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THE VOYAGE OF THE "DEUTSCHLAND"


_This translation is published
under the licence
of The Board of Trade._

[Illustration: CAPTAIN PAUL KOENIG,
Commander of the Submarine Merchantman _Deutschland_.]


THE VOYAGE OF THE "DEUTSCHLAND"

by

PAUL KOENIG

Captain of the Submarine Merchantman "Deutschland"

Translated by Vivien Ellis







London
C. Arthur Pearson Ltd.
Henrietta Street
1917




CONTENTS


                                           PAGE

  INTRODUCTION                                7


  CHAPTER I

  HOW WE CAME TO JOIN THE "DEUTSCHLAND" AND
    WHAT I THOUGHT OF HER                     9


  CHAPTER II

  THE TRIAL AND DEPARTURE                    15


  CHAPTER III

  THE FIRST DAY AT SEA                       20


  CHAPTER IV

  THE U-BOAT TRAP                            28


  CHAPTER V

  A SOMERSAULT IN THE NORTH SEA              35


  CHAPTER VI

  OUT INTO THE OPEN                          42


  CHAPTER VII

  IN THE ATLANTIC                            48


  CHAPTER VIII

  THE INFERNO                                63


  CHAPTER IX

  AMERICA                                    68


  CHAPTER X

  BALTIMORE                                  75


  CHAPTER XI

  THE DEPARTURE FROM BALTIMORE               86


  CHAPTER XII

  RUNNING THE BLOCKADE                       96


  CHAPTER XIII

  THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY                      100


  CHAPTER XIV

  THE ARRIVAL                               110


  CHAPTER XV

  THE RECEPTION OF THE "DEUTSCHLAND" BY THE
    GERMAN PEOPLE                           114




INTRODUCTION


The voyage of the submarine merchantman "Deutschland" has, for a long
time past, been the subject of eager speculation among the nations of
the Old and New worlds.

The wildest rumours regarding the fate of our cruise have appeared in
the newspapers, to say nothing of the pretty imaginative stories in
which the English have announced again and again that we were stranded
or sunk, or, still worse, dispatched to America in bales of cargo.

How often we chuckled on board when our wireless operator picked up one
of these nice English wild goose stories from the air!

It is with all the greater pleasure, therefore, that I am now about to
start on this account of our fairy-like cruise and adventures. Not that
it was such a "fairy-like" business after all. It could hardly be that,
for we went as far out of the way of adventure as possible.

Readers must not therefore expect to find in this little book a series
of thrilling experiences such as are to be met with in the published
narratives of the voyages of battleships. Our task was to bring our
valuable cargo to America as smoothly and with as few incidents as
possible; to get the better of the English blockade, and to return
safely with an equally valuable cargo. This we succeeded in doing, as
the following account will show. But as events will prove, things did
not by any means always work as smoothly as they might have done, and if
at times we were in a pretty tight corner and much occurred that was not
on our programme, my readers must thank the amiable activities of the
English for all these exciting little incidents.

In spite of such things, however, our enemies were not able to hinder
our voyage, though they certainly helped very materially in making it
more varied and interesting, and it would be ingratitude on our part not
to acknowledge this.

And here I must specially thank my two officers of the watch, Krapohl
and Eyring, whose notes have helped to make this account complete. It
is impossible for a commander to be always on the conning-tower--I had
almost said the "bridge" from force of habit--and six eyes see further
than two. For it must be remembered that careful observation is
necessary, above everything, on a submarine.

Indeed, a great number of the incidents related here came to my
knowledge through the observations of my officers. Throughout the cruise
they proved true and unflagging companions, and to-day they have also
become fellow-workers with me in writing this account of the voyage.

My thanks are due to them, even more than to the English, and I trust my
readers' gratitude will likewise be extended to them when they have read
this book.

  THE AUTHOR.




THE VOYAGE OF THE "DEUTSCHLAND"




CHAPTER I

HOW WE CAME TO JOIN THE "DEUTSCHLAND" AND WHAT I THOUGHT OF HER


How did we come to join the "Deutschland"?

That is a long story which I shall leave the authorities to relate. The
most important part of it, however, will be found related at the end of
this book in the account given of our reception at the Bremen Town Hall
after the return of the "Deutschland" from the United States.

To me, the idea of a submarine merchantman that has been built for long
voyages is the tangible expression of the will of the German people to
frustrate the effects of the English blockade of the coasts of Germany
and America, and of the entire cutting off of our lawful commercial
imports.

The Hanseatic enterprise, the technical ingenuity of German shipbuilding
and the workmanlike activities of one of our greatest dockyards, have
united in giving English domination on the sea the biggest blow it has
ever had since the Union Jack fluttered over the waves.

At the same time we must not to-day overlook the changes and
developments that are bound to follow in the construction and use of
submarine merchantmen. Thus it is possible that the methods of sea
warfare will be entirely revolutionised, that new conceptions and
conditions of international law will be created, and that changes in the
commercial relations of the world will follow which may influence the
lives of peoples even more strongly than the present world-war is doing.

We may be proud of the fact that it is a German boat that has ushered in
this new epoch.

Our achievement is not to be minimised by the fact that Canadian
warships have crossed the Atlantic before us during this war. For they
travelled in company, always changing, and accompanied by torpedo-boats,
cruisers and auxiliaries. They contained only provisions and ammunition,
and except for their armament had no dead weight to carry. But their
greatest advantage was that they could defend themselves if necessary,
whereas the only defence of the submarine merchant-trader lies in
submerging. And that is not everywhere possible with a huge, heavy ship
of nearly 2000 tons.

Well, I found myself faced with the problem of taking the "Deutschland"
to America--an entirely novel and wonderful task. It would have been a
new one to me, moreover, if I had not been as I was, an old North German
Lloyd captain of a large clumsy steamboat, but a young U-Boat commander.

But to explain this I must first relate how I came across the
"Deutschland." Events moved with surprising rapidity in connection with
it. In the middle of October, 1915, I was in Berlin on business. I had
then been obliged to leave my bonny steamer "Schleswig" for some
time, but the North German Lloyd Company were well acquainted with my
whereabouts.

One evening, whilst I was at my hotel, I received a communication, with
an urgent invitation to visit Herr Lohmann in Bremen at the Hotel Adlon
at the earliest possible moment.

I was surprised. I knew the name of the head of the famous Bremen firm
very well, and had been personally acquainted at one time with Herr
Lohmann in Sydney, where his firm had been agents for the North German
Lloyd Company.

But what did Herr Lohmann want of me, now in these days of war when the
"German merchant fleet had been swept from off the seas," as one
read daily in the English newspapers? At that time it would have been
exceedingly difficult to undertake the management of a German line to
the Straits and Australia! And in the Baltic Sea the firm had no trade
connections.

What, then, did they want with an old East Asia, America, and
Mediterranean captain? Thus I ruminated as I made my way to the Hotel
Adlon.

Herr Lohmann received me cordially and did not hold me long in suspense.
He alluded to the fine old days in Sydney, asked me how I liked hanging
about on dry land, and if I would care again to undertake a long voyage.

What could an old merchant captain say to this, a man who had been
practically obliged to leave his ship in an enemy country, and lie about
like a wreck on land, while on the other side of the Channel and off the
Shetlands the cursed English cruisers lay in wait, and four miles from
New York even the American post on neutral ships was overhauled?

I shrugged my shoulders and was silent.

Then it all came out.

Herr Lohmann told me straight away that he was thinking of starting a
line of submarine traders to America, and asked me if I would be willing
to take command of the first boat. He explained that the first voyage
was to be to Newport-News, and asked me, as I had a knowledge through
my voyages on the Baltimore line of the North German Lloyd ships, of the
waters and depth conditions outside Chesapeake Bay, whether I thought
I should be equal to taking such a submarine trader safely across the
Atlantic, if the matter really came off.

It was a great plan.

I was never one for weighing pros and cons, and so I said "Yes" straight
away. This was indeed a chance for a fellow of over forty-five years, in
this war of "black lists" and daily postal robberies, to do something!

"Herr Lohmann," I said, "if the matter really comes off, you can count
on me."

And the matter really did "come off."

Barely two months had elapsed when a telegram called me to Bremen for an
important discussion. There I saw designs, sketches, and constructional
drawings enough to make me open my eyes wide. And when, four months
later, during which time I had been by no means idle, I travelled to
Kiel, there rose before my eyes on the slips a strange steel object.
Trim, comfortable-looking, and quite harmless she lay there, but
nevertheless, hidden in its interior, was the realisation of all those
detailed, overwhelmingly complicated figures and plans.

I cannot say that the completed reality even then helped to make more
intelligible those blue papers with their endless network of strokes and
lines, which had so dismayed and bewildered the mind and eye.

Any of my readers who have ever seen in illustrated papers sketches of
the control-room or of the conning-tower of a U-Boat will understand
this. Indeed, when they are face to face with such a wild medley of
rudders, valves, screws, cocks, tubes and pipes, with such a bewildering
conglomeration of levers and apparatus, each of which has a highly
important meaning and purpose, let them take comfort. My impressions
were just the same.

But when this tube-like monster was christened, and her giant grey-green
body slipped majestically and silently into the water, she was suddenly
transformed into a seafaring vessel, a vessel that swam in her rightful
element, as if she had always done so. The first time I trod her
narrow deck and climbed into the conning-tower and on to the navigation
platform, it was only from her sides, where the green body swelled
massively out of the water, that it was possible even faintly to realise
how enormous her hull must be.

With proud delight my eyes travelled over the whole structure, as it
swayed lightly beneath me, delicacy and strength symbolically blended.

Now I knew that what had hitherto appeared to me as a monstrous product
of technical imagination, was a ship, in which I could travel the
seas--a real ship--on which an old seaman could set his affections.

Then I laid my hand on the parapet of the conning tower of the
"Deutschland" and swore to be true to her.

And in this manner I struck the "Deutschland" and became commander of
the first submarine merchant-trader.




CHAPTER II

THE TRIAL AND DEPARTURE


And now a strange and wonderful time followed. Day after day, out into
the bays, down into the depths. We practised in all weathers and under
all conditions.

Every man of the chosen crew realised the task that lay before us. It
meant acquiring the art of managing this most delicate and complicated
vessel, the last word in bold and skilful construction. It meant
learning to know and understand that marvellous wonder-work of modern
shipbuilding--a submarine. We had to be in a position to sway, according
to our will, this heavy mass of nearly 2000 tons, so that she should
obey the least pressure of the rudder, so that she should twist and
manoeuvre like a torpedo-boat, so that she should rise and sink in the
water like a dirigible in the air.

It meant probing the trustworthiness of the unyielding steel body, the
weight and pliability of her mighty machinery; getting on the track of
her imperfections or tricks, and coaxing from her the secrets of her
mobility and fantastic fish nature.

A submarine is as full of humours as a woman, and as tricky as a
racehorse. She is as sober as a tramp-steamer, and as trustworthy as a
tug. She has good qualities and--not good. She can be pliant as a racing
yacht and as pig-headed as a mule. And she only obeys him who knows her
down to her smallest technicalities.

In this spirit we practised for weeks, round about, above and below
water. We studied our boat, and tried not only to become familiar with
all her possibilities, but to penetrate into the inner mysteries of this
nautical amphibian. And when we returned from the stillness of the bay
to the ear-splitting noise of the riveting hammers and the restless
hum of the dockyard, we would sit for hours with the constructors and
exchange our experiences.

This practical testing gave rise to much stimulating groundwork for new
plans and inventions.

It is difficult to express the high esteem I feel for the men of the
dockyard at Kiel, or how much I owe to their co-operation. They were
untiringly helpful in explaining and testing this wonderful product of
their hands and brains, in all its peculiarities. On the very day of our
departure the ingenious constructor of the "Deutschland," Over-Engineer
Erbach, came out to our place of anchorage to make a last submerging
test.

And at last the day of our departure arrived.

The "Deutschland" was loaded up. The valuable cargo lay well packed in
its appointed place, the whole boat was once more overhauled and brought
into careful trim.

We laid in provisions for the long journey, and at the last moment even
cigars and--gramophone records were brought on board.

With these all our possible wants were securely provided for, and the
"Deutschland" was ready for the voyage.

We were ready, too. The farewells from all our dear ones at home lay,
God be thanked, behind us; there is always a nasty moment in connection
with a cruise into the Unknown, which it is best to get over quickly.

The last to shake us by the hand were the men of the Germania dockyard.

Then the gangway is pulled up, the crew take up their stations, and I
climb into the conning-tower.

The steam-tug lies beside us and takes over the hawsers. I call down
to the engine-room, "Look out!" and raise my hand. The great moment has
arrived.

"Cast off the aft hawsers!"

"They're off."

"Tow away, 'Charlotte'!"[1]

[1] "Charlotte" is presumably the name of the tug.

The engine telegraph on the stout little steam-tug sounds: the
sturdy craft strains at the tow-ropes, and slowly the stern of our
"Deutschland" is drawn away from her resting-place in the dock.

"Cast off the bow hawsers!"

"They are off."

And with a smack the last hawsers fall from the pier wall into the
black, seething waters of the harbour.

Now we are off. I take up the speaking-tube to the control-room:

"Port engines half-speed astern!"

"Starboard engines slowly forward!"

"Rudder twenty starboard!"

"Rudder lies twenty starboard."

Thus the replies from the engine-room come back promptly.

On the conning-tower where I stand next to the helmsman, in front of his
little hand-wheel, one hardly feels the movement of the engines.

Only from the churned-up water that seethes foaming and dirty against
the rounded body of the "Deutschland," quickly dispersed to starboard,
is it possible to realise that the engines are working.

Slowly the big green whale's back twists and turns, lies first broadside
on in the fairway, then slightly to port, then turns with the help of
the tug once more to port and astern.

"Stop both engines!"

Slowly the boat moves slightly backwards, pulling at the tow-ropes in
its backward movements like some primeval monster. A quick glance from
the conning-tower over the trail of water and the pier walls. We have
enough room to manoeuvre. The hawsers are cast off, and then both
engines are set at half-speed with rudder to port. We turn once more
to get well clear of the dock walls where a big grey battle cruiser is
being finally equipped. Then I let the rudder lie amidships and order
both engines "full steam ahead."

The stern begins to tremble in rhythmical vibration under the increased
engine-power, the churned-up water rushes foaming from her sides--the
journey begins. Faster and faster the "Deutschland" pushes her way
through the dirty waters of the harbour, out into the bay. Our course
lies next through the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal to the Weser, where the
shipment of the cargo will be completed.

The ship's papers and express post are brought on board by the
freighting officials in a special tug, and without any fuss, calmly and
secretly the "Deutschland" starts on her remarkable voyage--the first
submarine of the world, to whom blockades are unknown--out into the open
sea, into the freedom of the ocean.




CHAPTER III

THE FIRST DAY AT SEA


The North Sea rolls in long swells against us. The weather is clear and
the wind blows sharply from N.N.W.

I am standing alone with my first officer on duty on the conning-tower,
in the "bath-tub," for thus we have nicknamed the strong shelter which
is built round the conning-tower hatch of the "Deutschland," and which
looks like a kind of flying gondola. In front of this is the upper
steering station, which can, however, only be made use of in fine
weather.

To-day we stand in oilskins behind the shelter, for the sea is already
quite rough enough to wet everything through. The deck is continually
swamped, and every minute the waves break over the tower.

I listen with the speaking-tube to the control-room in my hand, while
the helmsman growls commands through the telegraph to the engine-room. A
dull roar, the bow dips down, foaming, and the waves rush over the deck
and dash high against the conning-tower. As quick as lightning we close
the hatches and duck in our crackling oilskins behind the shelter ...
this little game is repeated every five minutes.

Between whiles we stand up, listening to the wind rattling in the stays
of the masts, and look around us.

For some time the German coast has faded from sight behind us in the
S.E., and the accompanying torpedo-boat which travels in front of us is
the last bit of the Homeland. Soon we approach the last line of German
outposts; four look-out vessels pass by us in single file and signal us
"Pleasant voyage."

Our faithful companion now approaches nearer; her crew give us three
hearty cheers; the officers on the bridge salute; and we two lonely men
on the tower return the salute. Then the little black boat ducks into
the sea, makes a beautiful turn, stirring up the foaming water at her
keel, grows smaller and smaller, and presently disappears, leaving a
thin drifting smoke-flag behind her.

We are left to ourselves, and travel into the Unknown.

Not much time, however, is allowed for thinking. Danger now threatens
us from all sides, and I have to make certain that the boat is in good
trim, and that I have the engines and submerging appliances well in
hand.

I give the command, "Clear everything for a submerging test!"

At once the response comes back from conning-tower and control-room, and
the crew hurry to their submerging stations. The oil engines are still
throbbing and hammering. Then the alarm bell is sounded and I spring
into the conning-tower; the hatches are closed, and at the same time the
oil engines cease working.

For a moment one is conscious of a slight pressure in the ears; we are
shut up from outside and all is still, but there is no real silence;
only a change of sound.

Then comes the command:

"Open the submerging valves!"

"Flood!"

What now follows is so strangely impressive that one could never forget
it, once having experienced it. The submerging valves are quickly
opened, and with a hiss the compressed air rushes out of the tanks.
A gigantic volume of air rises, with such an unearthly snorting and
blowing that the pressure in one's ears becomes almost painful. Then
the noise becomes more even, and is followed by a loud humming and
whistling, and all the high notes of the machinery in the engine-room
join together and produce a confusion of sounds.

It is like the strains of some mad, diabolical music that, after the
dull, heavy hammering of the oil engines, gives a momentary impression
of unearthliness that is at once penetrating and impressive.

This noise in the valves is a sign that the submerging mechanism is at
work.

The music continues, but in a long downward scale, and during these long
drawn out, ever-deepening sounds, one has a bodily feeling as of the
rushing in and flooding of mighty masses of water. One seems oneself to
grow heavier and to sink with the boat.

Through the window of the conning-tower and by the aid of the periscope
it is now possible to observe how the front part of the boat is sinking;
the railings are cutting their foaming way through the waves, while the
water round the conning-tower rises higher and higher, till everything
outside is wrapped in the wonderful twilight of the deep.

Only our faithful lamps are shining. Now it has indeed become silent.
The only sound that reaches the ears is the soft swaying rhythm of the
electric engines.

Then comes the command:

"Go down to eleven fathoms!"

"Both engines half-steam ahead!"

By the gauge I can follow the depths we are making. Through the flooding
we have added several tons of dead weight to the boat. We have made the
closed up ship's body heavier than the mass of water displaced--and our
giant fish sinks--almost falls--into her element down below.

At the same time we are moving with the electric engines, and the
forward thrust of the propeller brings pressure and reaction upon
the diving rudder, and transforms the sinking into a downward gliding
movement.

When the desired depth is reached, which I can tell at once from the
depth gauge, further sinking is prevented by the simple means of making
the boat lighter again through pumping out the superfluous water from
the submersion tanks.

The furious working of the pumps is thus always the sign that we are
approaching the desired depth. Then it stops, only the electric engines
continue humming, and from the control-room comes the announcement:

"We are lying at eleven fathoms."

"Boat is trimmed!"

We are travelling at a depth of eleven fathoms. This means that we are
practically blind and can only judge our way by the depth gauge and by
the help of that carefully protected boat's treasure--the gyro-compass.

No glimmer from outside now reaches us; the periscope has long been
swallowed up, and the steel safety shutters in the windows of the
conning-tower are tightly closed. We are entirely transformed into the
character of a fish.

Now the communications from all compartments, control-room, engine-room,
stern-room, bow-room, holds, accumulator rooms, come through without a
hitch. We can travel safely with our "Deutschland" in the deeps.

It is not always, however, such an easy matter to bring a boat of this
size down to a prescribed depth. The changes in the specific weight of
the water, owing to varying temperatures or to the different proportions
of salt held in solution, play a very important role. How strong an
influence this can prove I will show in the difference between the
Baltic and North Sea waters.

The specific gravities of the two seas are in the proportions of 1.013
to 1.025. This difference in itself may not appear very considerable.
With a boat, however, of the size of the "Deutschland," for the
submersion of which a very heavy excess weight of many tons is
necessary, very important consequences are bound to follow from this
difference in specific gravity. Thus in order to submerge in the heavier
waters of the North Sea it is necessary to make the boat at least
seventeen tons heavier than in the Baltic, as otherwise we should not
sink.

Moreover, during sudden alterations in the temperature of the water in
the bays and river mouths, where the lighter fresh water comes in, the
most unpleasant surprises often occur.

Many a U-Boat commander has thought it possible with a certain amount of
excess weight to submerge without difficulty and to keep his boat at a
fixed depth. Suddenly, however, the pressure gauge registers a greater
depth and the boat drops in the water, like an aeroplane which has
fallen into an air-pocket, until a test of the specific weight and
temperature of the water gives the clue to her behaviour.

It will therefore be seen that such measurements are necessary before
the commander can count with certainty on being able suddenly to
submerge and as suddenly to reappear above the waters.

In the meantime we have finished our submerging test satisfactorily.
All has gone well and each part fully performed its functions. We are in
complete control of our complicated apparatus.

Now the command to reappear is given, the diving rudders are set to
"up," and immediately I am able by the depth gauge to follow their
working and that of our stout pumps.

After assuring myself that there is no noise of propellers to be heard
anywhere in our vicinity, and that on all sides there is no likelihood
of collision with any steamer, we pass through the dangerous "blind
moment."

By this I mean that space of time during which the boat has risen so
high that she could be rammed; while, on the other hand, she is still
too deep under the water to get the periscope above the surface and take
a look round.

This lasts a few minutes. I stand at the periscope and watch. Already
the field of vision is lighter. Silvery air bubbles rise up glittering;
a blinking and twinkling appears on the glass. Then it is day. A picture
arises, clear and shining. The North Sea sways before my eyes with an
empty and endless horizon.

Now we are rising to the surface. By the use of the rudder the boat
pushes forward faster and faster to the surface of the water. In order
to accelerate the ascent compressed air is forced into one of the
submersion tanks.

Now she moves very rapidly: the tower is already free. The deck rises
dripping out of the water, the conning-tower hatch is opened, fresh air
streams in, and I give the command:

"Blow out ballast tanks!"

A wild howling and screeching comes in reply from the control-room,
while the powerful turbine engine presses the water out from the
submerging tanks.

This does not take long. As soon as a tank is empty the excess air
rushes out with a pleasant sound at the side of the boat, and we are
soon in normal floating trim again.

We are still using electricity. Now comes last of all the starting up of
the heavy Diesel engines by the electric motors.

I have already climbed into the conning-tower and can see nothing of all
this, except by the communications from the control-room. Those who are
in the engine-room, however, will have an exciting spectacle.

The observation engineers stand at their posts. A command comes through
the speaking-tube. Everything is ready. Then the chief engineer gives a
shrill whistle, raises his hand, two quick wrenches at the switchboard
in the electrical engine-room, a couple of blinding flashes half an inch
long: the first valve-heads rise slowly, hesitatingly, as if unwilling,
then quicker, a wild report and hissing, a wild irregular spluttering,
then the loud explosions become rhythmical, and faster and faster both
machines resume their regular vibrations.

The submerging test is completed, and pounding along the "Deutschland"
proceeds on her way. The wind does not drop, but the weather keeps fine
and the visibility is good.

No steamer comes in sight: we can remain comfortably above water.
Nevertheless we need to be extremely careful in our navigation.

So the day draws to its end. But as the sun sinks, dark threatening
clouds appear, prophesying bad weather for the following day.




CHAPTER IV

THE U-BOAT TRAP


And thus it turns out. The further we get from land, the rougher grows
the sea. The boat is badly tossed about. I notice the roughness of the
sea as I lie in my cabin, and towards two o'clock in the morning I am
awakened by a "Hullo," from the speaking-tube on the wall at my head.

The watchful second officer, Eyring, announces a white light to
starboard which is approaching rapidly.

I spring out, balancing myself round the corner in the control-room,
over the ladders, up through the conning-tower hatch, on to the
platform.

Eyring shows me at no great distance ahead a white light. It appears to
be approaching. We decide not to let it come any nearer, and give the
alarm to submerge. Then for the first time I realise the wonderful sense
of security that the possibility of such a rapid submersion gives.

It is all quite a matter of course. Here we travel in the middle of this
world-war, with an unarmed freight vessel through darkest night. A
light approaches. It may be an enemy, it probably is. In a few minutes a
couple of shots may flash out, several shells shatter our conning-tower,
the water stream into the ship's body, and in a short while the North
Sea close over us.

None of this occurs however. A brief command in the control-room, a few
grips of the valves and hand wheels, and we continue our way unhurt, for
brutal power may shut us from the surface of the seas, but our enemies
in their impotence only cause us to lie a few fathoms deeper. We
continue submerged for the sake of safety until daybreak. Towards
four o'clock we rise to the surface. It is already broad daylight, but
unfortunately also there is a very troubled sea. In the distance we see
a couple of fishing-boats laboriously going about their business. We
keep them at first sharply under inspection, but quickly discover their
harmless character and continue our way over the water.

This process has long ceased to be of a pleasant character. The
movements of the boat are such that existence down below in the
closed-up compartments, aired only by the ventilator machines, is
causing headache and sickness among the men; part of the crew are losing
their appetites. Yet it is quite out of the question to remain on deck,
which is continuously swept by the seas.

It is somewhat drier on the conning-tower behind the shelter of the
"bath-tank" and on the lee side of the tower, which is sheltered from
the sea and wind.

Here a few of the watch off duty are huddled together, holding fast
to the rails, inhaling the fresh air and shaking themselves when a
particularly heavy breaker rolls up round the conning-tower covering
them in salt spray.

Thus we travel on the whole day.

A couple of steamers, whose smoke-clouds appear in the distance, we
avoid above water by altering our course, after we have made out their
route by careful sounding and observation.

This sounds more difficult than it really is. You first of all make sure
of the position of your own ship by soundings and calculations, after
you have roughly estimated the position of the unknown vessel on the
map. If the relative positions of these two are compared on the map with
the most important steamer routes, it is possible to judge with some
certainty the course the unknown ship must take.

Such a calculation was soon to prove of great importance to us, and was
in this case, as will be seen, of great significance.

Towards evening it clears up slightly, and the sea grows calmer. The sun
sets under brilliantly illuminated clouds in the west.

All the watch off duty have come on deck to get some fresh air and smoke
a hasty cigar or cigarette. Below deck smoking is strictly forbidden.
The men are all huddled together on the sheltered side of the
conning-tower, tightly packed and pressed against the wall.

It is a strange sight, rather like a swarm of bees, this cluster of men
in rough, heavy sea clothes. There is not much etiquette observed here;
I know the men have no easy job down below there, and when one of them
sticks his head through the tower hatch to draw a few puffs at his pipe,
I gladly grant him the short respite.

Moreover, all eyes are fixed unconsciously on the horizon, and this is
a good thing. The more men there are to watch, the more can be observed,
and many of our crew have the eyes of an eagle.

Suddenly in the clear twilight of the June evening two masts appear in
the distance on the port side; a funnel follows, and soon the hull of a
steamer appears on the verge of the horizon.

With the help of our excellent prismatic glasses we hold her steadily
under observation, our object being to make out her course in order to
steer clear of her.

We have soon measured her distance, and I take up the map, compare,
reckon, look at the vessel again, then pause bewildered.

From the course she is following the steamer will never reach a port.

Is it possible then?

I call up Krapohl and point out to him my calculations. We have another
good look through the glasses, compare maps; they agree.

The fellow is following no route whatever.

In the meanwhile we had approached near enough to make the steamer out
distinctly. The twilight of the June evening is so clear and bright that
we can observe her with the greatest accuracy. She is a fine steamer of
medium size, and carries a neutral flag, while her hull is painted in
the colours of her country.

In the middle of the hull is a long double name which we cannot,
however, read.

Suddenly Krapohl cries:

"Good heavens! how is it that she is flying her flag so long after
sunset? Is it mere chance, I wonder? And what does that extraordinary
coat of paint on her hull signify? She is a suspicious looking craft."

I am forced to agree with him.

The apparently aimless course of the steamer fills me with amazement.
It is not usual to take a sea-trip on the North Sea for amusement in the
middle of this world-war!

We consider what is to be done. As yet the steamer has not sighted us;
she continues her mysterious course, and by this time lies a little
astern of us.

I decide nevertheless not to submerge, as our courses must soon diverge.

Suddenly the steamer makes a rapid turn and comes straight towards
us. Now we can see that the sturdy neutral has swung out her boats;
obviously with intent to make more complete her character of a peaceful
merchantman, is ready and prepared to follow all commands.

This remarkable civility on her part is quite sufficient for us. I send
all the crew below deck and give the alarm at once.

We make ready to submerge, and in doing so move towards the steamer in
order to lie broadside on to the sea, which makes diving easier.

Then, to our great amazement, the following incident occurs. Hardly
has the "neutral" ship observed our movements and noticed that we are
submerging, than she twists round with a jerk.

As we submerge we can still watch her as she wends her characteristic
zigzag course, puffing out thick clouds of smoke behind her.

This confession of a bad conscience struck us profoundly. Never have we
laughed so heartily as over the flight of this honest merchantman with
her unknown course.

The artful dodger thought she was found out, and feared any moment we
might send a torpedo into her ribs.

And how furious she must have been! It would have been so fine to
approach quite near to the "pest" in the character of neutral ship,
and then at a safe distance to let the mask of "harmlessness" drop, and
shoot through the port-holes.

The trap was so beautifully laid. The German "pirate" had only to go
just a little nearer. Instead we described a curve under water, and only
rose to the surface again two hours later.

First I searched the horizon with the aid of the periscope. Then I
opened the hatch of the conning-tower, which was still half submerged,
in order to get a look round with the glasses. The air was clear. In
the south the moon had risen, making the dusky light of the summer
night even more transparent. But as far as the eye could see the sea was
empty, no steamer was in sight.

The "Deutschland" could continue her way unlighted, and besides our huge
delight over the disappointment of the crafty trap-layer, I had now the
certainty that we could see all vessels before they could see us.

And that was no small matter.




CHAPTER V

A SOMERSAULT IN THE NORTH SEA


That night, during the darkest hours between eleven and one o'clock, I
had decided to travel submerged with the electric engines.

When we submerged in the twilight of the long summer night there had
been very little wind, but there was a heavy swell--a sure sign that
the wind would rise to a storm within a few hours. Towards two o'clock
I gave the order to rise to the surface, and soon noticed from the
increasingly wild movements of the boat that the storm had arisen, and
that a rougher sea must have set in with it.

At times we made regular springs, but continued steadily blowing out
from our tanks and came to the surface in good order.

From the lower end of the periscope I tried to get my bearings. It
was, however, almost impossible to see anything, as the periscope was
continually enveloped by the heavy breakers, the dim light causing the
huge waves to assume monstrous and uncanny proportions.

Now we had risen entirely to the surface, and I climbed into the
conning-tower to get a proper outlook over the wildly dancing sea. It
had become pleasant weather indeed! In the pale dim light was visible
a seething witch's cauldron of tossing, mountainous waves crowned with
foam, from which the wind tore away the spray and hurtled it through the
air. The boat struggled heavily against it and made little headway. The
entire deck was, of course, flooded, and every moment the sea dashed up
over the conning-tower and fell over me in showers of spray. I clung
on to the parapet of the "bath-tank" and scanned the horizon--a strange
outlook, one continually shifting scene of mountainous rollers.

I was just about to give the order to start the oil engines working
when--what is that over there?

That dark streak yonder--surely it is a line of smoke?...

Then the back of a wave blots it out for a moment from the pale grey
sky....

I wait, staring through the glass till my eyes ache....

There it is again, a dark line of smoke ... and there, there: a
masthead, thin as a needle, yet I can see it through my glasses; and
now ... my eyes are boring their way through the glasses ... that black
thing over there just visible in the valley of the waves ... the smoke
above it, four low funnels....

Good heavens! it is a destroyer!...

With one bound I spring into the conning-tower, close the hatch:

"Alarm!"

"Submerge quickly!"...

"Flood the tanks!"

"Diving rudder; eleven fathoms down."

The commands follow each other in rapid succession. But to carry them
out is a different matter!

To submerge head on to this sea will be from all experience sheer
madness....

But what am I to do?

The destroyer may have seen us already....

Down we must go, and as quickly as possible.

Below me, in the control-room, the crew are working in speechless haste.
The emergency air valves are opened, the compressed air hisses out of
the tanks--the submersion valves sing in all their scales....

I stand with compressed lips, looking through the tower window over the
tossing sea around me, waiting for the first sign of sinking....

But still I can see our deck, still the waves toss us up high into the
air.... We have no more time to lose.

I order more play to diving rudders, and give the command, "Both engines
full speed ahead!"

The whole boat trembles and sways under the increased engine power, and
gives a couple of springs; she staggers and reels. Is she never going
to sink?... Then with a jerk she dips suddenly under by the bow and
disappears rapidly at an ever-increasing angle beneath the waves.

The daylight which is just dawning in at the conning-tower window
disappears, the depth gauge shows in rapid succession one--one and a
half--three--five fathoms.... But still the angle of the boat increases.

We stagger, lean backwards, slip over, losing all grip on the floor
which is sinking forward ... I am still just able to hold on to the
eye-piece of the periscope ... and down below in the control-room the
men are holding fast on to the hand-wheels of the diving rudders....

This lasts for several terrible moments.

We are still wondering what on earth has happened, when suddenly there
comes a heavy blow; we are thrown to the ground in all directions, and
everything that is not nailed securely down is hurled around us.

We find ourselves in the strangest positions, look at each other, and
for a moment a deadly silence prevails. Then the first officer, Krapohl,
observes dryly: "Well, we've got there, anyway."

This broke the horrible tension.

We had all grown pretty pale, and now we began to try and face the
situation.

What had happened?

Why this unnatural angle of the boat? And why were the engines pounding
so madly above us that the whole boat quivered and shook?

Before any of us had time to think, however, our little Klees, the
steering engineer, had sprung from his cowering position, and quick as
lightning had pulled the telegraph round to "Stop."

As suddenly a deep silence followed.

Slowly we collected our various limbs together and considered: what had
happened?

The boat was standing on her head, so to speak, with her fore-part
sloping downwards at an angle of thirty-six; her bow must be touching
ground while the stern was obediently oscillating in the air above
water; the gauge meanwhile showed a depth of about eight fathoms.

I took a rapid stock of our situation; it was far from pleasant.

According to the map there should be here a depth of about seventeen
and a half fathoms; judging from the almost upright position of our long
boat our stern must be projecting a considerable way above water, making
thereby an admirable target for enemy destroyers. As long as the engines
continued working it followed that as the waves passed over us the
propeller lashing partly in the air was increasing our power of
attraction by causing fountains of leaping water and foaming whirlpools.

This Klees had realised through the mad pounding of the engines, and by
his presence of mind had removed the greatest danger.

All the same we had marked our resting-place with the strangest of
buoys, and expected every moment to hear bombs crashing through the stem
of our boat as it hung high in the air above us....

Moments of extreme tension followed....

But all was still. The screws could no longer betray us, and it was
probably still too dark above for them to be noticeable. The destroyer,
moreover, had no doubt enough to do in looking after herself in this
rough sea.

It will be understood, however, that we were particularly anxious to get
out of this absurd position as quickly as possible.

As the boat was still quite intact and had sustained the fearful shock
without the least damage, the rest of the programme was easy enough to
carry out.

The stern tanks which were not quite freed of air were quickly flooded,
and so gradually the boat attained a slightly more normal position.
Nevertheless, she still lay far from the horizontal. She had stuck her
nose too fast in the mud for that!

By this time, however, we were at least entirely under water, and could
finish the rest of our work in peace. Part of the water was forced out
from the fore ballast tanks, and for the rest we continued trimming the
boat with the tanks until the bow became loosened from the ground. Now
we began to rise, and were immediately obliged to check her in order
to counteract the immediate pendulum-like tendency of the over-weighted
stern to descend.

After some time, however, the balance was readjusted and the
"Deutschland" was firmly in hand again.

And now we had to consider what could have been the cause of this sudden
blunder on the part of our otherwise gallant boat.

A great many circumstances must have combined to produce it. Apart from
the fact that it is only possible in rare cases to submerge a heavy boat
in a rough sea, it is conceivable that owing to the haste enforced on us
by the destroyer the tanks had not been quite pumped out.

The chief reason, however, appeared to be the sudden dynamic working of
the diving rudders; this, in combination with full engine power and
the downward pressure of a particularly heavy sea, forced the fateful
gradient too suddenly. We found ourselves in the position of a dirigible
which steers too low before landing, and through a sudden downward
current of air is flattened and crushed to the ground by the double
weight.

Fortunately for us, the wonderful material of our steel body stood the
heavy blow undamaged. Only the bottom of the North Sea may have suffered
a little indentation at Latitude X deg. N. and Longitude Y deg. E.

One thing more strikes me as worth mentioning in connection with this
event.

When I look back in retrospect on my thoughts as we dived at full speed
through the deeps at an angle of 36 degrees, I must confess my first
thought was for the cargo! Was the cargo safely stored? Could it
possibly shoot overboard?

The thought came quite instinctively, strange though it seemed to me
afterwards.

I could not shake myself free of the old Adam as captain of a heavy
steamer, even on board a U-Boat.




CHAPTER VI

OUT INTO THE OPEN


We had had more than enough of the North Sea by this time, and were now
quite ready to get out into the open.

We were quite clear as to our route, thank goodness. Less so as to what
might happen to us on the voyage; but we were prepared by now for any
little surprises that might occur. For why travel in a submarine if
there are no difficulties to be overcome? After all, many U-Boats had
passed successfully through the North Sea and reached the open ocean.
Moreover, they had had many dangerous duties to carry out, while we
had only to take care not to be seen, and to slip out as quietly as
possible.

As a matter of fact, it was not only that we had not to be seen. Our
chief care was that we should not be recognised as a U-Boat trader.

The peculiar character of the "Deutschland" as a peaceful unarmed
merchant trader would not have protected us in the least from being sunk
at sight. Of that we were convinced, and how right we were was seen in
the later English and French official declarations.

If we were once recognised as a U-Boat trader, we should have been not
only in danger every minute, but our unhampered arrival at the American
port of our destination would be highly endangered. We should have had
a whole pack of thirsty bloodhounds in our wake. We hoped therefore to
take the whole world by surprise by our arrival in America, and all our
ambitions were strained towards this achievement.

Thus I meditated as we neared the danger zone.

We moved forward therefore with great caution. We saw a great deal in
the process, were seen ourselves extremely seldom; recognised never.
During the day we avoided several steamers by altering our course. At
night we travelled with darkened lights, submerging when necessary.

The weather also favoured us. Once we sighted an English auxiliary
cruiser some distance off; she was travelling in a definite direction
with a zigzag course. For some time we held a parallel course with her,
keeping her carefully under observation. But owing to the high seas,
which must have made her navigation far from pleasant, we remained
unnoticed.

On another occasion a look-out vessel approached us in the evening
twilight; she had seen us and hailed us with the English merchant flag
to signify harmlessness and thus mislead us for an attack.

As we continued calmly on our way she moved off in vexation. The sea
was probably too rough for her to seek further communication with us. We
were easily able to avoid other look-out vessels, travelling at an even
higher rate.

Later on it grew calm--and misty. We submerged and came to rest on the
bottom. We were in no hurry, and why should we not take a little rest?

It was not what might be called exactly shallow in that spot; it was,
in fact, extremely deep. All the more calm and safe a resting-place. For
what else were our excellent deep-sea lead machine, and the wonderfully
stout body of our "Deutschland"?

That night on the bed of the ocean at X---- was a great relaxation for
us all. We were able once more to have a good wash and rest without fear
of being immediately awakened by a "Hullo" from the speaking-tube.

But first of all we dined--a real, proper dinner. The two gramophones
played gaily, and we clinked our glasses together, which were
filled--possibly out of compliment--with French champagne.

Our faithful Stucke--steward, second cook, and servant to us all--waited
on us with earnest solemnity, just as if he were still steward in
the dining-room of the "Kronprinzessin Caecilie." It was impossible to
imagine that he had been a prisoner in France for nearly a year. It was
as if he had always haunted the "Deutschland" at a depth of ten fathoms
below the sea, where in our comfortable mess-room he was continually
developing fresh arts and contrivances, and had stored away in the
miniature pantry and a couple of drawers an undreamed-of amount of table
linen and plate.

Next morning we go up to the surface again. The pump rattles and growls
and we climb with several hundred gallons over normal weight, and with
the diving rudders in perfect working order, to the surface.

At about eleven fathoms the boat begins to lose her beautiful
steadiness. This is first noticeable on the gauge, afterwards by the
diving rudders which are harder to manipulate and on which the boat
often presses heavily. The higher we rise the more powerful these
movements become, so there must be a pretty rough sea up above.

We rise now carefully up to periscope depth, travel thus for a while and
look around. Except for a wide sweep of foaming waves nothing is to be
seen. The weather suits me exactly, for we can diminish our watchfulness
accordingly.

I now decide to rise entirely to the surface, and fill one of the tanks
with compressed air till the conning-tower is sufficiently free. The oil
engines are started, and the ventilation machine makes ready to take
in a fresh supply of air. Hardly have we opened the hatch of the
conning-tower, however, when a rough, watery greeting flies down into
the control-room. We are not quite ready apparently. Another tank is
blown out and the turbo-fan set in motion till the tanks are soon quite
empty.

But first another little trick of seamanship has to be brought into
play.

In order to rise still higher we have to get her broadside on again, for
in this wild sea the long, heavy body of the boat will not rise easily
out of the water head on.

Moving slowly we turn the "Deutschland" broadside on to the sea. She
rolls horribly, nearly shaking the soul out of your body. Added to this,
the heavy cross-seas are sweeping continuously over the boat. But she
obeys the diving rudders and slowly raises her nose out of the water.
As we rise entirely to the surface the conning-tower and periscope sway
alarmingly in the air.

Now comes another unpleasant moment. It is necessary to bring the boat
at slow speed again on to her proper course.

Sheltering behind the thick windows of the conning-tower, on which the
spray streams down incessantly, with arms and legs wedged firmly against
the sides, I peer around.

From old experience of the sea, I am waiting for three particularly
heavy waves to pass over, which are usually followed by a low irregular
one. Now the third big wave has passed. There is a call to the helmsman
in the control-room; it works. The bow bores her way slowly round, and
we are back on our old course again without meeting any particularly
heavy breakers.

It is still a pretty tough job all the same. The storm, if anything,
increases, and our journey proceeds but slowly against the heavy sea.
Added to this, part of the crew are seasick; and the short, backward
pitches of the boat are horrible. But as we proceed, the long steady
swell of the Atlantic Ocean becomes more marked. The short, pitching
movements gradually cease and change into a majestic swaying.

In the distance we see two English cruisers returning from their nightly
reconnoitre. We lie too low for them to notice us, and they disappear
rapidly in the opposite direction.

Now we are free from the English outpost boats, and steer cheerfully out
into the wide open spaces of the Atlantic.




CHAPTER VII

IN THE ATLANTIC


At last we were out in the open.

The Atlantic did not receive us in a very friendly manner it must be
confessed.

We had grown used to a good deal in the last few days, but I was anxious
to spare the nerves of the crew as much as possible, on account of the
long journey that lay before us. I decided therefore to take a more
southerly direction, in order to try and hit on fairer weather if
possible. Unfortunately we were to be disappointed in this, as will be
seen.

As I glance to-day through my notes of those first days in the Atlantic,
I continually come across remarks of this kind: "Heavy Sea," "Stiff wind
from the W.N.W., Strength 8," "Wind blowing up for a storm," "Heavy
seas rolling over the whole boat and even over the conning-tower," "Boat
travelling almost continuously under water," etc. In these few curt
sentences lies the history of the hard and nerve-racking existence of
twenty-nine men, shut up in the body of a steel fish, as she made her
way untiringly through the wild tossing seas.

I know of no better opportunity of praising the excellently thought-out
construction and the perfect seafaring qualities of our "Deutschland"
than in calling to mind those stormy days in the Atlantic. The elements
certainly did not help to make our journey to America an easy one. The
highest possible demands were made on the body and machinery of the
boat, which had to be continually at work day after day in order that we
might reach our destination.

And here I cannot help thinking with gratitude of the dockyard and all
the men whose work had contributed to help us complete our journey by
giving this wonderful piece of sea-craft mechanism into our hands.

It is easy to wax enthusiastic over a fine ship, that delights the eye
of every onlooker when in harbour by her elegance, and extracts the
admiration of the expert and the uninitiated by her rapid movement
in smooth waters. But the real inner worth of a ship is only to be
discovered when she has completed her test on the high seas. Then, and
only then, you learn her best qualities and gain that real confidence in
her trustworthiness and seafaring capabilities, when the wind is blowing
with a strength 10, and the sea has a roughness 8, during which you must
go head on. And this not only for a couple of hours, but day after day,
week after week. Only then can a ship prove what she is really worth.

This is particularly the case with a U-Boat in war time. A merchantman
in peace time has very often a severe strain in holding out, but she
has always the possibility of seeking a port of refuge, or of hailing
assistance. At the worst, she can drift a few days and wait for smoother
weather. None of this is possible with the U-Boat. To the dangers of
the sea are added the dangers from the enemy, the cruellest and most
pitiless of enemies. No haven of refuge beckons to her, and if she were
to lie for a few minutes helpless and be discovered, her adversaries,
who would have helped a damaged steamer in distress, would loosen the
greedy bloodhounds at her throat.

No one is so lonely and entirely dependent on himself as a U-Boat
captain. If he cannot absolutely rely on his vessel, then he is lost.

It is for this reason that we realised how much we owed to the Germania
docks and to the chief engineer, Erbach, the inventor of our boat. It
was his plans combined with the splendid co-operation of the submarine
builders and shipping officials that had given birth to this wonderful
seafaring vessel. The boat which in the winter of 1915 arose on the
slips at Kiel, in so short a space of time and yet with the precision
of accurate workmanship, and which Herr Erbach taught me to work and
understand on that memorable test voyage early in the year, was now two
months later bravely ploughing her way through the stormy seas, carrying
the fame of German shipbuilding across the ocean.

       *       *       *       *       *

The "Deutschland" had therefore been severely tested, and had come
through with flying colours. For several days the weather remained the
same, with hurricane gusts lashing up the water into crashing mountains
of waves.

All the deck hatches were, of necessity, closed, and at times even the
conning-tower hatch, which was so well sheltered by the "bath-tank," had
to be closed by the watch-officer at every onrush of the waves.

It was far from pleasant in the conning-tower. But below deck, where the
men were suffering badly from sea-sickness in the close atmosphere and
with the incessant rolling of the boat, it was a thousand times worse.
Many an experienced seaman made his first offering to Neptune on this
occasion.

On the third day it grew calmer. The sea became smoother and we were
able to open the hatches in order to air and dry the boat.

All the men of the off duty watch came on deck and stretched themselves
out in the sun, seeking a much-needed relaxation.

Worn out and pale faced they appeared through the hatches; and hardly
had they inhaled the fresh sea breeze before their beloved pipes were
lighted.

As we met very few steamers on our present course, we set to work to
give everything a good drying. All the wet articles that could not be
dried down below were brought up into the air.

The whole deck was packed with beds, coverlets, clothes, and boots. The
clothes were fastened securely to the deck rails, where they fluttered
merrily in the wind, as if from a washing line. In between them the crew
reposed in the strangest positions, sunning themselves like lizards. In
order to increase the artificial ventilation of the rooms by means of a
draught of air, wind-sails were hung up in all the hatches. With their
jagged side wings they looked rather like the fins of a fish, and made
the rounded green superstructure of the "Deutschland" look like the back
of a fantastic monster whale. We must truly have presented a strange
spectacle.

No one was near, however, to notice it. We sighted one steamer only,
whose smoke appeared towards evening on the horizon, and we were easily
able to steer clear of her.

The spirits of the crew were excellent, as was shown by the merry
warbling of the gramophone from the men's room.

In our mess-room, likewise, we enlivened the time with classical music,
without which life on a U-Boat would not bear thinking of. Moreover,
the monotonous part of our journey was now to begin. The fine weather
continued, and we met with few encounters.

I find in my journal only the following notes: "The dull period of our
journey is commencing. The boat is making her way, rolling slightly, but
bearing herself bravely. Now and then we go out of our way to avoid a
steamer. For several days there is nothing to be seen; the gramophones
play gaily, and everyone is in the best of humours. On the open sea we
are entirely dependent on the weather for our comfort."

It was, as a matter of fact, the first moment that we had been able
to breathe freely. Looking round on all sides one became almost
incorporated with the everlasting sameness of the sea.

One day I was standing on the fore-deck. Near me Humke, our giant
boatswain, squatted in the wooden scaffolding of the small central
upper-deck under which we had snugly stored our lifeboat. Several
lashings had been loosened during the stormy weather, and had to be
repaired.

I had stood there for some time, gazing westward, my thoughts fixed on
America, our destination.

Suddenly I took it into my head to broach the subject to the sturdy
Humke. I asked him what he thought of our voyage to America in
these days of war. What were his impressions as to the object of our
enterprise?

The rascal grinned broadly and replied:

"Why, to earn money, of course."

This reply was a little too summary for my taste, and I proceeded
to explain to him the real significance of renewing our commercial
relations with America in war time, in defiance of the English blockade.
I then proceeded to make clear to him exactly what the blockade meant.

He grasped the idea quickly, and said:

"Well, now I understand what the English are after."

I went further, and explained to him as fully as I could the meaning and
exigencies of an effective blockade, and was surprised at the directness
of his answer, which expressed so naively and with such confidence the
feelings of the people in the simple language of our sea-folk.

"Well, they won't get _us_, any'ow! And so there ain't no sense in the
English blockade, as I can see!"

In the meantime several of the watch off duty had strolled up and
gathered around to listen. There they stood, broad-legged, on the narrow
deck of our little submarine in the middle of the Atlantic, a handful of
sturdy, unabashed German seamen.

"Men," I said, "you have heard now the reason of our voyage, but I will
tell you something more. My good fellows, you have no idea what our
cruise really signifies. Our gallant 'Deutschland' is much more than a
mere U-Boat merchant-trader. By her means we are bringing German goods
to America; goods which the commercial jealousy and trickiness of the
English have so far prevented from reaching that country. And this not
only to injure Germany's exports, but in order to continue their gloomy
fishing over yonder they do their utmost to harm American industry and
commerce.

"That is all a thing of the past. We are seeing to that. But this is
not all. The appearance of the first U-Boat trader is of far deeper
significance. Without even a gun or torpedo on board, the 'Deutschland'
is revolutionising the entire methods of navigation, overseas trade and
international rights, a revolution whose effects can hardly be fully
realised as yet.

"How, in these days of warfare, have our armed U-Boats fared? We wanted
to use them as a means to prevent this barbaric starvation blockade,
which violates every right of humanity, and what did the English do?
They armed their merchantmen and shot down every U-Boat that approached
them with the object of sinking their contraband.

"That is what they call 'defending themselves.' And what is the result?
We proceed to defend our skin and our U-Boats,--knowing that in every
fishing vessel a 'Baralong' murderer lies in wait,--by sinking the armed
English merchant ships without warning in order to save ourselves from
being rammed or fired on.

"Thereupon the English shriek for help, and by reason of the existing
conventions of sea warfare they win the Americans over to their
side, for under the present laws of sea warfare there are no definite
conditions laid down for U-Boats. We wish to maintain friendly relations
with the great American people, and therefore give in. The Government
which rewarded the 'Baralong' commanders has triumphed apparently,
and the command goes forth: merchant ships are not to be sunk without
warning.

"Then our 'Deutschland' appears on the scenes, a U-Boat and merchantman
combined. Now merchantmen must not be sunk without warning, and,
moreover, the present laws of sea warfare contain no definite conditions
for U-Boats. A U-Boat trader, however, that must be searched before
sinking would be difficult to recognise, if still capable of submerging.
For then the swiftest torpedo-boat is powerless.

"The English are caught in their own trap, for the 'Deutschland' throws
the whole one-sided interpretation of the rules of naval warfare on
the rubbish heap. The weapon that was at first used against us must now
speak in our favour.

"For the matter stands thus. If merchantmen--which can at the same time
be U-Boats--may not be sunk without warning, then according to the
laws and formalities of sea warfare the 'Deutschland' has rendered the
English blockade futile. For I should like to see the German U-Trader
that would allow an English patrol vessel to approach near enough to
examine her!

"Or supposing she is not searched. Then, in that case, merchant traders
_can_ be sunk without warning--English traders likewise. And thus
the rights of warfare will be evenly balanced once more by means of a
peaceful, unarmed U-Boat trader. And this, my men, is where the enormous
significance of our 'Deutschland' lies."

Thereupon I concluded my speech, which was by far the longest I had ever
made.

       *       *       *       *       *

The fine weather still continued. The barometer remained steady, the air
was dry and clear. We were gradually approaching the latitudes in which
fine weather is the rule at that time of the year. The warmth of
the sun's rays began to be felt, and our thoughts turned towards
refreshment.

This was provided us by our "wave-bath," a discovery of the observation
engineer, Herr Kiszling, who otherwise showed no interest in anything
but his beloved engines. For these he was full of the most touching and
undeviating solicitude. Often, during a heavy sea, when all the deck
hatches were closed, he would suddenly appear through the conning-hatch
and push hastily through into the "bath-tank," regardless of the
exigencies of higher navigation in process there.

When the officer on duty looked round, annoyed at the disturbance, there
was our sturdy Kiszling, in his oldest oilskins, leaning over the side
of the dripping deck--filled with care for the welfare of his engines,
trying to get a glimpse of the exhaust. At the same time he must see
if the ignition was working properly, if the heart-beats of his engines
were carrying out their functions, and if the explosions were quite
regular. He was wrapped up in his beloved machinery and lived on its
rhythmical music. He noticed at once the least irregularity in its
working, and spared no trouble in getting to the bottom of it.

It must have been during one of these special tours of his, which were
by no means without danger, over the rounded slippery side-deck, that
the inspiration came to him. In brief, he opened to us the joyful
possibility of the "wave-bath."

In order to understand this, it is first necessary to know the
construction of the upper part of the "Deutschland." Above the
cylindrical hull, on the sides of which are the submersion tanks and
oil bunkers, rises the outer ship, which gives the vessel its real ship
form.

In this upper part of the outer ship, the so-called "outer tanks" are
placed which, when the ship is laden, are always flooded, as water and
air may penetrate to their interior by numerous openings, holes and
slits, in order that a rapid filling and emptying may be achieved. The
"outer tanks," therefore, have no connection with the floating capacity
of the boat; they are only the result of the outer construction which
above water does not follow the line of the heavy hull and tanks. In
spite of their relatively unimportant functions the "outer tanks" must,
of course, be accessible from the upper parts of the vessel. This is
made possible by large movable steel lids and by ladders on the upper
surface of the deck. Standing on the so-called tank-deck, therefore,
you have a slight elevation to the upper deck surface. The sea water is
continually rushing into these big spaces during the voyage. You have
only to climb in through the opened plate lids to enjoy an absolutely
safe and delightful sea-water bath.

We did not fail to put this into practice pretty often, and found our
bath delightful. There was only one drawback to the business. If, for
instance, you entered the sea-water bath for the first time, soon after
the boat had risen to the surface, you found yourself not in sea-water,
but in an oil bath!

The bunkers, as a matter of fact, never hold quite tight, especially
after a long strain of travelling, and so it often happens that as the
boat rises to the surface a curious layer of oil breaks through before
she reaches the top. This layer of oil is then to be found in the "bath
tank," on the lids of the hatches and on deck. Inside the "outer tanks"
it naturally remains on the surface of the water, for there it is not
able to mix and disperse quickly. It generally remains there a day,
sometimes longer, till the oily water is drained off and replaced by
new water again. The unlucky man, therefore, who took a bath during
this period, emerged but little refreshed and with a shiny nickel-coated
skin. This metamorphosis, as can be imagined, caused great amusement
among the crew.

       *       *       *       *       *

The fine weather now was very favourable for submerging tests, which
were made practically every day. Everything worked perfectly smoothly,
and we felt we could safely approach the American coast and submerge
within the three-mile zone.

During one of these submerging tests a wonderful and fairy-like
spectacle was presented to us. I had caused the boat to be steered so
that the conning-tower lay nearly two fathoms under water. Above, the
sun shone brightly and filled the deeps with radiant light. The water
was lit by many colours. Around us the sea was of brightest azure blue
of an almost dazzling clearness, and transparent as glass. From the
window of the conning-tower I could see the whole length of the boat,
round which rose twinkling air bubbles, like pearls. In strange,
fantastic distinctness the deck lay stretched out before me, even the
furthest bow end was visible. Further ahead was a dim- twilight.
It seemed as if the bow of the boat was gliding silently through a wall
of opal green, which opened up as she moved, and broke into a dazzling
radiant- transparency of light.

We were spellbound at this wonderful sight, and the strangeness of
the effect was increased by the jelly-fish as they floated through the
transparent blue and were caught in the wires of the deck rails, where
they shimmered first rose colour, then pale yellow, changing slowly to
purple.

We were not able at that slight depth to observe any fish.

The next day a little incident occurred which afforded us much
amusement, though it turned out rather differently from what we had
expected.

My ambition was to follow in the tracks of my comrades of the merchant
service and the navy, who had disguised their ships from the enemy by
painting and clever alterations in their outward structure.

During the previous fine spell of weather we had made a wonderful trap
for steamers, in order to disguise our identity as a U-Boat from
ships passing in the distance. We had rigged up a funnel out of some
sail-cloth, which could be fixed to the periscope with several wire
rings, till it rose proudly in the air.

The conning-tower was also provided with a covering of sail-cloth to
make it resemble the upper middle deck of a small trading vessel.

Thus, ready for all emergencies, we travelled on in the brilliant
sunshine, till at 7.30 in the evening a steamer appeared in the distance
to starboard. We soon realised that she must pass quite near to us if
we continued on our present course. We held aloof from her therefore and
proceeded to try the effects of our disguise.

The "funnel" is fixed up on to the periscope and rises proudly erect in
the wind. In order to give it a more realistic appearance we burn
some cotton waste steeped in oil at its base. Then the conning-tower
disappears under the rather flattering "middle deck."

But the disobliging cotton-wool only smoulders horribly and refuses to
give out any smoke. Everyone stands round puffing out their cheeks,
but in vain, till the wireless operator, a shrewd Berliner, fetches
an air-pump, which produces a powerful glow in our imaginary boiler. A
cheer greets his handiwork, and sure enough from the upper edge of the
"funnel" a delicate cloud of smoke appears, only to vanish immediately
into thin air!

Laughing, we decide to continue on our way smokeless, when up comes
the boatswain, Humke, with a jam-pot full of tar. The air-pump is again
brought into play, and at last our funnel can really be said to smoke!

The effect is certainly startling. For the steamer suddenly alters her
course and bears straight down on us!

This is not exactly our intention. The masts are immediately hauled down
and everything cleared for submerging; the middle deck disappears, and
with a deep bow our beautiful funnel falls together in a heap.

No sooner does the steamer observe this than she is seized with wild
amazement and horror. She turns round again abruptly and seeks flight,
puffing out thick black clouds of smoke which we eye not without a
certain feeling of envy.

Once more we raise our indefatigable funnel. The masts are lifted high,
and while the steamer hastens away in wildest flight we stand and laugh
till the tears come.

The situation was really humorous beyond description.

Our beautiful disguise, which was to screen us from observation, had
been the very means of bringing the gallant steamer's attention to bear
upon us. She obviously took us for a wreck, or some ship in distress,
and approached probably with the best intentions, to find herself face
to face with the devilish tricks of one of those rascally submarines.

What must the people on board have thought when they had recovered from
the first effects of the shock? Undoubtedly they would pride themselves
greatly on having escaped so cleverly this new piece of "piratical"
cunning.

And we should have been so proud if our disguise had only worked a
little better! We were not discouraged, however, but set to work to
improve on our invention, with the result that two days later we steamed
by an approaching vessel unrecognised under our own powerful smoke!




CHAPTER VIII

THE INFERNO


June comes gradually to an end, and with it unfortunately the fine
weather. A rising swell from the S.W. and the absence of the current
which we had expected to help us along indicates a storm centre in
the south, diverting the course of the Gulf Stream. Thus we travel on
throughout another day. Towards evening the atmosphere becomes close and
heavy and the sun sinks slowly in a misty blood-red veil.

The sky grows threatening and overcast; there is brilliant sheet
lightning, while the ever-increasing closeness of the atmosphere
announces the near vicinity of the Gulf Stream. During the night masses
of heavy thunder-clouds roll up, the wind rises on every side, and the
wildness of the running seas increases, till steering becomes noticeably
difficult.

Measurements record an increase in the water temperature, which finally
rises up to 82-1/2 degrees Fahrenheit. Now we are in the Gulf Stream,
whose periphery is marked in the air above by a fiery crown of heavy
tropical thunder-clouds.

Vivid sea phosphorescence and strong atmospherical disturbances are also
accompanying signs of the presence of the Stream. This is noticeable
from our wireless apparatus, which is strongly affected by the heavy
electrical conditions of the atmosphere. Hitherto it has kept us
faithfully in touch with the army bulletins from the Nauen station.

The phosphorescence of the waters makes observation very difficult.
One's eyes are blinded and observation made difficult by the continuous
sparkling of the surface of the sea in the blackness of the night. This
state of things is far from pleasant, for we are now approaching a zone
where many steamer tracks cross each other, and double precautions are
necessary.

Added to this, the foulness of the weather increases. Heavy seas
spring up, and a storm of hail beats down on the deck. Over the foaming
whipped-up waves a wind of strength 11 to 12 is blowing.

All around over the boiling sea hang heavy black balls of clouds, from
which a pale yellow light darts out incessantly--regular broadsides of
lightning. Then suddenly all is enveloped in blackest night again, while
at times the whole boat and the surrounding water are lit up by flashes
of greenish light, in which every detail shows up with startling
distinctness....

The whole air is filled with tumultuous uproar, and overhead the thunder
crashes continuously. We are approaching the centre of the storm. The
boat is surrounded by an unearthly storm-world. It is as if the end of
all things had come....

Suddenly the head-lights of a big steamer rise up behind us. In the
darkness of the night we are able to avoid her without difficulty. Like
a shining vision she disappears in the distance. She is a passenger
steamer who, judging by her course, has come from the Mediterranean. I
must confess we watched her row of lights with a feeling of envy, till
rain and darkness swallowed her up from sight again.

The next day the weather reaches its worst stage. Hurricane-like gusts
of wind sweep all around. The air is filled with continuous froth. The
water no longer falls in drops, but in cascades--walls of water pour
down, lashing our faces and hands painfully. The air is so thick that
one can no longer see through it. In order to observe anything ever so
faintly, a small piece of glass has to be held in front of the eyes,
with the result that a little foaming torrent rolls from the pane on to
your sleeves.

The boat travels with extreme difficulty in the roaring sea. She is
tossed here and there by the waves till every joint creaks and groans.
Sometimes she heels over so heavily that it is almost impossible to hold
on with one free hand only, to the parapet of the "bath-tank."

It is an Inferno.

But this is nothing to the hell down below, particularly in the engine
room.

Owing to the heavy seas all the hatches are of necessity closed; even
the conning-tower hatch can only be opened occasionally. Two great
ventilation machines are working unceasingly, it is true. But the
fresh air that they draw from the ventilation shaft, which is carefully
protected from the breakers, is immediately swallowed up by the greedy
Diesel engines. These hungry, ungrateful monsters only give off heat
in return, heavy overbearing heat impregnated with horrible oil
vapour, which is then swept by the ventilators throughout all the other
compartments. Such ventilation can no longer be of a refreshing nature.

The air in the boat on this account has become overwhelmingly laden with
moisture. It is almost an impossibility to breathe, and one awaits with
resignation, or desperate gaiety, the moment when one really will be
forced to join the fishes. In the closed-up body of the ship every
object is covered in steaming water which again evaporates in the heat,
till everything is soaked through and streaming. All the drawers and
cupboard doors swell and stick fast, and added to this the wet clothes
from the watchers in the conning-tower are spread out over the whole
boat.

It is impossible to give any idea of the state of the temperature that
then reigned in the boat. In the Gulf Stream the outside temperature was
82 degrees Fahrenheit, so extraordinarily warm was the water around
us. Fresh air no longer penetrated, and in the engine-room the two
six-cylinder combustion engines hammered on in ceaseless rhythm.... A
choking cloud of heat and oil vapour issued from the engines and spread
through every part of the boat.

The temperature rose gradually in these days to 127 degrees Fahrenheit.

And in such an inferno men lived and worked. Groaning, the naked
off-duty watch rolled about in their cabins. Sleep was out of the
question. When one of them was just dropping off into a heavy stupor he
would be awakened to fresh misery by the perspiration running in drops
from his forehead into his eyes.

It was almost a relief when the eight hours' rest was over and the
watchmen were called once more into the control-room or the engine-room.

Then the martyrdom recommenced. Clad only in shirt and trousers the men
stood at their posts, a cloth wrapped round their foreheads to keep the
perspiration out of their eyes. The blood glowed and rushed in their
temples--fever was in their veins. It was only by the greatest strength
of will that they were able to force their streaming bodies to perform
their allotted duties, and to keep going during the four hours' watch.

But how long could this state of things be expected to last?

During these days I kept no journal, and can only find the following
note: "If the temperature rises any higher the men in the engine-room
will not be able to stand it any longer."

They did stand it, however,--they kept going like heroes, doing their
work in spite of exhaustion, till at last the storm centre lay behind
us, the weather cleared up, the sun broke through the clouds, and the
dropping of the sea made it possible to open the hatches once more.

Then they climbed up out of their inferno, pale, covered with dirt and
oil, and rejoiced in the sun as if they had never seen it before.




CHAPTER IX

AMERICA


While crossing the Atlantic we had avoided approaching steamers by
slightly altering our course. We had even risked being noticed on one
or two occasions, but during the last days of our voyage we submerged
directly a cloud of smoke appeared on the horizon. On no account must
we be observed when approaching the coast, as we had to reckon with the
presence of enemy warships.

On the 8th July we guessed by the colour of the water that we could not
be far from our goal.

In the course of the afternoon I conferred with my officers as to the
navigation of Cape Henry, the southernmost of the two headlands which
form the entrance to the roadstead of Hampton Road and Chesapeake Bay.

My idea was to await daybreak at about ten knots out from the American
territorial waters in order to discover whether any enemy measures
had been taken. If by any chance news of our voyage had leaked out, we
should certainly have to reckon with such enemy influences.

Krapohl, on the other hand, was for getting in as near the coast as
possible under cover of the night, and Eyring was of the same opinion.

Both plans had their fors and againsts, and eventually I decided to
continue our way carefully in the twilight, and wait to see what the
weather conditions would be.

No sooner was our decision made than a stiff breeze from the south-west
sprang up which cleared our range of vision considerably. At the same
time, however, the boat started rolling in a very disagreeable manner,
in the stiff, choppy sea that had risen with the breeze. We decided,
therefore, to follow the direction of the lights on Cape Henry and Cape
Charles through the night.

We proceeded on our course, till not long after a pale light flashed out
suddenly on the horizon, then disappeared again.

This was the glow of the flashlights on Cape Henry--the first greeting
from America.

Suddenly a white light shone out in the distance to starboard,
disappeared, and then flared out again. It was immediately succeeded
by a white light on our port side, which, however, continued to shine
steadily.

We looked at each other.

What the blazes did this mean? It looked uncommonly like darkened
warships making flashlight signals to each other. In any case, it meant
a devilish sharp look-out on our part.

At half-speed, submerged up to the conning-tower, every man at his
station, we crept nearer, maintaining the closest observation, our
glasses boring their way through the darkness.

It was not long before we discovered that the steady light proceeded
from a harmless outgoing steamer, which was already hurrying away at
some distance behind us. Soon after we were able to make out from the
place whence the flickering light had appeared, the outlines of the
sail of a three-masted schooner, which like many coast steamers was
travelling without side-lights, and only showing a white light at her
stern from time to time. This was what we had taken for the signalling
of warships.

Much relieved, I let the engines go full speed ahead, and soon we hove
in full sight of the steady flare from Cape Henry, while the quivering
lights of Cape Charles grew clearer and clearer on the horizon. Now
we knew that we had steered correctly. The entrance between the two
headlands lay before us.

The lights were now plainly visible. With an indescribable feeling in
my heart I greeted the flare from Cape Charles, which shone out in the
surrounding darkness a silent but sure sign that over yonder, after our
long and dangerous journey, was firm land again, that over yonder lay
our goal--mighty America.

We passed now by the various light buoys of the roadstead, and the
familiar ringing of the siren buoy near by, which I had heard on former
voyages, assured my ears as well as my eyes that we were near terra
firma.

After we had passed the bell buoy we rose fully to the surface. The
lights of several passenger steamers were visible, but they did not
discover us as we were travelling with darkened lights. At last we
reached the territorial waters off Cape Henry.

This was on the 8th July at 11.30 p.m.

Once inside the territorial waters we started our lights and proceeded
steadily on our way through the roadstead between the capes, till we
made out the red and white head-lights of a pilot steamer ahead of us.

We stopped and showed the customary blue light, whereupon the pilot
steamer brought her searchlight to bear upon us, and not recognising the
outlines of a steamer, approached cautiously.

She held us for some time under her searchlight, whose rays played
continuously over the low deck and conning-tower of the "Deutschland."
The unexpected appearance of our boat seemed so to have bewildered
the gallant captain, that it was some time before he called out to us
through the speaking trumpet: "Where are you bound for?"

On our replying "Newport News," he asked the name of our ship. We gave
the name, but it was necessary to repeat it twice before he grasped the
real nature of this strange visitor. Thereupon there must have been a
great sensation on board the pilot steamer.

Then a boat approached us swiftly, and the pilot climbed up the rounded
hull of the "Deutschland" on to her deck and greeted us with the
following hearty words:

"I'll be damned; so here she is!"

Then he shook hands heartily with us again and expressed his pleasure
at being the first American to welcome the "Deutschland" to the land of
liberty.

I asked him immediately if he had had any idea that we were expected. To
my surprise and delight, I learnt that for the last few days a tug had
been awaiting our arrival between the capes.

We started off therefore with our trusty pilot in search of her.

In the meanwhile the incoming steamers had discovered the nature of this
curious new arrival, and lit us up on all sides with their searchlights.

Thus our arrival in American waters was rather in the nature of a weird
nocturne.

The search for our tug-boat was, however, by no means an easy matter in
the darkness. We cruised around for some time till at last, after two
hours, we found her.

It was the tug "Timmins," under the command of Captain Hinsch of the
North German Lloyd.

Great was his delight, for the gallant captain, whose steamer, the
"Neckar," had lain at Baltimore since the beginning of the war, had been
waiting nearly ten days for us between the capes. Our long delay had
filled him with distress as to our possible fate.

Now, however, he was delighted to see his long-expected protege safe
and sound before his eyes. He communicated to us thereupon the order
to proceed to Baltimore instead of Newport News, where everything was
already prepared for our arrival.

We parted therefore from our honest pilot, and travelled on, accompanied
by the "Timmins," into Chesapeake Bay, after proudly hoisting the German
flag which had not fluttered over these waters since the arrival of the
"Eitel Friedrich" in front of Hampton Road.

In this manner we entered the bay in the grey morning light. Our course
became by degrees a triumphal procession. All the American and neutral
steamers that met us greeted us with prolonged tootings from pipes and
sirens. One English steamer only passed by us in poisonous silence,
while our black, white and red flag fluttered proudly in the wind before
her eyes.

Captain Hinsch, moreover, in his tug, took devilish care that the
Englishman should not by chance run too close in by the rudder and ram
us by mistake!

The gallant "Timmins" was useful to us in other ways. Our only means of
responding to the greetings of the various steamers was by driving the
siren by means of our precious compressed air. This would have gradually
become an expensive game, and so the "Timmins" undertook to return
thanks for us with her hoarse steam whistle.

The further we advanced into the bay the wilder grew the noise. We
rejoiced from the depths of our hearts at these signs of sympathy with
us and our cruise on the part of the Americans.

Towards four o'clock in the afternoon the "Timmins" was able to come up
alongside and handed up to us--a block of ice! A couple of bottles of
champagne were quickly cooled, and proudly we toasted the successful
arrival of the "Deutschland" in America, our one regret in connection
with this performance being that our faithful Hinsch only came in for
the corks which flew on board the tug.

Only those who can realise what it means to have lived day after day in
a temperature of 127-1/2 degrees Fahrenheit will fully appreciate the
joy of that first cool iced drink.

The news of our arrival must have spread with extraordinary rapidity,
for to our no small surprise, hours before we reached Baltimore, boats
came out to meet us with reporters and cinematograph operators on board.

Although it was growing dusk we were fairly bombarded, and we should
probably have had to run the gauntlet of a still greater stream of
questions and calls if the weather-god of Chesapeake Bay had not come
hospitably to the rescue and ensured us a little breathing space. A
heavy storm arose suddenly, and the stream of questions was quenched
by a stream of rain which fell refreshingly down upon us sunburnt
seafarers. Meanwhile through the fast approaching evening the
"Deutschland," accompanied by the faithful "Timmins," travelled on once
more silent and lonely towards her goal.

At 11 p.m. we drew in to the Baltimore quarantine station, and for the
first time our anchor struck American ground.

The "U Deutschland" had arrived.




CHAPTER X

BALTIMORE


Our first glance the following morning fell on the stout little
"Timmins," who had moored up alongside. There she lay, the faithful
soul--and mounted guard over us.

Shortly after, at five o'clock, the doctor of the quarantine station
came along. I gave him up our health certificate, which had been
carefully made out for us on 13th June by Mr. William Thomas Fee, the
American Consul at Bremen. The doctor then examined the boat, and after
mustering the crew set us free, and ended up by giving three cheers for
the "Deutschland" and her crew.

The anchor was hauled up, and we travelled under the guidance of
"Timmins" towards our wharf and resting-place at Locust Point.

Never before, surely, has a boat travelled under such conditions as now
fell to our lot, guarded jealously by our "Timmins" and surrounded by
a crowd of boats specially hired by the various film companies. On each
boat five or six men stood ready with their cameras, and tried to rouse
us to suitable cinematograph poses by chaffing remarks.

"Show your face, Cap!"

"Turn your head round!"

"Wave your hand!" These and similar cries arose on every side, while the
fellows pushed and shoved and shouted like madmen.

I stood in the conning-tower and looked to right and left, waved both
hands, and had no need to force a laugh, for the wild movements of the
film hunters were indescribably funny.

Thus in the merriest of moods we reached our resting-place at Locust
Point.

Here our Captain Hinsch had spent weeks in making all ready for us. The
"Deutschland" found such a safe harbour, and was so protected by booms
and netting from the approach of any strange vessel, that according to
all human calculations nothing could possibly happen to her.

We lay inside a wooden pier built out into the stream, under cover of a
great shed, in which our destined cargo was already piled up in waiting
for us. The situation lay so apart that the connection of the pier with
the nearest good road must be first explained.

The whole position was shut off from the land by a big trench and a
steel wire fencing. In the stream itself the "Deutschland" was protected
by the pier and the North German Lloyd steamer "Neckar," which had lain
at Baltimore since the beginning of the war and now served us as a place
of residence, from which we could watch over our boat.

On the other side, surrounding the "Deutschland," a regular network of
heavy beams stretched out, with thick nets which reached to the bottom
of the water, so that it would be impossible even for a diver to get at
the boat. Moreover, day and night patrol-boats guarded the spot, among
them the "Timmins," which lit up the surrounding neighbourhood with her
little searchlight all night long.

Many amusing incidents occurred in connection with this.

In order that the unloading and reloading of the "Deutschland" should
proceed without observation, yet another high palisading had been
erected round the warehouse sheds which prohibited the least view of the
ship and loading place.

The only spot from which a glimpse of the wonderful boat, even at some
distance, could be obtained, was from a pile-driver which was anchored
in the stream, and which was immediately besieged by newspaper reporters
as a place of observation. Here they nested, holding us well in sight,
and keeping watch with the utmost regularity. Day and night two men
sat there continuously, perched high on the slender scaffolding of the
pile-driver, in sacrificial practice of their calling!

We were also at our posts. And at night, during the change of watch
yonder on the pile-driver, the searchlight operator of the "Timmins" had
his bit of fun by enveloping the reporters in beams of light and
thus politely "lightening their darkness" and assisting them in their
difficult task. As they climbed cautiously down from the scaffolding
they were each singled out by a beam of light, one after the other, like
spiders with a pocket lamp.

For the rest the gallant Captain Hinsch had seen to everything, from our
reception and safe guidance down to the provision for our wants on board
the "Neckar."

From this steamer only a favoured few were allowed a sight of the
"Deutschland," and that only from the outside. A visit to the boat was
strictly forbidden.

For her own sake we should have been glad and proud to show our
wonderful boat to everyone. For fear, however, of the risk of an attack,
which might easily arise on the German U-Boat trader if everyone had
been allowed an inspection, we dared not depart from our instructions
in this respect. And thus hundreds of Americans who had come great
distances, even from the west, in their motorcars, were obliged, much to
our regret, to depart without having achieved their object.

The cinematograph companies, however, did not go away entirely
empty-handed. I granted their wish to immortalise the crew of the
"Deutschland" on her first touching on American soil, and all of us were
photographed in a group on deck.

My first journey through the town resembled a triumphal entry. The car
was obliged to pull up continually. Everyone tried to shake me by the
hand and pour out their congratulations.

During the first few days in Baltimore I became simply an obstruction to
the traffic.

In this manner we proceeded slowly to the North German Lloyd agency,
which was surrounded by crowds of people.

The next step was to go through the necessary Custom House formalities.
I made my way therefore to the Customs House authorities, and got
through the usual examination; I was received on all sides in the most
hearty and friendly manner.

Then I went back to the agency and devoted all my sailor-like abilities
to the Press. I stood in the office of the North German Lloyd agency
behind the barrier of the booking bureau, on the other side of which
a huge crowd was pressing. I was quite alone, and had to hold my own
against hundreds of men and women, who each had some particular question
to put, from the most insignificant personalities up to the highest
region of politics.

One lady called out:

"Do tell me, Captain, what it is like in a submarine?" Another asked
with deep sympathy, "I say, is it true that in Germany the babies are
starving for want of milk?" While a gentleman of extremely well-fed
appearance showed his interest by the question, "Say, Captain, what do
you live on?"

I was also frequently asked: "What about the Emperor's message
you've brought over for Mr. Wilson?" To which I could give as little
information as to the question, "When do you think of leaving Baltimore
again?"

To all these and a hundred other questions I was obliged to make answer.
I stood there like a breakwater, the tide swirling round me, creeping
higher and higher, till my conscious self was almost swallowed up, only
on the following day to reappear in bits in endless Press notices all
over the world.

Meanwhile my body proceeded, somewhat fatigued, to the German club,
where we had been invited to celebrate our arrival at a purely German
gathering, during which our thoughts flew back with pride and love to
the struggling Fatherland over yonder.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following days were in the nature of a continuous festivity for us.
Only those who know American hospitality and enthusiasm can form any
idea of the cordiality that greeted us on all sides.

The people went quite mad over us, and it did one's heart good to see
what genuine sympathy all the Americans showed over our journey and safe
arrival, and to hear how warmly they expressed their feelings on the
subject.

Everywhere we went we were enthusiastically received. They shook us
by the hand, sang the "Watch on the Rhine," and expressed their
appreciation by eloquent ovations. Invitations rained down on officers
and men, parties and feasts were held in our honour, and on one
occasion, when my two officers of the watch, who were walking with a
friend in some public gardens, became recognised, the concert music
suddenly stopped, a searchlight was flashed on to them, and amidst
general acclamation the band struck up the "Watch on the Rhine" and the
American National Anthem.

While the general public of all ranks and classes thus showed their
appreciation, the American Government were dealing with the official
side of the question as to whether our boat was to be regarded as a
merchantman pure and simple, or whether, in accordance with the urgent
protests of the English and French ambassadors, she would, in her
character of submarine alone, be regarded as a war vessel.

On the 12th July a Government Commission, consisting of three American
marine officers, came from Washington to inspect our "Deutschland"
thoroughly. As there was no sign of armament, or arrangements for
bringing any such on board, we were quite ready to show them over
everything.

After a three hours' inspection, during which every compartment and
corner were examined, and which cost the Commission officers many a drop
of perspiration during the crawling around in the glowing heat of the
boat, the Commission confirmed the purely mercantile character of the
"U Deutschland."

They were at no pains to conceal their admiration for the ingenious
construction of the whole boat, and expressed particularly the
staggering impression of bewilderment which the complicated mechanism of
all the works had made upon them.

In honour of the whole crew a German festival was started by the
many German-Americans of Baltimore, in aid of the Red Cross. This was
celebrated in Canstaetter Park, a great public park near Baltimore, with
shooting galleries, sausage stalls, open stage, dancing ground, and
other forms of amusement in the open air. I must say our men stood
this test on land as well as they had that on the water. They acquitted
themselves bravely throughout this homage and were not awkward. When
dancing began they chose their partners without hesitation, and a couple
of smart fellows even danced with the ladies who had got up the fete, as
if they had been used to it all their lives.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 20th July the "Deutschland" received a visit from the German
ambassador, Count Bernstorff, who had come with several gentlemen from
the summer residence of the embassy to Baltimore.

We showed them over our gallant boat with pride, although an inspection
in the midst of the embarkation of her cargo and in the intense heat was
by no means an entirely delightful one.

On the evening of the same day, there was an official dinner given by
the Mayor of Baltimore, in honour of the visit of the German embassy,
preceded by a small luncheon party at the Germania Club House.

The dinner given by the mayor--a most amiable man--was of an exclusively
political character, and was only attended by politicians and officials.
There was a long succession of excellent courses and wines, and
according to American custom, with the appearance of the endless drinks
at the close of it, many speeches were made in which the arrival of
the "Deutschland" in America, and its importance in connection with
Baltimore and German-American friendship, were celebrated.

Then the municipal band appeared in the town gardens and played the
"Watch on the Rhine" and the American hymn, while the German and
American flags were crossed.

This was a pleasing symbol of friendship and understanding between the
two peoples whose interests both lay in the freedom of the seas.

       *       *       *       *       *

While all these festivities were in progress, which took up nearly all
our evenings, the unloading of our boat had been completed, and the
embarkation begun.

This was quite a special chapter in itself. Messrs. P. H. L. and H. G.
Hilken, the representatives of the North German Lloyd at Baltimore, had
done everything in their power to make this extremely delicate part of
our task as easy and safe as possible for us.

They had not only acquired, on the quiet, all the goods for our return
cargo, and had them taken to the sheds ready for loading--it was a
jolly fine stock, too, and many who saw it wondered how on earth such
a quantity of goods could ever be stored away on a U-Boat--but they had
even procured the necessary and specially adapted loading and stocking
personnel--gangs of lightermen and dockers.

Much of the work on the boat and wharf was undertaken by <DW65>s, who
were closely watched for the least sign of observation powers or other
dangerous faculties. Moreover, the <DW65>s were closely searched each
time before they commenced work, and obliged to strip entirely, in order
to secure the boat against any attack.

The unloading was completed without any further difficulties.

The embarkation, however, was a more difficult matter. For this careful
calculations on the part of our expert submarine embarkation specialist,
shipping engineer, Prusse, of the Germania dock, were first necessary.
Every pound of the varying weights and sizes of the goods to be loaded
had to be reckoned up before being stowed in the space particularly
appointed for them, in order to prevent an unequal trimming of the boat.

An absolutely exact storing was necessary, inasmuch as the whole loading
space was very limited, and every box and sack must be held firmly in
its position. Otherwise the most unpleasant occurrences might arise,
either during a storm, by sudden submersions at a steep angle, or any
other incidents, which might seriously impede our navigation.

An embarkation of this kind therefore was bound to be a lengthy affair.

The whole cargo, sacks and boxes, had to be carried by hand by the
<DW65>s through the narrow hatchways. The goods had first to be weighed,
piece by piece, each separately--the weighing-inspector taking notes
meanwhile and calling out the number of weights, which were then
carefully indexed.

This indexing was part of a specially thought-out plan, according to
which the whole packing was exactly carried out, and the accuracy of
this plan was then tested by a submersion and boat-trimming test, for
which our mooring-place had just sufficient depth of water.

For this test the crew all took up their submerging stations, the
submersion tanks were slowly opened and the boat flooded with just
sufficient water to make her float, the conning-tower hatch still
remaining above the surface.

In this way the hull of the boat is made to oscillate by means of the
different water loads of the two trimming tanks, and from this one can
judge if the balance of the boat is properly adjusted. If after this it
is found necessary to alter the weights, the cargo is moved accordingly.
One last submerging and trimming test must then follow, in order to make
sure that the loading of the whole boat agrees in every detail.

Thus her two thousand tons are brought into perfect adjustment in the
fluctuating displacement of the water.




CHAPTER XI

THE DEPARTURE FROM BALTIMORE


Above the description of our return voyage I should like to put as a
motto what the London _Morning Post_ of 18th July wrote regarding the
attitude of the English Government towards the "Deutschland."

"The 'Deutschland,' in view of her peculiar U-Boat qualities, will be
considered as a war vessel, and be treated as such.

"The warships of the Allies will therefore make every effort to discover
the boat outside American territorial waters, and to sink her without
warning."

Thus ran a cablegram which reached America from London on the 19th July.
Thus we ourselves read it in a copy of the _Morning Post_ which was sent
to us at the end of July. There was at least one advantage, that we knew
exactly what we had to expect.

Never has the English point of view been so displayed in all its
brutality.

We had no torpedo tubes, no guns on board, not the smallest means of
attack. We had not even weapons of defence which are always allowed on
every English merchant ship. The most powerful of the neutral states had
moreover openly recognised the "Deutschland" as a mere trading vessel,
and yet we were to be sunk without warning!

We knew, therefore, what lay before us.

It was already known that eight enemy warships with patrol boats and
nets were waiting in front of Chesapeake Bay in order to attack us
directly we quitted American territorial waters, and to blow us up like
blind fish, with mines.

Foresight was therefore urgently impelled on us, and our only course
was, with true U-Boat craftiness, to slip through somehow.

We remembered, moreover, how we had already once succeeded in getting
the best of the English and French efforts. Our running of the English
blockade in Europe had certainly been by no means a smooth pleasure
trip.

Nothing had caused us greater amusement than the news of the delightful
announcement made by Captain Gaunt of the English consulate in New York
when the first rumour was heard of the voyage of a U-Boat to America.
His reassuring words to the English public were: "It is impossible to
send a U-Boat to America. And even if the Germans did send one we should
soon catch her. A big submarine leaves a track of oil and machine dirt
on the surface of the waters in her wake. Our fast cruisers would be
able to follow these tracks and catch the boat for a dead certainty."

Captain Gaunt is the expert on affairs of navigation at the Consulate,
and ought to know.

All we had to do, therefore, was to see to it that their second "catch"
was as much of a "dead certainty" as the first.

At last the 1st of August arrived. We had taken a hearty leave
everywhere, completed all formalities with the authorities, and were
ready for sea and for our rendezvous with the gentlemen in front of the
bay.

Our departure was delayed, as we were obliged to wait for the high tide,
in order to get from the Patapsco River on which Baltimore is situated,
across the intervening muddy bar out into Chesapeake Bay. The water rose
very slowly during the day, as a north wind was blowing and prevented
the tide in the long inlet from rising up quite as far as Baltimore.

We waited excitedly for the rising of the water, and at last, at five
o'clock in the afternoon, the moment arrived. The ropes were cast off,
the closely packed attendant boats made way, and the "Deutschland"
pushed majestically off from the pier into the fairway. The tug
"Timmins" ran alongside of us like a faithful sheep-dog, snarling at the
many big and small boats full of reporters and cinema people, if they
approached too closely.

There was nothing to fear. The harbour police boat from Baltimore
had been very kindly lent us, and the Customs boat from Maryland had
received instructions to accompany us as far as the boundary line of
their beat permitted.

Hundreds of people stood on the banks of the Patapsco River, waving and
cheering us incessantly as we departed, and in the harbour all the
tugs hooted with the full blast of their sirens and hooters, while the
steamers dipped their flags and tooted. It was an indescribable uproar.
We knew as we travelled on that the thoughts and blessings of countless
hearts throughout mighty America accompanied us, and anxiously awaited
the moment which should bring them the certainty of our lucky escape out
yonder.

As soon as we got into the fairway with the engines going at full speed,
our attendants gradually fell behind. Even "Timmins" had enough to do
to keep up with us. We noticed with pleasure how slowly all the American
boats travelled; the cheers grew weaker and weaker, the number of
boats ever smaller, and at last only the Customs' cutter remained. When
towards seven o'clock she also dropped off, we should have been alone
with "Timmins" but for one uncanny follower who was not so easy to shake
off. She was a smart grey boat with pointed nose and flat short stern,
a regular first-class racing boat which, so rumour said, had an 80
horse-power and could do her 22 knots. She appeared to have been hired
during the last ten days by a man who paid the round sum of 200 dollars
a day--by which it may be gathered how highly he valued this chance of
a bit of sport in running a race with the "Deutschland."... By 10 p.m.
a fairly roughish sea had risen. The lights of the racing boat dropped
more and more behind, and at grey dawn the following morning the sea was
empty--the racer had turned back home.

In her place, however, a whole lot of fishing trawlers appeared ahead
of us in the dim morning light, which made us fear that even here in
neutral waters we might run into a regular trap.

Cheers and hand-waving from the vessels soon showed us our happy
mistake; they were a party of American Press representatives who,
together with a number of admirers and friends of the "Deutschland," had
refused to miss the opportunity afforded by a night voyage of giving
our boat a farewell greeting at a distance of some fifty miles from
Baltimore.

One steamer after the other glided by, and the next morning by six
o'clock we were in sufficiently free water to make our first submerging
test. I wanted to get the boat and crew firmly in hand again after our
prolonged stay on land--purely on account of the "dead certainty" of
that "catch."

We therefore made our first trial, and everything went swimmingly.
The "Timmins" stood by and Captain Hinsch told me later that it was a
marvellous sight as the "Deutschland" dived in perfect silence, only to
reappear again a few minutes later like a flash, her bow foaming, above
the water.

The submersion worked perfectly likewise. After this, in order to see if
everything was in working order, I gave the command for the boat to come
to rest on the bottom at a spot which, according to the map, should have
had a depth of 16-1/2 fathoms.

Once more all is still. The daylight fades; the well-known singing and
seething of the submersion valves sounds in our ears. The gauge in the
conning-tower registers 11 fathoms, 13 fathoms; the power is lessened;
16-1/2 fathoms appears, and I await the gentle impact with which the
boat shall touch on the ground....

Nothing of the kind happens.

Instead of this the hand moves round on its dial to 17-1/2, 18, 19
fathoms. I tap my finger on the glass--quite all right, the hand is just
turning to 20. "What in the name of fortune's the matter?" I think to
myself, and take up the map.

Yes, 16-1/2 fathoms are marked there and we had taken exact bearings
up above.... Nevertheless, we continue to sink. Twenty-two fathoms are
registered on the dial plate.

This is too absurd. I call down to the control-room and receive the
comforting reply that on their big depth gauge also, 22 fathoms have
been registered and passed. Our gauges coincide therefore.

This, however, does not prevent the boat from sinking.

The men in the control-room look at each other....

It is a ridiculous situation, to be sinking in this confounded silence
into the Unknown and not to be able to see anything but the everlasting
backward jerking of that treacherous hand on the white dial....

In the conning-tower it is no different. I glance distractedly backwards
and forwards from the map to the gauge.

Meanwhile the boat sinks deeper and deeper; 24 fathoms have gone by....
The hand is moving towards 27.... I am just thinking that the deeps of
Chesapeake Bay must come to an end somewhere, and that we can hardly be
sinking into groundlessness ... when suddenly, without the least shock,
the boat comes to a halt at a depth of 27-1/2 fathoms.

I scrambled down to the control-room and took counsel with Klees and the
two officers of the watch.

It could only be that we had struck a hole which was not marked on the
map. Well, this was nothing serious, after all. Whether we had to rise
from 16 or 27 fathoms was quite immaterial.

I was just about to give the order to rise to the surface, when my
glance fell on the gyro-compass, which with its slowly jerking black and
white disc hangs usually so serenely in its case, which is lit up from
the inside....

I fell back in surprise....

What on earth had come over it? The disc of the compass had gone quite
mad and was turning round and round with short jerky movements....

The affair began to grow distinctly uncomfortable. Considering that our
gyro-compasses are about the most reliable of any in the whole world,
and as at a depth of 27 fathoms in Chesapeake Bay the earth could hardly
be revolving round us, there was only one conclusion to be drawn, and
that a confoundedly unpleasant one.... We must be turning round and
round in our hole, for what reason the devil only knew!

I immediately gave orders for the pumps to be started, with the result
that they started rattling, but with a more clanking, empty noise, so
to speak, than usual.... They did not help us in the least; we remained
sticking in the mud, exactly as we were before.

This was the last straw, and I must confess our confidence began to
waver somewhat.

In the meantime we had sunk a little deeper according to the depth
gauge, while, on the other hand, the rolling had ceased and we lay
perfectly still.

Once more I gave energetic orders to rise immediately to the surface.
The pumps started rattling and ran empty again. That was no good
therefore.

The situation must be carefully thought out, otherwise we should be
lying in the same place till morning.

After a lot of trouble the engineer, Klees, succeeded in getting the
pumps into working order again.

With a deep humming sound they started pressing the water out of the
tanks--they were working! As if transfixed our eyes sought the hand of
the depth gauge. Hurrah! we were coming free, we were rising, the hand
was pointing to 26 fathoms ... could I trust my eyes ... what the devil
was that again? ... the gauge suddenly pointed to 11 fathoms ... then on
again to 26 fathoms ... and back to 11 once more....

The affair was now growing critical.... We looked at each other,
absolutely at the end of our resources, not knowing what was wrong with
the boat or with ourselves, nor even at what depth we were ... and now
even the depth gauges had gone mad!...

In order to understand what this means, it must be clearly realised that
in a submerged boat nothing can be known or seen, except by means of the
hands of the depth gauge. If that once ceases to fulfil its functions
correctly, then you are absolutely "at sea."

The situation had therefore grown very serious. Nevertheless, an iron
calm reigned in the boat. We had the consolation that in the utmost
emergency we could use our compressed air, which could not fail to bring
us to the surface, even if the pumps failed us.

There was, however, no need to resort to this. Klees, who had been lost
in thought, suddenly gripped hold of one of the valves--a hissing noise
of compressed air, the depth gauge pointed wildly to 66 fathoms then
sprang back to 26 again ... then the coating of slime which had stopped
up the spouts of the gauge was blown away by a little of the compressed
air.

The mouths of the pumps were also cleared by means of the compressed air
of all the mud and slime which had worked in during our wild circular
movements; then the pumps commenced humming in their usual tones, and
the "Deutschland" rose obediently to the surface.

We had been, however, one hour and a half under water.

Captain Hinsch, in the "Timmins," came alongside much relieved. He had
been unable to understand the meaning of our long submersion and had
grown extremely anxious.

We must apparently have got into some kind of pit, where the sand was
being "ground" and where, owing to our circular movements, we dug our
way gradually into the slime and mud. I then posted the "Timmins" at
a distance of two miles away for an observation of a last important
submersion test.

Our aim was, without advancing, to rise so that the periscope appeared
above water, which was by no means an easy matter. It is naturally much
easier to get up to a certain position by utilising the dynamical lift
given by the diving rudders, but in doing this the periscope makes
a little track of foam through the sea, which might under certain
conditions prove treacherous.

We tried, therefore, to lift ourselves from a greater depth by
oscillating up to a certain height and, by alternately emptying and
filling the tanks at that depth, to reach a floating position in which
only our periscope should appear just above the water, and that in a
vertical direction.

The experiment succeeded. We were able to stretch out our periscope
feelers so that the "Timmins"--who knew roughly our vicinity--did not
notice us before our conning-tower appeared above the water.

I now felt certain that we were prepared for all possibilities and could
risk breaking through unobserved. We continued therefore calmly on our
way with "Timmins" and regulated our course so that we reached the exit
between the capes just after darkness had set in.




CHAPTER XII

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE


Night had set in as we approached the danger zone. In front of us
sparkled the steady fire from Cape Henry, while astern Cape Charles
threw out her lights at short intervals through the darkness. With these
as our bearings we went on calmly to face the decision.

Suddenly two searchlights flashed out over the water to starboard. The
accursed rays passed quick as lightning over the dark waves. I counted
several seconds mechanically, then the full glare of the searchlight
struck us in the eye....

It was already too late to submerge, and the treacherous light held fast
on to the "Deutschland."

A rapid glance passed between the two of us in the tower, our features
showed up distinctly in the beautiful free illumination....

Then we saw that the rays of the searchlight, after they had made sure
of us, rose twice high in the sky and suddenly disappeared. As our eyes
grew accustomed to the darkness again, we discovered two black vessels
to starboard which looked like fishing trawlers.

"The cursed gang!" murmured Krapohl, at my side; "now they have betrayed
us!"

And he was right, unfortunately.

For over yonder on the coast a gigantic searchlight flashed high in the
sky, obviously as a signal to the English cruisers waiting outside.

"Now was the moment," I thought.

"Make ready to submerge," my orders rang out.

"Ten fathoms down!"--at the same time we took a course to the south.

Half an hour later we rose to the surface again, as I wanted to take my
bearings once more. Hardly had I taken a glance round, however, than we
were obliged to avoid immediate danger by submerging again. For close
by, barely 200 yards off, an American armoured cruiser was bearing down
on us.

She also had seen the remarkable flash signals, and was coming along
to watch over the proceedings in the vicinity of American territorial
waters. Although, according to the newspapers, the armoured cruiser was
supposed to have been ordered into Chesapeake Bay for manoeuvres, I am
of opinion that the American Government had ordered the ship to go out
to the three-mile boundary line, in order to watch events in connection
with our escape. I am also personally strongly convinced that the
excellent tone in the officers' mess and among the crews of the American
marine would not have allowed the men of the armoured cruiser, in
the event of any violation of the territorial water zone, to restrict
themselves merely to observation, but that they would have taken an
energetic part in the proceedings.

That such a violation was not by any means beyond the realms of
possibility, and that it was probably only prevented on that memorable
night by the sudden appearance of the American armoured cruiser,
is borne out by the following circumstance. Several days before our
departure an English cruiser had passed Cape Henry under cover of
mist and darkness and searched the whole of Chesapeake Bay in the most
shameless manner, after which, without making her identity known, she
disappeared again.

In the meantime we had quickly forced our boat heavily down by the head
into the deeps, and did not rise to the surface again till the noise of
the American's propeller had died away in the distance.

We knew that the most dangerous moment of our whole voyage was near at
hand. We took a careful view of the situation once more, and made all
the necessary preparations for our "Deutschland."

Then we submerged again and went on, all our faculties strained to the
uttermost, our nerves filled to overflowing with that cold excitement
which inwardly, so to speak, causes one's hair to stand on end, while
outwardly one is quite calm, gripped in that icily clear deliberation
which only comes to those who are fully conscious that they are face to
face with an unknown danger....

We knew our way. It had been already brought to our knowledge that
fishermen had been bribed to lay nets in stated positions outside the
three-mile boundary line--nets in which we were to be caught fast, in
which, moreover, devilish mines had been interwoven.... Or perhaps
the nets might be merely attached to buoys, which we should drag along
behind us, and thus betray our position....

We were prepared for all contingencies, and had made everything ready to
free ourselves from the nets if the worst should happen. But the worst
did not happen.

It was a dark night. The lights from the two capes shone calmly, with
friendly eyes on land, while a few miles farther out death lurked in
every conceivable form.

But while the English ships travelled backwards and forwards,
lighting up the waters with their searchlights and seeking us in every
conceivable spot, they little knew that at times, close on their
heels, a periscope proceeded on its leisurely way, and underneath this
periscope--the "U Deutschland."

At 12 p.m. that night, after hours of indescribable tension, the command
rang out: "Rise to the surface!"

We were through.

Slowly the "Deutschland" rose through the water, the tanks were blown
out and the oil engines started.

At full speed we rushed on out into the open freedom of the Atlantic,
while behind us in the north-west, the English, with whole bundles of
searchlights, sought the waters in vain.

They must have grown somewhat irritable towards the end!




CHAPTER XIII

THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY


Never had the "Deutschland" travelled so swiftly as in those early
morning hours of the 3rd August. With marvellous speed she raced on,
leaving two broad streaks of foam on either side.

The engines rumbled in perfect rhythm, the combustion was working
without a flaw, and the exhaust showed not the slightest cloud, so
that even Herr Kiszling was thoroughly contented, and in a moment
of unconscious tenderness nearly stroked the shaft of his beloved
engines....

When the sun rose the coast had long disappeared from sight in the
distance in a grey mist, and there was no vessel of any kind to be seen.

We remained on the surface and raced on like the very devil. How much
we owed to our engines! On our arrival at Baltimore, after our long and
difficult journey they had been still in perfect condition; no repairs
were necessary, and we could have made the return journey immediately
without their being overhauled. And yet the engines had been obliged to
work under quite unknown conditions, under conditions which like that
of the terrible temperature in the Gulf Stream had made the very highest
and most unforeseen demands on every part of the machinery.

It can be easily understood that hitherto there had been no opportunity
of testing the working capabilities of oil motors in an outside
temperature of 127 degrees Fahrenheit. Such a contingency could never
have been foreseen in the construction of our type of boat, and the fact
that our motors never struck, that not the least hitch arose, proves
the excellence of the construction and the perfect workmanship of the
dockyard.

Thus we continued on our way, and only too soon found ourselves in the
damp heated atmosphere and heavy air of the Gulf Stream, with all its
beautiful phenomena and peculiarities, its electrically laden air and
stormy sea. With closed hatches and heat in the boat we faced it once
more. And the Stream would not even help to push us along on our course,
as we had hoped.

All hardships were, however, borne with light hearts this time. We had
left the danger zone behind us, and were homeward bound. Moreover, the
sea had become calmer the nearer we approached the area of the Gulf
Stream.

On the evening of the second day it had become possible to open all the
deck hatches again. Hardly had we begun to rejoice that the fresh air
would now make conditions below deck bearable once more, when suddenly
the order came, "Close hatches!" "Submerge!"

A steamer had appeared and was rapidly approaching so directly in our
course that we could not possibly have avoided her above water.

When we rose to the surface again an hour later night had set in,
and with it appeared a most marvellous natural phenomenon of sea
phosphorescence of unearthly splendour.

We had submerged in a calm dark sea; we now arose to an ocean of flame.
A sea phosphorescence had set in of an intensity and glow such as I had
never before experienced, and which is probably only to be found on the
borders of the Gulf Stream.

During our rise, and when we were at about 2 fathoms below the surface,
it seemed as if we were working upwards through a glowing realm of
sparkling transparency. Shortly before the conning-tower arose above
water I glanced round astern, and saw the entire hull of the boat, with
the stern like a dark mass pushing its way through the glowing element.
A fiery whirlpool radiated from the propeller, and every movement of the
boat aroused the wildest phosphorescence--intensive flames, sprays of
sparks, and fiery streaks in the surrounding waters.

Above, a fresh breeze had set in and whipped the seething waters into
glowing balls, while showers of sparkling foam covered the entire
deck. As far as the eye could reach the surface of the sea was one pale
glowing mass, through which our boat ploughed its way in furrows of
fire.

We stood transfixed as the phenomenon increased in intensity with the
sea and wind.

All the men off duty came up and stared out at this enchanting
spectacle, little heeding the seas which swept over the deck, soaking
many of them through to the skin.

"It looks like fire, don't it? But blowed if it don't put yer pipe out,"
remarked our giant boatswain. A spurt had just extinguished his pipe for
the third time, and he reluctantly decided to store the beloved stump
carefully in his pocket.

But the "fire" grew wetter and wetter, and within half an hour
the officers on duty and look-out stood once more alone up in the
conning-tower.

When we got out of the Gulf Stream we had several days of stiff
north-westerly winds and high seas, until, on the ---- August, we ran
into fine weather again.

On one of the following evenings the first officer on duty, Krapohl, was
standing with Humke in the conning-tower scanning the horizon without
ceasing, through the glasses, at a point where the pale sky seemed to
merge into the sea without any observable boundary line.

"Light ahead," announced Humke suddenly.

"If you mean that star, I've noticed it already," the officer replied,
calmly lowering his glasses.

"Wal, I dunno, but that there ain't no star, Herr Krapohl," the sailor
replied, unabashed.

The two called out to me, and I came expectantly out of the tower, took
the glasses and then laughed.

"Humke, you're on the wrong track!" for I noticed high up above the
horizon a faint white light which stood too high, judging by its
strength, to be a ship's light.

The boatswain stolidly maintained his opinion, however.

"Cap'n, that there ain't no star."

I handed him the glasses which he, however, put aside at once,
remarking:

"Ye can't see nothink properly with them things."

He shut his eyes tightly, then took another sharp look and said in
decided tones:

"That ain't no star; that be a light!"

We stared before us with increased sharpness till I was able at last to
make out through the glasses a red glow which now became visible to the
right of the white light. Now we knew that a steamer was approaching us.

At first I held her to be a small vessel, particularly as, to begin
with, the height of the two lights differed but slightly--the red port
light of the steamer was not much below the white light.

But soon I was surprised to observe how noticeably the red light moved,
that is to say, how quickly the space between the two lights appeared to
increase.

From this there was only one possible conclusion to be drawn, and that
was that the vessel was approaching with extraordinary rapidity.

While I was considering this, and picturing it to myself as a swiftly
travelling destroyer, I discovered at a fair distance behind the two
lights something that looked like a white moving ray, or like a faintly
illuminated wave.

We could not make out what this meant till I decided that this wave must
belong to the lights themselves, as they moved together and kept pace
with each other. And a few minutes later there appeared tremblingly on
the strong lens of the glasses the faint outline of a mighty steamer,
which with elaborate superstructure was approaching in the dark night.
The white ray of light was her stern water, which owing to the colossal
length of the ship was only visible at a considerable distance from her
side lights.

For some minutes longer we continued to stare, then we discovered four
towering funnels, and were soon convinced that we had a big Cunard liner
in front of us which was racing up in semi-darkness, only showing her
head-lights.

It really was a ghostly apparition, to observe how the mighty
darkened ship raced on through the night. There is not much need to be
romantically inclined in order to picture this meeting with the "Flying
Dutchman," while Humke expressed his feelings in the words: "Lor', ain't
she just a beauty, lads!"

"Full speed ahead!" and with "helm hard astarboard" we slipped away
from the course of the mighty Cunarder. All the men of the watch off
duty meanwhile had come up to get a view of her from the deck and
hatches.

In spite of a sharp look-out nothing appeared in sight during the next
few days. The weather keeping fine our homeward journey--even more
than when we were outward-bound--assumed the character of a peaceful,
uneventful business voyage.

It was now that we first began fully to appreciate the convenient and
practical inner fittings of the whole boat, and particularly our cabins
and cosy little mess-room. Often as we sat round the table at mess while
the gramophones played gaily, we thought with gratitude of those who had
not only invented the seaworthy shape of our boat, but had fitted her
interior up so that a life of comparative comfort and ease was possible
even under the sea.

When on these occasions our gallant Stucke, with his blonde white hair,
his honest face full of earnest gravity, and his habitually surprised
expression placed a bottle of good red Californian wine in front of
us, as we lay comfortably "somewhere" at the bottom of the sea, while
overhead, at a height of X fathoms, a hearty wind was blowing, it needed
little imagination to picture oneself as a second Captain Nemo, who with
his highly modern Nautilus could probe the depths, and snap his fingers
at the injustice and tyranny of a certain people--provided, that is to
say, one had read Jules Verne.

For I must here confess, what I had hitherto carefully concealed from
everyone, that it was only as captain of a submarine trader on my
return journey from America that I was enabled to make good a very sad
deficiency in my education. The chance I had wasted in my youth I
now came across at the age of forty-nine in the steel body of the
"U Deutschland," of making myself acquainted with Jules Verne's _Twenty
Thousand Leagues under the Sea_.

The book had been sent me while I was at Baltimore through the kindness
of an American friend. It is a book--how shall I describe it?--of
incitement and emulation. I read it with the greatest interest.

       *       *       *       *       *

The rest of our return journey is soon told. We travelled on smoothly
and peacefully homewards, avoiding a few distant steamers above
water--in which little game we had gradually become extremely well
practised--and meeting on the whole with good weather, some mist, and
much smooth sea.

One afternoon I was sitting working at the writing-table in my cabin,
when suddenly I heard from the control-room close by the order "20 to
starboard" repeated. Immediately after came "10 to port," whereupon,
without waiting to hear any more, I hurried on deck.

There a strange sight awaited me. All around, as far as the eye could
reach, the sea was covered with a mass of dark, floating oil casks
through which we had to steer our way.

At first I took the black, weird-looking objects, which danced up and
down on the waves before us, for a mine-field, until the characteristic
shape of the sharp angular casks, or so-called barrels, and their
contents which had spread partly over the water, testified to their
harmlessness. Nevertheless we had to steer carefully through this
strange plantation, as the area was too wide a one to avoid without
going considerably out of our course. We estimated the number of casks
that were visible to us as at least a thousand.

"Fine practice," remarked Krapohl, "for the elegance with which we shall
twist through the English mine-fields later on. I think we might risk
the return through the English Channel."

We went on, therefore, at half-speed to port--starboard--port, for
over an hour. Scattered parts of vessels were to be seen on the water,
possibly the results of wrecks or mines.

We must by this time have gradually come within the sphere of the
English look-out ships. The watch was doubled, everyone standing at
their submerging stations.

From time to time we noticed vessels whose attention we avoided by
submerging or altering our course. One warship, apparently a small
English cruiser, we allowed no possibility of seeing us by immediately
diving. When, after an hour's undersea journey, we again rose slowly
to the surface, we saw from a depth of 6-1/2 fathoms, through the
periscope, another English ship, and went down again to 11 fathoms, and
this was repeated three times in succession.

At noon we rose at last for good, emptied the tanks, and then travelled
at top speed over the water.

Favoured by the fine weather we approached our goal with considerable
rapidity; and on August ---- at eight o'clock in the evening, we saw a
circle of white lights all round the horizon.

Our natural fear was, of course, that we were surrounded; if we turned
to starboard we saw those accursed lights, to port--there they were too.

Finally our excellent Zeiss glasses removed our fears that at the last
moment with the homeland already in sight we had fallen into a trap. The
twilight was still clear enough to allow us to see and recognize from
the construction of the uncanny-looking ships that only some harmless
Dutch fishing boats lay before us.




CHAPTER XIV

THE ARRIVAL


Favourable winds astern helped us on towards home. On August ---- at
six o'clock in the morning, our alarm was raised once more. In the far
distance something appeared on the water which looked like the sail of
a boat, though certainly of a very strange appearance. As it approached
nearer the sail turned out to be the conning-tower of a U-Boat, which,
with her deck still dripping, was going on her way.

Although we were at first inclined to take careful and instructive
observations of the strange object in the distance, in order to judge
how we ourselves showed up at a distance of three knots, the best course
in our case appeared to be to find out as quickly as possible if she
were an English or a German submarine.

We preferred, however, in any case to make ourselves as unnoticeable as
possible, and in the last emergency to submerge.

We had already flooded up to tank 3, already the sea broke over the deck
and struck against the conning-tower, and even the latter was cutting
half-way down through the green waters--when suddenly a well-known flag
signal rose yonder, which gave us the certainty that it was a German
U-Boat in front of us.

We answered immediately, and gave the command directly after:

"Empty the ballast tanks!"

Never had I given orders with such a cheerful heart on the "Deutschland"
before, and never was it more cheerfully carried out than when I called
down to the control-room:

"Hurrah! the first German U-Boat in sight!"

What did it matter that we were standing on the tower and the barely
risen deck in oil and sea water with a shower-bath playing over us?...
There, over the green North Sea, came the first greeting of Germany, the
mighty Fatherland, towards us! At full speed we rushed on, everyone on
deck, and before long the two boats lay within calling distance of each
other.

The first ear-splitting hurrah was flung across to us, and answered in
like manner.

Then greetings and news were exchanged, and our ways parted again ...
ours towards home, the U-X to her work.

The day drew in and night fell once more. So we travelled homewards, no
light on deck, no light in the tower--like a dark shadow.

When the sun rose, however, on the following morning, we saw before us
in the distance a characteristic silhouette, breaking through the
veil of mist in a rosy light. An island, a bulwark in the North
Sea--Heligoland lay before us.

Soon life began to awaken on the waters around us. Torpedo-boats shot
up, patrol boats hurried along, flag signals fluttered in the air,
wireless signals rattled out their greetings, and shouting and
hand-wavings commenced, and then the iron ring of the German
Fleet, which keeps safe watch over yonder, closed round our little
"Deutschland," and under their protection we steered on past Heligoland
towards the home haven.

But as we approached the well-known waters, even before the low homelike
sandy coast came in sight, a wonderful spectacle fell to our lot, the
strangest of greetings carried out with the utmost skill.

From the land two huge birds seemed to rise into the air--two seaplanes
which approached at full speed and then sank like gigantic water-fowls
on the gently moving surface of the sea.

They shot down with their floats just brushing the surface of the water,
till within a stone's throw of the "Deutschland," made a lightning turn,
crashing by us, approached again and sprang literally over our heads,
racing low down over the conning-tower, with cheers and waving of
caps....

This was our reception from the latest weapon of the German Navy.

One should not make comparisons. But as we once more approached the
German coast, surrounded and protected by the German Marine, I suddenly
found myself comparing this with our arrival in America.

No one could have been received with more hearty enthusiasm than we had
been by the Americans. A free, untroubled people, they rejoiced in a
bold deed, and openly declared their sympathy for a new and unheard of
enterprise, which it had required men to fulfil.

But here we were more than bold and interesting adventurers. Here our
own people received us again as helpmates in their mighty struggle. Here
the delightful spectacle of her power under the sea, on the sea, and in
the air was presented to us.

This was for me the real meaning of the glorious greeting of our airmen.
This was what I felt as the look-out boats accompanied us safely as far
as the outer Weser, where we cast anchor before the Hohenweg lighthouse,
for the first time after many a long day.




CHAPTER XV

THE RECEPTION OF THE "DEUTSCHLAND" BY THE GERMAN PEOPLE


From the outskirts of Heligoland as far as the outer Weser we had been
received by the Navy. On the voyage up the Weser and at Bremen the whole
nation received us.

On the afternoon of the 23rd August the "Deutschland" had struck
anchor at the mouth of the Weser. The news had been spread by telegraph
throughout the whole country--this longed-for news, which awakened
unbounded rejoicings.

We learnt to our surprise and proud delight that the arrival of the
"Deutschland" was to inaugurate a festive holiday for the whole German
people, that such a reception awaited our little boat on the banks of
the Weser as surely never fell to the lot of any "lucky ship" before.
Our journey up the Weser assumed the nature of a triumphal procession.
Behind the hundreds of thousands who had come to meet us and stood
cheering on the banks, stood invisible the millions of German people
inspired with the same feeling.

This was expressed to us everywhere in overwhelming rejoicings from old
and young, high and low, from the German Kaiser down to the merest dock
worker and the small ragged urchin who, full of enthusiasm, waved his
flag and shouted in the streets of Bremen.

On the 25th August, early in the morning, the "Deutschland" commenced
her triumphal trip up the Weser. It poured in torrents, but nothing
could quench the public rejoicings as we moved along accompanied by the
blockaded steamers, our masts and conning-tower decorated with garlands
of roses.

Low hung the dark clouds in the heavens, and the rain pelted down on the
thousands who stood on the <DW18>s or who had come to meet us on steamers,
barges, launches, and rowing boats. Deafening cheers arose from the
town, and the clashing of bells mingled with the joyful acclamations,
while above it all rose the song of "Deutschland, Deutschland ueber
alles," which on that very day was celebrating its seventy-fifth
birthday.

In Nordenham, Brake, Blumenthal, flags salute, guns thunder out, factory
and steamer whistles send their piercing greetings; shouts of welcome
and good wishes ring out from the North German Lloyd steamers, to which
we respond by waving back.

Vegesack is passed, where work on the Vulcan Docks has ceased, the
dockers standing in hundreds on the quay. Their wild cheers accompany
the "Deutschland" on her triumphal way. The inhabitants of Vegesack are
all assembled at the landing-place and on the banks behind.

Again music and singing, the roar of guns and storms of rejoicing!
Thicker and thicker grow the crowds as the ship nears her home haven.

Shortly before twelve we reached Lankenau, whose <DW18> had been chosen as
an observation point by the whole of Bremen, it appeared. Elbow to elbow
the people stood waving with hats, umbrellas, handkerchiefs, hands....

At noon punctually the "Deutschland" sailed into the open harbour, and
placed her invited guests, 'mid sounds of "Deutschland ueber alles," on
the highly decorated pontoon, on which the Grand Duke of Oldenburg, the
representatives of the Bremen Senate and burghership, the civilian and
military authorities, the marine, the shipping officials, etc., and
among them Count Zeppelin, were all assembled to receive us.

As soon as the ship was moored I called the men up to take their
positions on deck. Dr. Lohmann then addressed us in the following
speech:

"Your Royal Highness, Your Magnificencies, Your Excellencies, My very
honoured friends,--At this historical moment of the happy return of the
first submarine merchant-trader of the world, after a voyage of 8,500
knots, I here welcome our 'Deutschland' and her gallant crew, not only
in the name of our shipping officials, but of the whole German people,
back to the harbour of their homeland. Quietly and only known to an
initiated few, they left the Weser, passed through and under the English
Fleet, to arrive on the 10th July at Baltimore with a valuable cargo of
dyes. Their arrival was a surprise to the whole world. Even navigation
experts shortly before this event had declared it to be an impossible
undertaking.

"It is with particular pleasure that I am able to state that all true
Americans who are not demoralised by a degrading Mammon service to
England--men with the freedom-loving instincts of a Washington and
a Franklin, greeted the arrival of the 'Deutschland' in America with
warmest satisfaction. It is the pride of our shipping officials that
we have been able to send dyes to America under the German flag in the
middle of this war, while America herself cannot even get her post from
Europe unmolested, to say nothing of the many other violations of
the rights of humanity by sea and land on the part of our enemy, in
connection with the neutrals, and particularly the small states.

"To accomplish this has been the work of the crew of the 'Deutschland.'
Though they started off without any previous announcement, their
departure from Baltimore was made publicly known beforehand. 'It
resembled a triumphal procession,' wrote Havas, 'and a symbol of
freedom.' I myself should like to compare the deed with our German view
of the 'Rights of the Peoples on the free Ocean.' The enemy were not
able to prevent their departure from Chesapeake Bay, and a blockaded
North Sea did not exist for them on their return voyage, as will be
proved by the many million marks' worth of goods which have to-day been
brought from America, and which lie at this moment before our eyes.

"They have performed a task of seamanship that is worthy of our
Hanseatic forefathers. Everywhere throughout German lands, and among our
faithful allies, but particularly among our brothers in the trenches
and in the fleet, their return voyage has been followed with deepest
sympathy. With strongest confidence in their judgment, energy, and sense
of duty, we members of the shipping world have looked forward to their
return. After their long and strenuous weeks in the narrow confines of
a ship, face to face with unscrupulous enemies, I welcome them heartily
back to the Homeland. In the midst of this murderous war I convey to
them the thanks of our German people for their peaceful deed. And I
should like to express these thanks by calling for three cheers for
the 'Deutschland,' her commander, Captain Koenig, her officers and crew.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

I answered with a brief toast to the Senate and burghership of the free
Hansa city Bremen. We then boarded the pontoon, where each one of us was
saluted and drawn into conversation by the Grand Duke of Oldenburg and
the other gentlemen present.

After completing a distance of 8,450 knots, from which only about 190
under water must be deducted, the first submarine merchant-trader had
reached home. The "Deutschland's" first voyage to America was completed.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the evening of this memorable day a big dinner was given at the Town
Hall by the Municipality of the borough of Bremen, to celebrate the
homecoming of the "Deutschland." The speeches that were delivered on
this occasion give a short outline of the circumstances which led to
the building of the "Deutschland," and for this reason they shall be
repeated here.

Dr. Barkhausen, the Mayor, had received his guests with words of hearty
welcome, and informed them of the Municipality's decision to have a
special medal struck in memory of the day, and had then toasted the
German shipping officials, and the crew of the submarine merchant-trader
"Deutschland."

In the name of the Shipping Federation, their chief representative, Dr.
A. Lohmann, replied in the following words:

"Your Magnificencies, Your Excellencies, my most honoured gentlemen,--In
the name of the commander of the 'Deutschland,' Captain Koenig, and of
his officers and crew, I wish to express to the Municipality their most
heartfelt thanks, as also that of the Shipping Federation, for the great
honour granted by the Municipality to the crew of the 'Deutschland'
in allowing a medal to be struck in commemoration of this peaceful
commercial deed in the midst of war.

"I wish to thank your Excellencies for the words in which you have
graciously acknowledged the work of my colleagues and myself. Since the
outbreak of war I have gladly and willingly devoted my efforts towards
the welfare of the State. The conviction that our splendid people, in
spite of the superior force of the enemy, are not to be crushed in this
defensive war for their individuality and freedom, that the intellectual
power and forethought which inspire our entire people, their thorough
training since the wars of liberation, and the inborn sense of duty
which has come down to every German in flesh and blood, are not to be
overcome, this conviction has accompanied me throughout all my efforts,
and everywhere I have met faithful colleagues who were of the same
opinion.

"I should like therefore at this point to express my heartfelt thanks to
all my fellow-workers, and in particular to Herr Direktor Stapelfeldts,
and my colleagues on the Board, Herr General-Direktor Heineken, and Herr
Hermann, Councillor of Commerce. The German Ocean Shipping Federation
was formed, as your Excellencies have already stated, in all secrecy,
and their task consisted in forwarding goods of the utmost possible
value.

"It meant, moreover, purchasing the raw materials on the other side,
their careful warehousing, the placing of the 'Deutschland' in a safe
position, and protecting her from all attacks. This was carried out to
perfection by the North German Lloyd agents, Herr Paul Hilken and
his father, Herr Hilken, Senior, as well as by Captain Hinsch and his
co-operators. The share which Captain Koenig and his officers and crew
took in the enterprise has already been brought into prominence by your
Excellencies. For my part and on behalf of the shipping directors,
I should like here once more to tender our fellow-workers on the
'Deutschland' our very hearty thanks.

"It will interest the gentlemen present to hear something of the history
of the German Ocean Shipping Federation and of the 'Deutschland,' the
'Bremen,' and her as yet unnamed sister ships.

"When in September, 1915, it became evident that, in spite of all the
successes of the Central Powers, the war would continue for many months
yet, it was obvious that Germany's demand for rubber and metals was of
burning necessity.

"I therefore took the shipbuilding authorities in Bremen into my
confidence, after I had held counsel with one of the most prominent
shipbuilding experts. The 'Weser' declared itself ready to draw up and
carry out the plans for a submarine boat of about 500 tons carrying
power. On the 3rd October I came into possession of the completed plans
of this boat. The period of construction unfortunately ran into eleven
months, the delivery being therefore completed about September 1st,
1916, for the docks were first obliged to have the motors built. It was
obvious that we must make an effort another time if possible to reach
our object more quickly. Almost at the same time that the practical
evolution of a submarine merchantman was under our consideration, the
Germania Dock at Kiel had, unknown to us, handed over at the beginning
of October to their chief house, Friedrich Krupp and Sons, plans for the
construction of a U-Boat of about 700 tons carrying capacity.

"The Germania Docks were prepared, in the short space of six months, to
deliver the first boat, the 'Deutschland,' as early as April.

"Both plans, those of the Germania Docks as well as my own, showed that
the project was possible to carry out, and I should like to compare this
community of ideas with a happy marriage, where husband and wife are in
perfect harmony with each other--the dockyard, as the mother who brings
the child into the world and gives it to the father--the shipowners and
commerce--to place it in the world. The soul and mind of the child were
incorporated in our Captain, our officers and crew, who have performed
the glorious task of taking the 'Deutschland' to America and back.

"On the 15th October we had come to an agreement, and the construction
of two boats was taken over by the Germania Docks from the Syndicate.
The formal part of the establishment of the German Ocean Shipping
Federation was delayed somewhat. Its establishment took place on the 8th
November, and the boats which had in the meantime been ordered by our
Syndicate were already under construction as far as their framework. The
'Deutschland' was delivered over to us at the beginning of April.

"It was a wonderful masterpiece of the Germania Docks, and, as is usual
with all the work of Messrs. Friedrich Krupp and Sons, it was perfectly
carried out. Before we sent our 'Deutschland' to America, we made trial
trips with her for over two months. The execution of the work proved to
have been carried out perfectly in every respect. Captain Koenig was able
to announce from America that after a voyage of over 4,000 knots ship
and machinery were in perfect working order; his report on arriving
here in Bremen harbour was just the same. It is a masterpiece of German
technique, and the name of Messrs. Krupp and Sons appears in shining
colours once again.

"From the creation of our artillery, from the 42's down to the smallest
specimen of ship guns that began successfully to break the chain of the
British Fleet in the Skagerrack and prepare the way for free trade
among the nations, to the production of arms and war material of every
description--the German people now owe their thanks for this perfect
piece of construction to the ingenious leaders and directors of the
greatest works in the world. Without Krupp, our enemies would not now,
after two years of war, be standing everywhere on the other side of
their boundary lines.

"The intelligent co-operation of mind and body, the employment of all
the newest scientific discoveries, added to the true German sense of
duty, these are the qualities that have made Krupp and Sons famous.
To-day, on the return of the 'Deutschland,' we are face to face with
another wonderful production of shipbuilding technique on the part of
the firm of Krupp, and for this also the German people owe their thanks
to them. I should like to ask you all, gentlemen, to give expression to
these thanks by joining with me in three hearty cheers.

"The firm of Friedrich Krupp and Sons, Germania Docks. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah!"

After the next course, Herr Zetzmann, the Director of the Germania Docks
at Kiel, proceeded as follows:

"Your Magnificencies, Your Excellencies, Most honoured gentlemen,--To
my lot has fallen the honour of expressing in the name of the firm of
Friedrich Krupp and Sons and of the Germania Docks, our heartiest thanks
for the invitation that has been extended us to-day by the Municipality,
and I also take the liberty of extending my thanks to the distinguished
guests of the Corporation assembled here.

"... Herr Lohmann has made some interesting communications in his speech
with regard to the history of the origin of the German Ocean Shipping
Federation, and I should like to add a few words about the workshop from
which the 'Deutschland' and 'Bremen' sprang. We had been forced to admit
for some time past, that owing to the continued duration of the war the
need of certain building materials was becoming increasingly urgent.

"From the conversational remarks 'it might be possible,' and 'we really
ought to,' arose the decision to consider seriously the possibility of a
new kind of trading vessel.

"The decision was no easy one, not merely because we feared the
difficulty of construction, but because we hardly dared to place a fresh
load on our building yards, which were already heavily overburdened
with war orders. But necessity teaches how to beg,--and also how to
construct! We next tried to work on the foundations of our war boats, in
the hope that by this means we should lessen the constructional work.
We found, however, that on these lines reliable tonnage capacity and
carefully measured space were not to be attained.

"Our leading constructors advised me, therefore, to go radically to
work, and not to try and make a trader out of a warship, but to create
a new type of trading boat altogether. The shape of this was to be made
full and rounded, and exact calculations gave us a better tonnage,
much to our surprise and pleasure, than we had anticipated at the
commencement of our project. With wild enthusiasm our constructors
completed their plans, and soon we stood face to face with a picture
whose transformation into reality would express our every wish.

"... Herr Krupp von Bohlen and the Directors seized on our proposal with
the greatest energy ... and declared that a boat of this type must most
certainly be produced, and in the shortest possible space of time, that
moreover the Germania Docks would begin directly on the construction of
the boat on their own responsibility.

"... Everything went like clockwork.... There remains only one thing
more for me to say. That we succeeded in completing the first boat in
so short a space of time is due in a great measure to our principal firm
and to our contractors, who delivered all our building materials and
necessary fittings in spite of the other great demands that were made
upon them, with astonishing rapidity.

"I wish particularly to express my appreciation that all the dealings
with the German Ocean Shipping Federation, and later with the staff of
the boat, were completed in the most friendly of spirits. Both Shipping
Federation and command staff have met all our proposals with the
greatest confidence.

"It is owing to this intelligent and broad-minded preference that the
rapidity of the construction was made possible, and that the trial
voyages went so smoothly. With the greatest confidence, therefore, we
saw the ship undertake her first voyage.

"Our confidence has brilliantly justified itself. Our most ardent wishes
with which we followed this product of our dockyard have been fully
realised.

"We wish the Shipping Federation further brilliant successes of this
kind, the 'Deutschland' and her sister ships many equally happy voyages,
for the welfare of our beloved Fatherland, and for the glory of our
revered Hansa city, Bremen.

"To-day's celebration will be for all who have taken part in it a
remembrance that they will carry to the end of their lives, and the
celebration has been brought to a close in the most approved fashion by
the dinner given in the new Town Hall by the Municipality. When this new
part of the Town Hall has grown as time-worn as the old, perhaps tales
will be told of how the successful ocean voyage of the first submarine
merchant-trader in the world was celebrated here.

"Together with our thanks for the splendid feast, I should like to join
my good wishes for Bremen, and I ask the honourable gentlemen present
to join in the toast: 'Long life and prosperity to the Municipal
Corporation of the free Hansa City of Bremen and to the town of Bremen.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!'"

  PRINTED BY WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND




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Transcriber's note:

All words printed in small capitals have been converted to uppercase
characters.

The oe-ligatures have been replaced by "oe".

The translator used the term "knots" (nautical miles per hour) for
ship's speed as well as for distances.

The following modifications have been made,

  Page 19:
  "Wieser" changed to "Weser"
  (through the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal to the Weser)

  Page 44:
  "Cecilie" changed to "Caecilie"
  (in the dining-room of the "Kronprinzessin Caecilie.")

  Page 52:
  "fantastic," changed to "fantastic"
  (look like the back of a fantastic monster whale)

  Page 63:
  "sign" changed to "signs"
  (are also accompanying signs of the presence)

  Page 69:
  "look out" changed to "look-out"
  (it meant a devilish sharp look-out)

  Page 71:
  "headlights" changed to "head-lights"
  (the red and white head-lights of a pilot steamer)

  Page 115:
  "Blumeuthal" changed to "Blumenthal"
  (Nordenham, Brake, Blumenthal)



***