of a cargo from a steamer to our boat.

320 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

Farther out, where the ocean was less frequented,
would be better.

"Go aboard your ship, Captain," our bearded skip-
per said to the Norwegian master. "Then put out to
sea. But don't try to run away. We have good guns,
and we will be close behind."

The steamer started off. The U-boat trailed along
behind like a guard. A small steamer appeared coming
toward us.

"Stop and wait, and don't forget," the captain of
the Vindeggen was warned by megaphone.

The Norwegian did as he was told while we cap-
tured and sank the 2,504-tonner Pinar del Rio, for-
merly the Filla Real of the Oldenburg-Portuguese
line. She was another sugar ship.

We took the Vindeggen out a hundred and fifty
miles, and then the transfer of the copper began. The
crew of the Vindeggen, Chinese all, lent a willing
hand. We jettisoned our iron ballast and replaced it
with the more valuable metal.

Meanwhile, an enemy ship might come up, and we
had to be ready to dive at a moment's notice. We
had to have our men always ready to leap into the
hatchways. The copper was brought onto our deck
only a few bars at a time. It would have been disas-
trous to have had to dive with a load of metal on deck.
It took two days of the hardest kind of work before
we had our plunder stowed away.

The helmsman who had his wife and child aboard
was really no helmsman at all, but a dead-head pas-
senger who was getting a free voyage by grace of the
captain. Ugland by name, he was a decent, well-bred
fellow. Mrs. Ugland was pretty and amiable, but
dreadfully frightened at first. At our invitation, she
came over to visit our monster of the deep. Her face
was pale and her eyes gaped as she climbed from the
lifeboat onto our deck, first passing her baby up into

''HUMAN HUNS'' CAPTURE A BABY 321

the rough hands of our seamen. I assigned the two
fair guests to my quarters.

The child became the ship's darling. Her name
was Eva. She gazed at the things around her with
marvelhng eyes. Our sailors tumbled over themselves
to please her. The cook felt himself the chief person-
age in the entertainment given the young lady. He
prepared cakes, candies, and dishes of canned fruits
with whipped cream. The sailors fed the delicacies
to the child with an unflagging delight. The tiny Eva
was a very obliging mite. She tried to please her hosts
by eating everything they gave her. She persevered
in these good intentions until her stomach overflowed,
whereupon Mrs. Ugland intervened and carried the
tot away until she had recovered from the over-
feeding. Thereafter our men were careful about what
they gave Eva to eat, and contented themselves with
riding her on their knees and such.

The copper stowed away aboard the U-151, only
a few more formalities remained. The crew of the
Vindeggen gathered their belongings, and got into
their lifeboats. The boats were strung out In a line,
and we prepared to take them In tow. The captain
of the Vindeggen wanted his ship to sink with her flag
flying. The Norwegian colours were hoisted to the
masthead. The TNT roared out. The steamer sank
swiftly on an even keel. The Norwegian flag was the
last thing seen. It seemed to hover fluttering for a
moment, and then plunged. The old captain stood
rigidly at attention. Mrs. Ugland could not suppress
her tears. The tiny Eva clapped her hands with glee
at the strange sight.

A seaman's best friend is his ship. When his ship
sinks it Is like the burial of a comrade. Our men
understood our guests' sorrow, and tried to comfort
them. They rigged up their orchestra and got out
on the submarine's deck. We headed for land, towing

322 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the lifeboats behind us. On our deck old songs were
sung to the accompaniment of guitar and mandoline.

The concert was Interrupted at about 5 P. M., when
we sighted smoke on the horizon. So we cut loose
from our train of lifeboats.

"Head for the smoke" was the order given them.

They obeyed, and we, too, headed for the smoke.
A steamer appeared. We submerged and waited.
The steamer, as we expected, sighted the lifeboats and
made for them. The voyagers In the boats had a good
view of the show. At the proper moment our U-boat
put In Its appearance. Consternation on the steamer's
deck, a scramble to lower the lifeboats, and another
capture was made. The ship was the Heinrich Lund
of Bergen, Norway. She was bound from Baltimore
for Buenos Aires with a cargo of coal, engines, and
engine parts. Her skipper, Captain Kaltenborn, asked
for permission to rescue his belongings before the
Lund was sunk.

"I have," he added, "a few bottles of champagne
and beer, and also some newspapers that tell a lot
about your boat."

He got instant permission. The champagne and
beer were welcome, and still more welcome were the
newspapers. We were eager to see whether they car-
ried any of the Interviews which our former prisoners
had promised to give regarding their cruise with us.

The usual charge of TNT, and the U-151 started
off again with Its string of lifeboats, which now was
increased In length by the boats of the Heinrich Lund,

Toasts of champagne and beer were drunk all
down the line. I devoted myself to the beer. We had
not brought any of the refreshing liquid along from
Germany and had found very little of It In the ships
we had captured. The beer was excellent. In Ger-
many, under the pressure of war, the beer had already
gone bad, but this was as good as German beer before

''HUMAN HUNS'' CAPTURE A BABY 323

the war. We had to congratulate the American
breweries. It was too bad that prohibition had to
come along and ruin them.

Nothing goes together better than drinking beer
and reading the papers. We scanned every page of
the journals Captain Kaltenborn gave us. Yes, there
were the stories about our former guests. The cap-
tains had kept their promises, and more. The articles
told fairly accurately of our prisoners' stay with us
and of the excellent treatment we had given them.
One piece of a later date was about the torpedoing of
the Harpathian. It was headed "Human Huns." We
didn't like that term, Hun, but then the account re-
lated fully how we had gone to the Harpathian' s hfe-
boats and given all the help we could.

Another skipper. Captain M. H. Saunders of the
Hauppage, had given the gentlemen of the press quite
a colourful yarn. Referring to his little holiday cruise
on our under-sea yacht, he said: "Their food was tip-
top. Why, for breakfast they even gave us delicious
hot rolls and fresh butter. That butter was fine I But
their bread was black and came in funny loaves about
three feet long. We also had cognac nearly all of the
time. They had three gramophones on board and
there was a lot of singing. In fact, the members of
the crew were cheerful and joked with us a lot, espe-
cially after indulging in cognac. They nearly all were
very young fellows — and they spoke often of their
mothers."

Not such a bad portrait of us "Huns" at that, nicht
wahrf

Captain Kaltenborn told me that we were supposed
to have sunk sixteen ships. We had, as a matter
of fact, sunk fourteen. Another had struck one of
the mines we had laid and was supposed to have been
torpedoed. That made fifteen. There remained a
sixteenth. I gathered from further conversation with

324 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

the skipper that it also had fallen a victim of our
mine-laying and had been charged off to the account of
our torpedoes.

"Your name Is Korner,'* exclaimed the captain sud-
denly. "Ah, yes, I remember. Weren't you in Stock-
holm with the h3,ti[tship Ho henzollern In 1911?'*

I replied in the affirmative and he went on to relate
that he had heard of me through his sister. At a ball
in honour of the German officers I had met her and
given her a "grand rush." Yes, I remembered her. In
those days I was a gay spark, but since then I had
transferred my whole allegiance to the German
mother of my children. The world was indeed small
when In the middle of a trans-Atlantic submarine raid
I could run across a reminder of a flirtation at a ball
seven years before.

The U-151 dragged its towllne along peacefully
in the light of the sinking sun. We were getting Into
the shipping lane now and thought it would be an
excellent idea to rid ourselves of our train of boats.
Von Nostitz arranged with the prisoners that as soon
as a steamer was sighted we would pull the boats
across Its course as near to It as we safely could. Then
we would cut loose and submerge and watch to see how
things went. They were to signal the oncoming ship
by shouting, waving lanterns, and setting off rockets
that we gave them. If the ship refused to take them
aboard they were to Inform the captain of our pres-
ence In the neighbourhood and say that If he still
refused to take them aboard we would torpedo him,
as we certainly would.

Soon after dark we sighted a steamer coming very
slowly off our port side. We steered across the bow
with our line of boats. It was 9 :50 when we loosened
the towllne. We did not submerge. We could see the
ship clearly, while behind us was a mass of dark clouds
such as to make us almost invisible. The occupants

''HUMAN HUNS'' CAPTURE A BABY 325

of the lifeboats at once began to make a devil of a
racket. The citizens of Baltimore must have heard
it ! And they waved lanterns and set off rockets. The
line of boats made a tremendous spectacle. The ship,
as it drew up, seemed to be a coast patrol boat. It
stopped and looked things over. Apparently it
"smelled" submarine, because it turned as If to run.
We trained our guns on the dark form. The occu-
pants of the boats shouted to the ship that it would
be sunk if it did not pick them up. Then the captain
seemed to spy us vaguely, only a thousand feet away,
and probably reasoned that we could undoubtedly
shoot him full of holes. The steamer drew up and
took the crowd aboard.

We turned and headed north.

CHAPTER XXXV

DEPTH BOMBS— AND THE LIGHTED
DINING ROOM

Our supply of oil was awfully low now, and we
could not continue our stay in American waters much
longer. You know how the old horse pricks up his
ears and shakes his weary legs with new life when he
comes to the turn that leads homeward to the stable?
That was how we felt.

The fisherman always has to indulge himself in
one last cast of his line. We ran south for one more
day of hunting in the waters off the United States.
An interesting guest paid us a visit. A crane that
seemingly had been blown around for days by the
raging wind alighted on our deck and lay on its back,
exhausted. We amused ourselves by administering to
the waif. We brought it food and water. It devoured
the morsels as though it were nearly starved. Soon
it was on its long legs and drying itself in the sun. It
stayed with us a day, quite tame and companionable,
and then after a final meal, which we provided boun-
teously, it leaped away on flapping wings and headed
swiftly for land.

Our last day in American waters was fruitless in
the way of ships sunk. We sighted two big steamers,
but both escaped us.

Homeward bound! It was June 13th. We had
been off the American coast for three weeks and two
days. We steered east, planning to pick up a ship or
two on our return trip. At 5 A. M. on the day after

326

DEPTH BOMBS 327

our departure from the American coast we caught the
three-masted schooner, Samoa of Christiania, bound
from Walfish Bay, South Africa, for New York
with a cargo of copper ore and wool. She had just
trimmed her sails and we were making ready to board
her when a destroyer appeared, keeping a course that
would take her past us a few miles off. We had
launched our small boat and could not submerge right
away. The destroyer must certainly see us, or, at any
rate, notice the schooner lying there with furled sails.
A frantic harum-scarum scene as all hands scurried
aboard and below. The destroyer did not change her
course. Surely they must have a better lookout than
that! She kept straight on her way and vanished on
the horizon, leaving us quite free to deal with our
prize.

The lifeboats of the Samoa were equipped only
with oars, and the distance from land would have
meant a tremendous lot of rowing. After we had
sunk the ship we communicated with the nearest
American wireless station and asked that a vessel be
sent out after the men. A return message came thank-
ing us.

The Krtngsla of Christiania, bound for New York
from Buenos Aires with a cargo of linseed oil, was the
victim of her own excessive timidity. We chased her
for three hours and a half, while she ran, sails full set.
For a long time we gained on her, though very slowly.
Then the breeze stiffened. The ship picked up speed
and kept her distance. She began to draw away, and
we gave up the chase. A couple of parting shots at an
impossible range, more for amusement's sake than
anything else! We were not at all astonished to see
the shells fall far short. We were thoroughly aston-
ished, though, when the ship immediately lowered her
top sails. She had run a good race, but the mere
sound of shots had frightened her. We sent a wire-

328 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

less message summoning aid for the lifeboats, and
then watched the reddish-brown linseed oil spread over
the water as the schooner sank.

On June 18th we finished off an ugly customer. A
careful aim through the periscope, and we shot a tor-
pedo at an 8,000-ton armed steamer. A hit. Life-
boats launched and the crew got away safely. We
drew up to the boats. The ship was formerly the
Russian and now the British steamer Dvinsk, bound
empty for Newport News to bring back a load of
American troops. She carried, we were told, a heavy
armament of guns, shells, mine apparatus, and depth
bombs, all manner of equipment to put the quietus on
a submarine. The bottom of the sea was an excellent
place for that junk, according to our way of thinking.

"And now, my dear fellow, here is big game at
last." Our skipper stroked his beard with a gesture
of anticipation.

The lifeboats of the Dvinsk could still be seen in
the distance when a big four-funnelled fellow ap-
peared, the former Kronprinz PFilhelm of the North
German Lloyd Line. We manoeuvred submerged,
ready for a torpedo shot,

'' Torpedo losf" Von Nostitz gave the command
and the missile went its way. We dived and awaited
the result.

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. Another
miss ! Our torpedoes had been stored too long. We
returned to periscope level for another shot. And
now, two minutes after the torpedo had been launched,
came a dull, thudding report. Hurrah 1 We had
made a hit after all. Then another report came
louder than the first. Two more sounded in rapid
succession, nearer and nearer to us.

"Depth bombs!" The murmur ran through the
boat. Our torpedo had missed and been seen, and we
were being counter-attacked with depth bombs I

DEPTH BOMBS 329

**Dive!;* the Captain roared. ^Dlve!"

Surely It was an unexpected thing in the middle of
the ocean. That steamer must have had its nerve.
It was a brave effort for a ship far away from land,
and without the support of a destroyer, to see a tor-
pedo and try to chase down the submarine to the point
whence the missile came. That was what had hap-
pened, though. The steamer had rushed in our direc-
tion and now was raining its whole supply of depth
bombs over us.

In the submarine we had only one thought — down,
down. Water let into all the compartments. Engines
ran with full power, throwing us Into a steep dive.
Bombs exploded incessantly, some far and some near.
The boat trembled from the force of the detonations.
All of the crew who had no Immediate duty to per-
form were crowded at the doors of the control room,
listening to the commands. They were as pale as
death. We sank rapidly. The sounds of the explo-
sions became weaker.

A deafening report crashed out. The boat shook
in every joint. We were sure we had been hit. But
no, we could see each other. There was still light.
The first thing to happen when a submarine is hit Is
for the electric lights to go out. Now everybody ran
around the boat, looking. Inspecting. No water was
coming Into the compartments. The seams were tight
and no rivets were loosened. She had not been dam-
aged.

Mein Gott, how good everybody felt!

Then we looked at the depth gauge. Sixty-two
metres. Our boat had been tested to only fifty metres.
In our eagerness to sink we had just kept on going
down and down, and we had sunk too far ! Even now
I could not understand how our boat had withstood so
great an excess of pressure, but I knew that It might

330 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

be crushed at any moment, its Iron sides bent in, its
seams opened.

**AIr pressure I" the skipper yelled.

The compressed air system was started.

The gauge, instead of registering a lower pressure,
showed that we were sinking. We were at sixty-five
metres, seventy, seventy-two, seventy-five. The pres-
sure of the water about us was so great that the com-
pressed air could not force the water ballast out of our
hull.

"No use." The voice of the quartermaster, as he
reported, seemed to come out of the unfathomable
depths for which we were headed.

"The pumps!" the Captain yelled, "and air pressure
in tanks three and four!"

The pumps got into action and the new blast of air
pressure hissed and spluttered. Not enough. Eighty-
two metres I

"Air pressure of all tanks!" I could see blank
despair In Von Nostitz's bearded face. Even if this
expenditure of our last reserve did thrust the water
from our tanks it would shoot us to the surface, and
on the surface we would have to lie. With no com-
pressed air left we could not submerge again and ever
hope to rise. And on the surface what? The depth
bombs had ceased their Infernal explosions, but the
ship above could sink us with gunfire. Nevertheless,
we must rise If we could. Better to go to the surface
and fight and then be sunk than to be crushed in the
depths.

The last reserve of compressed air was flowing
into the tanks with Its sibilant, surging sound. We
were sinking. Eighty-three metres! It seemed im-
possible that the boat could survive. Then we were
stationary. My heart pounded like a hammer as I
watched the gauge. Were we doomed to remain for-
ever at that level? A ghostly thought. At last we

DEPTH BOMBS 331

began ever so slowly to creep up. The speed of our
rise increased. Now we were at fifty metres, in the
zone of safety. If we could only stay there for a
while, an hour or so. But we could not stop rising.
Our upward progress became a horror, and it in-
creased in swiftness with every moment.

We shot to the surface. The hght of day blazed
in our faces as we looked. The steamer was not in
sight. Every man sank onto the nearest support and
lay for moments, exhausted.

The lifeboats of the Dvinsk were on the horizon.
We made for them.

"Didn't that steamer see you?"

*'Yes," they replied. "It came right by. They said
they didn't dare to stop with a submarine around, but
would send a boat for us later.''

The ship, having dropped all of its bombs, had
made off as ipast as it could. That had saved us. The
fact that it was out of sight when we came to the sur-
face indicates how long that agonized struggle in the
depths had lasted. We were convinced that the ship
was the former Kronprinz PFilhelm of the North
German Lloyd Line, made over by the United States
Navy into an auxiliary cruiser.

We were now back into the main steamship lane.
Many steamers passed us, but we were unable to bag a
single one of them. One morning, with a heavy fog
on the ocean, a giant form appeared suddenly in the
mist. It was headed straight toward us. We dived at
once. A peep through the periscope showed us the
Mauretania disappearing in the fog at a tremendous
speed.

We rounded the northern tip of Scotland and went
along, worming and squirming our way through the
blockade. After several more days we caught the
odour of growing things, and our first sight of Euro-
pean land came when the twinkling lights of Ruyberg

332 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

and HIrschhals appeared. As we passed Helsingborg
in the night I looked for that red hanging lamp in the
Swedish dining room, the one I had seen on our way
out. Yes, there it was. And, as before, a merry
company sat around the festive board, toasting each
other, and laughing and little dreaming that a giant
submarine cruiser was just outside, slinking by on her
return from an historic trans-Atlantic raid across the
ocean to the Western Hemisphere. A little later we
glided silently through the sound past Copenhagen, as
brightly lighted as it had been on our voyage out.

At dawn we cut off our wild-looking beards and
shaved and got out our uniforms. Boats came from
Kiel with our flotilla chief and his entire staff to wel-
come us. One brought Prince Adalbert, son of the
Kaiser. We made fast to the pier at 9:30 A. M., July
20, 1918. At home we found everyone full of hope.
The Allies and Americans had checked our army in
France. But in spite of this we little dreamed that
defeat was at hand.

Ninety-four days had passed since we had fared
forth on our adventurous voyage. And we had cov-
ered exactly ten thousand, nine hundred, and fifteen
miles. We had definitely sunk a total of 23 ships, of
a gross tonnage of something more than 61,000 tons.
In addition, four others had gone down on the mines
we had planted, two that we already had heard about,
and then two others. This brought our tonnage up to
an additional 10,000 or 12,000, and our total sinkings
to 27 ships. So, in all, between seventy and seventy-
five thousand tons of Allied shipping had gone down
to Davy Jones carrying our compliments, and we had
shown a skeptical world that even the wide expanse
of the Atlantic was not enough to keep us from a
super-raid to the coast of far-off America. To those
who can see into the future, surely this is a warning
of what later wars may bring. For the day will come

DEPTH BOMBS 333

when submarines will think no more of a voyage across
the Atlantic than they do now of a raid across the
North Sea. In the not far-distant future our giant
U-151 will be succeeded by craft that will operate not
only above and under the sea, but up in the air as well.
America's isolation is now a thing of the past.

CHAPTER XXXVI

VON ARNAULD, THE ACE OF ACES, STAGES
THE LAST BIG FIGHT

The voyage to America that the German ace of
aces was to have made but never completed involved
a spectacular adventure which stands as the last big
fight of the war under the sea. Commander von
Arnauld began with a description of his new big
cruiser, one of two giants in which the Germans
embodied the latest improvements of submarine con-
struction, then he went ahead with a story full of
action :

I remained in the Mediterranean until the spring of
1918, when I was recalled to Germany and placed in
command of one of these submarine cruisers, the
U-139. All of these big fellows were named after
submarine commanders who had gone down with their
boats. Mine was the Commander Schwieger, named
after the captain who had sunk the Lusitania.

The U-139 was as different from my old boat, the
U-35y as a battle cruiser is from a destroyer. The
U'35 was less than two hundred feet long and carried
a crew of forty men. Its quarters were cramped.
My tiny captain's cabin was scarcely more than a cup-
board. One cabin sufficed for the three other officers.
They had scarcely enough room to turn around. They
did not even have individual sleeping places. There
were two bunks. As one of them was always on watch,
there were never more than two men in the cabin at

334

THE LAST BIG FIGHT 335

one time. The 17-139, on the other hand, was almost
the size of a small cruiser. She was nearly four hun-
dred feet from bow to stern. Her tonnage was 1,930
above water and 2,480 below. There were two decks
inside of the huge hull. My cabin was as roomy and
well appointed as that of a skipper of a regular naval
vessel, and the other officers and the men were taken
care of in a similarly comfortable way. Instead of
one 10.5 cm. gun, we had two big 15 cm. guns, one
mounted fore and two at the stern. The U-SS had
two torpedo tubes at the bow and two at the stern.
The U-139 had four torpedo tubes fore and two aft.
It carried twenty torpedoes and a thousand shells.
The boat made thirteen knots on the surface and had
a submerging time of two minutes. Briefly, she was
a real warship, one capable of conducting a respectable
naval action by gunfire as well as by torpedo. The
defect of these big submarine cruisers, as compared
with the smaller boats, was that they were unwieldy.
In a surface fight they could hold their own with any-
thing short of really big guns, but submerged it was
difficult to manoeuvre for a torpedo shot. They were
clumsy and did not swing around quickly, as is neces-
sary for a craft that aims its shot by aiming itself.

No sooner was this giant tested out when she was
ordered to raid the East coast of the United States.
One great attack in France had failed, and our armies
were driven back. We were losing hope of victory.
Defeat was looming black. Nevertheless, the U-boats
were carrying on.

On October 1, 1918, the U-139 lay off Cape Finis-
terre on the northern coast of Spain. We had just
come out from Kiel after one of the stormiest trips
I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. For
days we had to keep our hatches closed while the
tempestuous seas swept over us. Now, though, we
were enjoying our first fine day. Everybody was on

336 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

deck enjoying the fresh air. At ten o'clock smoke was
sighted on the horizon and a forest of masts came
into view. It was a big convoy. As it came into clear
view we counted ten large steamers guarded by two
British auxiliary cruisers, one of which led the proces-
sion and the other brought up the rear. On each side
of the column were fussy little patrol boats. The
entire company was zigzagging.

It is hard to gauge a zigzagging course. We
steered to the right and then to the left of the convoy
to get Into position where we could lie in wait, to
allow the convoy to pass in front of us so that we
could get a shot. After a lot of manceuvring we got
a beeline on one of the freighters. Torpedo loosed,
we went to the depths to get away from an expected
rain of depth bombs. No sound, either of torpedo or
of depth bombs. We had missed, and neither tor-
pedo nor our periscope had been noticed. The silence
was soon disturbed by a huge rushing and whirring
sound, a noise of many propellers. The whole convoy,
in one of its zigzagging shifts, had passed over our
heads.

"Blow the tanks!" I called the command Into the
speaking tube, and to the surface we rose.

We had failed with the torpedo; we would have
it out with our guns. It was a risky thing, thus to rise
so near the convoy and stage a fight with shell fire,
but then our submarine cruiser was designed to put
up a good skirmish on the surface, and if the going
got too hot we could dive out of It.

We came up gingerly, guiding ourselves by the
sound of propellers. We did not want to bump against
the bottom of a ship. Now we broke the surface, and
in a moment the gun crews were scrambling on deck
and forward and aft to the guns. There were all
those vessels only a short way off. Pandemonium
broke loose. Our guns fired as fast as they could.

THE LAST BIG FIGHT 337

Every ship that had a gun and was in range popped
shells at us. There were explosions all around the
U-boat, but the shooting from the ships was confused
and bad. We might have sunk several right there by
direct gunfire if it hadn't been for one of the auxiliary
cruisers. She was too near for comfort in the first
place, and now she came at us, her guns blazing away.
She was shooting carefully and well. Her shells were
bursting in the water a few yards from us.

"Below for diving,'' I shouted to the men at our
guns.

We were just in time. Just as the water was clos-
ing over the conning tower a shell burst up there. The
water deadened its explosion, but the shell fragments
clanged loudly against our steel plates. This time
there was no lack of depth charges. They crashed
out a few seconds apart above us, but we had plunged
too deep for them.

Our second attack foiled. **Donnerwetter** we said,
*'this has got to stop." Up to periscope depth and a
look around. The convoy was steaming on in the dis-
tance. Very well, we have a fast boat — ^up and after
them. We came to the surface and ran at our best
speed until we had caught up with the convoy.

This time luck favoured us. The auxiliary cruisers
were slow and gave us time to get the range. In good
shooting distance, we had a few minutes of precious
target practice. We sent our shells as fast as we could
at the nearest steamer. She stopped, badly hit. Then
we turned on the next one. A few shells, and she was
disabled. By this time one of the cruisers was headed
for us at full speed, firing and trying to ram us.

The ocean swallowed us, and in a minute depth
bombs came looking for us with their ugly banging
voices. When they had their say we returned to peri-
scope depth to see what could be done. The first
steamer we had hit was sinking. The cruiser that had

338 HAIDERS OF THE DEEP

attacked us was taking aboard the stricken vessel's
crew. The second steamer we had hit was lying well
afloat. Patrol boats were standing by, and one of the
larger vessels was preparing to take it in tow.

It was mid-afternoon now, and we still had several
hours in which to finish off the disabled ship. Patrol
boats had been called to the scene from near-by ports
and were swarming around. We had to proceed very
carefully, running submerged. It was sundown and
dusk was gathering before we had manoeuvred into
position for a torpedo shot. The damaged steamer
was listing. The towline had broken, and the attempt
to take the vessel in tow seemed to have been aban-
doned. The crew was being taken off by patrol boats.

By now it was so dark through the periscope that
the ships above were nothing but shadows. We were
about to loose a torpedo when one of the shadows
loomed much too close.

"Dive!" I called in haste.

We rested for a little while at twenty metres,
listening to the sound of propellers above. I stood in
the conning tower. Beside me were my two officers.
The helmsman stood behind. Down below the men
not on duty were eating supper. The noise of pro-
pellers died away. Slowly the U-139 edged up to
periscope depth. As I looked in the glass I saw a
looming shadow in the twilight, a ship broadside to
us and right in line for a torpedo shot. I wasted no
time for inspection.

*'First bow torpedo — fire!"

The torpedo left the tube, and we dived instantly.
After a short wait came the shattering roar of the
torpedo explosion. Less than a minute later there
was a terrible crash overhead and our boat shook
from stem to stern as if it had been cracked open by
the giant blow. The lights went out. Water rushed
in from above. The boat listed to one side.

THE LAST BIG FIGHT 339

I guessed what had happened. We had been very
near the ship we had torpedoed and had drifted under
her. And now she had sunk on top of us. She was
the vessel we had hit with shell fire and was water-
logged when the torpedo ripped her open. That was
why she had plunged so quickly.

The lights flashed on with that sudden strange
startlement that always accompanies lights flashing on.

"Man the pumps!" I yelled.

The water was still pouring down over us from
above. The helmsman was trying desperately to close
the hatch of the compartment above, from which the
drenching shower came. The hatch had been jammed
by the shock and would not close. The depth gauge
showed that we were sinking at a terrific speed. The
sinking ship was carrying us down with her. The sea
was three thousand feet deep here in this place. We
would soon be crushed like an eggshell by the pressure
of the water. Not a word was spoken in the conning
tower. Not a sound was heard save the rushing of
water and the heavy breathing of the men. Above us
sounded the cracking of depth bombs. What a
mockery they seemed. There was just one chance.

"Air pressure in all tanks.'* I could feel my voice
go false and strained as I tried to conceal the tone of
wild anxiety.

The boat trembled and lurched as the compressed
air blew the water out of the tanks. Could we shake
ourselves loose? I could feel the boat sliding. The
depth gauge showed that our descent was checked.
Then the pointer swung quickly around. The sudden
upward drag of the boat had disengaged it from the
sinking ship, which had slid oif and gone on to the
bottom.

The U-139, with blown tanks, was rising like a
balloon. There was no chance of stopping our ascent
until we came to the top, and there the surface craft

340 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

were waiting. We could hear their depth bombs
bursting. Water still poured into the conning tower,
but the pumps were able to hold it down. Our upper
works had been smashed, and in the conning tower
we were blind. Our three periscopes had been carried
away. The hand of the depth gauge moved around
inexorably. I called to the men to be ready for an
order to dive the moment we broke the surface.

A sound of swishing and splashing, and the shower
from above ceased to pour down on us.

*'Dive!" I shouted.

Another of those eternities. We were in the midst
of the boats that were hunting for us. The sound
of depth bombs came from here and there. But the
sea was pitch dark and we were not detected. Now
we were nosing down, I held the boat just below the
surface, where the leakage through the conning tower
would be least.

Expecting to be run down at any moment in that
hornets* nest of boats, we limped away a few feet
below the surface, and presently the sound of bombs,
where they were still gunning for us, was lost in the
distance. After an hour we came to the surface.
Nothing was near us. Far off to the south we could
see searchlights sweeping about the scene of our late
adventure.

Our upper works were hopelessly ruined. The
deck was ripped up. Our three periscopes hung by a
wire. We were a rather crippled specimen of U-boat.
The next day we picked up a small steamer. Our luck
still held out. She had a cargo of port wine and ce-
ment— just what we needed. With the wine we
refreshed our bedraggled spirits and with the cement
repaired the conning tower, filling up the breaks so
that it was watertight once more. We were still
without periscopes, but could put up a surface fight
and could navigate the depths again — a blind fish, to
be sure, but still a fish.

4:

The effect of a mine on a submarine. In all^ lyS raiders of
the deep lie somewhere on the floor of the ocean.

THE LAST BIG FIGHT 341

We continued our cruise looking for ships to attack
with our guns. The wireless told us that our line was
being rolled back in France. Yes, Germany was de-
feated. We were filled with despondency. Off the
Azores the U-139 had its last fight, and a brisk affair
it was. We sighted a big steamer escorted by a Portu-
guese gunboat. We gave chase, but the steamer was
too fast. The gunboat attacked us. It was a puny,
antiquated thing and had no guns to match ours and
had only half as many men aboard as we had. I have
never seen a braver fight than that old piece of junk
put up. Those Portuguese fought like devils, firing
shell after shell from their popguns while we raked
them from stem to stern. Fourteen of their forty
men lay dead on deck and most of the rest were
wounded before the boat surrendered. We took the
survivors aboard as prisoners and sank their vessel.
Later in the day we sighted a ship, stopped it, put our
prisoners aboard, ana sent them home. They had
fought so gallantly that they deserved all considera-
tion, and, besides, we had scarcely room enough
aboard our U-boat to take a score or so of men on
board. We thought, of course, the episode was ended
there, but there was a sequel. After the war one of
the officers of the 17-139 met one of our former pris-
oners, one of the officers. They had a celebration and
became fast friends. The Portuguese said that the
steamer that escaped us had aboard several American
generals who were returning to America from the
Western Front.

We were less than half way across when the wire^
less brought news of the armistice negotiation. U-
boat warfare against the United States was suspended,
and we were ordered to return to Germany. We got
back to Kiel on November 14, 1918. As we steered
into the harbour we saw the red flags of the revolution
flying.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE TRAGIC END— HOME AND MUTINY

He drew out a gold cigarette case, snapped It open,
and handed it to me, showing me the inside of the
cover. The shiny yellow surface was covered with
scrawls, names scratched in the metal, hasty signa-
tures.

"A remembrance of the end," he said.

It was Commander Gustav Siess speaking, the
U-boat commander who had already told me of his
early adventures in under-sea warfare.

*'I was in the Mediterranean for a couple of years,"
he went on, "and then the end came. Germany was
collapsing, Austria falling apart. Already the revo-
lution in Austria had begun. There was a revolt at
the port of Cattaro, which was our base. In the hands
of the revolutionaries, it was a base for us no longer.
The German U-boat fleet in the Mediterranean had
lost its home. There was nothing to do but start back
to Germany. The squadron started out on what was
to be its last voyage. I, as the oldest commander at
the Cattaro base, was in command of the flotilla.

**Some of the boats at the station were unfit for so
long a trip. We destroyed them. The remainder
numbered fourteen, and so we were fourteen when we
started. I wanted a memento, and passed my ciga-
rette case around. Each man scratched his name, and
you can see them there. How many of the fourteen
got safely back to Germany with their boats? Thir-
teen. One was lost. Another gained a fine victory,

342

HOME AND MUTINY 343

Captain Kukat. He sank the British battleship
Britannia.^^

I had heard from other sources of that last voyage
of the Mediterranean squadron back to Germany dur-
ing those final days of the World War. The British
knew the U-boats would have to clear out of Cattaro
and try to make their way back to Germany, and of
course pass through the narrow strait of Gibraltar.
They came, just like a swarm of foxes being driven
through a narrow bottle neck, and you can bet the
hunters were there in force. One of those who made
the memorable voyage was Commander Hartwig who
at the time was in command of the big 11-63, He told
me a vivid story.

"The strait between Gibraltar and Africa, nine
miles wide, was crowded with vessels, destroyers, pa-
trol boats, gunboats, torpedo boats, submarine chasers,
and I don't know what else, while overhead airplanes
circled, ready to drop bombs. Everything was in
readiness for our coming. Our fleet of fourteen
U-boats had cruised along more or less together, but
for a passage of the strait there was no thought of
flotilla formation. Every man for himself.

"I had planned to go through on the surface at
night. I could make better speed and trusted to dive
out of the way of any enemy that spied me. The sur-
face run was impossible, though. The weather was
very clear, and the U-63 was constantly being discov-
ered by enemy craft even before we got through the
strait. So were the other U-boats.

" *Allo, alio!* the air was simply crammed with that
word. It was the war warning — submarine sighted.
*Allo, position so and so.' The wireless kept the world
informed where this boat was and that one.

"So under the surface we went. The craft were so
thick above and searched the water so thoroughly with
lights that it was impossible to show a periscope, even

344 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

for a few seconds. We groped along blindly, heading
in the direction that would take us through the narrow
passage. We could hear the propellers of the vessels
above, a steady hum, like a swarm of angry bees. The
noise was our guide. When it had died away we
would know that we were through the strait.

"We prayed for silence and after a while silence
came. The buzz of propellers grew faint and died
away. Then up we came. I intended, if the coast was
clear, to make a dash out to sea on the surface. We
broke water and then . . .

"'Dive!^ I yelled.

"Straight ahead, not five hundred feet away, was a
big destroyer. She came streaking at us, and it seemed
certain that we would be rammed. And if we were
not rammed the depth bombs would surely get us. I
have never seen another situation where I was so
thoroughly sure that we were done for.

"She missed ramming us by an inch, and then the
depth bombs came. Then a curious turn. The very
closeness of our danger saved us. The depth bombs
were exploding directly below us. They had been set
for ninety feet, at which depth we would have nor-
mally taken refuge. But the enemy was on top of us
so fast that we had not had time to get any deeper
than thirty feet.

" 'Hold a level course,' I commanded.

"The depth charges ripped and tore the water be-
low us, but we slid along safely above them. The
destroyer was so sure she had nailed us that she flashed
a wireless message reporting our destruction.

"We stayed under water after that and did not
come up until we were well out in the Atlantic. Then
we got wireless calls from the other boats. All drew
together and ran along as a flotilla. One boat was
missing, the U-34 under Commander Johannes Klas-
ing. The lucky thirteen kept on together around the

HOME AND MUTINY 345

north of Scotland and down through the North Sea.
We put In at one of the Norwegian fjords, and there
got our first news of the revolution in Germany. We
could not believe our ears. But at least there was no
revolution aboard our submarines.

"The red flag of revolution floated over Kiel,
Mutiny reigned aboard the ships In the harbour there
and the red flag flew from mast heads. But we, at
least, kept to our duty till the last. The thirteen
U-boats of the Cattaro base came Into the harbour
in war formation, with war flags fluttering In the
breeze."

The only U-boat of that Cattaro flotilla, except
those blown up, failing to get back to Germany was
the one lost at Gibraltar. She was the last U-boat
lost during the war. The 17-34, under command of
Commander Johannes Klasing, was accounted for by
the British Q-ship Privet. The submarine was sighted
by patrol boats and then by the Privet, which appeared
to be only an innocent tramp. The U-boat gave fight
to its seemingly feeble adversary, when at short range
the Privet's disguise dropped away, and she sank the
submarine with direct hits of eleven shells. That was
the night of November 8 and 9, 1918, just two days
before the Armistice.

On that same night the British battleship Britannia
was sunk. Captain Kukat of the UB-50 was stealing
his way through the strait when he got a chance to
launch a torpedo at the giant. He hit it squarely and
then hit It again with another torpedo. The ship re-
mained afloat for several hours. Two hours after
the torpedoing, the crew, which was still aboard,
sighted a periscope. It was Commander Kukat*s or
that of some other boat. H.M.S, Britannia opened
fire with her guns for the last time. A rain of shells
fell near the periscope, which disappeared. The
Britannia then threw out a consignment of depth

346 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

bombs. She could not remain afloat much longer,
though, and her crew was taken off. Only forty men
were lost. She was the last British warship sunk by
submarine attack during the war — the last of the five
mighty British men-o'-war that were successfully tor-
pedoed. The others were the Triumph, the Majestic,
the Formidable, and the Cornwallis.

The drama closes with a brief, grim epilogue —
German U-boat against German battleship. And this
final tale was told me by the under-sea skipper who
tells likewise of the first great submarine exploit,
Lieutenant Spiess, who was Weddigen's second offi-
cer that historic day when the Hogue, the Cressy, and
the Aboiikir were sunk.

People wonder why the great German High Sea
Fleet surrendered so supinely. In England, navy men
look blank when they mention it. They are strong
in their statements that the Germans fought splendidly
at sea. Yet they hauled up the white flag without a
fight. The British wouldn^t have done that. They
would have struck a last blow. In answer to that the
Germans say that the crews of the German warships,
affected by Red propaganda, mutinied, and, save, for
that, the German fleet would have sallied out for a
last fight. There are rumours that the fleet was or-
dered to put out to sea and go down with colours
flying. Indeed, it was the belief of an intended heroic
self-immolation that provoked the mutinies among
the sailors. They thought they were going to be sent
out In their ships to deliberate glorious destruction.

Commander Spiess tells us that no such thing was
comtemplated. Instead, a vigorous final stroke by
the High Sea Fleet was the plan. Naturally, the
sailors were not informed of the strategy of the High
Command. Sailors never are. The German Army
was making its last stand In Flanders. On land the
Central Powers were crumbling. So the fleet wanted

HOME AND MUTINY 347

to try and offset this by taking a long chance. The
great ships in massive array were to strike at the
English Channel and the communications between
England and France. They were to be within reach
of their bases on the German coast, so as to be in a
favourable strategic position for a battle or retire-
ment. Meanwhile, the entire submarine fleet was to
be thrown across the North Sea to lie in wait there.
If the British Grand Fleet elected to hurry south to
attack the German ships while they were attacking
the Channel, then they would have to run the gauntlet
of the submarines. Then a gauntlet of mines, which
German small craft were to spread behind the line of
submarines. Between the attack of the U-boats and
the destruction wrought by mines Great Britain's
naval squadrons might be seriously crippled before
they closed with the German fleet.

The fleet was ordered to make ready for this proj-
ect. The men of the submarines remained staunch,
but the battleship crews mutinied. And then the
menace of U-boats was turned against these traitorous
men-of-war.

"In the Jade," said Commander Spiess, "the squad-
rons were being concentrated for sea. The subma-
rines were anxiously awaiting orders to stand out. I
had command of the U-135, a new boat, big and fast.
Early on the morning of October 31st I was ordered
to report immediately to the commander of the
U-boat flotilla.

"The commander wore a grave face. I had already
heard rumours of disaffection in the fleet, but the
question he asked me seemed to put me in another
world.

" *Are you absolutely sure of your crew?'

" *Yes, certainly. Commodore,' I answered mechan-
ically. What a question, as if one should be otherwise

348 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

than certain of one's crew. It seemed as if I were
being transferred to a new realm of thought.

*'The commander went on to inform me of what I
already knew, that several battleships had mutinied,
particularly the Thuringen and the Ostfriesland. He
then sent me to the fleet commander, and again I
heard that question, 'Are you sure of your crew?' Of
course I was. He thereupon ordered me to take the
U'135 and accompany two harbour boats and a com-
pany of marines under Lieutenant Grimm and try to
arrest the mutineers aboard the Thuringen and
Ostfriesland. I asked for written orders. No, they
could not be given me. I was to act on my own re-
sponsibihty. That was how far the demoralization
had gone.

"The two harbour boats and the U'135 proceeded
to the mutinous battle ships. We could have taken
stern measures, but at the last moment we were placed
under the orders of the squadron commander, and the
measures taken were less stern. We acted under im-
mediate orders. I placed the U-135 between the two
mutinous battleships, ready to torpedo one or the
other with bow or stern torpedoes. Lieutenant
Grimm and his marines boarded the Thuringen with
fixed bayonets.

"The mutineers barricaded themselves in the bow
of the battleships. Unfortunately, they were given
five minutes to surrender. They should have been
fired upon at once. They yelled and howled: 'Don't
shoot, brothers.' The five minutes' grace had almost
elapsed when I saw a torpedo boat coming toward
the Thuringen at full speed with guns cleared for
action and the signal flying: 'Am about to fire.' Then
the torpedo boat swerved off and the signal flag came
fluttering down. The mutineers had surrendered.
If her guns had opened on the forward part of the
battleship where the mutineers were huddled, my

HOME AND MUTINY 349

opinion is that the revolt in the fleet would have been
checked.

"I was ordered to take the U-135 and threaten the
battleship Heligoland, on which there had also been
disturbances. I held her under the menace of my
forward torpedo tubes for a while. I had no orders
to torpedo her, and there were no red flags flying.
Finally I was called back to the Thuringen, The
mutineers were being taken off under arrest. Then
followed the arrest of the rebels aboard the
Ostfriesland, The same procedure was employed as
in the case of the Thuringen.

*'These measures were feeble, and were not enough
to check the revolutionary movement in the navy.

Our High Command had learned nothing from the
history of the British. Whole British squadrons had
mutinied during the Napoleonic wars. The English
way was simple: Go alongside the mutinous ships,
board and hang all the ringleaders. A Nelson would
have had the German battleships that were first to
mutiny anchored in the middle of the fleet and sunk
by gunfire.

"After the leaders of the uprising had been taken
off the mutinous battleships the vessels were sent to
Kiel. This was a great mistake. The crews there
were still disaffected, and these men instigated the
revolt at Kiel."

Commander Spiess paints a melancholy picture of
the last days of the German under-sea fleet. Revo-
lution broke out in the ports. The crews of the
U-boats remained staunch. The submarines left
harbour and went from point to point, hoping to find
a place that remained loyal. At every place, though,
they found red revolt. They wanted to carry on and
do their share in the last days of the war, but finally,
with no loyal harbour to put into, they gave it up and
returned to .their bases, where the boats were taken

350 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

over by the revolutionaries. All did, save the 11435
and one or two others. These had acted against the
mutineers and the Reds had threatened vengeance.
So the flotilla commander gave them permission to
seek refuge in foreign ports. Whereupon they be-
came submarines without a country.

They remained at sea for a few days. Then the
Armistice was signed. Better to face the Reds than
to end heaven knows where. So back to Wilhelms-
haven. The faithful U-boat crews landed unmo-
lested by their revolutionary comrades.

Then followed the turning of the ships over to the
British. People wonder why the German officers did
not sink their vessels right there Instead of facing the
humiliation of turning them over to the enemy. Brit-
ish officers asked me that question several times.
Commander Spiess states that the German naval offi-
cers were informed that the British would occupy
the Kiel Canal if the Germans did not surrender their
ships intact according to the terms of the Armistice.
They refused to sink them and handed them over
because of their desire not to cause an occupation of
German territory by the enemy.

And so the U-boats, together with the other ships
of the once powerful High Sea Fleet, went over to
England. The bigger ships of the erstwhile German
Navy went to the bottom at Scapa Flow, scuttled
by their own crews. The under-sea raiders were
divided among the Allies. Several sank when inex-
perienced crews ventured out to sea. Von Arnauld de
la Periere's big cruiser, for example, was given to the
French, and on a trip out with her French crew she
foundered with all on board.

The World War was over. The raiders of the
deep were back in harbour, such of them as had not
been given the iron coffin for a tomb. The campaign
of the under water was done. All that remained

HOME AND MUTINY 351

was to reckon the score and to foot up the bilL
The Germans, from start to finish, laid down the
keels of 811 submarines. But most of these were
still unfinished on the ways when the war ended, and
of course they never struck a blow. Less than four
hundred were put into commission. And of these
four hundred scarcely more than three hundred
actually did any active campaigning. Such was the
German under-sea fleet in magnitude.

Its losses in proportion were terrific. One hundred
and ninety-nine boats were lost. Of these, one hun-
dred and seventy-eight were sunk by the enemy I
Seven were interned in neutral ports. Fourteen,
which were disabled, were sunk by the Germans them-
selves. Of the one hundred and seventy-eight boats
sunk by the enemy, about forty were blown to smith-
ereens on the horns of mines, sixteen were torpedoed
by British submarines, and one by a French submarine.
About a dozen were sunk by the mystery Q-ships and
six were swooped upon by airplanes and demolished
by aerial bombs. Others fell victims to nets, destroy-
ers, cruisers, patrol boats, chasers, armed fishing
steamers, trawlers, and armed merchantmen. Some
were rammed, some shelled, some destroyed by depth
bombs. The fate of a score or so of U-boats was
never explained. They simply left their bases and
never came back, and the Allies have no record of
destroying them. Most of these, no doubt, can be
charged up to mines.

One outstanding fact is, not the numerical strength
but the numerical weakness of the U-boat fleet. At
the outbreak of the war the Germans had but twenty-
nine submersibles and these were very primitive in-
deed. Two of them were out of service for repairs
and three were not quite finished. In February of
1915, when the first unrestricted submarine campaign
was declared, twelve more under-sea craft had been

352 RAIDERS OF THE DEEP

added to the fleet. From the total must be subtracted
several boats that had been sunk. This was truly
a feeble force with which to begin a blockade of the
British Isles. Even at this point the building of under-
sea raiders was not pressed fully. The Germans
little dreamed that the war would last long enough
for boats recently begun to be of any use. It was
only after it was apparent that the titanic struggle
was destined to be a long-drawn-out affair that the
German dockyards began turning out submarines as
fast as they could, and even then there was a lapse
when, after the Battle of Jutland, naval construction
forces were put to the task of repairing surface ships.

On the other side of the ledger, here is what the
raiders of the deep accomplished. They sank ships of
war, from mine sweepers and destroyers to huge
battleships of the line. But It was not in attacks on
naval craft that the U-boats found their most effective
work. It was against trading vessels. In all, they
sank 18,716,982 tons of shipping, of which ten mil-
lions were British. The total number of these ships
destroyed was between five and six thousand. Dur-
ing 1917, in that one year, when the under-sea activity
was at its height, seven and a half million tons went
diving to the bottom — and the British Empire faced
its doom. But how few of us realized it at the time I

Take the comparative weakness of the German
under-sea fleet and the prodigious destruction it
accomplished, buckle those two joints together, and
you will have a bit of logic that tells of what a mighty
part was' taken by the raiders of the deep In those
years when the world was mad.

THE END.

INDEX

Aboukir, the sinking of the, 9,
10, 21 flF.

Adalbert, Prince, 332.

Allenby, Field-Marshal Sir Ed-
mund, 2.

Amalfi, an Italian cruiser sunk
by Von Heimburg, 135.

Amberger, Kapitanleutnant Gus-
tav, is rescued with his thirty-
five men from the U-58, 223.

Amiral Charner, Hersing en-
counters the, 76.

Amiral de Ker saint, gives the
lJ-64 a stubborn fight, 277.

Ammelt, chief engineer on the
V-64; 278.

Arabic, it is sunk in August,
1915, 119.

Arkona, S. M. S., 27.

Arnauld de la Periere, Lothar
von, takes command of the
U-35 at Cattaro, 123; at his
home in Wilhelmshaven, 126;
his account of adventures in
the U-35, 145 ff; the record
cruise — 54 ships sunk, 150;
the Pro<vence and the Gallia
are victims of, 151; he finds
the Primola a difficult enemy,
151; the U-35 encounters the
Parkgate, 159; the India, the
Stromboli, and the Patagonier
are sunk by, 160; the official
recognition of his achieve-
ments, 162; he starts for
America in the U-139, 286;
his adventure which stsnds as

the last big fight of the war,

334 ff; his cruiser is given to

the French, 350.
Askold, the Russian cruiser, 68.
Ausonia, a prey of the U-64,

221, 277,

Baralong, the British Q-ship,
110; an international dispute
over the, 210.

Bay, boatswain's mate on the
U-93, 195.

Beitzen, Kurt, 131.

Ben Cruachan, Commander
Hersing sinks the, 54.

Berlin, Lieutenant Wenninger
executive officer aboard the,
239.

Bernstorff, Von, 102.

Bieber, 227.

Birmingham, the U-15h rammed
by the, 16.

Bistritza, is sunk by Com-
mander Juerst, 177.

Bowring, C. W., his story of
the Lusitania disaster, 102 ff.

Bremen, the, 288.

Britannia, is sunk by Captain
Kukat, 343, 345.

Britannic, S. S., the sinking of
the, 163 ff.

British Official Naval History,
account of Hersing's achieve-
ments contained in, 76.

C-34, is sent down in 1917, 139.
Calthorpe, Admiral Lord, 2.

353

354

INDEX

Campbell, Gordon, 131; his Q-
ship destroys the U-22, 172;
he loses to Reinhoid Salzwe-
del, 2+3.

Caprera, an Italian vessel sunk
in a fight with the U-151, 214.

Carolina, sunk enroute from the
West Indies to New York,
312.

Carthage, sunk by Hersing off
Gallipoli, 73.

Casement, Sir Roger, his jour-
ney to Ireland and its fatal
consequence, 105.

Chatterton, Lieutenant Com^
mander E. Keble, R. N. V.
R., his tribute to Commander
Hersing, 49.

Cochrane, Commander A. D.,
of the E-7, 138.

Colossus, H. M. S., 36.

Colsterdale Prison Camp, Rob-
ert Moraht imprisoned in the,
283.

Commander Schivieger, the U-
139, under Von Arnauld,
334 ff.

Corbett, English naval his-
torian, 76.

Corniuallis, H. M. S., Kurt
Hartwig sinks the, 165.

Cressy, the sinking of the, 9, 10,
21 ff.

Cymric, it is sunk by the U'20,
104.

D-6, is sent down in 1918, 139.
Damrosch, Walter, 132.
Danton, is sent down by the U-

64, 274.
Davis, Captain W. H., master of

the Jacob M. Haskell, 287.
Deppe, machinist's mate on the

U-93, 194.
Deutschland, the submarine

cruiser, 130; is converted to

the U-155, 286, 287.
Donnington Hall, Baron von

Spiegel is imprisoned at, 189.
Dreadnaught, H. M. S., rams

the U-29, 37.
Dresden, escapes from the bat-
tle of the Falklands to be

sunk by the British, 164.
Droescher, Commander, raids

American coast in the U-117,

286.
Dunraven, the famous Q-ship

loses to the UC-71, 243.
Dupetit-Thouars, a French

cruiser and the victim of

Hashagen, 222.
Dvinsk, captured en route to

Newport News by the U-151,

328.

E-7, in command of Cochrane,

138.
E-20, its career is closed by the

UB-15, 138.
E-22, Commander Steinbrinck

sinks the, 139.
Earle, formerly an officer in the

Royal Naval Volunteer Re-
serve, 140.
Eckelmann, Commander, raids

America in the U-155, 286.
Edna, is added to victims of the

U-151, 297.
Edivard H. Cole, goes down to

TNT, 311.
Edivard R. Baird, a victim of

von Nostitz, 315.
Eidsvold, S. S., a sugar ship

sunk by von Nostitz, 316.
Emden, Lothar von Arnauld, a

torpedo officer on the, 127,

130.
Emsmann, Lieutenant, is blown

up at Scapa Flow, 251.

INDEX

355

Fanning, U. S. S., the U-58 of
Kapitanleutnant Amberger is
sunk by the, 222.

Feldkirchner, Lieutenant, com-
mander of the U-17, 34.

Feldt, Commander Richard,
raids American coast in the
U-156, 286.

FiTZMAURicE, captain of the
Triumph, 66.

Ford, Henry, 43.

Formidable, the British warship,
131.

FoRSTMANN, Commander of the
U-39, 123.

Franz, Commander, takes the
U-152 into American waters,
286.

Freja, Moraht meets and takes
the, 276.

Fremantle, Admiral, a passen-
ger aboard the Russell when
she sinks, 164.

Friedrich, Prince Eitel, 46.

Fritzoe, it arrives without es-
cort at the enemy's port, 122.

Gallia, Von Arnauld in the U'

35 sinks the, 151.
Gansser, commander of the 17-

33, 123.
Georg, Ritter Karl Siegfried

von, captures fishing trawlers

in the North Sea, 118.
Gerlach, Commander Helmuth,

in command of the U-93, 192.
Glimpf, Commander, his boat,

the UB-20, is sunk by aerial

attack, 235.
Glitra, is sunk by the U-17, 34,

51.
Gneisenau, the cruiser, 130.
Gratangen, the U-64- sinks the,

274.
Grimm, Lieutenant, 348.

Grosser Kurfursi, the, 107.
GUntzel, 131.

Hamburg, S. M. S., underwater
manoeuvre directed at the, 14.

Hansen, Kapitanleutnant Claus,
his notable career in the U-
41, 109; the adventure with
the Pearl, HI.

Harpathian, S. S., goes down to
Von Nostitz, 317, 323.

Hartwig, Commander Kurt, es-
capes from the sinking Dres-
den, 164; is assigned to a U-
boat command in the Mediter-
ranean, 165; he sinks the
Porto di Rodi, 165 ; the Corn-
fwallis is one of his prey, 165;
tells of his return from the
Mediterranean in the U-63,
343.

Hashagen, Lieutenant Com-
mander Ernst, his story of
the Fritzoe incident, 121 ; at-
tacks the British Prize, 187;
a cruise aboard the U-22f
208 ; he meets the Luckenbach
and the destroyer Nicholson
and adds the Orama to his
victories, 220; he sends the
Dupetit-Thouars on its final
plunge, 222.

Hattie Dunn, the U-151 sinks
the, 296.

Hauppage, it goes down to the
U-151, 296, 323.

Haupt, 262.

Haivke, H. M. S., the U-9 sinks
the, 30.

Heimburg, Korvettenkapitan
Heino von, his story of the
engagements between subma-
rines, 132 flF; the sinking of
the Medusa, 134; the inci-
dents of the Amalfi and the

3S6

INDEX

Royal Edzvard 135; the UB-
15 keeps a rendezvous with
the E-20, 138; an adventure
with an enemy submarine,
140;

Heinrich Lund, is sunk by Von
Nostitz, 322.

Hela, the first German warship
to be sunk by a British sub-
marine, 130.

Heligoland, the, 349.

Henry, Prince of Prussia, 154,
203.

Henry XXXVH, Prince of
Reuss, 266.

Hersing, Lieutenant Commander
Otto, H. M. S. Pathfinder is
sunk by, 8; his home at Ras-
tede, 46; his career as an un-
der-sea raider, 46 ff ; the idol
of Germany, 48; the story of
his adventures in the U-21,
51 flF; the sinking of the
Malachite and Primo, S2; he
sinks the Ben Cruachan, the
Linda Blanche, and the Kil-
cuan, 54; his tale of the Gal-
lipoli adventure in the U-21,
55 flF; he sinks the Triumph,
63 ; takes the Majestic oflf
Cape Hellas, 69; sinks the
Carthage oflF Gallipoli, 73;
he meets a Q-ship, 75; his
encounter with the Amiral
Charner, 76; his lJ-21 takes
a Swedish sailing ship, 179; a
narrow escape in an encoun-
ter with a convoy, 217 ff.
Herzig, the cook on the UB-15,
137.

Hesperian, a victim of the U-

20, 104, 119.
Hague, the sinking of the, 9,
10, 21 flf.

Hohenzollern, Kaiser Wil-
helm, leads festivities at open-
ing of the Kiel Canal, 14; in-
spects naval forces at Wil-
helmshaven, 38 ; commends
Lieutenant Ziegner, 203.

Hohenzollern, the Kaiser's pri-
vate yacht, 129, 324.

HOPPE, Commander, 131; his ill-
fated cruise in the U-22, 170;
is killed by Gordon Camp-
bell's Q-ship, 172.

Horsa, a British steamer sunk
by Von Spiegel, 178.

Hubbard, Elbert, 102.

Hundius, Paul, is killed in at-
tack by airplanes and fishing
smacks, 240.

Huntress, an attack on the, 290,
308.

India, the U-35 sinks the, 160.
Isabel B. Wiley, a victim of "the
U-151, 308.

Jacob M. Haskell, the, 287; the

U-151 takes the, 310.
Jellicoe, Admiral, 54.
Juerst, commander of the U-43f

176; he sinks the Bistritza,

177.

Kaltenborn, Captain, com-
mander of the Heinrich Lund^
322, 323.

Kiblinger, Consul Wilbur, 2.

Kiel Canal, opening of the, 14.

Kiel Week, 14.

Kitchener, Lord, 131.

Klasing, Commander Johannes,
loses to the Q-ship Privet,
344, 345.

Knappe, helmsman on the U-
93, 194.

INDEX

357

KoENiG, George, commanding
the U-7, which was sunk by
his best friend, 171.

KoPHAMEL, Fregattenkapitan
Waldemar, commander of the
U-35, 123 ; his early experi-
ences in the submarine serv-
ice, 205 ; a gun battle between
the U-151 and the Caprera is
recalled by, 213; raids Ameri-
can waters in the 17-140, 286.

KoRNER, Dr. Frederick, tells of
Commander von Nostitz's raid
of the American coast, 286
ff, 324.

Kringsia, of Christiania, a cap-
ture of the U-151, 327.

Kronprinzy the, 107.

Kronprinz, JVilhelm, it worries
the U-151 with a counter-at-
tack, 328.

KuKAT, Commander, 150; sinks
the Britannia with the UB-50,
343, 345.

Lauenberg, he narrowly escapes
in an encounter with a Q-
ship, 145 ; he rescues the
monkey Fipps, 147, 154.

Lawrence, Col. T. E., 2, 3.

Lepsius, commander of the U-6,
206.

Liebknecht, Karl, 253.

Losz, meets death in the UB-
57, 241.

Luckenbach, Commander Hash-
agen has an engagement with
the, 220.

Luckner, Count Felix von, 3;
his capture of the steamer
with a cargo of champagne,
81.

Lusitania, the raider and the
crew which sank the, 81 ff;
the story of its sinking told by

Von Schwieger, 93 ff; dis-
proved stories regarding its
destruction, 98 ; its story as
told by a survivor of the dis-
aster, 101.

Lutzoiv, the battle cruiser, 130.

Luxemburg, Red Rosa, 253.

Lychnis, with the Partridge II
sinks the U-64, 283.

Magdeburg, the wreck of the,
44.

Majestic, H. M. S., is torpedoed
by Commander Hersing, 47,
69 ; British Official Naval His-
tory records sinking of the,
76.

Makaroff, the, 40.

Malachite, its encounter with
the U-21, 51.

Malone, Dudley Field, Collec-
tor of the Port of New York,
98.

Mangoldt, Von, 227.

Maria de Molenos, the Portu-
guese sailing ship, is sunk by
the U-20, 90.

Marzalo, the, 56, 58.

Mauretania, 331.

Mayer, Judge Julius M., his
decision regarding the equip-
ment of the Lusitania, 99.

Medusa, the UB-15 sinks the,
134.

Merry Islington, the U-9 sinks
the, 39.

Miedtank, the cook on the 17-
64, 263, 268.

Minnetonka, the U-64 takes the,
279.

Moraht, Korvettenkapitan Rob-
ert Wilhelm, his adventures
under the sea, 253 ff; his
boat takes the Tripel, 265;
the Danton is his victini, 272

358

INDEX

ff; the Gratangen provides a
surprise, 274; he sinks the
Moreni, 275; the Freja falls
into his hands, 276; his most
stubborn fight with a mer-
chant ship, the Amiral de
Kersaint, 277; sinks the Au-
sonia, 277 \ the Minnetonka
is taken, 279; his desperate
battle with the Lychnis and
the Partridge II, 279 ff.
Moreni, the spectacular sinking
of the, 275.

Nicholson, the American de-
stroyer, goes to the aid of the
Luckenbach, 220; it takes re-
venge on the U-58, 222.

NosTiTZ UNO Janckendorf, Com-
mander von, raids American
waters in the U-151, 286 ff;
his boat encounters the Port
Said, 289; an attack on the
Huntress, 290; the Hattie
Dunn and the Hauppage are
his victims, 296 ; the Edna is
sunk, 297; his boat takes the
Isabel B. Wiley and the S. S.
Winneconne, 308; the Jacob
M. Haskell is his prize, 310;
the Ed<ward H. Cole goes
down to him, 311 ; he sinks the
Texel and the Carolina, 312;
captures the Samuel G. Men-
gel and the Edivard R. Baird,
315; sinks the S. S. Eidsvold,
316; the S. S. Harpathian
goes down to him, 317; he
takes the Finland and the
Vindeggen, 319; captures and
sinks the Pinar del Rio, 320;
the Heinrich Lund is taken
by, 322; the Samoa and the
Kringsia are captured on his
return from America, 327;

the British Dvinsk is taken,
328 ; he is counter-attacked by
the Kronprinz fVilhelm, 328.
NUrnberg, the cruiser, 130.

Oldenburg, the U-151 converted

from the, 287.
Orama, Commander Hashagen

destroys the, 221.
Orduna, it encounters the U-20,

104.
Ostfriesland, is disciplined for

mutiny, 348.

Parhgate, the U-35 encounters

the, 159.
Partridge, II, with the Lychnis

sinks the U-64, 283.
Pasha, Enver, 73.
Patagonier, the U-35 sinks the,

160.
Pathfinder, H. M. S., the sink-
ing of the, 8, 16, 51.
Pearl, \t surprises the U-41, 111.
Phaleron, Von Spiegel sinks the,

180.
Pinar del Rio, is taken and sunk

by Von Nostitz, 320.
PiQUOT, Lieutenant, the com-
mandant at Donnington Hall,

190, 203.
PoHLE, Commander, 131.
Pommern, S. M. S., Lieutenant

Spiess an officer aboard, 10,

130.
Porto di Rodi, Hartwig sinks

it in the Ionian Sea, 165.
Port Said, encounters the U-

151, 289.
Primo, the U-21 sinks the, 52.
Primola, Von Arnauld, in the

U-35, sinks the, 151.
Prinz Adalbert, is torpedoed by

the English in the Baltic, 241.

INDEX

359

Privet, the British Q-ship, it de-
stroys the U-34.

Prize, the British Q-21, traps
the U-93, 181 flF.

Provence, Von Arnauld in the
U-35 sinks the, 151.

Q-21, the Prize, 181 ff.
QUESSE, Lieutenant, 262.

Rhondda, Lady, her strange ad-
venture when the Lusitania
was sunk, 104.

Rosenow, 131.

Royal Edivard, a British trans-
port sunk by Von Heiraburg,
135.

RUcker, is sent to the Mediter-
ranean in command of the U-
34, 123.

Russell, a mine destroys the,
164.

Saalwachter, Kapitan, his ad-
ventures on the U-94, 142.

Salzwedel, Reinhold, takes a
victory from Gordon Camp-
bell, 243 ; his last raid, in the
UB-81, 247.

Samoa, of Christiania, captured
as the U-151 returns from
America, 327.

Samuel G. Mengel, is taken by
Von Nostitz, 315.

Sanders, Lieutenant W. E., his
ship, the Prize, traps the U-
93, 185; his ship is sunk, 188.

Saunders, Captain M. H., of
the Hauppage, 323.

Scharnhorst, the cruiser, 130.

Scheer, Admiral von, 48 ; Lieu-
tenant Ziegner is decorated
by, 203.

Schlesien, a German battleship
in command of Captain Saal-
wachter, 142.

Schmettow, Commander Count,
of the mine-laying UC-96,
240.

Schmidt, radio operator on the
U-35, 149.

Schmidt, Lieutenant, watch of-
ficer on the U-41, 112.

Schneider, Rudolph, 131.

ScHVi^iEGER, Walther von, the
commanding officer of the U-
20, which sank the Lusitania,
81; the Maria de Molenos is
sunk by, 90; an estimate of
him as a commanding officer,
91 ; his raider sinks the Lusi-
tania, 94 ff; encounters with
the Orduna, the Hesperian,
and the Cymric, 104; the last
cruise of the U-20, 105; his
death in the U-88, 107.

Schweinitz, Count von, 131.

Seeadler, Count Luckner's raid-
ing sailing ship, 81.

SiESS, Korvettenkapitan Gustav,
his voyages with Claus Han-
sen, 110 ff; is given command
of the U-73, 163; the Russell
and the Britannic are vic-
tims of his mines, 164; re-
turns to Germany from the
Mediterranean after the
Armistice, 342.

SiGiSMUND, Prince, 154.

Sims, Admiral, 217.

Spectator, The, 138.

Spee, Admiral von, 164.

Spiegel, Baron Adolph von, his
tale of ill-omened adventure
as commander of the U-32,
and the U-93, 170 ff; the
Horsa is sunk by, 178 ; the
Greek Phaleron is one of his
victims, 180; his U-93 is
trapped by the Prize, 181 ff;

360

INDEX

his imprisonment at Don-
oington Hall, 189.

Spiess, Lieutenant Johann, his
story of the raids of the U-9j
9-35; raids Russian ports in
command of the U-9, 38; a
northern cruise aboard the
U-19, 86; explains the depth
charge, 211; his story of the
last days of the war, 346 ff;
is commissioned to quell
mutiny on the Thuringen and
the Ostfriesland, 348.

Sposetti, Commander von Zer-
boni di, is caught in mines
aboard the UC-21, 241.

Steinbrinck, Commander Otto,
the E-22 is sunk by, 139; a
British commander tells of his
courage, 235.

Stone, Fred, the resemblance of
Commander Hersing to, 50.

Stresemann, Foreign Minister
of Germany, 253.

Stromboli, the U-35 sinks the,
160.

SuADiCANi, Commander Giin-
ther, 227.

Superb, H. M. S., 36.

Tagert, Admiral Wilhelm, 67 \

his tribute to Von Heimburg,

132, 169.
Texel, Von Nostitz sends it

down with a load of sugar,

312.
Thuringen, is disciplined for

mutiny, 348.
Times, advertisement from the

New York, 101.
TiRPiTZ, Grand Admiral von,

91, 127.
Tripel, a Norwegian steamer

taken by Moraht, 265.
Triumph, H. M. S., is torpedoed

by Hersing, 47; the sinking
of the, 63-67; British Official
Naval History gives account
of sinking of the, 76.

Turquoise, the French subma-
rine, 138.

TvARDOVSKi, Commander Fritz
von, 227; adventures with
fishing boats, 241.

Ttwenty Thousand Leagues Un-
der the Sea, 1.

U-1, 205.

U-2, 205.

U-6, commanded by Lepsius,
206.

U-7, its sinking by a friendly
submarine, 171.

U-9, the raids of the, 9 ff; the
Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy,
are sunk by the, 21 ff; it
sinks the H. M. S. Haijoke,
30; is named the Lucky U'9,
31; it raids Russian ports un-
der the command of Spiess,
38 ff; the Merry Islington is
sunk by the, 39; the last
cruise of the, 43.

U-13, disappearance of the, 16.

U-15, the cruiser Birmingham
rams the, 16.

U-17, sinks the merchant ship
Glitra, 34, 51.

U-19, a northern cruise of the,
86.

U-20, adventures of this gayest
of all the raiders, 81 ff; it
sinks the Maria de Molenos,
90; the sinking of the Lusi-
tania, 94 ff; it encounters the
Orduna, the Hesperian, and
the Cymric, 104; the raider
accompanies Sir Roger Case-
ment to Ireland, 105; its last
cruise, 105.

INDEX

361

U-21, H. M. S. Pathfinder, is
sunk by the raider, 8-16; is
ordered to Constantinople,
45 ; is turned over to British
at the close of the war, 47;
known during the war as the
U-51, 49; the sinking of the
Malachite, 51; the sinking of
the Ben Cruachan, the Linda
Blanche, and the Kilcuan, 54;
is ordered to Gallipoli, 55 ;
sinks the Triumph, 63; the
Majestic is sunk by the, 69;
the encounter with the Carth-
age, 73 ; it takes a Swedish
sailing ship, 179.

U-22, Commander Hoppe takes
it on an unhappy cruise, 170;
Gordon Campbell destroys
the, 172; Hashagen tells of a
dramatic cruise in the, 208.

U-29, the career of the, under
Weddigen, 35.

U-30, the Jonah boat, 105.

U-31, the "phantom submarine,"
170-173.

U-32, it sets out under Von
Spiegel on Friday the 13th,
170; its last cruise, 174.

U-33, commanded by Gansser,
123.

U-34, Riicker is given command
of the, 123; is destroyed by
the Q-ship Privet, 345.

U-35, commanded by Kophamel,
123 ; is given into the com-
mand of Lothar von Arnauld,
123; Von Arnauld tells of
adventures in the, 145 flF; its
record cruise, 150; the Pri-
mola is sunk by the, 151; the
Provence and the Gallia are
victims of the, 151; it en-
counters the 'Par kg ate, 159; it

sinks the India, the Strom-
boli, and the Patagonier, 160.

U-38, in command of Max Val-
entiner, 123.

U-39, in command of Forst-
mann, 123.

U-41, adventures of the, 109;
it encounters the Pearl, 111.

U-43, commanded by Com-
mander Juerst, 176; it sinks
the Bistritza, 177.

U-49, the first boat to be
bombed with depth charges,
211.

U-51, the U-21 known during
the war as the, 49.

U-58, the Nicholson and the
Fanning sink the, 223.

U-62, under Hashagen it meets
the Luckenbach and the de-
stroyer Nicholson and sinks
the Orama, 220; the Dupetit-
Tkouars is its victim, 222.

U-63, returns from the Mediter-
ranean under Commander
Hartwig, 343.

U-64, under the command of
Robert Moraht, 255 ; the Nor-
wegian Tripel is a prize of
the, 265 ; it meets the Danton
in the Mediterranean, 272 ff;
the Gratangen is sunk by the,
274; it sends the Moreni
down, 275 ; it takes the Freja,
276; the Amiral de Ker saint
and the Ausonia are its prey,
277; it sinks the Minnetonka,
279; it goes down to the
Lychnis and the Partridge II,

279 e.

U-73, commanded by Gustav
Siess, 163 ; the Russell and the
Britannic are caught in mines
laid by the, 164.

362

INDEX

U-88, its career under the com-
mand of Schwieger, 107.

U-93, the cruise of Friday,
April 13, 1917, 175 ff ; it sinks
the Horsa, 178; the Phaleron
is sunk by the, 180; is trapped
by the Prize, the British Q-21,
181 flF; under the command of
Helmuth Gerlach, 192; its
return to Germany after the
encounter with the Prize, 193.

V-94; oflF the coast of Scotland
in the, 142.

V-117, raids the American coast
under Commander Droescher,
286.

U-1J5, under Spiess at the close
of the war, 347.

V-129, the Commander Schivie'
ger, starts for America under
Von Arnauld, 286, 334 ff.

U-140, raids American waters
under Commander Kophamel,
286.

V-151, the Caprera has a gun
battle with the, 213 ; raids the
American coast under Com-
mander von Nostitz und
Janckendorf, 286; it en-
counters the Port Said, 289;
it attacks the Huntress, 290;
the Hattie Dunn and the
Hauppage are sunk by the,
296; it meets the Edna, 297 \
it meets the Isabel B. Wiley
and the S. S. Winneconne,
308; the Jacob M. Haskell is
its prize, 310; the Edward H.
Cole is its fourth victim in a
day, 311; it sinks the Texel
and the Carolina, 312; cap-
tures the Samuel G. Mengel
and the Edward R. Baird,
315; sinks the S. S. Eidsvold,

316; the S. S. Harpathian is
sunk by the, 317; the Finland
and the Vindeggen are taken,
319; captures and sinks the
Pinar del Rio, 320 ; the Hein-
rich Lund is sunk by the, 322;
leaving America, it captures
the Samoa and the Kringsia,
327; it takes the Dvinsk, 328;
the Kronprinz Wilhelm coun-
ter-attacks, 328.

U-152, raids American waters
under Commander Franz, 286.

U'155, formerly the Deutsch'
land, raids America under
Commander Eckelmann, 286.

U-156, raids American waters
under Commander Richard
Feldt, 286.

UB-15, its career in the Adri-
atic under Von Heimburg,
133; it sinks the Medusa,
134; it sinks the Amalfi and
the Royal Edward, 135; the
E-20 is sunk in the Sea of
Marmora, 138.

UB-20, is destroyed by aerial
attack, 235.

UB-50, sinks the Britannia, the
last submarine victory of the
war, 345.

UB-55, twenty men escape from
the sunken submarine, 237.

UB-57, hits a mine off Zee-
brugge, 241.

UB-81, takes Reinhold Salz-
wedel on his last raid, 247.

UC-21, is destroyed by mines,
241.

UC-26, in command of Count
Schmettow, 240.

UC-71, fights the Q-ship Dun-
raven, 243.

INDEX

363

Ugland, helmsman on the Vin-

deggen, 320.
UsEDON, Lieutenant, 181, 193,

196, 197, 199, 201, 202.

Valentiner, Commander Max,
he relates the story of the
Lusitania, 96; the supposition
that he destroyed the Lusi-
tania, 98 ; his command of the
U'38, 123.

Vanderbilt, Alfred G., 103.

Vanguard, H. M. S., 36.

Verne, Jules, 1.

Victory at Sea, by Admiral
Sims, quotation from, 217.

Villa Real, renamed the Pinar
del Rio, See latter.

Vindeggen, a Norwegian cotton
ship taken in battle by Von
Nostitz, 319.

Vindictive, H. M. S., takes part
in an attack on Zeebrugge,
249; is sunk in the Ostend
Channel, 251.

Vinland, of Bergen, is taken by
Von Nostitz, 319.

Von der Tann, the, 40.

Wachendorff, commander of
the "phantom" U-21, 170-173.

Waldren, Webb, 3.

Walther, 227,

Warren, Lieutenant, commander
of the E-20, 138.

Wassner, Lieutenant, brings a
crippled boat to port, 240.

Weddigen, Lieutenant Otto, the
first big submarine victory
won by, 9; his raids in the
U-9 told by Lieutenant Spiess,
10 ff; is given command of
the U-29, 35; his death in the
North Sea, 35.

Wendrioner, 227.

Wenninger, Lieutenant, he es-
capes with his men from a
sunken "coffin," 237.

Winneconne, S. S., falls victim
of the U-151, 308.

Yeats-Brown, Major Francis,
associate editor of The Spec-
tator, 138.

Zentner, Lieutenant Rudolph,
an officer with Schwieger on
the U-20, 81 ; his story of the
gay U-20, 82 ff ; his recollec-
tion of a last talk with Sir
Roger Casement, 105 ; the last
cruise of the U-20 told by,
105.

Ziegner, Lieutenant, 181; the
later cruises of, 192; his ac-
count of the return trip on
the U-93 after its encounter
with the Prize, 193 ff; re-
ceives decorations from Ad-
miral Scheer, 203.